Sunflowers and Sisters

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Most Beautiful Sister

"The most beautiful people we have known are those

who have known defeat, known struggling, known suffering,

known loss and have found their way out of the depths. 

These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding

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

Beautiful people do not just happen."

- Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

    "Oh Becky," she exclaimed in her perfect New Englander accent as she threw her hands in the air before wrapping them around me. She guided me and my Daddy into the huge parlor of the convent. I crawled up next to her on the big, fluffy chair and listened as she talked to my father. Every so often, she would interject something about me and my ears would perk up, but while she was talking to my Dad, I would be fascinated by her outfit, her necklace, her ring and her veil. At some point she would get up, take me by the hand and lead me to the grand piano in the corner. She would play a song and sing, as I simply listened. Sometimes I would play and sing, too, but I loved to listen to her sing. 

    Every Christmas Eve after Mass, she would bustle over to my family, give us each a hug and then take me by the hand to the community room down the hall from the Main Chapel. There she would show me off in my pretty little dresses as if I was one of her own. She would eventually hand me a cookie and some hot chocolate, then talk with my parents. Cookies were her favorite. You know, the ones that came in the blue tin only at Christmas time; the butter cookies in different shapes with the sugar crystals on the top. So even when it wasn't Christmas, she would always take me into the kitchen for a cookie or two. One for each hand, she would say, and one for later. She was perfect in my eyes and I'm sure, in the eyes of every single child she ever loved. She was the most beautiful nun. 

     She was the first Sister to ever have affected my life; the first Sister I ever knew. It was by her example that I had an idea of what a Sister should look like and act like. Any Sister should be tiny and huggable. She should give great hugs and always have cookies for me. She should know how to play piano and sing. She should have soft hands that could always hold tight to mine. She should always wear her veil long enough to reach the midpoint of her back. She should be able to quietly tiptoe down creaking hallways. She should do all of this to be the perfect nun...because in my little eyes and my naive heart, she was perfect and the most beautiful Sister I had ever met. 

     I wanted so badly to tell her about my decision to begin discerning religious life. It had been a while since I had seen her last, and I knew that time was slipping between my fingers. I went to visit her with the purpose of telling her my new life path, but left thinking a whole new thing. I wasn't expecting to see my perfectly beautiful sister dying in her bed. She was no longer the Sister I knew her to be and I knew right away it wouldn't be long before she was called home to God. The next day, she passed away. The image of her lying in her bed, all curled up really tiny, made me think. She wasn't any less beautiful than she had been in my memories of her from my childhood, but she wasn't the same person. In fact, I think seeing her so close to death actually made her even more beautiful. You could tell by her eyes that she knew she was close to Heaven and she was ready to meet her Beloved face to face. Yes, in fact, she was more beautiful then than anyone I had ever seen. 

     My dear Sister Thomasita was the first Sister I had ever met and really gotten to know as a kid. There are times when I wish she was still around so that she could counsel me on my life, but I know that she continues to walk with me every day, sending me more and more beautiful Sisters in my life. When I was younger, I had this idea of the most beautiful Sister. Since her death, that has changed so greatly. I know so many most beautiful Sisters.

     Sometimes the most beautiful Sister walks with me to class or from class to my dorm. Sometimes she hugs me when I have had a rough day and need a shoulder to cry on. Sometimes she sits at my lunch table among my friends and carries on a crazy conversation. Sometimes she stops just to talk to me in the middle of campus and tell me she's praying for me. Sometimes she plays the piano for me when I sing and continues to train me for the day when I'm a professional church singer. Sometimes she leaves little packages at or notes under my door. Sometimes she mails me letters in the middle of the school year just because. Sometimes she calls me sunflower and sunshine because I make her smile. Sometimes she calls upon me to make crazy adventures. Sometimes she stops in the office at work just the chat or check up on me. Sometimes she links my arm as she walks down the hallway because she doesn't like her walker anymore. Sometimes she asks me if I know what I am doing with my life. Sometimes she drills me on the stage and tells me I can do better than what I am giving her. Sometimes she sends me emails on days when I need them the most. Sometimes she cries with me and for me. Sometimes she smiles with me as we share life stories. Sometimes we go for car rides that are filled with heart to heart conversations. Sometimes we pray together for those who need it. 

      The most beautiful Sister has blue eyes, green eyes, brown eyes, gray eyes. She has pearly white hair, salt and pepper hair, black hair, blonde hair, brown hair, curly hair, straight hair, short hair, long hair. She has glasses for reading, glasses for driving, purple glasses, silver glasses, wire glasses, bifocals or no glasses at all. She is tall, she is short, she is medium height. She has soft, gentle hands from a life of praying and touching souls. She has rough, calloused hands from years of hard work and rebuilding lives. She wears a veil that meets the midpoint of her back, she wears a long veil, she wears a short veil, sometimes it's white, sometimes it's blue, sometimes it's black, sometimes she wears no veil at all. She wears a blue dress, a black dress, a white dress, a dress of many colors. She sings, she doesn't. She plays piano, she plays guitar, she plays violin, she doesn't play anything at all. She smiles, she always smiles, she always smiles and laughs with me. And sometimes she cries. 

     The most beautiful Sister may not hold my hand, or hug me, or walk with me, but she has touched my heart and soul in more ways than any person ever could. The most beautiful Sister is always there to listen to my heart and give solace or advice. She is always a phone call or walk away. She is always there for me in prayer. The most beautiful Sister walks across my campus daily, she walks down the hallways of my work, she walks down the halls of my high school. The most beautiful Sister is three, four, seven hours away from me. The most beautiful Sister is right next door (you should meet her...). The most beautiful Sister shares my story. 

     The truth is, the most beautiful Sister isn't just one person, isn't even a small group of people. The most beautiful Sister is every Sister I know. She is beautiful in her own way, shape and form. Her story is beautiful, her life is beautiful, her witness  is beautiful! SHE IS BEAUTIFUL. There isn't a day that goes by without a conversation with at least one Sister. Every day I come in contact with these beautiful women of God, my heart beams with happiness at the blessing of having them in my life. She is beautiful, they are beautiful. I guess it's something Jesus does to them, but He always seems to be married to the most beautiful Sister. Oh I am so blessed.