Just As Planned (by God)

"Well done, good and faithful servant. 

Come, share in the joy of your master."

- Matthew 25:21

    I do not believe in coincidences or irony; I believe in God-winks. I believe God has such a grander plan, beyond our human understanding, and that He will seemingly make it all work out right. For example, last week when I went to visit Sister Elaine and in my heart's deepest desires, I was longing for the opportunity to pray with my Sisters again. It was all in God's plan that I would wind up sitting there in my favorite Chapel, trying not to giggle my way through prayers with my Sisters and soon after join them for dinner. God's plan. 

     But sometimes our plan doesn't always match up with God's plan. You see my plan was to visit a few of my Sisters after observing at a high school near my college on a professional development day for the school at which I now teach. My plan was to go finally meet my dear Sister Marian, check in with my dear Sister Cathy, and visit a bit with Sister Jane, who they told me was not doing well. That was my plan, to see my girls. But God had a different plan. 

     On Friday, January 16, 2015, God called Sister Jane home. The email announcing her passing went out a few days later and I instantly started crying. I had planned to see her only a few days later, one week exactly after Sister Elaine told me that she was sick. But God had a different plan. Of course, I knew that. I couldn't be upset about God's plan being different than mine because I would live my whole life miserable if I did that. But I did mourn the loss of a dear friend, my dear Sister. 

     As I laid in bed that night, memories of my dear Sister played through my mind like a movie. Sister Jane sat in the pew ahead of me for all four years of my time at Immaculata. A pew ahead and then to the right. She had the middle seat. Every so often, she'd pass me a note before prayers on a yellow sticky, written in perfect cursive pencil. I'm pretty sure I still have the one from one particular snowy day Sophomore year when I showed up very early for Mass. Well, it wouldn't have been early if prayers weren't in silent, but they were and I didn't get the memo. She slipped in gently behind her, then turned to me as I took it, smiled gently and continued her rosary. 

      Every morning we celebrated Mass in the Gillet Convent Chapel, during the sign of peace, she would turn around, shake hands with everyone else and wait for me. When she shook my hand, she always wrapped both her hands around mine, smiled and tilted her head a bit to the right. Every day. Sometimes she would wave over her shoulder when I knelt down behind her. And on Sunday mornings, when she was there for Mass, she would wait until I was walking out of Mass just so she could thank me for singing. In all her gentle ways, she was gracious and prayerful. 

      Of course, there are so many more memories. I can't say how many times she introduced me to all her friends in the cafeteria. She definitely had a lot of friends, who liked ice cream and meeting students. She was a popular lady. I also can't say how many times she cured me of random illnesses. "Sister, I feel nauseous every morning." "Drink water. Eat peanut butter crackers." The next day, I'd be handed a bag of peanut butter crackers. Cured. She always cared so much and would do everything in her power to help a girl (or guy) out. It was those little day to day interactions with her that were always my favorite memories. Her smile. Her gentleness. Her all around beauty. 

     My favorite solo memory though? Well, let me preface this with some basic information. I went to an all girls' high school. By October of my Freshmen year of college, Sister Jane had asked me if I had ever thought of religious life. So, she knew about my high school background and that I was thinking of being a Sister. She had also cured me of two mysterious illnesses. I had apparently been sitting in the cafeteria at a random table surrounded by young men...boys. I didn't think anything of it. However, later, as I was walking across campus, Sister Jane stopped me. She asked me if I was feeling under the weather at all and when I asked why, she responded with the following: Well, I saw you sitting with the boys and I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay. I giggled a little and told her about my wholesome, Catholic young boy friends. She gave my hands a squeeze and promised to keep praying for me. 

      I can honestly say that my plan wasn't to fall in love with the Sisters at school or even become good friends with any of them. But God had a different plan and put each Sister into my life in a different way. Sister Jane was a gentle soul who was always looking out for me in little, gentle ways. Her gentle smile could be seen from across campus as I raced to catch up with her or down the hallway from my education classes. Her gentle hands always held mine every time we met. She was a hand-holder like me. She gave great hugs and I knew I could always count on her putting me on the right page if I was lost during Morning Prayers. Sister Jane could be seen coming off the Lourdes elevator and going on some adventure with all of her friends or simply to the convent. Whatever she did, wherever she went, she was gentle. She was, perhaps, one of the most gentle people I have ever met. 

      I hadn't planned to go into Camilla, hug all my Sisters, and cry right away. But I did. Of course, I also didn't plan to find one Sister and kind of dog follow her throughout the viewing. But God planned it perfectly that when I walked through the doors, Sister Mary walked out right in front of me. And she took me into the room where I received many hugs from many of my Sisters. During the Funeral, I was sitting by myself, praying that I'd be able to cry in the comfort of a Sisters presence, and God's plan was that Sister Monica would find me soon after I whispered that prayer. And as I knelt there in prayer, I realized that two years ago prior, we were mourning the loss of another dear sister of mine, Sister Albert. I don't believe in coincidence or irony, but I believe in God's divine plan. I could imagine Sister Marie Albert welcoming Sister Jane home - Sisters. 

     Throughout Mass, I had a steady flow of tears running down my cheeks. Once again realizing that my friends are significantly older than me and this was not a new experience, nor an experience that would expire soon. I mourned in a different way than I'm sure my Sisters did because Sister Jane was someone different for me than she was for them. But Sister Trin said something that truly made me feel still parted of the extended IHM family: "It just wouldn't be right if you weren't here." It was a reminder that I was allowed to cry and to mourn the loss of my friend, my sister. 

     I kept thinking about what Sister Trin said throughout Mass. I kept thinking about home is always where my Sisters are. I kept thinking of all the perfect little moments Sister Jane and I shared. I kept thinking of how I felt so much sadness for not being able to see my Sister and hug her one more time. I was upset that my plans didn't work. But slowly, as I kept reflecting, I realized that I did get to see Sister Jane on the day I planned...just in a very different way. It was at this moment of realization that I looked up the ceiling of Camilla's Chapel. There was one single tile missing. I had tears rolling down my cheeks as I laughed thinking about a song I heard on the radio when I was a child. It's called, "Hole in the Floor of Heaven." Okay, so it wasn't a hole in the floor of heaven, but for me it was. It was a reminder that as much of my life that I didn't plan, God's plan has always triumphed. Yes, as much as my type A personality will hate to admit, God's plan is always better. Sister Jane will always be with me, another guarding angel up in Heaven for me. My plan isn't always the best plan, or the right plan, but God's plan is. I may not always agree, but if I surrender to God's will, I know everything God wants for me, will happen. I got to see my Sister just as planned.  

     My dearest Sister Jane, thank you for every gift of your smiles, your love, your gentleness. I am so blessed to have had you in my life. Ready the way for a homecoming when we meet again (I'll bring the ice cream.). 

Sister Selfie and Her Companions: National Catholic Sisters Week

"Real Woman, Real Stories"

"What is so significant in my life that I would be willing to give my life for it?"

- Sister Julie Vieira, IHM

Photo taken by: Rebecca Zenefski

      It was another scathingly brilliant idea my AE had, to send me and Sister Angela to Minnesota for conference on something about nuns. As usual, I agreed not knowing much about the program. Minnesota sounded cool, I guess and nuns were involved so, really there was no denying the opportunity. Weeks later, I found myself, once again on an airplane headed to Chicago for the night to meet up with "my sister" and eventually go to Minnesota the next morning. Before I knew it, we were landing in a foreign state (and country...the midwest is a foreign country). 

     As we gathered at the hotel for the sisters, there was a select few group of students and sisters already arriving. The program didn't actually start until 5:00 PM and we had landed a little before 11:00 AM. Needless to say, we had a few hours to kill. However, the Sisters were encouraged to travel via shuttle to St. Catherine's University with the students. So, on the shuttle we went and soon the students were shown our rooms in the Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet's previous Provincial House. If someone asked me to describe my room, I would say, it was a typical nun room. A room big enough for a twin sized bed, a sink, a dresser and a chair. There was a closet, too. Prime living, people. But honestly, all the necessities and all I've ever truly desired. 

     The afternoon was filled with activities like LUNCH, discovering Zentangles (an artistic approach to meditation) and tours of the university and the provincial house. Before we knew it, however, it was time for the festivities to begin. Sr. Angela and I headed over with the group, arm in arm, to the reception. We made new friends and chatted about where we were from, which communities we represented and so on and so forth. Soon, we were ushered into the beautiful ballroom for Dinner and the big welcome speech given by the university's president, Sister Andrea Lee, IHM. Of course, the table talk consisted of getting to know you small talk and lots of giggles between me and my sister. You see, we had a lot to laugh about with all our inside jokes. 

    After dinner, we moved into one of the most beautiful prayer services I have ever experienced. In this building, they have a three floor atrium and so, we split into three groups and surrounded the atrium on each floor. We sang, we gathered, we prayed with the Gospel of John. In the middle of the prayer service, Sister Andrea spoke about how Jesus was calling each of us present in some way, shape or form that weekend. She read out loud a list of all the names of those present and asked that each person respond with "present" so as to acknowledge being present for Jesus. I was happy to hear more than one Rebecca present for Jesus. The solemn environment of the prayer service was so astounding. I will never forgot the emotion that ran through my soul in those moments. 

     Following the prayer service there was an option for a late night even called "Veiled Threats." This session circled around the negative connotation surrounding the habit and the religious vocation. However, the talk began with acknowledging how so many women religious have been left out of history books. Women, especially women religious, are often given the back burner when it comes to acknowledging them with any accomplishments. Women religious have played such a HUGE part in American history establishing the first hospitals, first schools, first etc. The speaker then transitioned into talking about sisters in popular culture. The stories and the images shared in popular culture about Sisters, Nuns and Women Religious are so often false, degrading, and negative. This truly evoked great conversation among the Sisters and the Students. 

      The next morning there were multiple sessions focusing on sharing the stories of women religious. We were encouraged to use social media networking to share sister stories and asked to help with the video archive project which would help get the sisters stories into a huge online video archive for all to access. I found it so interesting that among the young people present, less than a third were active on three or more social media sites. Of course, I found myself bursting with ideas on how to share Sisters' Stories as we sat through the sessions. As a true student, I was taking eager notes. I couldn't wait to get started. 

      While I did love the morning sessions, I think my favorite part of the weekend aside from the liturgies, was the Sister Story Presentation where four Sisters presented a tidbit of their discernment or religious journey. I found myself feeling like a kindred spirit with the sisters. One Sister spoke about her missionary work in South America. Well, it's no wonder that story hit close to home as I have become so passionate about working in South America. I have always wanted to Hispanic Ministry, but in my journey to S.A., the passion grew even deeper. Another Sister spoke about how, even before she really started discerning, she felt a kindred spirit with the Sisters. My favorite part of her story was when she told us how she was sitting in the community room with a few of the sisters when she got the call that she had been accepted into the community. She was there with her sisters and she said, "I had already felt for so long that I was a part of their sisterhood." Finally, another sister (the cutest by far) told the story of how she didn't break up with her boyfriend until the night before she entered the community. My hear actually broke during this story. OH how close to home this one hit. I spoke to her afterward and told her honestly, how close that was to a part of my own story of discernment. However, I told her, I didn't wait too long before I was honest. Their stories were so rich and so deep and so honest. I truly felt in my heart their spirit as my spirit and their love for Jesus as my love for Jesus. Then I remembered, we all kind of fell in love with the same Guy.

     After the Sister Stories, we prepared for Mass. I kept telling Sister Angela that I needed a nap. Anyone who knows me knows that naps are, aside from Mass, the most vital part of my day. If I don't get a nap, I sure do get cranky. But I was on my best behavior and instead just closed my eyes in Chapel for a little bit. Mass was filled with beautiful liturgical dancing, beautiful music (nothing quite beats the sound of nuns singing) and a beautiful homily celebrating women religious. I've always been one fore using "hand motions" during Mass, especially during the Our Father. When I opened my hands to pray the Our Father, I closed my eyes and didn't expect anyone to take a hold of either hand. However, Sister Angela placed her hand in mine and gave a gentle squeeze. She doesn't know this, but she will after she reads this, but that moment moved me to tears. It was an expression of trust, of love and of friendship. She had one hand, Jesus had the other. 

     In the nunly tradition we did a lot of prayer, but also a lot of eating. So, of course, after Mass we had a very fancy sit down dinner. It was after this dinner that I introduced myself, like the brave soul I am, to the president of the university. I told her I was a college product of her cousins, the Immaculata IHMs and that my Sister Cathy said hi. Of course she was happy to greet me. I stole a quick look at her feet just to see if she was actually wearing shoes this time. Earlier in the weekend, I burst out laughing when I noticed her walking around barefoot. I had found a kindred spirit just by noticing her lack of shoe wear. Anyway, I moved to the legendary Sister Amata who was also very gracious. I passed on the IHM hellos to the other IHMs. Of course, I did have to do a little explaining to Sister Angela about how they were both IHM communities but they were different, too. Good thing Sister Cathy has trained me well in community history! 

      We had another late night event and this time it was about Sisters in Film, in particular, "Radical Grace." The few clips of this movie that we watched definitely evoked much conversation and it was during this that I found another kindred spirit (I'm assuming you're thinking...wow this girl has a lot of them...I'll get to that), Sister Mary Kay, who ironically is from Philly. Needless to say when she told me she was from Philly, I actually screamed in excitement and wrapped my arms around her. PHILLY SOLIDARITY, people, it's important, especially since everyone and their sister (see what I did there?!) was from the Midwest. Sister shared a lot about how she advocates for Immigration Reform in accordance with the church and the USCCB. I looked at her and said, "Me, too." Kindred Spirits for sure.

       The next morning, after losing an hour of sleep, we gathered once again for breakfast and then the morning prayer liturgy. At every one of our liturgies, we were encouraged to share signs of peace. In the words of Molly Hazelton, "share peace in the manner most comfortable for you." Good thing everyone liked hugs; I gave so much nun hugs this weekend and I regret nothing. Our final session was about taking what we learned and planning to implement it in our universities and communities. It seemed to me that all the other tables of sisters were very practical whereas we were very visionary. We spoke about needing courage and willingness to share stories. We spoke about learning about one another, learning charisms, learning communities, learning about ourselves. At one point, I was the only student at my table of nunnies. Wow, I was lucky. I shared with them the following:

       The weekend was so incredibly fruitful for me. Not only did I get to hear so many stories, something that as an English major, I absolutely love, but I also got to connect with so many beautiful witnesses of the faith. I expressed how awesome it was for me, as a young person, to hear about their charisms and watch them grow in their personal charisms as they shared them with one another. They each realized that there is so much they all have in common despite their diversity....something I had seen from the very beginning. It was so beautiful for me to be able to witness that...so very beautiful and so very awesome. I was able to find a kindred spirit in so many of the sisters who I met because there are so many similarities of all of us together. It was easy to see a part of me in their stories of discernment, especially the stories of my own sister, Sister Angela. 

       As the weekend came to a close, I counted the amount of Sister Selfies that were taken at every event and with so many sisters. The number was astronomical. I laughed at them and began to feel a sadness. I had had such a beautiful, fruitful weekend which not only helped me in my own discernment of becoming a religious sister, but it also strengthened so many relationships and built new ones. I was amazed that even though I had known Sister Angela for two years, I didn't really know her story. I was amazed, too, at how close a person can feel to another after only a few days with her. I counted myself blessed to have such a special Sister with me, one who was willing to link arms with me, let me nap on her shoulder, and even share a book (we actually read the same book simultaneously in the airport...we're adorable). I shared so many laughs with her, so many laughs that yielded hurting stomach muscles and bright red faces. I shared so many spiritual moments with her in prayer, so many smiles, so many hugs and the list goes on and on. While I enjoyed every moment of the conference and tucked away all the knowledge I gained, the most important part of my weekend was sharing it with her. I don't think she knows how special she truly is to me. But I'll tell you this much, when it came time for us to part ways in the airport, she gave me a tight hug which squeezed s numerous amount of tears out of my eyes. Before I knew it, I was sobbing in the airport like an idiot. Yeah...I guess you could say that Sister Selfie and I bonded; she became not only "my nun" as we students began calling our sister companions, but she also became my sister...God works in so many mysterious ways. And here I am, crying again at the beauty of His goodness, as I write this. 

       National Catholic Sisters Week lasts until Saturday so you better hug as many nuns as you can. Take pictures with them (sister selfies preferred) and hashtag #thankanun. Thank as many women religious as you can because they have done so much for our world and deserve the gratitude. I know, for sure, that I'll be hugging lots and lots of nuns this week. I started today...and of course, got strange looks because THEY DIDN'T KNOW. So, I spread the word. National Catholic Sisters Week. Oh and next week, according to my good friend, Kristie, is subsequently deemed "National Future Catholic Sisters Week." Sure, Kristie, sure. Remember, thank a religious sister (thank a few...) and share their stories. 

 

She Said Yes - Nun Wedding Take Two

"Thus says the Lord:

Here is my servant whom I uphold, 

my chosen one with whom I am well pleased, 

upon whom I have placed my spirit."

- Isaiah 42: 1-2

Photo Credit: Sister Angela Szczawinska, CSFN

    It's the second semester of the school year; my last semester as an undergrad. I moved back into my dorm room on Thursday morning and spent the day appropriately for a Senior. I wondered the campus visiting the sisters, having coffee  in the caf, hanging out in offices and of course, seeing all my friends after being separated from them for three weeks. Oh, class, you ask. I don't have class on Thursdays or Fridays. I continued the appropriate journey of my first day back as a second semester senior by visiting the Motherhouse and surprising the sisters and then going back to school to hangout in my friend's room until the odd hours of the night. I woke up early the next morning, headed to Mass and then I was on my way to the train station, barely having been on campus no more than 24 hours.

    It was time for the second adventure of the year 2014 (the first, having been New Orleans): Chicago. I have made a yearly visit to Chicago (truly, Des Plaines) for the past three years. While all of those times were special, this was an extremely special time. Finally, Sister Gabriela would be making final vows and I would be blessed to witness it. So, I boarded the train like a big girl, headed to the airport, printed out my ticket, passed through security and then waited in the terminal.
    As I was waiting to board, not only did my twin friends show up (we were taking the same flight), but I also made friends with an English teacher because I was reading a book. It amazes me how many friends I can make simply by being open to the Christ in others. I was reading a book and she was impressed, because no one reads books anymore. So then we shared stories and I told her how I am becoming a high school English teacher. It was nice and I knew then, that my journey to the Midwest was definitely going to be an eventful one.
    We landed in Chicago in the early afternoon and headed to the convent while catching up on life with Sister Sandie and Sister Lucille. Upon arriving, we were greeted by so many various sisters all over the house. There was a hustle and bustle just because "the girls were finally here safe." All the sisters were worried that our flight would be delayed or cancelled. But we made it. After supper, we all hurried around the dining room excitedly as we set the tables for the big celebration on Sunday. I've never quite counted that many forks and knives, but at least I got to do so with Sister Clare Marie. Then, of course, we had our informal game playing and catching up with a few sisters before bed. To our big surprise, the bride-to-be was home early from her retreat and thank God, because as only it can be in the Midwest, the winter weather was miserable.
     The next day was spent doing all types of crazy things. We started off with Mass and then breakfast with Sister Sandie and Sister Lucille's unit (while they live in one big house, there are different branches of the building and so the sisters live in both small and large community). We had choir practice (yes, we were assumed into the choir as honorary good voices), went on a crazy adventure during which I got to navigate Little Blue through Des Plaines and visit the United Nations' Shop'N'Save, and got to spend some teatime with the Novices and one of my best friends, Sister David. In the afternoon, we were busied with baking cookies and salad for the Bridal Shower. As always, however, I was stolen away from our little group to do various little decorating things because, and I quote, "Becca's creative. She can help you." It was a choice between two of my favorite things: baking and decorating. Of course, it was a bulletin board that needed decorating and the teacher in me got super excited.
     Finally, after all our preparing, the party could begin. We celebrated the bride-to-be with laughter, conversation and pizza from Mugs. Of course conversations always spill around jokingly, hypothetically all of us becoming sisters. We joked about picking religious names or having them picked for us. For example, apparently I'd make a good Sister Rafaela because I have long, curly hair like an angel. Another suggestion was Sister Heliodora which is polish for sunflower. Both are accurate. But of course, my name Rebecca means so much. The other girls we dubbed with some slightly more serious names like "faith, hope and love." We heard many stories and laughed so much. Blessed Frances Siedliska, their foundress, even made an appearance. Let me tell you how cool that was! Very! We ended the party by singing along to some songs such as "hakuna matata," "my God," "Oh Happy Day," and "So Long, Farewell." Of course, we also listened to one of Sister Gabriela's favorite songs and immediately, I was brought to tears almost immediately as the sisters sang along as a blessing over Sister Gabriela.
     Anyone who knows me, knows I don't do the tears in public thing. So, after we sent Sister "off to bed," I sought out my dear Sister David and told her she had to hug me so I wouldn't be embarrassed crying. She laughed and hugged me. It had been months since I had seen her and even longer since I had cried with her. We cleared up the room and then headed upstairs to the community room to have a chat. We sat down and had a long overdue heart to heart about making decisions and celebrating Senior year. She reassured me that no matter what decision I make, she will always be there to love me! I felt peace and tears of overwhelming happiness. Then after getting figuratively murdered multiple times by the general councilor in some wicked games of Mafia, we headed to bed. The next day was a big day.
     We woke early for breakfast at 8:30 and spent the morning enjoying the hustle and bustle of the wedding. At one point, I found myself in the Chapel praying morning prayer but soon crying again. I admit it, I was a blubbering mess most of the weekend. That's what happens when one is in love with Jesus and He reminds you often. A few of the Polish sisters suddenly started singing the most beautiful composition of Psalm 45 I had ever heard. It was in Polish and yet, it still spoke to my heart. Sister Clare Marie came over to me, and seeing that I was tearing up, patted my cheek and said, "Jesus loves you, how could He not?" I smiled and hugged her then went back to my prayer.
     Before we knew it, it was time for the wedding to take place. Everything seemed perfect for the day. The readings were perfect, the music was perfect, the people were perfect. Of course, the blubbering baby in me came out during the Mass so many times. Like when Sister Gabriela prostrated before the altar as we sang the Litany of the Saints. And when she received her ring. And when the sisters stood to accept her as a new full member of their community. And when Mother Jana accepted her vows. And when she spoke to her parents, thanking them, in Polish, even though they were watching from Poland. And of course, when she so beautifully smiled the entire time. Wow, what a witness to be able to watch a beautiful bride make her eternal vows to her infinite Love. And also to be surrounded by so many other beautiful Brides of Christ. It was so overwhelmingly beautiful.
     We continued to celebrate by a beautiful lunch and then after the party departed, bustling around, staying busily giddy about the wedding as only young (and young at heart) women can. I even bumped into Sister Barbara Jean (after scaring her half to death) and had a little chat with her. Of course, my favorite part of the conversation was when she asked if I had a boyfriend and I laughed. She then told me she was serious and I answered very seriously in return, "Yes. Jesus." I left her by saying, "Goodbye, Mother" as she was the one who dressed as Blessed Frances the night before and she sent me off with a blessing: "Be good, daughter."
     Then, before we knew it, we were on the airplane on the way home. Of course, this was after Sister David was panicking that we would miss our flight and then being delayed an hour. Even though we were delayed, I still had to give Sister (mother) a call to let her know I arrived safe and sound in Philly. I have so many moms..and I love it.
      As my best friends drove me home, I couldn't help be share so many stories with them. And thank God they accept me for who I am, completely in love with Jesus and all. I reflected on all the tears, all the smiles, all the laughter. I thanked God once again for allowing me to witness yet another beautiful Nun Wedding. Of course, I thanked God for asking me to be His eventual bride forever. And honestly, I can't wait. Eventually there will be a blog post titled "My Own Nun Wedding" but all in God's good time. Oh Jesus, how I love You so much. And Sister Gabriela, thank you, not only for letting me witness your final vows, but also for being my friend, my sister AND introducing me to the song "Everyday God" so that I can sob every time I hear it. Kochem cie, Siostra. Dziekuje.

 

The Last First Week of School Tears

"For College Seniors, there should be a week

of just being able to cry. Just break down and cry

because you are scared and don't know what's next."

- Bill Crosby

A View of Back Campus

     I have been here for just over two weeks and already it feels like Mid-October. No, not temperature-wise, but rather on the scale of syllabus week - final week. I have literally only been in classes for four days and already, my brain is experiencing sensory overload. I couldn't wait to get back into the classroom, a yearly recurring theme in my life every August. I was anxious to see my friends, see my Sisters, see my professors and of course, get my nose in some more books to learn so much more than I ever thought I could. I was anxious to get Move-In week over with if only so I could find my front row seat in all my classes and start soaking in all the wisdom of my professors. I had my FDO (First Day Outfit) planned out the night before and my back-pack was all ready to go. I climbed into bed knowing how blessed I was to be back at IU for another year. The next morning I woke up to a million and one facebook statuses from my friends: Happy Last First Day of School, Class of 2014. Wait...what? Instant panic. 

     Okay, so I had thought about it many times, but it was too far away to be real. I kept saying all Summer: I'll be a Senior in the Fall. Yeah, yeah, yeah, Senior year whatever. But then all of a sudden, it's no longer "I'll be," it's "I am." Suddenly, I'm not longer a Senior wannabe, but rather the real thing. Suddenly, I'm no longer watching with admiration, the older and wiser students on campus, but rather, I am the older and the wiser (that's debatable.....). So much seemed to have changed in just a matter of a few hours. And boy oh boy was my heart beginning to feel it.

      I remember promising myself that I was going to make this year, my last year of college, the best one. I told myself I would stay up late at night just talking with my friends, only to get up and try to function properly in a few hours later for class. I told myself I would go every place I got the chance to go, I would do anything I could, I would go to any soccer/volleyball/basketball game, I would try out for the musical, I would be there for my friends, I would spend more time with my Sisters across the street, at Camilla and on campus, I would do all these things and more. I had this mentality that this was going to be the best year. Crying during the first week of school was not on the agenda. Therefore, when I felt the increasing need to cry, I refused to let myself do so. 

      Well, the promise not to cry during the first week of school lasted about ten hours. I had gone through the first day of classes and was in the car heading to my grandparents for dinner. I had the country music station on and suddenly, the tears were streaming down my face. I laughed at myself and wiped the tears away promising myself it wouldn't happen again that week. I mean seriously, if I cried the first week of school, what did that mean for the rest of the school year? 

       Crying, I have not always believed, is a true way of cleansing the soul. And I think this week, the urge to cry has simply come from the need to cleanse myself of the paranoia of Senior Year Stress Syndrome. You know, when all of a sudden you are met with the desire to do nothing but the need to do everything and anything. Of course, I have to admit that my Senior Year is going to be way different than everyone else's. You see, Senior Year means something so much more to me than simply finishing school. 

       For me, finishing school gives me another step closer to pursuing my vocation as a religious sister. And that scares the daylights out of me. Of course, it also means finding a job, paying off loans, living on my own, finding a place to live on my own, getting certified as a real teacher, etc. But it also means that the reality of my vocation coming into fruition is even closer. And what is sooooooo scary about that is that I still have no idea what I am doing with my life. All I know is that God's got this....He better, because I sure don't. 

     This week has truly been a very human week for me. While my friends are talking about getting good paying jobs, getting engaged, starting families, I'm just over like "Hey...I wanna be a nun..." and it's like Jesus popped the question, I said yes, but suddenly He wants to start planning for a wedding and I'm like, "Dude, I've got school to worry about." He understands but He keeps asking me if I thought of where we're going to have the wedding, what my dress is going to look like, if I thought about names, and I just want to breathe. He's an anxious bridegroom. I mean, let's be honest....I understand. He makes me smile, and I know all He wants is for me to be His forever and ever and ever, but right now, I tell Him to wait a little longer. I love Him more than anything, anyone, any place, and yet, I'm still reserved. Why is there a part of that is still saying, "I just don't know...." Well, because suddenly these ideas of getting married to Jesus, are no longer ideas, but rather realities at the tip of my finger and suddenly, I'm not sure if I'm ready for this. 

       Then someone tells me to breathe, that there is still time. That's when I cry....It seemed so obvious, so real, so true and real person life is coming at me much quicker than I thought possible. Yes, I am still a student, but there is a lot more on my mind than most Seniors in my class. And yet, I know God's got this. I can cry, I can talk it out, but in the end, I know that God has full control over this. So, I said to Him, listen, my friend, you plan the wedding. I'll focus on school, You plan the wedding. He's so anxious....I think it's pretty cute. 

      Of course, He agreed but then also reminded me that for me, as a future teacher, there is no such thing as the last first week of school. I'll have last first weeks forever. 

Sometimes the Road Gets A Little Rocky

"Just because you are in a tough situation, 

doesn't mean it has to be tragic.

You are in control of how terrible your situation feels."

- Sister Marcille

    You may or may not have seen the Facebook status that read : The phrase that sums up my week "let's just find a rock big enough for both of us to hide under and call it a day." Yes, I said that. But it was in casual response to something I never would have expected to hear from one of my Sisters: "I want to hide under a rock." Of course, this was as we were attempting to lift the giant, ancient window in her office and after I almost cried in her presence for the third time in a row that week. It was only Wednesday. However, it didn't quite shock me like it probably would have had I been not in a crabby mood. In fact, it was almost comforting; someone else was feeling almost the same attitude. Okay, well, maybe we both wanted to hide away from the world for different reasons, but the point is, we both wanted to hide under rocks. I was tired of crying and she was tired of meetings. But that's life, I guess. 

    Many of you know me as the girl with the perpetual smile. The truth is, I have found ways to always keep positive and to smile through anything that is upsetting me. However, this doesn't mean that I don't have days where I am just in a complete Debbie Downer mood. On these days, I usually avoid all kinds of civilization and stick to myself. So essentially, I am always in a smilely mood because most people only see me when I have tons of smiles to give. Of course, duty calls and one must go to work and to class even on days when she might rather just stay wrapped up in her blankets in her bed. Last week, I was seemingly in a perpetual Debbie Downer mood and while, I tried to avoid people so as not to have my bad mood rub off, I still had to come in contact with a few people. 

    So here's the background. It's the final two weeks of school. That means, finals, finals, finals. Of course, as an English Major I am so blessed to be given papers in lieu of finals. However, I'm also half an Education Major and so, my finals consist of teaching lessons to my class. As of now, I have one paper to worry about, four discussion boards to finish, a lesson plan to do and a Theology final. Almost done. However, at the beginning of last week, the workload was definitely doubled and I had no desire to do any of it. I was wishing I could be back at home with my little sister who has seemingly been putting up a daily fight to go to school. 

    As the oldest sister, I am always worried about my little sisters and this new knowledge of little Lizzie was worrying my heart out. I actually wanted to just scoop her up in my arms and snuggle her "all the day" (as she always says). I wanted to protect her, love her and squeeze her close. Having to go back to school was the hardest thing, especially with only two weeks of school left for me. Needless the say, I spent Sunday night almost sobbing because I was so worried about her. But, that same night, from one big sister to another, my Sister gave me endearing words of support and a hug to get me through the night. As much as that helped, I still wanted to hide under a rock and when I saw her two days later, she was feeling the same sentiment. 

    It seemed that as the days went by last week, I felt more and more worry in my heart for my little sister....and for my upcoming finals. I am grateful for those who let my introvertedness be fully expressed, namely my Sister. She wouldn't really say much, except ask a few questions, already knowing the full situation my heart was in, and give me something to smile about or to take my mind off of things for a while. She had become so gentle with my heart as if she was holding in her hands the must expensive and most fragile piece of China porcelain. She was honest, she was true, she was gentle; so, so, so gentle. It humbled me but it also let me embrace the emotions going on in my heart. By Wednesday, after mid-day Mass, I found myself wiping salt water off my cheeks as I prayed and prayed and prayer. And in that prayer I was given the image of that rock we had both wanted to hide under. Ironically, I was also given a choice. 

    There are plenty of days when we each want to hide under a rock. Last week, was my week of days of wanting to run and hide under rocks. Even in class, another Sister told me that I looked as quite miserable, even after she presented me with an A on my final paper. Anyway, for some people, their rocks could be their beds or their rooms where they hide away from the world, or maybe a secret place they go to on their own, like the beach or the park or a specific bench by the river. We all want to hide, because like Adam and Eve, we don't like to feel vulnerable; wanting to hide is part of human nature. However, just like Adam and Eve, we are given a choice. God will provide us with the rock when we need it, but we can choose to do one of two things with it: lift it and hide under it OR stand on top of it, throw our hands up in the air and let God take care of it. At that moment in Chapel, when I was presented with this image and this decision, I had realized that I wasn't wanting to hide under the rock; I was already under it. 

      I was given the choice right then in Chapel to either stay under that rock or climb out from underneath and stand on top. I still wanted to hide under my rock, I still was searching for a chance to sob about my life, I was still searching for a lasting hug. I mentioned all of this in prayer and was told, you can cry to Me, My Arms are wide open to hug you, My princess. So, slowly, I began to climb out. I cried because I knew I couldn't control anything that was happening in my life because losing control is so scary. However, I soon learned that losing control was also so freeing. The true climb out from underneath my rock began early Thursday morning when I realized that the lesson plan for the lesson I was supposed to teach my Honors Juniors class was not in my bag, but at home in my room at school. Oops. I had no control over the situation and so, I said, "Jesus take the wheel." 

     Later that day, I unpinned the bobby pins in my hair and let my curls go crazy as I rolled down the window in Cameron's car. Seriously, my curls, when UNCONTROLLED, are actually crazy crazy crazy. It may not mean much to anyone else, but to me, letting go of the little things I could usually control really helped with the letting go of things I couldn't control. Before I knew it, I was standing on top of my rock, throwing my hands in the air, proclaiming that God was wholly in control and there was nothing I could do about anything but pray. 

     On Friday, I was proclaiming to the world that I was the happiest I had been all week. At Mass that afternoon, my secret handshake peace giver shook my hand but instead of letting go, she held on until I turned back around. Laughing, I asked her for my hand back. But instead of giving me my hand back, said, "I just want to say that it's good to see your beautiful smile again." And in that moment, I felt somewhat infinite. And I guess that's what truly giving all control to God does for a person; it makes her feel infinite. 

     I can honestly say I learned an extremely valuable life lesson this past week. Well, actually a few. It's okay to cry, to sob and let people see you. It's okay to be human (shocker). It's okay that when you really need a hug so you can cry, to ask for a hug from your Sisters. And finally, when faced with a rocky road, you can choose to either hide under each of them or stand on top, conquering that rock, that mountain, and throw your hands in the air, giving all control to Jesus. Sometimes the road gets rocky, there's no doubt about that. But we get to choose how that rocky road affects us. It's always good to cry about things, to truly embrace the emotions God has blessed you with, but remember that hiding does no one any good. It's the standing atop your mountain and letting God take that control. Trust me, He's got this. And if you need a hug, He's more than willing to give you one. Promise. 

The Search For Dignity

"Every time you smile a someone, it is an action of love, 

a gift to that person, a beautiful thing."

- Mother Teresa

    A typical walk across campus: despite the weather, multiple people, students, faculty, sisters, walking. People are always around, always walking, always headed some place new, always dead set on a destination. People, most often then not tuned out of the world, either listening to music, talking on the phone, worrying about something. People, who will not stop but keep going. That is, unless someone stops them. Then, panic settles in. 

    I've seen it happen on a daily basis. A student may be walking, transfixed on something else rather than their surroundings and is most likely oblivious to other people walking near and around them. Suddenly, someone says hello or good morning or better yet, addresses them by name. Shocked, the student looks up and is not quite sure what to do, but by the time it hits them to respond, the other person is gone. It makes them think for a moment, but then, they go back to their routine of shutting out the world and ignoring the next five people they walk past. This actually drives me crazy. 

    For as long as I can remember, I was always talking to strangers. People tell me I could convince a brick that it's no longer a brick if I needed to. Every day, if I saw someone new, I'd say hello, how you doing? etc. I remember one day in particular, when I was about 6 or 7, in a Kmart. My Daddy was walking behind me and a man was holding the door for me. I was always taught to hold the doors for older people, and at age seven, everyone was older. So, I tried to hold the door for this man. He refused to let me and so, I followed up with a "Thank you, thank you very much" in the voice of Elvis, complete with bowing and curtsying. Of course, I embarrassed my dad, but the stranger was enthralled about my antics of gratitude. I very easily could have just walked through the door without saying a thing. But, no...I gave that man a full show of thanks for his merely holding a door. So many other instances I can remember walking or riding my bike through out neighborhood, waving and saying hello to people. I would always ask my Daddy, "who's that? do we know them?" and of course, he would answer, "no." I didn't really understand this interaction, but I grew to learn to do the same. If there was ever a person nearby, I would say hello, wave, smile, anything to acknowledge their presences. This was easy, because I was saying hello to other friendly people, other people who were acknowledging my presence in return. To love is easy when love is given in return. 

    I can remember another instance, this time, I was much older than seven. Okay...I was seventeen. Now I know that doesn't seem very old, but in my current scheme of life, it was four years ago. Humor me here. Thanks. Anyway, so it was after school one day when my friend Melissa and I were taking a walk in the park down the street from our high school. It was a beautiful day and so there were plenty of people out jogging, walking their dogs and enjoying the day. As the two of us were walking, I would casually interrupt our conversation just to say hello to the people who we were passing by. I thought nothing of it until she finally asked me to question I always used to ask my Daddy, "Do you know all these people?" I laughed as I told her know. Besides these people were easy to acknowledge as they acknowledged me in return.

     When I came to college, I made it a point to say hello to every single person I knew. Or, if they couldn't hear me, to at least smile and wave obnoxiously in their direction. Most people would give a half-hearted hello in return. Unless it was a sister, they always got really hype about someone saying hi....they always do. Occasionally, if I knew the person, his or her response would be a little more lively. Now that I've been here for three years, and have successfully scared the underclassmen with my excitement, it's expected for Becca to say hi. It's her life goal. In fact, she could probably go around all day just saying hi to people and be able to call it a successful day. That's the truth. There's something about acknowledging people; for me it's all about the love. Like Mother Teresa said, a smile is a gift of love. I'm about giving the love, my friends, all about it. 

     This acknowledgement, this life mission of mine all took on a deeper meaning a few weeks ago. Most of you, if you've been reading for a while, know that I am pretty honest, with myself, with my God and with others. So, why not be honest now? For a few weeks, I have been harboring a hurt in my heart. It may seem so small in the scheme of things, but here's the main idea of what was hurting my heart. I am used to always saying hi and quite often being ignored, most of the times because I wasn't heard (it's because of the earbuds not my lack of loudmouth). And it's ok, I smile and move on. But what was truthfully hurting my heart was when a close friend of mine would ignore every hello, how are you, or smile I gave her. It would be returned with a glare, or even worse, the acknowledgement of the other person with me but an ignorance of myself. Finally, it got to me. It broke me down and I cried a good deal about it. When I finally talked about it, all I could say was, "I don't get it. How could one human find it in them the capacity to degrade another human by not acknowledging their presence?" Then it hit me.

     How many times have I been walking in the streets of my beloved Philadelphia and ignored the homeless or the needy or even those who may have needed a simple smile? So. Many. Times. I began to think in the larger scheme of things about these people who are deliberately ignored every single day. Every day of their lives, they long for someone to reach out, not with money, but with love and every day they are denied that. As human beings, we desire and deserve the love from other human beings. In fact, we were made to love one another, not ignore one another. Humanity doesn't work when we shut out others. We have a right as a human to be acknowledged by other human beings. Some people love their dogs more than they love other humans. It breaks my heart, especially because I myself am guilty of it. It's easy to love when love is returned, but with these people, the people who need love the most, they cannot return the love. And so, it makes it harder for us to love. It's not easy to love when love cannot be given in return. 

     The situation taught me two things: first, that I need to begin acknowledging ALL people, regardless of who they are, what they are doing, and how much they can love me in return. Second, that I need to kill people with kindness. Yeah, that's a thing. I'll be honest, it's hard to ignore me. I'm loud, I'm obnoxious, I have a "cackle that can light up any room" and I put myself in the way of others unknowingly. Let's be honest, if you're not acknowledging me, it's most likely on purpose. But, I will continue to love through that. Like I said, it's easy to love when love is returned. It's not so easy to love when love is not returned. It has taken so much of me to continue to love those who have hurt me by this minor act of human degradation. However, I am grateful for it, because without it I never would have realized how much this truly goes on in our world these days and how much I take part in it.

      The other night at the Mothership, I was talking with one of the Sisters who I so often find myself contemplating the mysteries of the universe with. This is true. We have been known to spend hours past my portress duties just talking about life. This weeks mystery of the universe: human dignity and the acknowledgement of other humans. Just as I have on the college campus, I do at work. When a sister walks through the door, "Hello, Sister. Welcome home, Sister. Happy day, Sister. Have a good night, Sister." Every single person that walks through that door, regardless of whatever homework I am in the middle of not accomplishing. When she walked through the door, a welcome home was given and a conversation started. I began to tell her about my heart struggles and how I've been learning from them. She is a firm believer that we hurt so we learn. I have seen this proven true. I told how I was sitting there crying because I felt that as a human I deserved to be acknowledged and not degraded, when it hit me. I, who have been blessed with so much, have one person in my life who does not acknowledge me when so many in our world are ignored daily by every single person who walks past them. Crying, sobbing, over one person. Yet these people who have no one, especially not a Sister to complain to, to cry or sob with. They put up with being degraded every day and yet they deserve the SAME amount of human respect as I do. HELLO. What a wake up call for me. She agreed saying, all religion aside, there is not one human being on this earth better than another human being. Therefore, each human being, should address every other human being with respect, regardless of whether you like the person or not. And then I told her, Sister, Christ is in you, Christ is in me, Christ is in every single living human being on this earth. If I fail to recognize or acknowledge a fellow human being, I fail to acknowledge my Beloved. 

     And so, all of this being said: we not only learn from what has hurt us in the past, but we also must choose to acknowledge every human person we come in contact with. Now, I'm not saying, run into the nearest grocery store and go up to every single person in the store, shake their hand or hug them. No, that's a bit ridiculous. But what I'm saying is, if when shopping in the grocery store, you see you are sharing an aisle with another person and will soon be passing them, you say hello or at least smile. I'm saying, unplug with whatever it is that is plugging you up: music, cell phones, worries. UNPLUG. Acknowledge and be acknowledged. And let's face it, whether we know what is going on or not, we are all each experiencing something at any given time and who knows what a simple hello or smile could do. Of course, let's not forget those who are ignored and not acknowledged on a daily basis. Put yourself in their shoes momentarily and think to yourself, could you really handle being ignored all day long? I would go nuts. And so, my challenge to you for today/tomorrow (whenever this actually posts....) is to make it a point to acknowledge every single person you meet throughout your day, whether old friend or new, whether love is returned or not. Just do it. It will not only make someone else's day, but you day, too. And trust me...it's a good habit to get into. 

This Is Home - Chicago Take Two

"I am home.

Trust in me.

From today, that is all I need to say is....

Don't you know how much you've changed me? 

Strange how I finally see.

I found home.

You're my home."

- "The Transformation," Beauty and the Beast 

     After a long fifteen hour day on Thursday, I called Sister Michele and double-checked the solo flying protocol. All I had to do was print the ticket and the next morning just go through to security in the airport, she confirmed. And so, Mike and I went to the Library to print my ticket. Then, after a series of venting sessions, dinner at Applebees and some homework, I finally finished packing around 2 am. For a few hours I slept in my bed before getting up and going for a run. A nun run, that is.

     I went to bed Thursday night knowing that I would not have time for a nap and I would probably be exhausted by the time I landed in Chicago. But there was an energetic flame in my heart. Within a few hours, I knew I would be seeing not only my AE but also my beloved Chicago Nazareth Sisters. I remembered clear as day how nervous I was about going last year for the first time. I didn't know anyone. Okay, I barely knew a few of the sisters.  But still it was a new place and a new mission and a new experience. I was slightly terrified. This year, however, I was super excited. I was so excited that even the notion of flying solo (I'm flying solo, solo, solooooooooo....) didn't phase me! I was so excited that before the plane even left the ground, I was passed out solid between a few business men and a dad. Before I knew it, the plane was landing! Now there were merely only minutes before I would see my AE! MINUTES!

     I got the warning not to step outside until she texted me. Like a good kid, I obeyed. And when I finally did get the text, I was glad I had listened. Talk about 11 degree weather with a 7 degree wind chill. YIKES! It was FREEZING! Right away bustling conversation took place! Of course! It had almost been a MONTH! And soon, we were pulling into the Provincialate Parking Lot! There were plenty of new sisters to meet and plenty of old friends to hug! Honestly, it was just like walking through the back door of a place I called home. I placed my things in my room in the 2c wing and headed back to help the Coach of the Nun Run team (AKA my AE, Sister Michele) prepare for the Nun Runners. 

      What's this jargon, you ask?! Well, a Nun Run is just that. A group of young women get together and run to the nuns. This year, the nun runners (myself included) were starting at the CSFN Convent (where I just happened to be staying anyway). A few vocation directors from various communities in Chicago joined us for dinner and a Vocation Panel during which we not only asked millions of questions but also heard so many great stories of the sisters. The sisters that joined us ranged from full habited, new communities to very ancient communities to communities without habits and so on and so forth. What was the most beautiful story, I felt, was Sr. Elyse, OP's description of charism. She told us that a charism is the light that shines forth from a facet in a beautifully cut diamond. The light is the same for every community, but the difference is how the light shines through! How beautiful?! We ended the first night of the nun run with The Trouble With Angels. Heel. Toe. Heel. Toe. SHORT CUT.

       The next morning was an early one as we began with Mass. I fell in love with the priest who gave such an energetic homily where he not only engaged the congregation but also told extremely intriguing stories. Like I said, in love. Soon after we had breakfast. The girls were surprised by the AWESOME breakfast we had, but let's be honest: there's always good eats at the convent! And then we trekked out in the three inches of snow to visit the Carmelites. 

        Sister Teresita (little Teresa) greeted us at the turn and asked us for our special intentions before we headed upstairs to the speak room. In the speak room, behind the grate (I wish I had been able to take a picture....) there were a plethora of brown habited sisters and two German Shepherds. For two hours they spoke to us about the life of Carmel, vocations, life in general and told us so many stories. It was as if they spent all day in silence....oh wait. They do! It's one of the most beautiful things about Carmel that I love: the peace and silence! Contemplative life is the life of my soul. However, Apostolic life is the life of my hands. I could never make it as a Carmelite, not because I can't ever shut up (although some would argue this is the main reason....) but rather because I know I am meant to touch people and help them heal. I can't necessarily do that from the cloister. However, there will always be that longing, that senhsucht, in my heart for the life of Carmel. 

       Next on the Nun Run were the Sisters of the Resurrection. We spent lunchtime with these sisters and how beautiful our time was there. In fact, one of the sisters here knew one of my close CSFN sisters from home. What a small world (and confirmation!). After a beautiful prayer service, we headed on out to visit the Felician Sisters! One of the sisters who was with us, struck up conversation right away with me. Even though she was telling us many stories in the car, it wasn't until we got to the convent that her and I really got to talk. I felt as if we connected right away, before we even had a conversation. Here's the kicker, I was the only one who really understood her word for word. She's from Poland. As we were headed into Chapel, she whispered to me that I was fall in love. And boy did I ever. It was like a mini cathedral hidden like a diamond in the rough. As part of our visit with the Felician Sisters, a few other Vocation Directors from the area joined us for what they call an Emmaus Walk. This is when we each get paired with a Sister by luck of the draw and walk with them to share stories. As I was handed the pile of names, I prayed that I was meant to have a sister who would understand me. I was blessed with Sister Eliana, the Polish Sister who I connected with earlier. I thanked God, because in my little heart, she was the sister I was praying to walk with. And so, we did. We walked and shared and understood. I told her how I understood her so well and we shared much wisdom! I felt so blessed. 

        There was one more stop on the nun run and that was at the Convent of the Sisters of Charity. It is here that I discovered that in Chicago, they cut their round pizza into squares. Yeah...very strange. And I let the Philly girl out of me when I said it was so weird. Of course, at that time I was still saying soda and not pop and getting strange looks. We prayed here, too, with the sisters which was beautiful! And we always received prayer partners. Ironically, when I first sat down in the living/community room, I had no idea my Prayer Partner, Sister Marsha, was sitting next to me. At the end of our time, it was revealed to us and I couldn't help but think how great God is with His poetic foreshadowing. God must have been an English Major!

        My exhaustion was running high as we piled into the convent car and headed back to the CSFN convent. Except, I was the only one staying again. I kept thinking to myself, I can't wait to hop into my pj's and get some sleep. AND IT WAS ONLY NINE O'CLOCK. But then somehow, I ended up in the 2B community room around the corner with Sister Maria Sophia, Sister AE, and Sister Gabriella. FOR THREE AND A HALF HOURS. I edited Sister Gabriella's paper, we skyped with Sister Cordia in Philadelphia, we chatted tons and tons, and after Sister Maria Sophia and Sister AE trickled off to bed, Sister Gabriella and I stayed up chatting some more. 

     You see, she's also a college student and most of her energy is spent during the night. Staying up til midnight (or later) is normal for both of us and there was plenty to catch up on. She's always been one to ask me "So, when are you entering?" And I've always given her the quick answer, "I don't know." It's not a pressure filled question, but rather a question from one big sister to her little sister. It's exactly how when I ask Mary, my little sister, when she is coming home. I always get an indefinite answer. This time, however, I was able to really put into words my fears, my joys and my duties. Finishing school, getting a degree and a job and paying off loans all have to be done before I can enter. The loan thing is the biggest hurdle. But then, how do I leave home? How would I survive a community where so many sisters are almost old enough to be my parents (no disrespect intended!)? How could I do  it? And she gave me so much insight. I honestly felt like I was confiding in my big sister and she was giving me counsel and HOPE!

       The next morning, I joined the council for prayers and breakfast in their wing. Later, I joined the rest of the sisters for Sunday Mass during which we celebrated: Consecrated Life Day, a 51st Wedding Anniversary for a local couple and the feast of St. Blase. When I sang, as a mere member of the congregation, I truly felt my heart sore. It was a true recognition of truth, beauty and home. Right after Mass, a good group of us ran out the door in six inches of snow to see the High School Production of Beauty and the Beast at St. Viator High School where Sister Maria Sophia teaches. I can honestly say that as many times as I have seen Beauty and the Beast, I have never cried so much during it. It was just so well-done and simply beautiful. Of course, I obviously found so many connections to what I was feeling that weekend.

       The good news that follows this, is that we made it back just in time for supper and the Superbowl. Of course, my interest in football is about a negative 54%. So, while the majority of the sisters were watching, and a few others were doing homework, school prep work and council work (or playing Words with Friends....) I was teaching Sister Luke how to not only add contacts but take pictures and set them as caller IDs! I knew the lesson was successful when she called me later from upstairs just to check the score of the game! We made it to the end of the game where the emotions were running high in the room. Of course, I was busy snacking on the AWESOME Buffalo Chicken Dip made by the always lovely Canonical Novice, Sister Faustina! At the last 13 seconds, when the Ravens took a safety shot, the sisters were on the edge of their seats. Half the room was voting 49ers, and the other half was voting Ravens. At 34:31, it was so close! And finally....finally, the room exploded in cheers as the Baltimore Ravens came through with the wind. It was almost ten o'clock by then. 

       Oh how I so wanted to sleep. But there was a subtle invitation from Sister Gabriela. Of course, I did the natural college wake me up and took a hot shower. Which, mind you, every time I took a hot shower, I thought I set off the fire alarm because half way through the shower, the water just starts SCREAMING. Anyway, quickly into my PJ's I went and headed softly down the hall to her door. She jumped up, grabbed the blanket and a movie and ran with me (like sisters..) to the community room to watch it. Of course, it was a new movie for me and yet, a movie she had "known well." I was crying, she was crying, we were laughing and gasping and yeah...it was a good movie! By 12:30, I was exhausted again and had no problem falling asleep. 

      The next morning at 5 am, I quick jumped out of bed and met Sister Maria Sophia in the lobby. We headed out in what was now ten inches of snow for Mass and then a long day at St. Viator High School. There I observed different English and Theology classes as well as shared my story. Who was I? Where was I from? What was I doing there? It all came down to a mere college student who wants to be a nun. However, at one point I got introduced as a nun and I had to smile and say, nuns don't normally where mascara  or eye liner. Before I knew it, the full day was OVER and we were headed home. Then...it was a rapid mission to pack and clean in an hour. Could I do it? Yes. Could I do it without crying? Maybe not.

       During the time I was packing and organizing my room, Sister Maria Sophia and Sister Angela came to visit. You know you are comfortable with the sisters and the sisters are comfortable with you when you can pack all your belongings (including dirty laundry) in front of them and neither party minds. I was trying so hard not to cry. So hard. I had felt so at home, so loved during the time I spent there. I felt like me. Truly Becca, truly me. I didn't feel out of place or awkward or even restrained. In fact, I felt freer than ever. 

      As I carried my things down the stairs before one final sweep of my room, I met a few Sisters along the way: Sister Michael Marie, Sister Mary Ann and Sister Stella Marie. Each of those sisters have such a beautiful spot in my heart. I made a final stop in the Chapel, gave hugs goodbye and did the sweep. I took my time saying good bye because nun time is all relative. We printed my plane ticket and packed the car. To the airport I went after one final good-bye and "Kochem Cie" (I love you in Polish....). Do not cry. Do not cry. Do not cry.

      Finally, I was on the plane sitting next to a gentle old man and an empty seat. I plugged my earbuds into my iphone and pressed play. What was the first song that came on? "This Is Home" by Switchfoot. Yep, instant tears. There was so much about this weekend in Chicago that made me thank God over and over. There were so many little confirmations or God-Winks as I like to call them. The snow was a HUGE confirmation that I was where I needed to be at that present moment. I know they are called Sisters of the Holy Family of Nazareth for a reason, because I certainly felt like a mala siostra (little sister) in a big family. I felt loved, so very loved. And yes, deep down in my heart, I knew, rather, was almost reminded of where I belong: As Jesus' beloved. Because honestly, this is home. 

Sister Angela ;)

Sister Eliana, a Felician Sister

The Most Beautiful Chapel

The Superbowl girls

A shoeless match made in Heaven

The Nun Runners

A snowy message from God

Sister Lucille

The Carmelite Turn

Saved On The Way Down

"On the way down, I saw You and

I won't forget the way You love me.

On the way down, I almost fell right through, 

but I held onto You."

- Ryan Cabrera, On The Way Down

    Because of my English major nature, I have a tendency to find poetic ways in which to describe myself and my feelings. As I was reading for my classes last week, I felt complete solidarity with Gilgamesh as he traveled through 12 leagues (which is 2.4-4.6 miles long) of darkness and the Puritans who mourned death constantly in their poetry. I began to read The Shack for the second time and felt complete solidarity with Mack's ultimate heartbreak. Often, when I know I need to cry, I compare myself to a bubble of tears getting ready to burst if even the gentlest brushes me with their touch. However, this time, the bubble seemed too weak a comparison. So, I found a better one instead.

    Sometimes I think emotional pain is so much worst than actual, physical pain. However, that could easily be because I have such a high pain tolerance. For a whole week (and I know I am not alone in feeling this way), since Mike's passing, I've felt like an emotional earthquake. I felt that as the minutes go by, I was cracking more and more. I felt like the emotional earthquake was breaking the stability. But it wasn't doing it the quick and painless way, it was taking it's good, old time to break me down. At any moment, I felt like I was going to crack fully and then the tears would just flow without stopping. But I didn't break; not yet.

     My wonderful Daddy (seriously, he IS the best) picked me up from school late Wednesday night after my class ended at ten. The drive home was not like my usual rides home filled with laughter, loud conversation (we're so Italian sometimes) and tons of singing, but rather quiet, dazed and tearful. As we drove, I watched the sky from my window as silent tears flowed down my cheeks. I was almost home in my bed where I could finally let out the sobs I had been holding in all week. Suddenly, my dad told me who would be celebrating the Funeral Mass: our previous pastor, Fr. Larry. I could say nothing but, "Oh great," dreadfully. Just earlier that day I realized that the last time I had cried that hard was almost three years ago when he was transferred out of our parish. I knew instantly that if I even glanced his way at the funeral, I would crack. 

      Within hours I found my stomach churning as I mentally tried to prepare myself for what I was going to have to go through with my family and dear friends. I headed the church to practice the psalm and Ave Maria, songs I knew like the back of my hand. I didn't cry. I went to the funeral home and silent tears fell down my face as I hugged my Parish Family. I went back to church and prayed with the other members of my parish family; shed barely a tear. Mass begin and my heart continued the process of breaking. I realized Mike was a person I never thought I was going to lose. As much as I know that all earthly life comes to an end and everyone dies, he was that strong, fatherly figure who just couldn't die. It seemed impossible. As I sat in the pew barely listening to the first reading, I felt the emotional earthquake starting in full force. I felt sick to my stomach as I said over and over and over again, "Jesus, please. Help me." 

     I walked up the aisle, bowed at the altar, and began to sing the traditional psalm 23. Having sung the familiar verses so many times, I could easily close my eyes and sing from memory. For some reason, closing my eyes made singing so much easier. Perhaps because I couldn't see the beautiful members of my parish family. However, for the last verse, I opened my eyes. I sung so loud and clear and then suddenly, I cracked as I tried to sing, "I shall dwell in the house of the Lord all my days." I was done. I lost my voice in the cracks the earthquake was setting off. The tears exploded, and what would normally make any other person want to runaway and hide, I stood there, listening as my parish family sang what I was meant to sing. When the piano stopped playing, I turned to make my exit off the altar, but suddenly was engulfed in arms so big and loving. Fr. Larry had crossed the altar, pulled me into a giant hug and that's when the sobbing started. You know, sobbing where you can't breathe, the kind of sobbing I described last blog post. Right there, on the altar, wrapped in a giant hug, I sobbed. 

     He had always been the one who made everything else make sense. He was that crazy uncle that I just loved and loved. He made fun of me playfully, knew when he had to listen, made everything wrong that ever happened seem ok and always, always, always stood up for me. When I found out he was being transferred, I cried so bad for so many days. I couldn't believe he was being taken away from us. And yet, things were ok for a while once he left. He kept in touch, called me every so often to see how school was going, to see how the family was, you know, casual. Then life got busy for him, and life got busier for me, and until yesterday, it had been almost a year since I talked to him. Now that's not to say I didn't think of him or pray for him, but I almost came to the peace of knowing things would never be the same and the distance was growing. Yet, there he was, holding me in the tight teddy bear hug as I sobbed over the loss of our friend. 

      As my Daddy read the second reading with his strong voice, Fr. Larry sat with me and told me how good it was to cry, how healthy it was, and if I didn't cry, he'd be worried I didn't care, that I had lost the loving sensitivity I always had, that he loved. Within a few minutes, the earthquake had happened, the cracks were opened, the tears had flowed out and he had poured in the cement in the cracks to put me back together. It was literally like he hugged the pieces back into place. He cared enough to break away from the traditional priest stereotypes so many times, and this time was no exception. You see, I was headed down, down, down, into the cracks of a deep sadness, but He saved me by sending someone who always seemed to have saved me before. I am so blessed to know not only beautiful sisters and religious, but also some kick butt, sincerely caring, superhero style priests!

      As I've told many who've asked today, things are still going to be hard; how can they not be? However, I've had closure, I'm at peace and I've been put back together. I can't thank all of you enough for all the prayers you've said for my Parish family and for me. The spiritual support is immense. I truly am so blessed to know such great people. Especially those who are willing to save me on my way down.