Pondering These Things

"Mary treasured up these things and

pondered them in her heart."

Luke 2:19

      "How did you get a baby who is so good in church?"

      "Your little baby is so cute; I've never seen such a young baby so well-behaved in church. She didn't even cry."

      "I love watching you love your baby during church."

      These, as well as, many other similar sentiments, are phrases I hear often after Mass on Saturdays and Sundays. Our pastor reminds me every time he sees baby girl that she is just so good and so alert during the Mass. Other parishioners comment to those making the above statements that she has been going to daily Mass since she was only one month old. I must admit, even I, myself, am shocked at how easy it is to bring her to church. I often ponder these statements - how did I get so lucky?

      Normally during Mass, I hold baby girl facing outward so she can see, hear and sense everything going on. Not only does facing her outward help me stay focused (because, let's be honest...it's so hard to not play with her cute little face), but it allows her to become aware of the space she's in. I sing in her ear when I hold her that way. I say the words of the prayers in her ear, too. She usually bops her head around, taking in her surroundings. But this past Sunday, I held her facing me, against my chest. She put her right arm against my shoulder, her head, she placed right on my chest and her left hand was in her mouth. I could hear her sucking her fingers until eventually, she stopped; she fell asleep. Later that afternoon, she fell asleep like that again on my chest. And then again, before I could put her down for bed. 

      As I rested my chin on her forehead, I was reminded of the words of a meditation I heard recently. It brought to mind the image of Mary, having just given birth to Jesus, holding, smelling and breathing with her baby. I became more and more aware of baby girl's breath in union with mine. I smelled her head and remembered Mary also smelling her baby boy. As I held her tightly, I imagined Mary holding her son close at each moment of his life. I wondered, then, if that was how Mary prayed. 

      In a conversation about prayer, recently, I was asked how I pray. Without thinking too much, I said, "by looking at my baby." Each time I look at her, watch her grow and learn about new things, or watch her eyes flutter as she dreams, I am brought to the mystery of God and God's creation. It is still so fascinating to think about my baby once being the size of a poppy seed. I am baffled by the fact that for 9 months I carried her within and within a matter of a few minutes, she was lying on my chest. I can hardly wrap my mind around this creation; she is so tiny and yet, so incredibly intricately designed. She is beauty, goodness and light; my heart swells with so much love for her each time I look into eyes. She was so worth the wait and I never want to put her down. She is my means of prayer. 

     But also, I am led deeper into prayer when I watch others interact with her. I love watching my husband, my Joseph, hold her, snuggle her, look in her eyes, and talk with her. Having loved him so much before, I love him even more now. Watching him interact with her, watching him pray, leads me deeper into the mystery. When I see how others look at her, awe at her, and enter into the mystery of her, I am reminded of the shepherds and the wise men and all those who came to visit Jesus. Mary willingly handed them her son to hold, to stare at, to talk to. She watched others interact with her son, her source of light, goodness and beauty. She watched and held these things in her heart; she pondered them. 

     There are not enough words to describe how lifted I feel when I enter into prayer by holding, watching or smelling my baby. There is no preparation like "Now, I am going to pray." It is as simple as just touching her hand; suddenly I am engulfed in mystery. She is the pathway by which I reach the divine; she is the means by which I am joined to God. There are not enough words to describe the overwhelming presence of God I feel when I watch others interact with her. She is so pure and good and beautiful; I tell her every day. Through these things, so many experience God. 

    So how did I get such a good baby; I'm not quite sure. Perhaps she, too, is entering into prayer in the sacred spaced. Perhaps she is aware of the presence of the Eucharist. Perhaps she is aware that it is her space for prayer. Perhaps she is so good because she is somehow aware that so many people are watching her and by watching her, are finding themselves in a deeper prayer. Of these things, I am not sure. But I do know that I cannot imagine a celebration of Liturgy without her now. Each time I witness the sacrifice of the Mass, I am reminded of the sacrifice of my body and how through that sacrifice, I was given the greatest gift this side of Heaven has to offer. How blessed am I to have this direct pathway to my God and how lucky I am to share her with so many! How can you not look at her and immediately be elevated in prayer?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EatBZECJ0v4

Receiving and Believing

"It is with human certainty that no one can see her own beauty

or perceive her own worth until it has been reflected back to her

in the mirror of another loving, caring human being."

John Joseph Powell

      It is my belief that almost every woman, at some point during her growing up, feels self-conscious. Whether it was because one's peers were growing quicker or slower than she, one felt so self conscious as the school nurse performed the yearly health screening or one simply felt compared to her older/younger siblings. The truth is, our media doesn't do much to help women either. Women are constantly being told how to wear their hair, what size they should wear and what they should look like. Women, despite there being so much advancement, still feel so pressured to look, appear and feel a certain way. 

     I am no stranger to this. There are often moments when I feel my body being attacked by the media. I should weigh a certain amount. I should look a certain way. I should dress to my body type but it has to be the right body type. From a young age, I basically gave up on trying to fit in with the way I dressed. Most of it was my dedication to not exposing every inch of my body, but it was also because I never felt quite like those clothes ever fit me properly. I began to hate trying on clothes in the store and even now, I'm more resolved to hold it up, buy it and then return it if it doesn't fit. Honestly, buying new clothes is the worst chore. And the scale is probably my worst enemy. 

    I often talk about my life as a teacher and campus minister in an all girl school, so it should be no surprise that I am surrounded by the heavy emphasis on body image on the daily. Whether it's casual conversation about prom dresses and spray tans or more serious conversations about how women and sexuality are portrayed in the media, I feel like every day we are talking about how we look. It's not only the students, it's the faculty members, too. We constantly judge each other for our food choices in the cafeteria or in our lunchboxes or how much we exercised each day. So I've made it a point to be a positive voice of reason in the hallways. It's been my mission to remind my students and my colleagues, that we each have different gifts, we all have great things to offer to the world, and I try to shower people with good, reinforcing compliments. Last year, the girls told me that I was one of the most supportive faculty members because of my pleasant disposition in and out of school. I took pride in that. 

      I believe it's a gift I've been given, to focus and see the best in each person. But along with that is the courage to tell people. I love giving out compliments and collecting smiles in return. That has been a part of me from a very young age. But it goes deeper than that. Whenever I am on retreat with the students, I have the opportunity to tell them specifically what I love about them. I often write them affirmations that sound like this, "You have a great ability to listen to your peers. You are a good person; believe it!" I always tell them to believe whatever good thing someone says about them, because I feel that what goes along with feeling so self-conscious about oneself, is the inability to believe anything good anyone says. 

      Over the years I have been thanked by my students for making them believe in themselves. They send me little emails during their school years in college or over the holidays thanking me for reminding them of their goodness. I cannot help but feel overwhelming joy because at least one person believed in her own goodness, even if for only a little while. It's probably one of the best parts of my job. 

     But recently I've been realizing that I don't take my own advice. How can I tell them time and time again to believe the good things people say about them if I don't believe it myself? Perhaps this goes hand in hand with my struggle with body image and positive identity, or maybe I am just not used to having people say things about me since I'm always busy saying good things about others. Regardless of the reason why, I've noticed that receiving compliments makes me feel awkward. I brought this to prayer a few weeks ago and was reflecting on feeling down on myself. I asked God to remind me of my beauty as His handiwork. Then I became a victim to receiving and yes, believing the goodness people believe about me. 

     One of the greatest compliments I have ever received was from a student I had just met on a service trip. He wrote me a palanca (a service trip tradition!) that read simply and sweetly, "I admire your confidence and your outgoing personality." I always felt obnoxious with my loud voice and seemingly outgoing personality. But this young man considered it confidence. I've never considered myself confident before, at least not in this way. But his simple words really meant a lot to me. 

     A few days later, someone texted me a picture of some dainty stationary. Knowing my love for stationary, it made sense to me that she sent the picture saying, "this reminds me of you!" I smiled because it's not the first time someone told me stationary reminded me of them - I loved writing letters. But she followed up with another text. It's cute and pretty just like you. It came on a day when I was feeling particularly hard on myself. Cute and pretty. I've never considered myself that either. But apparently someone else did. 

     And most recently in the succession of compliments seemingly flowing from God as an answer to my prayer, was this final instance. While we do not have religious sisters at my parish, a number of the neighboring parishes do. This summer I've been blessed to share my pew with some of the local sisters who live at the school my youngest sister attends. I know these sisters well and am in touch with them often. Each day, the sisters and I park in the lot and enter the chapel together. We comfortably pray our own prayers and give each other our spaced. But during the sign of peace, we exchange warm hugs and well wishes. Usually one particular sister says, "Peace be with you, Becca. Have a great day." But on one morning, she said something different. Instead of her usual, she hugged me saying, "Peace be with you, Becca. You are loved." 

     I am not used to receiving compliments and while they still make me feel awkward, there's no question that these instances came from God. I had expressed my self-consciousness in prayer and He responded by sending me three very unique and irregular compliments. It was a reminder to again, believe that I am God's handiwork, I am beautiful and I am loved. It was a reminder to take my own advice: receive and believe. 

The Year Without a Mommom

"If you are not living, if you have died, 

all the leaves will fall, 

if will rain upon my soul night and day, 

the snow will burn my heart, 

I shall walk with cold and fire and death and snow, 

my feet will want to march toward where you sleep, 

but I shall go on living, 

because you wanted me to..."

- Pablo Neruda, "La Muerta"

     Perhaps you've seen the very popular Christmas show from the 70s, "The Year Without A Santa Claus." Maybe you remember that Santa Claus decides to take a vacation during Christmas because he doesn't feel that people actually believe in him anymore. Or maybe you remember the argument the Heat Miser has with the Snow Miser in their popular duet. Or maybe you remember that Mrs. Claus attempts to make things right again. Or maybe you remember Jingle and Jangle, the reindeer, Vixen and their friend Iggy who are trying to make people believe again in Southtown. But for me, what I remember the most, is all the chaos when Santa Claus takes a vacation and how nothing seems right at all when this staple character just calls it quits suddenly. 

     Today, January 10th, 2017, marks the one year anniversary of my Mommom's sudden passing. It's been "The Year Without a Mommom." It's been a year of chaos since and there's been many Heat and Snow Misers, Jingles, Jangles, Vixens, Iggys and even multiple Mrs. Clauses. Over all this past year has been filled with people trying to make it right again. But the truth is, when the main character in your life takes a vacation, no one can actually it right again except the person themselves. 

     So many people have openly said that 2016 was the worst year of their lives. As I drove to our New Year's Eve gathering, Joe said something along the lines of, "A lot of people hated this year, but I didn't think it was that bad." To which I responded, more harshly than I ever would intend, "Yeah, but can you understand that for someone like, it was the worst. Ten days into 2016, I lost my best friend." There was silence after that as he put his hand on my shoulder and let tears drip down my face as we continued the drive. 

      Sunday, at Mass, I was overcome with sadness. I couldn't sing. I couldn't speak. I couldn't even go through the motions. I just silently sat at the end of the pew letting tears flow down my face and into one of the many giant, fluffy scarves I own. I was sad and I didn't want to be there. Not because I was mad at God - no, that was never the case. But rather because, last year on a Sunday, I was sitting in Mass, just a few hours before I would get the call that my Mommom was no longer with us. I kept thinking during Mass, what would I have done differently if I had known that in a few hours my Mommom would no longer be alive? Would I still go to the gym? Would I still waste hours driving down the highway to a friend's house? No, probably not. I know where I'd be - her house, with her, holding her hand for what might be the last time. 

       People say death changes you...the experience of death, that is. I've experienced death before and for the longest time, I felt that it helped me feel more. I would say that all the death I've experienced broke my heart open more and more. But nothing broke me more than the death of my Mommom. And to be honest, it changed me in a different way.

      

      She's in everything I do. She's the echo in the halls when I'm walking around school. She's in every quiet second I have. She's in every song on the radio. She's on every road I drive, every corner I turn, every bottle of wine in the wine store. She's in every corner of every room, every line of poetry, every drop of ink I write on every piece of paper. She is in every cup of coffee, every teaspoon of sugar, every ounce of flavor. She is in every tear and every smile. She's in every picture I take, every song I belt out pathetically in the car. She's on every mountain I climb, every waterfall I dance in, every single second of every day. By which I mean, I feel the emptiness of her presence in all this. 

      I haven't spent every moment of the past year in sadness, she wouldn't want that. I just can't help but feel the lack of her presence in every thing I do. I can't help but think that I would have laughed a little more on Thanksgiving, and snuggled a little more at Christmas. I would have made more desserts and more dinners for her. I would have dyed more eggs at Easter time, I would have sang more songs at the family reunion. I would have danced a little harder at every gathering I had with my friends. But something was missing.

     Now I know that many would agree, "Mommom is always with me." But she's not in the sense that I had been so used to for 23 years. I miss her hugs. I miss her smothering me with kisses. I miss her directing the show in the kitchen on the holidays. I miss the sound of her voice. I know she's here. I know I can always talk to her. But it's just not the same. Mommom's death changed me. It made me more conscious of who I am in relation to her - in so many senses, I am my grandmother's granddaughter. It made me okay with letting myself feel whenever I need to feel - when something reminds me of her and I feel sad, I don't hold back tears. It made me tougher - I'm not sure if I like it, but it made me tougher. It made me even more of a family girl - when I hang out with people, I want to hang out with their families, and as much as my family drives me crazy, I actually like when we sit around the table and roast the nearest human being. It made me more conscious of a lot of things, more than I can even mention here. Some people say that when you lose someone close like that you stop feeling. But for me, I think I started. 

     The year without a Mommom has been anything but easy. I've had so many happy moments, joyous ones, ones filled with laughter. Yet, her void has been felt in every second, of every minute, of every day. I miss everything about her from her shaking her head at me in complete misunderstanding, to her boisterous hugs and kisses, to her random Facebook comments. Mommom had the ability to always make me feel like I was important, that I had a fan club (a fan club of one, but still). She always knew what I was up to, always asked questions about my adventures or my latest interest, and supported me in everything I did. She would have known what I did on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and every weekend. She wouldn't ask what I was doing, but rather, she would ask about how it went. She'd ask, "how was class/soup kitchen/tutoring/school/Joe's?" She just knew what I was up to and made sure I knew she cared. 

      I miss that. I miss it because without her I've felt lonely. I've felt lonelier than ever, despite being almost always surrounded by people.  The felt of being lonely in a crowded room - a daily occurrence. And yet, here I am, sitting at my desk, with the sun shining directly on me. It's almost too bright for me to see the computer screen. Her love was like that - so bright, so obnoxious, so big, and so warm. I know it's her. I know she's with me always, of this I am sure. But that doesn't mean some days are harder than others and some days I just want to cry because I miss her. She was a beautiful woman who loved so much and I hope, if there's one thing I do with my life, it's love as greatly as she did. How rare and beautiful it is, truly to exist! 

New Year, New Perspective

"Dare to be the best you can -

at all times, dare to be."

- Steve Maraboli

    The memes have come and gone, much like the year 2016 itself, about how terrible a year it was. Generally one with a sunny disposition and positive outlook on life, I couldn't help but agree. The amount of loss I suffered, starting only ten days into the new year, was astronomical in my perspective. From my best friend, my mommom, to many other family members, friends and classmates, the deaths were too many, too quickly. It was a rocky year for other reasons, too, and overall I felt like I fell into the practice of finding the negative more than finding the positive. I was down on my self, I wasn't very happy most of time and I probably brought others down by being tired, exhausted and downright miserable at times. For a girl who tends to like even years better than odd years, I definitely was not a fan of 2016.
    So at midnight on December 31, I rang in the new year with some friends and a dog. It was quieter than usual, but still a good ringing in none the less. New Year's Eve is one of my favorite nights of the year. There's magic or wonder and awe present. I never spent NYE in a bustling, loud place. Usually it was with close friends or even alone in my room. Since I almost never let my eyes see the other side of the night, staying up til midnight was always a big deal, too. It's the latest I ever stay up and there's something so amazing about watching time change - one year to the next. Now some may say that the minute, seconds even in which the new year comes, is nothing more than that - a minute, a few seconds. But for me it is quiet, silence and suddenly the loud, fruitful, celebration in which a new year is born. The gentle reminder that with each death comes brand new life. There's fireworks and noise makers and pots and pans and NYE kisses and hugs and well wishes. How can you not love a celebration like that? All the noise for just another minute.
     We spent our New Year's Day sleeping in, eating donuts and drinking coffee (which led me to my first resolution: eat more consciously), and finally deciding to take a hike. Four friends and a dog hiking. Sounds like the title of my next big seller by which I mean, the next very boring story I tell in the faculty lunch room for the next week. But hey, a girl can dream. It was warmer than usual in January, temps flirting with 50. We were ready for a great few hours in the woods. We started in Valley Forge, hiking up Mt. Misery, realizing slowly but surely and quite stubbornly, that we were all out of shape. Which led me to my next resolution: hike more mileage, gain more muscle strength! We hiked to the end of the park and decided to keep going on a trail called Horse Shoe Trail. About 2.5 miles out of the park, we realized the true length of this trail: 140 miles to Harrisburg. Needless to say, we turned around, taking the low trail (once back in the park) back to the parking lot. For a brief 45 minutes, girls separated from boys, taking what we each thought was the best way back to car. A little friendly competition, which ended in the girls successfully making it back and the boys needing to be picked up by car since they got lost. But, we won't hold it over their heads for much longer. We ended our day with dinner...again, please see resolution number one.
     We laughed, we talked, we spent the day without worrying (resolution #5 - stress less, be blessed), we spent some time in silence, in wonder and awe, and listening, perhaps, only the heart beat of each other, found in the sound of our footsteps. It was a beautiful day and I wouldn't have wanted to spend it any other day. Nature is my favorite place to be. I spent the day in a beautiful place, with beautiful people, in a beautiful way. What more could I ask for? We documented some of the 24 hours together in joyous videos and pictures, but only because one of my goals was to make more home videos. You know, so my future family members can enjoy all the stories I have after I've forgotten them (please note: not a resolution, but more so, #lifegoal). I felt incredibly blessed and even though I was beginning to feel a cold coming on, I was happy. Stuffy and happy.
     The beginning of a cold became a full cold by Monday morning, and I was grateful for an additional day off to recoup as much as possible. I went to Mass and spent some time with the Sisters at St. Katherine's since I hadn't seen them all break (not the norm for me!). I had to bail out on the rest of the day, though, since the cold really was bogging me down minute by minute. A day spent snuggled in bed with my dog was what the rainy day called for. When I woke up, I decided it was time to get cracking on some resolutions, some goals and some writing. I opened a fresh journal and from the comfort of my own bed, re-visited the warmer, sunny weather, the mountains and foothills of Valley Forge, and of course, the laughter and stories from yesterday. Now we all know that writing down goals makes them more tangible and so, I did it. I wrote them down. In addition to the three I've already mentioned, I also have #3 write more often, #4 deepen my prayer life and #6 do something (anything) big and life-changing. It's day three of the new year and I can say that I'm well on my way with #1, 2, 3, and 5. As for 4 and 6, well maybe it's because I'm not the only one involved that I'm off to a slow start of accomplishment. But hey, 4 out of 6 ain't bad.
     I never was one for resolutions but as I get older, I find, there's always a reason to do better, to do more. And I found that if I make one big resolution, I can find little ways to make it happen. So my umbrella resolution, whether or not I maintain 1-6, is to be more mindful of the beauty around me - the beauty of God, of others and of self. Beauty is my word of reflection this year and I pray that I'll be able to be more open to finding beauty, even in the debbie downer moments. I hope and pray and that I'll be able to look at the new life after death and not focus on the death. And I pray that 2017 really becomes the beautiful year I am expecting of it.
     People often say, "New Year, New Me." But I've learned in recent years to be true to the authentic me. Of course, in order to be authentically true to myself, I need to find out who I am. And I've accomplished that - I am so self-aware these days. And besides, I like who that person is when she is authentic (note: not when I'm grumpy or not being truly me). So why, new year, new me? Instead, I'm choosing to say, "New Year, New Perspective." And that perspective will be putting on glasses that show all things as beautiful. Call them rose-colored, if you must. But for me and my year, they will show beauty. Please know of my prayers for you as you start out your new year. May you, too, find reason to see beauty instead of darkness. Peace.

 

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.

My Weekend With the Methodists - the Woman I Want to Be

"The most beautiful women we have known

are those who have known defeat, known struggle, known loss and have 

found their ways out of the depths. 

These people have an appreciation, a sensitivity and an understanding

of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness and a deep, loving concern. 

Beautiful women do not just happen."

- Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

Photo Courtesy of Joy Morrison

      Many of you who follow my blog know that a huge part of my job is leading and organizing various different retreats. I've had many years of practice and I absolutely love doing this for a living. I mean really, I hit the jackpot with the best job, I think. Each retreat is beautiful in it's own way, despite being the same retreat formula and I receive so many different graces each and every time. While this particular weekend was a bit different, I still received so many graces. So this blog post is a HUGE shout out to my friends, the Methodists. 

     Over the Summer, I help teach at an annual Vacation Bible School at Wilkinson Memorial Methodist Church. The church building is closer than the Catholic church - so close, I can walk. I've been helping out at VBS for years and have made some beautiful friendships with the community there. I look forward to the amount of time I get to see these lovely people every year. This year at VBS, I had two special invitations extended to me - one, would I teach the 1st and 2nd grade class; two - would I be the main speaker at this year's upcoming Women's Retreat. Naturally, I said yes to both. 

    Of course, in August, it seemed like I had months, years, even to prepare for this retreat. The only pressing thing was to come up with a theme for retreat. So, overnight I was inspired - Beauty Amid the World's Brokenness. A week before retreat, I realized I barely had anything planned and so, you can imagine what the week at school was like for me - skitting around trying to pull things together. Finally, by Friday, I felt I was ready. I was nervous as all get out, but I felt ready. I knew once we got started, God was going to give me all the words I could possibly need, all the strength, all the courage; my God would take care of me and of the women present. 

    When we gathered for dinner the first night at the local diner, many people who I did not know kept asking around - who is doing the retreat? All fingers pointed to the "little girl on the corner" (of the table). I smiled. I'm so used to be the youngest in the group, even if only by a few months. Of course, the more I looked around, the more nervous I became. I suddenly felt inhibited by so many factors. But I knew I had to trust the Lord; I was here for a reason. 

    Very late Friday night, we gathered in our gathering room for a quick orientation. I was introduced then by the beautiful woman who initially asked me to speak at retreat. She told the story of how we met and right away told everyone that I was one of two Catholics in the room. I laughed - it's been a running joke since I started volunteering with the group for VBS. So long as we both love the same Jesus Christ, we can pray and sharing our Christianity together. They make me a stronger Catholic in all the good ways. I told the group about myself, what I do for a living, how old I was and through in a few extra jokes about myself. Before I knew it, we were headed back to our cabin for a game of Apples to Apples which had us laughing late into the night. 

      Saturday was the big day for me - three reflection sessions on various aspects of beauty and brokenness. While it was not my intention, many tears were shed at various points of the day and during the activities. Some were meant to be profound, some meant to be fun, others just for the heck of it. We were blessed to be able to share so much in many different ways. All in all, I felt the sessions and activities went really well, especially after I reminded all that as adults, we need to remember to play. It was beautiful. I loved every second. 

      Throughout the weekend, I was blessed to meet so many beautiful women, share so many laughs, be myself, and bask in the glory of the Lord whether it was by gazing at the stars, sitting on the special rock or embracing hugs at any given point. But the most important part of the weekend was not really what I did for the group of beautiful women, but rather what the did for me. They gave me a means to be the woman I want to be always.  

     So often, I find myself caught up in the stress of the days, weeks, months. I find myself being hard on me for not looking a certain way, not acting a certain way, not being able to accomplish my goals in due time. I find myself getting frustrated at circumstance, at myself, at situational events. I know deep inside my heart, is a gentle, joyful, courageous, peaceful, loving young woman. I know that woman exists within me. I find myself inhibited by society's expectation of a good woman - strong, equal to man, and more. Society frowns upon the gentle, subdued, quiet, loving women. I have yet to figure out why and often, I look down up that woman who exists within, too. I'm not a fighter deep down. I am not angry, bitter, narcissistic. I am gentle. 

      The woman I want to be always exists within me, I just do not always tap into that persona. I find myself struggling to be the tough woman when I don't have to be anything other than who I am inside. My last session of retreat focused on being the woman of Proverbs 31 and embodying the image of love from 1 Corinthians 13: 4-8. True beauty is the gentleness and emotion of being woman. As I lead that session, I felt myself being God's instrument. I was listening to myself...listening to the words coming from my mouth and feeling them hit my heart hard. I found myself remembering what it was like to laugh without fear of the future, what it is like to be patient and kind, to love sincerely. I found that woman within waking up from a very dormant sleep. 

      On Sunday, many of the women complimented retreat. I could only give glory to my God. But there were other things those women told me - you are so gentle, you are so full of love, you are beautiful, your heart speaks, joyful, inspirational. The most wonderful of all? Your beauty made me feel beautiful. It was not an ego boost, but rather a humbling experience reminding that the woman I want to be exists within me - I must simply let her roar. The beauty of the women I was with in turn made me feel beautiful and truly an instrument of God's love. I am gentle, compassionate, loving, patient, kind and a friend of God. I am the woman I want to be, I always have been and always will be. I cannot thank the women with whom I spent the weekend more. I love you all and I truly hope to see you soon. Keep on carrying the love of retreat with you wherever you go. 

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. 

O Happy Fault

"Oh happy fault, oh necessary sin of Adam

that gained for us so great a redeemer."

- Exultet (Easter Vigil)

     My journey of Lent has been, to be completely honest, empty, dry and dark. Some may say, "That's how it's meant to be," while others may say, "It's a time of prayer and renewal." Every year Lent is my most favorite time and yet, it's been so busy that I had not been able to focus on my prayer life or spirituality. I spent Ash Wednesday sick in bed and got the flu two more times during Lent. I had so much to do at work that it simply was so difficult to make time for additional prayer. However, as empty, dry and dark it was, there was something that changed me a bit. 

      I had been expecting people to question my age and my maturity with my Lenten sacrifice this year, but it went in a different direction. This Lent I gave up shoes again (only this time I wore my black TOMS every day) and make-up. In the beginning, it was so difficult to not reach for the mascara hanging from the wall next to my mirror. It was difficult to walk into school every day with my face empty. I felt naked and vulnerable. I had worn make-up every day since high school in various capacities. Every day I wear mascara and cover-up. Most days I wear eye-liner and eye-shadow. Less frequently I wear blush. On special occasions (like mornings when I get up on time), I wear lipstick. I could not remember the last time I went make-up less. 

      A few days before Lent was to start, I prayed about what to give up for Lent. I had done the shoe thing last year and it would be easier this year. I needed a greater sacrifice. I kept hearing songs on the radio about beauty. On one particular morning, after Mass, I was moved to tears because I knew what Jesus was calling me to do: embrace my beauty. I needed to stop worrying about my outer appearance and focus on the natural beauty I had been given. I needed to focus on the beauty of my soul. 

     As I said, it was difficult. On the first day after Ash Wednesday when I went back to school, I felt so insanely vulnerable. I did wake up and feel grateful for the fifteen minutes it took me to get ready, though. I remember walking through the hallway thinking that I probably looked like the walking dead, especially cus the last bits of the flu was holding onto me. The following week, I was speaking to my class about the struggles of Lent. One girl gave up Tater Tots for Lent and felt the sting when she could smell them in the caf. Another girl gave up desserts and couldn't really function when on retreat that's all we ate at night time. That's when I told them what I gave up. 

      Each woman, especially in their teenage years, deals with outer appearance issues. Whether it's trying to find a fitting style or what shades of lipstick to wear or even weight, women always deal with these things. I began to talk to my students about how my journey of Lent was this discovery of inner beauty. I remember one student in particular saying, "Miss G, you work in an all-girl school. Most of us don't wear make-up, heck, most of us don't even shower." (DISCLAIMER: all girl school perks). When I went home that afternoon, I thought to myself about how hypocritical I had been. I tell these girls every day to embrace the beauty they have and yet, I was struggling with embracing that philosophy. My students helped me embrace my own beauty and work on the beauty of my soul this Lent and for that, I owe them so much. 

      Lent, contrary to former belief, ends on sundown the day before Holy Thursday. So, while I kept the shoes (they ARE comfortable, after all), I put on some make-up. I looked at myself in the mirror, half done up and thought, do I need this? The answer was no. Jesus won't love me any more because I look "prettier." I may look older, more mature, things like that, but it doesn't change who I am. If I'm wearing lipstick or not, I am still Becca Lynn, soulful beauty. I smiled in the mirror, added a hint of lipstick just because, not because I needed it to feel my best. In fact, my skin looked much better after doing a forty day detox. I felt good about myself and it was amazing how much a difference forty days can make. 

     Of course, if you knew my inner, deepest secrets, you know that there are two moments when I, regardless of outer appearance, feel most beautiful and that is when the wind is blowing and when I sing. Singing, for me, is an all out showing of my soul. I feel so free, so happy, so beautiful. It has been a while since I've been blessed to sing at church. In fact, the last time I did so was at Baccalaureate Mass in May. I had been praying about getting back into singing but I wasn't sure how or when or where. That's when Sister Pat, a Sister of the Blessed Sacrament, called and asked if I could sing the Exultet at their Easter Vigil celebration. My heart immediately said yes. 

     So Easter Vigil, I found myself at the chapel I had been in so many times before among Sisters who have been praying for my vocation since before I was born (LITERALLY!!). I had been there for Christmas and the feast day celebration for Katie D, but there was something about this most holy of nights. All throughout dinner, my stomach was doing flips and spins; I was so nervous. I practiced the whole car ride and finally said, if I don't have it by now, I'll never have it. After the lighting of the Paschal Candle, Sister Anne gave me the wink of "go time" and I walked up to the ambo to proclaim the Exultet. Suddenly my fears and hesitations were gone - God. I stood where I am sure Katharine herself may have stood so many times before. 

     From the deepest parts of my soul came the most beautiful words I have ever read: O happy fault, oh necessary sin of Adam that gained for us so great a redeemer. It is because of our human flaws that Jesus came. Without our human flaws, without Adam's sin, Jesus would have had no need to come save us. And there I was singing about it; proclaiming it with my whole being. I felt my heart yearning for the greatness of God and realizing that with each and every breath I was taking, He was filling me with knowledge of my own beauty; my beauty of my imperfections. My journey of Lent, though literally complete on Holy Thursday, was finished - it had come into fruition. 

     Everything the entire Mass, from the dramatic reading of "Creation" by James Weldon Johnson, to the music, to the feeling that Katie D was right there next to me the entire Mass, to the ringing of bells during the Gloria in utmost praise of His breaking of the veil, was beautiful. I felt complete. I felt God's beauty wash over me. I felt so imperfectly beautiful - Jesus loves me beyond my greatest imperfection. 

     My Easter, complete with singing, discovering my inner and natural outer beauty, and our annual photo shoot by the river, has reminded me of the greatest beauty - Jesus died for me. He died for you. And just to make our life complete - rose from the dead to be with us once more. He is my Lord, my Love, my Salvation, my Rock. He is with me always, reminding me of my beauty. He has blessed me for so much and for the necessary sin of Adam, I am eternally grateful. May today our Hallelujahs be MULTIPLIED. Amen? Amen!

Today, I Will Be Confident

"You gain strength, courage and confidence by

every experience in which you really stop to look

fear in the face. You must do the thing you think 

you cannot do."

- Eleanor Roosevelt

     Confidence. According to Webster's Online Dictionary, confidence is a feeling of self-assurance arising from one's appreciation of one's own abilities or qualities. I found this very interesting. According to this definition, in order for us to be confident, we need to appreciate our own abilities and qualities. That sounds pretty easy. But I think the hard part comes when we find it difficult to even name abilities or good qualities. 

     Yesterday on Facebook, I posted a status saying: Today, I will be confident. Right away, the like notifications came filing in. Before I knew it, a few people were leaving comments. One of my friends wrote, "aren't you always confident?" Another friend wrote, "I have this written on my computer everyday...Today, I will find a way." Someone even wrote, "You should be every day." I smiled at the comments and at the likes, but my confidence wasn't given a boost by any of them. No, my self-worth isn't determined by what social media has to say about me. But there was something in me that started to grow when I realized, that yeah, I should be confident everyday.

      On Monday, I had my first interview for a teaching position. I always hate the question, "so what are you strengths and abilities?" I always stutter and find it very hard to list strengths and abilities. Of course, given a few days, I could maybe write a few down for you, but it's hard to come up with something on the spot. So I listed a few things like possessing gentle patience, being able to connect with all people, and my faith. The next question, I should have seen coming: "What is something you find you might need to work on in the classroom?" I sat for a few seconds and said it, "Confidence." The Sisters looked at me with such a confused look, so I started to explain.

     I broke the cardinal rule of interviewing, I told them how nervous I was sitting there in front of them, people I've known for quite a few years now. I told them that my biggest struggle during student teaching was that I couldn't believe I'd actually make a good teacher. I was afraid my students wouldn't learn anything. I was afraid that I'd make them hate literature more than they already did instead of fall in love with it. I told them that at the end of the semester, however, my students told me that they had learned so much more in my few months of teaching than they had before. And that even last week when I saw a few of them, they were rattling off characters from The Canterbury Tales with no difficulty. I told the Sisters that the moment I get in front of the students, my nervousness disappears, but that doesn't mean I question everything the night before a new lesson. Confidence, I told them, was my weakest link. 

     After I explained, the two of the Sisters mentioned that they never would have known that at that moment, I was shaking in my boots. I assured them that I hide it well. It was a response I was used to; no one ever thinks that extroverted me is ever lacking in confidence. Go back to my own friend's comment on my status, "Aren't you always confident?" I wish I could agree. 

      Last week, I was blessed to be a part of a Kairos retreat for the school where i did my student teaching. I had never been a Kairos leader before but I had led numerous other retreats. I was, as expected, nervous as all get out. But I think my excitement covered my nervousness, because even I didn't realize how nervous I was until I got there. Be yourself, I said, just be yourself. Now, because I can't give away any of the miracles of Kairos (because I want you all the experience it for yourself), I'm only going to tell a part of the story. I brought with me a mirror. It was a little 8.5 by 11 thing and on it had written, "You are worth it, you are beautiful, you are LOVED." It was something I kept telling my group over and over all week. The mirror, however, didn't make it's debut until Thursday. I pulled out the mirror as I was telling the entire group about my confidence struggle. I told them, in brief, how many mornings I need to remind myself that someone, somewhere loves me. I told them how sometimes it's hard to believe my own words. I told them a little bit more and I could see faces of shock, but also faces of girls that felt the same. Confidence isn't just my struggle, it's the struggle of many young women and young men. Confidence is the struggle of anyone, at any age, of any gender. 

      Lack of confidence can come in an array of things. Some struggle with physical looks: they don't feel beautiful, they don't feel masculine enough, they feel over-weight, they feel skinny, they don't like the shape of their bodies, etc. It goes on and on about physical attributes. We are constantly finding something about our bodies that we simply do not like. For others, a lack of confidence might come in the form of not feeling that they can be good at anything. It is easier to list a bunch of "can'ts" instead of "cans." Sometimes people even feel like they might be judged for who they are so they pretend to be someone else. They hide their laugh because they think it's too obnoxious, they don't open their mouths for fear that what they might say would be considered dumb, they don't do what the love because they feel like they aren't good at it. I've been there. I know. But then there's my Sister. 

     I think older siblings always have the stereotype that they must be a good role model and have their younger siblings look up to them. I'm not saying I'm not the best role model, but what I'm saying is that my little sisters have no idea how much I actually look up to them. My Sister, Mary, is someone who I think is so full of confidence, that sometimes I wish I could ask her to give me some of her confidence. When I look at her, I see someone who isn't afraid to speak her mind; she just doesn't have a filter (although sometimes, I wish she did...). She says whatever she wants, whenever she wants and doesn't care who might judge her for it. She also doesn't care what anyone thinks about her wearing a two beach bathing suit to the beach. She's confident in her own body image. She doesn't hide her extremely obnoxious laugh (which I have...and is actually a family trait). I will also embarrass her here and say that belching in public does not phase her...why can't ladies belch?! She's someone I've watched get up on a stage a plethora of times and belt out any song she wanted. She would sing with such confidence that I was sure she was going to blow the crowd away. She had enough confidence to say to my family that she didn't want to follow in my foot steps and go to the same high school as me. She doesn't know how much I applaud her for that. She has enough confidence to flirt with the boy she likes without fear that it might not be returned (of course, she does hope it's mutual). She has enough confidence to be her crazy self wherever she is because she's not afraid of others being judgmental. For all of this and so much more, I admire and look up to my little Sister. And sometimes when I am feeling self-conscious, I look at my beautiful Sister and remember that it's possible to be confident.

     So yesterday, I posted my status saying, "Today, I will be confident." I posted it after I took a selfie with my sisters in the car waiting for Julia and Madi. I looked at both of my little Sisters, but especially Mary and thought, if she can be confident, I can be confident. If she can feel beautiful, I can feel beautiful. She is beautiful (and we are related). I can be beautiful, too. I just have to believe it about myself just like she does. So, yesterday I was confident. I followed my Sister's example and let myself be beautiful. Today, I will be confident again. 

 

Like A Girl

"By watching her, I began to think that there must 

be some sort of special skill involved in being a girl."

- Harper Lee, "To Kill A Mockingbird"

  On occasion, when I surfing the net (does anyone actually say that anymore?!), I come across some severely influential videos or articles. I think of it as my means to broaden my brain. You know, read or watch something that helps you learn something new or ignite a fire within. While I prefer to learn through oodles and oodles of books, I do enjoy the occasion learning experience online. The best part is when it comes across my computer screen on social media. That means someone else engaged in some learning as well and felt he or she should share the knowledge. That's what happened yesterday when I stumbled across a video about what it means to do things "like a girl."

    Believe it or not, I was blown away. I didn't know that running like a girl meant running with her arms flopping around and her feet seeming dainty. I didn't know that doing things like a girl meant being afraid to get her hands dirty or disturb her perfectly painted face or mess up her hair. I didn't know that doing things like a girl was demeaning and wrong. I didn't know because well, I guess I never read anything that told me doing things like a girl was wrong. In fact, all my information always said that doing things like a girl was good...because well, girls SHOULD do things like girls. However, I watched a video the other day that told me that according to most adults, "like a girl" is an insult. But what the video also told me was that young girls believed that doing things "like a girl" meant doing things with all they had within them, like running as fast as she can, fighting with all of her will power, being as strong as she can be. And here, I thought it would be the opposite. 

     Watching this video reminded me of a conversation I had with my CREW girls in the car on the way to the beach for the day last week. I was sitting shotgun to help Sister Mary Anthony with directions and also playing DJ. At some point in our very long winded conversations, the concept of feminism came up. Aside from Jesus and literature, it's my favorite topic (although, I like to think they are all intertwined with one another). I like to think about the evolution of feminism, how it began, how it progressed, how it changed dramatically and where it is today. Sometimes I venture out and say radical, crazy things like, "Mary was one of the first feminists," "St. Teresa of Avila was a feminist," and of course, "I'm a raging feminist down inside." Usually this gets insane, crazy looks. Mary, the Mother of God, was a feminist? St. Teresa of Avila was a feminist? She was a cloistered nun. You're a feminist? Yes. These are often things I hear when I add my two cents. 

     When I was talking with the girls, we talked about feminism. The feminist movement came about during the Women's Suffrage movement. Women like Lucretia Mott and Elizabeth Cady Stanton (names I haven't forgotten since my grade school days) fought long and hard for my right to vote. Of course, this was a great thing and I never forget to exercise that right. We spoke about how to feminist movement changed from fighting for rights to fighting to be treated equally to men to be treated as womanly men. The fight of feminism these days seems that all women want is equality with men. In my own personal study, however, I see that men and women were NOT meant to be entirely equal. Yes, each are meant to have their own political, social and economic equal rights. But women, instead of fighting to be treated just like the men, should be fighting to be respected as women, the lovely ladies that they are. 

     I've said it a million times and wrote about just as much, but here's the view of  feminism that was present in the van among the women ages 14-40: feminism is relishing in the beauty that is woman. It is believing in your womanhood, embracing the awesomeness that is maternal instinct and child-rearing, loving the curves and the edges, loving the natural skinniness. It's not about being the superior woman, but rather being the respected woman. It is demanding the respect of men and not presenting oneself as an object to be claimed but rather a lady to be loved. Being a feminist is embracing all things woman and loving it. Oh yeah...stand in front of that mirror and tell yourself how lovely you look when you first wake up (yes, even before coffee), when you dress up really fine for that fancy date, or dress in shorts and a t-shirt for a day of hiking, or with your sisters, mom, grandmother, aunt, daughters, nieces. It's being a beautifully, strong lady. But trust me when I say, there's not much you have to do to be beautiful and strong. All you have to do is be yourself. So next time you hear someone say, you do something "like a girl," take it as a compliment; because YOU ARE A GIRL AND YOU SHOULD BE DOING THINGS LIKE A GIRL. That's always been my response to every, "like a girl." THANK YOU, I AM A GIRL. Be proud, ladies, be proud. 

A Week of Little Miracles

"I still get wildly enthusiastic about the little things...

I play with leaves, I skip down the street and I run against the wind."

- Leo F. Buscaglia

     One of my most favorite things in the world is feeling the wind. Literally, I love having my hair blow in my face or my skirt get rustled or even just the breeze on my cheek. DISCLAIMER: I do NOT like the harsh, bitter, angry winds of winter that cause my face to get all crackled and yucky. I'm a fan of the spring breezes that come when the sun is shining on my face. I like the wind that comes when you're driving down the highway with the windows down on the way to the beach. I love standing in the middle of back campus with my arms spread to the wind, with my eyes closed, imagining that at any moment I might actually be picked up by the wind and be able to fly. 

     This week we have been blessed with a beautiful bout of Spring weather. While I slept most of the day on Sunday (to recover from SEARCH), I have spent the rest of my days enjoying the outside and counting my blessings. On Tuesday, I was so blessed to gather a group of my new SEARCH Family members together and head out to Chipotle (which, if anyone cares, is my FAVORITE "fast food"...you know, if you wanted a lunch date or anything...) In the car, we rolled down the windows, and blasted our SEARCH VII song "Live Your Life." We serenaded the people in the Chipotle parking lot, the people in the Gabriele Library parking lot, our friends who we drove past. We sang at the top of our lungs and felt infinitely free. I guess warm weather can do that to you. This all motivated me to punch out eight pages of my English Seminar Paper (aka the current bane of my existence). 

     On Wednesday, because I had finished so many pages of my seminar paper, I didn't have to go to the library class for Seminar. So, I took a nice long walk while my laundry was being done. I love walking across the street at the Motherhouse, one because I know how far I've walked and two, because usually I'll see a friendly nunny face. This time around, I knew it was a little too early for the nunnies to be out walking, so I was surprised to see not only one, but FOUR sisters. Here's the catch: not a single one of them was an IHM. On my second lap around the building, I met two beautiful Capuchin Poor Clare Sisters. I saw them coming out of the building from a distance and thought immediately that they might be Carmelites. I LOVE CARMELITES. But alas, they were not...and my nunsense should have known better. The Sisters stopped and spoke with me for a while. I told them who I was (a Senior across the street) and we chatted about life. I asked them where they were from (Mexico, originally) and they invited me to come visit their convent in Delaware. They were super cute and precious with their accents and at the end of our conversation asked me if I ever thought about being a Sister because I would make a great one. I smiled and giggled a little before admitting that I had been discerning for quite a few years now. Of course, they promised to pray for me and then we went our separate ways. 

     By the next corner of my walk, two other Sisters, not dressed in a habit, were walking toward me. I greeted them saying, "Hi Sisters," and after they said hello in return, asked how I knew they were Sisters. Well...it's my nunsense, I told them. We laughed and they asked who I was and what exactly brought me over to the Motherhouse on my walks. I explained that I love seeing the nunnies around but also that I love walking over there because of the peace it brings. They also asked about my studies and when I told them I wanted to be a teacher, one Sister said, "Well, maybe you could be a nun." I smiled and asked her if she really thought I could. When she said yes, I thanked her for being another confirmation in my discernment. She smiled and we went our separate ways.

      I couldn't thank God enough for the gift of those random four Sisters who had been such beacons of light on my journey. In a time when I have been stuck choosing between so many goods, these Sisters reminded me of the original joy that brought me to all these choices: pure love of God and a desire for religious life. They reminded me of the joy I have for living and essentially refilled the tank in which held my stamina to plow through this time of intense decision making. As I walked back to do switch my laundry, I couldn't help but spread open my arms and let the Lord "sweep me off my feet" again. 

      On Thursday, the working day was long. I can't even really remember what I did at work on Thursday but I remember this: lunch and walks with Sis afterward. It was later in the afternoon than usual when we "got done" work and she decided she was going to lunch in the caf. I asked if I could join. We strolled into the caf to find it mostly empty since it was past prime feeding time at the zoo...I mean, past normal lunch time for most students...except for a few tables, one of which was a table of all my friends. We do this thing where we try to fit as many people around a round table as possible. It's quite obnoxious really and there's not rhyme or reason. Not a single one of us has ever thought of maybe sitting at a long table where we could all fit comfortably. Nope, we like the round table. So anyway, Sis and I pick up lunch and since my table of friends was really crowded, we sat at the round table next to them. I told Sis, "We need to be extra loud so they are all jealous of our two person table." She laughed and even one of my friends switched tables. 

       After enjoying almost 45 minutes of simple lunch time conversation, I went out on a whim and asked her if she wanted to join me on a lap around the building...walking that is, not running. Without hesitation she said yes and so off we went on our lap around the building. The thing I love most about Sis is that we can either had a full conversation for hours or we can sit (or walk) in silence. There's no need to fill the silence and when we walked, on occasion there was conversation, but we walked in silence a good amount of the time and I loved that. Finally, it was time to part and as I said goodbye to her for the day, I realized that these are the little moments in life I am truly going to miss when it comes time for me to leave IU. 

      Friday was yet another day of work study with Sis, only this time we moved boxes from one closet in one building to another closet in another building using, of course, a nun gogo mobile. By the time we had finished all of that, there were a few things that needed to be done on the computer and before I knew it, I was back in the office. I took up residency in my favorite chair and as she spoke, I slightly nodded off. I may have actually fallen asleep for a few minutes, but soon she was telling me it was time to call it quits for the day. That's when Sis drove me (and the nun gogo mobile) home. 

       The miracles don't stop there; my weekend was full of them. Saturday night was Mr. IU and I was blessed to be a part of it in two capacities: one as a dancer in one talent act during which we chacha-ed to "Save The Last Dance For Me" and an escort for one of my best friends. Afterward, the night was spent celebrating with friends. Sunday, one of the best days, was the beginning of Holy Week. I found myself singing at the top of my lungs with Sister Regina preparing for the Mass earlier than usual for a Sunday morning. Palm Sunday is probably one of my favorite celebrations at IU because we have a procession from the Rotunda to the Chapel. Also, it's one of the days I get to wake up all the Villa kids with my singing. Sis even "joined the choir" for the morning which was a great moment for us choir kids. During the hours between Masses was our semesterly honors convocation during which I almost cried since it would be my last one. I looked out at the audience and saw my Dad, my little Sister, my friends and...Sis. 

       I can always count on her to be somewhere in the audience during these times of celebration. She has her usual spot and her usual partner in crime most of the time. I can look out and see her standing or sitting there just watching, being attentive and listening to all that is going on. I'm not sure why she makes an appearance all the time; she doesn't have any reason to HAVE to be there but she's there. She's an image of support and love for all the students. She might not know a single person personally getting awarded or participating, but I can guarantee you, she will be there shining as a number one cheerleader for the students at this school. She's always there and I'm glad she's always there. 

        Finally, I think my biggest little miracle came Sunday night during Palm Sunday Mass when I looked up to scan the crowd of students and people. We were singing "Now We Remain" a song I pretty much have memorized from all the years singing it at church. As I was searching the crowd, I saw Sis sitting peacefully with her eyes close just singing her little nunny heart out. That's when a lump rose in my throat and almost couldn't sing for the rest of the hymn. I realized at that moment that of all the people I will eventually have to say goodbye to in these next few weeks, she is going to be the hardest. After Mass I found myself sobbing in Marian chapel (when I say sobbing, I mean gross sobbing...tears and snot down my face, yum). I was thinking of the Sisters, my Sisters, who have basically raised me from baby Freshmen to young college woman Senior who is ready (or not so ready) to conquer the world. I have spent every day of my college career with these women - seeing them at daily Mass and then in classes. I have spent hours laughing with them, chatting with them, loving life with them. They were a family of stability for me for FOUR years and now suddenly, I won't be with them anymore. I think I've spent more time with them than I have with even my friends. As I sobbed a few Sisters walked in through chapel and I didn't do much to hide the tears, I just smiled. Saying goodbye to them is going to be the hardest thing in the world. 

      After crying, I went upstairs to my room and wrote Sis a letter, which we talked about yesterday. I went in for "work study" and spent an hour with Sis chatting about life, the here and now and the future. I cried a little, and there's a lump in my throat now as I write this. We laughed about my yellow ducky umbrella that was causing a commotion in the hallway and discussed dates of summer activities. Oh we did one productive thing for work study yesterday: planned a shopping list for our post-retreat pasta party. I must not forget the productivity! Of course, after all the talking, I wound up being a few minutes late for class but that's really because I stopped to share my umbrella with Sister Annette who was getting pummeled by the nasty sideways rain. I sat in class and smiled; these past few days have truly been a day of little daily miracles. If I was open to the idea of baby miracles, I would have never noticed how blessed I had been last week simply because of the conversations that took place or the silence my heart was given. I am so blessed by little miracles. Of course, I think I'm really thanking God for each of those little moments whether it's a few minutes of a conversation or a walk around campus in silence that was spur of the moment with my sisters. Truly these girls are my miracles everyday. They give me so much life and they may never know how much of an influence they have had on my life. They have helped me grow into who I am today and I cannot be anymore grateful. The truth is I'm not ready to say goodbye, so until the time comes, I'll be embracing these little miracles day by day.