Why I Still Believe - Working Under Cover for the Big Guy

"A hug is the best gift - one size fits all and no one cares if you exchange it."

- Irvin Ball

Jingles, Santa and Frankie the Reindog

     At twenty years old, yes, I still believe in Santa Claus. Let that sit in for a second. Some of you are now confirming the fact that you believed I am so innocent, while others are gasping, thinking "how can she be so innocent." Let's be honest, folks, I've seen a lot of turmoil in this world. And that is why I still believe in Santa Claus.

     My little sister is eight and a half, and she's seen above dressed as an elf, with me, dressed as Santa. Did she know it was me? Of course. She watched me get dressed. She knows we own a Santa Suit. But the magic was still there. I'll let you in on a little secret of mine. A few years ago, Santa was looking for some help. So, I hooked him up and gave him my number. Now, I'm on speed-dial. That's right folks, I work under cover for the big boy. He called my cell phone late Sunday night, right before I was going to bed. The week before Christmas for Santa is like finals week for college kids. That means...he will literally call at any moment because he has no awareness of how late it is. He also doesn't sleep. Anyway, he called me and begged me for some help. He needed four little elves to go visit a family in West Philadelphia the next day. Well, we were short an elf, so I asked Santa if it would be ok if I told Lizzie our secret. This is what he told me: "I think she's old enough to understand that some families, I can't get to. Their neighborhoods are too dangerous for the reindeer or some families don't have real homes that I can leave presents in. I think she'll understand that sometimes Santa needs to send in back-up. Yes, you can let her know you've been working for me for a few years now. And just as a reminder that I do exist, I'll stop by later tonight when she's asleep." 

     The next morning, I was partly dressed as Santa and painting my cheeks rosy red when Lizzie walked into the bathroom. I asked her and right away she said yes. In fact, she ran upstairs and grabbed her fancy elf costume (I'm serious...we have those laying around. We're a theater family...) and put it on. I was so proud! I finished dressing as Santa to the point where the beard and hair were safely bobby-pinned to my real hair. We were ready. As we drove through the cities to get to pick up another elf and get to Nazareth, people were honking and waving and laughing and smiling. Wow, the Christmas Joy was upon us, I thought. Then I remembered I was dressed as Santa. So, of course, I played it up! We started waving and honking and yes, giving out candy canes! One man told me I was crazy and yet, because of me being crazy, he now had Christmas joy. Our job wasn't over yet, however.

     With one more elf in the back seat, and a sleigh full of toys, we drove down in the depths of the city to a little neighborhood called West Philadelphia (...born and raised.) We parked the car, pulled all the toys out and walked to the house. People in the neighborhood were shocked silly to see a literal Santa and her/his elves. When we rang to doorbell, Mom answered and the oldest son, but the little ones were out at the store. So, we set the toys and candy up, and snuck out of the house. Santa had come. I could only imagine the joy that would be on their faces when they got home. How could it have happened? I imagined the 13 year old saying. If Mom has barely enough money to pay for the apartment, how could this have happened? Santa must be real after all. And this, my friends, is why I still believe in Santa. Not only because he calls me every year and asks for my help, but because the Santa I believe in, is a symbol of hope. I saw more toothless smiles yesterday driving back through Kensington than I had ever seen in my life, but they were smiles. And you know why they were smiling, because Santa, who is an instrument of God, smiled first. 

      My belief in Santa is a little deeper than that so don't worry. You see, even though I work under cover for the big guy, the big guy actually works under cover for God, who is the real reaso for the seaso. After a long day of working as Santa's helper, I changed my outfit from red to green and drove to Mass in a whirlwind of white snow. I literally felt so beautiful! You see, snow is always a sign that I am exactly where I am meant to be. The very first time I told anyone (Sister David) I was thinking about religious life, it snowed. From that moment on, snow had a special meaning. In the car, I called my dear Sister Bernice way, way up in Connecticut to wish her a Merry Christmas Eve, before heading into Mass. Since I've been unofficially diagnosed with Nerve Damage in my knee, I haven't been able to kneel (as per nurse's request) and yet, I couldn't help it. I knelt. I know, all the nurses are going to be yelling at me, but I had to, my little baby was there in the manger and I needed to kneel. As I looked up to the ceiling of St. Christopher's Church in prayer, I noticed how much it looked like a stable roof. How perfect.

      Not before long, four of my Nazareth Sisters walked in, sitting a few pews ahead of me. I snuck into the pew and surprised them all. There were two sisters in front of me and one on each side of me. While we all sat in prayer, two of our other sisters sat down behind us. So there I was, surrounded, literally, by my sisters. Of course, with my sisters who know me so well (and I know them so well), there were moments during Mass where I just had to giggle. I know at some points, we each had tears in our eyes, too. 

      You see, my AE was so happy to be in a place she called home for so long. In a few days, she'll be moving to Chicago for at least the next six years. I haven't let myself get upset about it yet, but I am. I'm going to miss her so much. Of course, Sister Evey was tapping her foot and swaying to every beat of the music, singing her heart out, just like a little child. She is the essence of childlike spirit for me. Then there was Sister Teri on my left, who shared her missalette with me but couldn't see the words. That's alright, I couldn't either. Of course, when I laughed, she elbowed me like a perfect big sister. On my right side was Sister Mary Annette who sung in perfect harmony with that. I love that about her. She's harmonious with everything, but especially God. Her soul is beautiful. Behind me was Sister Mary Joan, that's right my high school principal. I am so blessed to be able to call her my sister these days, because she truly looks after me like a big sister should. And finally, Sister Daniela, my matka (which means mother in Polish). She is the superior (the mother) of St. Katherine's Convent and since I'm there so much when I'm home, it's like I live there, she has become my mother, too. But why matka? She's Polish. Like from Poland, Polish. She is someone I miss so very, very much when I am away from home. We quietly share a connection of souls. 

     As I knelt (my knee was screaming...I didn't care), I realized how much in the last few weeks that I had needed a hug, and so my Christmas miracle was having a Mass long, group hug from my Sisters. At the end of Mass, one sister was pulling me into a hug, while another was holding my hand. I got all the hugs and kisses the youngest little sister usually gets and more. For the first time in a while, I was aware of God's love for me. I was so aware of His love, I was brought to tears. Yes, the love was so present. This is why I still believe. 

      The night was far from over after my first Christmas Mass. At midnight, Mary, my Daddy and I headed to Midnight Mass after a Christmas Eve dinner with some family friends. It is my most favorite Mass of all times (Good Friday is my favorite liturgical day, but there's no Mass...). There is what some people call magic, but what I call miracles. As I listened to the Homily, Father Mike had such a beautiful view point. Jesus became a messy human. Being a human is so messy because we love, but we cannot love perfectly. If we could love perfectly, it would be perfectly mutual. However, most of us love and love and love and love without that love being mutual. I thought immediately back to my circle of Sisters. That love was mutual. So mutual. I felt a sense of belonging and home with them. I thought back even further to being Santa's elves. I loved that family probably more than they could ever love me. I thought to the smiles I received in response to the love I was giving to the hopeless (and sometimes toothless) people of Kensington and West Philadelphia. I love them more than they knew! This is why I still believe.

       And so, the Santa I believe in, isn't exactly the guy who climbs down chimneys, but rather a symbol of hope. Working for him under cover is the best. But I know, in truth, we both work for the even bigger Guy and I can't thank my Father enough for blessing me with such beautiful sisters and smiles and family. I got to admit, working under cover for the Big Guy is awesome!

Jesus Look-a-Like

"He lives in you, 

He lives in me.

He watches over everything we see,

into the water, into the truth, 

in your reflection, 

He lives in you."

- "He Lives In You", The Lion King

 or 

     On Tuesday, I said what I thought would be my last goodbyes to the Nazareth Academy crowd before the New Year. But after wishing everyone a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, I had one final stop: the Main Office. As soon as I walked in, Sister Mary Joan wrapped her "big sister" arms around my neck (literally my neck) and pulled my head under her chin. "What do you mean 'Merry Christmas'?" She asked. "I mean..uh..Merry Christmas?" Right away the ladies in the Main Office, Mrs. Versino and Mrs. Cardamone chimed in: "Yeah, aren't you coming back this week?" "Uh...no?" I answered, now unsure of my plans for the rest of the week. I was still in a loving headlock from Sister Mary Joan when she said, "You are always here for Mass. You never miss Christmas Mass." I agreed. And then the three of them in unison said, "So you're coming right?!" "Of course..." I mumbled, "Of course." 

      Having gone to my alma mater once a week for the past two and a half months, and then twice this week already, I was starting to feel like I was wearing out my welcome. And I can't lie, I needed my own little break from Nazareth. As much as I love my school a million, I'm there way too much for having graduated three years ago. And yet, something always drags me back in.Whether it's the people I love, the girls who are my sisters, my heart needing a little bit (or a lotta bit) or love or God just wants me there, I always get dragged back in. And the curse for anyone who goes through those front doors is: You can never just stay for a few minutes. You stay forever.

     And so, there I was this morning, trying to pick out something other than yoga pants and a t-shirt to wear to Mass. After baking my little sister four dozen brownies for her classmates at six this morning and getting her ready for school, I dropped her off and then headed to the great Naz Acad. With two minutes to spare, I pulled into the parking lot. Not one, not two, but ALL THREE (yes, I have three unofficial, official parking spots there....) were filled. You know what that means, those two minutes to spare were spent running from the back parking lot to the front door. Of course, nothing ever starts on time, so I spent that "extra time" catching up briefly with my A.E., Sister Michele. Before I knew it, those I had said "Merry Christmas" were now "harassing" me about how I "just couldn't stay away." God does some funny things, I told them. And boy was today just an emulation of that!

      Father began the homily by asking us what we thought Jesus looked like. He suggested Chase Utley, and the Brawny Man, but I couldn't disagree more. In my mind, I began to compose what Jesus would really look like: scruffy; dark, sun-tanned skin; dark, dark, wild brown hair; dark brown, almost black eyes; he wouldn't be too built, but he would be strong; his hands would be rough from carpentry work; and of course, he'd have blisters on his feet from his shoes. I smiled at this image in my head, but then I tuned back into the homily. "A baby..." I heard. Oh wait...Jesus did come as a baby at first. Immediately, I tried to picture this grown man I just drew in my head, as a newborn baby. 

      Ask anyone and they will tell you, I love babies. I love holding them, rocking them, singing to them, feeding them, playing with them, smiling at the them, waving at them, playing peek-a-boo with them, even changing their diapers...I don't even mind that. I love babies. They bring such joy to anyone's life with their innocence and their little-ness. Their eyes are wide, ready for the world and yet they are so fragile. I have so many babies in my life, that describing this makes it easy...and yet, I couldn't imagine Jesus as a baby. 

      As I went through my day at Nazareth (like I said, you can't leave.....), I caught up more with my AE, I crashed Sister David's second period and watched The Nativity Story with her class, bonded with Sister Teri over Special Education courses (ironic how we took the same class...) and finally, popped in to aid my dear Sister Mary Anthony. I tried to keep my profile low while I was in the building; the less people who knew I was there, the better. And yet, that never happens when Becca is in the building. But that's ok. God had me there for a reason.

      That reason was soon to be revealed to me as I sat in the Community Service Corps office with Sister Mary Anthony trying to fix the CSC Facebook Account. She is always multi-tasking, and so while I was fixing it, she was trying to call her Operation Santa Claus delivery spots. She was supposed to drop some presents off today, but she just wasn't going to make it. Without even fully knowing what was going on, my heart volunteered for the job. Right away, I said, "I can do it, Sister." Both of us were shocked at my abrupt volunteer, but God was in it. As we quickly chatted, I found out more and more information. The drive was a half hour away, in a different state and completely out of the way of home for me. But, oh well. When she told me where I was going, I knew right away that God was working in my visit to Naz. The place was called "Our Lady of Sorrows," and I have a huge devotion to her. 

       I quickly printed out directions to where I was going and we headed downstairs to get the presents. We filled up my front seat and then we hugged good-bye. As I drove, it was as if I didn't even need the directions; my heart was leading me to where I was going. I got there a lot sooner than I had expected and dropped off the packages. Just like I did every year, my eyes started to water as the lady gave me a huge hug and thanked me. She told me that Makhai would love the gifts; I knew he would. When I got into the car to drive home, that's when I got it: the reason I couldn't picture Jesus as a baby is because He is not a baby anymore. 

      I reflected back on my day and realized, Jesus doesn't look like a baby, nor does He look like that Middle Eastern man I described. He looks like Makhai. He looks like the lady who opened the front door at Our Lady of Sorrows. He looks like Sister Mary Anthony, Sister David, Sister Teri, Sister Michele and Sister Mary Joan. He looks like the ladies in the main office. He looks like my favorite teachers. He looks like the homeless men and women I saw on my drive through the poor neighborhoods. He looks like my little sisters and their friends. He looks like the tired, worn and exhausted parents. He looks like the parents of the 20 children killed in Connecticut. He looks like their teachers and principal who stood in the line of fire. He looks like the kids in Jamaica that I think about everyday who have no family but each other. He looks like the families in New Orleans who live in the houses I once helped build. Jesus looks like all of these people and so many more. This is why I couldn't picture Him as a baby, because He lives in them and you and me. He looks like us. We are Jesus look-a-likes!