TBD - A Reflection on Who I Am

"What a life I would've missed, 

if you'd not took a chance.

I wasn't expecting that."

- Jamie Lawson "Wasn't Expecting That"

      I've been struggling to write this post for almost a month and a half. Today is Easter and last night, at the Easter Vigil, I decided I was finally going to write it. So far this year, I've been to a funeral a month. If I wasn't going to be on a service trip with my students this week, I'd be going to another one. At every funeral there is a remembrance for the deceased, whether it comes in the form of poem, eulogy or song. It is during this time that family members and friends, say all the great things about the deceased. What they were like, who they were, what they liked to do, etc. Having been to so many funerals recently, I've been lead on a introspective journey on who I am. Me. Gutherman.
      It's a question I ask every single retreat group: who are you? It's a question I seemingly expect 17 and 18 year olds to answer easily. But heck, as much as I think I know who I am, I do not know. Yet, every time I have my students reflect on the question, I want to know who they think they are. And I go through these periods when I am so confident who I am then others when I have no idea. The past few months, I've been searching and struggling with trying to find my true self again. I feel like I've been lost and it's partly because I lost a huge part of my heart in January. But last night, at the Easter Vigil, I started to feel a glimpse of who I am again. It's like I'm raising again from my own grave of sadness, grief and mourning. Even if I've put on a happy face for the past few months, it's been a struggle. But last night...last night, I felt the earth shake.
       From before I was born, the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament have influenced my life. That is not an exaggeration. My nun obsession started young. At only a few weeks old, I was held dearly by those sisters. They prayed for me, they loved me and they were my earliest faith influences aside from my family. But at this rate, they basically are my family. I have vivid memories of going to the SBS Convent for Christmas Eve Mass, having milk and cookies after. I remember so many moments of visiting with the sisters for many occasions. From the beginning of my faith life, they were some of the biggest influences. I knew this, of course, but I didn't really understand their influence until last night.
      For the past two years, on Easter Vigil, I have had the privilege and honor of singing at the convent for Mass. Last year I was so nervous, but this year I was confident. More confident than I've felt in a long time. And man did it feel amazing to sing again. Not just singing along to the radio or with the choir in church, actually utilizing my vocal training, my breathing, and letting my voice rise to the Heavens in praise of my Jesus. I felt beautiful being able to use my gift for Jesus again. And then we sang some more, using bells and dancing and clapping. We sang the gloria so loud. We sang Alleluia. We sang Hosanna. We danced, we joined hands, and cried out our praise. We, young and old, sisters, lay people, children, parents, priests. I watched the Sisters in the Balcony dance and clap along. With a big smile, I let myself freely worship. And that's when I realized that part of who I am is SBS, African American and Native American spirituality.
      I've always felt a deep connection with the spirituality presented to me by the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament. Of course, I've always felt a deep connection with the Blessed Sacrament, given to me by the Sisters' example. Even the sight of Him in the Blessed Sacrament at Mass brings me to tears. That love of the Eucharist was nourished in me, in High School, by the example of the Sisters of the Holy Family of Nazareth. You see, it wasn't out of the ordinary for me to stop in the beautiful Chapel at Nazareth during lunch, study or before/after school and see a Sister there as well. Many times it was Sister David, my mentor, sister and now friend. At other times, I would see the sisters in prayers before supper (yes, I stayed at school that late...poor SMJ). Then I began spending more time with the Sisters, who then were my mentors, who are now some of my closest friends. Then and now we spend time together walking, talking, and praying in front of the Blessed Sacrament. There's no thing like friends sending you a text that says, "I think we need to spend more time with Jesus...when are you free?" or a simple invitation to celebrate Mass together (even if it's a two hour long mass in a foreign language. Whether or not they're on the vocation team, they're constantly checking in on my relationship with Jesus. Of course my relationship with so many of the Sisters, makes it completely normal for them, while passing through my town on Easter Sunday, to follow me in the nun car while I'm out walking my dogs. And to, of course, roll down the windows and yell my name! It's because of them that I have a love for Church tradition and family. They are my family. And part of who I am is CSFN, family-loving, Polish wannabe.
       It's funny how my life, when I look back, seems to fall into place. It's because of a CSFN that I ended up at Immaculate with the IHMs. She encouraged me to branch, live my life and not be afraid to embrace a place that I felt was calling me home. She was the first one I told where I was going to college and was always supportive. Because of her I met the IHMs...and it was about time. Yet another group of faith-filled women who shaped me even more into the young woman that I am and made me a true educator. They showed me a truly sassy side to religious life, gave an even more reality to religious women and living in community. They became mentors during some of the hardest years of my life, became women I could cry with, and teachers who pushed me to be the best student (and teacher) I could be. They employed me, trusted me and gave me so many opportunities. They tested me many times: as I told one student, "You'll be a better person because she's reprimanding you right now." But most importantly, they were the faith family for four years of my life. They were the ones who opened their arms when I joined them for Mass every single day, prayed with them, sang with them, and developed a deeper relationship with Jesus because of them. Of course, I can't forget how they instilled a love in my heart for the immigrant, for the refugee and for Peru. I always wanted to be a teacher, but they showed me how - by example and by opportunity. Who I am is part IHM, educator, vocalist, and lover of creative hope.
       Just like how one CSFN led me to Immaculate, one IHM taught me everything I needed to know for my current job. Without every opportunity she gave me on my resume, there's no way I could have made it this far as a Campus Minister. Without her, I wouldn't know how to run a retreat, teacher girls to pray, when to love tough and when to give tough love, or how to stay organized in an office full of chaos. Without her, I never would have met the SSJs who share my love for Social Justice. Well, really it's a burning passion. I never knew that when I insisted on taking French for four years in High School that I would learn and teach with a community with French roots. They, too, have pushed me to be a better me, become friends and sisters, and given me the opportunity of a life time -to do what I have always really desired - bring young women to Jesus. It's because of them that I get to spend a week with my students serving the dear neighbor - doing what I spent most of my college time doing. And so truly, part of me is SSJ, servant to the dear neighbor, preacher of social justice.
        I could easily stop there but truly I'm a Heinz 57 of religious communities. I could say part of who I am is Franciscan: barefoot, one with the earth, lover of nature - creating life with Mother Earth. I could say part of me is Carmelite, the contemplative piece of me who would rather sit in silence with Jessica Powers, St. Teresa of Avila or St. Therese. And I could say part of me is even Holy Spirit Adoration Sisters (Pink Sisters) because of my love for adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, for I could spend hours in adoration of my Jesus.
       So who am I? It's a question I've been grappling with for a few months. I'm an Irish girl, with a German last name and Italian heritage. I love food, eating it, making it, giving it. I love making things with my hands, creating art and giving life to ideas and concepts. I love being in the garden, planting, having dirt in my hands and speaking to the plants. I love walking or sitting by the river, breathing in the fresh (?) air of the Delaware. I love driving in the car for long hours in silence or with music on. I love sitting by the fire, singing, roasting marshmallows or praying, yes, praying. I love laughing so hard my stomach hurts. I love hugs - long, cuddly, embraces that make me feel safe and loved. I love singing so loud and strong that by the end of my jam session or Mass, I've lost my voice. I love playing games, dancing for no reason or every reason at all and I love spending time in silence with people. I love reading - cheesy romance novels or the lives of the saints (which sometimes are cheesy romance novels). I love writing, going to diners, spending hours talking with people who were first mentors, then friends, and always sisters. I love telling stories, listening to stories and being part of stories. I love loving deep and strong and hard. I'm from Croydon so I'm tough, but I also know that the greatest thing we have in this world is each other. And most of all, I love being with my family, whether they share my last name, my bloodline, or my faith. Who I am is all of this and yet more to be discovered. Who I am is all I am and all I am not. But I am she who dances and claps in church, who loves too fiercely and lives for each moment and each memory. All this from one song and dance with my Sisters: Hosanna! Blessed be the rock, blessed be the rock of my Salvation!

O Happy Fault

"Oh happy fault, oh necessary sin of Adam

that gained for us so great a redeemer."

- Exultet (Easter Vigil)

     My journey of Lent has been, to be completely honest, empty, dry and dark. Some may say, "That's how it's meant to be," while others may say, "It's a time of prayer and renewal." Every year Lent is my most favorite time and yet, it's been so busy that I had not been able to focus on my prayer life or spirituality. I spent Ash Wednesday sick in bed and got the flu two more times during Lent. I had so much to do at work that it simply was so difficult to make time for additional prayer. However, as empty, dry and dark it was, there was something that changed me a bit. 

      I had been expecting people to question my age and my maturity with my Lenten sacrifice this year, but it went in a different direction. This Lent I gave up shoes again (only this time I wore my black TOMS every day) and make-up. In the beginning, it was so difficult to not reach for the mascara hanging from the wall next to my mirror. It was difficult to walk into school every day with my face empty. I felt naked and vulnerable. I had worn make-up every day since high school in various capacities. Every day I wear mascara and cover-up. Most days I wear eye-liner and eye-shadow. Less frequently I wear blush. On special occasions (like mornings when I get up on time), I wear lipstick. I could not remember the last time I went make-up less. 

      A few days before Lent was to start, I prayed about what to give up for Lent. I had done the shoe thing last year and it would be easier this year. I needed a greater sacrifice. I kept hearing songs on the radio about beauty. On one particular morning, after Mass, I was moved to tears because I knew what Jesus was calling me to do: embrace my beauty. I needed to stop worrying about my outer appearance and focus on the natural beauty I had been given. I needed to focus on the beauty of my soul. 

     As I said, it was difficult. On the first day after Ash Wednesday when I went back to school, I felt so insanely vulnerable. I did wake up and feel grateful for the fifteen minutes it took me to get ready, though. I remember walking through the hallway thinking that I probably looked like the walking dead, especially cus the last bits of the flu was holding onto me. The following week, I was speaking to my class about the struggles of Lent. One girl gave up Tater Tots for Lent and felt the sting when she could smell them in the caf. Another girl gave up desserts and couldn't really function when on retreat that's all we ate at night time. That's when I told them what I gave up. 

      Each woman, especially in their teenage years, deals with outer appearance issues. Whether it's trying to find a fitting style or what shades of lipstick to wear or even weight, women always deal with these things. I began to talk to my students about how my journey of Lent was this discovery of inner beauty. I remember one student in particular saying, "Miss G, you work in an all-girl school. Most of us don't wear make-up, heck, most of us don't even shower." (DISCLAIMER: all girl school perks). When I went home that afternoon, I thought to myself about how hypocritical I had been. I tell these girls every day to embrace the beauty they have and yet, I was struggling with embracing that philosophy. My students helped me embrace my own beauty and work on the beauty of my soul this Lent and for that, I owe them so much. 

      Lent, contrary to former belief, ends on sundown the day before Holy Thursday. So, while I kept the shoes (they ARE comfortable, after all), I put on some make-up. I looked at myself in the mirror, half done up and thought, do I need this? The answer was no. Jesus won't love me any more because I look "prettier." I may look older, more mature, things like that, but it doesn't change who I am. If I'm wearing lipstick or not, I am still Becca Lynn, soulful beauty. I smiled in the mirror, added a hint of lipstick just because, not because I needed it to feel my best. In fact, my skin looked much better after doing a forty day detox. I felt good about myself and it was amazing how much a difference forty days can make. 

     Of course, if you knew my inner, deepest secrets, you know that there are two moments when I, regardless of outer appearance, feel most beautiful and that is when the wind is blowing and when I sing. Singing, for me, is an all out showing of my soul. I feel so free, so happy, so beautiful. It has been a while since I've been blessed to sing at church. In fact, the last time I did so was at Baccalaureate Mass in May. I had been praying about getting back into singing but I wasn't sure how or when or where. That's when Sister Pat, a Sister of the Blessed Sacrament, called and asked if I could sing the Exultet at their Easter Vigil celebration. My heart immediately said yes. 

     So Easter Vigil, I found myself at the chapel I had been in so many times before among Sisters who have been praying for my vocation since before I was born (LITERALLY!!). I had been there for Christmas and the feast day celebration for Katie D, but there was something about this most holy of nights. All throughout dinner, my stomach was doing flips and spins; I was so nervous. I practiced the whole car ride and finally said, if I don't have it by now, I'll never have it. After the lighting of the Paschal Candle, Sister Anne gave me the wink of "go time" and I walked up to the ambo to proclaim the Exultet. Suddenly my fears and hesitations were gone - God. I stood where I am sure Katharine herself may have stood so many times before. 

     From the deepest parts of my soul came the most beautiful words I have ever read: O happy fault, oh necessary sin of Adam that gained for us so great a redeemer. It is because of our human flaws that Jesus came. Without our human flaws, without Adam's sin, Jesus would have had no need to come save us. And there I was singing about it; proclaiming it with my whole being. I felt my heart yearning for the greatness of God and realizing that with each and every breath I was taking, He was filling me with knowledge of my own beauty; my beauty of my imperfections. My journey of Lent, though literally complete on Holy Thursday, was finished - it had come into fruition. 

     Everything the entire Mass, from the dramatic reading of "Creation" by James Weldon Johnson, to the music, to the feeling that Katie D was right there next to me the entire Mass, to the ringing of bells during the Gloria in utmost praise of His breaking of the veil, was beautiful. I felt complete. I felt God's beauty wash over me. I felt so imperfectly beautiful - Jesus loves me beyond my greatest imperfection. 

     My Easter, complete with singing, discovering my inner and natural outer beauty, and our annual photo shoot by the river, has reminded me of the greatest beauty - Jesus died for me. He died for you. And just to make our life complete - rose from the dead to be with us once more. He is my Lord, my Love, my Salvation, my Rock. He is with me always, reminding me of my beauty. He has blessed me for so much and for the necessary sin of Adam, I am eternally grateful. May today our Hallelujahs be MULTIPLIED. Amen? Amen!

Down By The River

"But I love Your feet 

only because they walked 

upon the earth and upon 

the wind and upon the waters 

until They found me."

- "Your Feet," Pablo Neruda

     I feel the closest to God on two occasions: when I'm walking barefoot on the earth (in particular near water) and during Lent/Holy Week/Easter. On Tuesday, when I was late for class because I was too busy bonding with Sister Cathy, she told me to find the perfect spot for my Resurrection cup of coffee. I was told at the beginning of Lent that if I was being a cross to bear for others due to my Lenten sacrifice, I must give up giving up what I gave up for Lent. All of this being said, I should have felt extremely close to God these past forty days and especially during these past few days of Triduum. 

     Maybe you remember how Lent started: bitter cold in the first week of March. We had just celebrated the feast of St. Katherine Drexel and I spent the weekend before in Kensington for our Alternate Spring Break Weekend. These two events, while simple in nature, played a HUGE part in my decision and prayer for how I was going to spend the forty days of Lent. While in Kensington, I met a man whose foot was wrapped in a plastic, black trash bag and was using crutches to get from place to place. As I sat in my corner in the "dining room" with my new friends, I also watched this man. He couldn't have been much older than me, maybe only a few years. He sat weary, somewhat withdrawn. Thomas was his name and I remember thinking then, how much he looked like Jesus on His way to Calvary. Later, when we were sharing around the dinner table did I learn that this man had gotten frost bite on his foot because he didn't have proper shoes for the harsh winter that had been pummeling the Northeast this year. 

     On Sunday, I woke up early and drove home from school to the convent. Shocking, I know, that the first place I would go would be a convent and not my own house. But in truth, this convent was a home to my heart. It was the feast day of St. Katherine Drexel and there was a special Mass in her honor at the Shrine (and the convent of many of my beloved SBS Sisters). As a kid, I remember always being fascinated by the articles of clothing worn by Katie D. Most fascinating were her habit, which shows how tiny of a woman she was (if I stand next to the window casing, I line up perfectly with where her face would have peeked out from behind her veil), and her shoes, the only pair she ever wore. Katie D was a simple woman. The story about her shoes goes (loosely) like this: she had one pair of shoes and whenever they would start to fall apart, she would take a needle and thread to them so as to sew the leather back together. They were perfectly find in her mind and so she didn't need a new pair. Besides why replace that which can be fixed? On her feast day, I allowed myself a visit to the crypt where her habit and shoes are on display for the public. As I looked at Katie D's shoes, I remembered Thomas and then I looked at my own feet, protected by some pair of shoes. I counted my blessings.

      In a few days, I would be struggling with what on earth I was to give up for Lent. I knew I was going to give up coffee, but that was a tradition. I needed something else to do. I searched the internet for suggestions and found something that sparked my interest: shoes. Hmm...could I really give up shoes? Especially since it was the dead of winter in the Northeast and when I would be going to Minnesota in a few days? Well, no. I couldn't exactly give up my shoes BUT I could give up all my shoes but one pair. I have often been told that the hardest thing for me when I enter the convent will be giving up my fashion sense (although some might argue that I don't have one). I never really thought about how many pairs of shoes I owned, but when I looked in my closet to start packing for Minnesota, I realized that I actually might have a problem. Three pairs of boots, multiple pairs of flats and sandals, some heels, etc. So, I packed my bag, and put a single pair of shoes on my feet: my black flip flops. As I was standing at the train station getting ready to head to the airport, my mother called me crazy when she saw my feet. I just laughed. I couldn't wait to hear what the nuns had to say.

      I flew into Chicago, which, as you may know, is always slightly colder than good ol' PA. When I landed, my AE, who loves flip flops as much as me, said she hoped I had another pair of shoes in my bag. I just laughed. Nope. The next morning, when I was boarding the plane to Minnesota with Sister Angela, she, too, mentioned a hope of another pair of shoes in my bag. Again, I laughed. When we landed, I noticed lots of snow and ice on the ground. Well, this will be interesting, I thought to myself. I didn't even pack another pair of "just in case" shoes. I was going big or going home. 

     Those first few days of Lent in Minnesota were hard, I must admit. There was snow everywhere but lucky for me, it was the first few days above freezing Minnesota had seen all winter. Sister Angela got used to my shoeless feet and shrugged every time another Sister at the NCSW Conference asked me if my feet were cold and/or if I was crazy. I laughed. I always answered no. But no one ever really asked me why I wasn't wearing my shoes. I was still at the point in Lent where I wasn't sure what my bigger sacrifice was: not wearing shoes OR the nuns harassing me about my feet. At that moment I was stuck in the middle. There was lots of snow on the ground and there were a lot of nuns near by. But actually, it hadn't been that bad. First week of Lent with no shoes and no coffee was actually a breeze (not a winter wind). 

      I headed back to school after my adventure to Minnesota and was so blessed to experience my first Lent 2014 daily Mass in Marian chapel...that is, the chapel in the building in which I live. I wore my flip flops like a champ down the halls and through Mass. After Mass, Sister Monica Joseph asked if my feet were cold. "Oh no, Sister, I live in this building. Is it cold outside?" I said. She rolled her eyes at me and another Sister laughed. I walked back up to my room for my post-Mass nap without thinking twice of the conversation. As of then, the only side effect of flip-flopped feet for Lent was cold feet between the buildings. 

      A few days later, I started to experience what any devoted flip flop wearer experiences: the stretching of the arches on his or her feet. I began to realize how high the arches on my feet were and had to wrap my foot. In addition, my feet were beginning to be harassed by the cold weather and wet snow: they were cracking. At least they were trying to adapt. Lent was starting to get a little painful by week three. Although, I started to get a kick out of Sister Elaine who would comment on my toenail polish every week. You see, she sits in the first row of chairs in Marian chapel and when I would walk by after communion, she would sneak a peek at my feet. After Mass, she would comment with the color of the week. And on one particular snowy morning, Sister Marita Carmel enjoyed being a reprimanding mother by telling me I needed to get my common sense in check and find a better Lenten practice. 

     Of course nothing quite beats the night I was leaving a Campus Ministry event with the nunnies and we noticed the flurries. I offered my arm to those I was worried about falling and Sister Cathy graciously linked mine. She happened to look at my feet and asked if I was cold. I said, "it's all relative." Of course, she asked why I was wearing flip flops...so I had to tell her. A few minutes after that, I linked all the nunnies together and told them to be careful as they walked the rest of the way to the convent. I prayed none of them would slip for the snow was particularly slippery that night. And as I thought that, my feet went out from under me and I enjoyed a nice heart attack as I grabbed the railing. 

     On Palm Sunday, I entertained the nunnies by requesting Sister Selfies from them. I have always enjoyed being a source of entertainment for the nunnies. That Sunday was no different. As I knelt on the floor next to Sister Pat, our president, and Sister Marita Carmel, the rest of the nunnies gather around me and I said, "Okay Sisters, make sure you can see yourself on the screen." Six Sisters and a Joe Conte fit themselves into the screen. Of course, Sister Pat then asked for her own selfie with me. Wow, what an honor. So, for the next few minutes, we took Becca and Sister selfies. When I took mine with Sister Marita Carmel, the sister who ever so kindly and motherly told me to pick a new Lenten practice, told me, "Next Sunday, you better have shoes on your feet, child of God." I promised to send her a picture but I decided I'll probably just send her this blog post! Hi, Sister. I have shoes on my feet today and they're orange, just as promised. 

     Lent was almost over and every day last week in Sister Cathy's office, we mentioned coffee. She asked how I was surviving. I honestly had no idea. Between the bare feet and the lack of elixir of life, I should have been severely ill or something. But the grace of God sustained me, I am sure of it. On Tuesday she told me that I should plan out a perfect place to enjoy my Resurrection coffee. I hadn't thought about it too much until this morning...Of course, I was reminded of the need to find a special place when I read her Easter card in which she mentioned that Resurrection coffee. 

     As I was standing in the kitchen, with my Easter shoes on, I thought of my place for Resurrection coffee. Mid-Mass, while sitting in the pew with the memorial plaque for my Gutherman Grandparents in it (a way to spend the Holy Day with them, too), it hit me: down by the river. Of course, when I thought that, I couldn't help but hear my SEARCH VI leaders sing and shout "DOOOOOOOOWN BY THE RIIIIVEEEEER." I laughed and then, when I got home, brewed my "Peru San Ignacio" fair trade coffee. When it was finished, I added a little sweetness and got my sister in the car to drive to the River. There, I stood feeling the breeze off the river, with my orange, sunshine Easter shoes and cup of coffee, enjoying that first taste of coffee in forty days. My sister, meanwhile, took her shoes off and had her feet down in the mud by the water. I watched her, took a few pictures, and smiled. These were simple times. 

      I stood there thinking about the journey my feet had taken, the pain they endured and the suffering in solidarity with Christ. I stumbled upon a Neruda poem called "My Feet" halfway through Lent and smiled as it reminded me of Jesus. His feet had walked upon the water, but on the way to Calvary, He walked barefoot upon the wind and the earth. His feet probably looked a bit worse after a few hours than mine did after forty days. But during those forty days, my feet cracked, they bled, they were cold and a bit frozen (I'm not sure how I avoided frostbite), and they were definitely dirty all the time. As I watched my Sister, I wanted so badly to take my shoes off and jump into the river mud and water with her. I thought about how I came to the decision to give up shoes for Lent. I thought about Thomas who probably didn't have a new pair of shoes yet and I thought of Katie D who had a single pair of shoes for years. The more I thought, the more I wanted to take my shoes off, the more I felt constrained. 

      We got into the car and I let my Sister drive to Bristol (she just recently got her permit....ah). As we drove, "This Is How Country Feels" came on the radio during which Randy Houser says something about digging feet in the river mud. I smiled because even though Croydon is suburbia, it truly has the country small town feel. I grew up not wearing shoes for most of the summer and with my bare feet in the river mud. I never feel as free as I do when I'm not wearing shoes. I felt so one with God in that moment by the river with my feet in the mud. But I felt even more free after spending Lent essentially barefoot because not only did I share in the shoelessness of Christ, but also of Thomas and of Katie D. I understood what it meant to not really have a choice in shoe wear. I understand the pain of calloused and bruised feet. I understood the pain of the homeless in the dead of Winter. I understood the blessing of being able to choose to take my shoes off and stand in the river mud. But most of all because of all this, I felt freely bathed in the grace of God. Happy Easter...take your shoes off for a while. 

Easter Never Tasted So Good - Welcome Back, Jesus

"Well end your suffering, little man. Why don't you pack up your gear and clear outta here?" 

- West Side Story

     

    Welcome back, JC! Easter is always an amazing time for reflection and thus, I have so many thoughts for you to ponder. First things first: since I'm not a sister yet, I don't have a set outfit to wear everyday. And let's be honest, when I was younger, I absolutely despised shopping. But it became a bonding thing with my cousin and now I find it quite enjoyable. Especially when I find the perfect Easter dress (see below)! Since my cousin and are away at school, however, we can't go shopping together. So our compromise is that every time we have a new outfit, we have to post a picture on the other's facebook. Today, I did just that. Someone else intercepted the picture and helped me realize that I looked just like Maria from West Side Story, so that explains the quotation above. But really, let's think about it for a hot sec...no one told Jesus He had to leave the tomb except His Father. But if His Father was in West Side Story, He might have said something like that. Did you ever hear a Daddy call his son, little man? Often I refer to my little cousins as little man and little princess. So, it's like God the Father saying, "Ok little man, end your suffering. Get up and move out!" Now if God was like my Daddy, He would have gone into the tomb, tickled JC's feet and said, "Wakey, wakey eggs and bakey!!" Actually, I can easily imagine God saying to Jesus on Easter Morning, "Come on, Son. Get up. We've got things to do today. Let's go!" Imagine God like your Daddy...how would He wake you up on Easter morning?

      Second thing: I'm not sure if many of you reading this have the understanding of what YOLO means. Let me explain. It's a hot trend on twitter and it's an acronym just like LOL or BRB. YOLO means "You Only Live Once." It winds up at the end of a risky tweet in the form of a hashtag looking like #YOLO. So for example, I would tweet, "Pulling an all nighter before observations telling Ghost Stories #YOLO" or "Going exploring for Mary's Lake in galoshes #YOLO" and so on...so basically anything one would do because he or she only lives once. Make sense? Ok, good. So now, I was checking Twitter yesterday and someone tweeted "Jesus died for our sins #thanks #YOLO" but the truth is, it was inaccurate. Jesus, technically didn't "only live once" because He died and came back to life. I shook my head in laughter. This morning, I get a tweet on my phone thank says, "Welcome back, Jesus #thanks #YORO (You only rose once)" Now how's that for accuracy? 

     Third thing: When you went to church as a kid with your family, or even now with your family, did you only sit with your family in a pew? Now granted, if you're like my Dad's family, all of you took up a whole pew, so there was no room to share. But most of you had families like mine, five or six people. And most likely one or two of the kids were either in the choir or altar serving, so there was plenty of room to share a pew with. And if you're a Parish like mine, no one cares about awkwardly sitting with six different families over two pews, and most likely the kids sitting between you and your parents aren't related to you in any way AND your little sister is probably sitting on some other mom's lap because your mom is busy with the other little kids trying to find the song in the songbook AND your dad is holding hands with your best friends mom during the Our Father and it's ok. That more or less happened this morning at my Parish. At the beginning of Mass, my mom and dad were sitting next to me and then my little sister on my other side. Our middle sister was in the choir loft. Next to her was another choir kid's parents and next to them, some random Grandma everyone knew. Behind us were three more families with six other kids. By the Homily, one of the little girls behind us dropped her doll in our pew and I somehow had my seat moved twice. After Communion when all the seating gets rearranged, I was now at the total opposite of where I started out and there was now a little one behind me poking my stomach as I knelt because it was hilarious to see me flinch every time. As we were all awaiting the final song announcement, the two moms behind me who were now sitting next to each other were trying to send me signals about how school was going. Finally, we were singing the final hymn, dancing and clapping our hands like Jesus had just risen that morning...oh wait...He did. All seating arrangements aside, what I'm trying to say is this: Easter is a morning when people we don't necessarily see all the time, come to church (myself included...college girl problems...) and...sit in our seats. So, we smush together and we don't mind. You know that common phrase, "It takes a whole village to raise a child?" Well, consider my Parish family, my village. People I saw this morning commented on how much I've grown up, how wonderful it is to see me back and of course, they had plenty of hugs to give me and I to give them in return. For a quick second, I imagined myself coming back to my Parish as a sister, having the same thing happen, except, my Pew would probably be filled with even more families and little kids. If all the kids had their choice, they would probably all try to sit on my lap at once! I know a lot of people don't like feeling claustrophobic in church, but that's something my Parish family thrives on...we just LOVE to smush together in one pew all the time. 

    Final thought: Lent is over. This means, we can go back to those things we gave up. As many of you know, I gave up coffee (more or less the greatest cross I've carried during Lent). While I wasn't as anxious as I thought I was going to be to have my first cup of coffee in forty days, it was still so great to have that warm elixir of life drip down my throat. Mhmm...coffee. When I grabbed the first cup I found in the cupboard, I didn't realize what it said. When I sat down to start my blog, that's when I realized. It says, "I love you with all of my heart." My favorite prayer leaflet in my Liturgy of the Hours book says, "With all of my heart, with all of my heart, I love you." It was just a quiet little "Thank you" from Jesus for my sacrifice this Lent. That made the forty days all the more rewarding. Thanks Jesus. Thanks for dying, thanks for rising, and thanks for letting me know my sacrifice meant something to You, too. 

Happy Easter All!