The Most Beautiful Thing

"I was blessed to see the most beautiful thing, 

and it wasn't the Rockies."

- Deacon T

      On the rare occasion that we attend a Vigil Mass, I always find it a bit hard to focus. I am so accustomed to starting my Sundays or Feast Days off with Mass and quiet that I find it hard to be centered after a long day of noise and activity. Despite this, New Year's Eve is one of those times we attend the vigil Mass. We were among the few and far between; I could count the amount of young people on my two hands. There were barely any families. I was finding it even harder to focus because of this small gathering of church. But God found my attention anyway. 

     Our deacon opened his homily be inviting the parishioners to reflect on the good things that happened to us in 2019. Immediately, Joe and I looked at our baby - she was, by far, the best part of 2019 for us. He then went on to describe the beautiful sights he was blessed to see on his family vacation over the summer - his favorite family trip. As he went on, however, he said, "As beautiful as these sights were, they were not the most beautiful thing." He then described the wonder and awe that encompassed him at the birth of his son. 

     He described how amazing it was to witness this but also how incredible it was to see others love on his son as they visited, learned of his birth, and more. I had tears rolling down my cheeks as I squeezed our little girl a bit tighter on my lap. Yes. This was exactly what I had experienced  and it was exactly what was flooding through my mind. Every little detail of the day Hannah was born until the moment she was placed in my arms was vividly playing. I remember every second of the day and evening. I was so happy to have that night with our new little family; just the three of us. It was perfect.

     So why did Deacon mentioned this most beautiful event? Because New Year's Eve is the Vigil of the Solemnity of Mary. He likened the experience he had to what might have been for the Holy Family. If he, and I, and others like us, are in such wonder and awe of our own babies at their births, how much more wonder and awe must have filled Mary and Joseph's hearts at the sight of THE HOLY CHILD. Did they cry at the sight of this baby child like so many have? Did they hold the Christ Child to their chests and kiss his little baby head? Did they watch this baby sleep next to them in the manger? Did Mary sleep at all during those first 24 hours? Did she worry about how she would feed him or cloth him or change him? Had Joseph ever changed or held a baby before? It was if suddenly, I was taken back to the night Christ was born via the birth of my own child.
    Imagining and reflecting on what might it have been like for the Holy Family as they welcomed the birth of their Christ Child has been a beautiful journey of my faith. It leads me not just down the wonder and awe of the birth of Christ but also His infancy. Each morning my baby girl stares, smiles and now talks at the crucifixes that are hung above her bassinet. I wholeheartedly believe that she is praying, that she KNOWS Jesus. I wonder if her image of God is that of another baby friend or if her image of God is of a friendly, bearded man who kisses her head all the time, like her daddy. Who does she see when she talks to Jesus? When I bring her to Mass with me daily, I sometimes imagine myself taking her to a baby play date...am I crazy? is it absurd? perhaps. But this is the reflection I have been led on.
   
     In light of the Golden Globes and the comments made about women achieving dreams, I can only say that this journey of Motherhood has led me down a path of utmost respect for the Mothers in the world but even more so for the Blessed Mother. She was not planning to have a baby when she did but by her yes to Divine Motherhood, her dreams and ours, for that matter, have grown beyond understanding. Motherhood has been nothing short of a blessing for me; my dreams have exploded into many, many more, knowing that I am better because of my daughter and all my future children. Motherhood is my best dream and as a result of this, my spiritual journey continues to be enlightened. Every day I am surprised at the goodness of my daughter and I am blown away by the blessings I reap through her. Mary must have felt this way, too. For if this is how I am feeling daily, complete wonder and awe of the ways my child leads me to God, Mary must have felt this even more so; her child was LITERALLY GOD.

     Thank you, God, for my daughter. Thank you for speaking to my heart daily through her. I am blessed with the most beautiful thing.

Pondering These Things

"Mary treasured up these things and

pondered them in her heart."

Luke 2:19

      "How did you get a baby who is so good in church?"

      "Your little baby is so cute; I've never seen such a young baby so well-behaved in church. She didn't even cry."

      "I love watching you love your baby during church."

      These, as well as, many other similar sentiments, are phrases I hear often after Mass on Saturdays and Sundays. Our pastor reminds me every time he sees baby girl that she is just so good and so alert during the Mass. Other parishioners comment to those making the above statements that she has been going to daily Mass since she was only one month old. I must admit, even I, myself, am shocked at how easy it is to bring her to church. I often ponder these statements - how did I get so lucky?

      Normally during Mass, I hold baby girl facing outward so she can see, hear and sense everything going on. Not only does facing her outward help me stay focused (because, let's be honest...it's so hard to not play with her cute little face), but it allows her to become aware of the space she's in. I sing in her ear when I hold her that way. I say the words of the prayers in her ear, too. She usually bops her head around, taking in her surroundings. But this past Sunday, I held her facing me, against my chest. She put her right arm against my shoulder, her head, she placed right on my chest and her left hand was in her mouth. I could hear her sucking her fingers until eventually, she stopped; she fell asleep. Later that afternoon, she fell asleep like that again on my chest. And then again, before I could put her down for bed. 

      As I rested my chin on her forehead, I was reminded of the words of a meditation I heard recently. It brought to mind the image of Mary, having just given birth to Jesus, holding, smelling and breathing with her baby. I became more and more aware of baby girl's breath in union with mine. I smelled her head and remembered Mary also smelling her baby boy. As I held her tightly, I imagined Mary holding her son close at each moment of his life. I wondered, then, if that was how Mary prayed. 

      In a conversation about prayer, recently, I was asked how I pray. Without thinking too much, I said, "by looking at my baby." Each time I look at her, watch her grow and learn about new things, or watch her eyes flutter as she dreams, I am brought to the mystery of God and God's creation. It is still so fascinating to think about my baby once being the size of a poppy seed. I am baffled by the fact that for 9 months I carried her within and within a matter of a few minutes, she was lying on my chest. I can hardly wrap my mind around this creation; she is so tiny and yet, so incredibly intricately designed. She is beauty, goodness and light; my heart swells with so much love for her each time I look into eyes. She was so worth the wait and I never want to put her down. She is my means of prayer. 

     But also, I am led deeper into prayer when I watch others interact with her. I love watching my husband, my Joseph, hold her, snuggle her, look in her eyes, and talk with her. Having loved him so much before, I love him even more now. Watching him interact with her, watching him pray, leads me deeper into the mystery. When I see how others look at her, awe at her, and enter into the mystery of her, I am reminded of the shepherds and the wise men and all those who came to visit Jesus. Mary willingly handed them her son to hold, to stare at, to talk to. She watched others interact with her son, her source of light, goodness and beauty. She watched and held these things in her heart; she pondered them. 

     There are not enough words to describe how lifted I feel when I enter into prayer by holding, watching or smelling my baby. There is no preparation like "Now, I am going to pray." It is as simple as just touching her hand; suddenly I am engulfed in mystery. She is the pathway by which I reach the divine; she is the means by which I am joined to God. There are not enough words to describe the overwhelming presence of God I feel when I watch others interact with her. She is so pure and good and beautiful; I tell her every day. Through these things, so many experience God. 

    So how did I get such a good baby; I'm not quite sure. Perhaps she, too, is entering into prayer in the sacred spaced. Perhaps she is aware of the presence of the Eucharist. Perhaps she is aware that it is her space for prayer. Perhaps she is so good because she is somehow aware that so many people are watching her and by watching her, are finding themselves in a deeper prayer. Of these things, I am not sure. But I do know that I cannot imagine a celebration of Liturgy without her now. Each time I witness the sacrifice of the Mass, I am reminded of the sacrifice of my body and how through that sacrifice, I was given the greatest gift this side of Heaven has to offer. How blessed am I to have this direct pathway to my God and how lucky I am to share her with so many! How can you not look at her and immediately be elevated in prayer?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EatBZECJ0v4

Blessed Among Women

"You were chosen by the Father, 

you were chosen for the Son.

Blessed are you among women, 

blest, in turn, all women, too."

     "It's no wonder your heart is breaking; it's the first time in 12 months that she isn't attached to you," one of my dearest colleagues said to me as she hugged me tightly on my second day back to school. 

      On the first day back to school, I cried putting her in her crib fast asleep, all the way to school, in the parking lot in my car, in the parking lot when someone welcomed me back to school, with the students who gave me so many welcoming hugs back, when any one person asked me how I was, and on the way home. On the second day back to school, I cried putting her in her crib fast asleep, part of the way to school, for a few minutes in the parking lot, not so much with people who asked me how I was and not in front of the students. On the third day back to school, I cried while pumping in the convent because I wished I was feeding my baby not the pump, in the chapel during Communion Service and during lunch when baby girl came for lunch. On the fourth day back, I cried when I left her wide awake in her crib whispering to her, telling her to go back to sleep. On the fifth day...it was the weekend and I didn't cry. 

     The church people asked me how my first week back to school was. Before I could tell them how weepy it was, I was weeping with them. My heart felt like it broke every morning, kept breaking all day long, and was only put back together when my baby was back in my arms at the end of the school day. It was an emotional pain like I had never experienced and I was battling with the why and how of it all. That's when my dear colleague made me realize that it truly was the first time my little baby was not with me in over a year. Yes, just about this time she was beginning her life in my womb. I had just "met" her 12 months prior and she was a part of me in a way no other person could be. And now, suddenly, like ripping off a bandaid (but so much worse), she was not with me. That really hit me hard. Yet, I cried out of thanksgiving for that moment and all the moments of grace I experienced last week. 

    I am surrounded by women who are mothers. While these women have been my friends during my time of employment, I felt almost instantly connected to them on a deeper level; we are moms. I am surrounded by women who are mothers and who believe that life begins at conception. I am surrounded by women who are not afraid to speak that belief and we are blessed to work in a place that allows us (and requires us) to speak in this pro-life manner. Because of this, these moms played such a integral part in my return to school. From the moment I arrived in the school parking lot, my (mom) friends were conscious of the fact that aside from it being my first day back to school, it was the first moment without my baby. They hugged me, they cried with me, they held me while I openly sobbed about missing my baby. They prayed with me, they consoled me, they held space with me. In the place where I am more than often the one who is doing this for others, they were doing it for me on a day when I so greatly needed love, peace and counsel. These women did what women do and did so with such grace; they were with me, their sister. 

   In addition to these women being mothers, they are also the mothers of many of my students. Perhaps it is because I work with their moms or maybe there is no correlation, but these students often visit in my office. I have the unique experience of being a mom and helping my students understand mom-ness, but also I am not yet old enough to be "their moms" so I can also understand their teenage girl-ness. Yet, despite being "just" teenagers, these young women are so conscious, gentle and understanding. It is because of them that I was reminded that I get to be surrounded by daughters all day long. While my favorite daughter is at home with her grandparents, I get to spend all day with the "second best" daughters. They are my reminder that one day my daughter will go to high school and hopefully have an in school mom, too. 

     I am blessed among women. I wake up in the morning to a beautiful baby girl who will one day turn into a beautiful woman with a heart so pure and gentle. I am surrounded by the love of fellow moms who check in on my throughout my days just to be with me and remind me that the pain I feel being away from my baby is real but also that I am going to be okay; they did it and I can, too. I am surrounded by daughters; young women who may eventually become mothers and aunts. I am blessed to be in this lace of love; so many separate threads that connect to make something so beautiful.Without these women, I would not have made it through the week. I would have thrown the towel in so quickly. These women are beauty, light, goodness and more. They are my friends, my sisters. I cannot thank them enough. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cN67U2lc7vQ

 

My Magnificat

"My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord

and my Spirit rejoices in God, my Savior.

For he has looked with mercy on my lowliness.

For the mighty God has done great things for me."

- Holy Is His Name, John Michael Talbot

      As a lover of music and a lover of words, there have been many occasions on which I simply get overwhelmed. Today's young people can't really say that their music contains rich vocabulary, but I can tell you that there is still music being produced with words of a little more depth than "yeah," "baby, baby, baby," and "oh, oh, oh." Thank God for these musical groups and artists, as their music is a gift. However, there are many genres of music which tap into my heart strings, whether it be because of the memories it brings me, the moment in which they are being played or the depth of words in them. Whether I am driving, dancing or discovering music, I sometimes, while listening deep, find myself choked up. I don't dismiss those tears, but rather, I embrace them. I know, with every tear shed, the song is growing in importance to my journey. Naturally, I am only writing of this, because this weekend, I had one of those moments. 

     I was blessed to be asked to guest cantor at my home parish this past weekend as we celebrated our feast day, St. Thomas Aquinas. While I had to drive a little longer and wake up a little earlier, it was still going home for Mass, for me. Singing has always been a special gift for me, a way for me to praise my God. Every time before Mass, I sit on the altar, patiently waiting and conversing with my Lord. I ask him to make my voice strong in his praise and I thank him for the gift he has given me. Whether I am in the pew, or cantoring, it is my way. And so, it becomes that each word in the song, is then my prayer; a prayer I have not written and yet, can pray. I will be honest and say, I hadn't given much thought to the list of songs on the schedule. And perhaps, that is why, when the piano intro began for "Holy Is His Name," I was taken aback more than I usually am. 

     This song has been a favorite of mine for as long as I can remember. It is my favorite composition of Mary's prayer, the Magnificat, a prayer I have constantly re-written in my own words. In her moment of fear, Mary did nothing but praise her God; she found nothing but joy in her humility. The words of Mary have meant so much to me for so long, that when I cannot find the words to express my gratitude to God, I depend on these words. Singing her words only mean so much more. So when it came time to plan the Liturgy for our wedding, I knew right away that instead of the traditional "Ave Maria," a prayer to Mary, I wanted the Magnificat, the prayer of Mary. I remember Father Rudy telling our bridal party and our parents at our rehearsal, that this small part of the Mass would be my special chance to ask Mary to help me be a good woman, a good wife and a good mother. But, I knew it would be more than that. 

      Mary, in her magnificat, glorifies the goodness for the suddenness of womanhood, wife-hood and motherhood being thrust upon her. While she had a choice, her yes must have been one filled with all kind of emotion. Any "yes" to God's plan would be filled with emotion - fear, doubt, feeling unsure, joy, gratitude, love, and so much more. Because, let's be real, saying "yes" to God's plan, is saying "yes" to the unknown. In my prayer life, my "yes" to God's plan, not "God's plan that says this, that and the other thing will happen," just simply, "God's plan," was filled with emotion. It was a real, "Your will, God, not my own," every day and will be for the rest of my life. And because of that, the Magnificat becomes even more real for me. While it seems to elicit different thoughts now, it is still just as real for me as it had been before. Actually, it may be even more real. 

    So as the music began, I could only smile at the true depth of connection my heart was feeling with the Magnificat. It wasn't just a song; they weren't just words. It was a prayer and it was my prayer. As I sang, it was my soul glorifying the Lord, my life being humbled by his presence in my life. The lord has truly done so many great things for me. And then, I choked up. My eyes, my heart and my soul welled up. I thought back to December 8, the beautiful Marian feast day on which Joe and I will celebrate our marriage as an sign and symbol of the Church, and how blessed I've been since then in only a month and a half. I considered all the beautiful lives who witnessed our marriage, religious, married, single, young, old but all the same beautiful. The unlimited support we've been given and all thanks to our amazing God. 

     Mary and I haven't always had this beautiful relationship and I truly believe I needed her in ways I never imagined. She will be my source of strength for a continuous yes, for strength in marriage and as a wife, and eventually, for strength in motherhood. I can only thank her for being my friend, my confidante and role model. And because of that, last night I went to visit her in the IHM Motherhouse Chapel. I felt peaceful being there, praying with the Sisters, praying the words of the Magnificat of Evening Prayer. But the icing on the cake of my feelings of being blessed, was the intercession prayed for married couples. There weren't pools of tears in my eyes that time, but there was a smile stretched far across my face. My soul truly glorifies the Lord, for he has been so incredibly good to me. 

Pilgrimage (The Catholic Version of a Music Festival) Pt. 1

"If music be the food of love, play on."

- Twelfth Night, Shakespeare

      Most recently there has been plenty of articles about going to music festivals. There's the pre-festival hype, the "how you know you survived (enter name here) music festival," and the post-festival blues. While I've never experienced going to a music festival as huge as Glastonbury or Coachella, I participated in a walking pilgrimage this weekend and based on what Buzzfeed has to say, they are basically the same thing. Only a pilgrimage has way home to offer. 

     While I couldn't participate in the entire 3/4 day walking pilgrimage, I was blessed enough to participate in the last day during which I walked just about ten miles. The group with whom I walked started at St. Adalbert's Parish in Port Richmond and walked for three days to the National Shrine of Our Lady of Czestochowa in Doylestown. That's a lot of miles and a lot of walking. People of all ages partook in the pilgrimage from various different places. Overall, there were about 3000 people at the closing mass. The youngest pilgrim was only a few months old and the oldest was 79 years old. There were families, single people, children, babies, and older people. There were people who spoke only Polish and people like me, who didn't understand a single word. Oh, I forgot to mention that 99% of the pilgrimage was in Polish. So, needless to say, that was an interesting part of my journey. 

      As we walked, we prayed, we listened to faith witnesses, we sang, we danced, we praised the Lord. We made friends, sisters and brothers. Despite not being able to speak the main language of the weekend, I was able to connect with so many people. I was surrounded in so much faith and felt closer to those with whom I walked and prayed. I experienced God in a brand new way and it was beautiful. The faith sharing, the pain from walking so far, the getting to know people on a faith level, was beautiful. 

      We made it to the shrine about 12:15pm and we were to celebrate Mass together at 2:00pm. As we were waiting for Mass to begin, we watched the church get filled and packed like sardines. People were every where, even on the altar. I felt that despite never having experienced something to this capacity, I felt like I knew all about it; like I had read about it some where. Then I saw a few girls walk into the church with those weird flower headband things people wear. That's when I realized, I had read all about something similar this pilgrimage. Music festivals are all the rage and the similarities are insane. Here's what I discovered: 

1. Pilgrimages are filled with music, clapping, and dancing. Just like music festivals (duh). People walk with their guitars and play it at the most random times. All the cool kids have one. There's also drums, violins, flutes; you name it, it's there. People just join your walking group with instruments and play right along with whoever is there. Even when you aren't walking and you're sitting for a break, there's music being played somewhere. If someone can't play an instrument or didn't bring one, there's always a voice to be heard. People who can sing, sing and people who can't sing, sing. There's lots of clapping, dancing, and laughing. The only difference between music at a pilgrimage and music at a music festival? We sing hymns instead of pop culture music. 

2. Showering is few and far between. Basically you shower the morning of the pilgrimage, then walk all day only to sleep on a Church hall floor. There's no showers. The next day, same thing. Walk all day, stop at the Church, no showers. Three days of this. If it rains, you're going to get dirty. To keep packing light, you bring maybe two sets of clothes. You're going to smell. You're going to get sweaty. You're going to have terribly stinky feet. Your hair will be knotty, greasy, icky. You're children will be even dirtier because somehow kids always manage to get dirtier when they do the same activities as parents. You're going to have to get comfortable with the fact that everyone stinks after three days. And don't even think about apologizing for your stench. I repeat, everyone stinks. 

*according to my sources pilgrims do shower. I rest my case, however, because there were no showers in the church hall. They get water...somehow!*

3. You're going to get very close with people. At music festivals one typically pitches a tent in a field of tents. You get to know your neighbors pretty quickly because if not, you'll forget where your tent is. On a larger scale, pilgrimages do encourage you to pack a tent or a hammock. The truth is on a walking pilgrimage, one is never really sure where he or she will be sleeping. In this case, people were camped out on church hall floors. EVERYONE WAS IN ONE ROOM. That's right, babies, kids, parents, single people, everyone. Imagine getting some sleep after a very long day of walking. By day three, you're bound to be exhausted. 

4. You make friends in the most unique ways. In many cases, music festivals bring together people from every language and culture. Pilgrimages, too. Now while this pilgrimage was mostly a Polish pilgrimage, there were still people of many different cultures represented. People say the universal language is love. Most times I agree. But this weekend, there were two universal languages: coffee and God. And since God is love, well I guess the universal language was LOVE. Truth is. It doesn't matter, it didn't matter what language I spoke. People were grabbing my hands, dancing, singing and talking with me whether I understood them or not. You learn how to communicate despite a language barrier (I had a personal translator though which was fun. Thanks, Sister!). The people you walk with are suddenly your sisters and brothers. They hug you, kiss you, make you dance and sing and feel like a complete fool for Jesus. It's amazing. 

5. You are forever changed. A pilgrimage changes you. Whether you walked because you wanted to, someone invited you, or you were basically fighting the Lord and someone dragged you along, you will be changed. You will not be able to recognize your feet after a few days. I kid you not. Your feet will probably be covered in bandages, gold bond and have a number of blisters. You will have terrible tan lines, too. Especially if you're a nun. Talk about only have tan wrists, ankles and ears (but only half way). Your feet, face and hands will be so physically changed. But don't worry, it's only temporary. Your heart will change, too. You will feel a peace, joy and excitement like never before. There is nothing more beautiful to me than a group of people singing, dancing and chanting praise to the Lord. At music festivals you experience the praise and worship of various different rockstars. At pilgrimage, you experience the praise and worship of the ultimate rockstars: Jesus and Mary. Your heart will unknowingly be changed by the sacrifices, the witnesses, the homilies, the sacraments. Your soul will become closer to Jesus and there's no question about it. You will feel this indescribable joy rising in your soul with every drum beat, every clap, every footstep. It feels like a thousand drum beats rising in your soul. It's amazing. 

And finally...

6. You will experience a post-pilgrimage depression. The whole time you are walking, you are walking on public streets and pathways. People driving or walking by will think you are crazy. Yet, as you are walking, you wave and think about those crazy people who do not yet know the truth of the Lord's goodness. Why aren't they joining us? you think. And just when you think that, people run and join the back of the pilgrimage. Your whole life for however many days was simply music, joy, peace, prayer, love behind all description. When you leave, reality hits you hard. You must learn to communicate in a normal way. You will experience a reverse culture shock when you go home. Living your day to day life for Jesus will be difficult again because you are no longer surrounded by people who sing and dance and pray. And as much as you might like to do that all the time, basic reality says, not exactly. However, there are plenty of ways to infiltrate your pilgrimage experience in your every day life. I promise; life after pilgrimage exists. 

     Pilgrimages aren't exactly like Musical Festivals, but the sentiments that people feel when they go to one are similar. I encourage each Catholic young person, child and old person alike to do a pilgrimage. Whether it's a day, three days, two weeks, whatever, do it. Music Festivals are great but here at pilgrimage, there is God. Jesus is present, He permeates this place. He lives and breathes and is so real. You can feel the arms of our loving Mother around you in every hug and embrace. You experience beauty in a whole different way. It's amazing. 

     Of course, the truth is that whether you experience a walking pilgrimage like I did or not, you are a pilgrim. We are pilgrims on a journey from the day of our Baptism. Our life is a journey in finding, loving and living in relationship with Jesus. Our walk from our pews to the altar during Holy Communion is a pilgrimage. It is a reminder that as we live and breathe we are journeying with Jesus.  So journey. Get those good shoes (sandals and socks) on and begin living out your journey for Jesus. You're on the journey, just out your heart in it. Trust me, my sister or brother, pilgrimage is an experience like no other. 

To Whom It May Concern. Sincerely, Rejection

"I am crying over the loss of something I never had.

How ridiculous. Mourning something that never was - 

my dashed dreams, dashed hopes, and my soured expectations."

- E.L. James

    In these past months I have experienced everything from the rush of being a new graduate to the adventure of being FREE to the anticipation of hearing from potential employers to the anxiety of being rejected by the same potential employers. What's tough about being in education is that in order to apply anywhere for teaching, you need to have your certification. The tough part about that is you can't get certified until after graduation and even then, it might take a while. So needless to say, my summer was filled with lots and lots of waiting.

    It started out as an excited adventure. I was a new graduate, I had just gotten back from my two weeks in Peru and things were looking great. I had a few promising potential employment options and so, I decided to give myself a week or so of Summer before I started typing up resumes and letters and then mailing them out. Sooner or later, I was getting all sorts of clearances in the mail but not my certification yet. But finally, it came. While I was waiting, I had gotten a call for a seemingly really promising potential employer. I had a personal connection with the school, it seemed to be something that would be perfect for a first year or two teaching, and it was a comfortable spot. The interview went so well and I was getting excited. I even let myself dream up classroom decorations and lesson plans before I heard back. I was so sure that I was going to get this job because I (and everyone under the sun) was praying for me to get the job. A week passed and I was in the middle of answering an email when my phone started ringing. Here it is, I thought, the call. I was so ready to accept the position that when they told me I wasn't chosen for the job, it didn't quite register. 

    In the process of waiting to hear back from this potential employer, I put every other resume and cover letter on hold. I was so sure that this job was mine that I stopped panicking about getting a job. At this point it was now early-July. I had only about six weeks left of summer…that was, of course, if I got a teaching job. 

     The phone call hit me hard and I actually let myself have a debbie downer day during which I stayed in bed and cried every other hour because I had no idea what I was going to do with my life. How was I ever going to use my degree? How was I going to pay off my loans? How was I going to move on with my post-grad life? How? How? How? I was so upset that a friend had to come and cheer me up a little bit. It worked but the next day, I used my blues as motivation to find a job. I searched the Archdiocesan website for DRE and Youth Ministry jobs. I sent out five letters that day and one by one the emails came back informing me that the positions had just recently be filled. Rejection again. I finished my education application packets for the Archdiocese and sent them off. Nothing. I applied to the local county library system. Again, nothing. I even applied to Barnes and Noble just as a side job to hold me over until I got a real job. I was rejected from not just one store location but two. I was starting to feel a little hopeless. That's when another friend who had been on the lookout for his own job, sent me a link for a Campus Ministry position. The application was due in two days. I sent it as soon as I could. 

     After waiting a few days, I heard back and was asked to set up a phone interview. I was so nervous that I completely messed up answering the first question. I thought I bombed the interview. But that afternoon, I got a second phone call. This time, they wanted to set up a second interview. In less than 24 hours I had to prepare multiple facets of information and material to present to an esteemed board of five administration members. I was sick to my stomach as I drove the forty minute drive to the school. I was conscious about everything from my nail polish color to my shoe choice. But I made sure I wore my BVM blue just for luck. I knew I had a an army of people praying for me so I had to let go and let God. When I did, I was amazed. 

    I was told there was one other applicant and that they would be in touch. The following week, I was on vacation with my family when I got yet another phone call. I was being called in for a third interview. At this point, I was thinking, well this is mildly extensive and maybe quite ridiculous. But the more I learned about the job, the more I wanted it. I was going to do everything I could to get it. But at the same time, I was so used to rejection by this point that I was almost sure I wasn't getting the job. I left the house the morning of my third interview with cover letters and resumes in envelopes ready to be mailed off to three more schools if I didn't get the job. Of course, a dear friend told me that they wouldn't ask me to drive all the way out to the school for a third interview if they weren't too interested. I agreed, but still was hesitant. I made the decision to not get my hopes up like I had for the last really promising job so that if I was rejected, my hopes and dreams didn't have as far a drop when they came crashing down. 

    They never asked me to prepare anything for the third interview so I basically went in cold-turkey like I had for the phone interview. This time, however, there were only two people sitting in front of me. I was asked a few more questions and when the principal asked me if I wanted to job and why, I had tears fill my eyes as I spoke about my passions. My whole life, the thing that fueled every little event of my life was my faith. This job in Campus Ministry would not only give me an outlet to keep on doing what I have been doing (service, liturgy, retreat, teach), but it would be a greater outlet for me to reach young women much like myself and allow them to do the same. If that didn't scream passion, I don't know what would have. When I finished answering, the president offered me the job. A smile grew and grew and grew across my face. I couldn't believe it. I was finally employed. I was accepted, not rejected. 

    In all of my endeavors in trying and trying to get employed, I kept lessening and lessening my expectations. I had what I thought was my dream job in mind and it was the first one to reject me. After that I started looking for jobs further and further away from my what my major was. I had always wanted to teach. But then I started looking for positions that weren't teaching but still had a religious aspect to them. Then I was looking at things that didn't even have them. And all the while, people were praying and praying for me to find a job. I remember one week visiting the IHM Motherhouse when every Sister kept asking me if I had gotten a job yet. They suddenly had faces of determination when I said no. They were going to pray even harder. Some suggested Mary in the style of IHM life, but others suggested St. Joseph, the great provider. 

   I was anxious, I must admit. But there was also a huge calm over me. In my relationship with God, I have learned that I always have to wait for good things to come my way. I had to trust that God was going to provide for me. I knew He was going to, I just didn't know when or where. I was trying to do my part, but again, it was rejection after rejection after rejection. There had to be something in all of this negative news. I was sure God was going to give me something, anything. Then, I started praying to St. Joseph myself. I kept praying to Mary (hoping she would gently push her husband to, you know, getting me a job), but I added St. Joseph to the prayer list. (I had even started praying to St. Jude, patron of hopeless causes….). Then suddenly, I was provided with a job. The connections my new job has with St. Joseph are astronomical and I know this is truly a gift from God. 

    What I learned from all this rejection in my life this past Summer was that often God allows some good things not to happen so that GREATER things CAN. So for example, all those jobs that I was applying to were good, the first one was a perfect fit, but God had something better in mind. Of course, I only saw the negative rejection at those moments. However, I was still sure that God was going to provide for me. If it wasn't for a slight positive attitude, the rejections would have gotten to me. But, I was holding on to my thin string of creative hope and praying that God would provide.

    When I landed to job, I was overjoyed. The more and more I learn about what I get to do, the more I know that this is the job God had in store the entire time. I get to coordinate service trips and projects, I get to plan liturgies (with the music!!), I get to plan retreats, I get to minister with a group of amazing young women, I get to teach a class on Catholic Social Teaching, I get to be the best Becca I can be and love every moment of living out my job. I get the feeling that God created this job for me. I feel like He literally handed it to me personally. This job was made for me. 

     Someone asked me today how I found this school. I laughed a little and said, I didn't find it, it found me. I never in a million years would have looked at the school employment site for a job if it hadn't been for the friend who sent me the link. I never thought about doing Campus Ministry after four years of English/Secondary Ed in school, even though before college that's all I ever wanted to do. I get to teach Theology, something I wanted to do from the very beginning. I get to do everything that I've fallen in love with doing the past four, if not more, years. God hooked me up real sweet. 

     This Summer was a rough one with lots of ups and downs. I was facing lots of rejection and lots of challenges. I was up against what seemed to be the world, but I knew that my God would take care of me. I trusted enough to hang on until the my thread of hope was very thin. I called on my spiritual mother to take care of me with her gentle compassion. I asked St. Joseph to provide as he did for his beloved family so many times. I prayed and prayed and so did so many others. (I can't thank you all enough, you know!). I am so happy and so beyond grateful that this place found me. God is so good. 

Introducing Mama Mary to the Methodists

"Gentle Mother, Peaceful Dove,

teach us wisdom, teach us love."

- "Hail Mary, Gentle Woman" Carey Landry

     It was time for one of my most favorite weeks of the Summer: Vacation Bible School. I was anxious to be back in the grove of actually doing something with my Summer, but also because I got to spend a week with some of my favorite people on Earth. It's only one week a year that I really get to see them, unless we bump into each other in the neighborhood. But, as Miss Char and I agreed at the end of the week, when we do finally see each other after a year, it's like no time lapsed. And that, my friends, is due to the fact that we carry each other in prayer every day.

     I couldn't wait to meet my group of favorite ladies Saturday morning to help set up for VBS the following week. There is nothing quite like carrying around the giant industrial roll of packaging tape and struggling with every rip. Of course, really I was looking forward to all the hugs and laughter that often come when I'm with them. It's always like being welcomed back into a family. And my favorite part of the morning came when Miss Carol essentially tackled me on the ground with a hug that simply said, "Bec, I've missed you."

     Monday, orange night, the first night of VBS came quickly. Our theme for the week: "Workshop of Wonders." Essentially we were talking about all the ways we can imagine, build, grow, walk and work with God. Of course, every time this was said, the room erupted in a shout of "GEAR UP." I was blessed yet again to be working with the always lovely "Miss Christine" and "Miss Kelsey." Words cannot describe these lovely ladies. They simply amaze me with their selflessness and I've seen it throughout the years. The best part about our trio...we are all the same age. Yep, you got that right: the youngest VBS teachers. We are a triple threat. The night began with a welcome, lots of bathroom runs, and a little bit of anxiety from some new comers. Yet, the end of the night, there was a sigh of relief from all of us: we were blessed with a particularly sane group of first and second graders. That was until Tuesday night came along....

    Tuesday night we were blessed with a few new lovely students. We now officially had a full class: fifteen. The whisper of a blessing of a particularly difficult student joining our class started surfacing and I couldn't seem to figure out which one he or she was. Of course, when we got to the workbook segment of our night (literally only about a half hour into the night), there was no need to guess. It was clear that this particularly difficult child had to be the sticker fiend. As the night wore on, the triple threat team was getting worn out. We were trying everything to get the class to calm down but as many of you know, once one starts, it's down hill from there. 

     The next night seemed to be a level higher than the night before when it came to behavioral episodes for a few of our students. It was then that I began to pray for sanity and patience. At one point, after our game, we had a sit down breathing moment. We had everyone go from our tables one by one and this seemed to work. By Wednesday night, I was feeling so worn out. Two more days, I thought. Then, I realized I never, ever count down to the end of VBS. Something was wrong...but of course, I casually remembered the faces of all the little ones who made it worth it. As much as I and the other members of our triple threat team were feeling worn down by the craziness of our class, I knew that there was God in these hectic moments. 

     Thursday night, I thought it would be a good night. During our songs of praise in the beginning, no one was aggravating another and everyone seemed to line up nicely without having to be asked more than once. This was also the night that I got to the read the story. Sidenote: I absolutely LOVE to read to people. I love reading stories out loud because it just makes me so happy. I also love to do weird voices and stuff so there's that...Anyway, instead of sitting at the table for story time tonight, we had them all sit on the floor around my chair. I asked them all for their eyes. If they weren't paying attention, I simply put my hand on their head. It was like a miracle happened...until the ice cream fiasco. 

      For our activity that night we were making ice cream. You know, ice and salt in a bag with cream, sugar and vanilla in another bag. Shake it up and in five minutes, you should get some ice cream. It was absolutely hilarious to see all our kids shaking and baking their ice cream. They were jumping, laughing, and simply enjoying themselves. We were enjoying watching them enjoy the moment and their eventual ice cream. That was until ice cream suddenly came flying through the air at us. Yes, within seconds we were splattered with some nice sugary ice cream and we weren't exactly happy about it. Of course, this type of outburst required some discipline. So, as you might guess, we needed some isolation from the group. 

      We had two more rotations to go and our dear ice cream flinger was with me for the rest of the night. While the class enjoyed their snack together, we enjoyed snack, just the two of us, at a separate table. What I noticed about this particularly difficult little boy was that when we were one on one, he was well-behaved. He didn't act out because he was getting attention. So, I asked him about his likes and dislikes. He liked reading and drawing comics. For the next half hour, we drew comics. The entire time, I prayed. I prayed to Mary, asking her to help me be a gentle mother to this little boy. I felt a flood of patience come over me and I felt strong enough to deal with this seemingly troubled child of God. Of course, his discipline didn't end there, as we had agreed he wouldn't participate in Music at the end of the night. So, after having a nice chat about how we were going to behave the next night, we sat in the back of the church. After a few moments of not wanting to listen, this little one quickly fell asleep. And I? Well, I continued to pray to Mary. Yes, my friends, I whipped out my Rosary and started praying to Mary in the Methodist church.

     However crazy that may seem, for me, this was normal. Last week, I had been up around school and was out for a run. I didn't have any headphones in or anything, I was simply running and praying. Behind me, at one point, Sister Margaret pulled up and asked me how I was doing. Great, Sister. Then she saw my rosary and let me go on my merry way. Pulling out my Rosary in the most random, peculiar places is something I could probably be known for. So, pulling out my Catholic Rosary in a Methodist church was nothing. Before I left, Miss Carol pulled me aside and mentioned my incredible patience with out little friend. She told me she thought I was much akin to Mother Teresa. Later that night, I posted about praying to Mama Mary as Gentle Mother. When a few of our team commented, I promised to tell the story of Mama Mary and me. 

     On our last night of VBS, I got there a little early to tell the story about Mama Mary. All night while I was praying to Mama Mary for patience and gentleness, the song "Hail Mary, Gentle Woman" was playing in my head. Gentle mother, peaceful dove, teach me wisdom, teach me love. I kept saying it over and over and over. When I laid in bed Thursday night, I realized how great Mama Mary was to me. She had given me the grace to be patient and gentle mother. She had taught me love yet again. As I was telling Miss Carol this, I started to recite the words to the song. Of course, the song begins by chanting the Hail Mary. As I started, Miss Carol finished. I was so confused. It turns out she knew a little bit about Mama Mary already. 

     The thing I love about being with my Methodist family is that we can faith share in incredible capacities. While we may not practice our faiths entirely the same, we can still join together in prayer. We can still talk about Scripture. We can still share things about our faiths...like me sharing about Mama Mary. Working with my Methodist family reminds me of my belief that we can all connect over faith. We can always travel with each other in prayer and that is so important. I love being with them because there are no boundaries to love. Every year, VBS comes at a time when I need it the most. Little did they know, but I needed VBS so much this year. I needed a sense of purpose and it came when I saw the faces of those little children. But more importantly, I needed a chat with Mama Mary. Who would have known that it would be through my Methodist family that I would find a gateway to prayer with Mary, my Mother. Of course, I also really needed a chance to catch up with my dearest Sisters in Spirit and mentors. Shout out to all the lovely people who helped me discover my Catholic faith a little deeper by living out so proudly your Methodist faith. 

Due Date: December 25th

"You know what the great thing about babies is?

They are like little bundles of hope. Like the future in a basket."

- Lish McBride

Baby Ella
Born: 12/19/2013
2:03 AM 6.2lbs 19.4 inches

     In the past year I have witnessed many families welcome a new baby into the family. My next door neighbor welcomed a little cherub into the family the week of Thanksgiving. My god-daughter celebrated her first year of baby life. Many others celebrated new births in their family, including my friend, Heather. She awaited the birth of her little girl with so much energy, none like I had ever seen. Every day I could look forward to opening Facebook to see a post from a very excited Mama. I felt so blessed to watch her journey of pregnancy bloom into something so beautiful: a lovely baby girl. Ella came a day earlier than expected and I laughed knowing that she's going to go up to be just like her Mama; excited about life and anxious to do anything God asks of her.

     While I clicked through the pictures of baby Ella on facebook, I remembered back to Thanksgiving 2012. The very next day my family got a phone call. Baby Emily was born. A few days later, another phone call, this time asking me to be the godmama of the little cherub. How could I say no? I remembered the excitement surrounding the birth of this baby, number seven in a long line of brothers and sisters. I remembered back even further to when my little sister, Lizzie, was born. I was sitting in the sixth grade classroom with Mrs. Rocco when the secretary got on the loudspeaker to announce that my little sister had been born. I couldn't wait to go see her. It seems that in my life, there is a running theme. Whenever there is a new baby born, immediately the world is notified. Phone calls are made, pictures are taken, text messages are sent, facebook statuses are updated, tweets are tweeted, everyone knows. 

     The birth of Heather's little one reminded me of all the joy surrounding a baby. She was always uploading pictures of her ultrasounds, of her belly and of her favorite little girl quotes. It was easy to catch her energy surrounding her baby that even I found myself counting down the days til Ella's due date. Ella was supposed to be born on a Friday very early, but instead, on the day before her due date, I woke up to pictures of the little one. I actually cried out of excitement that the cherub had finally graced us with her presence. It made me so happy to see the pictures of the angel, mama and daddy. I was beaming with happiness when suddenly it hit me...Jesus. 

     Around this time 2000 some years ago, Mary was anxiously awaiting her little one...while riding a donkey...while traveling to Bethlehem...while not being able to find any room at the inn...while hunkering down in a cave with some farm animals... I find it that often we focus on the poverty and humility of Mary, Joseph and Jesus that we tend to miss the happiness of the birth of the baby. Jesus was born into poverty and by humble means, but not so much on her joy. Father Mooney, at the Spanish Mass on Sunday, the last Sunday of Advent, mentioned this in his homily. He spoke about the joy that surrounds the birth of a baby. 

     We remember what Mary said when the angel came to visit her: "My Soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord and my spirit REJOICES in God, my Savior." SHE REJOICED! SHE WAS ECSTATIC! Then she went and visited her cousin, Elizabeth. It was then that John the Baptist, the babe within Elizabeth's womb, LEAPT FOR JOY! Like, hey girl, baby's a comin', better get excited. The joy, the happiness, the expectancy of the child of God. I often imagine what Mary was going through in those hours before the birth: pain, desire for the test to be over, and yet, JOY. Tired, exhausted, yet rejoicing at the birth of the babe. 

      While there was no phones with which to call Mary or Joseph's family with the news, no emails to be sent, no tweets tweeted, no facebook statuses updated or even pictures taken, the world still knew of Jesus' birth. The star shone bright in the sky and the shepherds came to adore Him. There was celebration; quiet, humble, beautiful celebration. Jesus was still celebrated, not in the same way as Baby Ella, but with much joy from his parents. 

     Last night, at midnight Mass, I thought once again of Heather, Ryan and Ella. I imagined the beautiful little babe sound asleep and then I looked at the manger where Jesus was laid. I felt a bit of grief for the child who came to save us. This year, His birthday seemingly hasn't been celebrated with great joy. This beautiful birth wasn't marked by selfies with the birthday boy, snap videos of singing happy birthday, shout-out tweets or statuses. The world has seemingly forgot the joy this child brought 2000 some years ago. However, I thought about how many little churches were marking the birth of the child by celebrating Mass. We were celebrating it last night, the same way Mary and Joseph did. He was brought into the world with a quiet, excited joy and that's how he was celebrated last night. 

     While the celebration was small at Midnight Mass, I couldn't help but laugh at the one single baby in the back of church who shouted and clapped his hands throughout the Mass. This kid was celebrating Jesus the same way Heather, Ryan and their families celebrated Ella: WITH GREAT JUBILATION. I smiled and felt in my heart, a kick of joy. Oh hey Jesus, there You are...I felt Jesus in my heart, crying, shouting, like a cutesy little baby. I was reminded that, while as a Parish community, we quietly commemorated the birth of Jesus in the humble style of Mary and Joseph, it was my turn to celebrate Jesus like Heather and Ryan. Perhaps, back then, when Jesus was born, there was no means to proudly celebrate the child (and in truth, they couldn't because of King Herod...). But now, there is such means and I plan on celebrating Jesus loud and proud in the style of Heather, Ryan and Ella: loud, proud and with GUSTO!

      Congrats on your new little one, Heather and Ryan. Know that baby Ella has reminded me once again how I need to celebrate Jesus, the little one. Thank you for letting me witness the beauty of your journey of giving life. Truly, that was my Christmas miracle. 

Caroling Around the Crib

"Servants of the Lord, 

Bless the Lord."

- Daniel 3:85

      It was the night before the last day of student teaching and all throughout the Rotunda could be heard the sounds of songs from The Sound of Music. I was seated next to a beautiful woman of God awaiting the arrival of my three friends and Baby Jesus. Throughout the Rotunda came more friends chattering about in the spirit of Advent and hustling and bustling about the end (of the semester) being near. Wait. What?! Of course, one would be confused if he or she wasn't standing there at that exact moment. So let me give you the background...

      A few weeks before the end of the semester, an email went out to the Senior class asking for submissions of essays of those wishing to carry Baby Jesus on Carol Night. I remembered back to my Freshmen year, while working with Sister Cathy, going into the VP's office to get the new baby Jesus. What?! My exact reaction. I looked at the dear woman and asked how there could be a new baby Jesus and she just laughed. A few minutes later we were unwrapping the box in which was the new baby Jesus statue needed for Carol Night. Having never been to a Carol Night before, I was still confused. But, later that week I found out. I remember looking at the statue of the infant and falling in love the same way a mother first falls in love with her new child. I remember only wanting to hold that little infant statue for ever and ever. A few days later, I witnessed my first Carol Night and as I saw the Seniors carry in the baby, I knew I wanted to do that one day. So, a few weeks before the end of the semester, I handed in my essay. 

       In my essay, I spoke about Mary's yes. I spoke about the symbolism of carrying Jesus during Carol Night meant for me: embodying Mary's yes. I imagined the overwhelming feeling of love in my heart. And as God would have it, I was one of the four who carried the baby in through the rotunda. The funniest part of it was that I was, by far, the shortest carrying the baby. Hey, even the small can do their part. 

       As we were kneeling there, waiting for Steph to take the Child and put Him in the manger, I thought, how perfect. God works in funny ways, you see, because I had written my essay with the intention of desiring to put Jesus in the manger. However, God knew that I needed to CARRY the baby like Mary did. Mary didn't just simply lay the babe in the manger, but rather she carried him for nine months during her pregnancy. Then, she carried him throughout his childhood. Then, she carried him during his first miracle and all his miracles. She carried him as he walked the way to the cross. And finally, when He died she carried him off the cross and to the tomb. Suddenly, all of that hit me as I was kneeling at the foot of the manger. I had Jesus on my shoulders (with the help of three of my friends) and I was carrying him, not exactly like Mary, but in the spirit of how she carried him. 

       I reflected on that through the night. As I stood there around the Christmas tree with my fellow seniors, I thought of not only the nostalgia of this being my last Carol night as an undergraduate, but also of the encapturing beauty of Christmas. I remembered what God had always asked me to be: a servant to the Lord. That night, I realized that Mary, too, had been asked to serve God as a true servant. She carried the King...I got to carry the king. I was overwhelmed with the notion, with this beauty revelation. So often I reflect on how I serve Christ by serving others, but now I was reflecting on how I got to literally serve Him. It reminded me to continue to serve Christ through others. It reminded me that I was meant to be a servant of the Lord.

      This past weekend, I was on retreat and at the end of the retreat, we were given one of the courts of the Lord. I truly believe that God's timing is so perfect as I was given "the Crib," the place where Jesus rests. This was the second part of my Advent gift from God. First it was the realization that I am called the be servant. This weekend He showed me that I am meant to also carry Jesus forever, making the heart the crib. Of course, I believe this will continue on because we know that from the wood of the crib comes the wood of the cross. There is much joy in watching a child asleep in the crib and there is much suffering in watching a man die upon the cross. If I truly accept this call to be servant of the Lord, there will be great joy, such as the joy of Jesus resting in the crib of my heart, but there will always be suffering. I am called to be a servant of the Lord, just as Mary was. I am called to carry the Lord, serve Him and let Him reside, take rest and refuge in my heart. I must prepare my heart to be a resting place for the Lord. Jesus, I say "Yes," like Mary said, "Yes." I give myself to you, sweetheart. Please, take a rest in my heart. 

Who Am I? - A Reflection on the Visitation

"How does this happen to me,

 that the Mother of my Lord should come to visit me?"

- Luke 1: 39-56

    I found myself, yet again, sitting in the Chapel here in EIC, Peru. A few sisters were out and about visiting Montenegro for the 25th Anniversary of the school and so, the entire right side was empty except for me. Like usual, I was a few minutes early to Chapel when suddenly Sister Antonieta came over to me and asked me to move my seat closer to the altar. The Sisters here pray the Office inside of Mass and so, that meant I would be carrying the right side for prayers with Father. This would have been no problem, except for one thing: I cannot read Spanish for the life of me. And just when I thought I was on the right page, I wasnt. That was when Sister came over again to tell me it was the Feast of the Visitation! HOW PERFECT! I thought. Actually, it might have been PERFECTO! You see, my spanglish is getting better and better day by day!

    As I sat listening to the readings, I did not need to know Spanish in order to understand. These readings were some I had long ago memorized because of their beauty. I listened and reflected as Father proclaimed Elizabeths surprise at the arrival of her cousin Mary, pregnant with Jesus, the Lord. I heard in my heart: WHO AM I THAT THE MOTHER OF MY SAVIOR SHOULD COME TO ME? WHO AM I? WHO AM I? It just echoed over and over and over in my heart until finally it hit me: Elizabeth was the COUSIN of Mary, so, of course, they would have a visit. But yet, she was humbled. Now, I was not hearing Elizabeth proclaim WHO AM I but rather my own heart. WHO AM I, meager Becca Gutherman, that the MOTHER OF MY JESUS should protect, should visit me, should open her heart to me, should guide me, should be there as my own mother? Seriously, WHO AM I? Like so many times, I felt humbling tears in my eyes as I realized this experience Elizabeth had set for us so many years ago. Elizabeth was SHOCKED and HUMBLED at the sight of Mary that even the infant in her womb (John) leapt for joy. I, myself, should be leaping with joy at the very notion and idea that MARY is with me ALWAYS! And yet, how many times I have taken this for granted. I do not leap for joy, but rather merely acknowledge my Mother. But that is not all!

     After Elizabeth proclaims the greatness of the visitation, Mary continues the conversation with her now famous Magnificat. This has been my favorite "Mary Prayer" for as long as I can remember. "My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God, my Savoir," she proclaims. "He has looked with favor on His lowly servant." Yes, because it is my favorite, I can, like so many other Catholic prayers, recite the Magnificat. But that would mean nothing if I did not feel anything when I prayed it. Every time I experience such a beautiful work of God in my life, I feel like Mary in this moment. My soul literally feels as if it will take off and fly because it is so joyful, so rejoicing, so grateful to God. Every. Single. Time. I feel as if God has looked with favor on His lowly servant. Because, truly WHO AM I that God should bless me so greatly. I am a sinner, I have my faults, I make mistakes and yet, still, God continues to bless me over and over and over again. Not a single one of us is worthy of the goodness God bestows on us, myself very much included. I know I do not deserve the great blessings God has given me, especially my time here in Perú. My mind cannot fathom this greatness and continuously, I feel as if I should fall on my knees to praise God unceasingly. But then I remember, that when I wake up each morning and say to God, today my life is Yours, I can praise God through my actions. Yet, as much as I do through my actions, God blesses me even more. WHO AM I that God should bless this lowly servant? My soul will continue to proclaim and praise God for all of this. 

      All my time here in Peru, I have been asking: WHO AM I? WHO AM I that God should bless me with such beautiful experiences with the sisters, the people, the students, the love? WHO AM I that I should go to bed each night content with the day, content in the stomach, content in the mind, content in the heart? WHO AM I that I should walk around with a smile each day? WHO AM I to be moved to tears at the sound of little children blessing the Blessed Virgin Mary? WHO AM I that I should receive much hugs and love from "my CSA girls"? WHO AM I that I should receive such guidance and prayers from my sisters here in Perú? WHO AM I that I should be so blessed? WHO AM I that the Mother of my Savior should not only visit me but be with me each and every step of my journey through life? WHO AM I that my heart be blessed with the very presence of Jesus? WHO AM I but a lowly servant of the Lord? 

      In the past few days, the presence of devotion to Mary has been overwhelming through various May Processions and feast days. Music has always been my highest form of prayer and so when I was so blessed with a song sheet during the CSA Primary May Procession, my heart was overwhelmed. Listening to the many little voices of the children singing and singing praise to Mary rejuvenated my devotion and my questioning of WHO AM I? One song in particular: Junto A Ti Maria, sums it all up for me. While it is a Spanish hymn, in English it sings: make us humble and simple like you. Mother, mother, mother, mother. WHO AM I but a lowly servant of the Lord?

We Are Family (Sing It!)

"See what love the Father has bestowed on us that we may be called the children of God.

And so we are.

The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him.

Beloved, we are God's children now;

what we shall be has not yet been revealed."

- 1 John 3:1-2

Look closely....you'll see most of my family!

      Happy Feast Day!! Don't even try to deny it! It's your feast day whether you know it or not...you're part of a family, aren't you? You have a mom and a dad and maybe some siblings; grandparents, too. Whether it's big or small, you're part of a family. And because of that, it's your feast day! It's the feast of the Holy Family! And not only is it your feast day, it's also some of my favorite sisters' feast day. So, happy feast Sisters of the Holy Family of Nazareth!

      As some of you may know, I leave for New Orleans tomorrow (well, really today...) at 8:30 is our flight. And because of having to be at the airport at the crack of dawn, I had to catch the Vigil Mass tonight! And I am so glad I got a preview of the Scriptures. My heart was literally dancing in my chest! They were honestly just so good today! The funny thing is, as I sat in my pew listening to the Scriptures, my two (well, one really since the other had to Altar Serve) favorite church girlies, Meghan and Caleigh sat with my family simply giving spiritual emphasis that we are all brothers and sisters in Christ; we are all family. 

      And because we all are family, we are all children of the Father as the second reading eludes to. I am that girl that opens the Missalette to read along with the Lector. Even though one time someone once told me that I shouldn't read along because I am supposed to listen to the Word of God. I tried, I really did, but I pay much more attention when I read along with the words. Visual words mean a lot to me (I am an English Major, you know...) and when I can see them, I understand. So...I can't tell you what the First Reading was about since the Scripture that was read was the alternate option than what was in the book. But the Second Reading...that made my heart go crazy. Look at the truth lying between the lines (quotation above). Because of His love, we ARE children of God. However, we are told we aren't worth love or worth the title of child because the world does not know God. We have lost our child-ness. We are no longer called "children" because of the unawareness society has of God. If only they knew... We are told that regardless of what society tells us, WE ARE HIS CHILDREN. WE TRULY DO BELONG TO THE FATHER. And yet, what we are meant to be has not yet been revealed to us. Say what?!

      We are not meant for this life on earth. We are meant for eternity with God. But that life with Him hasn't yet been revealed to us. However, that line of Scripture gave a deeper consolation to my soul. If you've been reading my blog recently or have been around me physically, you might have been able to pick up on a bit of a struggle I am going through. I am battling with what does God really want me to do?!? Does He want me to be a Sister? If so, what kind of Sister? Or is He calling me to do missionary work throughout the world? OR is He calling me to date, marry and raise a family? While I had put it to rest a bit since being home, it suddenly all came rushing back as I sat, reading in Mass because "What we shall be has not yet been revealed to us." OHHHHHHHHHHH! OKAY! He has given me bits and pieces on my life journey and has whet my appetite, per se, of various life vocations but HE HAS NOT YET FULLY REVEALED WHAT I SHALL BE. I like that about Him, always mysterious. It's very becoming! For me, one who has accepted the child-ness, it was extremely consoling. For society, which continuously is taking away that child-ness, the revelation is even harder to wait for. Because we have lost that child-ness, we have lost belief that God will reveal to us our purpose, our destination, what we shall truly be. If we do not believe (or see as it is hidden by view by all sorts of things in society) in the Love of God, we lose the child-ness. When we lose the child-ness, we lose faith in God's revelation. 

      Speaking of lost children...did you realize that in the Gospel today, Mary and Joseph lost Jesus. The literally left Him in another city. LIKE HELLO?!? Okay, okay...new parents, I get it. They weren't used to having a child. But wait....Jesus was a few years older than just being born. Because they later found Him in His Father's house which He told His parents. Newborns don't speak, friends. It was a challenge for me when I was younger to separate the stories. Because we just had Christmas, I was convinced that the Lost Child happened a few days later just like it did with the readings. But then I realized that this was quite impossible for He did speak to His parents at the time. The more I thought about it, the more plausible the story became. 

      How often do we hear stories about Panic Attacks when it comes to children? I can easily remember a moment of panic in my own heart when my littlest sister, Lizzie, was merely one year old. We had been at the grade school on a Sunday preparing for the Spring Play. One second she is standing next to me, the next second I figure she ran down the hallway to see my mother. But when my mother came into the hall within minutes, Lizzie wasn't with her. WHERE WAS LIZZIE?! Suddenly, everyone was in panic mode. MUST.FIND.LIZZIE. Everyone was searching and calling her name. I was in tears. I had lost my sister. Finally, after what seemed like hours but was really only minutes, we found her, walking across the parking lot to the school with one of the moms. She was safe, hand in hand, strutting her stuff. Thank God. 

       Imagine the feeling in Mary's heart when she realized Jesus wasn't with them. It wasn't as if he was across the parking lot with the other families with whom they were traveling. No, He was actually in another city. He was miles away with no one to hold Him, feed Him, or protect Him. Anything could have happened to Him. Panic. Ultimate Panic. Finally, Mary and Joseph were on their way back to find Jesus. How did Mary not freak out when they found Jesus? How did she not reprimand Him for staying with the group or telling her where He was off to? How? Simply because He said, "Did you not know I would be in my Father's house." He probably added a cute little smile at the end, just like Lizzie did when she said, "Didn't you know I was with....?" In fact, Mary's relief was probably much greater than her anger or distraught at Jesus's disappearance. Mary was a true mother in the sense that the moment she could have pulled Jesus into her arms and held Him would have been greater than any moment in the world for her. We see the same scene when Jesus met His mother on the road to Calvary. A look, a tender look of love that understands. 

     Ironically enough, when I read the readings before Mass, I couldn't help but laugh at the Gospel. It was about losing a child. The night before (Friday) I had enjoyed a movie night with my CSFN Sisters. The faith sharing is always so beautifully deep with these girls and so unexpected, really. Each sister is so unique in her own way and that uniqueness certainly leads to interesting and beautiful conversation. However, we are a group of women, so one topic lead to another which lead to another which then lead to education and....losing children. I can't tell you how many "baby nun" stories I heard Friday night about losing children. And each story ended with, "Well...they were right were they were supposed to be when I finally found them." Of course, these children, unlike Jesus, were purposefully hiding from their teachers. How ironic that we were just talking about the emotions that tie into losing a child momentarily.

      We have each in some way connected with Mary and her feeling of panic. The Feast Day itself is a people's feast; the readings tell us that. We have each been a child at some point, so we know how it feels to me child-like. We must remain true to the child-ness of being a child of God. And most of us, ironically have felt the moments of panic and then relief with a child, whether a student, a sibling or a child of our own. Most of us are blessed to know and have a family who loves us. This is why we can celebrate this feast as our own. Isn't it such a beautiful day? 

      And I wouldn't have it any other way than to be traveling on this great feast, a feast I celebrate not only with my family in mind, but with my Sisters in mind as well. I know my Sisters prayers are with me this day as just about the time of take-off, they will be praying Morning Prayer. I'll be praying with them from the "comfort" of my plane seat. Later in the day, I'll be thinking about and praying with my own family as about the time I'll be landing, they might all be in Mass together. Of course, when I reach my NOLA family in my favorite city in the whole world (I've been to a lot of places, nothing beats NOLA), I'll be thanking God for my gift of family. That is, the gift of feeling one with any single person I come in contact with, because in truth he or she is my brother or sister. Happy Feast Day, Family!