Fluff Removal

"If the person you are talking to doesn't appear to be listening, 

be patient. It may simply be that he has a small piece of fluff in his ear."

- A.A. Milne, "Winnie-the-Pooh

     A few weeks ago, I was asked to give a talk to middle school students at an EDGE program. I was asked to speak about vocations and my personal discernment journey. As I was preparing for this talk, I was struggling with how to relate this to the students. Of course, it wasn't until I arrived there that I thought of how I could do it. I usually relate communication with God to music as there is usually at least one student who plays an instrument. While I did that, I also related it to one of my favorite Winnie-the-Pooh quotes. 

     Winnie-the-Pooh has always been a favorite of mine to quote. Of course, Pooh has even more significance as I get older. He not only reminds me of one of my closest Sisters but he also seems more and more relatable. And whenever he pops up, I feel like I am getting a special sign from God. So, because he is so familiar to me, I felt it was perfect to share with the students the above quotation. 

     I told the students about the quotation and I said that sometimes God is speaking to us but we have fluff in our ears. I asked them to imagine having an earache and having the cotton ball the nurse gives us in our ear. Remember the feeling that you know someone is speaking but you can't really hear them that well? Well, that's how fluff is. But sometimes some people have more fluff than other people. Pooh has warned against this fluff stuff. And our God is so patient that He understands when we have fluff in our ears. He speaks and waits for us to remove the fluff. Although, sometimes we even need help removing the fluff.

     I want to go back to Winnie and one of my closest Sisters. I'm not sure why but she loves Winnie-the-Pooh. As I went through my college years, I began to feel more and more like a Piglet to her Winnie-the-Pooh. Piglet is always unsure of things and Pooh always has the answers. Pooh always had something of significance to say, even if it sometimes didn't make sense. He was confident in whatever he said, confident in whatever he did, confident in who he was. And of course, he was patient. He was so because he recognized that sometimes fluff happens. Sister was always that figure of Pooh to me. And I was always Piglet. My favorite Piglet/Pooh conversation? "Piglet sidled up to Pooh. 'Pooh?' he whispered? 'Yes, Piglet?' 'Nothing, I just wanted to be sure of you.'" Sometimes we don't need words, we just need to be sure of one another. And I always felt like I needed to be sure that Sis would always be there for me. 

     So, when I started telling the students about having fluff in their ears and not being able to hear God's words clearly, I began to also hear Sis say, "remove the fluff from your own ear." I'm not sure if that's something she would say, but I could imagine her relating my current spiritual distress to Pooh in some way, shape, or form. And because that quotation was so fresh in my mind, I figured she might equate it to the fluff in my own ears. I told the students that God is always speaking to us, we just simply need to listen. And even if we listen really, really, really hard, if we have fluff in our ears, His voice won't be clear.

     A few weeks before I gave this EDGE talk, I had signed up for a silent, private retreat. I had been searching for silence. As an introvert, I need silence and alone time to function. However, I am in a profession and ministry that surrounds me with people. I love it, don't get me wrong, but it had been seemingly difficult to find some silence and alone time. So, out of spiritual desperation, I signed up for a silent retreat. Confirmations from God always happen in threes for me. So I had called another Sister friend and asked her about her suggestion for a silent retreat. She mentioned the place where I had just booked my retreat. I then went to one of the Sisters with whom I work and asked for her suggestion. She said the same place. My third confirmation came later when my Dad told me that my grandfather with whom I had been very close in my early years, had often went there for retreat. I knew I was meant to go there. I knew that my needs for silence and for a retreat was real. 

     It has been a while since I've been on retreat and so it was time for one. I felt I needed silence, not necessarily a directed, silent, retreat, but just silence. I was ready and excited to go and be away from all the confusing, conflicting, exciting, energetic aspects of my life, because truly in the past few months, things have just built and built. I knew this because I know myself. But when I was speaking to the students, I realized, my confusion was probably coming from not being able to listen and hear God clearly. My own confusion was coming from having a small (or rather large) piece of fluff in my ears. And so, in a few minutes, after the final bell of the day rings, I am going to embark on my journey to a silent retreat. I have packed a few prayer books, my bible, my journal, some looseleaf, some snuggly pjs but most importantly, I have my walking boots. The only thing I plan on doing aside from participating in liturgy, is walking and walking pretty far. I will walk in silence to a place where I can remove the fluff and finally, hear God's voice clearly again. As I've told a few people, I'm going on retreat to figure out life. But in reality, I never will. Only God knows His plan for me. 

     And so, as I embark on this journey for the weekend, I have reached out and asked people if they have any special intentions they would like me to carry with me. My students, co-workers and friends have filled two pages back to back of intentions. I will carry your intentions with me as well. My journey begins in about ten minutes. I'll start be grabbing a Chestnut Praline Latte for the long car ride and I will be on my way. You're in my prayers. And to give you your own experience of silence, I'm not adding a song this time. Enjoy. 

Desert Silence

"Praying - a silence in which
another voice may speak."
- Mary Oliver, "Thirst"

     As soon as I saw the mountains in the backyard of Villa Maria, La Planicie, I knew immediately that I wanted to climb them. I saw them as I see the ocean, something in which I can be alone and at peace. Just as I so often find the grandeur of God in the ocean, I felt the immense glory of God calling me to the tops of those mountains. I didn't look at them as most hikers or backpackers would, as something to be conquered, but rather, I saw them as something that I knew would conquer me.

    Our first taste of the mountains was when Sister Annette took us on a tour of the "backyard." We didn't go very far, but despite the small distance into the mountains we went, it was breathtaking. We didn't go very high, but the group of us stood on a path that seemed carved out only by God. Sister was telling us about a time she had gone up the mountains and sat incredibly still while she was on retreat some time ago. After her story, she made us stand there in silence. It was deafening. There were no birds chirping, no sounds of cars or people, no breeze to rustle even the dirt paths. There was absolutely no noise. Then, of course, someone laughed because we are not a silent people. And no, I do not mean our particular group, I mean modern day people. 

     This morning, I was sitting in Mass at St. Charles in Bensalem with my little sister. It what used to be a "cry room" for mothers with babies on Sundays, has been transformed into a side Chapel. There is a glass wall and two glass doors separating the room from the big church. Because there isn't too much room in the side Chapel, many people, including my sister and I, sit in the church and listen to Mass. Lizzie and I sit close to the glass wall, however, just so she can see what is going on. Usually, there is a microphone for the priest and the reader to use so that the people in the Church can listen, but today there was no microphone. Suddenly, the people in the Church started to state the obvious: the microphones are not on, etc. They began to move and hustle around making it so that one could not hear at all. However, when all was quiet again, despite there not being any microphones, if one listened really intently, he or she could hear what was going on. I found myself listening, focusing on every word that was said, and quieting my own mind. I found myself being silent. After Mass, as I reflected on this phenomena, I thought, once again of the desert. 

      On one particular afternoon, two of my friends from our trip and myself decided to go climb the mountain. We didn't set out to climb to a specific height or go to a specific peak, we just wanted to go, and so we went to the first place Sister Annette took us. We climbed and climbed and climbed. I felt the top of that particular mountain calling me forth; I needed to go there. It was rough, my lungs ached, my feet hurt and I had no idea how I was going to get down. I was sweating and since most of the mountain is made of dirt, my skin was soon being caked in dirt. Yet, I knew I had to get there. I kept climbing until finally, I reached the top with Nicole. Then, immediately I felt tears build up in my eyes. 

      I looked around the top of the mountain for a section to sit down. Where I sat is where I took the above picture. Yes, I sat down on a rock that essentially allowed me to dangle my feet over a very steep edge. Then, I sat there. I closed my eyes and I let the silence flow over me. Again, there were no birds, no animals, no wind, nothing. We were so high up that you could see the city of La Molina but you couldn't hear a single sound. My thoughts were deafening. Being up there, I began to pray. I had almost every fear and ambition on my mind but suddenly, I was being quieted. All my thoughts began to cease and I felt the true presence of God with me. 

      Yesterday, I went to visit my dear (dare I say it?!) alma mater and my Sisters there. While most of the conversation was in good favor and lots of sharing of my recent adventure to Peru, there was some very serious conversation, too. I hadn't planned to see Sister Annette yesterday, but as I waited in the convent dining room for Sister Elaine, she popped out of the kitchen and asked me to stop over in her office when I got back. She wanted to see my pictures, of course. And so, after lunch with Sister Elaine, I walked over to her office and let her browse through my pictures. I could see how much each picture brought back to her mind the memories of not only our two weeks there, but also of all the years she was missioned there. And as I watched her, I felt so much emotion flow through my heart. Joy at the sight of all the smiles and almost tears at the sight of all the people I love so dearly there. After she finished with the pictures, she turned to me and we had a chat. 

      She told me that I was quieter than usual and it seemed that I was perplexed by something. While yes, there was a lot on my mind concerning big and little moments of future life, my quiet persona of the day was actually the real Becca, I told her. Many people do not see pensive, reflective, quiet Becca, but she's there deep inside. I've always been a "watcher," one who takes in everything and then later, I explode about it. I see things for what they are in their stillness and reality. She asked how I was and I responded by saying, "I just am." I was sitting in her office as I was sitting on the desert mountain, in silence with thoughts slowly going through my mind until there were none left. I admit that there was a point in our conversation where I felt tears build up in my throat, but really I was at peace with just "being." I had no where to go and all day to do it. 

     She reminded me yesterday that I need to continuously be open to the Spirit; I need to listen to Him. That traveled with me as I remembered the mountains and the silence I experienced there. This morning when I was trying really hard to focus on listening at Mass, I also remembered her words. You see, I cannot truly listen if there is noise. Just as I couldn't hear what was going at Mass while the people were making a fuss, I cannot hear God if my mind is flood with thoughts and actions. I cannot listen to God if I am constantly on the run. He calls me from the desert mountaintops to come and sit and just be with Him. He calls me into the desert, not only the real desert like in Peru, but the figurative desert. It is there where I may feel tired, achy and sweaty of all that life has given me. But if I allow myself the time to sit and be with Him, He will silence me and there I will hear His voice. Because just as in a conversation, when I am quiet, I allow the other person to speak. In the desert, God does all the speaking. But it comes in the form of silence. I simply have to listen to what the silence does to my soul. 

Enjoy a bit of silence today, on me. 

Keeping Jesus Company

"In the silence of the heart, God speaks.

If you face God in prayer and in silence, God will speak to you.

Then you will know that you are nothing. It is only when you realize your

nothingness, your emptiness, that God can fill you with Himself. 

Souls of prayer are souls of silence."

- Mother Theresa 

     Holy Week began on Sunday with Palm Sunday. As per the tradition, the choir met at ten am and practiced with Sister Regina with the same Palm Sunday songs we do every year. However, there was something different: she wanted me to sing the opening antiphon: Hosanna to the Son of David. I'll be honest; I didn't think I could sing that loudly or strongly. But when she made me sing, I felt like she was Sister Mary Clarence and I was Sister Mary Robert from Sister Act...you know that scene when Whoopi comes in and rearranges the choir and then tells Sister Mary Robert to sing out - loud? Yeah, that happens to me everytime Sister Regina makes me sing. Needless to say, I was a little nervous to sing out in the rotunda in front of all those people. But, after Mass I could feel the Holy Week High coming on.

    In years past, Holy Week was always my most favorite week. This year, I was praying to be filled with the same excitement for Holy Week. For some reason, I had lost my excitement for Lent about week three of fasting and almsgiving. Although, SEARCH did help with my excitement about LIFE, my excitement about Holy Week was still being tucked dormant in my soul somewhere. Starting with my emotional sob fest after Palm Sunday Mass on Sunday Night, the week was a roller coaster of emotions. I cried and laughed many times.

    Again, this year, I partook in the Busy Person's Retreat and this time around my Spiritual Director was Sister Mary. A big focus of my reflections was the idea of servitude to God. My whole life I felt I had been called to be a Servant of the Lord. Even the very word, servant, is important to me. The second day of retreat I prayed with the first reading from ISAIAH in which it was proclaimed: by your mother's womb, I have called you by name. My name, Rebecca, means servant of God in Hebrew. So, as you can see, the word servant is so important and it plays a huge part in my discernment story. 

     As I shared with Sister Mary, often the tears came as I spoke about all the times I have already been blessed to give of myself to others. Tears came when I spoke about the blessing Immaculata has been. And of course, the tears came when I spoke about the Sisters at school who have become a family to me. But as we spoke, she seemed to notice that I wasn't as talkative as usual. Perhaps it was because our meetings were at 9 in the morning or maybe because I didn't get much sleep. But I remember bringing up the idea of having two ears and one mouth for a reason. The reading of the day for Wednesday, our last day of retreat, said something about God hearing us when we cry out. And so, there was suddenly a reflection on not only hearing God's word as a servant of His, but also knowing that God is always listening. 

     Flash forward to Holy Thursday night. In keeping with tradition, Sister Marcelina and I headed to Our Lady of Czestochowa in Doylestown for Mass. While we were a few minutes late (red lights...every single one) and walked in during the Gloria, I couldn't help but notice one thing: the music. But it wasn't actually the music that struck me even though the voices were absolutely beautiful, it was the lack of organ playing. The music was only voices. They sang a meditative hymn: Ubi Caritas and I closed my eyes and listened to the gentle silence of the hymn. All throughout Mass, all I could think of was silence, silence, silence.

     When we got home to the convent, I got in my car and turned off the radio (I have a bad habit of leaving it on when I turn the car off). Typically on Holy Thursday, I make a pilgrimage to either three or seven churches. While I knew I wasn't going to make seven churches considering the hour, but I made it to three. As I traveled, I was surprised to see how many children were out late with their families visiting churches. It made me smile to see how many beautiful families, the true witnesses of the faith, were out and keeping with the Old School Traditions. My first stop was Saint Katherine of Siena parish (aka where I parked my car at the convent). There, everything was stripped down and silenced in the very physical form. There were a few children, families and older couples.  At my second stop, St. Charles, again I noticed the quieting of the atmosphere. Statues were covered in purple linens so as to maintain the quiet and silence. I also noticed that it really drew the attention to the focal point of Holy Thursday night: Jesus. 

      Finally, at St. Ann's, my favorite chapel, it dawned on me. I knelt on the floor and gazed at my beautiful and beloved Savior. All around me was quiet, I had no more words for Jesus. Silence overtook my heart. It was in those sweeping moments that I realized why Holy Week wasn't quite Holy Week for me yet; I wasn't engulfed in a sea of silence. Although, I did share in the tears of Christ all week, I hadn't shared in the quieting of His mind and soul. I realized though, that Jesus' mind was restless on the night of His betrayal. He kept asking His father to let the cup pass. He was experiencing the true pain of being a servant of God as we so often do. I realized last night that I had shared in so much of Christ's passion already and I didn't know it. I had shared in His tears, His anxiety about His future, His overwhelming knowledge of His Father's presence, His pain in being a servant of His Father...and of course, the silence in the garden. As I kept Jesus company in the garden last night, I felt true solidarity with Him. I felt, again, peace of Holy Week. I felt Jesus speaking to me in my silence of heart and mind. It was there in the garden of silence and agony, that I felt one with Him. It's beautiful what simply sitting with one's Beloved can do for one's soul. Thank you, Jesus. 

Normally, I'd add a song here. But in keeping with the tradition of silence, 

my invitation is that you, too, can spend a few minutes in silence with Jesus. 

Even the Best Fall Down Sometimes...A Story About Doubt

"Even the best fall down sometimes. 

Even the wrong word seems to rhyme. 

Out of the doubt that fills my mind, 

I somehow find, You and I collide."

- Howie Day, Collide

    Let's be frank, here (notice I didn't say Frank, because I prefer Becca to any other name for myself.): The blog description says this: A blog about the ups and downs of taking the road less traveled by, etc. Today, I'm turning a "down" into an up. 

    We all suffer doubts at some points in our life. Whether you're doubting your college major in your senior year,  or doubting whether or not you really like your significant other, or doubting that the pizza you had for lunch was actually good for you or even doubting your confidence on a test you studied eight straight hours for. Or maybe it's deeper doubt, like doubting your profession/occupation in life, or doubting that your role in a single person's life, or doubting God. They say, "If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans." And for me this Doubt, this Doubt is, "What if all I thought was right for me, was really just an inlet for others to find God and their vocations, and really God hasn't revealed any of His REAL plan for me."

    I began to think, what REALLY drags me to Mass every morning? Was it pure love of the Lord or fear to stray from the routine? When I find myself sitting before the Lord a few minutes before Mass saying, "JC, I've got nothing. Absolutely nothing," that scares me. It makes me want to cry because I don't know what to hold onto. It's as if the string of hope is a mere sewing thread. I feel like I'm holding onto the ledge, dangling over the Grande Canyon, by my fingertips, getting ready to let go. I feel like all I've ever thought was God's plan for me, the religious life, might not be truly His plan. 

    And then I think, after I post a questioning status that all the nuns hop on like it's the newest trending hashtag on Twitter, what about Mother Teresa who spent all those years in a Spiritual Desert? What about all those saints who felt like God was silent? They became SAINTS! I'm not saying I'm going to become a saint, but that all these HOLY MEN AND WOMEN felt like God was silent, too. They doubted. They felt like giving up. I needed someone to be God's voice to me and right away, those voices of God came. 

    It's like the sisters know (now, without having to even see my face) that I'm dealing with doubt and need some help. For the first time this week, I went to morning Mass instead of Noon Mass, and my piano nun chose "The Lord is my Hope" for the entrance hymn. Right away, it was like a mass text went out to tell everyone that Becca needed prayers and encouragement. Actually, truth is, a text did go out to those cell phone savvy but not Facebook savvy sisters around me at school that I needed prayers. I quickly found that the majority of the sisters on campus and at the Motherhouse knew of my ailment and began to storm Heaven, for they, themselves, knew the power of Doubt and how much it hurts. Before I could cry another tear, I was getting spiritual direction via text messages and Facebook chats. And even at Mass yesterday morning, the kind smile from a sister and another sister taking the seat next to me, reminded me that God is not silent; I just wasn't listening. 

    While I may still be in a period of doubt, it has lessened greatly due to the voices of God who helped me out. And I've come to realize that this "uncertainty" of sorts is a normal feeling for anyone but especially for young people discerning this call to religious life. And so say a prayer for all those who may be going through enormous amounts of doubt in their vocation. If you've been there before, you know how much those prayers can help! And here's to making the down an up!