Freedom in God's Will

"Being free is not being able to do whatever you want.
Being free is surrendering to God's will."
- unknown

     I've been riding an emotional roller coast this past week. There isn't much detail I can go into, but my weeks have been filled with lots of time for reflection, prayer, Eucharist and visits with my Sisters. Between running back to school this week to going for walks to teaching a class of first and second graders at VBS, there may seem to be little time for reflection. However, God finds His way in my heart in every little second. God knows my heart and God speaks to me there. 

     My biggest reflection this past week has been on freedom. As Americans, we so often proclaim the word, Freedom. Freedom in so many things and while I could beg to differ that these past two weeks have offered arguments about freedom in the media, I'm not even going to talk about those things. What I would like to offer is a different definition of freedom, one that doesn't include specific rights or abilities to do something. Some may say that freedom is the ability to do whatever we want. On the contrary, freedom is abiding by certain laws. 

     One of my many good conversations this week was about the ten commandments. Many people, even Christians, feel that following the ten commandments is restrictive. Why do we have to follow these ten rules or guidelines? Some people fail to remember that other faith beliefs have many more rules and guidelines; many more than ten. In this conversation, we brought up specific driving rules of the road. When you're driving instructor, whether it's your mom, dad, older sibling, or actual driving teacher, shows you how to drive, some of the number one rules are: stop for three seconds at the stop sign and look right, left and right again, and always stop at a red light. Yes, there are times when people fly through the stop signs and even red lights. But some times when they break the rules, they either get caught by the red light cameras or cause an accident. The rules of the road are meant to protect your car, the driver and the passengers. They exist to avoid accidents and awful patterns of traffic. Sometimes, I find myself in intersections without lights saying, I wish there was a light here. These rules of the road are important and must be followed for everyone's safety.

       The rules and laws of the ten commandments are meant to do the same. They exist to give guidelines on how to positively live life with no incidents. Think about some of them: honor your father and mother, do not covet your neighbors' goods, do not kill, etc. When these commandments aren't followed, someone usually gets hurt whether emotionally, physically or even mentally. Kids who don't listen to their parents usually get hurt in some way. For example, when parents say don't jump off the pool ladder and the child does. The child can get seriously hurt. Stealing usually puts people in jail. As does murdering people. These are basic levels of following the commandments but you can see that even on the top layer, it can end badly. His commandments are meant to protect us. 

      The ten commandments are just meant to protect us, however, they exist to free us. In His laws we are free. We are free from so much more than we can even imagine. Freedom, I offer, is found in following His will. In the past year I have been a witness and a participant in the world. I have been a worldly woman, working a job, enjoying things of the world. I have made time for prayer, but not nearly as much as my heart desired. I have spent time out with friends, bought more dresses than I honestly need, and ate out more than I care to even admit. All of these things are good, but in moderation. However, our world doesn't preach moderation. I experienced that in the past year and I can tell you that my "worldly living" while not extreme as most of the world, definitely was a barrier to my relationship with God. I ran from Him at times, making excuses for one thing or the other. I maintained a minimal relationship with Him. I prayed when it was convenient and went to Mass every Sunday but didn't give myself fully over to the Sacrament. In all these moments of living the life of a worldly defined "successful first year in the real world," I felt restless. I felt bound to something and less free. 

      At times I would catch glimpses of freedom and experience and indescribable peace, peace the world cannot give. In these moments, I was with my Sisters or praying on retreat with my students or allowing myself to be alone in nature. Freedom was in prayer and giving myself over to the will of God. At times I felt I was running away from what He was calling me to and when I finally entertained the thought, I felt peaceful. It began to occur to me that no matter what the Lord was calling me and how restrictive it may appear to the world, I was actually experiencing freedom. When I stopped fighting God's will for me, I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I felt so incredibly free and peaceful. 

     God's Will for us is designed with us in mind. He knows the deepest desires of our heart but He also wants the best for us. He gives us free will to accept His will or not but we must no that we avoid or run from His will, we are missing out on such a huge freedom and peace. I've experienced that peace. I know that it's harder to fight the will of God than to accept it. I have felt the restlessness that comes from fighting day and night, fleeing from the Lord (or trying to at least). But God knew that I would come back and He was ready to offer me peace the world cannot give. The freedom, the biggest freedom we can experience, in His Will, His power, His name. 

B-E-A-U-tiful

"We are all different, too big, too small, too short, too tall. But the beauty of it is that God is still waiting for us anyway."

- S. Natanaela

     My most recent adventures have included a week long intensive course on Beauty and a spur of the moment road trip to Chicago with a nun. Has much changed in my life? Nope. Not at all. While I have been busier than ever in my life, God is still moving in my heart. My course was extremely difficult for me because of many reasons such as the length and intensive nature of the course, as well as the concepts presented. So many times the lectures consisted of various conventions of beauty - how one can label something beautiful. Some presented various definitions of what beauty is, some offered conceptions of beauty and some even gave instances of "real" art versus kitsch. Naturally, I disagreed with most of what was presented because I come from the viewpoint that what is beautiful to me might not be beautiful to someone else. I struggled a lot with the class but the following week of spur of the moment adventures gave me a whole new vantage point of beauty; one that confirmed my own personal beliefs of beauty. 

     My class presented various paintings, images, pieces of art, some literature and even music to us under different lights - good, bad, real, kitsch. I found myself in awe of some beautiful religious paintings while other people thought they were awful. I found certain pieces of music to be beautiful and for others it was painful. On the flip side, some people thought some pieces of music were so outrageously gorgeous while I felt like my ears were bleeding. As a musician, I felt like I had the upper hand. Of course, this isn't meant to be a rant about how much I pretty much hated my class. So I'll steer away from that now. What I want to get across is that what is beautiful to me might not be beautiful to another person. What I find to be the most beautiful things in life, like laughter, sunsets, ripples in the lake, holding hands, and even the faces of those I love, might not be the most beautiful things for others. Of course, for me, beauty is found in the simplest things. I don't need art and music to connect my soul with the divine. I need simply to be made aware by the presence of another soul. 

     My faith in beauty was restored the following week when I found myself driving 13.5 hours to Chicago on a grand adventure. It was a spur of the moment trip with one of my Sisters. I jokingly suggested we go, she jokingly said ok and then eventually we found ourselves traveling at the crack of dawn. She kept saying how hard it was to believe she was there...me, too. Did I really just drive halfway across the country with a nun in my car to go visit more nuns? Yep. Did I love every second of it? Yep. Was I prepared for what the week had in store for me? Absolutely not. 

     When we eventually arrived at the convent, we were greeted so warmly as friends, as sisters. I truly believe that the nuns helped shape me into the person I am today...the person who believes that food is love. I pretty sure every second I wasn't eating, I was asked if I was hungry! But that wasn't the best part; I was also taught how to make some perfect Polish dishes. I cannot wait to try them at home. After we had dinner together with the community, we headed on another adventure. It was during these few days of adventuring all over Illinois, that I had to come up with a paper for my past week's class. In my reflections on beauty I realized some most amazing things. 

      With my sisters, the conventions of beauty do not exist. By this I mean, I barely had to look in the mirror. It didn't matter if I didn't wear make-up, had frizzy hair, or even if I wore the same outfit twice in one week. I looked at my sisters, who in the morning, were just as stinky breathed, frizzy haired, and groggy-eyed as I was. There was no questioning my need for adventure when I jumped in the water fully clothed. It didn't matter how much or how little I ate, how skinny or how fat I was. It didn't matter if my hair stuck out in all the wrong places even though it was in a ponytail. The worldly conventions of beauty did not matter with them and it's not because we were at the convent. Yes, it's true that sisters don't necessarily abide by the worldly conventions of beauty. But the reason I felt so beautiful in my Sisters' presence was because of their radiating beauty. 

      There was beauty in every story they told me about religious life, about their journey to meeting God, about the ups and downs of their day to day life. I found particular beauty in the way they spoke about the hardships they encountered and still experience. I discovered that my Polish sisters are some of the strongest women I know because of all the sacrifices they have made for their vocation. There was beauty in every moment of laughter and trust me, we laughed a lot. I laughed until it hurt. I laughed until I had tears rolling down my cheeks. There was beauty in every Polish accented English word. There was beauty in every search for proper vocabulary. There was beauty in every step we took together or moment we spent. There was even beauty in the silence, too. 

       Many days we visited different holy places, different churches and shrines. In these moments at Mass or in adoration, I prayed so hard. So much was put on my heart, especially in terms of beauty. Religious life is not easy. This is something I have always known. But there is a beauty in it. As Sister David would say, "It's been hard, but I wouldn't change it for the world." I saw the beauty in their deep relationships with God and with one another. I felt beautiful simply by being in their presence. Whether we were walking together, talking together, sitting together, swimming together, whatever, there was beauty. They know that the beautiful is God's creation. The trust in His promise and His endless beauty. There really are no words to describe the feeling of true beauty, except that I know these women are some of the most beautiful women I know. 

       My week was a beautiful retreat in a way, despite it being so full of adventure. I was able to focus so clearly on God this past week. I felt peace and true beauty in being able to be my true self - obnoxious laugh and all. I felt so free in ways indescribable. I felt the love from the Father above and from my Sisters. I felt such immense peace from Jesus. There were many conversations I had that lead me in many reflective ways. Whether it was, "God already knows...you just have to answer," or "I don't think it's a matter of if, but when," I was lead back down the roads from which I have felt distance. I allowed myself to be curious about religious life again and pray like I had once before - freely, openly, with tears, with pain, with happiness. To say this past week was a blessing is an understatement...it was so much more. 

       Toward the end of the week, I found myself entering into conversations I never could have imagined. Conversations that involved me to be so vulnerable and so open with my Sisters. I have kept so much in my heart and pondered my thoughts, but I never spoke them. In my conversations I released some pains, some frustrations but mostly my joys of peace and knowledge of the Lord in my life. My Sisters allowed me to be dramatic at times, laugh and joke, and share my heart. They, in turn, shared their hearts with me. I never expected that such deep, positive relationships could come from this week, but God had different plans. 

      My Sisters opened yet another window to beauty for me. They reminded me that I do not need to be perfect to be loved. They reminded me that the worldly conventions of beauty are impossible and that I am beautiful in my own ways. They reminded me that it's okay to not know what I'm doing with me life, to be afraid, to be scared. But they also reminded me that peace comes from within, from my own relationship with God. Peace doesn't come from making other people happy. Peace and beauty exist when I allow myself to be freely me. They showed me this by their most beautiful example. 

      If I could define beauty, if I could find the right words to even describe this week, I would say, that my Sisters are beauty. They are the pathways to the divine. They are example of service, sacrifice, struggle, and strength. They are my crutch when I need them. They are my best friends. They are my Sisters and I feel so incredibly blessed to have them in my life. They have been examples of joy and peace...what happens when one surrenders to God's will. And at this moment, I feel like saying, "I'm back in the game!" I'm back in touch. I've wiped the dust from my feet. I'm ready to do His will, whatever it may be. Because at this moment, I feel peace, joy, and above all, beauty. True beauty; His beauty. There aren't adequate words to truly and fully describe how God moves the heart. But I can say that His moving in my heart lead me to tears many times this week and that's better than any words. I tried my best, but nothing will ever truly grasp how beautiful God's presence in my life was this week. 

Happy Heavenly Homecoming, Birthday Twin

"Well done, good and faithful servant."

- Matthew 25:21

     Phone calls from my AE always warrant one of two things: either a scathingly brilliant idea or news from the homefront. On Wednesday night, it was both. It was that conversation that prompted me to decide to go home earlier in the weekend than I had planned. You see, I was going home on Saturday to help my sister shop for a prom dress. But as I hung up the phone, I decided I needed to go home Friday. Sometimes news from the home front is good, but this time it was hard news to deliver. My dear Sister Michael was preparing to go home to meet her Beloved and I needed to say goodbye. 

     So, after skillfully packing boxes upon boxes of chapel decorations into the closet with Sister Cathy, I packed the car and headed home in the pouring rain. I have two ways I could go home: the PA Turnpike or I-76 straight into Center City. On occasion, when I feel like taking the scenic route (and when I don't have toll money...) I take 76. I did just that. Of course, anyone from the Philadelphia area knows that no matter what time of day one decides to travel on 76, there is always traffic. Before I lift, Sister Cathy suggested I put on some peaceful music and drive slowly home (she knows I sometimes have a lead foot) and I did just that. Driving slowly was out of my control. It took me a little longer than usual but for once, the traffic didn't prompt the impatient driver in me. Instead, I focused on getting home to Sister Michael. 

      I went straight to the convent. I didn't even stop at my house. I checked in with Sister Josepha and soon enough found myself on the second floor. God has perfect planning in the sense that I arrived right at dinner time and the sisters were all getting ready. Therefore, I got stopped by a table of my crazy nunnies. I'm always on God's time and so I knew, my visit with these sisters was all part of God's plan. After at least a half hour of conversation with them, I gave a gentle knock on Sister Michael's door. A cheerful "come on in" beckoned to me from inside. I smiled when I saw Sister Regina sitting quietly with Sister Michael. They had told me she was preparing to go Home to Jesus all week and that she was sure today was the day. I knew otherwise. 

      It seems against my personality, I know, but I sat quietly with Sister Michael for about an hour. I prayed a finger rosary (you know, the best way to keep time and keep quiet in grade school...praying on your fingers) with her and occasionally, she would burst awake with a conversation starter for me. She asked me about school, student teaching and the most important question: what about your students inspired you the most? I think I lulled her back to sleep with my litany of ways my students inspired me. Every so often, she would muster a "mhmm" and I would laugh then keep talking until I knew she was asleep. Then I'd go back to praying for her. 

      As I watched her sleep, I realized that watching someone die peacefully, is like watching a baby sleeping. Both are so very close to God that on their faces is ultimate peace. I kept gentle watch over my sister and imagined the peace she would soon experience. I asked Jesus to take her by the hand gently and let her go through the gates of Heaven with no problem. I prayed and watched for an hour. At 5:45, I blew her a kiss and told her I loved her, knowing that it could quite possibly be the last time I ever saw her. 

      As my life would have it, as I was trying to leave the convent quietly (shocking, I know), I got snagged at the door by another one of the sisters and invited to stay for the presentation given by Mother Jana on the international missions of the Sisters of the Holy Family of Nazareth. The room was full of Sisters I loved so dearly and as I sat there, I realized how long it had been since I had been home to see any of them. I didn't even stop over for a visit at Christmas time. I tried to think back and couldn't remember the last time I saw any of them. I had stayed away for so long but I was still welcomed home with open arms. 

      The next morning, I went back to the convent for Mass and later in the day, I went one more time to see Sister Michael. This time, her sister was there, a few other sisters and some family members. I didn't want to overwhelm her, so I stood close to the door, said my final goodbye to her and once again blew her a kiss. My sister was with me, and part of me felt as if she knew how hard it was for me to lose a friend. 

       I had known Sister Michael for so many years...she lived at the convent I frequented so often after school on the weekends and during the summer. She had her favorite spot in the community room, which just happened to be my favorite spot, too. We always had a gentle conversation when I was there for a visit, and she always had a hug for me. But what bonded us together was our birthday. The very first conversation I ever had with Sister Michael, we discovered that we were birthday twins, both of us born on May 9th. Not the same year, of course, but we were birthday twins none the less. I couldn't help but smile remembering all the conversations I had had with Sister Michael as I rode the elevator down with my Sister. 

       As I drove home to school that night, I went back over the last conversation I had with Sister Michael and all her "mhmms." I had been crying but suddenly, I burst into laughter. Poor girl was just trying to sleep. I do the same thing to my roommate when she talks to me as I'm trying to fall asleep. I give little affirmative "mhmms" until I fall asleep. But that wasn't the end of it. I remembered how every time I was over for supper during college, we would always go upstairs for recreation. While I would be playing some card game with some sisters, Sister Michael and a few other sisters would be watching the news and then jeopardy. Without fail, Sister Michael would sit in the same seat and slowly fall asleep. Her head would bob a little until it eventually fell on her chest. If someone was talking to her, she would answer with words and then eventually "mhmms." Of course, the true test of whether or not she was sleeping was if she started to snore. No one ever woke her up though, she always woke herself up and eventually go upstairs to her room for the night. I always found this to be the funniest thing and often would giggle every time this happened. I guess it's because I knew that one day, I would do the same. Now, I know for sure that I do the same thing. Gosh, I even fall asleep reading at work in the same fashion: heading bobbing and then out. I laughed a good portion of the way home after remembering those moments of slumber and "mhmms." 

        The next few hours were spent waiting to here from anyone back home. The phone call (and texts and emails) didn't come until the middle of our 7:00 PM mass on Sunday night. I had spent the hour before Mass  sitting in Chapel, glasses off and head bobbing on occasion. I kept a prayer vigil with Sister Michael. I found out later that she had gone home to God during that time during which I was praying for her. I know for sure that God welcomed her home just as the sisters welcomed me home Friday night. She went peacefully, surrounded by family and her sisters. I thanked God that her suffering was over and shed the reasonable tears. However, I couldn't help but rejoice. I gained another saint in Heaven and she is now living it up with her Beloved. Lucky girl. Happy Heavenly Homecoming, Birthday twin. I hope I make it to as many birthdays as you did. Keep watch over us, Saint Sister Michael! 

Quit Playin' Games With My Heart - A Reflection on Decision-Making

"Trust your instincts and make judgments on what your heart tells you.

The heart will not betray you."

- "Fall of Kings," David Gemmell

"Waiting hurts. Forgetting hurts. But not knowing

which decision to take can sometimes be the most painful."

- "Mi Vida," Jose N. Harris

What's black and blue and white all over? A girl tryna' make a decision.

      It's one of the most common questions I get when people bring up my discernment. At first, it was so hard to help people understand that my decision was more than a decision to be a nun. Of course, that was especially so when I would answer questions like: what can you do as a nun? with: well, almost anything. I guess that comes from my teacher attitude; I'll do anything to get my students thinking. But anyway, I have seen the growth in my Parish with their understanding of what my vocation is. The questions have grown from: do you pray all day? and can you wear a bathing suit? to: what will your ministry be? and how long is your formation? Of course, most recently, since I just finished out my Junior Year of college, the main question on everyone's mind is: what community will you enter? And trust me, this question is not just on the minds of my Parish Family but also of the minds of many of my sisters. 

     A long time ago, long before I was born, so many young women were entering religious communities. I have heard stories from so many sisters about why they entered specific communities but most of them all say that they entered the community that taught them or with whom they had the most contact. A few sisters, however, told me that they entered communities that best fit their ministerial desires such as healthcare or teaching or working with the poor. Right along with these women were so many other women realizing a call to serve God's people and convents and communities were flourishing with new vocations on the daily. 

    Today, not so much. I've often gotten the question about whether or not the communities "fight over me" and while I'd love to say that, "yeah, they all just can't get enough of me," that's not true. Between the time of the flourishing of vocations and now, there was a time where it may have seemed a little competitive between communities each buying for a girl's vocation because their numbers were diminishing. But, I thankfully, have escaped that era. I have been so blessed to be able to discern with multiple communities with only a few "competitive statements." 

     But here's the thing: there's a still a decision that needs to be made. At the end of the day, I can't enter all the communities I have discerned with; there's just no way. That notion used to give me a ton of anxiety. I would spend hours and hours in prayer asking God how I was going to let one community know I chose the other one. How was I going to say good-bye to the sisters I knew and loved. The funny thing was: I hadn't even made a decision yet. I would often refuse to bring up one community in another community's presence and yet, I had so many good stories to tell. Finally, instead of saying goodbye to a community, I said goodbye to having to make a decision.

    Last September, I told myself that I have two years left of college and I should spend them free and happy, not tied down to a decision or the anxiety that came with it. I remembered being so eager to enter religious life right after high school and thinking I had my whole life planned out. God thought otherwise. I spent all of last year spending free time with the sisters on campus and then with the sisters at home. The more I let go of the anxiety that came with having to make a decision, the more I was able to get closer with specific sisters. The anxiety of decision-making had become a blockade to personal relationships. Letting go of that need to make a decision allowed me to be more open and listen better to those around me who had such wisdom. The year of taking off from decision-making truly was one of the most freeing years in my discernment. I was able to focus more on my personal ministry as a college student and young person of the church. I was able to freely give of myself without having to worry. How beautiful?! 

     But like I said, I'm coming up on my final year in college. Yep, I'm officially a Senior now. That means: one year until the real world. Ohhhhh great! But what is the real world for a girl who wants to be a Sister? Well, it's simply this: finding a job and paying off loans. I've gotten the questions about what community I'm choosing very frequently in the past week. I have simply answered with a shrug and a basic, "I just don't know yet." Before, I would have gone through so much anxiety just to answer that question. Now, I know that it's okay to not know. God hasn't revealed to me his plan yet, and....that's okay.

      I will be very honest that at times, often when I spend a very long amount of time with a specific community such as last week in Stone Harbor with the IHMs or in Chicago with my CSFNs, I feel like: YES! This is the right fit! I feel so loved here! Then, I switch gears and spend time with another community and feel the same way. I may think that God is clearly showing me the path of life and then suddenly, I feel the same way about a different community. So then, I go back and forth thinking, hey God, quit playin' games with my heart? But He just laughs and tells me it's all for my own good.

     This morning, my two worlds crashed. I decided to go to one of the neighboring parishes for Mass this morning. Often at these masses, I've seen anywhere from two to four religious communities represented. This morning, only two communities were there. Every so often, my school world and my home world collide and it's usually with the nuns. This morning, my "nuns from school" and my "nuns from home" were both at Mass. As I stood up to leave the church at the end of Mass, one beautiful lady dressed in blue tapped me on the shoulder. Becky, she called me. I had only really met her once or twice; I painted her basement pink with a few of my FYE students and fellow school nuns. Yet, she remembered me and really knew me. She began to tell me that her dad knows my aunt who works in a bakery and told him all about her niece who wants to be a nun. However my aunt, who's not Catholic, apparently told him that I didn't know what community I wanted to enter. I didn't even know she understood what that meant and I'm pretty sure I never told her about it. Anyway, her dad told her about my aunt and immediately she thought of me. Meanwhile, as we are talking, a beautiful lady dressed in black and white began her way over to my side of the church. I was grateful to Sister for acknowledging that there is a decision that needs to be made BUT NOT YET and she assured me that no matter what God chooses for me, she will always support me. All this from a woman I barely knew. Finally, my two worlds collided as we stood there, three of use, wearing black and blue and white.

    This meeting of my Sisters was strange and yet, peaceful. I knew though, the moment I left the scene and got in the car, that it was a subtle reminder from God that eventually I will have to make a decision. Yet, I also knew that God will give me the decision when He is ready. And so, for now, I will continue to discern with both communities; I will continue to make deeper and more personal relationships with sisters from both communities. I will not let the anxiety of making a decision rule my actions but rather the peace of knowing that God will show me the way. There is so much to love about both communities and so much good that could come from a vocation to them. But at the end of the day, I will have to make an open decision. Of course, I haven't quite ruled out the possibility of creating my own community. Hmm....

This Ain't Prom; It's Home

"Home is where someone notices when you are not there."

- The Lazarus Project, Aleksandar Hemon

     "I think I'll visit the Mount, tomorrow," I said to Sister David. "Oh wonderful, they miss you there, you know." Woah...where did that just come from? I thought seconds later. I have never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever (ever....) visited the Mount without first announcing my coming to at least one person in the house and there I was, saying I was just going to "pop over" for a visit. Little did I know, it was going to be the best thing I have done in a long time. But let's back the story up a bit....let's go to why I was visiting Sister David.

       Sister David, I think I have mentioned numerous times, is the sister. She was not only the first Sister I ever had in the classroom, but she was the first sister I had ever told I was thinking about discerning. Imagine me, a terrified (literally shaking in my school boots) 15 year old girl. I had thought the stigmatism of maybe wanting to be a sister was going to be so negative. I thought I was going to be mocked and made fun of. It was a secret I needed to spill, but was afraid to because "no one becomes a nun anymore." So, I wrote her a letter, and she responded by telling me I should stay after school the next day. OH MY GOODNESS GRACIOUS APPLESAUCE...was I in trouble? She was the disciplinarian at the time, you know. But no, I wasn't. The next day we had the best chat in the world. It was out of the box...I slowly became that girl who wanted to be a nun. And yet, NO ONE EVER MENTIONED A WORD ABOUT IT. My friends, my teachers, my family, my parish...they just started asking me about it. And because of Sister David, I could confidently say yes. And get this: I was NEVER met with a negative response. 

       And so, Sister David has literally stood by my side through every single up and down. She has been there for all my "big events," she has prayed me through so much, but most importantly she has been my confidante and mentor through and through. Which is why, every time I am home, I try to make a visit but most times we just can't do it. Yesterday was different. I sent her an email that morning (somewhere around 1 or 2 am) and asked her for her free periods. Of course, when I got a response, it was almost 6th period, her last free period of the day. So, I quick got in the car and drove to see her. We had a beautiful 45 minute chat about life, we caught up, she once again spread her wisdom and she reminded me that even though I have been graduated for three years now, I am remembered every single day at Nazareth. I didn't believe her at first so she told me to look in the prayer intentions book before I left. So after I helped her fix some margins for her test (good luck, girls), I went to the office to check it out. Lo and behold, there was my name scribbled on a line in the center of the page every single day. Tears filled my eyes. When I told Mrs. C, the secretary I had long ago befriended, what I was doing, she simply nodded and said, "Every day, Bec, because you're special and you make each one of us feel special. Every day I hear your name, I smile because you make me feel special." Wow. Just wow. This was still home even many years after. Of course, Sister Mary Joan, our principal, simply reiterated that before I left with a hug, a kiss, an I love you and a "you got it, mama." This was home, this is home and this always will be home.

      Later that afternoon, I was racing against time to meet the "Sister Who Shall Not Be Named" (according to her most simple request...we can't ruin her reputation). Once again, I was back at the Naz Acad ready for the second part of my day. Little did I know that her promise of flying a helicopter was a true promise and so, she hopped in the front seat of the always stylish mom van and we headed to the windy park. I remember spending afternoon after afternoon at that park in High School simply just walking around and loving every moment of it. As we both stood there, somewhat captivated by the simple beauty of it all, we agreed that we couldn't remember the last time we had been there. As we made the landing pad right near the baseball diamond, I couldn't help but remember the numerous amounts of pick-up softball games we played with the nuns there after school on Fridays. SWSNBN (Sister Who Shall Not Be Named) joined us a few times and I couldn't help but smile as she playfully called me a girl because I couldn't fly the helicopter. Of course, I won't neglect to mention that she was the one who ever so casually crashed it in the marshy baseball diamond. Before we knew it, we were both sinking in the sandy, rocky mud. Whatever. We decided to call it quits after someone's head ran into the helicopter and attempted to wash our shoes. Her inner very nunny self came out as she struggled to get every last particle of sand off her shoes. Finally, I just shouted, "Sister, it ain't prom! No one's going to be looking at your shoes." After laughing hysterically, we hopped in the car once more and headed to her favorite Chinese food restaurant. 

       The best conversations always start with a disagreement with her and of course, I started one. I said the table cloths and napkins were pink. She said they were mauve. We went back and forth, until finally, I let her win. "Mauve is a shade of purple," she said, "Not. Pink." Conversation continued and actually it was super sweet to finally catch up with her. To be quite honest, I felt so extremely blessed to have been able to spend such great time with an "acquaintance," but really someone who from the bottom of my heart, I love dearly. I mean, I am almost obligated to love her not only because she is my sister, but because she put up with me forcing SUNSHINE in her face every morning in High School. Poor girl often didn't even have her coffee yet before I was yelling down the hallway "GOOD MORNING SISTER!!!" I most likely drove her nuts but it was only because I was trying my hardest to make her smile. It's a wonder, after all these years and me still shouting "I LOVE YOU" after her, that she still keeps in contact with me. I honestly feel so blessed. After I dropped her off at home, I found myself thanking God all the way home. I felt so blessed to be able to laugh as freely and be as silly as I truly usually am with her. And that she felt she could do the same with me. From the bottom of my heart, I hope she knows as she's reading this, that I do love her as my sister!

       The blessings didn't end there, however. Remember how I said I promised to visit the Mount? Well, I found myself waking up this morning, pep-talking myself into going to Mass there. Like I said, I had never really down something so out of the blue there and even though I am seen as a risk-taker, I often have given myself a HUGE pep-talk before any risk can be taken. So after dropping my little Lizzie off at school, I headed down Holme Avenue and parked behind the Mount, a half an hour early for Mass. As I put my finger on the doorbell, I felt a sudden sense of peace as if I was truly meant to be there. There was an excitement that overtook me and I couldn't help but smile as Sister Evangeline opened the door. Before I could say anything, however, she exclaimed, "I can't believe my eyes! Welcome home, my Sister." God is so good! 

       I found an open seat in Chapel and within seconds I had gotten three hugs from various sisters. How beautiful it was to be welcomed home in such a simple and quiet way. I found myself thanking God once more as I heard the sisters begin prayers and I could so easily join them! And then to celebrate Mass with my sisters. One must understand that a good amount of the Sisters at the Mount have lived a long, beautiful a exciting life. Some sisters are simply retired and others are still on active ministry. It is a place where the sisters go when they are sick and getting ready for the last leg of life and yet these sisters have so much joy, more joy than I could ever imagine. A joy that, at the end of my  life, I wish to be blessed with. These sisters have given me such a reason to rejoice and I absolutely love visiting them. Most often there isn't any special reason, I just go. That's what I thought was happening today. But I found out I was wrong, after Mass.

       For every birthday in the house, all the sisters gather at the sister's bedroom and sing in both English and in Polish (it's tradition...)! Today, it was Sister Romuald's 98th birthday. And so, I boarded the elevator with the Sisters and we headed upstairs to her room. So many of us, all dressed in black and white and gray (even myself, ironically), stood by her bedside as we sang. At first, she was singing right along. I smiled, held back tears of joy, and looked back at the song sheet. Suddenly, I felt Sister Margaret Mary tap my arm. "Look," she whispered, "Look into her eyes." Then, my dear-hearted Sister Antonia Marie said something, "Look how she's looking at you, Bec." Before I knew it, not only were Sister Romuald's eyes on me, but so were the eyes of every sister in the room. They were watching the silent conversation take place between me and her. As I looked into her beautiful green-blue eyes, I felt such peace but I also felt the innocent love of God shoot me straight through my chest to my heart. It was as if she knew so much more about me and my future than I could ever know in my lifetime. I'm sure what she was thinking, but when Sister Nahida gently pushed me toward Sister Rom's beside, I knew she saw something in me. She saw the depths of my soul and I am so sure of it. I went to her side, patted her hand, wished her a happy birthday and thanked her for all her prayers for me. Every eye in that room was on the two of us, and yet, the conversation I shouted to her was meant for only us. We all experienced something so very beautiful this morning and even still, I can't really fathom what really did happen. All I know is that I looked into the eyes of an angel. 

        After the birthday celebration was over, a few of my dear sisters stood (or sat or leaned or rolled) into a circle around me. Each sister had questions or stories to tell me. I felt like a book on whose pages they were each writing. Sister Antonia Marie questioned my "skipping school," Sister Salvatore was wishing me good luck, Sister Nahida was suckering me into coming back on Saturday but most especially, Sister Stephanie, my high school Biology teacher, was telling me how she still has the box of sand I sent her from Cape May so many years ago next to her bedside. Eventually the sisters all went along on their way until it was just Sister Steph and myself. Our conversation continued and continued, until time meant nothing but being with her. There was no counting of minutes, there was no rushing from one place to the next, there was simply the two of us being together and enjoying each others' presence. I didn't realize how much I missed her until this morning, and once again, I felt so blessed. Eventually, I left her with an "I love you, always!" and then headed on my way out the door. When I got in the car, I realized I had spent two hours with my sisters including prayers and Mass. 

      God does that to me every so often. In this day and age when everyone is so time paranoid (myself included at times), He places me in a situation that I cannot be timed. He sends me home to a place where apparently my presence is missed so greatly, that I wind up spending inexhaustible amounts of time with my sisters. In every single moment in these past two days I have been reminded that not only am I loved by those around me but that I am remembered every day in pray, by my sisters, by my HS teachers, by my alma mater community. I am literally carried in so much prayer every day by so many people! This must be how life is so good for me all the time. In my absence at home, I am remembered and when I show up at the door, it's like the Father greeting the Prodigal Son. I am so blessed and I honestly cannot thank God enough for these beautiful people he has put into my life. Thank you, God. I am humbled by Your goodness in my life. 

How To Survive Convent Life - Lesson #3

"In order for one to survive convent life, one must be willing to sacrifice all one holds dear and play basketball in a skirt."

- Lesson #3

    There is something about opening the door to a place one has called home for years. No matter how long one has been away or how far or even how great the time away was, the warm homecoming feeling is simply overwhelming for both the heart and soul. The feeling I speak about is so freshly imprinted on my heart as I experienced it on Saturday when I visited one of my favorite convents that I had certainly been away from for a while. Let me tell you, however, that this was no ordinary visit.

     A typical visit at this particular convent usually consists of bonding in the community room either by conversation, working on a puzzle or watching a movie. However, on nice days, walks are enjoyed by the lovely view of the ... highway. Yes, and then most times I'm invited to elongate my stay by staying for dinner because the sisters simply do not want me to leave. Whether I'm visiting after morning Mass or for the night, there is always a meal (probably why I love the discernment during a meal). This visit, in the terms of food, was like all the others.

      I was invited during my CREW week, to come over the following Saturday to celebrate a birthday. One of the many things I've noticed in my years of discernment is that the sisters certainly know how to celebrate. So, when I walked in to find the whole kitchen decorated with birthday decor, I was not surprised. I shall three sisters in the kitchen: one watching the stove, one laughing and smiling and one chasing the flies with a fly-swatter. Besides myself in the room, there was one other person: a little boy, who's name was Michael, with the biggest and brightest smile I had ever seen and the best laugh. He was watching fly-swatter sister with the utmost joy. I found myself watching in my quiet way and smiling at all the interaction. I wanted to freeze the moment of joy forever. 

      Within minutes, we were all sitting around the table in the kitchen, with the addition of one other sister (my high school principal), eating the delicious meal prepared by the sisters with the recipe of the little boy's grandmother. "Finally," he said, "my birthday celebration in the convent." With much patience, he had waited three years to have his birthday celebration in the convent. Since he was "finally a teenager," the celebration could happen. Together we dined, we shared stories and we laughed; really, truly laughed. At the end of the meal, like a family does, each of us took our places either by the sink washing or drying, or around the kitchen, putting things away; the little boy included. 

       One of his birthday wishes of the day was to play basketball with the sisters. So, the younger sisters and I myself, began heading out the door to the school gym. However, as it very often happens, I was snagged by my dear high school principal just for a chat. I promised to join the fun as soon as we finished our conversation. That conversation really did change so many perspectives I had of the dear sister. Despite her being my principal for four years, I was never really gifted with the chance to sit and chat with her as if we were old friends. That night I had that opportunity. Now, if this blog post was about that chat, I'd spend more time on it. But, this is a post about birthday parties. So, I quickly hurried over to the gym to play basketball. 

        When I first started discerning religious life, I made the decision that I would do every possible thing in my habit. Playing basketball, while not originally on the list, is now. I had almost forgot I was wearing a dress as I chased the boy and Sister around the gym bouncing the basketball and shooting. I was never much of a good athlete in my younger days, and I wouldn't consider myself one now, but at least I can move in a skirt. Yes, we played and played and played for at least an hour before Sister and I were finally worn out. Our dear boy, however, had so much more energy than both of us combined. So, instead of playing more basketball, he decided we could put on a talent show. 

         While we were shooting hoops, my body embraced the giant, open, floor and pretty much began dancing on its own. While never having taken more than a year of ballet, I remember so much and whenever I get a wide open space, I make use of it. Between hoops, I would spin and jump across the gym. Unbeknownst to me, Michael had seen me dancing and asked me to teach him how to dance for our talent show. So, I showed him some basic cha-cha steps alone, and then showed him how to dance it as a pair. Within minutes, he grasped the concept so well and was ready to perform. 

         After we performed our cha-cha for our audience of one, he asked me if I knew how to sing. I couldn't lie, so I answered yes. I was shocked when he asked me to sing for him. For those who know me, and for those who don't, my voice is my deepest prayer. I love to sing, and yet, I'm very shy about singing for others. Even for Michael, I was being extremely shy. But it was his birthday, and he had been extremely precious all day. So, I did. I got up on the stage that overlooked the gym and sang our favorite Christmas song, "O Holy Night." As I sang, I closed my eyes, floating into my own world surrounded by music, peace and prayer. When I finished, immediately he burst into applause and that's when Sister came over to tell me he told her I gave him goosebumps while singing. He couldn't wait for me to sing another song. So, I sang the Ave Maria for him. 

      By the end of our talent show, it was time to head back to the convent for cake and ice cream, where he then asked me to sing again for the sisters who weren't playing basketball with us. After having done so, one of the sisters put her arm around me and just smiled. No one really knows I have this huge voice held deep inside this little person. When cake and ice cream was over, it was time to take Michael home to his house around the corner. He couldn't stop talking about how he wanted me to sing for his parents, too. And of course, I did. This time, he recorded me singing so he could remember my song forever. 

      Now, I know you are probably wondering, what 13 year old would want to celebrate his birthday at the convent with nuns? Or play basketball with them? Or get goosebumps when I sang? Or remember my song forever? You see, Michael, isn't like most 13 year olds. Doctors have placed Michael somewhere on the autistic spectrum and he goes to a special part of his school for his learning disabilities. However, you really wouldn't notice this right away. He is a genius with a phenomenal vocabulary for a 13 year old. It's the little things about Michael, the things I love, that make him who he is. 

      At the end of the night, Michael had given me such peace. He had brought such joy to my heart and given me self-acceptance. Not only that, but little does he know, he became convent life lesson #3. He showed me that I might just have to play basketball in a skirt with my students. He also showed me that I have to sacrifice and share those things that are so dear to me. By the end of the night, my fears of sharing my voice were gone and I could have easily shared with the whole neighborhood. He showed me by his own special talents and gifts, not to hide my own because they could bring so many others joy, happiness and goosebumps. Happy 13th Birthday, Michael. Thanks for letting me spend the special day with you!! And here's to many more adventures with you, my new friend!