What if God is on Social Media?

"Christ has no online presence but yours.

No blog, no Facebook post on earth but yours.

Yours are the tweets through which love touches the world.

Yours are the post through which the Gospel is spread.

Yours are the updates through which God blesses the world.

Christ has no online presence but yours."

- Sr. Rose Pacatte, FSP

     Last week, I had the blessed opportunity to present a portfolio of all my best work from my graduate studies to a prestigious board of professors and doctors of Theology. As I was reviewing all of my best work, I was surprised at the common theme throughout my writing: women's role in the Catholic Church. Women, in general, have been the spotlight in almost every recent big news coverage. Feminism has been given plenty of new definitions and yet, there are still a plethora of women who are still struggling to find their place in it all. I am a millennial, I am part of the Social Media generation, and I am a firsthand witness to the brokenness of the world.
     In discussing this common theme, I was ask by the board to consider, given all that I have learned, discovered and researched, how faith informs culture and vice versa. In reflecting on this, I found myself writing away at how faith can heal and reconcile the brokenness of the world. I focused on my role as Campus Minister at an all girls' school and the conversations I often am privy, too. Students express brokenness of all kinds, sometimes without even recognizing themselves doing so. My students are stressed out by the world of academia, they feel extreme pressures to perform according to unwritten codes of Instagram and Visco, they are inundated with standards presented to them by the media, they are constantly told what they should be like, not appreciated for the truth of what they already are like. The truth is, their experience of culture is very broken. And so the experience of faith, which I can give to them via retreats, Liturgies, Sacramental opportunities and more, play a huge part in the beginning of repairing the effects of that brokenness in their lives. I know this because they express this to me.
     As I look back, I am critical of my response. I only chose to defend how faith can inform culture, specifically through the lens of reparation, reconciliation and healing. At the end of my presentation, one of my professors encouraged me to consider how culture might inform faith in the same way, especially given the fact that the entirety of my presentation focused on women's role in the Church. I have been thinking of this challenge to consider faith's brokenness and how culture might influence it. I have also been side by side considering what is happening in our secular world today, especially for women. Should these topics be compartmentalized or rather, can they even be separated from one another. As a human being who is both woman and Catholic, I feel torn. And yet, perhaps I should be uplifted.

       In addition to these thoughts rattling around in my brain and my making sense of them, I attended the annual Edith Stein Lecture at my alma mater, Immaculata University. This lecture has been taking place over a number of years and each year, I feel my faith being stretched in beautiful ways. Last night's topic was "Faith and Social Media," and the speaker was a Daughter of Saint Paul, S. Rose Pacatte. She approached the topic, not as a non-millennial whose life is seemingly disrupted by the use of Social Media, as many who came before me are. But rather, she focused on how one could utilize Social Media to spread the Gospel. It was then that I started to connect the dots. Catholicism and those in the older generations have contributed the brokenness of culture to the constant use of Social Media. Students don't speak to one another, there's not place for Social Media during Mass and because of this, Social Media has contributed highly, if not wholly, to the complete disarray of our world. One could use many examples to back up this theory. And yet, while she did not say it, as S. Rose was speaking, I felt that she very easily could have said that faith is broken, just as much as culture.
     It may be controversial to say, but from my personal perspective, I can very easily see the brokenness of my faith. I have seen and am still seeing many of my peers leaving the church. They say there is no room for women in the Church. They question how one can continue to be a faithful Catholic in light of the sexual abuse scandal. They express concern for how millennials can practice a faith that seems to have nothing to support their experience of culture. I hear them. I see exactly what they say. And yet, if my faith hadn't saved me from the brokenness of our culture when it did, I would be in the same position. But I am not. When I say I am Catholic, others wonder how I can still be one. When I say I am a feminist, others have painted a picture of me that certainly does not line up with my Catholic faith. When I say I am a Catholic feminist, others roll their eyes in confusion - how can I be both?
     Faith, as I have said, was integral in my filtering of culture. It allowed me to heal the confusion within: when faith tells me one thing and culture says another, which do I choose? Faith gave me the hope that there is room for women theologians, for deeper women's spirituality, for women's involvement in the rearing of Mother Church. Faith gave me the understanding I would need to accept culture for the goodness it had but also to disregard its evil. So now, here I am on the flip-side. I am not blind to the brokenness I see inside my own faith structure; I am more privy to it because I am within. But I am also outside of the faith, when I view the untruths of secular culture. So is there a place for me? And is there a place for Social Media to heal our broken faith? Last night's lecture told me yes. More than ever before there is a place.
     S. Rose quoted her community's founder and said, "if the Church is not there, we do not exist" in reference to Social Media. I have never been bashful about posting my Catholic practices on Social Media, I mean honestly, I've had this blog for what seems like one hundred years. But most people my age are not reading blogs. They are viewing images on Instagram and content on Facebook. In my humble opinion, Twitter is basically dead and if not, will be by the end of this presidency (no one cares that much). I have often "checked in" at church (because, yes Dad, I am still attending weekly Mass). I have posted uplifting messages in support of peers who are going through a hard time. I have shared posts by my home parish, by religious communities or by technological religious figureheads. I have re-tweeted, re-grammed and shared a billion things. Yet, is it enough. Am I only scratching the surface of allowing culture and my use of Social Media to help mend the brokenness of my faith.
     In the end, I came to the conclusion that no, I am not doing enough. I can do so much better with my posts. I have such a unique position in the sense that I love my faith, despite the Church's faults, because my experiences are much different than those who have seemingly be marginalized for a plethora of reasons. I must share the goodness of the Church and I can do it via the venues my peers use on the daily. I can use Social Media as a forum for discussion and faith-formation. I fill my instagram story with more than images of my dog and my husband (and also my baking adventures....). And the thing I think I must be better at doing is not only expressing the fact that I am praying for others, but asking publicly for prayer. I am strong, but I am also weak. I need the support as much as I can give it.
     I have no one hundred percent come to the conclusion of the relationship between faith and culture, mostly because I am living in it as it grows and changes. But I do feel as if now, culture can and should inform faith, especially via the venues of social media. As broken as our culture is, our faith is also broken. But as beautiful as our faith can be, so also can our use of social media be. Be the positive driving force today. And please, if you have the chance, prayer for me, too.

The Blessed Gift of Spouse

"At home in bed a few weeks before he died, I asked him, 

'Can you breathe okay with my head on your chest like this?'

He answered, 'It's the only way I know how to breathe.'"

- "When Breath Becomes Air," Paul Kalanithi

    I've been debating whether or not to keep this blog, since it's original purpose seemingly doesn't exist. However, after obvious months of quiet and yes, contemplation, I was inspired yesterday to keep writing. It is, still, a road less traveled: two young people, married and Catholic who have lived their lives and continue to do so according to Catholic faith and practice. On September 8, Mary's birthday, we will be married for nine months. In those nine months, I've learned more than I ever thought possible. I've laughed more than I ever have, and yes, I've cried, too, but that's because tears are a good thing and I cry when I'm really happy. 

     A few weeks ago, one of the Sisters I am close with said to me, "You're so happy; I love talking to you and hearing about your life. I think that's what happens when you marry your best friend." Ten years ago, I had a different plan in my mind. I always say now, God had me on that path so I wouldn't end up with the wrong man. Joe and were friends for a while and I even knew his parents well before we started dating. I thought then, during our friendship, that his support was immense and wonderful. But I had no idea he would become all the more supportive when we got married. 

     The thing is, when I teach my Vocations and Human Sexuality class to my seniors, the girls always ask questions like, "Wouldn't you want to live together to know if you could live together before you were married?" "Don't you want to know everything you can about each other before you get married?" and "How will you know how each other functions before you get married?" We didn't live together until December 9 around 12:30AM after I drove there in a wedding dress. And we have survived nine months together. I didn't know some things about him and there are certainly things he didn't know about me. Over the past few weeks, I have been reflecting on this, truly counting my blessings. 

      This morning, I forgot to change the toilet paper roll and there wasn't anything left on the roll. I made a mental note to replace it after I finished making breakfast, hopefully before Joe woke up. I forgot and later, long after he had left for work, I realized he had replaced the empty roll with a new one. Every night when I make dinner, I am usually a disaster in keeping the area clean. I pile dishes in the sink, there's almost always onion skin on the floor and I most definitely am always splashing sauce or gravy or marinade somewhere. I like to think it's my creative side showing, but I know it's just because I'm messy. After dinner, without complaint, he washes the dishes and fills the dish washer. He's really good at folding laundry, not so good at sorting it, so we split it. And every night, before bed, he fills a glass with water for me just in case I get thirsty in the middle of the night. 

     It's all these things that make me grateful for him, because he doesn't complain about sharing the duties or taking care of me. But remembering these things leads me to deeper reflection: I need him. I could survive on my own, yes. But his companionship completes me. I have realized over the past few weeks (and I realize this may be an audacious thing for a newly wed to say) why God gives us spouses. There are trials and tribulations that happen throughout life that we cannot plow through alone. Yes, we have friends and family who can be there to help us through, but our spouse is obligated to be there through good times and bad. I didn't marry Joe with the intent of keeping him around to be my support, but he has been that for me. Some days are filled with ups and downs and at the end of the day, my favorite place to be is in his arms. His arms are the strong walls of my home and in them, I feel the safest and most secure. When I'm not with him, despite whether I am currently happy, I miss him; I wish he was with me experiencing my joys, too. 

     God gives us spouses as companions, as friends, as confidantes, as people to share in our joys or our sorrows. I think what is most important is that Joe is my spouse and he's only for me and vice versa; I am only for him. How special and unique and amazing it is to think about that: God designed someone else to be my perfectly fitting puzzle piece. While God was creating me with all my personality, my quirks and my nooks and crannies, He was also creating Joe to perfectly compliment that for me. (Or maybe it's the other way around, since Joe is a few months older). It's fascinating, mind-boggling and not easy to fully grasp. We are only for each other because we were made that way. And I am so grateful for that gift. 

      The gift of my spouse is one that I have truly considered deeply in these last few days before school starts up again, mostly because I have had the time but also the inspiration. I've had many questions for God and our conversations have reached great depth. His answer to me over and over his been, "Trust my time. You need this trial to become stronger together. Keep strengthening your marriage." And so we have. Simply by being together and even at times, doing nothing together, we have been made stronger. Through consistent prayer and going to Mass together, our relationship with God, both individually and as a couple, has made us stronger. By seeing each other vulnerable and emotional, as well as over joyed and ecstatic, we have been made stronger. And without the other, we certainly couldn't be where we are today. God has blessed us through every up and down and I'm grateful for my spouse, the one who loves me beyond understanding, in good times and in bad. 

A Reflection on Trust

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart, 

on your own intelligence rely not.

In all your ways, be mindful of Him,

and He will make straight your paths."

- Proverbs 3:5-6

    I am on the first floor by the faculty lounge in school. I am walking to class with my laptop in my arm, the text books piled on top and my coffee mug in my right hand. A student calls my name from behind, "Miss G, Miss G!" I turn around and seemingly begin to solve the world's most recent crisis. As I speak with the student, I feel one of my upper right teeth begin to wiggle so with my tongue, I push it back into place. But before I can get it to stay, it falls out in the middle of my conversation. The student seems not phased by this personally mortifying experience and continues speaking at a rapid pace. I bend down to pick up the tooth off the floor and try to make my way to the faculty lounge to get a cup. The student finishes explaining her crisis and leaves.
    The next thing I know, a few of my colleagues are talking to me, all from different places in the room about different things. All I am trying to do is get a cup with some milk in it - I need to put my tooth there so I can get it put back into my mouth after school. As I stand up after getting the milk, I realize that more of my teeth are loose and wiggly. I'm trying not to speak as much so I can keep my teeth in my mouth, but colleagues keep asking me questions. Each time I open my mouth, more teeth fall out. I'm getting good at catching them all in the cup of milk I've replaced my coffee mug with.
   Finally, I get to class. Late, of course, since I was busy catching all my falling-out teeth. Then a student comments something about my dress, in front of the class. Trying not to be mortified that part of my dress has been stuck in my nylons all day, I put my things down on the desk and adjust my dress. When I open my mouth to say thank you, the rest of my teeth fall out and I no longer have a single tooth in my mouth. The worst part about this whole thing is that not a single person noticed my teeth falling out and I am mortified thinking about how terrifying I must look with my teeth in cup and not in my mouth. I start to sweat and get nervous and before I can say another thing, I wake up.

     It's about 4 am now and I'm worried about whether or not I closed the windows in my office before I left, knowing for well that even if I did, Sharon would have closed them after she took the trash from my room that day. At about 4:30 am, I'll roll over and start worrying about whether or not I emailed the priest a confirmation email about coming to say Mass five months into the school year. It's August. And around 5 am, I'll flip onto my stomach in hopes that a different position will help me sleep but instead I can only think about what people would say about me if I actually didn't have any teeth and what they already say about me for any type of reason. About 5:30 am I'll have exhausted myself from thinking too much and I'll start dreaming again. But if the tooth dream comes back, I'm up for good.

     The amount of times I have a dream about losing my teeth is astronomical. Would I say once a week? Depends on the time of year. But honestly, I've had the tooth dream more times than I can count. While it may sound strange, this tooth dream is one of the most commonly recorded dreams that people have. So I know I'm not the only one waking up feeling like a weirdo having dreamt about teeth. But there's two important factors of my reoccurring dream that I'd like to point out. First, no one in my dream ever notices my teeth falling out; only me. While I think that watching someone's teeth fall out might be extremely traumatizing, it never seems to be the case in my dream. I'm the only one worried about it. Second, I cannot control my teeth. As much as I try to keep them all in my mouth, I fail over and over again. And this is what it means to me: when I'm worried about something, usually I'm the only one worried about it. And what I'm worried about, I usually can't control. Yet, time and time again, I lose hours of sleep over worrying about things I really can't control.

     Last week, I went to Mass and then coffee with a dear Sister friend of mine who has been a part of my life for about ten years now. We always have beautiful conversation that is sometimes light-hearted and other times we try to tackle our understanding of the woes of the world. This time, while telling great stories, laughing loudly and catching up (though I feel, we always pick up where we left off despite the time!), we also began talking about a lot of the latest news stories and the empathetic sadness we feel. That conversation transitioned into a conversation about worrying and our inability to trust at times, despite great faith in God. Why do we worry? What makes us anxious? Why do we let so many things, out of our control, bother us so greatly? We didn't reach a conclusion. But it did lead me down a small road of reflection on trust. How do I actually surrender my anxieties to God and be free of worry?
     A few nights after I saw Sister, I had the darn tooth dream again. But instead of waking up and laying in my bed freaking out for hours, I start praying. I've been having the tooth dream for years and I learned that praying was the best way for me to relieve my worry (and also get back to sleep). I was worried about something huge, something I won't share here, but I remembered back to the conversation I had with Sister a few days prior. We reminded ourselves then that in our moments of weakness and worry, we need to discern what is truly from God. We agreed that sometimes God puts worry in our heart for a good reason, perhaps to keep us from doing something that might bring harm. But God would never wish us to worry ourselves into exhaustion and so this anxiety that wakes me up at night can't be from God. So I began to pray, "Jesus, Your will be done. Not mine. And please, show me Your will."
     Another Sister I know used to tell me to be specific when praying to Jesus. It's not testing God as in saying, "Jesus send me a blue butterfly at 12:15 today to show me your listening." But rather, "Jesus, I am doubting and I need you to be overwhelmingly obvious today. And let me know it's you." That's what I prayed when I woke up. I did not go out of my way to make anything different about my day. I simply woke up, got dressed and ready to go, drove to Joe's house and we went to Mass together.
     Whenever we can, we join each other for Mass at our parishes. That being said, our parish families have really gotten to know us as a couple. So when we walked in, one of the ushers asked Joe and I to bring up the gifts. We accepted this gift and went to find a pew after passing the pastor on our way. He simply nodded a hello as Mass was going to begin soon. We prayed together and when we sat down, I told Joe that I needed him to pray for my heart; I was anxious. I also told him, I was waiting for Jesus to make his will obvious to me to reassure me. Joe simply said, "I know you worry. It will be okay."
     As Mass began, I remember thinking about how Jesus has so clearly made himself and his plan known to me recently. I haven't experienced this worry until now. All of my prayers have pointed me in this direction. And I knew that this was the devil really abusing my worrisome heart. This worry was not of God. This I knew. But my humanity needed reassurance. I received that reassurance when Father began his homily talking about a couple who had just celebrated their 50th anniversary yesterday in the church. We applauded them and father spoke a bit about how a marriage stays successful. Prayer. I admit, I was letting my mind wander in prayer a bit when I felt Joe gently tapping my leg. He was getting up and I was confused. Father had invited a newly engaged parishioner to the altar with his future bride. That newly engaged parishioner was Joe and I was his future bride. Immediately, happy tears starting falling down my face as I thanked Jesus in my heart for truly outdoing himself this time.
      Father talked with us a bit on the altar and then invited the entire congregation to pray over us. He prayed through Mary's intercession, another God-wink for me, and I simply held Joe's hand feeling a wave of grace wash over me. When we went back to our pew, I quickly whispered to Joe, "Jesus answered my prayers." He squeezed my hand and responded, "I know."

      The truth is, human beings worry. We worry about a ton of things we can't control. We doubt despite the fact that everything in life has pointed us this way. We get anxious about little things like how people perceive us, what they think about our actions and more. But this is not of God. While I think it's safe to assume I'll most likely be woken up by the tooth dream again, I know that Jesus can calm my spirit. I know that no matter how big or little my worry, Jesus will make himself overwhelmingly known to me. He will constantly reassure me in my doubts. And to have a fiance that believes this, too, is beyond blessing.

Pilgrimage (The Catholic Version of a Music Festival) Pt. 1

"If music be the food of love, play on."

- Twelfth Night, Shakespeare

      Most recently there has been plenty of articles about going to music festivals. There's the pre-festival hype, the "how you know you survived (enter name here) music festival," and the post-festival blues. While I've never experienced going to a music festival as huge as Glastonbury or Coachella, I participated in a walking pilgrimage this weekend and based on what Buzzfeed has to say, they are basically the same thing. Only a pilgrimage has way home to offer. 

     While I couldn't participate in the entire 3/4 day walking pilgrimage, I was blessed enough to participate in the last day during which I walked just about ten miles. The group with whom I walked started at St. Adalbert's Parish in Port Richmond and walked for three days to the National Shrine of Our Lady of Czestochowa in Doylestown. That's a lot of miles and a lot of walking. People of all ages partook in the pilgrimage from various different places. Overall, there were about 3000 people at the closing mass. The youngest pilgrim was only a few months old and the oldest was 79 years old. There were families, single people, children, babies, and older people. There were people who spoke only Polish and people like me, who didn't understand a single word. Oh, I forgot to mention that 99% of the pilgrimage was in Polish. So, needless to say, that was an interesting part of my journey. 

      As we walked, we prayed, we listened to faith witnesses, we sang, we danced, we praised the Lord. We made friends, sisters and brothers. Despite not being able to speak the main language of the weekend, I was able to connect with so many people. I was surrounded in so much faith and felt closer to those with whom I walked and prayed. I experienced God in a brand new way and it was beautiful. The faith sharing, the pain from walking so far, the getting to know people on a faith level, was beautiful. 

      We made it to the shrine about 12:15pm and we were to celebrate Mass together at 2:00pm. As we were waiting for Mass to begin, we watched the church get filled and packed like sardines. People were every where, even on the altar. I felt that despite never having experienced something to this capacity, I felt like I knew all about it; like I had read about it some where. Then I saw a few girls walk into the church with those weird flower headband things people wear. That's when I realized, I had read all about something similar this pilgrimage. Music festivals are all the rage and the similarities are insane. Here's what I discovered: 

1. Pilgrimages are filled with music, clapping, and dancing. Just like music festivals (duh). People walk with their guitars and play it at the most random times. All the cool kids have one. There's also drums, violins, flutes; you name it, it's there. People just join your walking group with instruments and play right along with whoever is there. Even when you aren't walking and you're sitting for a break, there's music being played somewhere. If someone can't play an instrument or didn't bring one, there's always a voice to be heard. People who can sing, sing and people who can't sing, sing. There's lots of clapping, dancing, and laughing. The only difference between music at a pilgrimage and music at a music festival? We sing hymns instead of pop culture music. 

2. Showering is few and far between. Basically you shower the morning of the pilgrimage, then walk all day only to sleep on a Church hall floor. There's no showers. The next day, same thing. Walk all day, stop at the Church, no showers. Three days of this. If it rains, you're going to get dirty. To keep packing light, you bring maybe two sets of clothes. You're going to smell. You're going to get sweaty. You're going to have terribly stinky feet. Your hair will be knotty, greasy, icky. You're children will be even dirtier because somehow kids always manage to get dirtier when they do the same activities as parents. You're going to have to get comfortable with the fact that everyone stinks after three days. And don't even think about apologizing for your stench. I repeat, everyone stinks. 

*according to my sources pilgrims do shower. I rest my case, however, because there were no showers in the church hall. They get water...somehow!*

3. You're going to get very close with people. At music festivals one typically pitches a tent in a field of tents. You get to know your neighbors pretty quickly because if not, you'll forget where your tent is. On a larger scale, pilgrimages do encourage you to pack a tent or a hammock. The truth is on a walking pilgrimage, one is never really sure where he or she will be sleeping. In this case, people were camped out on church hall floors. EVERYONE WAS IN ONE ROOM. That's right, babies, kids, parents, single people, everyone. Imagine getting some sleep after a very long day of walking. By day three, you're bound to be exhausted. 

4. You make friends in the most unique ways. In many cases, music festivals bring together people from every language and culture. Pilgrimages, too. Now while this pilgrimage was mostly a Polish pilgrimage, there were still people of many different cultures represented. People say the universal language is love. Most times I agree. But this weekend, there were two universal languages: coffee and God. And since God is love, well I guess the universal language was LOVE. Truth is. It doesn't matter, it didn't matter what language I spoke. People were grabbing my hands, dancing, singing and talking with me whether I understood them or not. You learn how to communicate despite a language barrier (I had a personal translator though which was fun. Thanks, Sister!). The people you walk with are suddenly your sisters and brothers. They hug you, kiss you, make you dance and sing and feel like a complete fool for Jesus. It's amazing. 

5. You are forever changed. A pilgrimage changes you. Whether you walked because you wanted to, someone invited you, or you were basically fighting the Lord and someone dragged you along, you will be changed. You will not be able to recognize your feet after a few days. I kid you not. Your feet will probably be covered in bandages, gold bond and have a number of blisters. You will have terrible tan lines, too. Especially if you're a nun. Talk about only have tan wrists, ankles and ears (but only half way). Your feet, face and hands will be so physically changed. But don't worry, it's only temporary. Your heart will change, too. You will feel a peace, joy and excitement like never before. There is nothing more beautiful to me than a group of people singing, dancing and chanting praise to the Lord. At music festivals you experience the praise and worship of various different rockstars. At pilgrimage, you experience the praise and worship of the ultimate rockstars: Jesus and Mary. Your heart will unknowingly be changed by the sacrifices, the witnesses, the homilies, the sacraments. Your soul will become closer to Jesus and there's no question about it. You will feel this indescribable joy rising in your soul with every drum beat, every clap, every footstep. It feels like a thousand drum beats rising in your soul. It's amazing. 

And finally...

6. You will experience a post-pilgrimage depression. The whole time you are walking, you are walking on public streets and pathways. People driving or walking by will think you are crazy. Yet, as you are walking, you wave and think about those crazy people who do not yet know the truth of the Lord's goodness. Why aren't they joining us? you think. And just when you think that, people run and join the back of the pilgrimage. Your whole life for however many days was simply music, joy, peace, prayer, love behind all description. When you leave, reality hits you hard. You must learn to communicate in a normal way. You will experience a reverse culture shock when you go home. Living your day to day life for Jesus will be difficult again because you are no longer surrounded by people who sing and dance and pray. And as much as you might like to do that all the time, basic reality says, not exactly. However, there are plenty of ways to infiltrate your pilgrimage experience in your every day life. I promise; life after pilgrimage exists. 

     Pilgrimages aren't exactly like Musical Festivals, but the sentiments that people feel when they go to one are similar. I encourage each Catholic young person, child and old person alike to do a pilgrimage. Whether it's a day, three days, two weeks, whatever, do it. Music Festivals are great but here at pilgrimage, there is God. Jesus is present, He permeates this place. He lives and breathes and is so real. You can feel the arms of our loving Mother around you in every hug and embrace. You experience beauty in a whole different way. It's amazing. 

     Of course, the truth is that whether you experience a walking pilgrimage like I did or not, you are a pilgrim. We are pilgrims on a journey from the day of our Baptism. Our life is a journey in finding, loving and living in relationship with Jesus. Our walk from our pews to the altar during Holy Communion is a pilgrimage. It is a reminder that as we live and breathe we are journeying with Jesus.  So journey. Get those good shoes (sandals and socks) on and begin living out your journey for Jesus. You're on the journey, just out your heart in it. Trust me, my sister or brother, pilgrimage is an experience like no other. 

Introducing Mama Mary to the Methodists

"Gentle Mother, Peaceful Dove,

teach us wisdom, teach us love."

- "Hail Mary, Gentle Woman" Carey Landry

     It was time for one of my most favorite weeks of the Summer: Vacation Bible School. I was anxious to be back in the grove of actually doing something with my Summer, but also because I got to spend a week with some of my favorite people on Earth. It's only one week a year that I really get to see them, unless we bump into each other in the neighborhood. But, as Miss Char and I agreed at the end of the week, when we do finally see each other after a year, it's like no time lapsed. And that, my friends, is due to the fact that we carry each other in prayer every day.

     I couldn't wait to meet my group of favorite ladies Saturday morning to help set up for VBS the following week. There is nothing quite like carrying around the giant industrial roll of packaging tape and struggling with every rip. Of course, really I was looking forward to all the hugs and laughter that often come when I'm with them. It's always like being welcomed back into a family. And my favorite part of the morning came when Miss Carol essentially tackled me on the ground with a hug that simply said, "Bec, I've missed you."

     Monday, orange night, the first night of VBS came quickly. Our theme for the week: "Workshop of Wonders." Essentially we were talking about all the ways we can imagine, build, grow, walk and work with God. Of course, every time this was said, the room erupted in a shout of "GEAR UP." I was blessed yet again to be working with the always lovely "Miss Christine" and "Miss Kelsey." Words cannot describe these lovely ladies. They simply amaze me with their selflessness and I've seen it throughout the years. The best part about our trio...we are all the same age. Yep, you got that right: the youngest VBS teachers. We are a triple threat. The night began with a welcome, lots of bathroom runs, and a little bit of anxiety from some new comers. Yet, the end of the night, there was a sigh of relief from all of us: we were blessed with a particularly sane group of first and second graders. That was until Tuesday night came along....

    Tuesday night we were blessed with a few new lovely students. We now officially had a full class: fifteen. The whisper of a blessing of a particularly difficult student joining our class started surfacing and I couldn't seem to figure out which one he or she was. Of course, when we got to the workbook segment of our night (literally only about a half hour into the night), there was no need to guess. It was clear that this particularly difficult child had to be the sticker fiend. As the night wore on, the triple threat team was getting worn out. We were trying everything to get the class to calm down but as many of you know, once one starts, it's down hill from there. 

     The next night seemed to be a level higher than the night before when it came to behavioral episodes for a few of our students. It was then that I began to pray for sanity and patience. At one point, after our game, we had a sit down breathing moment. We had everyone go from our tables one by one and this seemed to work. By Wednesday night, I was feeling so worn out. Two more days, I thought. Then, I realized I never, ever count down to the end of VBS. Something was wrong...but of course, I casually remembered the faces of all the little ones who made it worth it. As much as I and the other members of our triple threat team were feeling worn down by the craziness of our class, I knew that there was God in these hectic moments. 

     Thursday night, I thought it would be a good night. During our songs of praise in the beginning, no one was aggravating another and everyone seemed to line up nicely without having to be asked more than once. This was also the night that I got to the read the story. Sidenote: I absolutely LOVE to read to people. I love reading stories out loud because it just makes me so happy. I also love to do weird voices and stuff so there's that...Anyway, instead of sitting at the table for story time tonight, we had them all sit on the floor around my chair. I asked them all for their eyes. If they weren't paying attention, I simply put my hand on their head. It was like a miracle happened...until the ice cream fiasco. 

      For our activity that night we were making ice cream. You know, ice and salt in a bag with cream, sugar and vanilla in another bag. Shake it up and in five minutes, you should get some ice cream. It was absolutely hilarious to see all our kids shaking and baking their ice cream. They were jumping, laughing, and simply enjoying themselves. We were enjoying watching them enjoy the moment and their eventual ice cream. That was until ice cream suddenly came flying through the air at us. Yes, within seconds we were splattered with some nice sugary ice cream and we weren't exactly happy about it. Of course, this type of outburst required some discipline. So, as you might guess, we needed some isolation from the group. 

      We had two more rotations to go and our dear ice cream flinger was with me for the rest of the night. While the class enjoyed their snack together, we enjoyed snack, just the two of us, at a separate table. What I noticed about this particularly difficult little boy was that when we were one on one, he was well-behaved. He didn't act out because he was getting attention. So, I asked him about his likes and dislikes. He liked reading and drawing comics. For the next half hour, we drew comics. The entire time, I prayed. I prayed to Mary, asking her to help me be a gentle mother to this little boy. I felt a flood of patience come over me and I felt strong enough to deal with this seemingly troubled child of God. Of course, his discipline didn't end there, as we had agreed he wouldn't participate in Music at the end of the night. So, after having a nice chat about how we were going to behave the next night, we sat in the back of the church. After a few moments of not wanting to listen, this little one quickly fell asleep. And I? Well, I continued to pray to Mary. Yes, my friends, I whipped out my Rosary and started praying to Mary in the Methodist church.

     However crazy that may seem, for me, this was normal. Last week, I had been up around school and was out for a run. I didn't have any headphones in or anything, I was simply running and praying. Behind me, at one point, Sister Margaret pulled up and asked me how I was doing. Great, Sister. Then she saw my rosary and let me go on my merry way. Pulling out my Rosary in the most random, peculiar places is something I could probably be known for. So, pulling out my Catholic Rosary in a Methodist church was nothing. Before I left, Miss Carol pulled me aside and mentioned my incredible patience with out little friend. She told me she thought I was much akin to Mother Teresa. Later that night, I posted about praying to Mama Mary as Gentle Mother. When a few of our team commented, I promised to tell the story of Mama Mary and me. 

     On our last night of VBS, I got there a little early to tell the story about Mama Mary. All night while I was praying to Mama Mary for patience and gentleness, the song "Hail Mary, Gentle Woman" was playing in my head. Gentle mother, peaceful dove, teach me wisdom, teach me love. I kept saying it over and over and over. When I laid in bed Thursday night, I realized how great Mama Mary was to me. She had given me the grace to be patient and gentle mother. She had taught me love yet again. As I was telling Miss Carol this, I started to recite the words to the song. Of course, the song begins by chanting the Hail Mary. As I started, Miss Carol finished. I was so confused. It turns out she knew a little bit about Mama Mary already. 

     The thing I love about being with my Methodist family is that we can faith share in incredible capacities. While we may not practice our faiths entirely the same, we can still join together in prayer. We can still talk about Scripture. We can still share things about our faiths...like me sharing about Mama Mary. Working with my Methodist family reminds me of my belief that we can all connect over faith. We can always travel with each other in prayer and that is so important. I love being with them because there are no boundaries to love. Every year, VBS comes at a time when I need it the most. Little did they know, but I needed VBS so much this year. I needed a sense of purpose and it came when I saw the faces of those little children. But more importantly, I needed a chat with Mama Mary. Who would have known that it would be through my Methodist family that I would find a gateway to prayer with Mary, my Mother. Of course, I also really needed a chance to catch up with my dearest Sisters in Spirit and mentors. Shout out to all the lovely people who helped me discover my Catholic faith a little deeper by living out so proudly your Methodist faith. 

Neighbors Are...Methodists and Family

"You shall love your neighbor as you love yourself."

     We were hanging up balloons in the church on the pillars...well, trying to at least. We were failing miserably. The pillars were made of wood and the latex balloons just were not sticking with the scotch tape. There were three of us wrestling with the balloons and tape until finally, Miss Elaine came over to help us out. Here we were doing it all wrong...that was until, well, it popped right in her face. Oops. That's when, out of humorous distress Miss Carol exclaimed: how many United Methodists does it take to hang up a balloon? From a far, Miss Char chimed in: don't blame, her, she's a Catholic. Yep...me. 

     I have been helping out at Vacation Bible School at Wilkinson United Methodist Church for about four or five years now. It's been so many years of fun, that I can't quite remember. I know what you're all thinking: how did I, a little Catholic girl, get mixed up with all those Methodists? Well, there's a few reasons: first of all, the church was where my littlest sister went to Pre-K. Almost all the kids in Croydon go to Pre-K there. Second, both of my sisters have been participating in VBS since God knows when. Third, the church is literally right across the street from my house. And finally, Miss Elaine takes her pets to my mom's work, and off the cuff, my mom volunteered me. It's been uphill ever since. I honestly wouldn't have it any other way.

     I can remember the first moment all the volunteers found out I was the lone Catholic girl. It started with a mention that no one had ever seen me in church before. It grew to confessing I go to a different church and then quickly escalated to admitting I'm a Catholic...a proud one. I have always, since I was a little girl, been fascinated with religion. Not simply my Catholic faith, but all religions, their practices, their beliefs, everything. I immediately wanted to know everything about what it meant to be Methodist. And what could have easily turned into a "we're very different" chat, actually developed into a five year faith sharing process. 

     I love my Methodist family. I seriously just love them. Now that I've been volunteering with them a few years, being the lone Catholic girl has become a friendly joke and a beautiful thing. I can't tell you how much faith sharing I have done with these beautiful people. The only time I really do get to see them is during VBS which saddens me a bit, but alas, all in God's good time. I am constantly reminded by my dear friends that I am Catholic and that they love that about me. I have literally been accepted into their family and loved just the same. This whole idea has changed my life in so many ways, but especially because they have put into practice loving their neighbors as themselves and loving those who are different. I tell them we are like a family, each loved for our differences. It's like growing up in my family: my sisters and I are very different, yet I love them each for the different gifts they offer. My Methodist family has reminded me by their example to continuously love those around me who have even greater differences. 

     Like I said, my Methodist family is always reminding me of my Catholic faith, for example, Miss Char's exclamation of : "don't blame her, she's a Catholic." This week of VBS has been so beautiful for me especially in proclaiming my faith. Before, my Catholic faith was something I avoided talking about with them, if only to avoid awkward conversation. However, they have lead me on to holiness in a way that I openly proclaim my faith to them. This week, as many of you may know, we celebrated a Holy Day of Obligation in our Catholic Faith: the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary. On Wednesday night of Bible School, I went around reminding each of my little ones from our Parish, that they had to get to Mass the next day. I could see some of my dear friends looking on intriguingly. I didn't think anything of it. 

     Our Mary day came and went, and by Friday of Bible School, my heart was heavy. Like I said, I only get to really see my Methodist family once a year during VBS. I got there a little earlier to help my partners in crime, Miss Christine and Miss Kelsey, set up our "classroom" for our final night. Before I knew it, there was a crowd of people just mingling in our "classroom" before going up to the sanctuary. I guess I mentioned that I got up early and went to Mass and conversation sparked from there. We talked about how I go to Mass every day, how it's not an obligation, but rather only on Sunday and Holy Days, like Thursday. That's when Miss Char starts stumbling over a question she wanted to ask me. At first, I thought I knew what she wanted to ask me, but then she was having trouble formulating the words. Everyone was giving her a look that was between confusion and laughter. Finally she goes: have you ever, ya know, thought about becoming a nun? I smiled and nodded, knowing that was what she had been trying to say the whole time. I never really expected what happened next. Miss Char's eyes, after hearing me say that I have been thinking about entering religious life ever since I was little, started filling up with tears. I almost started crying. We quickly hurried up the stairs to get our students and start our final lesson. But at the end of the night, when I was saying my goodbyes to my dearheart Miss Carol, and Miss Char, I was told: I would literally love to have you as my daughter or granddaughter. You're going places, kid. I know it. 

      Over the week, the respect I gained for not only my eventual profession as a teacher but also my vocation grew immensely. Even though I am studying to be a high school teacher, teaching my little ones is always a blessing. I love doing teachery things and VBS is definitely one of them. But of course, vocation, as a discerner to religious life, stems from that as well. I always expect people to ask questions, even my Catholic Parish family, and so often people fulfill my expectations. I was never expecting to topic of discerning to even make a debut at VBS with my Methodist family, but Miss Char cut straight to the chase. I expected questions to follow, and eventually they did, but I never expected the tears. Miss Char, without knowing it, reminded me of the reason why I ever started discerning in the first place: the very beauty of it all. 

     I can honestly say that over the past seven years of open discernment to the religious life, there have been times when I feel as if I have fallen into a routine of discernment. There are many times where, although I know I am no where near being an official sister, I feel as if I am because I have been a part of the life for so long. There are times when I forget why I fell in love with Jesus so much in the first place. I can't tell you how many times in the past seven years that I have shed tears because I have truly known the love from Jesus and His continuous call for me. And yet, there are times when I forget this. Perhaps I hadn't forgotten it this time, but I know I wasn't thinking about it. Yet, Miss Char reminded me so beautifully that truly this is the vocation I feel so called to in this life. Yes, last night, as I prayed to thank God for such a beautiful week with such beautiful people, I cried because of His ultimate goodness. Oh He is just so good to me. 

    This week during Vacation Bible School we taught our students all about neighbors, both here in the USA and all over the world. We learned what makes up a good neighbor: friendliness, a giving, welcoming and forgiving attitude and boldness. We learned that no matter what our differences, we must always love and care for one another because we are all brothers and sisters with God as our father. And as for me, while it wasn't in the written curriculum, I learned not only the obvious (my neighbors are Methodist) but that as neighbors we must always uplift and support one another in everything we do; we must continuously pray for the to persevere in each one's vocation. Yep, I learned a little bit, too. 

     And so, I've got two questions for my Methodist family: Will you come to my final vow ceremony? And can I come back to help at VBS as a Sister?! 

(The Song for this Post can be found by using the following link: http://vimeo.com/60015661)

It is my favorite VBS song from this year :)

    

Meant To Be A.....

"You may say I'm a dreamer but I'm not the only one! I hope someday you'll join us." - John Lennon

For many of you, you know that it is Catholic Schools week! You might also know, whether by the infamous Facebook posts from moms or the giggling little ones standing outside of stores, that it's also Girl Scout Cookie season! Both of those events are key players in my crazy, adventure-filled week!
A few weeks ago before I went back to school, Sister Marcelina asked me to be a special person for her class on Special Persons day during Catholic Schools Week! Of course I said yes! CSW was my favorite week growing up and honestly, one of the reasons I was so sad when my grade school was closing was because our parish wouldn't be celebrating it anymore! But God had a different plan! Typically on Special Persons Day, parents or grandparents of the students come in and talk about their profession. That's great except, I'm neither a parent nor grandparent and I also don't have a profession!! So, at work on Monday morning, I was almost begging the sisters for prayers for inspiration for something to talk about! Having nothing, I pulled into the driveway of the school on Tuesday morning and sighed! Then I went to move by backpack from the front seat when I got the inspiration! My profession is that of a college student/teacher wanna-be! Needless to say, with no preparation at all, I carried my backpack into the classroom and began talking with the sixth graders about dreams and my dream to be an English High School teacher! It all started with one book, I told them: Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss! They loved it! At the end, I told them all that in order to achieve their dreams they have to want it and they have to work toward it, especially in college!! Admits all the talking and questions we also had music practice because I told then that I love to sing and then they performed their favorite song for me too! My morning with them ended with the two boys proposing my thank you gift to me in the front of the room! I couldn't stop laughing! As mug as I loved being in that classroom though, those kids certainly instilled in me that I am meant to be a HIGH SCHOOL TEACHER!
Later that day, I headed back to school to find a package in my PO Box! It was an entire case of mixed Girl Scout Cookies from the Brogan girls, Caleigh and Meghan! I was overjoyed....and so were my friends! At Mass the next day, I prayed for the Brogan family and realized how much in my heart I missed them all! But I was reminded too of how much faith in my vocation they instill in me! I don't think those girls know how much they instill that faith in my vocation! It is because of their faith that I know I am meant to be a sister!! Not because they drive me crazy (they are perfect little girls) but because they are a reminder of how many children I could affect with my love for Jesus!
And so, it's the little signs given to us from God that truly do help us know we are what He intends us to be! We simply have to be open to hearing His voice!

A Constant Reminder

"A constant reminder of where I can find Her light that might give up the way.

It's all that I'm asking for without Her I'm lost,

my Love don't fade away."

- "Reminder," Mumford and Sons

     I'm a huge Mumford and Sons fan. Their new CD has been on constant reply since it came out on Tuesday. I almost know every word to every song. However, like with most music, I can easily find my new favorite song. This time, it's "Reminder." So often, I've been able to relate so many of their songs to my God and my Faith. This song is no exception. From the moment I heard it, I instantly thought of Mary, JC's Mama. Now that may be because on top of the dome at school, Mary is not only overlooking us all, but she lights up. True story. However, today, as I drove home from visiting my high school, "Reminder" took on a whole new meaning. 

     For the past week, I've been in a stage of avoiding all people, being solitary and quite frankly, downright miserable. We all have our down days, mine just happened to last a week. Life is not always joy and sunshine; sometimes it has to rain. It rained (literally) for me this week. However, there was one thing that kept me hanging on: Wednesday night I was going home. And thank God for Sister Cathy who constantly reminded me of that notion (just another reason why she's wonderful). By Wednesday morning, even my body knew it was time to leave campus and go home; pain was everywhere. And so, by the grace of God and the kindness of friends and professors, I made it home earlier than expected. I needed my Teddy Bear, my bed and my little snuggling sister. And Wednesday night, I got that.

      Now usually on Thursdays, I head out with a group of three other crazy Secondary Education majors (AKA my best friends) and go to observations. Since I was home, I didn't head out with my three best friends, but rather my little sisters. Yes, little Lizzie and I went to Mass after we dropped Mary off at the carpool house! Soon after Mass, Lizzie was walking into school while I was heading to my Alma Mater for surprise observations with one of my closest friends, Sister Mary Anthony. The honest truth is that, I missed first and second period because of heavy city traffic, and she only taught one class since her Sophomores were on retreat. However, that doesn't make the day worse, but better.

      You see, whenever I walk through the front doors, I don't get a visitor pass, but rather, a smile, a hug and a beautiful "welcome home" from my principal and the ladies in the main office. After I arrived, later than expected, I headed toward where "my sister" would be. Instead of finding her, I found another dear sister of mine, Sister Teresa Mary (she's after Teresa of Avila, my main girl). For a half hour, we chatted and caught up, something we rarely get to do when I visit. She's always busy; I'm always busy. But today, God was working in full force with the graces. After our visit, I finally found my sister during the activity period.
      She's a new teacher at my alma mater, but she has taken the place by storm. All the girls love her bustling energy, her creativity and her willingness to go the extra ten miles. As she was conducting her CSC (Community Service Corps) meeting, a plethora of my previous teachers floated in and out of the student dining room, each one surprised to see me but had more than one hug ready for me. There's no other place in the world where it is acceptable to hold a previous student's face, tell her how wonderful she is and then hug her real tight as if it's been years. In no other place could I have possibly bonded with so many of the faculty that I am their family, their youngest grandchild, their favorite niece, their crazy sister, and even their equal. I am seen not as a graduate, but as a member of a family. And the hugs and love I receive each time I walk through the door, reminds me of a huge, Italian family. I love them all.
      The rest of the day held constant surprises for me, but the biggest surprise of all was being able to help out at the Sophomore Retreat. Within seconds of my entering the gym behind all the girls, Sister Michele casually mentioned there was a visitor in the room. Truth is, I looked around, questioning who this visitor might be. Finally, as Sister David started to laugh, I realized this "visitor" was me. However, as I walked down the aisle, with a hundred plus sets of (unknown) eyes watching me, Sister Michele began to explain how I really wasn't a visitor but rather part of the family. She told the girls how we met at my own Sophomore retreat and how much it had changed my life in such a beautiful way. She casually mentioned how she never knows where I am going to turn up next, whether in New Orleans, Jamaica, Chicago, Philadelphia, anywhere and she was just as surprised when she heard I was in the building today. Then, as she often does, asked if I wanted to say anything. Of course I did.
      Somehow, I came out with the most random and God-filled mini speech about being open to God and His Will. I talked about stepping over the line into God's hands and having to take not just one foot, but the other behind it. I had no idea where that came from, however, I felt all those eyes on me and I knew, I just knew God wanted those words to be said. When I finished, Sister David (she was the first sister I ever told about my discernment) said to me, "Sweetheart, you've been open since the day I met you. That was beautiful." I couldn't help be return the wonderful words and tell her how great she is.
      For the rest of the afternoon, I helped my sisters in running the remainder of the retreat and what fun we had. As I interacted with both the students and the faculty, I couldn't help but feel such excitement for teaching in my heart. I was once again reminded about how much I am meant to be a teacher, especially for these high school aged students who really need, as one of the faculty members said to me, "a cool, hip, number one Jesus fan."
     And quite honestly, I need them. They reminded me today of hope, hope for my career, for my life, and for what God is calling me to do, but as a young person and a religious. They reminded me that it's totally ok to have those rotten, miserable days, because there is always going to be someone to hug you and embrace you, whether a friend, family member, sister or Jesus. They reminded me to remain open. And of course the reminded me of the light Nazareth will always be for me. Truly, without Her I would be lost. Oh and ironically enough, Nazareth has a dome that lights up, too!

Always A Daddy's Girl

"A Daddy holds pictures of his daughters in his wallet 

where his money used to be."

"My father didn't tell me how to live; he lived and let me watch him do it."

-Clarence Budington Kelland

     This morning's Gospel was about Jesus telling the little ones to come to Him. Our homilist today spoke about how God loves when we act as children (not childish...) because children are so easy to love. In listening to the Gospel, I reflected back to a question sparked in one of my Theology classes my Freshmen year of College. Sister asked the class to imagine God as Daddy...not Father, but Daddy. She told us to imagine what He would look like, smell like, feel like, act like. I remember sharing with the class that my God as "Daddy" had a bristly beard and sat on the sofa after a long day of work. He would smell like oil and machinery, and wear a dark, plaid shirt that was soft from wear. He would probably have some stains on his pants, too, from work. But the best part of my God as "Daddy" was curling up on his lap and sticking my head in the crook of his neck while we napped and watched the news before dinner. I felt safe there and protected; nothing was going to hurt me. In response, Sister said, "Well that description is so good, either because you're an English major OR you've had that experience." Without realizing it, I had described a typical day with my earthly Daddy when I was younger. Yes my God as "Daddy" was exactly like my earthly Daddy. Which totally explains why I've always been a "Daddy's Girl" in both ways. 

       Last week, my daddy took off from work to spend a week's vacation with his three "little" girls. Every morning, after I would come home from Mass, we'd take off, headed for a new adventure. Whether we were going to Roadside America in the middle of no where Pennsylvania or traipsing through North Philadelphia just to find the "World's Largest Cellophaned  Piece of Apple Pie," it was a new adventure. My dad was always one to "wander." He has a gypsy soul and always had dream of sailing around the world, navigating by the stars. I love that about him. I guess that's where I get my desire for adventure and my own gypsy soul. I get my deep faith from my daddy, and my undying, obnoxious and rambunctious laughter from him, too. I get my quiet peace (occasionally) from him but what I really get from him, is his simplicity.

       "You're like a Sunday morning, full of grace and full of Jesus. I wish I could be more like you," I wish I could say to him, because it's true. He's the most humble man I know, and the most selfless. (I knew I was going to cry while writing this....) If anyone asks me about my daddy, I instantly go off talking about how much I love him. I talk about how is my best friend, and that without him, I don't know where I would be. I really do love my daddy so much because of all he selflessly does for me. He works twelve hours a day, five days a week just so he can put me and my sisters through CATHOLIC school. He comes home from those twelve hour shifts and cooks dinner for us kids. He drives out to school just to see me on a Sunday night at Mass. He'll mail me stupid things on crazy holidays just so I get mail (because I love mail). He does everything for me and so much more. I cry when I think of his humility, his simplicity and his gentleness. I love my daddy so much.

        This post can never do my dad any justice, but he is my biggest hero. I love him with all my heart. I want him to be there to walk me down the aisle when I make vows. I want him to bake my vow cake. I want him to dance with me at the after party I'm planning. I want him to be with me everywhere I go. And my deepest prayer is that he grows to be really, really, really, really old so I never have to let him go. I love you, Daddy. I can't thank you enough for everything, the sacrifices, the laughter, the love and the faith. I am so blessed to have such a wonderful Daddy.