See Me, Be With Me

"Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak, 

knits up in the overwrought heart and bids it break."

- William Shakespeare, Macbeth

"See Me - Tahlequah" - Lori Christopher

     A few weeks ago, I saw this image surface on social media. I was encapsulated by it. I had heard the story of the Mother Orca carrying her deceased baby for over 10 days. This was an action that many Orcas have done, but never for this long. Science was explaining the hardship behind this event: Orcas were not surviving birth, Orcas are becoming fewer and fewer, but Orcas also grieve these things. Science was telling, but not nearly as telling as the follow-up stories that inspired this image. 

     Tahlequah, the mother Orca, had been carrying her baby to keep her baby afloat. Without doing this, the baby would sink to the ocean floor. She was not yet ready to let go of her baby or of her grief. Yet, this process was holding her back (she wasn't able to swim as fast), it was using up all her energy. Grief does this to us. It holds us down for a while. It exhausts us. In the grief I have experienced, I can look back and acknowledge that the tears and the sadness often lead me to sleep or the desperate need for a nap. I can acknowledge that my grief kept me from moving on. Grief. I can name it. I can see it. I can acknowledge how it has held me back. 

     In her process of mourning, Tahlequah was strong (she carried this baby for so long). Yet, she was also weakened. The female Orcas in her Pod began to take turns and carry her baby for her. Giving her a break from carrying her grief. Yet the important thing to note is that they never took her baby away from her; they never took away the grief. They simply carried her grief for a while. Tahlequah's grief was holding her back and draining of her energy, but her Pod did not act as if she needed to get over it. Instead they allowed her to grieve and in doing so, helped her grieve instead of helping her get over it. 

    Eventually, after many days of mourning, grieving and carrying the grief, Tahlequah laid her baby to rest. When she was ready, her pod helped her do so. When she was ready....her pod helped her do so. 

      Grief is no stranger to me. I think I can thank my Dad for that; he never hid grief from us as kids. I can remember going to many funerals as a children and teenager, wondering why, especially if I did not know the person well. That was before I understood the Catholic call to "Bury the Dead." My Dad didn't hide his tears when he buried a friend or a family member. He was not afraid to show grief. And in that, we learned how to grieve. We didn't hide it; from others or from ourselves. And so grief is no stranger to me. I have let grief come and sit for a while. I have embraced grief, just as I would a dear friend. I have allowed myself the beauty of tears and the gift of grief. However, this is not often a concept we can say we know or have seen. 

     During a particularly trying time in my life, I went back to Scripture and began reading the stories of women in the Bible who have experienced pain, heartache, and worse. I noticed two things: it is rare that this women are said to have cried and it is rare that these women were given the words to express their grief. Many women in Scripture have lost their children and yet, they are not given that option to grieve. Many women have suffered innumerable heartache and physical pain; they do not cry. I believe the writers left those parts out, because as a woman who knows many women, we certainly mourn and cry and grieve. Yet, even today it seems, women are not given the chance to do these things (and neither are men, for that matter). 

     This enraged me. I was looking for comfort among the women of Scripture. I found similar pain and heartache. Yet, I was overwhelmed with tears and sadness and wanting to curl up in a ball and not move from the safety of my fortress of blankets and pillows. I began to feel weak; these women did not do this, so why am I? But quickly, I stopped myself from swimming in those thoughts. I was not weak; these women were not overtly strong for not crying. They were not given the chance; so I must mourn now for them and with them. I must conjoin my heartache with theirs. And when I saw this image, I thought back to these reflections. This is TRUTH. 

     The story of Tahlequah gives us many reflections but two that are particularly important to me. First: the Orcas knew the power of grieving. The never once, in their carrying of the calf, showed disregard for Tahlequah's grief; they did not toss it aside or get rid of it for her. She needed her grief in order to make sense of things; she needed to carry it for a while and be with it. She needed to cry and mourn and lament. Her sisters knew this and allowed her to do so. We must acknowledge grief; we must sit with it and allow it to change us. If we hold onto it and keep it in and never acknowledge it, it will break our hearts much later. When we are sad, cry. Be not afraid to embrace the pain and the tears. It is a part of us, especially for women, and we are stronger having expressed grief. When we embrace our pain, we are better as a result. Invite grief in. But do not let it stay too long. 

     And secondly, as women, we must be there for each other. And we must not dismiss the beauty of another's pain. Many people are afraid of grief and in moments of grief, theirs or another's, they tend to shush it, push it aside and say things like, "it's okay, you will get over it, you will move on." In the end, yes, we will move on but not as we had before; there will be something missing. In those moments of grief, if we choose to embrace it, we do not want to move on, we do not want to get over it. We want to sit with it; we want to be sad. And the best thing to do in those moments is to not speak at all. Instead, simply hold another's grief. Perhaps that means holding their hand, embracing them in a deep hug, or holding them in your arms. Connecting your hands or arms with them allows you to breathe together, one with pain and heartache, the other holding it. Just as the Orcas surrounding Tahlequah held her grief, we must hold each others. The Orcas did not, in any way, force Tahlequah to move on quicker than she was ready; they journeyed with her for 17 days. They did not speak to her of shared experience; they simply traveled with her until she was ready to let go of her grief. 

     There are women who have done this for me; who have been my pod. I know that I can go to them and I do not have to say a word for them to know that all they need to do for me is to hold me and sit with me while I grieve. So many instances have these women, upon meeting me, asked me how I was and I was unable to respond because tears had filled my eyes and choked my words. They simply open their arms for me. And there have been many times when I have been called upon to do this for others. Despite being a writer, I know that at times, the best thing to say is nothing. I am constantly telling my students, the women of courage who surround me daily, that when they are sad, or frustrated, or grieving, to let themselves feel it. And I sit with them; I let them cry or vent or whatever they need. We sit together, we carry each other. This is what being a woman is all about. Seeing each other and simply being with each other in times of need. 

Man, I Feel Like A Woman - Part One of A Three Part Series

"Women have had and still have a special role in opening doors to the Lord, 

in following Him and communicating his face, 

because the eyes of faith always need the simple and profound look of love."

- Pope Francis

    I've been desiring to write for the past week. I've tossed around ideas for a new blog post for the past for days. I've gone from blogging about a new poem I wrote this week (which is...wait for it...in two languages!) which has become my new favorite piece of literature to writing about the Sound of Music (which I've watched three nights in a row this week....I know, pathetic). But I could never get enough words out. I've started at least a blog post a day, but nothing felt right. So, I let it go. I stuck to writing my latest poem "las monjas de una monja" (one of my favorite Spanish phrases) and letters, lots of letters. Oh and watching the Sound of Music. I will be honest and admit that this week has been an emotional one. And well...that's the perfect place to start.

    Ladies. Did you ever have a day where you wake up, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, it's nice outside, your back doesn't hurt from a night of tossing and turning, and yet, you want is to cry. Nothing bad happened to you and as you go throughout the day, it literally seems that everyone is actually going out of their way to be nice to you. You smile, but you're still sad inside somewhere. All you want is to just cry and if someone, anyone is so nice as to just give you a random hug, you would actually burst into tears for no apparent reason. And on those days, often you want someone to ask you how you're feeling just so you can talk about why you're not sure why you want to cry and so you can cry, but yet, when someone does ask you how you are, you get defensive. Ever have those days? I've been celebrating almost 48 hours of being emotional. Most would complain about us being emotional, but guess what ladies, it's actually one of the most beautiful parts of being a woman.

     Tonight, in my Christian Marriage and Family class (which focuses mainly on my favorite, Theology of the Body!), my professor, the world renown, BIll Donaghy, made us go out on a excursion. This excursion consisted of us asking random people we found on a half hour walk three questions: Describe Masculinity in three words. Describe Femininity in three words. Describe Marriage in one sentence. After doing and asking people from my English professors to the nuns to random students passing by, I decided I needed to talk about this on my blog. And so, I present to you Part One of this three part blog series. Part One - Femininity.

     The first person we met on our excursion was someone I had quoted last semester in my blog about feminine beauty, Professor Mooney. He is someone who I absolutely adore. He is a literary genius, has a beautiful family but most of all is raging feminist (but you didn't hear that from me). He is constantly telling us "college women" to higher our standards, demand more of the men on campus and so on. Tonight he told us that femininity in three words is "strength, gentleness and clear thinking." Well, that of course got me thinking. After talking to quite a few more people, we went back to the classroom and talked about the results. I began to really but into emotion what femininity is for me. Like what really is being a woman?

       I began to think of the strongest women I know. I don't mean physically strong nor really emotionally strong either. What I mean is who truly embodies womanhood, femininity, and knows it. I thought of my nunnies, like Sister Marcille who is so proud of being a woman and Sister Cathy who takes sweetness to a whole other level to my Aunt Mary Ann, mother of seven, gorgeous and rambunctious children, to the saints like Teresa of Avila and Katharine Drexel. And then, I walked to the bathroom, did bathroom type things and as I was brushing the fly-aways of my hair away from my face, I realized, I, too, am a woman and proud of it. But is there a difference between the definitions of woman and femininity? Certainly.

       Most of the people we interviewed about femininity told us that it consists of being loving, caring and maternal. I would agree. A mother's love is a love not everyone can give. I may be able to "work" a dress that expresses my every womanly curve one day and a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, the next. I can also dress myself up, smother make up all over my face, or let my hair go for about three days and embrace the fly-aways. But is that femininity? Nah, that's being a proud woman. Femininity is being emotional, that is embracing our deep emotions, because every man knows we have them. Femininity is me acknowledging that I am having an emotional day and being okay with it because that's what females do, they embody emotion. Femininity is embracing our inner moms, or if you are a mom, embracing those motherhood skills even when you're not around your own children, even complete strangers. Femininity is, just as Pope Francis said, embodying Christ's love. 

     We, as women, are called to a higher calling. We are called to be the face of Christ's love. I've reflected many times on hands, hands of Christ, hands of us, hands, hands, hands. Next time you are around a mother, look at her hands, or if you yourself are a mother, look at your own hands. Remember all those times those hands held a baby, nursed a sick child back to health, mended skin with an awesome bandaid, wiped away tears of many a child, parent or friend, cooked dinner for a surplus of people, handed out another dollar bill for lunch money, lit candles on a birthday cake, played pretend with the little ones, became all dried out after washing hundreds of dishes in hot soapy water, but most importantly, were folded in prayer. Imagine all those hands have gone through. Those hands have loved, have literally embodied Christ's love for the world. Those hands are meant to be revered by all!

     Now, you may be thinking, well this blog is about discerning religious life...so like, that's perfect for us non-nunny women, but like...how does that apply to the nunnies? Someone once told me that in order to make a great nun, one must first make a good mother. FREEZE before you get ahead of yourselves. I'm not saying one should get married, have a ton of kids and THEN be a nun. No, no, no. What I'm saying is that one must have the qualities of a good mother in order to make a great nun. So, let's take it to another level. Every time someone tells me I would make a great mother (of like a hundred kids) I smile and thank them. I think of Maria from the Sound of Music with the seven von Trapp children. She knew them better than anyone else knew them and she wasn't even their mother. Of course...she became their mother. How many of us can honestly say that we know a sister who was gentle, loving and extremely maternal? I'm sure so many of us! So many sisters have embraced their maternal instincts and cared and protected children who are not their own. So many have taken on the role of motherhood more than one would could ever imagine. 

     As women, we are called on from femininity. Women are meant to be Love, that is, to be Jesus and love and care for all. What is it to be a woman? To embrace those maternal skills of love. Mothers love their children despite their children's faults. Women are called to love all despite one's faults. To me, being a woman is a beautiful thing. We are each so filled with emotion, we can have those emotional days, but without a doubt that's what makes us beautiful! Because we are "emotional," we can love. Our loving beyond all measures makes us strong, makes us feminine. That, my lady friends, is what being a true woman is. So whether, you're a mother, a single woman, a teenager, a sister, know that when you love yourself and love others so much, you are embracing the depth of what it truly means to be a woman. You have embraced God's beautiful gift of who you are! Be not afraid to cry, to love and to wear your heart on your sleeve, because we were intended to do that. In appearing "soft" we become so strong. Amen? Amen!

ps stay tuned for parts two and three tomorrow and Saturday!

Being The Little Sister: Grief Edition

"What I longer for, I now see; what I hoped for, I now possess;

in Heaven, I am espoused to Him whom on earth I loved with all my heart."

- Morning Prayer Antiphone for the Feast of St. Agnes, January 21

    Sometimes, I like to pretend that I am little. You may say that I already am little, as I stand only five foot tall and am light enough to be carried on various people's backs. You may say I am little because I have an air of innocence. But I like to pretend that I am little like Lizzie. I like to pretend that I can hug everyone and hang on really tight like she does. But mostly, I like to pretend that when I am upset, I can just knock on my big sister's door and then snuggle up to her and cry as she holds me. And then I remember, that sometimes I don't have to pretend. 

    When I look up into the infinite sky, I can only feel miniature. I think, out of all the people that need God's love this day, He choose little me to send me a Valentine of sorts. He choose little, itty, bitty me, to warm my heart. When I look into the eyes of my many sisters, I, too, feel so little. These women have gone years and years before me in school, have accomplished so much in their lives, and still are so humble. When I sit with them in Mass, I feel so little and yet, I feel loved. Because I am little in two senses: little as in very young in experience and little as in the little sister.

    There is a bond between sisters that is so hard to describe, but if you have a sister, you know how strong and unique that bond is. Even from far away, I know when my little sisters need me. I know when they need a hug and some loving words. I know my sisters and they, in turn, know me. This bond exists between some of my religious sisters and myself, as well. Which essentially makes this so hard to write.

     As we were practicing for church choir before Mass last night, Sister Cathy made her way over to us. Just before were various moments of laughter and joking and suddenly it was as if a bomb had been dropped on my heart. Often times, I feel, I can "guess" what a person is about to say and prepare myself to react accordingly. However, what she had told us was such a shock to me that I reacted like a little child. I even surprised myself with my reaction. My mouth immediately gaped open and my hand flew to my mouth. Tears immediately started filling up in my eyes. I couldn't even look Sister Cathy in the eyes. I turned around, told myself to get myself together, and turned back, still with a hand over my mouth. I reacted as Becca in the raw (and rare) form. I acted like a child, like a little sister, like Lizzie. 

     During Mass, I tried my usual coping mechanism: not thinking about it. But alas, as Father began the familiar Homily (I had heard it earlier yesterday morning), I began to think about it. A steady stream of silent tears fell down my face and for the first time, I didn't care who saw me crying. Because just moments prior, as I sang the Psalm, I saw our president, Sister Pat, wipe away her steady stream of tears, too. I was numbed by the shock and felt the loss times 48 because sisters feel each others' pains,  and I felt my sisters' pains. 

     After Mass, on my way to replace some borrowed "furniture" from behind the altar, Sister Denise and I caught each others' glances. It took a matter of two seconds for her to know and for me to know, that we needed each other in that moment. So we hugged, and she held me tight as I cried a little more. I thanked her and I thanked God for all of my sisters.

     It wasn't until daily Mass this morning that I really began to reflect on my "little-ness." I realized that as normal as it was for me to attend daily Mass, I didn't quite fit in. Most mornings I am the only student. All the time, I am the youngest (by far with no insult intended...). And yet, as I began togo through the list of reasons why I appear out of place, I remembered my being a little sister. I've attended daily Mass with these sisters almost every day (for the exception of holidays and breaks) for the past three years. I have my own particular seats in our Chapels and the sisters get worried if I don't show up on a day I usually am there. I get hugs and kisses during the sign of peace and beautiful smiles around campus. I have essentially made my way into being part of this family of sorts. And that being said, I feel all their pains and my own, too.

     Heaven gained a few angels yesterday, one of them being our dear Sister Marie Albert. It's so rare, they say, to lose a "school" sister and a school sister she was. And so, I believe that in addition to the pain of losing a sister (and she was to so many of us), there is a shock of losing someone we see so often, so suddenly. As we prayed Morning Prayer today, which for the Feast of St. Agnes, fit so perfectly for thoughts of my heart and soul, I could feel the emotions of my sisters all pushed into one small Chapel. There was an emptiness of undescribable capacity. I admit to wiping my cheeks a few times as father "cheered on" the life of the 12-year old Agnes and the 80-year old, Sister Marie Albert. Indeed, both lived lives of saints. 

     As such a little sister I have become, one of my greatest fears have also came into fruition. That fear was emulated yesterday and even still into today. It is the fear of losing my sisters. Being so young, I know the possibility is great and yet, I still never expect to lose someone so close to my heart. I may not have told my deepest secrets to Sister, but I shared time, space and beautiful words with her. I cannot help but have beautiful fond memories of her, as she was a big sister, I so often looked up to. Sometimes, it's tough being a little sister.

     However, I know my big sisters are grieving with me and perhaps are still in shock. But what St. Agnes reminded us all today is that we need to rejoice. "Rejoice with me, and be glad, for I have taken my place with all the saints in the kingdom of the light," our morning prayer said. I felt peace. I still felt a loss, but I felt a peace, that for sure she is in Heaven kicking it back with God. I saw the faces of my sisters but I saw their hearts, as well. I think we might all just need one big group hug so we can embrace all the emotions flowing through us. Just as I know they will be there for me, I will also be there for them. My hands may be little, but they are hands that can hold and love. 

     It is hard to lose someone so dear. And yet, there is or will be a peace that comes when we can rest assured, she is with Him whom she loved with her whole heart. Yes, she is in Heaven now, for sure.

We Are Family (Sing It!)

"See what love the Father has bestowed on us that we may be called the children of God.

And so we are.

The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him.

Beloved, we are God's children now;

what we shall be has not yet been revealed."

- 1 John 3:1-2

Look closely....you'll see most of my family!

      Happy Feast Day!! Don't even try to deny it! It's your feast day whether you know it or not...you're part of a family, aren't you? You have a mom and a dad and maybe some siblings; grandparents, too. Whether it's big or small, you're part of a family. And because of that, it's your feast day! It's the feast of the Holy Family! And not only is it your feast day, it's also some of my favorite sisters' feast day. So, happy feast Sisters of the Holy Family of Nazareth!

      As some of you may know, I leave for New Orleans tomorrow (well, really today...) at 8:30 is our flight. And because of having to be at the airport at the crack of dawn, I had to catch the Vigil Mass tonight! And I am so glad I got a preview of the Scriptures. My heart was literally dancing in my chest! They were honestly just so good today! The funny thing is, as I sat in my pew listening to the Scriptures, my two (well, one really since the other had to Altar Serve) favorite church girlies, Meghan and Caleigh sat with my family simply giving spiritual emphasis that we are all brothers and sisters in Christ; we are all family. 

      And because we all are family, we are all children of the Father as the second reading eludes to. I am that girl that opens the Missalette to read along with the Lector. Even though one time someone once told me that I shouldn't read along because I am supposed to listen to the Word of God. I tried, I really did, but I pay much more attention when I read along with the words. Visual words mean a lot to me (I am an English Major, you know...) and when I can see them, I understand. So...I can't tell you what the First Reading was about since the Scripture that was read was the alternate option than what was in the book. But the Second Reading...that made my heart go crazy. Look at the truth lying between the lines (quotation above). Because of His love, we ARE children of God. However, we are told we aren't worth love or worth the title of child because the world does not know God. We have lost our child-ness. We are no longer called "children" because of the unawareness society has of God. If only they knew... We are told that regardless of what society tells us, WE ARE HIS CHILDREN. WE TRULY DO BELONG TO THE FATHER. And yet, what we are meant to be has not yet been revealed to us. Say what?!

      We are not meant for this life on earth. We are meant for eternity with God. But that life with Him hasn't yet been revealed to us. However, that line of Scripture gave a deeper consolation to my soul. If you've been reading my blog recently or have been around me physically, you might have been able to pick up on a bit of a struggle I am going through. I am battling with what does God really want me to do?!? Does He want me to be a Sister? If so, what kind of Sister? Or is He calling me to do missionary work throughout the world? OR is He calling me to date, marry and raise a family? While I had put it to rest a bit since being home, it suddenly all came rushing back as I sat, reading in Mass because "What we shall be has not yet been revealed to us." OHHHHHHHHHHH! OKAY! He has given me bits and pieces on my life journey and has whet my appetite, per se, of various life vocations but HE HAS NOT YET FULLY REVEALED WHAT I SHALL BE. I like that about Him, always mysterious. It's very becoming! For me, one who has accepted the child-ness, it was extremely consoling. For society, which continuously is taking away that child-ness, the revelation is even harder to wait for. Because we have lost that child-ness, we have lost belief that God will reveal to us our purpose, our destination, what we shall truly be. If we do not believe (or see as it is hidden by view by all sorts of things in society) in the Love of God, we lose the child-ness. When we lose the child-ness, we lose faith in God's revelation. 

      Speaking of lost children...did you realize that in the Gospel today, Mary and Joseph lost Jesus. The literally left Him in another city. LIKE HELLO?!? Okay, okay...new parents, I get it. They weren't used to having a child. But wait....Jesus was a few years older than just being born. Because they later found Him in His Father's house which He told His parents. Newborns don't speak, friends. It was a challenge for me when I was younger to separate the stories. Because we just had Christmas, I was convinced that the Lost Child happened a few days later just like it did with the readings. But then I realized that this was quite impossible for He did speak to His parents at the time. The more I thought about it, the more plausible the story became. 

      How often do we hear stories about Panic Attacks when it comes to children? I can easily remember a moment of panic in my own heart when my littlest sister, Lizzie, was merely one year old. We had been at the grade school on a Sunday preparing for the Spring Play. One second she is standing next to me, the next second I figure she ran down the hallway to see my mother. But when my mother came into the hall within minutes, Lizzie wasn't with her. WHERE WAS LIZZIE?! Suddenly, everyone was in panic mode. MUST.FIND.LIZZIE. Everyone was searching and calling her name. I was in tears. I had lost my sister. Finally, after what seemed like hours but was really only minutes, we found her, walking across the parking lot to the school with one of the moms. She was safe, hand in hand, strutting her stuff. Thank God. 

       Imagine the feeling in Mary's heart when she realized Jesus wasn't with them. It wasn't as if he was across the parking lot with the other families with whom they were traveling. No, He was actually in another city. He was miles away with no one to hold Him, feed Him, or protect Him. Anything could have happened to Him. Panic. Ultimate Panic. Finally, Mary and Joseph were on their way back to find Jesus. How did Mary not freak out when they found Jesus? How did she not reprimand Him for staying with the group or telling her where He was off to? How? Simply because He said, "Did you not know I would be in my Father's house." He probably added a cute little smile at the end, just like Lizzie did when she said, "Didn't you know I was with....?" In fact, Mary's relief was probably much greater than her anger or distraught at Jesus's disappearance. Mary was a true mother in the sense that the moment she could have pulled Jesus into her arms and held Him would have been greater than any moment in the world for her. We see the same scene when Jesus met His mother on the road to Calvary. A look, a tender look of love that understands. 

     Ironically enough, when I read the readings before Mass, I couldn't help but laugh at the Gospel. It was about losing a child. The night before (Friday) I had enjoyed a movie night with my CSFN Sisters. The faith sharing is always so beautifully deep with these girls and so unexpected, really. Each sister is so unique in her own way and that uniqueness certainly leads to interesting and beautiful conversation. However, we are a group of women, so one topic lead to another which lead to another which then lead to education and....losing children. I can't tell you how many "baby nun" stories I heard Friday night about losing children. And each story ended with, "Well...they were right were they were supposed to be when I finally found them." Of course, these children, unlike Jesus, were purposefully hiding from their teachers. How ironic that we were just talking about the emotions that tie into losing a child momentarily.

      We have each in some way connected with Mary and her feeling of panic. The Feast Day itself is a people's feast; the readings tell us that. We have each been a child at some point, so we know how it feels to me child-like. We must remain true to the child-ness of being a child of God. And most of us, ironically have felt the moments of panic and then relief with a child, whether a student, a sibling or a child of our own. Most of us are blessed to know and have a family who loves us. This is why we can celebrate this feast as our own. Isn't it such a beautiful day? 

      And I wouldn't have it any other way than to be traveling on this great feast, a feast I celebrate not only with my family in mind, but with my Sisters in mind as well. I know my Sisters prayers are with me this day as just about the time of take-off, they will be praying Morning Prayer. I'll be praying with them from the "comfort" of my plane seat. Later in the day, I'll be thinking about and praying with my own family as about the time I'll be landing, they might all be in Mass together. Of course, when I reach my NOLA family in my favorite city in the whole world (I've been to a lot of places, nothing beats NOLA), I'll be thanking God for my gift of family. That is, the gift of feeling one with any single person I come in contact with, because in truth he or she is my brother or sister. Happy Feast Day, Family!

Are You Willing to Ride The Coaster With Me?

"I always feel like I'm on a roller coaster, but I never want to get off. There's a certain high you're always on."

- Leonardo DiCaprio

     Many of you have heard the metaphor, "Life is a roller coaster," or, "I've been on an emotional roller coaster." As a young kid, I always loved roller coasters. I loved the thrill of buckling in and of speeding up the initial slope and going at super fast speeds. As I got older, I ventured to those upside-down coasters and eventually, even the ones that go backwards at high speeds. I absolutely loved roller coasters and I still do. There is something so thrilling about going at high speeds over bumps and through twists and turns, upside-down and backwards. Most of the time, I could easily throw my hands up in the air and let go freely, knowing that I was strapped in for the ride. The feeling of flying through the air, with the wind in my hair and my wings spread was amazing. However, there were some roller coasters as a kid that sometimes I would have to hold onto because I didn't weigh enough to be held down or I was scared and reached out to hold the hand of one next to me. 

      My love of roller coasters can easily be adapted to my discernment. Discernment of any kind is an emotional and spiritual roller coaster, especially when applied to my discernment of religious life. There are so many instances where I might feel overjoyed and then spiritually neglected. There are days when I can only smile beamingly because of how aware of God I am or days when all I want to do is cry. There are days when I feel like I am so ready for this life and days when I just want to give up. Yes, it is very obviously a roller coaster ride for me. For some, discernment is a straight and easy ride, but because God knows how much I love roller coasters, He is sure taking me on the ride of my life. You see, many people don't like the emotional roller coasters and yet, I am at peace with the roller coaster of my life. 

      Now, aside from my love of roller coasters, there is something else we must think about: who is on this roller coaster with me? Some people truly dislike roller coasters or they cannot ride the coaster but while they won't/can't ride with me, they'll be waiting at the end of the ride or cheering me on from the queue or taking my picture as I ride. Some people love roller coasters just as much as I do and are more than willing to the ride the coaster with me. These are the people who are willing to put their hands up right next to me, or hang on for dear life when life gets scary. Finally, there are the people who will ride with me but with hesitation. They are more scared to ride the coaster than I am. You see, I can't force people to ride the emotional roller coaster of my discernment, but I can invite my family and friends to ride. Some may ride and some may "sit this one out." Either is ok. It's comforting to know that there are some willing to ride and others willing to cheer me on. Regardless of who is with me, I am at peace knowing that my discernment will not be an easy and smooth ride; it will certainly be a roller coaster of the most extreme. Are you willing to ride with me?