Kiss for the Road - an Open Letter to my Extended Family

"Families are messy. Sometimes the best we can do

is to remind each other that we're related for better and for worse....

and try to keep the maiming and the killing to a minimum."

- Rick Riordan, "Sea of Monsters"

It's not all the cousins, but it's a good amount.

Dear Family, 

All great letters start with "Dear," don't they? The word means "to, hey you read this, and I'm addressing you, so listen up." But it also means "my fondest, beloved, and cherished." In this family, both apply...listen up now, my cherished related family members. 

And so I say, to my dear family members, I've been reflecting our us as a collective whole for a while now. Maybe because the last time we were all together was a sad occasion. Maybe because I love you all too much it hurts some times. Maybe before I think I love being around all of you more than anything in the world. I'm not sure what sparked this desire to write this letter to you, but I think I need to. I think it's time I told you a lot of things. 

I have so many fond memories of us together. I have a picture of me and granddad on my desk at school from the pumpkin patch. Remember how we would all pile into the giant hay-filled trailer and travel a long way to the pumpkin patch? I vaguely remember the tradition happening all the way out near Kennett Square. I vaguely remember the giant whole-in-face scarecrow thing they had there. I'm not sure how many of the cousins got to see it because it closed or we stopped going or something happened. 

I have many fond memories of the tire swing that most of us are way too big for and that one time someone broke an elbow or a pair of glasses or something...okay, it was more than one time. I have fond memories of sledding down the farm hill and thinking it was the best thing in the world. I remember going to cut down our own Christmas trees. I remember all the parties we had for Baptisms, First Communions, Graduations and Birthdays. There was always laughter, pictures, fun times, good food and hours upon hours of conversation or play. My favorite day of the year is the family party around Christmastime. I literally look forward to that all year, more than anyone can understand. 

I love when we sit around the table telling the most hilarious stories of all the brothers and sister growing up. My maternal grandmother never can understand how me and my sisters can say one word and laugh until we're blue in the face. But I'm pretty sure I get that from my dad's side of the family because no one really knows the significance of the Mayonnaise Jar or what the heck pookie means except the brothers and sister. I'm not sure I even want to know. But what I love most about those stories is the laughter that comes from them. Whether you're laughing because you were present or you're laughing because someone else's laughter is just as funny as the story itself. I know, snorting is hilarious, and yes, I'm usually the one snorting. I also love hearing the stories of our grandparents. Like how apparently granddad never let us go when we were younger or always sugared us up before returning us back to our parents. I love the pictures we have of them and somehow it leads me to believe that they loved each other a lot.  I wish I could have known Grandmom because she sounds like the strong, faith-filled woman I can only dream of being. I wish Granddad could have been here longer -  Stewart's Root Beer and Ginger Snaps just aren't the same anymore. I wish I could know if I've made them proud. 

Above all, I love each and everyone of you. The ladies of our family are some of the strongest, most empowering, and most faith-filled women I know. Whenever I need confidence, I look to my aunts - the women who have dealt with my uncles for years, who have raised my favorite people in the world, who give so much passion to their professions, their lifestyles and their families. Each of you are unique and I sometimes like to pretend I have a bit of each of your personality in me. The men of our family have shown me what to look for in my best guy friends and/or a future husband (and.....what not to look for ;)). They have shown me how to protect one's family and provide for one's family. I have seen some of the best dads I've ever met in this family. All this being said, I've seen some great power couples, too. Life goals couples. Yes, I see how husbands make wives laugh and how they frustrate each other at times. I see them get through really tough times and enjoy the blissful moments. I want that one day whether it's with Jesus or it's with a husband. 

To my cousins, the source of my tear-filled laughter. I laugh the hardest with you. I cry the most with you. I dodge the most punches when I'm with you...and I throw the most punches when I'm with you. I hear the most harassment from you about my height, but hey, shorty still loves you. But I also hear the most words of encouragement from you. Whether you're protecting our country, our family name or my dignity, you are there for me and I always feel the safest in your presence. With no one else would I willingly ruin a pair of shoes in the mud, risk a broken limb, run faster than I've ever run, race with my younger cousins on my back, or even sit around a crowded room for hours without any contact to the outside world. You are each my hero in a unique way and I wish you could know the extent of my love for you. The truth is, I don't have the words for it. All I can say is "I love you" each time and hope you know it's true. 

We don't each other often enough. It seems we only see each other now when tears are involved - births, deaths and marriages. And it's a crying shame I don't see you more often. I truthfully long to once again all be crowded in someone's smaller house for now reason other than to eat and be merry. I truthfully long to play cops and robbers, get dirty, and be childishly silly with my cousins again. I'm guilty of being so busy that sometimes I can't breathe but I think I already know what my New Year's Resolution is going to be - the see my family more often. To make it a point to visit with my aunts and uncles and cousins. Because I love you each so much. 

I started this letter with a great quotation - families are messy. We have our own messes, our own flaws, things we know about, things we hide. I have this ideal image of our family and I know each of us carries our own burdens, our own mistakes, our own flaws and so much more. I admit that I am not perfect, I could never even think about being perfect. I know that of my own person, I have my own issues. I love too much, I get my heart broken too easily, I want to save the world. But I also get too angry, I sometimes have yelling matches with God about my life and the world, and I often feel like giving up. There's more but this letter isn't about me. But really, I get it, we all have quirks, flaws and problems. We all have some reason or another to hate on someone else at times. And yeah we have family drama. But all of that doesn't make me love you any less. In fact, I think it makes me love you more because it reminds me I'm not alone. 

The truth is, the reason I wrote this open letter is so that you would know I love you. So I could put into words the reasons why I love you. You make me the best me when I'm with you. You bring out all the things I love about myself. You actually think I'm funny when I tell jokes. You actually listen to my stories whether or not they are good stories. You pray for me. You make me smile. You let me give nice, long, snuggly hugs and you let me hold your hands. You let me laugh until I'm snorting or crying or both. You remind me that I'm loved when I'm being silly and when I'm being a little melancholy, too. You remind me, too, why I'm proud to be a part of this family and to be a Catholic. 

Thank you. Thank you for being there when I need a smile, a laugh or a reminder that I need to be the best me. Thank you for everything, for raising me into the young woman I am today. Thank you for dressing me in my baptismal dress, taking my pictures, letting me be in your weddings, trusting me enough to babysit, be a godmother, letting me run around your houses (still) and so much more. Thank you and thank God we share the same last name. I love you all. 

Sincerely, 

Your niece, daughter, grand-daughter, cousin.

P.S. Here's a KISS for the Road. 

Sitting At The Kid's Table

"Let the little children come to me, 

and do not hinder them. 

The Kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these."

- Matthew 19:14

Mis chicas y chicos de Montenegro

     This past week, my Parish family experienced a lot of change (and growth) due to the merger between St. Thomas Aquinas and St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Parishes. We gained a whole new church community, a whole new Mass schedule, a whole new summer-y change of pace AND a new priest, Fr. Rudy. The more I pray and think about this merger, I can only think how much more blessed we have become this week. I mean, honestly, look at the options we have now for morning Mass. We have a whole new set of family members (suh-weet), and our Pastor, Fr. Mike, now has not only someone else to live with him in that hug, lonely rectory, but also a friend, confidante and help. Needless to say, I am more than excited about this. Of course, aside from all of these fun and exciting perks of merging two Parishes, there is one important thing that must always occur when change happens: first impressions and introductions. 

     It would be a lie if I told you that I specifically dressed up every day last week in my attempt to make a good impression. Honestly, most days it's just more comfortable to wear a skirt instead of pants (sometimes I wonder why ladies ever fought to wear pants) and the perk of that is that I look like I didn't wake up fifteen minutes before going to church. I laughed at myself on Friday when I showed up in skirt for like the fifth day in a row. I couldn't help but think what maybe someone's first impression of me might have been that week. At 6:30 in the morning, one is lucky to get a few words out of me, much less a sentence or a paragraph (coffee is like gasoline...car won't run without out gas; Becca doesn't run without coffee).So, I probably appear a quiet person...who happens to wear skirts a lot. But also, I come and go without interrupting much. I enter chapel quietly, I leave just as quietly, without really talking to too many people (again...coffee). But I also LOVE to hug people during the sign of peace. Yeah...I don't do handshakes. So that's what I imagined the first impression of me might be. When I walked into church on Sunday morning for our new 7:30 Mass (yayayayay), I saw Fr. Rudy sitting in the vestibule. I was surprised when he greeted me.

     Of course, my sunny disposition said, "Hi, Father!" He said, "Good Morning. Do you live here?" At first I thought he was referencing to Croydon, like my city, so I laughed and said, "Well, yes I do live here." Then he clarified by saying he meant the church. So I said, "It feels like it sometimes, but I like it here." I was suddenly aware that he was probably confused by my presence at Mass daily. I was then reminded that I usually am the youngest one present except when I drag my friend, Trevor, along for the ride. So naturally, this would be a surprise for any priest used to the "typical" church crowd. I took this with me as I giggled and walked to our pew. Our new priest's first impression was that I live at church. Oh and I'm pretty sure at this point, he still didn't know my name. 

      When my little sister finally got to church, she told me that she just had her first conversation with Fr. Rudy. What did she tell him? All about her ER adventure to get her earring back removed from inside her earlobe (don't worry folks, she's fine; unbeknowst to us, we got two ear miracles for one family). That's just great...absolutely great, I thought. All throughout Mass, I was watching the reactions of the people to Fr. Rudy. Positive all around. He was excited to be at STA. He was funny. He was honest. People seemed to react wonderfully. I don't know why, but I love to watch human interaction; it's so interesting. I also have no qualms, myself, for wearing my heart on my sleeve, so when I react to something (everything), it's very clear how I feel. During Fr. Rudy's homily, my mouth dropped a few times, I smiled really big and I even wanted to cry. Here's why:

      The first thing that Fr. Rudy told us about himself was that during the consecration of the Eucharist, right after the "Holy, Holy, Holy," he likes to invite all the kids up to the altar. I remembered something like that happening one time when I was a kid during a Christmas mass, but I had never seen it again until I was in Peru almost a month and a half ago. It was during Sunday Mass at a local Parish in La Molina. The priest looked like my cousin all grown up and I was in awe of his gentleness. While I didn't understand much of the Spanish aside from the readings and dialogue during Mass, I knew at the time of the consecration, what was going on. Suddenly all the little kids started running toward the altar. Older kids were holding babies and the hands of the younger kids. Some were running around the altar, while others were standing perfectly still. This memory came flooding back as Father was telling us why he does this: the little ones always help him pray better. Kids are so innocent and honest, both with people and with their relationship with God. 

      When the time for the kids' invitation to go up on the altar came, I think I was more excited than Lizzie. In fact, I was. I had to drag her up to the altar. At 7:30 in the morning, she was one out of a few kids at Mass. She was one of two (err...three) kids at the altar. Yes, I took her up there and then I stayed with her. As we were standing there, I mentioned to her that she was NOW able to see everything that happens at the consecration. By the end of the consecration, she was just as in love with the concept of kids at the altar as I was. When we got back to our pew after the sign of peace, I had the following thoughts:

       Not only does he think I live at church, he probably thinks I kidnap children. I've got to tell him that she's my sister. Also, more kids need to come to church so they can be awesome on the altar. And, I think we should start calling it the kid's table. You know how the altar is the table of God, well, it's the kid's table. I've always loved being at the kid's table at family dinners. Honestly, it's more fun. I'm a kid at heart. I wonder if Fr. Rudy would be opposed to me going up to the altar every Sunday?! Hm...maybe I shouldn't. But like, I want to....

      Yes, a stream of consciousness. After Communion, I realized that Jesus loved the little children. I love the little children. I could honestly just play with kids all day. While Jesus, on occasion, ate with His disciples and the sinners, He also was the inventor of the idea of the kids' table. I mean honestly, He said, "Let the little ones come to me." At 30 some years old, Jesus was sitting at the head of the kids' table. Of course, Jesus calls us to imitate His example. So you can all guess what this means: if I want to imitate Jesus, I have to sit at the kid's table :) I smiled at this play on words and promised myself that I would never let myself lose my seat at the kids' table. 

      After Mass, I walked out holding Lizzie's hand. We said good-bye to Fr. Rudy and Fr. Mike and then were headed on our merry way. I still hadn't given Fr. Rudy my name, but I'm pretty sure he'll remember me by my constant living at church and my desire to sit at the kids' table with the kids at consecration. In all honesty, the little ones help me pray better, too. And if that's not a good first impression, I don't know what is. Quiet, prayerful, morning bird, kid at heart. 

A Few of My Favorite Things: Nuns and Babies Part Two

"Holding a baby is one of the most beautiful things in the world.

How all they do is wave their arms and reach for your 

face and watch your every move. The way their little fingers

wrap all around your single one and their tiny toes

squirm all about. And when they sleep, surely it's an angel

in your arms. It's as beautiful holding the new life as it is 

holding the hand of an elderly person.

The peace is unexplainable."

- "Becca-ism"

    I cannot help but continue to reiterate how blessed my year has been. I am continuously simply in awe of His mighty goodness. I am so grateful for all God has given me. Once before, not too long ago, I did a blog post on nuns and babies. Well, friends, here's a part two. God has been so generous to me that I simply good not pass up this chance to once again proclaim my love for nuns and babies.

    Last night, slightly spur of the moment, my Dad, little sister and I decided to visit my aunt, uncle and seven cousins. Yes, that's right, I said seven cousins. You see, in our family, having lots of kids is pretty common. My Uncle Charlie and Aunt Maryanne have taken the cake on having the most kids. Not only that, but they also have the youngest kids, the youngest of whom is my most precious God-daughter. Last week, Emily turned one. That's a big deal for a little princess, you know. So part of our reason to go over was to give her her present. When we got there, it was close to seven. When we left, it was close to nine. Those two hours went by faster than you can believe.

    I'm known to be the biggest little kid in my family. I'm always the older cousin running around with the babies. I'm usually outside playing football with the younger boys or playing teacher or dress up with the girls. I'm not the older cousin who stands around contemplating the universe over a wine cooler. Nope, I'm playing with the kids. Last night was no different. I walked into the living room and as my dad tackled his brother, I wrestled the two boys into a big hug. My cousins, Albert and Charles, were dressed in super hero pajamas and so, being the teacher that I am, I asked them all about the superheros. Then I asked if I could be one. So, guess who I got to be?! Wonderwoman. I didn't know this, but apparently she has a lasso that forces the person in the lasso to tell the truth. So, I started a little game with the boys. If I caught them in my arms, my "lasso," they had to tell me one truth. Well our truths turned into riddles which the other made up. At 8 o'clock, the clock chimed and my aunt told the boys they had to go to bed. They almost cried because they didn't want to. Heck, I even cried. So, I asked if I could take the boys up to bed. 

       Now, I forgot to mention that every time one of the boys got an answer right to the question while in the lasso, they got a turkey five. They loved this and it had them deep belly laughing. It had me hysterically laughing, too. When we got to the top of the stairs, the boys were supposed to go to the bathroom and then go brush their teeth. Well, as little boys tend to do, they did NOT want any parts of this at all. So, I told them they if they didn't do their bedtime routine, they wouldn't get a Turkey Five. Didn't that do the trick?! Of course, I think the boys' favorite part was riding me up the stairs. Long ago, I had mastered the method of being able to carry at least three kids on me at one time. With only two of them, it was easy. Albert was on my back and Charles clung to me like a baby koala bear on the front. When they finished in the bathroom, they got to ride dinosaur Becca to their bedroom. Then I stood up, rolled down the blankets, and catapulted them into their beds. Of course, I had to tickle them until they laid down and then I tucked them in. My aunt came in for a good night kiss and then I demanded one, too. Of course, my good night kiss ended in a little blessing on their foreheads. 

       While I didn't get to hold my goddaughter much last night since she herself was getting ready for bed, I did get to play with her little brothers. Children, I very firmly believe, are closer to the angels than I'll ever be during my time here on Earth. In fact, they are angels themselves. I never tire of hanging out with my little cousins and I really wish they could all stay so little forever. My cousins give me the chance to be the kid I have inside. They give me a chance to kiss and hug angels. They give me a chance to play with the divine. I went home last night and couldn't have been happier. One might think that spending all this time with kids would make me want to have kids of my own and yes, this is true. But more often then not, spending time with all these kids make me want only be a that crazy Sister aunt lady who gets to play with all the kids because she doesn't have any of her own. This is especially so when my cousins answer the riddle: What do you call a traveling nun? By saying, "You, Becca?" Ha, yes, kids, I am an eventual traveling nun.

        When talking about my adventures with the kiddos last night, I mentioned that playing with them is as close to the divine as I can get aside from holding the hands of the elderly. This morning, I was blessed enough not only to go to Mass at the SBS Motherhouse, where my good friend, Katie D, once lived, but also to visit my other good friend, Sister Ruth Catherine. I had been told that Sister's memory is going and I was nervous that she wouldn't recognize me but when I went up to her room after Mass, she was so excited to see "her Becky." She had me sit down on her bed and then we chatted. I found triumph in only having to retell one story twice; all the others we only had to do once. Today was a good day for her. Toward the end of our visit, after asking me about how much I love teaching, she asked: "You know, Becky, I know you'll make a great teacher. Have you ever thought of religious life?" Sister Ruth asks me this question during every visit, I think because she just wants the thrill of hearing me say yes. So today, I told her: "All the time, Sister. In fact, never have I felt this much peace in my life until finally admitting to myself that I know where and to whom I belong." She grasped me hand, kissed my forehead and spoke with such joy in her voice. I smiled, almost cried, and thanked God for yet another triumph. She later linked my arm as we walked out of her room and I kissed her cheek goodbye with the reminder that I am always praying for her. She's simply beautiful.

       Yes truly, a few of my favorite things are nuns and babies. This Thanksgiving break, I got both my nun fix and my baby fix. I was so happy. I am so grateful. Both of these events gave me enough joy and stamina to get through these next two weeks of school before Christmas break. There is much to look forward to in these last two weeks and I know there will be so much for which I am grateful. Thank you, God, for baby cousins and nuns! And just a shout out to my favorite missed connection nun who called me while I was in the middle of this blog post: How big WAS that Rudolph blow up in the yard? Love you, AF! 

For Whom The Bell Tolls

"So this bell calls us all;

Know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee."

- "Meditation 17," John Donne

     "These are my favorite of all days," I told Sister Maureen when she walked into the front office a half hour before First Communion was set to begin. Usually, when I am at work, I am working on some homework. Okay, that's actually false. Most times, I am reading and drinking coffee/tea. But some times, that reading has to do with a class I am in. Other times, I just find myself writing poetry or letters. It's usually quiet at the Fortress Portress on Saturdays, save for the occasional visitor but Sister doesn't really stay very long. There are rarely any visitors who need to gain entrance through the front door and the phone barely rings. It's quiet, so I open the window, let the breeze come in and sip my tea quietly as I read or write my poetry. But yesterday was completely different.

     Sister Susan came bustling in after 9:15 am Mass and asked if I was ready. Well, for what, I wasn't quite sure. So she quickly and excitedly informed me that the second grade girls from the academy would be making their First Communion in a few hours. Suddenly, my whole day was turned upside-down. No homework would be getting done and probably no reading either as this was a day I really had to pay attention to the front door. Suddenly, I was over-joyed and my heart was ready to sing. Mass was set to begin at eleven and people began coming at ten. I couldn't wait. 

      Of course, my fellow Portress girls know that there is a camera at the front door where we watch anyone who is entering. However, people who rarely frequent the Motherhouse don't understand how the front door works. There's a door bell, you usually ring that. However, people can never find it. So, often we just unlock the door from our seats but when we do, it makes a loud alarm noise. It freaks people out and quite honestly, it becomes a source of entertainment for all of us on big days like these. Especially when the younger children try to open the door. On many occasions, I have unlocked the door for a kid and instead of pulling open the door, he will run in and out of the door a million times until his parents come. Then his parents do the same thing. Trust me, it's actually pretty entertaining. 

     On this beautiful day, so many little children, baby brothers and sisters, were running all over the foyer to the Chapel. I couldn't stop smiling. Anytime there are little ones around, I instantly remember my family, which is full of little kids. I am always, as you may have read, the big kid chasing the babes. Essentially, I take care of them all and it's fantastic. So, I was sitting at my desk in the portress office wishing I was with my family on a beautiful like this and then realizing that in less than a week, I would be seeing them. My two little cousins, Claire and Mackenzie will be making their First Communion. There will be a huge family party at the new big house and all my baby cousins will be there. Of course, this also means I will get to see, hold and spoil my God-Daughter. Seeing all the little ones running in and out of Chapel reminded me of that and I was over-joyed with a few of them decided to make the front office a play room. I didn't mind. I hope the sisters don't.....

      I could literally feel in my heart so much happiness. I heard someone shush in the hallway and I knew that it had to be the girls getting ready to line up and enter the Chapel. I jumped out of my seat and stood in the hallway. Each of the girls had their prayer hands folded, smiles draped across their faces and excitement bursting from their hearts. They looked like little princesses and I wished them all congratulations before they went in. Sister Nancy and Sister Maureen Ruth were walking with the girls and I felt so much solidarity with what they were feeling; pure joy. Then suddenly, right before they entered the Chapel, the bells began chiming and I was reminded of how I feel in love with Jesus. 

      Bells. Bells. Bells. Every time I hear church bells, my heart feels ready to explode. I am suddenly taken back to a Spanish Monastery in the days of Teresa of Avila. I feel like a Carmelite nun working the Garden when suddenly the bells remind me and call me to prayers. Bells are the soundtrack to how I fell in love with Jesus. From my room at school, I can hear the bells of Camilla ring at noon and then at six and then again at seven. When I am at work, no matter what the weather, I always throw open the window at six and at seven just to hear the bells. When I go to Mass at the Motherhouse, like I did this morning, I can only feel so much peace in my heart when Sister Marjorie sets off the bells to signal the beginning of Mass. Whenever I hear bells, I instantly am reminded of this vocation Jesus has placed in my heart and I can only say YES YES YES to Him. 

      Right before the girls entered Chapel, I  noticed Sister Nancy place her hand on the shoulder of the girl closest to her. This little girl looked up at her, smiled and in an instant, I was reminded of how I felt on my first communion. I can only speculate that this little girl may have felt a calling in her heart, but I  know that on my First Communion, I felt it. It wasn't about the party, the presents or the cake after Mass; it was about Jesus during Mass. I couldn't wait to finally have Jesus truly in my heart. And I can distinctly remember Sister Thomasita (God bless her soul) telling me all about how Jesus loves me more than I can ever imagine; that's what First Communion was all about. Without really knowing it, I had this joy, this desire, this longing for Jesus more than just in Communion but to be his bride forever. Oh, thinking about it now even sends shivers done my spine. It's like when you realize that your husband and wife (before you're married) is actually the one. I knew that Jesus was the one at eight years old (technically I was only seven...I turned eight three days later). 

       When I think back on how I fell in love with Jesus, I remember those instances of being at the convent or seeing a sister and just feeling simple awe. I remember wanting to know the mystery of what being a nun/sister was. And every time I would hear the bells, I would wonder what they were really doing. Those bells, no matter where they are, call to me, they fill my heart with such a longing for Jesus. They fill my heart with mystery of what religious life really is. Because as much as I know, I don't know. There is still the mystery there. Of course, as I get older and more into finding the specifics of religious life out (and eventually as I join the community Jesus has prepared for me), the mystery seems to wear off. But every so often, whether I'm standing at my window and I see a Sister walking, quietly, prayerfully down the walkway or I hear her singing in the hallway, or walking the Grotto, that mystery comes back. That awe is re-instilled in me. I know now that sisters are real people who go shopping, who drive cars, who are human and can cry, but there is still a mystery that surrounds them. A mystery that at age eight, I wasn't quite sure meant, but I knew I fell in love with. These beautiful women literally spend each day in love with their creator. And every morning when I go to Mass with them, truly how do we all stop singing His praise?! 

      This weekend, I was so blessed to witness just under twenty little girls make their First Communion. By their witness, the mystery of my love relationship with Jesus came back so greatly in my heart. They do not realize it, but they each helped remind me why and how I fell in love with Jesus. Their little hearts, beating with the ringing of the bells in excitement for this COMMUNION OF SOULS reminded me of my vocation, of the mystery of the sisters and of the mystery in my own heart. And Jesus, I could't be any more grateful. I feel this calling SO LARGE in my heart and I CANNOT keep from singing Your Praise. The mystery is flooding my heart! Thank you, Jesus.

In The Arms of Angels - Camden, Alternate Spring Break 2013

"Let us open wide our hearts. It is joy which invites us.

Press forward and fear nothing."

- St. Katharine Drexel

     "What are you doing for Spring Break?" It was the question on everyone's lips. Some were traveling to NOLA, my favorite city in the world. Others were traveling to Chicago, my home away from home. Still others were headed home to their respective cities and towns. Me? Well, I was more than excited to be headed to Camden, New Jersey for the weekend. 

     Imagine my parents' reactions when I neglected to tell them exactly where I was going on Alternate Spring Break until I was already settled in with my six other lovely lady peers, Father Chris and Sister Cathy. I simply just texted my Daddy a picture of the quotation from Katharine Drexel that was on my bedroom wall in Camden. Needless to say, he didn't respond via text message but rather by phone call. What are you doing there? Are you staying? Who are you with? Are you asking for a death wish? Are you serious? Camden of all places? What are you thinking? Yes...my Dad had a little bit of a freak out session. "Relax, Dad," I told him, "we haven't heard any gun shots yet." That didn't help much...obviously. But I reassured him that I would be fine and God was watching over me. If I was meant to be scared, I would have freaked out already. And I didn't. 

      Camden is rated the 1st poorest city in the United States. Not only is it poor but it has the highest crime rate per capita in the US, this includes murder and homicides. Almost half of the city is dependent on drugs. Surprisingly enough an elementary student can make up to $200 a week just by being a drug outlook for dealers. This being said, the drop-out rate for high schoolers is 60-70%. Oh and the average income for a family of four? $18,000. Get this....the entire NINE-SQUARE MILE city of Camden has 80,000 people "living" in it. I say "living" because do you really think sleeping on the street in a wet sleeping bag every night is living? 

     So, needless to say, my Dad had a right reason to be worried about me in a city like Camden. Camden is a city for me that I can see right across the river when I'm home. And while I was in Camden, the skyline of Philly was looming over us as a constant reminder that this is the Calcutta of the United States. However, there wasn't a single second I felt fearful of this city, I had long ago learned to love. 

     They had asked us at the beginning if anyone in our group had been in Camden before, aside from being there for a concert or a visit to the aquarium. Two of us. I spent one day during my summer three years ago gardening with a group of my CREW girls. I saw that Garden this weekend; it still looked good. I spent another day during my summer two years ago painting over graffiti. I saw those murals this weekend...and I painted the same exact spot on the same exact wall I did two years ago. Our murals are still there though. I remember the first time I walked through Camden. I thought to myself, this is what hell looks like. So many imagine hell as place of fire and heat. But Camden, oh no..that's what hell looks like: broken houses, so much poverty it makes you sick, the smell of trash for miles, children running around with no clothes on because no one loves them, and needle after needle after needle, the used-to-be source of drug lovin'. Oh and the skin and bones of people who haven't eaten anything nutritious perhaps their whole lives. There's no love, no hope, no sunshine. That's hell. 

      Yet, it's a hell that didn't scare me. I felt like Orpheus. If I could go into that hell and pull just one person out of it, if I could make someone my Eurydice, I would. That's what keeps me going back. (The story of Opheus and Eurydice is simple. E dies and goes to the underworld. O goes down and pulls her out, saving her and bringing her back to life.) Like I said before, I was excited to be going back to the streets of Camden. I was excited to be meeting people, or as I call them, "New Friends." I was excited to open a window to a world that most people don't know about. 

      We arrived after sundown and as we unpacked our car, a group of young men walked by. My friends were standing on the front porch as I stood in the middle of the street waiting for father to turn around the school van. We didn't want anyone taking the perfect parking spot. When I turned around, I saw the young men and joyfully waved and said hello. I could see the eyes of my friends bug out of their faces. What? I shrugged. It seemed so late, but the night was still young. After a first night of making spaghetti for dinner, a few of us headed to the Joseph's House. 

       Joseph's House is a unique and humbling place. Located in an old Lutheran Church, volunteers set up and cook dinner for about forty regular homeless people. These people come with all they have and set up camp on the floor of the church. It is literally exactly how the would sleep outside but with heat, a warm meal and the opportunity for showers. The first night there, there were a plethora of volunteers already there and so we went home, a bit saddened that we couldn't do much to help. We went back to the place we called home for four days and watched one of the most heart-wrenching documentaries on the children of Camden. As someone who wants to be a teacher, I can tell you it hit so very close to home. 

      The next morning, we were up and at 'em, ready to help out at the Holy Name Confirmation Retreat. But first we got to make fruit salad for the Joseph's House with the Freshmen Students from the Cristo Rey High School in Philadelphia (I was so totally hype because teaching there would be a dream come true....). I made some new (and crazy) friends among the students and easily assumed the role of their older sister. When they were leaving, I was blessed with numerous hugs from all of them. With the Confirmation retreatants, we put on Gospel skits which was a feat for sure. There for four boys and one girl in our group...thankfully, we were blessed with the Gospel of the Prodigal Son. We then had to have a slightly silent Puerto Rican lunch since we were sharing our space with another group. It was soooooo hard! After making so many new friends, it was super hard to keep quiet with these overly-eager beavers. I love them all so much!

       Once the retreat was over, we were blessed to hear the real story of Kenny, a homeless man who lives in Camden. He truly invoked so much conversation and gave us so much insight. He gave us a chance to truly express our feelings for the homeless and what we wanted to bring back to our homes. It was such a beautiful chance for us to share as a group, as individuals and as ourselves. I saw the hearts of so many so open and willing to go the extra mile for people. It was so beautiful!

      That night we had homemade dinner take two. The first night Lindsey and I cooked dinner and very casually Sister Cathy asked if we would let anyone else cook during the weekend. Well, the next night there she was all precious in her apron cooking crayon chicken nuggets, mac and cheese and broccoli with the two of us, while setting the others to fruit salad making and whatnot. We young ladies had a nice lesson in Convent Etiquette 101, lesson: how to peel an orange. Sister Cathy is a trooper for putting up with all the young lady sass this weekend....it didn't end there. 

      After our meal, a few of us headed out again to Joseph's House. That night, I met my friend Archie who looks like an African American Santa Claus and his friend, "Santa." These men shocked and surprised me with their wit, their playful bantering back and forth and extreme knowledge. These men shared their dreams with me and asked me about my dreams. I went to bed that night feeling so overly blessed for gaining two more grandfathers here on earth. 

     The next morning, we were once again up and at 'em ready to help out with CCD classes before going to a Spanish Mass. The truth is, I love kids so much, which is why I have always wanted to be an educator. My dreams as an educator include, but are not limited to, making sure my students know they are loved, knowing that I care about their dreams and their lives, and being able to communicate that to them. The hardest obstacle was communicating with those students that morning. I was silenced literally because most of the students did not speak English and I did not speak Spanish. I tried, but I failed admittedly. I couldn't do it and from that I learned that I need to try my hardest to become bi-lingual. Especially if I want to fulfill my dream of teaching inner city kids. I prayed for all those CCD kids at Mass and I prayed that God would give me the strength to learn another language...soon. Mass, of course, was beautiful. I was blessed enough to sit next to Sister who just happens to be fluent in Spanish and has a beautiful voice. Yes, it truly was a blessing.

     After Mass, we quickly changed into painting gear and headed to North Camden to paint those same exact walls I had painted before. I was literally painting the same exact block of wall I had painted before. It was like a time-travel and it was awesome. Of course, we had to paint with the wind off the waterfront at our backs. It only gave us a more solid understanding of what the homeless had to deal with every day. They never get the chance to go inside a warm home or a warm car. They are outside all the long day, in the cold, with much less than we all had on. I felt the sting of homelessness right there in my heart. I'm not sure what the others got from our experience in the cold, but that was the truth resonating in my heart. Later that night, after cooking again with the whole IU family, we headed out to Joseph's House for a last night with the homeless. When we were leaving, "Santa" and Archie broke my heart by asking if I would be back there again the next night. Oh how I wanted to be there. 

     Monday, our last day consisted of sandwich ministry and recess with the kids. When I woke up this morning, I was so sore. I didn't understand why until I remembered I lifted 10 pound bags and chased kids for an hour. In the sandwich ministry we literally fed some many homeless people sandwiches and made up bags of canned goods for them. What a sight to behold to see a line of people waiting for their first meal in what may have been a long time. At school we ate with the same kids and the peers of the kids we helped on Saturday at retreat. These children are super precious. We played tag for an hour and I've literally never been that out of breath. However, chasing those kids around in tag was the best. I miss that being at school, I miss being able to go over to the grade school and be lunch mom. It was so hard for me to leave those kids.

      As we rode home that day, I couldn't stop reflecting on those kids and their smiles, their beautiful innocent smiles. I love them all so much. I wanted nothing more than to preserve their innocence and let them keep it forever. But I know that in a city like Camden, they would lose that innocence most likely before they even left grade school. My heart ached and broke for them. I will forever remember their smiles and their hugs and innocence. But they aren't the only ones. I found myself in the arms of angels this weekend. Angels whose faces were those who greeted the homeless, angels whose faces were the poor and homeless, angels whose faces were children, angels whose faces were people just needing love. In each hug, I felt myself truly in the arms of angels and I can only hope they each left my presence feeling the same; in the safe haven of an angel's arms. 

Fruit Salad...yummy, yummy

Enough said

Painting the walls.....

Painting Sister....

Sandwich Ministry Time

My Cristo Rey lovebugs <3

The "Yay" Babies Make a Comeback

"But Jesus said, 'Let the children alone, 

and do not hinder them from coming to me; 

for the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these.'"

- Matthew 19:14

     A long, long, long, long, LONG time ago, I used to be a cantor at my home Parish. One morning, a morning I particularly did not want to be up at the crack of dawn, there seemed to be a lot of babies and toddlers at the nine am Mass. Ironically enough, they were all content, happy, and smiling. Not a single one was making any noise. I was flabbergasted. Finally, I got up to sing the entrance hymn. When the song was over, all I heard from the pews was "YAY!" and clapping hands soon followed by other clapping hands. I, of course, started to laugh. After every song I sang, the babies all did this. During no other part of the Mass did those babies and toddlers make a sound! At the end of Mass, I, too, was all smiles. Next weekend, those babies and toddlers were gone. Never again did I hear the crowd of "Yay" babies. That was until this morning.

     Once again, my family actually had to drag me out of bed for the early Mass. I'm as human as any other when it comes to wanting to sleep in! Trust me, if there is a nine and an eleven option for Mass, I'm taking eleven. Anyway, so dragging my feet (and every other part of my body), I went to the nine am Mass. As I was sitting in the pew with my aunt, little sister and Dad, I began to notice how many bouncing babes were in church. Three alone were in the pew in front of me. I couldn't count how many were on the other side of church or behind me. I smiled, instantly remembering that moment of the "Yay" babies. All these babies were being so perfect and quiet, too. I was just waiting for one of them to start shouting. And right at the consecration of the Eucharist, one little, outspoken girl from the back shouted "YAY!" and started clapping her hands. Before I knew it, all the babies were watching the consecration and clapping, too. I was amazed and in utter awe. I couldn't thank God enough for that moment.

     Later today, after Mass, my family and I headed to my cousins' parish in Ardsley where my youngest Kulesza "cousin" was baptized. Ironically enough, that baptism was anything but quiet. Once again, I was surrounded by the little ones. Some were crying, some were laughing, some were playing with their toys. They were everywhere! And father's Baptism "Homily" of sorts was all about letting the little ones come to Jesus. He openly admitted that most times, when talking about the truth of Jesus' love, the little ones know it better than we ever could. How true!

    I thought about the "Yay" Babies. They knew what was up! They knew exactly was what going on at Mass and truly understood it in their hearts. If we knew, if we really knew, wouldn't we be shouting and yelling praise for our God and our Jesus, our Savior!!??!! Let's really think about this: God, Jesus, is really, literally there in that moment. All we do is sit quietly, bowing our heads, and not even giving Jesus a glance! Yet, these little ones are literally shouting and screaming and clapping and crying for Him! Now, some may say, it is not socially accepted for grown adults to be clapping and shouting during Mass. Ok, I get that. We gotta have that respect thing going. And babies are excused because they are cute....I get it. But, here's my viewpoint on it: let's try to pay attention to what these kids have to say. THIS IS WHY JESUS SAID LET THE LITTLE ONES COME TO ME; THEY UNDERSTAND HIM! And if they are shouting praise at His name and clapping their little hands, well let them. If they are leading a parade around church during a Baptism, let them! If they are laughing and giggling during the Homily, let them. They are giving the ultimate praise and worship to JESUS, my friends!!! 

     And so, since I know most of you won't embrace your inner child during Mass, try to just give it a thought during the next Mass you are at. Instead of bowing your head, look Jesus straight in the eye during consecration. Instead of keeping quiet, let out a little "Hey, Jesus, I love You." And if your pew buddy looks at you weird, just turn to them and say, "Yo, Jesus is here. Don't you think I should acknowledge His presence?" Don't shush the real little ones, and don't shush the little one inside of you. EMBRACE YOUR INNER YAY BABY! JUST DO IT! Because, the truth is, my friend, those "Yay" Babies know what is going on, they get it, probably more than we ever will. Jesus is here. Let's celebrate Him!!! YAY BABIES!

      Congrats Kara and Matt on the Baptism of your youngest little one, Keegan Joseph. Also, I just found out my Uncle Charles and Aunt Mary-Anne just had their SEVENTH (they are Catholic, can you tell?) little one: Emily! Congrats to me and all my cousins on being cousins again! HAHA! I pray they become "Yay" Babies!

Jamaican Me Crazy, Mon, At Our Lady of Hope Orphanage

"Hardships there are, but the land is green and the sun always shineth." 

     Last night, I fell asleep to the sound of my little sister, Lizzie, snoring on my bedroom floor. I was snuggled under my blanket and tried for hours to fall asleep! But, I couldn't. I was missing the sounds of crickets chirping, dogs barking, laughter from the children, and so much more. I was missing the beautiful, Jamaican breezes, the glorious moon and stars shining, and the precious faces of the children. I was so sore after becoming a human jungle gym, and yet, pain never felt so good! As I attempted time and time about to fall asleep, quiet tears fell down my cheek and hit the pillow. I miss Jamaica so much! 

     Wednesday, July 25, was an early morning. My dear Sister Mary, picked me up from the Motherhouse at 7 and we headed over to the convent for Mass with the sisters. We gathered together for breakfast (I didn't eat because I am such an anxious traveler) and conversation. Before I left, I went around to every single sister in the room and hugged them...twice. Sister Mary was cracking up at my hugginess and my love! We then drove three hours to the airport where we met the other girls coming with us. Our flight from Baltimore to Miami was about two hours and then we had an hour and a half flight to Jamaica. But, by the time we got into Jamaica, it was ten o'clock. We then had a two and a half hour drive to our orphanage. We got picked up from the Montego Bay airport in a small, white "bus" but really it was a twelve passenger van. The two back seats were filled with all the donation bags and Everton. Then, eight of us had to smush together on two rows of seats while Father and two others sat in the front. What an uncomfortable adventure, and yet...I, of course, loved every moment of it. By the time we got to the orphanage, it was almost one in the morning...but midnight in Jamaican time. Our house was three rooms: two bedrooms and a living room/kitchen. The sisters had one room and we had another...five girls and three beds. Two bathrooms, both equipped with showers...which were really pipes out of which cold water poured. Living was simply and easy; I was excited. Once we got settled, I passed out only to wake up at seven US time/six Jamaica time. Needless to say, I was anxious to start my day!

       Our days were filled with eating meals with the children, walking for hours with the children, playing for hours with the children and living twenty-four seven with the children. I loved every minute of it! To be honest, there was no hard adjustment to anything, not even not having a cell phone (that was a relief!) Being around 33 children from ages 2-18 was just like being at a full Gutherman family party with all my cousins!! Every day we would take a walk around the beautiful, mountainous, green, Jamaican land. Sister Mary and I would almost always wind up walking with each other and the little babies. I carried a little one every day whether it was a rambunctious two year old Faith or her twin sister, a sleeping Grace, or three year old Shauniel on my shoulders or his twin sister, Shanta-lee, on my back. Sometimes I had both Faith and Grace. I loved it. I looked so forward to those walks, and I think Sister Mary did, too. Since we had the little ones, we often lagged behind the others and were the last ones back but we talked a lot about so much. I really got to know her as a person and now I love her even more! We would meet so many of the local people on our walks and they were so friendly. On our last day, a young man named Chevron walked with us and talked with us the whole way. Sister Mary thinks he was "taken with me" but since it was the last day in Jamaica, I guess I'll never know for sure! His cornrows were pretty awesome though!!

       After lunch, which was the biggest meal of the day, we would separate into reading groups and I had the little ones: Faith, Grace, Shauniel, Shanta-lee and Dillon (he's four and precious!) Shocker there!! I would gather them all around me, under a palm tree by Chapel and read stories to them. If they sat still and listened carefully  to all four books, they would get a "sweetie" (candy) at the end. They were always so good for me. After reading groups, we would start a craft or activity. We did anything from painting to friendship bracelets to water balloon tosses and soccer games. After dinner we had activities, too, which were sometimes dance parties or more games. Then, when all the little ones went to bed, the older kids would stay up and play cards with us. What fun, honestly! Our meals were anything from pancakes for dinner to porridge for breakfast to a whole fish (fins and tail included) for lunch. Everything always tasted soooooo good! 

       As I write this, tears fill up in my eyes. I wish I could go back and stay for so much longer. I miss my little friends in my reading group especially. They would constantly run into me (literally) and throw their hands up in the air to be picked up. They would cover me in kisses after I taught them how to say "I love you, kisses" and blow kisses, too. They would eat their lollipops while sitting on my lap and slobber all over me and sometimes wash their hands on my legs. They were so easy to love and I did love them...I still do. When I was saying goodbye, both Faith and Grace were swooped up into my arms and immediately they said, "I love you, kisses," and plastered kisses on my cheeks. I cried. 

       The older children were great, too. While I couldn't pick them up or cuddle them, they taught me so much about their lives and culture. One of the older twins, Lamoya, taught me a traditional, Jamaican song in "patois," their language. I mastered it! Another boy, Shyan, could play a guitar and we sang together for a good hour and a half one day! That day, I decided my goal for the year is to learn guitar so I can play for the kids next Summer. Speaking of music, Sunday morning at Mass was beautiful! Ironically, I knew all of the songs and so I sang along with the beautiful Jamaican voices. I was in Heaven! 

        There are so many stories to tell and I'll be telling stories for years of this beautiful place. I wish I could go back for so long and stay among those children! I love them all so much!! And as Soniel, one of the older boys, said to me on the last day, "I wish their was a bridge connecting USA to Jamaica just so we could see each other again." I really wish I could see them all right now! My hips, back and shoulders feel empty without a little one attached to me, and my voice feels like it could really sing a Jamaican spiritual hymn. I miss playing cards with the older children and holding hands with the middle-school kids on our walks. I miss having mystery meals for breakfast, lunch and dinner, but what I miss the most is the laughter and simplicity. Laughter is my favorite sound and I miss it so much! I can't wait to go back! I am so blessed! 

     

My Partner in Service for the week -Sister Mary

Myself, Sonia and Faith

The Chapel

Myself and Romario

Shauniel

Casually drinking at the pizza place...not me, just Sister. 

Jessica and the bumby bananas

The view from our mountain

Foster, my right-hand man. 

Tamara and Brittany, sisters. 

And the traditional last day picture!