A blog sharing the journey of a young woman discerning her role in the world as a contemporary Catholic. Here she tells numerous stories of service, prayer, struggle, nuns, her students and her family. Each day is a beautiful one and why not spread the goodness?
"Suffering has been stronger than all other teaching,
and has taught me to understand what your heart used to be.
I have been bent and broken, but - I hope - into better shape."
- Charles Dickens, "Great Expectations"
Almost every year I write a reflection on my goals for the new year. It seems year after year, people consistently make goals they cannot keep in an effort to be happier, be healthier and so on, only to be disappointed by themselves within a few weeks. Last year, newly married and happier than ever, I did not make any resolutions or goals and honestly, I think I've been happier this year than any other year. But that's not to say there were not challenges that we faced together. Looking back, however, I can say that 2018 was over all good to me.
For one, we celebrated a lot of firsts: first (married) Easter, first (married) 4th of July, first (married) Thanksgiving and so on. We had a number of adventures, but didn't go hiking nearly as much as we had before. Maybe that's because sometimes spending the day inside watching movies or reading is better. But we also hiked one of our toughest hikes at Glen Onoko ... in the SNOW! We laughed a lot, cried a lot and made a lot of memories. We revisited our favorite campsites like Nockamixon and Niagara Falls. We even took our dog to Canada for the first time. Needless to say, he didn't really know the difference. We renewed our lease on our apartment and explored our new neighborhood more finding some of our favorite places like Conshocken Brew Pub, the outlets, Zwahlen's ice cream and the Schuylkill River Trail (and learned how to spell it, too!). We never made it to the beach, but I was finally able to show my favorite person one of my favorite places: Pipestem, WV while we both chaperoned a school service trip. Deeper friendships were made and our relationship with God grew from lots of stretching. We had ups and downs. But looking back, we had a pretty good full year married.
So today, when one of my students asked me if I made any new year's resolutions, I had to admit that on New Year's Eve, we did not really make one. Instead, we barely made it to the ball drop as we tried to figure out how to play the card version of Oregon Trail. This is, indeed, no small feat for the exhausted. But I thought about it a little and after listening to the resolutions of my students, I came to the conclusion that I am not going to let anyone else inhibit my happiness. I vow to not let anyone else's bad mood inhibit my good mood. I vow to not let someone else's insecurities rob me of my own securities. I promise to not scroll through Facebook and Instragram and continuously compare my life story to the life stories of others; I am where I am supposed to be for a reason, regardless of the challenges and suffering I have endured. And I promise to let God remain in control, because it is when I fail to do this that I can frustrated, upset and angry.
I find that New Year's is a good time to reflect on where one has been through the year. I cannot ignore the ups and downs of this year. But what I have, perhaps, learned the most and overwhelmingly so is that God is continuously with me on the journey. And that while God cannot be physically with me, God can send people into my life to help be the face of God for me and journey with me. God has never left me in the bad times and has rejoiced with me in every good time. While there were times when I was unsure of God's presence, God very quickly showed Godself to me. God was always there.
In addition, New Year's is a time to allow reflection for how we can become better versions of ourselves. So I pray that God gives me the opportunities to be more loving, more caring, more gentle and to be a better listener. In all things, may I model the Blessed Mother, and may I become even more aware of God's presence in my life. I already know that 2019 will be another year of challenge, wonder and awe. I am excited. God is with me. And I know that Joe and I will have many, many more adventures. In this year of Grace, I am sure that grace will be experienced.
But when we think 'America,' we don't usually think 'missions.'
The problem? We were and still are the missions."
Early Sunday morning (earlier than usual for a Sunday), I found myself sitting in a quiet, half-full, church with my dad. We were sitting in the pew that had the nameplate in honor of his parents. I looked around the church and saw a number of familiar parishioners. They were the parishioners who I see at daily Mass, at almost every church function, and even around my little town. They were the parishioners I love, my family. But when I looked out from my little pew, the emptiness of the church really affected me.
Our celebrant for Mass was a Holy Spirit Father currently missioned at their all boy preparatory school down the street. As he began his homily he spoke about his journey from Nigeria to Haiti to the United States. He was a young when he was ordained and felt called to missionary work. I smiled as he spoke about Haiti and his love for the people there. I thought about my children in Jamaica and Peru; memories of a missionary spirit truly in action filled my heart. I cannot wait to go back, I thought. I cannot wait to continue putting my call into action. I got a little lost in my thoughts and memories until Father started talking about his mission to the United States.
For the past four summers, I have given the Mission and History presentation at Immaculata. This, without a doubt, includes the mission and history of the Sisters, Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. When I introduce the incoming students to Father Gillet I always ask them if they think of the United States as missionary territory. Most times I get looks that read: uh, no? we have food, water and society. OR what exactly is missionary territory? Regardless, most will not necessarily understand that the United States was a missionary territory at some point. Missionary work is not something we usually equate with the US but rather Africa, Asia or South America. Anywhere but here.
For those who are like some of the new students, Missionary Territory usually relates to a place where people are "unchurched," that is, people who don't know Jesus yet, the unbaptized, etc. Religious Priests, Brothers and Sisters go to these places to catechize and preach the gospel. More and more, lay people are also getting involved as missionaries. Some people even say, "Want to see the world? Be a missionary." Many people have the idea or the concept that in order to be a missionary you must go to a foreign country that is poor or desolate or without the bare necessities.
As I listened to Father speak about the United States as a mission country, I remembered back to a conversation I had with Sister Eileen in Peru two summers ago. She had been missioned in Chile in a poor school before coming to a higher class school in Peru. She said she missed being with the poor but eventually realized that her students still suffered from poverty. However, it was a poverty of a different kind: a poverty of communication, a poverty of conversation, a poverty of love. Many have said that after working with the poor, "they may have nothing but they still have love." Yet those who have so much do not have love. Our conversation stuck with me because while I would love to move to a different country and do missionary work, I know God needs me here and now. But as Father kept talking, I knew how right he was. The United States is a mission country more than ever, I believe.
In Sunday's Gospel Reading we heard from Matthew, "Give back to Caesar what is Caesars and give back to God with is God's." The more I reflected the more I realized that we have been doing it backwards for a very long time. You see, Jesus in this Gospel, is asked, "to whom do we pay the tax?" Basically, "If we can only serve one master, how do we get away with not serving Caesar?" Jesus never said do not pay the tax, do not do your civil duty. He encourages them do that but while doing so to give their lives to God. Caesar did not give life, God did and thus, we must not give our lives to Caesar but rather to God. Make sense? Well let's give Caesar another name...
Let's rename Caesar "technology, social media, independence, fast food dinners, etc." We won't rename God, because God, in Jesus' story was not a metaphor; Caesar was. Again, "technology, social media, independence, fast food dinners, etc." does not give us life. God, on the other hand, still gives us life. There are healthy things that can come from technology and social media and thus, we should give a bit more of our time. But more often than not, we give our lives to technology, social media, independence, fast food dinners, etc."and not to God. If we were to live according to Jesus' message, we wouldn't spend so much time trying to connect without really connecting on social media. We wouldn't spend so much time trying to create family time by trying to find the quickest place to eat. We wouldn't try to create peace by independently removing ourselves from situations. But the sad truth of the matter is, too often this is what happens. We are giving too much of our life and time to the distractions of life, we are giving Caesar way too much tax money.
Jesus tells the people that they should be giving Caesar what belongs to Caesar. We should be giving a little bit to the positive progressions. But we have confused Caesar with God and God with Caesar. We have focused too much and made gods of the things of Caesar. We need to step back and take a chill pill for a second. We need to re-evaluate the things we have given to Caesar regardless of whether or not it is his. We need to give back to God what belongs to him. Perhaps if we started doing this, the United States wouldn't need missionaries nearly as much.
The people of the United States are hungry. But instead of filling up on healthy things like God and spirituality and religion, we are continuously going to McDonald's. I don't want a McDonald's faith. Yes, french fries are good every so often, but if we ate them every day we would be in a bad place. Our country has filled up on the very good tasting hamburgers and chicken nuggets of Caesar and not on the bounty of God. We have given so much of our time to the things that shouldn't run our lives. But we live in a world where text messaging requires instant attention. We have neglected the fact that God doesn't text but still requires our attention.
This past Sunday was Mission Sunday in our Archdiocese. We have heard so much about the foreign missions but we have neglected the fact that the United States itself is a mission territory. While I love my travels to South America, I, too, must remember that the American people need God just as much if not more than the foreign places. I see so much need for missionary work and evangelization in our country. I see it in the empty pews, the phones glued to hands of children and adults, the families that go out to eat but do not speak to one another because each person is attempting to connect with the outside world, the violence, the sadness, the poverties of a whole other kind.
Believe it or not, we are the missions. While it may seem absurd to think about because we have running water, we have food services, we have technology, we still need love and we still need Jesus. We need to stop giving Caesar way more than is due, we must start giving God what actually belongs to Him - our lives. Give yourself to God, not to "technology, social media, independence, fast food dinners, etc."
flexible, lovable, impressionable, and able to wrap itself around anyone and anything.
The heart can be stretched so greatly, which is great.
But then, like silly putty, if stretched in two opposite directions too much,
it might snap."
- A Becca Original
Yesterday, I was feeling incredibly stretched. Maybe I have written about stretching in the past, maybe not. But stretching is a good thing. Think of dancers who not only stretch before they practice or perform, but also after. It adds incredible flexibility to the body. Think of pizza makers who need to stretch the dough so as to make the best pizza. Think of even rubber bands that need to stretch to keep things together. Stretching, one can see, is clearly something that is good. However, dancers will tell you that sometimes stretching pulls a muscle, pizza makers will tell you that sometimes the dough stretches too far and a hole emerges and sometimes the rubber band snaps. Stretching the human heart can be somewhat similar.
Today I write about how much my heart loves and with loving much also comes susceptibility to much hurt. I always knew that I was one to love much; I was born compassionate toward others. However, I didn't know that loving much had great consequences like immense hurt. The good news about this is that God loves you through the hurt; He stretches you. I didn't like stretching at first, much like the young dancer. I just wanted to dance; I just wanted to love. Many around me spoke to me about stretching, telling me it was a good thing. It was a lesson I needed to learn: in order to dance the best, I first needed to stretch. And so, God gave me many opportunities to stretch so that I could learn to love even more greatly.
While I learned that stretching was such a good and healthy thing for me and even began speaking about the stretching one endures in order to gain strength, myself. However, there was something rarely anyone spoke about and it was the very fact that stretching hurts sometimes. I never really focused on the pulled muscles, holes in the dough or snapped rubber bands. Why? Well that was negative and why focus on that? But the truth is, I was avoiding the truth. I kept telling myself that stretching is good, stretching will make me better, stretching will help me love. But there was always this little voice saying, "Well then why does it hurt so much?"
Many of you know that the way I deal with conflicts of the heart is by seeking the advice of others. In recent months I have found myself many times in multiple offices around campus seeking the advice of my older, wiser, sisters. Of course, these are the Sisters who know quite a lot about me, some who have been with me from day one on campus. The future is both terrifying and exciting which led me quite a few times even this week to Sisters' offices and I think it can go without saying, but there were tears, too. In talking with Sister Cathy about the future, mi futura she called it, she reminded me of stretching. She reminded me that I will always have options and God will lead me to the right one. She encouraged me to keep going and keep on keeping on. I left her office feeling at peace, even though I had not truly made a decision about a topic. Just simply talking about my future with her allowed peace of mind for me for the time being. But of course, I'm a great thinker and with great thinking comes great worrying. Slowly, the worry slipped back in. I sought solace a harsh reality aspect from Sister Elaine and of course, I poured my heart out in the portress office to Sister Lorraine because I asked her to pray for me. All three times I was on the verge of tears...because I was being stretched and it hurt.
Yesterday, after I spoke with Sister Elaine, I went back to my room for a little bit truly felt in my heart the pain of being stretched. Because I am a writer, I needed to write a metaphor of how I was feeling. I'm not a dancer (anymore...once in my heyday of five years old, I did ballet) and so I couldn't equate my heart to the actual stretching the dancer does and I am most definitely not a pizza maker. And while I've definitely had a number of rubber bands snap on me, that just didn't seem quite like the right metaphor. Thats when I remembered one of my favorite toys as a kid: Silly Putty.
I'm sure many of you remember Silly Putty. It's flexible, lovable, impressionable and able to wrap itself around anything. It looks like a wad of pink gum. I remember twisting and turning it, massaging it in my hands. I remember pressing it upon the newspaper and seeing the cartoons reversed and stretched on the Silly Putty. It was ruined after that but that never bothered me. It also got ruined when you lost the red egg shell container it came in. Of course, often I would get in trouble for wrapping my silly putty around things that I shouldn't have been like pens or the table or things in the kitchen. But it was so cool and awesome and I just couldn't put it down. One time I even remember "losing" my silly putty and then my Aunt Karen giving me a new red egg with the silly putty in it. My Dad got a little upset because seemingly I had wrapped it around too many things and I didn't actually lose it. But the part I remembered the most about Silly Putty was that if you stretched it too far in two different directions it got limp in the middle or eventually snapped. Silly Putty, I realized, was the perfect metaphor for my heart.
First of all, my heart is definitely flexible and able to wrap around anything and anyone. It has been stretched so much in the past that I have become able to love even more greatly and love many. My heart is flexible in the sense that I can truly find a way to love anyone. When it comes to being lovable, I've been told by a few that my heart is just as lovable if not more so. I'm not quite sure what it is about my heart, but people love it. My very human heart is also very impressionable.This one comes from my High School Greek Teacher, Senor (he also teaches Spanish....). He told me that when he was a kid, Silly Putty was ruined after only one cartoon/newspaper trick. That being said, once an impression has been made on the heart, perhaps it may be ruined. For example when someone makes such a beautiful impression on you and you learn to love that person, but suddenly that person does something that hurts greatly. The impression may not have false, but the reality of recognizing that another is only being human hurts. Perhaps, the heart then is ruined? The heart can no longer trust? That's a deep concept of equating the heart to Silly Putty in that sense. Of course, we must also think of the red egg shell casing. While it is good to open up the egg shell, because how else would we get to the Silly Putty to play with it? If one loses the red container, the heart can longer be protected against all the icky gunk that might get mixed it. Definitely, the Silly Putty was ruined after that. The heart, perhaps, just as so. At this point, I was really thinking about how perfectly this metaphor was working for me. But it wasn't until I remembered the part about my Dad getting upset at my aunt for giving me new silly putty that it truly hit the spot.
My heart has been through the battlefield and lost it's protective container a long time ago. During Lent we pray "God give me a new heart." Did anyone ever question this? Like why on earth would we want a new heart after our old one has already been stretched, has already been hurt so anymore hurt wouldn't matter, and has already, without a doubt, been impressed upon. Doesn't it seem a little ironic? Well, we ask for new hearts for the same reason that I asked for new Silly Putty. My Silly Putty, aside from being "lost" was also ruined. I wanted a new clean slate with a new container. But just as my Dad got upset at the new Silly Putty, knowing that I would only wrap it around everything under the sun, copy newspapers and probably lose the container, I found myself upset at God for a few minutes for giving me a new heart that would only be hurt and soon ruined again. But God reminded me that He was molding my heart and He would not let it get ruined.
So then I asked Him why on earth, then, was He stretching me so far in two different directions? In being honest, this past week, I was feeling so stretched by two different things that I loved so much. I could feel one pulling me in one direction while another was pulling me in the opposite direction. There was no malice or even negative aspect of either sides stretching me. In fact, both are beautiful ways to celebrate my gifts and talents. But oh my goodness, was I being stretched. And so, in being honest with God, I told Him how I felt that it He stretched my heart anymore I was fearing that I was snap and my heart would break. I was already feeling like weak Silly Putty because I have been harboring a hurt inside for a while, one that I haven't spoken about or really even debriefed. I questioned God and was upset at this new heart that was still so brand new and impressionable and flexible.
I posted my metaphor on Facebook and within minutes many of my dear friends of God were telling me that while the heart is like Silly Putty, the heart is stronger. Some told me that yes, the heart may break, but God is the glue that puts the pieces back together. Some even said that my heart, the Silly Putty is molded by the Maker, my God and He knows what my heart is capable above. Why else would He wrap my heart around people and places that I love so tightly. I was reminded once again that stretching is a good thing and it's only because of the hurt that I have yet to deal with, that I am afraid of breaking. I was reminded that I need to be stretched in both ways equally so as to be able to love constantly and consistently both things which are stretching me. I was reminded that being stretched well help me love beyond the harbored hurt.
And so, I can to the conclusion that while my heart is like Silly Putty and I may fear it might snap, God won't let it snap. He is the molder and the maker of all good things, especially my heart. While I'm still at a period of hurting from stretching (you know how those days are...after working out, you're sore for a few days), I know this is for the best.
"What is so significant in my life that I would be willing to give my life for it?"
- Sister Julie Vieira, IHM
Photo taken by: Rebecca Zenefski
It was another scathingly brilliant idea my AE had, to send me and Sister Angela to Minnesota for conference on something about nuns. As usual, I agreed not knowing much about the program. Minnesota sounded cool, I guess and nuns were involved so, really there was no denying the opportunity. Weeks later, I found myself, once again on an airplane headed to Chicago for the night to meet up with "my sister" and eventually go to Minnesota the next morning. Before I knew it, we were landing in a foreign state (and country...the midwest is a foreign country).
As we gathered at the hotel for the sisters, there was a select few group of students and sisters already arriving. The program didn't actually start until 5:00 PM and we had landed a little before 11:00 AM. Needless to say, we had a few hours to kill. However, the Sisters were encouraged to travel via shuttle to St. Catherine's University with the students. So, on the shuttle we went and soon the students were shown our rooms in the Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet's previous Provincial House. If someone asked me to describe my room, I would say, it was a typical nun room. A room big enough for a twin sized bed, a sink, a dresser and a chair. There was a closet, too. Prime living, people. But honestly, all the necessities and all I've ever truly desired.
The afternoon was filled with activities like LUNCH, discovering Zentangles (an artistic approach to meditation) and tours of the university and the provincial house. Before we knew it, however, it was time for the festivities to begin. Sr. Angela and I headed over with the group, arm in arm, to the reception. We made new friends and chatted about where we were from, which communities we represented and so on and so forth. Soon, we were ushered into the beautiful ballroom for Dinner and the big welcome speech given by the university's president, Sister Andrea Lee, IHM. Of course, the table talk consisted of getting to know you small talk and lots of giggles between me and my sister. You see, we had a lot to laugh about with all our inside jokes.
After dinner, we moved into one of the most beautiful prayer services I have ever experienced. In this building, they have a three floor atrium and so, we split into three groups and surrounded the atrium on each floor. We sang, we gathered, we prayed with the Gospel of John. In the middle of the prayer service, Sister Andrea spoke about how Jesus was calling each of us present in some way, shape or form that weekend. She read out loud a list of all the names of those present and asked that each person respond with "present" so as to acknowledge being present for Jesus. I was happy to hear more than one Rebecca present for Jesus. The solemn environment of the prayer service was so astounding. I will never forgot the emotion that ran through my soul in those moments.
Following the prayer service there was an option for a late night even called "Veiled Threats." This session circled around the negative connotation surrounding the habit and the religious vocation. However, the talk began with acknowledging how so many women religious have been left out of history books. Women, especially women religious, are often given the back burner when it comes to acknowledging them with any accomplishments. Women religious have played such a HUGE part in American history establishing the first hospitals, first schools, first etc. The speaker then transitioned into talking about sisters in popular culture. The stories and the images shared in popular culture about Sisters, Nuns and Women Religious are so often false, degrading, and negative. This truly evoked great conversation among the Sisters and the Students.
The next morning there were multiple sessions focusing on sharing the stories of women religious. We were encouraged to use social media networking to share sister stories and asked to help with the video archive project which would help get the sisters stories into a huge online video archive for all to access. I found it so interesting that among the young people present, less than a third were active on three or more social media sites. Of course, I found myself bursting with ideas on how to share Sisters' Stories as we sat through the sessions. As a true student, I was taking eager notes. I couldn't wait to get started.
While I did love the morning sessions, I think my favorite part of the weekend aside from the liturgies, was the Sister Story Presentation where four Sisters presented a tidbit of their discernment or religious journey. I found myself feeling like a kindred spirit with the sisters. One Sister spoke about her missionary work in South America. Well, it's no wonder that story hit close to home as I have become so passionate about working in South America. I have always wanted to Hispanic Ministry, but in my journey to S.A., the passion grew even deeper. Another Sister spoke about how, even before she really started discerning, she felt a kindred spirit with the Sisters. My favorite part of her story was when she told us how she was sitting in the community room with a few of the sisters when she got the call that she had been accepted into the community. She was there with her sisters and she said, "I had already felt for so long that I was a part of their sisterhood." Finally, another sister (the cutest by far) told the story of how she didn't break up with her boyfriend until the night before she entered the community. My hear actually broke during this story. OH how close to home this one hit. I spoke to her afterward and told her honestly, how close that was to a part of my own story of discernment. However, I told her, I didn't wait too long before I was honest. Their stories were so rich and so deep and so honest. I truly felt in my heart their spirit as my spirit and their love for Jesus as my love for Jesus. Then I remembered, we all kind of fell in love with the same Guy.
After the Sister Stories, we prepared for Mass. I kept telling Sister Angela that I needed a nap. Anyone who knows me knows that naps are, aside from Mass, the most vital part of my day. If I don't get a nap, I sure do get cranky. But I was on my best behavior and instead just closed my eyes in Chapel for a little bit. Mass was filled with beautiful liturgical dancing, beautiful music (nothing quite beats the sound of nuns singing) and a beautiful homily celebrating women religious. I've always been one fore using "hand motions" during Mass, especially during the Our Father. When I opened my hands to pray the Our Father, I closed my eyes and didn't expect anyone to take a hold of either hand. However, Sister Angela placed her hand in mine and gave a gentle squeeze. She doesn't know this, but she will after she reads this, but that moment moved me to tears. It was an expression of trust, of love and of friendship. She had one hand, Jesus had the other.
In the nunly tradition we did a lot of prayer, but also a lot of eating. So, of course, after Mass we had a very fancy sit down dinner. It was after this dinner that I introduced myself, like the brave soul I am, to the president of the university. I told her I was a college product of her cousins, the Immaculata IHMs and that my Sister Cathy said hi. Of course she was happy to greet me. I stole a quick look at her feet just to see if she was actually wearing shoes this time. Earlier in the weekend, I burst out laughing when I noticed her walking around barefoot. I had found a kindred spirit just by noticing her lack of shoe wear. Anyway, I moved to the legendary Sister Amata who was also very gracious. I passed on the IHM hellos to the other IHMs. Of course, I did have to do a little explaining to Sister Angela about how they were both IHM communities but they were different, too. Good thing Sister Cathy has trained me well in community history!
We had another late night event and this time it was about Sisters in Film, in particular, "Radical Grace." The few clips of this movie that we watched definitely evoked much conversation and it was during this that I found another kindred spirit (I'm assuming you're thinking...wow this girl has a lot of them...I'll get to that), Sister Mary Kay, who ironically is from Philly. Needless to say when she told me she was from Philly, I actually screamed in excitement and wrapped my arms around her. PHILLY SOLIDARITY, people, it's important, especially since everyone and their sister (see what I did there?!) was from the Midwest. Sister shared a lot about how she advocates for Immigration Reform in accordance with the church and the USCCB. I looked at her and said, "Me, too." Kindred Spirits for sure.
The next morning, after losing an hour of sleep, we gathered once again for breakfast and then the morning prayer liturgy. At every one of our liturgies, we were encouraged to share signs of peace. In the words of Molly Hazelton, "share peace in the manner most comfortable for you." Good thing everyone liked hugs; I gave so much nun hugs this weekend and I regret nothing. Our final session was about taking what we learned and planning to implement it in our universities and communities. It seemed to me that all the other tables of sisters were very practical whereas we were very visionary. We spoke about needing courage and willingness to share stories. We spoke about learning about one another, learning charisms, learning communities, learning about ourselves. At one point, I was the only student at my table of nunnies. Wow, I was lucky. I shared with them the following:
The weekend was so incredibly fruitful for me. Not only did I get to hear so many stories, something that as an English major, I absolutely love, but I also got to connect with so many beautiful witnesses of the faith. I expressed how awesome it was for me, as a young person, to hear about their charisms and watch them grow in their personal charisms as they shared them with one another. They each realized that there is so much they all have in common despite their diversity....something I had seen from the very beginning. It was so beautiful for me to be able to witness that...so very beautiful and so very awesome. I was able to find a kindred spirit in so many of the sisters who I met because there are so many similarities of all of us together. It was easy to see a part of me in their stories of discernment, especially the stories of my own sister, Sister Angela.
As the weekend came to a close, I counted the amount of Sister Selfies that were taken at every event and with so many sisters. The number was astronomical. I laughed at them and began to feel a sadness. I had had such a beautiful, fruitful weekend which not only helped me in my own discernment of becoming a religious sister, but it also strengthened so many relationships and built new ones. I was amazed that even though I had known Sister Angela for two years, I didn't really know her story. I was amazed, too, at how close a person can feel to another after only a few days with her. I counted myself blessed to have such a special Sister with me, one who was willing to link arms with me, let me nap on her shoulder, and even share a book (we actually read the same book simultaneously in the airport...we're adorable). I shared so many laughs with her, so many laughs that yielded hurting stomach muscles and bright red faces. I shared so many spiritual moments with her in prayer, so many smiles, so many hugs and the list goes on and on. While I enjoyed every moment of the conference and tucked away all the knowledge I gained, the most important part of my weekend was sharing it with her. I don't think she knows how special she truly is to me. But I'll tell you this much, when it came time for us to part ways in the airport, she gave me a tight hug which squeezed s numerous amount of tears out of my eyes. Before I knew it, I was sobbing in the airport like an idiot. Yeah...I guess you could say that Sister Selfie and I bonded; she became not only "my nun" as we students began calling our sister companions, but she also became my sister...God works in so many mysterious ways. And here I am, crying again at the beauty of His goodness, as I write this.
National Catholic Sisters Week lasts until Saturday so you better hug as many nuns as you can. Take pictures with them (sister selfies preferred) and hashtag #thankanun. Thank as many women religious as you can because they have done so much for our world and deserve the gratitude. I know, for sure, that I'll be hugging lots and lots of nuns this week. I started today...and of course, got strange looks because THEY DIDN'T KNOW. So, I spread the word. National Catholic Sisters Week. Oh and next week, according to my good friend, Kristie, is subsequently deemed "National Future Catholic Sisters Week." Sure, Kristie, sure. Remember, thank a religious sister (thank a few...) and share their stories.
"What knocks me out is a book that, when you're all done reading it,
you wish the author was a terrific friend of yours
and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it.
That doesn't happen much, though."
- The Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger
When was the last time you read a love letter? Or a poem that made you swoon over the beauty of the words? How about a children's book? Maybe even viewing a quotation on Pinterest, StumbleUpon, Instragram or Tumblr? Many of you know I love words so much. Sometimes I read certain words that make my soul and heart fill with so much emotion. I can read sometimes just a sentence and it speaks so much to me. They can make me breathless, sorrowful, loved and so much more. Words can also, when used correctly, give me the power to do the same for someone else. I can choose the most endearing words to flatter someone with true flattery, or I can express my sadness and make the reader cry with me. I could also make heads spin when I work puzzles of words around them when I feel like being cryptic. I can confuse a person, express my anger, and win any debate. When you can use words, you have so much power between your lips. I've often thought this was simply an English Major thing...but then, if it is, God must be an English major.
Sometimes I am feeling the need for love. So, I take my bible off my book shelf and gently open it. Where I have placed rose petal after rose petal, the pages open to Song of Songs 2:16 "My lover belongs to be and I to him." I swoon for a second, and then read on. It is a love letter from God, written to me (and so many others). It is the most beautiful love letter I have ever read. I never tire of reading it. In Isaiah, only a few books away from SOS, God tells me that "though your sins are like scarlet, I will make them white as snow" (Isaiah 1:18). Next Book, Jeremiah, He tells me,"For I know the plans I have for you" (Jeremiah 29:11). Even in Lamentations, He gives voice to the suffering, the broken-hearted. Friends, we didn't even get to Psalms, Proverbs or Hosea, yet, much less the NEW TESTAMENT. If I were to actually quote all the beautiful words the Bible has to offer me as the most beautiful piece of literature, I would essentially be quoting the entire Bible. Instead, I just whet your taste buds for the beauty that is the Bible.
I have always thought that the Bible was God's truest, deepest, best work of Literature. However, I never really thought of the possibility of God being an English Major. No, that didn't happen til last week when I was in Theology class and we read a section from the Gospels about how Jesus essentially owned those Pharisees in a gentle debate. He not only didn't give them the chance to argue, but he stuck the truth straight to their hearts. Like I said, English Majors can really get to the hearts of people and make them feel. Jesus did that not only with the Pharisees, but with his disciples, his followers, his mother, everyone he spoke to. He was quite the orator, if I say so myself. In fact, he was so great, that someone should have written a book about him. Oh wait....
Anyway, like a good English Major, I am always reading and increasing my personal Canon. Anyone can tell you that when I read, I read with a writing instrument. Whether it's a pen of varying colors, or pencil, or marker, or crayon, I always have it near by. There are so many words that just jab at my heart or make me feel so much emotion in my soul, that I have to highlight them or write them down somewhere. You can my favorite books from the amount of markings in them. There are plenty of folded, leafed corners and cracks in the spins. My books are well-loved.
Often the words I find in my books, I feel as if God, Himself were speaking them to me. Take, for instance, my favorite Children's Book, "Where You Are, My Love Will Find You," by Nancy Tillman. It is a book written from a parent to a child and yet, when I sat in Barnes and Noble reading it to my Sister, two Christmasses ago, I knew immediately why I was meant to read it: God wanted me to feel loved. I felt as if God Himself was reading the book to me. Of course, there are my other favorite books like "A Prayer for Owen Meany," "This House of Brede," "The Shack," "The Alchemist," and so many more....all of them highlighted, underlined and written in, pages leafed and spins cracked. In all of them, I found God's voice. Wow, God. Just wow.
Suddenly, last week it hit me. God gave us the most beautiful work of Literature in the Bible, but he also gave us countless authors and illustrators to give us countless books. And so, essentially, He gave voice to these people and what they write are the words He gave them. He is in every word that I read and it is beautiful. God is a writer and a beautiful, creative writer at that. He loves to send those words straight to our hearts. God seriously must be an English Major. What do you think?
I had finally gotten a power tool in my hands when all of a sudden (it seemed) it was time to head on out for the day. While I was teaching my RA, Caiti, how to use a power screw driver to screw screws into what would eventually be a dog house, the rest of our group was filling out evaluations; it was our last day on the worksite. I had spent most of the days mudding/spackling the walls of Miss Sande's living room, bedrooms, kitchen and closets. Trust me, it's tedious work. And actually, it's quite a pain in the butt...especially when they tell the short girl to mud/spackle the ceiling. I can't tell you how many times I dropped mud on my face, in my hair, on my clothing. I felt absolutely disgusting afterward and my body ached from reaching high and bending backwards to float, skim and doctor the ceilings and walls. However, as we sat as a group on Miss Sande's back porch filling out evaluations and listening to our site leaders, it all came together for me.
I have never been on the NOLA January trip. In fact, I will honestly say, I like NOLA in the Summer better because of the weather. I'm not about this cold weather in the South nonsense. Going on this trip was completely out of my comfort zone because even though I knew everyone, I didn't know anyone. It was going to be a completely different trip than what I was used to: nights were longer, sun was weaker, schedule was crazier. Yet, I felt this strange whisper in my heart that kept saying, "Go, go, go, go back to the place you love so much." And so I applied and then got accepted. Ironically enough, a few weeks later, I got accepted for the Peru Service Trip which would most likely take place during the same time as the May NOLA trip. I understood that God understood my desire to go to NOLA at least once a year. However, even as I pulled up to the airport, I was questioning the reasons why God was sending me to NOLA at this time.
I felt I was jipping my sisters of my Christmas Break time. I felt like I didn't belong with the people and friends in our Work Crew. I felt so out of my comfort zone. Yet, this is the life I so desire. I desire to be a missionary and leave home. I desire to work with strangers. I desire to go out of my comfort zone. But even still, I was doubting God working in my life through this trip. So, as I sat on the plane, I closed my eyes and prayed: God, keep my heart open to Your will. As I nodded off to sleep, God began opening my heart.
As we visited the French Quarter, I saw monuments and attractions all so familiar. I almost had no desire to be there. Instead, I was wanting so badly to be in my work clothes and building. But, it was New Year's Eve and so, every worksite was closed for the day. So, we found ourselves doing to the same activities in the Quarter, that I had done two times prior. I shopped a little and continued to doubt God's work.
This doubt continued through Mass at St. Louis Cathedral, through priming a shotgun house in a pretty bad neighborhood, to building boxes at Second Harvest Food Bank, to serving the homeless and hungry dinner at the New Orleans Mission, to even mudding the walls and ceilings of Miss Sande's house. Why was I here? I kept thinking. I was seeing no change; no change in the people and no change in me. I found myself spending a lot of personal quiet time on the worksite, at our other volunteer opportunities and even while we were back at the house. I was seeking for an answer. At the end of the week, I had almost given up and I had stopped searching for a reason why I was there. And when I stopped searching, God gave me the reason.
Go back to the image of us all sitting on Miss Sande's back porch. We had filled out the evaluations, we had listed our highs and lows of the week with our leaders Megan and Cait, and given out some thank you gifts to them as well. We had one final gift to give and that was to Miss Sande. It was a Mardi Gras Bead Art image of the Immaculata School Symbol which we had all signed. As we handed her the frame, she immediately began on a Miss Sande Story.
Throughout the week we had each heard various Miss Sande Stories and other mentions of her wisdom. We had each been able to piece together her story of suffering, rebirth and how she came to have her house a part of the St. Bernard Project. But this story was different than any other Miss Sande story; this story was about angels.
As she spoke, Miss Sande referred to all of us as her angels. She told us how without God's Angels coming to work on her house, her house would still be non-existent in the Post-Katrina era. She kept calling us her angels over and over and over again. And each time she did, the lump in my throat got bigger and bigger until finally, I let the tears roll down my cheeks. I got it. I understood. God sent me there to meet Miss Sande. Little does she know that she was an angel to me. She was God for me.
All my life, all I have ever wanted to do was help change lives. When I was younger I thought that there were so many people in our world that needed me. But as I got older, I realized, there are so many people in our world that I need. I needed Miss Sande more than she needed me. So what I put a little mud on her walls and helped build her six dogs an outdoor living space. Miss Sande helped me realize that the little bit I did, helped. Without the mud and spackle, no paint could go up. Yes that's true!
A few years ago, I stopped looking to change the whole world. I narrowed my goal down to change a few lives. But this week, I made a complete turn around. I started looking for people to change my life! Yes, I did help Miss Sande and yes, this past week I was an angel for her. But more than I was for her, she was for me. She was the angel I needed in my life. She reminded me that I don't need all the things in the world to be happy. She reminded me that my little hands could get roughed up and change a life. But mostly she reminded me that although I may doubt God's mission for me, He is always working through me...whether it's my hands, my heart or my smile. She reminded me of something that I so often neglect to believe in, something that I am always telling others but never telling myself: Miss Sande reminded me of my own goodness. She reminded me that I can actually be an angel. Miss Sande, in being an angel herself, reminded me of the same. And so, this NOLA trip, angels united.
I can't thank Miss Sande enough for breaking through to my heart...for being willing enough to risk that journey! She is a beautiful woman of God! Yes, there are angels among us! I am home now, but no matter where we are, there are angels among us.
Isn't she beautiful? This is one of my most favorite pictures of Teresa, as she looks so young. I'd like to say that in this rendition, she's maybe in her early twenties. Like me. If someone ever asked me who is your favorite saint, hands down, I would answer: Teresa of Avila. She's a strong woman of God, unafraid to reform for His glory and she was a Carmelite (don't tell the other sisters, but they are my favorite!).
When I was younger, a priest always used to give his homilies on the lives of the saints. Forget about what the Gospel or the readings were, no matter what day it was, there was a story of a saint. Fascinated by this, I asked him why he only ever gave homilies on the saints. He answered, "When I was little, my father told me to study the saints. They became my friends. So, when I give homilies about them, it's like talking about my closest friends." I fell in love with that and soon after, I began to find my friends. Katherine Drexel was one of the first. Shortly after her, came Therese. But my best friend, I found in Teresa of Avila. I literally fell in love with these strong women of faith. They were the undercover feminists of their time, and I admire them for it! But Teresa, she's something else. She was the most outspoken woman of the church, I found. She was a mystic but also, she was a leader, fearless in her faith. She even said to God, "It's no wonder you have so few friends, if this is how you treat them." She considered Jesus her closest friend and lover, and I learned how to be a friend of Jesus through her. She was real with God, she was bold with God, and He loved her for it. She had spunk. Spunk that I wanted. And so, she easily became my friend; my best Heavenly friend.
I always felt when I was younger, that I wanted a man to fall in love with me for my spunk, for my outgoing nature, and for my loud mouth. I also wanted him to respect me as a proud woman, because I am a proud woman. I also wanted him to fall in love with my sense of adventure and humor. The truth is, as I got to know Teresa more, I realized that we shared a lot of this in common. Then I realized, as I began to see God as lover and friend, that He fell in love with Teresa for all those reasons. That's when He told me how much He loved me. He asked me to marry Him. I got my childhood wish, that a man would fall in love with me because I'm out going, spunky, loud and proud. He fell in love with me for the same reasons He fell in love with Teresa. And that's why, I guess, we get along so well!!
This morning, I got up and I boldly said to God, "I hate my 8 am classes. I can't make morning Mass with the sisters and it's really taking a toll on my Spiritual Life. I wish I could just...ugh... I hate 8 ams!" Of course, I laughed, because most people aren't that bold with God. But as our relationship goes, God was just as bold in His answer. He said, "Bec, my dear, be late." Since God knows me so well, He knows how much I hate being late. Being on time is late for me. And yet, He had the audacity to tell me to be late. Really? And so what did I do? I stayed for Mass. And it was so worth it. Not only did I get to pray with my sisters, but I got to celebrate my best friend's feast day with them! And it's a day I consider my own feast day because of my deep devotion to her. The readings were perfect! And I said to God that if Sister Regina plays my favorite composition of the Alleluia, I will know how much I am loved. Did she? Of course!
I know that today is a great day! The weather is beautiful, I was only two minutes late to class, it's Teresa's feast day,I have no homework due today, I get to paint tonight, and I've been getting to see so many of my favorite sisters. Yes, I've even run across campus a few times just for a great big hug from Sister George! Oh and I also got to talk to my High School principal this morning! Life is just great and I am truly feeling the love of God today! In my prayer today, I can't help but thank my best friend, Teresa, for knowing how to celebrate a feast day! When I look at her face, I see so much young wisdom, bold reformation, and true friendship with God. When I look at her, I see my own reflection. How great it is to know we are loved by God and that He alone is all we need!! Truth!!
Also, shout out to my Sister, Sister Teresa Mary on her blessed feast day!!
As some of you know, I'm a student leader at my college and so, I got the chance to move in a week early and attend meetings and workshops all week (which will essentially be my future as an educator...). Today, I and my fellow peers were given the opportunity to attend the first ever Student Leadership Institute at my University. The day included multiple sessions and seminars we could attend to learn more about aspects of leadership. One in particular was called "At Sea With God." However, one of my friends misread the title and called it "A Sea of God." For some reason, I found that a little more fitting.
You see, one of the question presented was, "If I were a boat, what type of boat would I be?" So many different types of boats were presented like fishing boats, sail boats, kayaks, canoes, passenger liners, cargo ships, ice breakers and so many more. However, I didn't need those options to choose from. I already knew what type of boat I would be. There was a picture on the screen, similar to the one above. That's my boat.
I absolutely love water. As Brad Paisley says, "I have a love affair with water." True life. But I absolutely love being in/on boats. While I'm terrified of sinking in a huge passenger liner in the middle of the ocean, I would have no qualms about sailing in a little boat across the ocean. Ever since I was little, I've wanted to build a boat like this with my dad and then do something crazy like sail across the ocean with him. True story. I would absolutely love it.
So why a meager, little, wooden sailboat? Well for one, Jesus was a carpenter. However, there's barely any room from anyone in my boat. Just me. And my journey through life has been and will be the road less traveled, or the seas less sailed. So, I am solo in my journey. However, many people come and go in my life so, of course, there is room for one person if they choose. But I am the only person that can live this life God has planned for me. So, it's a small boat. This means there's not much room for belongings. I've always had this desire to get rid of everything but a few necessities. So in my boat, I'd have only a few things. I'd have my trusty adventure backpack (I've seriously become so attached to that old thing...), my journal, a throw away camera (or a few), a blanket, of course, maybe a pair of flip flops, my bathing suit definitely, my bible, some changes of clothes, and my teddy bear. Oh, and some food. But that's it. I don't need much, so why bring much. My little boat gives enough room to sleep in, and enough room to sail in, and to row in. I would love it. Oh and the name of my boat would be Humility.
This boat not only sighs adventure, but it look worn, after much use. It looks like it's withstood so much challenge and chaos. It shows the hard work of long laboring and sailing. I imagine that big, tough, calloused hands have made my boat; the hands of my God. You see, God has given me the sea to sail, but it is up to me to get my boat moving. So, I must sail, catch God's wind, or row. Sometimes the waves will get rough and bumpy, sometimes there might be a storm at sea, and sometimes the waters will be calm. My little boat will be able to withstand it all; it's had tons of practice! And to be honest, I don't know if I'd have an anchor in my boat except only to be anchored in Christ, because I know with God, He will take me so many places. I won't be staying anywhere for real long!
Yes, that is my boat. A tiny, humble sailboat. Made from wood by hand. Roughed up by years of sailing, but able to withstand so many more years!! But most importantly it will be at sea with God in the sea of God. I will constantly be surrounded by God as I will be surrounded by water. It will just like being wrapped in a hug with Jesus!!! In my boat!
"A Daddy holds pictures of his daughters in his wallet
where his money used to be."
"My father didn't tell me how to live; he lived and let me watch him do it."
-Clarence Budington Kelland
This morning's Gospel was about Jesus telling the little ones to come to Him. Our homilist today spoke about how God loves when we act as children (not childish...) because children are so easy to love. In listening to the Gospel, I reflected back to a question sparked in one of my Theology classes my Freshmen year of College. Sister asked the class to imagine God as Daddy...not Father, but Daddy. She told us to imagine what He would look like, smell like, feel like, act like. I remember sharing with the class that my God as "Daddy" had a bristly beard and sat on the sofa after a long day of work. He would smell like oil and machinery, and wear a dark, plaid shirt that was soft from wear. He would probably have some stains on his pants, too, from work. But the best part of my God as "Daddy" was curling up on his lap and sticking my head in the crook of his neck while we napped and watched the news before dinner. I felt safe there and protected; nothing was going to hurt me. In response, Sister said, "Well that description is so good, either because you're an English major OR you've had that experience." Without realizing it, I had described a typical day with my earthly Daddy when I was younger. Yes my God as "Daddy" was exactly like my earthly Daddy. Which totally explains why I've always been a "Daddy's Girl" in both ways.
Last week, my daddy took off from work to spend a week's vacation with his three "little" girls. Every morning, after I would come home from Mass, we'd take off, headed for a new adventure. Whether we were going to Roadside America in the middle of no where Pennsylvania or traipsing through North Philadelphia just to find the "World's Largest Cellophaned Piece of Apple Pie," it was a new adventure. My dad was always one to "wander." He has a gypsy soul and always had dream of sailing around the world, navigating by the stars. I love that about him. I guess that's where I get my desire for adventure and my own gypsy soul. I get my deep faith from my daddy, and my undying, obnoxious and rambunctious laughter from him, too. I get my quiet peace (occasionally) from him but what I really get from him, is his simplicity.
"You're like a Sunday morning, full of grace and full of Jesus. I wish I could be more like you," I wish I could say to him, because it's true. He's the most humble man I know, and the most selfless. (I knew I was going to cry while writing this....) If anyone asks me about my daddy, I instantly go off talking about how much I love him. I talk about how is my best friend, and that without him, I don't know where I would be. I really do love my daddy so much because of all he selflessly does for me. He works twelve hours a day, five days a week just so he can put me and my sisters through CATHOLIC school. He comes home from those twelve hour shifts and cooks dinner for us kids. He drives out to school just to see me on a Sunday night at Mass. He'll mail me stupid things on crazy holidays just so I get mail (because I love mail). He does everything for me and so much more. I cry when I think of his humility, his simplicity and his gentleness. I love my daddy so much.
This post can never do my dad any justice, but he is my biggest hero. I love him with all my heart. I want him to be there to walk me down the aisle when I make vows. I want him to bake my vow cake. I want him to dance with me at the after party I'm planning. I want him to be with me everywhere I go. And my deepest prayer is that he grows to be really, really, really, really old so I never have to let him go. I love you, Daddy. I can't thank you enough for everything, the sacrifices, the laughter, the love and the faith. I am so blessed to have such a wonderful Daddy.
"Hardships there are, but the land is green and the sun always shineth."
Last night, I fell asleep to the sound of my little sister, Lizzie, snoring on my bedroom floor. I was snuggled under my blanket and tried for hours to fall asleep! But, I couldn't. I was missing the sounds of crickets chirping, dogs barking, laughter from the children, and so much more. I was missing the beautiful, Jamaican breezes, the glorious moon and stars shining, and the precious faces of the children. I was so sore after becoming a human jungle gym, and yet, pain never felt so good! As I attempted time and time about to fall asleep, quiet tears fell down my cheek and hit the pillow. I miss Jamaica so much!
Wednesday, July 25, was an early morning. My dear Sister Mary, picked me up from the Motherhouse at 7 and we headed over to the convent for Mass with the sisters. We gathered together for breakfast (I didn't eat because I am such an anxious traveler) and conversation. Before I left, I went around to every single sister in the room and hugged them...twice. Sister Mary was cracking up at my hugginess and my love! We then drove three hours to the airport where we met the other girls coming with us. Our flight from Baltimore to Miami was about two hours and then we had an hour and a half flight to Jamaica. But, by the time we got into Jamaica, it was ten o'clock. We then had a two and a half hour drive to our orphanage. We got picked up from the Montego Bay airport in a small, white "bus" but really it was a twelve passenger van. The two back seats were filled with all the donation bags and Everton. Then, eight of us had to smush together on two rows of seats while Father and two others sat in the front. What an uncomfortable adventure, and yet...I, of course, loved every moment of it. By the time we got to the orphanage, it was almost one in the morning...but midnight in Jamaican time. Our house was three rooms: two bedrooms and a living room/kitchen. The sisters had one room and we had another...five girls and three beds. Two bathrooms, both equipped with showers...which were really pipes out of which cold water poured. Living was simply and easy; I was excited. Once we got settled, I passed out only to wake up at seven US time/six Jamaica time. Needless to say, I was anxious to start my day!
Our days were filled with eating meals with the children, walking for hours with the children, playing for hours with the children and living twenty-four seven with the children. I loved every minute of it! To be honest, there was no hard adjustment to anything, not even not having a cell phone (that was a relief!) Being around 33 children from ages 2-18 was just like being at a full Gutherman family party with all my cousins!! Every day we would take a walk around the beautiful, mountainous, green, Jamaican land. Sister Mary and I would almost always wind up walking with each other and the little babies. I carried a little one every day whether it was a rambunctious two year old Faith or her twin sister, a sleeping Grace, or three year old Shauniel on my shoulders or his twin sister, Shanta-lee, on my back. Sometimes I had both Faith and Grace. I loved it. I looked so forward to those walks, and I think Sister Mary did, too. Since we had the little ones, we often lagged behind the others and were the last ones back but we talked a lot about so much. I really got to know her as a person and now I love her even more! We would meet so many of the local people on our walks and they were so friendly. On our last day, a young man named Chevron walked with us and talked with us the whole way. Sister Mary thinks he was "taken with me" but since it was the last day in Jamaica, I guess I'll never know for sure! His cornrows were pretty awesome though!!
After lunch, which was the biggest meal of the day, we would separate into reading groups and I had the little ones: Faith, Grace, Shauniel, Shanta-lee and Dillon (he's four and precious!) Shocker there!! I would gather them all around me, under a palm tree by Chapel and read stories to them. If they sat still and listened carefully to all four books, they would get a "sweetie" (candy) at the end. They were always so good for me. After reading groups, we would start a craft or activity. We did anything from painting to friendship bracelets to water balloon tosses and soccer games. After dinner we had activities, too, which were sometimes dance parties or more games. Then, when all the little ones went to bed, the older kids would stay up and play cards with us. What fun, honestly! Our meals were anything from pancakes for dinner to porridge for breakfast to a whole fish (fins and tail included) for lunch. Everything always tasted soooooo good!
As I write this, tears fill up in my eyes. I wish I could go back and stay for so much longer. I miss my little friends in my reading group especially. They would constantly run into me (literally) and throw their hands up in the air to be picked up. They would cover me in kisses after I taught them how to say "I love you, kisses" and blow kisses, too. They would eat their lollipops while sitting on my lap and slobber all over me and sometimes wash their hands on my legs. They were so easy to love and I did love them...I still do. When I was saying goodbye, both Faith and Grace were swooped up into my arms and immediately they said, "I love you, kisses," and plastered kisses on my cheeks. I cried.
The older children were great, too. While I couldn't pick them up or cuddle them, they taught me so much about their lives and culture. One of the older twins, Lamoya, taught me a traditional, Jamaican song in "patois," their language. I mastered it! Another boy, Shyan, could play a guitar and we sang together for a good hour and a half one day! That day, I decided my goal for the year is to learn guitar so I can play for the kids next Summer. Speaking of music, Sunday morning at Mass was beautiful! Ironically, I knew all of the songs and so I sang along with the beautiful Jamaican voices. I was in Heaven!
There are so many stories to tell and I'll be telling stories for years of this beautiful place. I wish I could go back for so long and stay among those children! I love them all so much!! And as Soniel, one of the older boys, said to me on the last day, "I wish their was a bridge connecting USA to Jamaica just so we could see each other again." I really wish I could see them all right now! My hips, back and shoulders feel empty without a little one attached to me, and my voice feels like it could really sing a Jamaican spiritual hymn. I miss playing cards with the older children and holding hands with the middle-school kids on our walks. I miss having mystery meals for breakfast, lunch and dinner, but what I miss the most is the laughter and simplicity. Laughter is my favorite sound and I miss it so much! I can't wait to go back! I am so blessed!
My Partner in Service for the week -Sister Mary
Myself, Sonia and Faith
The Chapel
Myself and Romario
Shauniel
Casually drinking at the pizza place...not me, just Sister.
and I thank You and praise You, from earth's humble shores.
Take me, I'm Yours."
- For Those Tears I Died, Marsha J. Stevens
The first thing people ask when I tell them I just spent a week helping out at Vacation Bible School (which will from here on out be referred to as VBS) is where. While they are usually expecting me to say my Parish, I can only answer: The Methodist Church across the street from my house. You should see the shocked faces. Me? A devout Catholic helping out the Methodists? Who woulda thought? However, those shocked faces were nothing compared to the faces I received the first year I helped with VBS and told the group I was Catholic. I might have given the one lady a heart attack. No, but in all seriousness, it was a shock all around. And yet, I was confused. Just because we were different denominations of Christianity, I didn't see any reason we couldn't easily work together. By the grace of God, I casually mentioned this my first year and within minutes we were faith sharing. By the end of the week, you never would have known there was any difference between us.
I loved VBS so much my first year, that I went back again to help for a second year. Once again, I was with my first and second graders but we had new teachers. It was that year that I was so blessed to work with Miss Carol and Miss Christine. I've realized that as close-knit as my Parish family is, this church community is even closer. Of course, I am always an odd ball out because I don't attend services there, and so I can easily be pointed out. While I've always been able to stick out in every situation, this one was so different, unique and grace-filled. Miss Carol and I got to bond over tons of things that special week, like dancing to the VBS music videos to sharing our bibles. Of course, I HAD to share my bible with her because I have more books in mine than she does. True story!! However, just like my bible, hers was just as bookmarked, underlined and filled with her favorite verses. It was such a blessed second VBS with that church community!
Of course, the third time for anything is always the charm and thus, this year at VBS was the most blessed, I believe. Unfortunately, Miss Carol and I didn't get the chance to help the first and second graders together, but she was still there. And let me tell you how much Miss Carol helped me out this past week. On the first day she sought me out just to give me my VBS staff shirt. She's beautiful! In the middle of the week, after all the little children had gone home, we were casually chatting away about God's goodness and suddenly she told me that sometimes, what I post on Facebook, is exactly what she needed to read. Before I knew it, both of us had gentle tears in our eyes. Of course, I went home that night and immediately started writing her a three-page letter on how she has changed my life.
You see, Miss Carol accepted me with loving arms and right away put our slight faith differences aside. She agreed with my former statement...why should those slight differences interfere with God's goodness and God's plan. She not only did that for me, but she also allowed me to open my own eyes. Often, I don't think twice about what I post on Facebook or on this blog or on Twitter because it's from my heart and that's all that matters. I never thought it could affect someone else in a positive way or bring them closer to God. But she opened my eyes to this gift which I possess. It's pretty neat I guess. Miss Carol accepted me as me and loved me just as so.
So Thursday night, I handed her the letter and left the building. Friday night, as soon as I walked in (that was the day I really needed a hug), she came bustling over and said, "Here's your hug and now let's go talk about your letter." Well, since I really needed the hug and when I'm in that type of mood, I'm like a bubble that once touched I just burst, I held on trying to cover up the tears that were kind of slipping out. So, as I re-gathered my senses, we went up the stairs to the sanctuary where Miss Carol shared her favorite hymn with me; one that always makes her cry. And let me tell you that while I never heard it, or even thought about reading the music, I simply read the words of the hymn. I couldn't help the tears...ok I was literally sobbing reading the beautiful words of this hymn. I posted the third verse above because it is just so fitting. As I was sobbing, the little kids were filing into my pew and Miss Carol had to go solve a major dilemma. Just as I finished sobbing, Miss Carol came back to tell me that she believes I have the heart of an old lady, a wise old, church-going lady, who she can talk to as an equal, not as a mentor to a child. She admitted that it's funny because to her, I am a child, I am only 20 years old (which I think is old but...to each her own) and yet, she doesn't see that in me. She sees someone far beyond her years.
Miss Carol not only was an instrument of God when I needed her, but she remains still that gift from God in my life. I know she is praying for me every day and I hope she knows I'm praying for her, too. Of course, I know I can count on her storming Heaven for my service trip in two days. Miss Carol is such a beautiful woman of God, so full of gentleness, love and joy in the Lord!!! I am so blessed by Miss Carol in my life; she is such an inspiration for me. May God bless Miss Carol and may God bless the Methodists; I sure do love them!!!
