From Convent to Conte

"You made the best choice for yourself.

Your heart was torn about where to go

and he came into your life at the perfect moment."

- S. Jeanette

      Two blog posts in one week? It must be summertime. Yet, despite this, I've been busy. But the desire to write and open my heart is louder than ever. I can hardly wait to sit in the pool tomorrow, but tomorrow is not yet here. And since I can't write in the pool (water and technology just don't mix apparently...hah!), why not use the best of the time I'm waiting for my class to begin? 

      Yesterday, I was so incredibly blessed to spend the day with some of the most beautiful people I know. For the past eight years, the service immersion week, CREW, has taken place. I participated in CREW as a awkward adolescent, helped out when I was in college (for the exception of when I spent time in SA) and was back last year (as an adult? yikes!). We had been planning for a great week this year, but as the odds have it, only a few signed up. So we decided to make the best of it: why not have a whole day dedicated to CREW. That's what I love about these women - they have creative hope. 

      And so, around 5:30 yesterday morning, I woke up, began to work on my annual duty assigned to me, and then headed to our CREW day for Mass and the day. Was I excited? Yes. See above mention of morning wake up time. Was I nervous? Also, yes. But why? Well, it was going to be the first time I had interaction with a lot of the sisters since before I was engaged. Now, it wasn't as if I was showing up, not having told anyone. They all knew. I figured telling them before I saw them all again, would break the ice a bit. So, why was I nervous? Well, to be honest, I can't really pinpoint an exact reason. But, I can tell you the exact second my nerves were eased. 

      Immediately after Mass, we had invited the girls for breakfast and as usual, I was lingering behind when S. Jeannette grabbed me by the hand gently. Sister has known me for what seems like eternity, but what is actually close to 11 years. Without actually spending large amounts of time together, she has watched me grow throughout my (really) award adolescent years into a young college woman and now, into a woman about to get married. How blessed am I to have so many women in my life willing to journey with me through those transitions! 

      So at any rate, she gave me a big hug and expressed a deep congratulations. Perhaps she could tell I was nervous. Perhaps she had been thinking this since I sent the house my announcement in the mail. I'm not quite sure, but she did always have a knack for telling me what I needed to hear. That's when she told me she felt that I made the right choice. She expressed knowing that I, for certain, had prayed about this. And then she told me that there was no question in her heart that I was struggling with choosing between some great communities. At the time when I was struggling the most, she believes that's when Joe entered my life. She truly believes he entered my life to ease the confusion of my heart. And when she said this, without ever having a conversation quite like it before, I felt instant peace wash over my heart. 

      My day was filled with adventure, as any day spent with the Sisters really is. I was able to welcome "home" a dear friend of mine, laugh with the Sisters I hadn't seen for a while, and yes, even rise to a rare occasion of dancing in the rain (by which I mean, chasing a Sister outside to help her with blow away chairs during a storm). Around suppertime, my nerves began to get at me again as slowly but surely more and more sisters began to join us for our picnic supper. That's when I took the chance to go run in the rain. We came back inside, soaked but laughing together. We squeezed puddles out of our hair/veil and laughed some more as we considered what any passersby may have thought. In that moment, I was set free again from my anxieties. I had strength to face the crowd of sisters who all knew about my engagement. 

     I guess I was expecting them to each express their disappointment that I wasn't entering religious life despite the fact that Joe and I have been dating for three years and most have met him. I guess I was also expecting some to express questions and I just wasn't ready to answer questions en masse. But my worrying was for naught. As I tried to stay away from any spotlight, sisters, quietly and seemingly, one by one, came to me, gave a hug and told me how proud they are or how happy they are for me and Joe. Some even asked me to retell each detail surrounding the night we were engaged. I was surrounded not only by a grand amount of support, but a huge, loving family. 

      In those moments of brief conversation with many of the sisters, I felt a peaceful transition. As my bridal party would say, "from convent to Conte." There is no doubt in my heart that I am meant to be with Joe; he is my best friend. But there was fear of disappointing others. Some would tell me, never let that fear inhabit me from living my life. But again, these women have surrounded me for a very long time. They were the teachers, mentors, tutors who helped raise me. They were companions on a journey of prayer and introspection. And again, I am so blessed they allowed me to stay a part of their lives despite life changes and transitions from teenager to college student to young woman out in the world. 

       After our picnic supper, we headed to the Chapel I had fallen in love with so many years ago. I was surrounded by the voices of beautiful women, each with their own story, singing loudly and proudly during Praise and Worship Adoration. At one moment, the sun came straight through the stained glass window and I felt, shined right on my face. My found my heart so lifted in prayer by those around me and indeed loved, so incredibly loved. If ever I doubted God's love for me, in that moment I was reassured that I am far from a disappointment, far from being disowned and far from a need to worry. These Sisters of the Holy Family of Nazareth reminded me the truth of their charism: family. 

       I was greatly assured last night by the love of others, the greatest of hugs, and the peace given. As we parted for the night, one sister reminded me: we need holy families. You felt called by the Holy Family once, you're being called again, just in a way you never expected. And there is so much truth in those words. Yes. This is a call to be a Holy Family, no matter where I am, from convent to Conte! 

Service, The Only Great Thing

"No one can serve two masters.

He will either love one and hate the other,

or be devoted to one and despise the other.

You cannot serve both God and mammon."

 - Matthew 6:24

     On Friday night my Dad called me.The conversation went a little like this: Dad: "Where are you?" Me: "Oh you know, driving through Kensington." Dad: "WHY are you in Kensington? Who are you with?" Me: "My friends, Sister and Father. We're just living it up on Spring Break." Dad: "Okay, not but really, why are you in Kensington." Me: "Dad, I told you, Spring Break." Dad: "Whatever, just be safe." Me: "Love you, DAD!" While my daddio seemed a little annoyed that I neglected to tell him I was doing a Spring Break Service Trip...in Kensington, but he got over it. I think he's starting to realize a common theme: whenever I do something seemingly dangerous, I don't tell him so he doesn't worry so much before I leave. Sorry, daddio. 

     Anyway, as you could gather, to start Spring Break (which began on Friday), I climbed into the school van with seven other students, Father Chris and Sister Cathy and headed to Kensington. I've come to the realization that one either knows exactly what Kensington is or they have no idea. For example, when I handed in the van sheet at the safety desk, the safety officers said, "Oh...be careful." When Father asked one of the students if they knew where Kensington was, she said, "What even is Kensington?" I've heard the stories, that Kensington has always been the forbidden place, as in, don't go there, it's trouble. It's always been the place where the sun doesn't shine and the birds don't sing. But, as you might have gathered from my life, not much bothers me, not much scares me. Why should I fear where Jesus walks? 

      Our first time driving down Kensington Avenue, we missed the turn and found a grammar error. Because we were under the El, the GPS couldn't get a signal. However, we turned ourselves around and finally found the white door to the Blessed Sarnelli House. Ed opened the door for us and up some super steep, unfinished steps we climbed. We dropped our stuff and immediately turned on the heat. When I say it was as cold inside as it was outside, I am not kidding. We even went exploring to the bathrooms which...had frozen water in the toilets! We decided that all the girlies were going to share one room. Sister got the front end with the view of the el and Father got shipped upstairs. Then we hurried over to the other house (where it was warm) to set up for dinner. 

       The home was a basic three floor row home. On the second floor was the kitchen, chapel and store room (oh yeah...and a bathroom). On the ground floor was the dining room (and another bathroom). When the time came, the members of the Kensington community who needed a meal came through the front door, were served a plate of yummy food (cooked by Ed) and invited to sit down at the tables we had just set up. It was really crowded at the very beginning and so a lot of us wound up standing around, talking to a few of the visitors. However, eventually, a few people began to leave, headed some place or another and there was an empty chair at a table with three people. I asked if I could join the table. David, Donna and Allen all said yes. I found myself right at home.

       I used to feel extremely uncomfortable around the homeless. I had a perpetual feeling of guilt around them and I was never sure what to say or do. I also always wanted to cry. I would see these people on the streets while walking through Philly and I never had anything to give them, so I never made eye contact. I almost felt ashamed. I wanted to help but I was afraid I couldn't. Slowly, but surely, I begin, almost by forth, working with the homeless. It was part of our New Orleans trip, to work at the New Orleans Mission and serve dinner. After a few times, I realized, there's nothing less humane about these people. Friday night, I pulled up a chair, sat relaxed and laughed so hard with my three newest friends. Honestly, the stories we were telling were fantastic. I felt happy and at home. Not a place of home but a homey state of mind. 

       I decided to stay in my chair at the table in the corner by the front door. A few more times, I made a few more friends. Paul, who's cat obsession is almost as great as mine, and John, who is close to my age. A few other friends walked by, said hello, and kept walking, but these are the people I will remember forever. They were such beautiful people. 

       After serving dinner and cleaning up when all our friends left, we ourselves had dinner. It was a simple but good meal of noodles, veggies and turkey. The same dinner we had just served to the community. Mind-boggling, really, and eye-opening. We cleaned up after and didn't have too much to do, but we discovered that the reason our toilets had frozen water in them was due to our pipes freezing. That means, in our house, we didn't have any running water. Not bad right? Well, that means, no toilets, no hand washing, no teeth brushing, no water drinking, no face-washing, no nothing that involved water. Of course, we did have two bathrooms in the community house we could use, but that involved going outside in the cold and running next door. We decided to make two bathroom runs: one right before bed and one first thing in the morning. I've never appreciated water more. 

       We spent part of the night reflecting and then, just by casual conversation, I was asked to share my journey of discernment. I love all the girls I went to Kensington with and I honestly don't know what I will do when I don't get to see their lovely faces every day next year. They are always so honest with me and I love it. One of the girlies, Krystal, asked me about the nunny thing. She doesn't know how blessed I felt when she asked me to share my story. I needed that glimpse of hope and she gave it to me. 

        The next day was spent doing all kinds of clean up work around the house. We also took a tour of the Kensington area. The very long story short is that now in our beautiful group of volunteers, we had an electrician, shot put throwers, and dust nunnies. Our day of clean up involved some pretty crazy things but we had fun none the less. The thing about service is that no matter what, one's heart always seems to be opened in some capacity and there is a joy that slips in. There is always a way to make doing service enjoyable, whether it's making art out of broken items found on the site, being assaulted by nuns throwing things, relocating bricks, drilling holes in walls, or dusting so much dust we find dust nunnies. We had a great time in Kensington and I'm sad we couldn't stay another day. 

        This morning, I packed up the car and finally departed the noble hill for one last spring break. I cried a little because everytime I leave IU, I realize that one day I will leave and never come back as a student. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY NUNNIES THAT MEANS I HAVE TO LEAVE BEHIND?! Sobbing! Anyway, I met my family at the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament Motherhouse for Feast Day Mass (Katharine Drexel's Feast Day is March 3). All the precious nunnies both SBS and IHM welcomed me home to Bucks County. Needless to say, I was a happy NIT. As Mass begin, I realized I recognized the Franciscan Priest who was saying Mass. Turns out, he's from Kensington and works at St. Francis Inn. And that my friends, is how God brings my life full circle. God came in like a lion this beginning of March just as He knew I needed. Father's homily was about young people living the vocation of service to others. That's how I felt in Kensington; this is my vocation, to serve the Christ in others. Father also mentioned that Service is the only thing Jesus calls great in the bible. Hm..sounds legit. Jesus was a man of service, wasn't he? I sat listening to the entire homily thinking, wow, how beautiful a confirmation that I am exactly who Jesus wants me to be.

        I reflected a little later and realized how happy, truly happy, I was. I felt free. I felt such pure joy. And I felt like myself, who I truly am, including all sassiness. I had to laugh because people claim that they love who I am but so few have seen me in my real element. Sometimes it's a part of me that most people, even my closest friends, don't understand. I am guarded at times, but when I'm doing service work, I'm free. I FEEL LIKE I COULD SPREAD MY WINGS AND FLY! And when I let people see the real, true me, I feel even freer. I'm silly, I'm full of laughter and I love making other people happy. When people I love see that, I feel as if suddenly I've opened a whole new book in my life. And all that's written on those pages is this: Service, the greatest thing in the world. I agree with Jesus. 

Holding Hands With God

"I, the Lord, have grasped you by the hand. 

I formed you and set you as covenant of the people, 

a light for the nations to open the eyes of the blind,

to bring prisoners out from confinement

and from the dungeon, those who live in darkness."

- Isaiah 42

      The wind was blowing my curly hair every which way and the ocean was spraying its salt spit at my face. The sun was now a bright orange circle just above the horizon, something I watched form from somewhere on the expressway. The sand was cold between my toes and it was starting to drizzle. My glasses were sitting on my messy, salted hair and my eyes were closed when I felt the gentle hand of my dear sister on my shoulder. All around us were the retreat girls and the other sisters giggling or running down the beach. I looked her in the eyes and smiled; I felt a humility in my heart. She began to tell me how much she loved me as we walked arm and arm down the beach. To anyone else, the woman appeared as a grandmother walking next to me (as we share the same very curly hair). To me, she was my sister, not just my Sister, but my sister.

     As the wind and the rain picked up, we walked to take shelter in the lifeguard stand. Of course, for someone who had had double knee replacements, this was a feat to be had. So, I got up first, and then with all the strength I could fathom, pulled her up. Together, we sat. Literally, we just sat there in the quiet and let ourselves simply be. Eventually, she took my hands in hers and opened them. She then simply placed them in my lap and said, "Always pray with open hands, Bec. Always." This was two Summers ago. From that moment on, I, without a doubt, always pray with my hands open. 

     After our prayer on the beach, the whole group of us headed to Mass at a church so familiar to me from my childhood. We sat next to each other, giggling like little girls as the pews creaked with every move we made. After finally calming ourselves, we settled in, with hands wide open in our laps, and listened to the readings for the day. The reading was the above reading from Isaiah 42. This reading came back to remind me of the reason why I must pray with my hands open yesterday as it was the first reading for Monday of Holy Week. Needless to say, I got a little nostalgic in remembering the day at the beach so clearly.

      Sister Virginia, after Mass that day at the beach, sat back for a few minutes with me in our pew. She told me to close my eyes and leave my hands open as she read the few lines from Scripture above. It hit me. I got it. I understood. She told me that without my hands open, how could God grasp them. If I pray with my hands folded all the time, there is no room for God to literally take hold of my hands. Just as a person cannot give a hug with his or her arms folded, a person cannot have her hands held unless they are open. She continued by telling me that in praying with open hands, it is a physical image of me being open to whatever God wants to give me. A person cannot receive a gift if her hands are folded or balled up in fists. No, in order to receive all that God wants to give me, I must say to Him with my heart and my body that I am open. My hands are open for You, God, to place whatever it is You wish in my them. My heart is open and my hands are open. I am allowing You, God, the opportunity to GRASP my hands, to HOLD them tight, and to LEAD me wherever it is I must be led. 

      When I think back to that memory of the beach, I remember how much it changed my heart. I called Sister Virginia today to tell her that I was simply thinking of her yesterday and praying for her. She taught me a lot that day, more than just how to pray with openness. She taught me that in opening my hands, a seagull might decided that it's the perfect place to go after breakfast. She taught me that some people might take my hands and later let go. She taught me that my hands will help the elderly, the poor. They will get dirty, they will get rough, they will build houses, they will wipe away tears, they will touch hearts and souls. My hands, my being open, will do all that Christ would do if He walked this earth again. Just as in my most favorite prayer of all time by Teresa of Avila, mine are the hands and feet of Christ. But honestly the best part about learning to be open like this, is knowing full well that I am open to holding anyone's hands.

     I guess that's why I am such a hand holder. Even if I am simply walking with a friend down the street, I am most likely going to take their hand. This is why I hold the older sisters' hands when I visit them or simply am just saying hello. Being open to holding hands is so important for me because I am convinced that in the other hand, is the hand of God. In the hands of the children I play with like my sister or Caleigh and Meghan, in the hands of my Mommom, in the hands of my older Sisters at Camilla or the Mount, in the hands of my Daddy, in the hands of my peers during the Our Father at Mass, in the hands of anyone willing to place their hand in mine, is the hand of God. 

     I am brought to a more recent memory of my hands. Just two weekends ago, during SEARCH, it snowed (seriously...the snow....ugh). Snow, while I love it, also gives me reason to worry. You see, my biggest worry is that it will ice over and the sisters will fall. Honestly, that's my biggest fear. So, in the snow and ice, I was a little more than worried about Sister Cathy falling. Despite the fact that being clumsy is usually my job, I was worried about her simply slipping. You see, if you fall there, it's all down hill from there....literally. One slip and you're down the mountain. Anyway, so I offered my hand. And by the good grace of God, she took it. So, needless to say, Sister Cathy and I did a lot of precious hand-holding that weekend. But there was something different about holding hands with her. You see, she wasn't simply holding my hand for support on the ice, she was literally grasping it, as if she really was depending on my hand. 

     She put that line in Isaiah into true perspective for me. God said he has grasped my hand. Not merely held it, but rather, grasped it. Literally took hold of my now forever open hands as if He depended on it. And the truth is, so many people in my life have depended on my hands. Sister Virginia taught me a lot that day on the beach. But it all starts with being open. If we are not open, if our hands are not open and willing to accept all that God has in store for us, He cannot hold us; He cannot grasp our hands and make us light for those in darkness. 

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!