TBD - A Reflection on Who I Am

"What a life I would've missed, 

if you'd not took a chance.

I wasn't expecting that."

- Jamie Lawson "Wasn't Expecting That"

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

The Long Awaited God Wink

"Everyday we find something new,

well this day I found you. 

I found love and joy all in one. 

You sent me back to where I once was.

There just ain't nothing else that compares."

- Trevor Hall, "You Find Me."

It has been over a month since I've written, and while some bloggers might apologize to their followers, I have to apologize to myself. Writing is often a form of prayer, a form of thanksgiving for blessings received, and I haven't stopped for a month to write. Of course, I know how long it's been since I've written because technology tells me. But what technology can't tell me is how long it's been since I've gone to daily Mass with the Sisters or how long it's been since I've prayed Morning Prayer with them. All I know is that my heart says it's been too long. 

    I told my students the Friday before I left that I had been waiting months to leave for Peru. In fact, my count down app told me that it was 74 days, 4 hours, 47 minutes the day I bought my ticket. It was so close but it wasn't close enough. However, to be completely honest, my job had me so busy that I really didn't have time to count down day by day. Occasionally, I would check the app and get giddy at the shortened length of time I had to wait. I got more and more excited as the days passed. Suddenly, it was the last day I needed to wait. I found myself telling story after story to my students. I found myself counting down the hours before I could leave the parking lot. I finished packing when I got home and started my adventure by going to the Mass for Our Lady of Guadalupe in Spanish. There was no better way to begin. 

    As I walked through the security at the airport after having checked my bags, reality began to hit me. In a few hours, I would be on a plane destined for my favorite country in the world in which lived a plethora of my favorite people. I sat in the airport waiting and waiting. I was surrounded by people who were waiting. All of us were waiting for something: to go home, to see loved ones, for a plane to arrive, for lunch to be served, for a business deal to be made, for a phone call, for a birthday wish. Waiting is always something that permeates airports and it was definitely permeating my heart. However, while I thought I was waiting for the plane to arrive to take me to Peru, there was a different waiting hiding in the deep crevices of my heart. 

      There is so much that happened on my adventure to Peru. I offered so many hours of service to various schools, I spent time with my dear Sisters, I met the families of some of the Sisters at the Christmas Gathering, I went shopping with a new friend, I attended the graduation of my CSA Students, I took a bus and got a little lost in a city I have loved for so long, I convent-hopped like a champ, I did so much more. But I also had many conversations with my Sisters, I joined them for daily Mass, I joined them for prayers, I walked arm in arm with them, I walked hand in hand with them, I held their hands during the Padre Nuestra, I celebrated life with them and I discerned with them. I served right next to them. I was a part of their love, their service, their lives. I was home. 

     Life has taken a road of different scenery in these past months. Now, don't get me wrong, it's a beautiful scenery, something familiar, yet untouched for so many years. Yes, I've ventured out and experienced a lot of things different than what I have been used to. Yes, it's been worth the journey. But there always has seemed like there was something missing. The literal scenery changed when I got to Peru, but suddenly, I was back with my Sisters. I had been away from them for so long and finally, I was back, I was home. There was nothing more than that that I needed. Even if days were short and I did nothing more than go to Mass, pray, eat lunch with them, that was all I needed. My heart had been waiting the simplicity of their lives. 

     While so much had happened on my trip, there are two experiences that will always remain with me. Number one: my Montenegro adventure. There really are not enough words to describe the love that permeates the streets there. I got on an unfamiliar bus, rode to a place I had only visited twice, and walked the streets as if I had lived there for years. When my feet hit the dirt roads, there was something so overtly wonderful about the place. I looked to the hills and felt love. Sister George told me to go find my heart, the heart which I had left in Peru. I find it, Sister. I found it once again. But unfortunately, I left it there again. Between the bilingual conversations, my appreciation for the silence in my heart, and seeing the beautiful children at the posada, I couldn't have been happier. But I think the happiness was also present in the small convent community room while enjoying popcorn and homemade hot chocolate while watching CNN with the Sisters. It was present in the extra blanket left on my bed because it got chilly. It was present in the little chapel on the second floor with a beautiful view of a lit village on the hill. It was present in the front rose garden with it's freshly cut grass. It was present in the causa for lunch. I was happy there. My heart was so happy. 

      When I left Montenegro, there was a sadness in my heart. I was very quiet on the way back to Miraflores (and no, not just because Spanish was the main language in the care that day). I watched the hills fade behind me. I was still so filled with happiness, not just from my visit there, but from my time spent in all of Peru with so many of my Sisters. Before I knew it, I found myself in a little chapel I had never visited before - the one at Villa Maria, Miraflores. Sister Liz, my dear friend, ushered me to the chapel, just as she had many times before. I sat in the Chapel and within seconds, I had tears streaming down my cheeks. All my fears, my happiness, my doubts, my worries, my signs and confirmations came swelling out of my heart at once. I spoke right to Jesus...and even though it's been a while, He still listened. Suddenly, Sister Liz was back and with a gentle arm around my shoulders, she held me close like the big sister she is. She took me to the tabernacle, but my hands on the door, put hers on top of mine and prayed as so many of the others had - for my discernment. Of course, I didn't stop crying. 

       We went from there to Mass in the church down the street. I was sandwiched between two of my Sisters who graciously held my hands during the Padre Nuestra. I was exactly where I was meant to be because it was there that I had realized what I had been waiting for: God's confirmation. I hadn't prayed with my Sisters in such a long time...I was back where I was meant to be. It was the most perfect place to be. I had felt a change in heart, a change in scenery, back to the familiar and the amazing.

      I still had two nights in Peru at that point and those next two nights were the perfect nights. They involved pj parties with the nuns over two great movies, more prayer, more discernment in the day to day life. It was a busy time for me to visit because it was Christmas and the closing of the school year. At the airport before I left, one of the Sisters said she was sorry she couldn't have spent more time with me because it was such a busy time. I had no idea what she was talking about. I came not asking to be entertained, but to serve where God needed me to serve and to share the life of my Sisters for the week. What I needed was a week of prayer with my Sisters. What my heart had been waiting for was those simple moments of small conversations, daily hugs and kisses, the knowledge of permeating love. There was nothing more that I could have asked for. Those small moments with each of my Sisters were what my heart needed - a reminder of what I have been called to do. 

    I didn't cry when I said my good-byes, I cried when I woke up and saw the most beautiful sunrise from the window seat 25F. I cried then because I realized how much love I had just left behind. I had left my heart in Peru again. In fact, I think it has a permanent spot there with my Sisters. I cried because of how much God had spoke to my little heart in such little time. It was simply amazing how wonderfully blessed I felt. The reverse culture shock, that is, the shock of not having five beautiful women of God right next door or down the hallway, was the hardest adjustment. Even now, I am suffering from the reality that they are not with me. Yet, I know they are always in my heart. I love them each so much, more than can ever imagine, and I am grateful for the prayerful week they gave me. 

      In all my waiting, I felt a small solidarity with Mary and Joseph who had awaited the birth of their Son for so long. However, the difference was that they were blessed with the birth of a baby. Me on the other hand, experienced a re-birth of God in my soul, happiness in my heart and knowledge of the future. I could not thank my Sisters enough for being the pathway through which God reach me. It was a long awaited God wink and it only took me 9 days in a country, almost 4000 miles away, for me to realize that not only had God always been there, but that I needed a re-birth. And now, to live for Jesus with this renewed spirit of mine. 

     To all of my Sisters in Peru, thank you for the gift of your hugs, kisses, time and words. I could not possibly thank you enough for all the love you showed me this past week. It was a perfect discernment week in a perfect place with some perfect people. I love you each so much, and yes, I already miss you. Feliz Navidad y Prospero Ano Nuevo. 

Down By The River

"But I love Your feet 

only because they walked 

upon the earth and upon 

the wind and upon the waters 

until They found me."

- "Your Feet," Pablo Neruda

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sister Selfie and Her Companions: National Catholic Sisters Week

"Real Woman, Real Stories"

"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. 

 

Alive Again/Opened Eyes

"You called, you shouted, and your broke through my deafness.

You flashed, you shone, and you dispelled my blindness. 

You breathed Your fragrance on me; I drew in breath.

You touched me and I burned for Your peace."
- St. Augustine

     The second "half" of Mass always seems so rushed to me. Right after the homily, I feel like it's a quick boom boom boom, Communion, done. Then I am left kneeling there thinking, wait...where did Mass just go? Okay, maybe this really isn't so, but some days, I really find myself kneeling there, after receiving Jesus, yearning for just a little more time in prayer after that holiest of holy moments. Even today, I found myself longing for the song to last a little longer, for a little bit more time to close my eyes. That's when I opened my eyes.

     I wasn't singing along with the Sisters, but rather listening to their beautiful voices. Some days, I like to listen because people are seemingly always listening to me. Today, I listened and I wondered how so many sisters could make such a great sound. Usually, on days when I simply listen, I close my eyes and smile because of the happiness that simple moment gives me. Today, I opened my eyes and allowed myself to look around at my sisters, the lovely ladies I have prayed with for the past four years. While part of me got nostalgic, the other half could not stop thanking God. It was then that I had finally seen. 

     You see, this past week has been a rough one. Let's just say, it started with a "solo" adventure. I had this need to go away from school but I didn't want to go home either. So I decided, why not drive a few hours to the beach and take pictures. I couldn't explain the need to get away and I wasn't quite sure what I was getting away from. But what I do know is that Stone Harbor is a little bit closer than Peru (the other place I tell people I'm going to when I'm "running away"). So, I picked up my sister, Mary, and headed to the beach. We didn't stay very long, only an hour, but I got some BEAUTIFUL shots of the sunset. I was happy, but I was still missing something. It was a strange feeling.

     We headed back to campus and my Sister camped out for the weekend. I worked all day Saturday at the Motherhouse and even there, I was not my normal self. I was feeling empty. I also was feeling under the weather. LONG story short, I wound up with strep throat for four days and a lovely fever for three. Yay. I was stuck in bed, not that I could really complain, because I was feeling AWFUL. But I could hear everything around me. I could hear my neighbors enjoying the snow day, I could hear the nunnies shuffling down the hall to get to Mass, I could hear my roomie coming and going throughout the day with friends. I felt even more empty; like I was missing out on something.

     As I snuggled in my bed and attempted to get better, I thought about was really bothering me. Suddenly, it seemed that everyone was settling into their futures, whether it be making plans for apartments, applying for jobs and most definitely, getting into relationships. Now, don't get me wrong, how many times have I said that seeing my friends happy makes me happy. I love watching them experience life and be happy. But often, I feel I am not really participating in their lives when they are happy. I've always been okay with that. In fact, my personality kind of enjoys it. It's the introvert in me. But for some reason this week I had just felt like I was really missing out on something, even if I was in the same room as they were. Then it hit me: my life, no matter how close we may be, will always be very different from theirs. 

      My friends will enjoy going out on first dates, double dates, wedding planning outings, dress shopping, baby shopping, baby stuff, family stuff, etc. I will enjoy living with my Sisters, making my vows, watching families grow up, teaching children, maybe living in a foreign country. You see? Very different. I know that by accepting the call from God, I have chosen to give their lives up and there is usually peace about it (because it is the right path for me). But sometimes, it gets little difficult. They can hold hands with their boyfriend/girlfriend. I, alas, cannot. And for some reason, this notion really hit the heart this week. Of course, I was dealing with strep and everyone gets the icky sicky blues when they are stuck in the infirmary of their room. 

       On Monday, the first day I had skipped morning Mass in a VERY long time, Sister George called me. She asked how I was feeling and then told me that on Channel 59, Academy Award Winning Musicals were on all day. I smiled at her outreach. She's so precious. She's coming with me when I graduate. On Monday night, my lovely neighbor sent a little message : "So strep? That's why you've been so quiet." I laughed. It hurt, but I laughed. Of course, throughout the day a few other sisters reached out just to say take care or get well. I smiled. By Tuesday night, I was feeling much better. I didn't have a fever anymore and I needed some fresh air. So, I walked outside for a treasurer's meeting with our class advisor and class president. MAN DID THAT FEEL GREAT. However, I was still feeling a bit melancholy about everything else. 

       By Wednesday, I was feeling much better. So, after noon mass (we had a snow/ice day), I decided to get a few people together and go to Camilla. What an adventure that was. Long story short, Sister Mimi, one of my Sisters from Peru, was visiting and giving a presentation. I saw so many of my dear Camilla Sisters that suddenly all the sadness and melancholy-ness (I know this is not a real word...) disappeared. I was surrounded by beautiful women of God who reminded me why I am discerning this life. As we watched the presentation from Sister Mimi, I had many of the same reactions as they did. Sighing over the cute babies. Excitement at the sight of new buildings. Claps of joy, loud whispers, etc. That's when my friend, Paxton, leaned over and said, "One day, that will be you." 

       In the middle of my sickness, I had also had the thoughts that I might not make a good sister. I fought with the devil on that one. I struggled thinking that actually, I was not worthy of that life. I could not possibly make a good sister. But then Paxton reminded me, without knowing it, that I was right. I AM NOT WORTHY...but, no one really is. She gave me a glimmer of hope, just as those dear Camilla Sisters did. I need to persevere; I need to keep going. I refuse to give up, I needed to say. 

      I left Camilla feeling renewed in my Spirit. I had seen the Mother General checking up on her Sisters at Camilla (the power had been out all morning thanks to the ice storm) and that warmed my heart. It was a reminder of why I had ever thought of this life. I needed that. I found myself at the Motherhouse that night and at peace. Then this morning, when I opened my eyes after Communion and looked around to see those beautiful women of God singing their hearts out, I felt my heart overwhelmed with peace. 

       It doesn't matter that my life will be different from my friends. It's okay to go through difficult times, too. It's okay to experience hardship and pain. A dear Sister Eileen told me once that religious life is full of struggles and challenges, but in the end, it is the most beautiful life one could experience. I don't know why I didn't remember that this week (I had just spoken with her the other day...). This morning, I couldn't agree with her more. There are times, even in my discernment, when the road gets rocky. This past week was one of the rocky times. And yet, this morning, when I watched my Sisters sing and even yesterday holding hands with Sister Cyril, I felt that I knew, once again, that this path was still right for me. I left Mass this morning with opened eyes and feeling ALIVE AGAIN!

     

New Year's Resolutions in New Orleans

"Don't you just love those long, rainy afternoons

in New Orleans when an hour isn't just an hour - 

but a little piece of eternity dropped into your hands - 

and who knows what to do with it then?"

- Tennessee Williams, "A Streetcar Names Desire"

    As some of you may know, I recently got back from my fourth tour in New Orleans, a place that always has a HUGE piece of my heart. Going back this time, I expected to see my old friends, familiar faces and places, and experience a lot of the same things I had experienced the past three visits save for the warm weather of my new May trips. All of that happened, but so did so much more. I was blessed to have gone with some of my very best friends. I was even more blessed to make a bunch of new friends. I was blessed to be welcomed home by my NOLA family at Corpus Christi. But I was also blessed my many surprises. One of which, I still am having a hard time fathoming as reality. 

    On New Years Day, since it was an off day for the SBP crew, our IU work crew headed into the French Quarter for the day. We started out with Mass at the Cathedral which was beautiful. As I was sitting there, waiting for Mass to begin, three sisters walked in. Jokingly, my friends look down the pew and go, "Hey Becca, Nuns." Thanks, guys. But in all reality, my nunsenses had been going off and I already saw them. One of my friends, who had just pointed out the obvious, then asked, "What community are they?" "Daughters of Charity," I answered without skipping a beat. They laughed in disbelief but I just knew they were the DCs. So, after Mass, I went up to the three sisters, one of whom looked oddly familiar to me. I asked them what community they were and when they said, "Daughters of Charity," I childishly turned around and stuck out my tongue. I was right.

     Sister Ellen began asking me questions like where I was from, who I was, what was I doing in New Orleans during my Winter Break, etc. As I was answering her questions, the sister on my right, Sister Salvatrice, listened diligently. Finally she asked if I was Becca Gutherman and if I had gone to a FOCUS conference three years ago in Baltimore. Blown away, I answered yes, not knowing what was going to come next. She then told me that I had had a conversation with her about discernment at the conference, after which, she wrote my name down on a piece of paper and stuck it in her office book. She had been praying for me every day since the day I met her. With tears in my eyes, I hugged her and thanked her. Sister Ellen then took our picture and I made her promise to send it to me when she got the chance. I got the picture this morning!

      As soon as I walked out of the Cathedral, I called my go-to processor, you know, the one who helps me process all things nun-related that are gifts from God, Kristie. I told her the story and she reminded me that the day I was coming home was St. Elizabeth Ann Seton's feast day, the saint who founded the sisters here in the USA. Wow. Just wow. After ending the call, I began to truly reflect on what had just happened to me. 

     The priest at Mass had said that instead of making New Year's Resolutions, we should make New Year's petitions. I really loved what he said so much that I started taking notes on an empty church offering envelope. He said that resolutions are often broken, but petitions are something we do because we are broken. He said that resolutions are people centered and that petitions are God-centered. He urged us to make New Year's Petitions instead of Resolutions. So, I did. I started with petitioning for my family, my friends and my nunnies. Then I asked for one specific petition: confirmations of my vocation. Well, God, as the funny guy He is, assured me that He would continue to answer this petition by giving me the gift of the Daughters of Charity, in particular, Sister Salvatrice. I am astonished by how many people tell me they are praying for me. I am sure that many I do not know are praying for me. But what amazed me so greatly was that meeting Sister Salvatrice was a blur in my memory. Yet, she remembered me. She remembers me every day in prayer and has, by name, since the day I met her. It still gives me the goosebumps.

     My first trip to New Orleans back in May 2011, a few months after I had met Sister Salvatrice, I was sitting in the French Market with my friends on a Saturday afternoon. As we were all taking bites of Gator, two Sisters walked down the center of the market. I happened to turn at the right moment and one of the sisters caught my glance. Without saying anything, she started her way to our table of IU friends. She put a hand on my shoulder and began a casual conversation with us. As she was leaving, she patted my shoulder and said, "I'll be praying for you, sunshine. You'll make the right choice." At that time, I was in a serious doubt of my vocation to religious life. But at that moment, God sent me another sign, another confirmation that I am truly called to this life. I never heard from or saw those sisters again, but I think about them often. 

      It blows my mind how God had started my journeys to New Orleans with the sisters down there confirming my vocation and then ending them with the same. It didn't hit me until Friday night, when I was out talking with Miss Monique and her mom that it would be my last trip to New Orleans as an IU Undergraduate. It made my heart smile from all the good that I have experienced here but also so sad to be leaving a place I love so much. I know I'll be back but in that moment it felt as if I would be leaving for good. That's when I made another New Year's petition: Dear God, please bring me back to these people who I love so much and protect them until I can return. He may not answer it this week, this month or maybe even this year, but I know one day, I'll be back in the city I love so much with the people I love so much! I cant thank God enough for all the miracles He gave me this past week. He is such a charmer!

My NOLA reflection song

A Few of My Favorite Things: Nuns and Babies Part Two

"Holding a baby is one of the most beautiful things in the world.

How all they do is wave their arms and reach for your 

face and watch your every move. The way their little fingers

wrap all around your single one and their tiny toes

squirm all about. And when they sleep, surely it's an angel

in your arms. It's as beautiful holding the new life as it is 

holding the hand of an elderly person.

The peace is unexplainable."

- "Becca-ism"

    I cannot help but continue to reiterate how blessed my year has been. I am continuously simply in awe of His mighty goodness. I am so grateful for all God has given me. Once before, not too long ago, I did a blog post on nuns and babies. Well, friends, here's a part two. God has been so generous to me that I simply good not pass up this chance to once again proclaim my love for nuns and babies.

    Last night, slightly spur of the moment, my Dad, little sister and I decided to visit my aunt, uncle and seven cousins. Yes, that's right, I said seven cousins. You see, in our family, having lots of kids is pretty common. My Uncle Charlie and Aunt Maryanne have taken the cake on having the most kids. Not only that, but they also have the youngest kids, the youngest of whom is my most precious God-daughter. Last week, Emily turned one. That's a big deal for a little princess, you know. So part of our reason to go over was to give her her present. When we got there, it was close to seven. When we left, it was close to nine. Those two hours went by faster than you can believe.

    I'm known to be the biggest little kid in my family. I'm always the older cousin running around with the babies. I'm usually outside playing football with the younger boys or playing teacher or dress up with the girls. I'm not the older cousin who stands around contemplating the universe over a wine cooler. Nope, I'm playing with the kids. Last night was no different. I walked into the living room and as my dad tackled his brother, I wrestled the two boys into a big hug. My cousins, Albert and Charles, were dressed in super hero pajamas and so, being the teacher that I am, I asked them all about the superheros. Then I asked if I could be one. So, guess who I got to be?! Wonderwoman. I didn't know this, but apparently she has a lasso that forces the person in the lasso to tell the truth. So, I started a little game with the boys. If I caught them in my arms, my "lasso," they had to tell me one truth. Well our truths turned into riddles which the other made up. At 8 o'clock, the clock chimed and my aunt told the boys they had to go to bed. They almost cried because they didn't want to. Heck, I even cried. So, I asked if I could take the boys up to bed. 

       Now, I forgot to mention that every time one of the boys got an answer right to the question while in the lasso, they got a turkey five. They loved this and it had them deep belly laughing. It had me hysterically laughing, too. When we got to the top of the stairs, the boys were supposed to go to the bathroom and then go brush their teeth. Well, as little boys tend to do, they did NOT want any parts of this at all. So, I told them they if they didn't do their bedtime routine, they wouldn't get a Turkey Five. Didn't that do the trick?! Of course, I think the boys' favorite part was riding me up the stairs. Long ago, I had mastered the method of being able to carry at least three kids on me at one time. With only two of them, it was easy. Albert was on my back and Charles clung to me like a baby koala bear on the front. When they finished in the bathroom, they got to ride dinosaur Becca to their bedroom. Then I stood up, rolled down the blankets, and catapulted them into their beds. Of course, I had to tickle them until they laid down and then I tucked them in. My aunt came in for a good night kiss and then I demanded one, too. Of course, my good night kiss ended in a little blessing on their foreheads. 

       While I didn't get to hold my goddaughter much last night since she herself was getting ready for bed, I did get to play with her little brothers. Children, I very firmly believe, are closer to the angels than I'll ever be during my time here on Earth. In fact, they are angels themselves. I never tire of hanging out with my little cousins and I really wish they could all stay so little forever. My cousins give me the chance to be the kid I have inside. They give me a chance to kiss and hug angels. They give me a chance to play with the divine. I went home last night and couldn't have been happier. One might think that spending all this time with kids would make me want to have kids of my own and yes, this is true. But more often then not, spending time with all these kids make me want only be a that crazy Sister aunt lady who gets to play with all the kids because she doesn't have any of her own. This is especially so when my cousins answer the riddle: What do you call a traveling nun? By saying, "You, Becca?" Ha, yes, kids, I am an eventual traveling nun.

        When talking about my adventures with the kiddos last night, I mentioned that playing with them is as close to the divine as I can get aside from holding the hands of the elderly. This morning, I was blessed enough not only to go to Mass at the SBS Motherhouse, where my good friend, Katie D, once lived, but also to visit my other good friend, Sister Ruth Catherine. I had been told that Sister's memory is going and I was nervous that she wouldn't recognize me but when I went up to her room after Mass, she was so excited to see "her Becky." She had me sit down on her bed and then we chatted. I found triumph in only having to retell one story twice; all the others we only had to do once. Today was a good day for her. Toward the end of our visit, after asking me about how much I love teaching, she asked: "You know, Becky, I know you'll make a great teacher. Have you ever thought of religious life?" Sister Ruth asks me this question during every visit, I think because she just wants the thrill of hearing me say yes. So today, I told her: "All the time, Sister. In fact, never have I felt this much peace in my life until finally admitting to myself that I know where and to whom I belong." She grasped me hand, kissed my forehead and spoke with such joy in her voice. I smiled, almost cried, and thanked God for yet another triumph. She later linked my arm as we walked out of her room and I kissed her cheek goodbye with the reminder that I am always praying for her. She's simply beautiful.

       Yes truly, a few of my favorite things are nuns and babies. This Thanksgiving break, I got both my nun fix and my baby fix. I was so happy. I am so grateful. Both of these events gave me enough joy and stamina to get through these next two weeks of school before Christmas break. There is much to look forward to in these last two weeks and I know there will be so much for which I am grateful. Thank you, God, for baby cousins and nuns! And just a shout out to my favorite missed connection nun who called me while I was in the middle of this blog post: How big WAS that Rudolph blow up in the yard? Love you, AF! 

How Nice To Be Founded?!

"It was there, amid my Sisters in their blue habits, 

that I felt at home."

- Mother Theresa Maxis

     It's been almost a month since I have last blogged, but alas, that is no inclination that the Lord has not been moving in my heart and soul. Truly, these past few weeks have been some of the most blessed weeks I have ever experienced. I have been full time teaching (all five classes of Juniors and Freshmen) and it's been amazing. But at the end of the day, I am exhausted. Occasionally, I have thought about how easy it would be to blog if all I had to do was talk about my amazing days with my students. But alas, the time and the fatigue just have not allowed me to be able to blog. Trust me, it's been driving me crazy. However, today I found a free hour and so, here goes nothing:

     Today, November 10, is Founder's Day for the IHM Community. Long story short, it's a day they celebrate being founded by Father Gillet and Mother Theresa Maxis back in 1845. Of course, we cannot forget the always lovely St. Alphonsus and St. Teresa (my girl!). For me, it begins a month of celebration because soon after Founder's day, is Charter day (the day IU's Charter was passed so we could be school) and ending with Feast Day, December 8th! Founder's day is special, for without those beautiful people of God who founded the IHM's, first the Oblates of Providence, I would not be where I am today: an IHM educated young woman! 

     I spent my Founder's Day first by going to Mass at the Motherhouse, a place I can call a home away from home after spending every day this semester there. I'm the little princess of the portress and my big sisters love to tease me all day long. I take such simple joy in praying with Sisters. Their voices sound like angels and I simply cannot resist closing my eyes and letting the feeling of Heaven overcome me. Of course, those angels are the ones who hug me at the sign of peace and then congratulate me for not tripping over the kneeler again. Then I'm caught in a fit of giggles and cannot control my laughter as Sister simply puts her serious face back on. Really though? Yeah, I'm the little princess. 

     The next adventure for the day was running back to IU for our Memorial Mass so I could sing. In the fifteen minutes before Mass I went around to every single Sister I could find in Chapel so I could hug them and wish them a Happy Founder's Day. Some Sisters wondered how I knew so I simply answered, "how could I forget?" I love Sundays if only for the reason that I get to see "my girls" at Mass. I miss seeing them every morning for Mass, but I know this is a leg of the journey, I must complete. Of course, I think these Sunday reunions yield mutual feelings. 

     After Mass, I walked back over to the Motherhouse so I could join the lovely ladies of formation for a pilgrimage of sorts to the graves of all the IHM Sisters past. Of course, no pilgrimage is complete without first a stop to the good ol' Produce Junction for flowers and the ever famous WAWA for hot cocoa and/or pumpkin spice coffee. Before long we were well on our journey to St. Agnes cemetery to pray with a few Mother Generals and over 320 IHM Sisters. We visited the graves of two postulants who died before ever making vows and the very saintly Sister Candida. It was no surprise to me that in this cemetery all the Sisters are very neatly buried next to each other while the rest of cemetery seemed scattered in the style of old cemeteries. It was rather beautiful. 

     Next on the pilgrimage was the marker of the first IHM Motherhouse in West Chester. While now the grounds are used for an apartment complex (I joked about getting one there post graduation), the motherhouse was there from 1872 to 1966. It was there that I read out loud the beautiful words of Mother Theresa Maxis' homecoming. She spoke about how wonderful it was to see all the Sisters waiting for her at the door as she pulled in the drive. She reminisced about the feeling of home being with the Sisters, not in any specific place, but with her Sisters in blue. How appropriate, I thought, for IU is a home among beautiful ladies in blue for me, too. 

     Finally, we found ourselves at home at the graves of those Sisters buried in the Camilla Hall cemetery, a place I frequent often. I told the Sisters that in every cemetery of Sisters I visit, I find the Sister who died closest to the day I was born. For the IHM's it's Sister Mary Estella Rock. As we prayed for the other Mother Generals and the Sisters, I felt ultimate peace. Of course, when Sister Martina told us that there are spots in the cemetery left empty for the three living mother generals, I said, "may they remain that way for a very long time." I hadn't meant to say it outloud, but I did and the Sisters agreed with the sentiment. It was peaceful to walk where the saints sleep.

      The day was beautiful and even now as I reflect, nothing made it more perfect that being Sister Patris' partner in crime and steady arm. This dear Sister, someone I am so grateful to have in my life, stands a few inches smaller than I do and occasionally needs a steady arm. I'm kind of her fangirl so being able to be arm in arm with her all day was so perfect. For me, she's a saint. I was so blessed to hear so many of her stories while being arm in arm. Of course, snuggling together for warmth was also a plus! That woman is truly a gem, a diamond of the rarest form and I hope she knows how much I adore her.

      While the day was full of beautiful prayer and visitation, no day with my IHM Sisters could be complete without the entertainment Sister Mary Paparazzi and Sister Mary Hot Wok. I'm so blessed to share a pew with them both almost every day and being with them even on my off days are perfect. You know, I never quite laugh as hard as I do when we are all together. It's quite beautiful if I don't say so myself. There's nothing quite like spending a day with fun-loving people like those beautiful women of God. 

      Today was a day of peace and love. I have always loved walking with the saints sleep and praying with them. I love being able to touch these pieces of history and walk in the same footsteps as our sisters past. There is something eerily beautiful about knowing one is walking in the very same place as the saints in Heaven. The other day at work with Sister Cathy, I got to help change the display cases in the front foyer of Villa Maria. In those display cases are the rosaries of Father Gillet and Mother Theresa Maxis. Touching those beautifully light beads with my fingers, knowing that they, too, prayed with them, allowed me to experience an emotion like nothing before. How wonderfully strange to touch that which the saints touched. I told this story today to the sisters with whom I pilgrimaged and could feel the same powerful emotions. As we finished our journey, we could see the rays of the sun dance from the sky to which I said, "There are our IHM sisters dancing and having a party in Heaven on this great day." Yes, today was a day for the Saints. And I must agree, how nice it is to be founded at home amid my Sisters in blue habits?!

A Few of My Favorite Things: Nuns and Babies

"You know what this [the habit] does for me?

It allows me to hold babies, hold hands, and hold hearts.

I can listen to a person's story and simply say, 'I can't do much, 

but I can pray for you.' That's what I love."

- Sister Miriam George

     People are constantly telling me that I would be a good mother. I love that. Some people might think that it makes things awkward, but in reality, it doesn't. It confirms my whole life. Yes, I've had moments in my life where I dreamed of having six or seven babies of my own. But one time, my favorite English teacher in high school told me, "People may say you'd make a good mother, Bec, and they're right. But the truth is, to make a GREAT nun, you need to first make a good mother." What he meant was, a great Sister is maternal; she should make a good mother. If she wouldn't make a good mother, well than how else would she be able to love all those with whom she comes in contact? So, when people tell me I would make a good mother, I always say, "Well, I do love babies...everyone else's babies." It's true. If there was every a group of people I could possibly love more than the Sisters, it would be babies. 

     Last night at school, we had yet another "Tuesday with Dorothy." It was part two of a three part lecture series on Dorothy Day, civil rights activist, journalist AND most awesome woman of her time. Giving this talk was Brother Mickey, an oblate, an artist and a Camden resident. I have met Brother Mickey on many occasions and I was super excited to hear him talk about our girl, Dorothy. I was so excited with Sister Mary told about this talk, but my heart dropped when I found out it would take place during my class. Hoping that I could spread the love, I emailed my professor and asked if we could take a field trip. He denied the request, however, he gave me personal permission to go to the talk for a half hour if I reported back to the class some fun information. So, I did just that.

     Upon walking into the lecture hall, I saw many of my dear Sisters. I wasn't surprised actually, but it was a joyous shock to see so many of my dearhearts. As I was searching for a seat with easy exit access (so I wouldn't make a scene leaving halfway through), Sister Miriam George caught my attention. Now, there are multiple reasons why I love this woman, but one of the main reasons is because we share the same height. Yes, she is a fellow little person like me. Of course, I also love her for her prayerfulness, her undying love, her having adopted me her little sister (literally...that happened once), her literal jumping for joy when I share good news and her pure joy of life. I smiled as she waved me over to her seat, and I sat down next to her. Somehow, we started talking about habits.

      I'm not quite sure how the subject came up, but it was a good conversation. I told her how that idea had come up during lunch among the faculty members the other day and so we began sharing views. Here I was, talking to a woman in a full IHM habit, talking about what she was wearing. Thank goodness she didn't comment on my workout clothes, haha! I shared how I could easily see both views: wearing a habit and not wearing a habit. This simply came from my experiences with all types of communities; some who wear full habits and some who wear lay clothes. I can easily understand why a community of sisters wouldn't wear a habit (e.g. safety, to fit in more with the people, to not take away from ministry, etc.) and why a community would choose to wear a habit (e.g. symbolism, simplicity, vow of poverty, togetherness, etc.). Of course, as I was saying this, I made sure not to let my personal bias slip out (I am an English major after all...). So, when she asked my opinion, I was happy to give it. I told her the beauty I saw in a habit. I love the symbolism of it and the simplicity. I also mentioned how much I miss wearing my Naz Acad potato sack uniform. After I said that, she said the above quotation. I fell in love even more, especially when she said the part about the babies. 

      She told me this as she gently held my hand, telling me she was always praying for me, too. This I knew, of course, but she never fails to remind me that she is always, always, always praying for me. Wouldn't you know it, that as soon as we were finishing up our conversation, a woman with a baby walks into the room and sits down in front of us. First thing that happened after this? Sister George asks if she can see the baby. So open, so honest, so true. The young mom lifted the beautiful baby from her lap to show him off and not just Sister George was all googly eyes over the baby, but rather the entire room of Sisters suddenly turned their attention to the baby. Literally, all side conversations had stopped and every single Sister in the room turned to coo over the baby. I was in love. Not only was there a precious little 7 week old baby named Wesley in front of me, but all the Sisters around me were instantly ahhing over him. It was the cutest thing since I don't know when. 

      After a few minutes, Wesley went back to his mother's lap to rest. Sister George leaned over and said, "See?" and smiled. I couldn't help but laugh from pure joy. Soon enough, the presentation began and I didn't really get a chance to reflect on the NUNS AND BABIES event that had just happened, but I felt a peace in my heart as I listened to all the stories of women with young babies who were helped by Dorothy Day. It was beautiful. 

      Today, as I was driving back to school from home, I found myself stuck in standstill traffic. Yes, my friends, standstill traffic. I won't complain, but I will tell you that I literally sat in my car for an hour on the turnpike without moving an inch. After ten minutes, I turned my car off and turned the music on my phone on. But then after twenty minutes, my cell phone died. How was I to occupy myself? I couldn't talk to my neighbors because their windows were down and I really shouldn't be reading because traffic could move at any moment. So, I pulled out my rosary and began to pray. As I was praying, I reflected on last night's events of NUNS AND BABIES. I smiled, remembering my dreams and hopes for the future. 

      I always tell my friends and family that they all need to have multiple babies so I can play with them all at family parties. I have always had this dream of being that crazy Sister aunt who plays with the kids, sits at the kids table, and spoils them with hugs and kisses and lots of love. I have a goal of being the favorite aunt (as if it was obvious...as if that's even a questionable idea). I have often had the conversation with my cousin about being the babysitter for her children and the god-mother. Whenever there is a baby around, I will be holding him or her. My cousin assured me that there will be plenty pictures of Sister Becca holding babies. I always laugh when she says that. 

       As I prayed, I also reflected on Sister George's words. So many believe that being a Sister is a lonely life, that we can't really do much. But in truth, we can do so much more. Sisters can devote themselves to the poor, to the ones who need love. Sisters can stop at any moment to pray with a person, to hold their baby, to hold their hands, to hold their hearts. Sisters can love unconditionally. I thought of all the times I had tried to love unconditionally, how I have always looked on with a maternal love. And of course, I remembered all the Sisters who had looked upon me with those same maternal eyes filled with love and compassion. I prayed for all those who need love, who I have loved and who have loved me. Of course, I also prayed for my favorite English teacher in high school, who helped me discover that making a good mother is a beautiful thing, especially when it will help me be a great Sister. 

My "Daughter" is every person whom God is calling me on to love.