Delicate Beauty

"There is nothing more beautiful

than a person who goes out of her way

to make another life beautiful."

- Mandy Hale

    

      Look at this woman. She is beautiful. She has salt and pepper hair, a bright smile, and warm arms to hug you. She has laughter lines galore. But best of all, she has gentle eyes. Her gentle eyes look right into your soul and know, instantly, that which you are thinking. Her hands are soft and always willing to hold mine. Her arm is always ready to be linked with mine. Her soul is innocent and shines bright through her. She speaks only kind words. And she loves without judgement. Look at this woman. She is beautiful.

      I was blessed beyond compare to visit with my dear sister the other night. I hadn't seen her in a year, although it feels like it wasn't too long ago. She texts, calls and writes often making sure that I always know she is thinking of me. And as often as possible, I do the same. She had been visiting with her family but made sure to free a few hours for me, too. I picked her up, we stopped for some ice cream, sat for a while and then went for a walk in one of the places we used to frequent often when I was in high school. It was great simply being in her presence spending one on one time with her.
      When it was time to leave, she made sure to take my picture while I was sitting on the couch in the parlor of the convent. And after she took my picture, I took a selfie with her. She made me promise to send her a copy and soon it will be on its way in the mail. I couldn't help but pray, dear God, let this not be the last time I see her. I always pray that now. With so many people I love. I've learned to take each moment as if it might be the last. She hugged me tightly at the door, apologizing for forgetting her key which didn't allow her to walk me to the car. I told her to be safe on her flight home the next day, squeezed her tight and told her I loved her. She let go a bit of our embrace, looked me in the eye with her gentle ones, and said, "I love you very very much, you know that." Before I could cry, I turned for the door, got in my car and checked the rear-view mirror to see her waiting for me to drive away. I smiled. She was always watching out for me.
     When I got home, I wanted to find the right words to post with our picture. It really was a great picture - one I will cherish forever. I found the above quotation and thought that nothing described her more perfectly. I've always thought that she was one of the most beautiful people I know. I remember being in high school, accidentally finding her senior picture in the yearbook, giggling a little because I now was privy to her baptismal name, and realizing that she was one of the most beautiful girls in her class. I told her that a day or two after I found her picture and she just smiled.
     In high school, she was a mystery to me. I had known religious sisters before, but she was different. Maybe it was the fact that she was the first sister I had as a teacher. Maybe it was her gentleness. Maybe it was the fact that she sang to us in class all the time (Lord, you are more precious than silver, more precious than gold). Or maybe it was because she opened my heart and soul to a whole new religious community. Whatever it was, she was a mystery to me.
      She was the first sister I ever told about thinking about religious life. I told her in a letter and that has become something near and dear to us - letter writing. From then on, she took me under her wing. Sometimes, quite literally. I'm sure in the ten years that I have known her, things about me have changed. But she always tells me I've always been special to her. I'm glad that hasn't changed.
      I remember visiting Chapel after school as often as I could. Back when I went to Naz, the sisters still lived in the convent so they used the big Chapel for their own prayer. I had this thing where I would take my shoes off at the doors of chapel and walk in my socks to my pew. She knew where I kept my shoes and would always know if I was in Chapel simply by checking for my shoes. On Fridays, sometimes we cleaned Chapel together or watered the plants or prayed together. We would sometimes go for walks around the high school campus to pray the Rosary or faith share. In my high school eyes, she was amazing.
       Now, six years after I had graduated high school, I was looking at this picture of us, wondering want to say. In my young adult eyes, she is still amazing. But it's an amazingness that I can't quite define. All I know is that while she may be physically beautiful, she is even more beautiful in heart and soul. She makes my life beautiful by her presence. She makes my life beautiful by her ability to make me feel like the only person in the world that matters when we're sharing stories together. She makes my life beautiful when she holds my hand or wraps her arm around me in Chapel and we pray together. She makes my life beautiful with every card, note or text. And the best part is that she does it for so many people, not just me. I hope that I can make at least one person feel as special as she makes me feel.

      Look at this woman. She is beautiful. She lights up the room with her gentle compassion. She speaks only kind words of others. She loves with judgement. She holds so many dear to her heart. She prays so deeply and fervently. She believes the best in others. She makes each person she's with feel like the moon and all the stars. She holds on tightly when you hug her. She carries you in prayer. She listens to your heart. She wipes away your tears. She holds your heart in her gentle hands and protects it with all she can. Look at this woman. She is beautiful and I just want her to know that I think so. And I am so blessed to know her. Thank you, God.

When Nostalgia Hits Hard

"I know I would apologize if I could see your eyes, 

'cause when you showed me myself, I became someone else. 

May God's love be with you always."

- Aron Wright, "In the Sun"

     Last night, I was sitting at the picnic tables outside DC with my younger sister. We were eating Rita's water ice and enjoying the beautiful weather. We were with some other people but the conversation was really mine and my sister's. "I swear we are actually twins. You're the only one who understands my laughs and giggles," Mary said. It's true. My Mommom would also get frustrated whenever the two of us were together. We would laugh so hard, so loud and so ugly and Mommom could never understand why. Tears would fall down our faces, and they still do every time we tell the same stupid stories over and over again. As we laughed and cried last night, one of the Sisters who was with us, tried to understand as we rapid fire told story after story. I'm not sure what she got from our conversation, but I hope it was at least entertaining with her. 

      One of my favorite quotations from the Office is said by Andy: "I wish we knew we were in the good old times when we were in the good old times." When I left campus last night, so many nostalgic memories flooded my mind. I remembered the nickname we had for the people who used to sit at the picnic tables from my Freshmen year and laughed. Last night, we were those people. I remembered memories from campus, from friendships, from traveling and from my family. When nostalgia hits, it hits so hard but it hits so good. 

       My sister is currently experiencing the awesome memory-making campus I was blessed to have four years at. Sometimes, I admit, I live vicariously through her and her friends. I love watching her experiencing things for the first time like course registration, Cisco and the first day of good weather on back campus. I love watching her go through frustrating courses only to come out a stronger and better person. I like watching her make relationships with people I know NOT because she's Becca's sister, but because she is Mary. I love watching her fall in love with the same things I did and get frustrated with the things that frustrated me. But I also love watching her forge her own path. Actually, that's my favorite part. I love hearing the Sisters tell me: she's not much like you. Good for her. Let her be her own self. 

       The best part of my sister being her true self is that it makes our relationship so great. When people tell me they can't stand their brothers or sisters, I have no grounds of understanding that. Mary and I didn't always have the greatest relationship, but as we got older, the closer we became. We developed our own language, our own memories and our own arguments. We have our own trigger words - aka the words that trigger fits of laughter. Words like goose, Blake Shelton and *screech*. We are so close and we keep such good secrets. And every so often, like last night, we let a few people in on those stories and secrets. That's when those people become family.

      When my sister and I are together, we tag team. We make sarcastic comments for everything. We make up stories about strangers. We make up stories about really weird things we see. And we often entertain whoever is around us whether those people are strangers, friends or family. We are always making people laugh. My sister is my best friend and I love that I have her in my life. She is sometimes the only person who makes life worth living. And nights like last night are my favorite nights. Those are the nights that make me so nostalgic. 

      Like I said, as I was driving home, I was still laughing about the stories we didn't share. She was probably in her room laughing, too. These moments get me so nostalgic about the good old times. And yet, I know we are only 19 and 24 years old - we have plenty of good old times ahead of us. Sometimes I really miss the days when we would play kickball in the street, sing at the family parties, or skip school to go to the beach on a windy day. I miss the days when we would go downtown and get hotdogs from the hotdog truck (before Mary hated hotdogs). I miss the days of the long bike rides up and down the canal. And yet, some of the moments I miss the most get re-created every single time we are together. I miss moments that don't even exist yet like weddings, parties, and vacations in the future. 

      Being with my sister makes me so nostalgic for the moments we spent with people who are no longer with us, like my Mommom. Mary makes me nostalgic for memories that we could never have again, like going to Rome (what's up with the bells?!?). But Mary is also the person who gives me the wind in my hair, driving down the expressway with the windows down and belting the words to my favorite song feeling. Mary gives me the feeling of being complete. Mary gives me the feeling every sister should have, best friend, family and worst enemy all tied into one. She's made me who I really am and she's also allowed me to grow comfortable with who I am. Because I know even two years, there's no way I would have laughed my true laugh with Sister last night. 

     When nostalgia hits, it hits hard and it hits so good. Because usually it hits when I'm with my sister. And then I realize how blessed I truly am. 

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!

Dome is Home #FourMoreYears

"There comes a time in your life when you have to choose

to turn the page, write another book or simply close it."

- Stephen Adler

    I never thought the day would come: moving my younger sister, Mary, into her dorm at Immaculate, my alma mater. No, it's not because I was in denial of her growing up or even that she would want to move away. But rather, it's because Mary always forged her own path and as much as I secretly wanted her so badly to go to IU, I knew she would choose somewhere else. That's when she surprised us all by choosing IU. It's funny because even she never thought she would go there. But God wanted her there and well, let's be real, God gets what God wants. 

    Immaculata was the best four years of my life. I loved high school and I think the real world is kind of rad but IU was different. It was there that I forged down paths of service, discernment, academia, and even relationships. I lived an independent lifestyle and learned so much about myself through all the different opportunities with which I was presented. Sometimes I think, I have no idea who I was before Immaculata and in reality, that's true. IU was where I became someone. It was home, it was comfort, it was sacrifice and sorrow, it was everything I needed in the past four years. And no, it wasn't perfect, but it was what God had in store for me, making it perfect for me despite ups and downs and turn arounds. I loved the school, I still do and probably always will. 

     When it came time for Mary to start her college search, I had all the tips and advice. Apply early. Apply here, here and here, even if you don't want to go there - scholarship money. Don't apply anywhere that requires you to pay unless you really want to go there. Visit every where and ask questions. Go somewhere you feel at home. Naturally she did everything but most of the time, but hey at least she still applied to IU. I remember when I got my acceptance letter - I was overjoyed; the search was over. When she got hers, IU was added to a lengthy list of "places I've been accepted to." Even up until the last minute she was fighting going there. Yet, suddenly, she said, OKAY. I'm going. 

     I remember trying to hide my excitement. I didn't want her to feel like she would be hidden in my shadow. But whenever I would visit I would tell everyone that my sister was going to IU in the Fall. I was so happy, over joyed, that she was going to a place I felt at home. But more importantly, I was PROUD TO SAY THAT MY SISTER, as if she was a big shot, WAS GOING TO IMMACULATA. I thought everyone should know that someone as amazing, far more amazing than I could ever be, was going to Immaculata. I knew she would be the life of a party, do well in school, be known as a friendly gal with a dry sense of humor. She would be the one who will stay up late hours into the night and always be there for people. She would have no qualms about giving her opinion. She was going to forge a louder, stronger path in one year than I did in four years. I was just so proud that she was going there. 

      The night before move-in day, we had a huge argument. I was so upset that I hadn't been able to hang out with her one-on-one in a while, aside from the random target trips. I was going to miss my sister so much more than she even realized. I knew it would be hard for her best friend and our youngest sister, but I wanted some of Mary-time. And I didn't get it. We cried and fought but the next morning, things were back to normal as we packed up my car, piled in and drove the familiar drive to IU. I could do it with my eyes closed (but don't worry officer, I will never do that!) and probably so could she. I can drive from anywhere and get to IU; it's the north of my compass. We naturally picked up wawa on the way and arrived way too early for move in. But at least we were there. 

      Our day was spent moving stuff in and out, decorating, partying with nuns in the dorm and me running around like a chicken without her head. Of course, every where we went, I met someone who I needed to give a hug to and catch up with. Lizzie was fascinated that I knew so many people. Some even asked why I decided to visit on move in day. Naturally, I set them straight. As much as I love IU, it would be crazy to visit on move in day. I explained that my sister was moving in today and everyone was just as ecstatic as I was. They couldn't wait to welcome her in themselves. It's like she was more a celebrity than the president. She has no idea how many people want to know her. 

       When I left that day, I knew that our argument the night before was stupid. I knew that now that Mary was at IU, I would have more one on one Mary-time with her than probably ever before. It's so easy for me to drive up after school one day for dinner or visit on the weekends. She'll probably need someone with a car anyway, to drive her places.  By Sunday, we were sitting next to each other at Mass and dancing, singing (okay that was just me) and laughing at the little things. And yes, we were at Target right after Mass. 

      I hope Mary's IU is like mine, but not just like mine. I hope she forges a new pathway but falls in love with the school just like I did. I hope everyone knows her name from the good that she's done and how smart she is. I hope every professor talks about her behind her back saying that she is great to have in class. I hope she stands on stage so many times and freshmen next year want to be her best friend. I hope all the nuns harass her just like they harassed me and that her work study boss gives her grief every so often. I hope she runs into ups and downs but knows that rotunda launch is only a piece of figurative language. And of course, I hope she somehow gets to go on all the awesome trips I did and more. Maybe even study abroad. No matter what, though, I hope that Dome is Home for her. And that she doesn't mind when I visit...because in essence, it's more like going home for me every time than visiting. 

B-E-A-U-tiful

"We are all different, too big, too small, too short, too tall. But the beauty of it is that God is still waiting for us anyway."

- S. Natanaela

     My most recent adventures have included a week long intensive course on Beauty and a spur of the moment road trip to Chicago with a nun. Has much changed in my life? Nope. Not at all. While I have been busier than ever in my life, God is still moving in my heart. My course was extremely difficult for me because of many reasons such as the length and intensive nature of the course, as well as the concepts presented. So many times the lectures consisted of various conventions of beauty - how one can label something beautiful. Some presented various definitions of what beauty is, some offered conceptions of beauty and some even gave instances of "real" art versus kitsch. Naturally, I disagreed with most of what was presented because I come from the viewpoint that what is beautiful to me might not be beautiful to someone else. I struggled a lot with the class but the following week of spur of the moment adventures gave me a whole new vantage point of beauty; one that confirmed my own personal beliefs of beauty. 

     My class presented various paintings, images, pieces of art, some literature and even music to us under different lights - good, bad, real, kitsch. I found myself in awe of some beautiful religious paintings while other people thought they were awful. I found certain pieces of music to be beautiful and for others it was painful. On the flip side, some people thought some pieces of music were so outrageously gorgeous while I felt like my ears were bleeding. As a musician, I felt like I had the upper hand. Of course, this isn't meant to be a rant about how much I pretty much hated my class. So I'll steer away from that now. What I want to get across is that what is beautiful to me might not be beautiful to another person. What I find to be the most beautiful things in life, like laughter, sunsets, ripples in the lake, holding hands, and even the faces of those I love, might not be the most beautiful things for others. Of course, for me, beauty is found in the simplest things. I don't need art and music to connect my soul with the divine. I need simply to be made aware by the presence of another soul. 

     My faith in beauty was restored the following week when I found myself driving 13.5 hours to Chicago on a grand adventure. It was a spur of the moment trip with one of my Sisters. I jokingly suggested we go, she jokingly said ok and then eventually we found ourselves traveling at the crack of dawn. She kept saying how hard it was to believe she was there...me, too. Did I really just drive halfway across the country with a nun in my car to go visit more nuns? Yep. Did I love every second of it? Yep. Was I prepared for what the week had in store for me? Absolutely not. 

     When we eventually arrived at the convent, we were greeted so warmly as friends, as sisters. I truly believe that the nuns helped shape me into the person I am today...the person who believes that food is love. I pretty sure every second I wasn't eating, I was asked if I was hungry! But that wasn't the best part; I was also taught how to make some perfect Polish dishes. I cannot wait to try them at home. After we had dinner together with the community, we headed on another adventure. It was during these few days of adventuring all over Illinois, that I had to come up with a paper for my past week's class. In my reflections on beauty I realized some most amazing things. 

      With my sisters, the conventions of beauty do not exist. By this I mean, I barely had to look in the mirror. It didn't matter if I didn't wear make-up, had frizzy hair, or even if I wore the same outfit twice in one week. I looked at my sisters, who in the morning, were just as stinky breathed, frizzy haired, and groggy-eyed as I was. There was no questioning my need for adventure when I jumped in the water fully clothed. It didn't matter how much or how little I ate, how skinny or how fat I was. It didn't matter if my hair stuck out in all the wrong places even though it was in a ponytail. The worldly conventions of beauty did not matter with them and it's not because we were at the convent. Yes, it's true that sisters don't necessarily abide by the worldly conventions of beauty. But the reason I felt so beautiful in my Sisters' presence was because of their radiating beauty. 

      There was beauty in every story they told me about religious life, about their journey to meeting God, about the ups and downs of their day to day life. I found particular beauty in the way they spoke about the hardships they encountered and still experience. I discovered that my Polish sisters are some of the strongest women I know because of all the sacrifices they have made for their vocation. There was beauty in every moment of laughter and trust me, we laughed a lot. I laughed until it hurt. I laughed until I had tears rolling down my cheeks. There was beauty in every Polish accented English word. There was beauty in every search for proper vocabulary. There was beauty in every step we took together or moment we spent. There was even beauty in the silence, too. 

       Many days we visited different holy places, different churches and shrines. In these moments at Mass or in adoration, I prayed so hard. So much was put on my heart, especially in terms of beauty. Religious life is not easy. This is something I have always known. But there is a beauty in it. As Sister David would say, "It's been hard, but I wouldn't change it for the world." I saw the beauty in their deep relationships with God and with one another. I felt beautiful simply by being in their presence. Whether we were walking together, talking together, sitting together, swimming together, whatever, there was beauty. They know that the beautiful is God's creation. The trust in His promise and His endless beauty. There really are no words to describe the feeling of true beauty, except that I know these women are some of the most beautiful women I know. 

       My week was a beautiful retreat in a way, despite it being so full of adventure. I was able to focus so clearly on God this past week. I felt peace and true beauty in being able to be my true self - obnoxious laugh and all. I felt so free in ways indescribable. I felt the love from the Father above and from my Sisters. I felt such immense peace from Jesus. There were many conversations I had that lead me in many reflective ways. Whether it was, "God already knows...you just have to answer," or "I don't think it's a matter of if, but when," I was lead back down the roads from which I have felt distance. I allowed myself to be curious about religious life again and pray like I had once before - freely, openly, with tears, with pain, with happiness. To say this past week was a blessing is an understatement...it was so much more. 

       Toward the end of the week, I found myself entering into conversations I never could have imagined. Conversations that involved me to be so vulnerable and so open with my Sisters. I have kept so much in my heart and pondered my thoughts, but I never spoke them. In my conversations I released some pains, some frustrations but mostly my joys of peace and knowledge of the Lord in my life. My Sisters allowed me to be dramatic at times, laugh and joke, and share my heart. They, in turn, shared their hearts with me. I never expected that such deep, positive relationships could come from this week, but God had different plans. 

      My Sisters opened yet another window to beauty for me. They reminded me that I do not need to be perfect to be loved. They reminded me that the worldly conventions of beauty are impossible and that I am beautiful in my own ways. They reminded me that it's okay to not know what I'm doing with me life, to be afraid, to be scared. But they also reminded me that peace comes from within, from my own relationship with God. Peace doesn't come from making other people happy. Peace and beauty exist when I allow myself to be freely me. They showed me this by their most beautiful example. 

      If I could define beauty, if I could find the right words to even describe this week, I would say, that my Sisters are beauty. They are the pathways to the divine. They are example of service, sacrifice, struggle, and strength. They are my crutch when I need them. They are my best friends. They are my Sisters and I feel so incredibly blessed to have them in my life. They have been examples of joy and peace...what happens when one surrenders to God's will. And at this moment, I feel like saying, "I'm back in the game!" I'm back in touch. I've wiped the dust from my feet. I'm ready to do His will, whatever it may be. Because at this moment, I feel peace, joy, and above all, beauty. True beauty; His beauty. There aren't adequate words to truly and fully describe how God moves the heart. But I can say that His moving in my heart lead me to tears many times this week and that's better than any words. I tried my best, but nothing will ever truly grasp how beautiful God's presence in my life was this week. 

Jesus' Perfect Day

"You can't have a perfect day 

unless you do something for someone 

who can never repay you. "

- John Wooden

     Easter Monday, at approximately 5:45am, I, along with another faculty member from my school and ten students, loaded up a spaceship-like van and headed to Chicago for the first (of many) Alternate Spring Break Trip. We adventured for quite a number of hours and finally made it after determining that Indiana has the worst rest stops. Indiana Rest Stops with nuns at them, however, are not as bad. What seemed like a week of adventure already was just getting started.

     My students and I did a plethora of things around Chicago. We visited with Feed My Starving Children, a manual manna pack factory; visited with the elderly at Nazarethville and gave them a spa day; helped a local school start boxing up for the end of the school year and so much more. We dedicated our days wholly the service at hand and the girls did anything that was asked of them. Seeing one of our most commonly used phrases, "Serve the dear neighbor," in action was absolutely amazing. I saw so many smiles and heard moments of happiness as I sat back and watched the most amazing events take place. 

      In addition to doing service, my students were so blessed to visit with various communities of Sisters in the Chicago area, including the Carmelites. We prayed with the Sisters and played (Rock Band, Apples to Apples, etc.) with them. We listened to their vocation stories over dinner, breakfast and sometimes even lunch. We spent so much time with nuns. For me, this is normal, but none of my students had even stayed in a convent before, so this "nun-dom" was a whole new revenue for them. It was amazing to see what was happening inside so many hearts. 

     For me, going back to Chicago, a place where so many of my beloved Sisters live, was a whole new experience. I had only gone to Chicago on my own for discernment. The amount of night before we left when I would wake from panic were too numerous to count. I was nervous to be running my first but also so nervous to be bringing my students in my Sisters' house. It wasn't so much the fact that the SISTERS knew so much about me but rather that my students have never seen me in full nun-mode. Of course, despite the panic, I was so excited to be back with my Sisters. 

     My nights were longer than my students. I would request they get to bed and then I would spend the next hour or so catching up with one of the Sisters. They so gloriously accommodated my busy schedule. Whenever we could fit in a moment or two, they were ready. And every night I went to bed feeling so incredibly blessed. It wasn't only the Sisters that gave me that sense but also being with my students. 

      Every night we spent some time reflecting on our rose, buds and thorns of the day. The good, the bad and the hope for tomorrow. I was astounded at the wisdom of these girls and what was happening in their hearts. Every morning we would hold hands and pray together in a circle around the statue of Mother Foundress in the lobby. We would pray for our intentions of the day then pray our school prayer together before asking "Our Lady of the Highway/Walkway" to be with us. Every morning a few sisters would join in the circle. At night, a few Sisters would join our reflections and recreation. We became such a part of their lives and they became a huge part of ours. Each morning I felt more and more blessed as our list of intentions got longer and longer. The girls found so many little things to pray for and met so many people 

       Of course, being with the Sisters pulled my heart in so many directions to God. I cried way too many times about so many things. Many were happy tears, some were confused tears, and even some were tears of the pain that comes with leaving. I knew at every moment that being a Campus Minister as my full time job is exactly what I need to be and what I love so much. Being there with my awesome group of students and my good faculty friend made me excited to come back to school. I feel like I fell even more with my job. I felt that no matter what might try to get me down, I would be on top because this is truly the Lord's work. I felt high on the life God gave me. 

      This trip changed my life in so many ways. My faith in God's plan for me was renewed by my students' witnesses. My heart was so happy being simply in the presence of my dear friends, the Sisters. My heart was solely satisfied by the fact that we were doing the work of God. What we had experienced was a small slice of Heaven and the students knew it. I knew it. I overwhelmingly knew it. 

      At 6:30 in the morning, right before we piled in the van for our journey home, we joined hands with the Sisters and prayer in our circle. As we spoke the words, I choked up. I felt so much sadness leaving a place that I will always consider home. I was sad to be leaving the Sisters who will always playfully tease me about my hair being a mop or my "quiet" personality. I was sad to be leaving the hugs and love my Sisters had for my students. People always joke at the end of a good thing like this: well, back to reality. Well, how blessed am I that this is my reality?! So blessed. 

An Open Letter to Religious Sisters Everywhere

"On a day I was feeling furthest from myself, 

she gave me back my sense of worth. 

My golden girl."

My Dear Sister, 

      It's been a while and I should write more often. But I know that you're busy and I'm busy. Time seems to slip through my fingers now-a-days. Besides, even though I love to write, I would prefer to communicate in a different way most of the time. 

     Some days it gets lonely in my office, even if I'm right next to the Chapel. Sometimes I find myself gazing off into my memories and thinking about how often I got to see you. It used to be every day that I would see you on my daily adventures. Of course, some days I would have to resort to being satisfied with a phone call. But even still, at least I got to hear your voice almost every day. Now, I have to make myself pencil in a date to simply call you. It's not even a date to see you, but only to hear your voice. And it's rare that I feel like I have time to call you. I wish I had more time. By the time I get home from school, eat dinner and catch up on work, it's too late to call the convent OR I'm just too tired to carry on a conversation. But when I'm lonely in my office, I sometimes look at the phone and almost pick it up to call you. There are little moments throughout my day that make me think, "Oh I have to tell her." But it's the lonely, speechless, sometimes empty moments in my office throughout the day that send me deep into my memories. And so, thank you for those. 

     Thank you for all the times you willing (or unwilling) opened your arms and embraced me. Thank you for understanding my cuddly nature and my need for hugs all the time. Thank you for understanding that I love to hold hands with you and walk arm in arm for any distance with you. Thank you for every second of every minute of every moment that you walked with me like that. Because you gentle hands reminded me to be more gentle with others and with myself. 

     Thank you for all the times you answered a late phone call or a late knock at the door. Thank you for the times when I would pop into the office and you would simple drop whatever you were doing to talk to me. Thank you for knowing that even though I didn't tell you those times were urgent, that they were urgent matters of the heart that needed to be dealt with at that very moment. Thank you for knowing that when I called and asked to chat, it was usually better if I came over in person because I probably needed a hug. Thank you for all the advice you gave me and all the times you listened to me painstakingly try to put into words how I was feeling. Because you showed me that no matter what, I should always give people the time they need; I am Jesus' messenger in any moment and His message is love. 

      Thank you for all the times you let me cry. Thank you for handing me the tissues when I had a few tears escaping from my eyes (how dare they!). How I wish you were here now; I could use a few right now. Thank you also for offering up your sleeves willingly (or unwillingly) to the times when tissues just weren't enough and I needed to let my mascara rub off on something softer. Thank you, God, for making habits a dark color. Thank you for the times when you didn't judge me for snot uncontrollably running down my nose and into whatever scarf I was wearing. Thank you for holding me, with your strong but gentle arms, to let me know that I could cry as long as I needed to over whatever I needed to. Thank you for sharing my tears of joy and of pain. Nothing means more to me than when you cry, too. You let me know you're human, too. Thank you, because you showed me that from the very beginning, from birth, tears are a sign of life, not weakness. 

      Thank you for all the times you filled in for mom. Thank you for willingly (or unwillingly) getting close enough to catch my sickness, just to feel my head for a temperature. Thank you for sacrificing the back of your hand to what I'm sure feels like a small flame of a temperature. Thank you for sending me home from school and telling me that I need to go to bed and stop pushing myself. Thank you for letting me rest in your office. Thank you, because without you, I would have kept going and going and going. 

      Thank you for all the times you tassled my curly hair or high fived me. Thank you for the moments of laughter and joy. Thank you for laughing so hard with me that both of us had tears in our eyes. Thank you for understanding that despite the fact that I am mature for my age, I still need to be a kid sometimes. Thank you for being a kid with me. Thank you, also, for not judging me for my really, loud, obnoxious laughter that more times than not leads to snorting and squeals. Thank you for running through sprinklers with me, sharing stories about all the times you got pulled over, sharing the biggest joke or even letting me give you a tattoo - a temporary one, of course. Thank you for these moments because I might have forgotten how to laugh and to stop taking myself so seriously. 

      Thank you for the moments when you unleashed my creative side. Thank you for the moments when you asked me to write something from the heart, create an exciting creature from recycled materials, a piece of artwork, a retreat, a reflection, anything. Thank you for unleashing the creative juices in anyway possible and helping me believe that I can stand in front of a crowd and give a motivational speech. Thank you for letting me be me by not being me on any stage. Thank you for being my silent cheerleader in the back of the auditorium. Because not only did you teach me to never stop creating, but you also showed me how much a simple "Great Job" can mean. 

      Thank you for all the times you taught me something new - which really was every day. I can't list all the things you taught me because my brain has expanded so much and some of what you taught me has been tucked in the deep recesses of my mind. But thank you for never giving up on me when I didn't do so well on a test. Thank you for cheering me on with a smile each time I got something right. Thank you for watching me applicate what I learned to modern things. Thank you for always watching the light bulb go off. Because not only did you teach me to never stop learning and to enjoy learning, but you also showed me how to be the best teacher to my own students. 

      And finally, thank you for loving me unconditionally. Thank you for being the face of Jesus for me every day. Thank you for loving me despite being upset with me for one thing or another. Thank you for saying, "I love you" back when I embarrass you by screaming at you from some place on campus or at work. Thank you for saying it back when I tell you, even though students probably shouldn't tell their teachers how much they love them. Thank you for knowing that I don't just say it but that I mean it. And thank you for finally believing me; I do love you so much. And thank you for helping me believe that I can be loved, too. Because to be honest, when you're a sister or you want to be a sister, it's harder to say it and it's harder to believe it. At least that's what I think. "I love you" can never be said enough. So, I love you. 

       My dear sister, I write this today because I haven't taken enough time to write it until now. I write it publicly because I think everyone deserves to know how awesome you and how wonderful. I think everyone deserves to know what you did for me. I write it because I know there are so many people out there that you've touched in some way who haven't been able to say the things I have. These words are their words, too. And I say because I don't think you know how wonderful and awesome you are. You are. You have changed my life and the life of so many people. Thank you. 

Sincerely, 

Me

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. 

#sisterselfies #foundersday2014

selfie:

(n) a photograph that one has taken of oneself; 

typically taken with a smartphone or webcam and shared via social media.

- Oxford Dictionary Online

     It all started back in March during the first weekend in Lent in ice cold, Minnesota. I found myself with my dear Sister Angela, CSFN, at the NCSW (National Catholic Sisters Week) Conference. Maybe you've read my blog post, "Sister Selfie and Her Companions." In my blog post, I wrote all about my weekend at the Conference, how fruitful it was, how many stories I heard and how I became passionate about sharing Sisters' Stories. But I also mentioned my Sister with whom I took way too many selfies. You see, at every event, we took a selfie. We even rubbed off on a few other Sisters and their students by getting them to take selfies. Believe it or not, that was probably one of the most magical things that happened that weekend: nuns taking selfies. 

     When I got back from Minnesota, I was on a high. I wanted to get started on all my idea projects. But alas, I was a second semester Senior in college. To say I was busy was an understatement. I didn't have enough time to work on my Senior thesis let alone take on a full documentary project. While disappointed at my grown-up realization that I did not have the time to take on my desired project, I always kept the concept in the back of my head: "How can I, a lay person and student, get the stories of our religious sisters out there?" I thought about writing a book, I thought about recording stories when I got the chance, I thought about a ton of things. But then my college decided they were going to do a project: Photo Time Capsule. Every day, students could enter pictures of day to day activities. I thought that in the years down the road, when the time capsule is open, a lot of the sisters who were teaching now, probably weren't going to be teaching then. I immediately felt the need to put their pictures in the time capsule. And what better way to get their pictures in there then to take selfies with them. 

     Yes, as the weeks of the project went on, I went up to every sister I could and asked if I could take a selfie with them. Some said no, but most of them agreed. In fact, I got a selfie with almost ever Sister on campus. Those pictures are now hanging all over my office as a gentle reminder that nunnies like to have fun, too. Of course, the selfie game continued long after the time capsule project ended. In fact, I even joked about the selfie game with the girls at work. I said that if anyone could get a selfie with the Mother General, they would win the selfie game. One girl got creative and took a selfie with a picture of the Mother General. But, alas, that did not count. I finally got the motherload of selfies with the Mother General on the day of Baccalaureate Mass, the day before my Graduation. I won...technically I was still a student! 

     Of course, as the Summer began, life got busy and my Sister Selfie project kind of got put on hold. I took a few Sister Selfies but my selfie game wasn't nearly as strong as it used to be. Occasionally, I prayed for a way to promote Sister Stories but alas, I was too busy trying to find a job. When I finally got hired (praise God!!!!!), I was too busy getting acclimated and working to promote Sister Stories. But then I got a facebook notification from the one and only, Molly Hazleton. She had a package to send me and needed my address. A few days later, I opened a box of #sisterselfie pins at work. I was so incredibly excited, I didn't know what to do with myself. But then, I concocted an idea, a plan, an activity of sorts. 

     Every year at the school where I work, they celebrate Founders' Day. This day celebrates the founding of the Sisters of St. Joseph, the community of Sisters who later founded our school in 1858. Our school is a very mission-oriented school and the mission of the Sisters is being passed on through our students. I love this. But as I was sitting at my desk thinking about both Sister Stories and Founders' Day, I thought that unless you work or go/went to this school OR worked with the SSJs, you wouldn't know their story. Of course, I also began to wonder how many Sisters here at our school have stories unknown. Stories about past missions, stories about their vocations, stories about their lives in religious life. Suddenly, the bright, pink, sparkly pins caught me eye as they were sitting on my desk. I knew exactly what we could do. 

      Teenage girls love to take selfies. Heck, I love to take selfies with people. I love making faces, I love capturing the silliest moments all in a selfie and I knew my students certainly love the same. I proposed my idea to the principal and then once I got the okay, proposed it to the sisters. Without hesitation, the Sisters at school took many a selfie with me. I had the administration take some selfies, too, and then I got started on making a video in which we would show the girls the video and how them take selfies during the afternoon's activities. It was a surprise for everyone except the sisters and the administration. I stood up in front of the entire school and pushed play. The laughter and the cheers from everyone was phenomenal. I couldn't help but laugh so hard myself. 

     Of course, after the video, we had to have the girls go to Mass. After Mass, the entire student body was being filmed for commercial to promote the school. The faculty wasn't allowed to be in the video, so as we were all standing around, waiting for the girls to be finished, faculty members started taking out their phones and taking selfies...with the sisters and with each other. I stood by and watched for a few minutes before I got in a few. I couldn't believe what I started. The best part? "How do I tweet this?" 

     The girls finally moved into the afternoon activities and during the all girl dance party they had, students were taking selfies with the Sisters, with faculty members and with each other. It was the cutest and most entertaining thing. The Sisters loved having their picture taken, the girls loved the concept and I loved to watch it all unfold. By the end of the day, I had so many tweets via our campus ministry twitter and emails in my inbox. I cannot even explain how many pictures I now have on my computer of Sister Selfies. Even days later, they pictures are still coming in. I love it. 

     While we didn't make a giant documentary of oral histories of our Sisters on Founders' Day nor did we really write down anything about them, we took their pictures. We immersed the Sisters into the hip teenage culture of social media and allowed the students to welcome the Sisters into their worlds. It allowed for a fun way to get to know the Sisters, especially our President, and it allowed the Sisters to get even more involved in their students' lives. It's a start to sharing our #sisterselfie stories. Maybe we could follow Buzzfeed's lead and do "Tell us about Yourself(ie)" segments on our Sisters. Until then, you can enjoy the video that started it all. Stay tuned for an update on how our #sisterselfie project is coming along. Until then, say cheese! 

Pray for Surf

"Life is a lot like surfing.

When you get caught in the impact zone, 

you've got to just get back up.

Because you never know what might be

over the next wave."

- Bethany Hamilton

     It was a spur of the moment, mid-week decision: I was going to accompany three of my good friends to the Surfing Contest in Stone Harbor at Nun's Beach. I had originally planned on staying home and catching up on some sleep since it was a crazy first full week of school, but the girls convinced me otherwise. Besides who doesn't need a trip to the beach every so often, even when it's no longer Summer beach weather. Before I knew it we were all set and ready to leave Immaculata at the crack of dawn to make the two hour trek down to the beach. After a stop at Wawa for some breakfast and coffee, we were on our way. 

    Of course, some of you reading this might be saying, "I didn't know she surfed." Well folks, sorry to disappoint, but I do not surf. So why were we going to the surf contest? Well to steal a look or two at some surfer boys, of course. No, I'm just kidding. Actually, we had been recruited by my dear Sister Elaine to go and help the Sisters run the show. The Nun's Beach Surf Contest is an annual fundraiser for the Sisters of the IHM's Retreat House, Villa-Maria-by-the-Sea. For a few years in a row, the four of us had gone down in the Spring to help clean up the retreat house for the beginning of the retreat season. We only thought it fair to volunteer for the end of the retreat season fundraiser. Besides, this is my potential future beach house we are talking about. 

     We pulled into Stone Harbor about 9:30 (we missed the turn for 55 which set us back a bit) and headed straight to the kitchen. After a quick hello and a selfie with Sister Bern, we were ready for the food tent. The morning was full of cookies, brownies, coffee, laughter and inquiries about the famous chili and pizza. Of course, that was our shared morning. My personal morning consisted of believing a false tale of seagull brownie snatchers, watching the Hot Chocolate queen make the "secret recipe," and snapping photos of cute surfer boys (8 year olds with surfer hair just melt my heart) and my favorite nunnies. Over the course of the day, I had my life planned out for me by Sister Elaine, we wrote a rap, and we even did some dancing. I'll admit, I didn't see much of the surf contest, but I didn't complain. I got to spend the day outside with my favorite ladies who didn't judge me for my insane ocean-wind hair. 

     We were so blessed to have the rain hold off while we were outside. As we cleaned up the food tent (and all the extra hot dogs...I have never seen so many in my life), the drizzle drops started to come down. But, we made it inside before it down-poured, praise God. We had about an hour of downtime before dinner and the next event, so the four of us headed out to the front porch. Some of us took a nap...ahem...while others enjoyed some small talk. Of course, the sleeping princess (I do look like one if I don't say so myself), was awakened from her nap for dinner. It was then that I found myself among even more friends. 

     I have to admit that I didn't know a lot of the Sisters working the day's events before I got there, but I certainly left with a few more friends (on Facebook). I found myself eating dinner around a little island in the kitchen with some old acquaintances who quickly became good friends. I admittedly always laugh the hardest when I'm with the Sisters. Whether it's a Sister who I just met or someone I've known for years, usually at some point in a conversation, I have tears in my eyes from laughter. I re-met Sister Judy, became facebook friends with Sister Amadeo, and of course, sang our rap for Sister Elaine. It was like being among family, simply eating around the island with the girls. 

      The past two weeks have been an emotional roller coaster, as any might suspect. I started my new job, I've made lots of transitions, I've had to adjust my spiritual life to make time for adult life...it's a roller coaster. At one point last week, I cried bitterly on the way home simply because I missed "my girls in blue." It's different from missing my friends. If I'm missing one of them, I can easily shoot them a text or call them and they'll more than likely answer. With the Sisters, it's not so easy. They all have different schedules and texting isn't always easy. I was so used to seeing them every single day at Mass, getting at least fifty hugs a day from them, and enjoying a friendly banter with the older Sisters. They were more than just religious to me, they became my Sisters, "my girls." Not seeing them every day now is hard for me and I miss them more than words can express. Spending the day at the beach with some of my original group of nunnies and adding a few more to the "my girls" category was exactly what I needed. 

       I needed the laughter of tears rolling down my cheeks, I needed an insane amount of moments to embarrass myself by being freely, I needed the companionship of "my girls," heck, I'll even admit to needing all the hugs and love. I can't tell you how many goofy pictures we took with the girls, how many insane moments we shared, how many beautiful conversations happened over cranberry sauce, washing dishes and horse-racing. The truth is, these lovely women of God made it so easy for me to forget that I had ever felt like a piece of me was missing from being away from the ladies in blue for so long. I know I am so insanely blessed to have so many women with whom I share a companionship. From mentors to friends to partners in crime, these are "my girls." I found it absolutely amazing that I now share a deeper friendship with many of the Sisters who I just met. It's a wonder how friendships can be established over only a course of a few hours. I am feeling so blessed.

       Our night didn't end with dinner, of course. The four of us girls found ourselves helping prep dinner, wash dishes and even clean up. The second part of the fundraiser is a dinner and raffle night for many patrons of the retreat house. While many of the Sisters were out on the floor serving dinner, the girls were back in the kitchen helping things go as smoothly as possible. We weren't only on kitchen duty though, we had to introduce our beloved teacher, Sister Elaine, for her role in the horse race. Yes, that rap we wrote earlier in the day was making a come back that night. Everyone enjoyed it. Of course, with a line like "she went on one small date and her ma got scared, she said, you're moving to the convent in malvern, pa," how could you not like it. A good time was honestly had by all. 

      As we drove back to school that night, I couldn't help but thank God for all my blessing that I had received that day. It simply proved my belief that the more you give of yourself, the more blessings you receive. I simply gave my two hands and volunteered for the Sisters at the Surf Contest. What I got in return was a ay full of laughter, good times, good food and many new friendships. I had been missing the feeling of belonging, the feeling of family, and the ladies in blue, my girls, gave it back to me. Of course, there was a small fee for some: one selfie, please. Next year, I hope to be finding myself praying for surf once again with my girls at Nun's Beach.

Sunflowers and Sisters

"Never say goodbye because
saying goodbye means going away
and going away means forgetting."
- J.M. Barrie

One of my favorite pictures with this lovely lady.
Circa. Summer 2011

      I was mid-conversation with a friend when the phone started beeping telling me there was another call waiting for me to answer. When I saw the name, I immediately cut my friend off and said, "I'll call you back. This is important." I could barely contain my excitement when I heard her voice on the other end. "Hi Sister..." Before I knew it, I was jumping in the car and racing to see her at the Mount. 

     It had been months since I'd seen her last. In fact, as part of our hellos, we were trying to figure out how long. "Well, you were in Chicago for vows," she said. But then I responded, "But I saw you for a few minutes when I stopped over in Chicago before going to Minnesota." We laughed and agreed. Yes, the last time we had seen each other was in passing for only a few minutes. It was enough for a hug before I was off and running to the next state. Yes, it had been months, yet, it seemed as if it was only yesterday we had had our last conversation. It was so easy to pick right back up where we left off the months before. 

     Usually, I write an exact recent moment in my life but today, I'm going to write a piece of my past and a piece of my discernment story. After our brief hour together yesterday, I decided that I would (sleep in and) join Sister for Mass before she headed back "home." She mentioned that she would be leaving right after Mass and I told her that spending time with her in Mass was just as good if not better than talking for an hour. She agreed and so, this morning, I found myself in an all too familiar setting. Together we prayed and celebrated Mass; it was beautiful. As I was leaving, she mentioned that we've been close for a very long time. That's when I said, "This September, it will be eight years since we met." Both of us let that sink in for a few seconds and I hugged her again. Even though I know I'll see her again soon enough (perhaps in a few months), it's always hard to say goodbye to the woman that has been one of the most influential people in my life. 

     Sister David was the first Sister I ever had as a teacher. I grew up with the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament, so I knew nuns, but I never had one as a teacher. We took semesterly Theology classes so I didn't have Sister David until January but I knew who she was and was secretly in awe of her. I couldn't wait to have her in class. When I finally did get to have her in class, I noticed her all around joy. She was always happy, go-lucky, it seemed and there was something about her that I just wanted to share. I remember studying Old Testament Theology with her, I remember her singing with us, I remember her bouncing around the classroom, super excited for the day. I had her 8th period and I remember trying to think of questions to ask her after class just so I could talk with her (I'm such a nerd, still...) One question I asked her in particular was about what I was doing for Lent. I asked her, "Sister, my boyfriend and I are going to be reading the Bible for Lent. Is there any place we should start?" I think part of her was a bit crushed that I had a boyfriend, but she was happy that we would be reading the Bible. To be honest, I don't remember what she answered. At the end of the year, I hung back after class and asked her to sign my yearbook. I hugged her good-bye for the Summer and left the classroom thinking, next year I must get to know her better. 

      Over the summer between Freshmen and Sophomore years, I broke up with my boyfriend and thought it was really time to focus on what God might be calling me to do with my life. (Long story short, I had been talking with my boyfriend about the possibility of being a sister....yeah....he didn't like that very much). Fast forward to maybe early October of my Sophomore year. I spent the night writing and re-writing a letter to Sister David before I finally conjured up the right words. I begged my best friend the next morning to go with me to her office (she was the disciplinarian, you see) so that I could drop the letter off. Lucky for me, she wasn't in her office. So, I dropped it on her desk and BOLTED out of there. I was praying and hoping that she would read it and NEVER SAY ANYTHING TO ME ABOUT IT EVER. But alas, as I was headed into my French class, there she was, waiting for me. "How about you stop by my office tomorrow after school?" Oh no. She read my letter. NOW she wanted to talk about it? I hesitated but something deep down inside forced me to say okay. Yes, little sophomoric me agreed to chat with Sister about my letter. 

       The next day, I found myself down in her office. It was a Wednesday (because that's the day she did detentions) and a dress-down day. We sat in her office for at least an hour and a half as she addressed every single thing I wrote in my letter. You see, my letter was all about how I felt that I was being called to religious life. I told her that I was scared and nervous about saying anything. I didn't know what it meant, I had not a clue what to do about it. She sat next to me and assured me that it was totally okay to be feeling called to religious life. She told me that Sisters are just as human as every other human being. But the most important thing that she told me was that she would be right next to me the entire journey. She would be praying for and with me. I didn't know how true her words were then. But almost eight years later, she's still journeying with me. 

     The rest of my high school career, Sister David became a mentor. She mentored me in everything from my discernment to making college decisions to even research topics for Senior Research Paper. So many of the Sisters at Nazareth influenced me greatly in my four years there but she was the one who listened to my every nun-related fear. I knew come graduation, it was going to be difficult to say good-bye to her. God, however, had different plans. Because today, years after my graduation, I got to laugh with her as if she was my long lost best friend. 

     Sister David never once ceased writing to me when I was at college. Every so often, I would get a letter in the mailbox from her. She loved to write little cards with little messages to people (I even got one this morning). And I, of course, always loved to receive them. When I was home for break, we somehow always managed to meet up. Often, we would go for a walk around school or even her humble abode, just to catch up with one another. She has a memory like an elephant, by the way; she remembered almost everything I ever wrote to her about when I was at college. Of course, last summer she got transferred...not just to a different convent, or to a different state BUT TO A WHOLE OTHER PART OF THE COUNTRY. Needless to say, I thought the world was ending. How was I going to live without my best friend? 

     But here we are a year later, and I've seen her quite a bit. Every so often, we call on the phone and it's like there hasn't been a month's lapse of time between the last time we spoke and that moment. She still writes to me often...in fact, more often than ever before. I'm always getting cards in the mail from her and I'm always sending something in response. She'll be getting one soon enough from me. Seeing her these past two days, even if it only was for a little bit, was a God moment for me. She has taught me so much in her witness of religious life. She has shown me gentleness and kindness. She has shown me tears and faith and love, incredible love for every person she has ever met. But probably the most important thing she ever taught me from day was is that if I wholly and totally depend on God, He will always take care of me.

      As we were saying good-bye today, I tried to hold back tears. Yeah, I know, I'm a big baby, but she's been journeying with me for the past eight years and it's been a very crazy journey. She's listened to my pains, my fears, my hesitations. She's wiped away countless tears (she always has a tissue in her pocket, just in case) and has been a caring shoulder to cry on. Of course, she's also shared many laughs, smiles and good times with me. I laugh so much with her; she is joy. We laughed as we hugged goodbye one more time. I didn't want her to go, but another thing she has taught me is that one must make their home wherever God sends her. Go with God and nothing will go wrong. She told me to listen to my heart. I called her Grandmother Willow. 

     Sister David, a constant companion, mentor and friend, has stood by me on my crazy journey. We shared so much in the little hour that we had together yesterday, just as if it hadn't been months since our last visit together. She's amazing. I secretly think she might be an angel. And she has been such a key player in my discernment story. One of the last things she said this morning was that no matter where I go, it's between me and God and I can't let anyone else influence that decision. No matter where I go, she will always continue journeying with me as my Sister in prayer. I smiled as I walked away and said, "Self. Do not cry. Your mascara will run and you'll look like a fool." So instead, I smiled and already started looking forward to the next time I'll see this beautiful woman of God. Maybe I'll take a road trip soon. As I thought of all my blessings in simply seeing her and praying with her, I couldn't help but remember that in the Chapel, there right in front of the altar, were sunflowers.