My Magnificat

"My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord

and my Spirit rejoices in God, my Savior.

For he has looked with mercy on my lowliness.

For the mighty God has done great things for me."

- Holy Is His Name, John Michael Talbot

      As a lover of music and a lover of words, there have been many occasions on which I simply get overwhelmed. Today's young people can't really say that their music contains rich vocabulary, but I can tell you that there is still music being produced with words of a little more depth than "yeah," "baby, baby, baby," and "oh, oh, oh." Thank God for these musical groups and artists, as their music is a gift. However, there are many genres of music which tap into my heart strings, whether it be because of the memories it brings me, the moment in which they are being played or the depth of words in them. Whether I am driving, dancing or discovering music, I sometimes, while listening deep, find myself choked up. I don't dismiss those tears, but rather, I embrace them. I know, with every tear shed, the song is growing in importance to my journey. Naturally, I am only writing of this, because this weekend, I had one of those moments. 

     I was blessed to be asked to guest cantor at my home parish this past weekend as we celebrated our feast day, St. Thomas Aquinas. While I had to drive a little longer and wake up a little earlier, it was still going home for Mass, for me. Singing has always been a special gift for me, a way for me to praise my God. Every time before Mass, I sit on the altar, patiently waiting and conversing with my Lord. I ask him to make my voice strong in his praise and I thank him for the gift he has given me. Whether I am in the pew, or cantoring, it is my way. And so, it becomes that each word in the song, is then my prayer; a prayer I have not written and yet, can pray. I will be honest and say, I hadn't given much thought to the list of songs on the schedule. And perhaps, that is why, when the piano intro began for "Holy Is His Name," I was taken aback more than I usually am. 

     This song has been a favorite of mine for as long as I can remember. It is my favorite composition of Mary's prayer, the Magnificat, a prayer I have constantly re-written in my own words. In her moment of fear, Mary did nothing but praise her God; she found nothing but joy in her humility. The words of Mary have meant so much to me for so long, that when I cannot find the words to express my gratitude to God, I depend on these words. Singing her words only mean so much more. So when it came time to plan the Liturgy for our wedding, I knew right away that instead of the traditional "Ave Maria," a prayer to Mary, I wanted the Magnificat, the prayer of Mary. I remember Father Rudy telling our bridal party and our parents at our rehearsal, that this small part of the Mass would be my special chance to ask Mary to help me be a good woman, a good wife and a good mother. But, I knew it would be more than that. 

      Mary, in her magnificat, glorifies the goodness for the suddenness of womanhood, wife-hood and motherhood being thrust upon her. While she had a choice, her yes must have been one filled with all kind of emotion. Any "yes" to God's plan would be filled with emotion - fear, doubt, feeling unsure, joy, gratitude, love, and so much more. Because, let's be real, saying "yes" to God's plan, is saying "yes" to the unknown. In my prayer life, my "yes" to God's plan, not "God's plan that says this, that and the other thing will happen," just simply, "God's plan," was filled with emotion. It was a real, "Your will, God, not my own," every day and will be for the rest of my life. And because of that, the Magnificat becomes even more real for me. While it seems to elicit different thoughts now, it is still just as real for me as it had been before. Actually, it may be even more real. 

    So as the music began, I could only smile at the true depth of connection my heart was feeling with the Magnificat. It wasn't just a song; they weren't just words. It was a prayer and it was my prayer. As I sang, it was my soul glorifying the Lord, my life being humbled by his presence in my life. The lord has truly done so many great things for me. And then, I choked up. My eyes, my heart and my soul welled up. I thought back to December 8, the beautiful Marian feast day on which Joe and I will celebrate our marriage as an sign and symbol of the Church, and how blessed I've been since then in only a month and a half. I considered all the beautiful lives who witnessed our marriage, religious, married, single, young, old but all the same beautiful. The unlimited support we've been given and all thanks to our amazing God. 

     Mary and I haven't always had this beautiful relationship and I truly believe I needed her in ways I never imagined. She will be my source of strength for a continuous yes, for strength in marriage and as a wife, and eventually, for strength in motherhood. I can only thank her for being my friend, my confidante and role model. And because of that, last night I went to visit her in the IHM Motherhouse Chapel. I felt peaceful being there, praying with the Sisters, praying the words of the Magnificat of Evening Prayer. But the icing on the cake of my feelings of being blessed, was the intercession prayed for married couples. There weren't pools of tears in my eyes that time, but there was a smile stretched far across my face. My soul truly glorifies the Lord, for he has been so incredibly good to me. 

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. 

O Happy Fault

"Oh happy fault, oh necessary sin of Adam

that gained for us so great a redeemer."

- Exultet (Easter Vigil)

     My journey of Lent has been, to be completely honest, empty, dry and dark. Some may say, "That's how it's meant to be," while others may say, "It's a time of prayer and renewal." Every year Lent is my most favorite time and yet, it's been so busy that I had not been able to focus on my prayer life or spirituality. I spent Ash Wednesday sick in bed and got the flu two more times during Lent. I had so much to do at work that it simply was so difficult to make time for additional prayer. However, as empty, dry and dark it was, there was something that changed me a bit. 

      I had been expecting people to question my age and my maturity with my Lenten sacrifice this year, but it went in a different direction. This Lent I gave up shoes again (only this time I wore my black TOMS every day) and make-up. In the beginning, it was so difficult to not reach for the mascara hanging from the wall next to my mirror. It was difficult to walk into school every day with my face empty. I felt naked and vulnerable. I had worn make-up every day since high school in various capacities. Every day I wear mascara and cover-up. Most days I wear eye-liner and eye-shadow. Less frequently I wear blush. On special occasions (like mornings when I get up on time), I wear lipstick. I could not remember the last time I went make-up less. 

      A few days before Lent was to start, I prayed about what to give up for Lent. I had done the shoe thing last year and it would be easier this year. I needed a greater sacrifice. I kept hearing songs on the radio about beauty. On one particular morning, after Mass, I was moved to tears because I knew what Jesus was calling me to do: embrace my beauty. I needed to stop worrying about my outer appearance and focus on the natural beauty I had been given. I needed to focus on the beauty of my soul. 

     As I said, it was difficult. On the first day after Ash Wednesday when I went back to school, I felt so insanely vulnerable. I did wake up and feel grateful for the fifteen minutes it took me to get ready, though. I remember walking through the hallway thinking that I probably looked like the walking dead, especially cus the last bits of the flu was holding onto me. The following week, I was speaking to my class about the struggles of Lent. One girl gave up Tater Tots for Lent and felt the sting when she could smell them in the caf. Another girl gave up desserts and couldn't really function when on retreat that's all we ate at night time. That's when I told them what I gave up. 

      Each woman, especially in their teenage years, deals with outer appearance issues. Whether it's trying to find a fitting style or what shades of lipstick to wear or even weight, women always deal with these things. I began to talk to my students about how my journey of Lent was this discovery of inner beauty. I remember one student in particular saying, "Miss G, you work in an all-girl school. Most of us don't wear make-up, heck, most of us don't even shower." (DISCLAIMER: all girl school perks). When I went home that afternoon, I thought to myself about how hypocritical I had been. I tell these girls every day to embrace the beauty they have and yet, I was struggling with embracing that philosophy. My students helped me embrace my own beauty and work on the beauty of my soul this Lent and for that, I owe them so much. 

      Lent, contrary to former belief, ends on sundown the day before Holy Thursday. So, while I kept the shoes (they ARE comfortable, after all), I put on some make-up. I looked at myself in the mirror, half done up and thought, do I need this? The answer was no. Jesus won't love me any more because I look "prettier." I may look older, more mature, things like that, but it doesn't change who I am. If I'm wearing lipstick or not, I am still Becca Lynn, soulful beauty. I smiled in the mirror, added a hint of lipstick just because, not because I needed it to feel my best. In fact, my skin looked much better after doing a forty day detox. I felt good about myself and it was amazing how much a difference forty days can make. 

     Of course, if you knew my inner, deepest secrets, you know that there are two moments when I, regardless of outer appearance, feel most beautiful and that is when the wind is blowing and when I sing. Singing, for me, is an all out showing of my soul. I feel so free, so happy, so beautiful. It has been a while since I've been blessed to sing at church. In fact, the last time I did so was at Baccalaureate Mass in May. I had been praying about getting back into singing but I wasn't sure how or when or where. That's when Sister Pat, a Sister of the Blessed Sacrament, called and asked if I could sing the Exultet at their Easter Vigil celebration. My heart immediately said yes. 

     So Easter Vigil, I found myself at the chapel I had been in so many times before among Sisters who have been praying for my vocation since before I was born (LITERALLY!!). I had been there for Christmas and the feast day celebration for Katie D, but there was something about this most holy of nights. All throughout dinner, my stomach was doing flips and spins; I was so nervous. I practiced the whole car ride and finally said, if I don't have it by now, I'll never have it. After the lighting of the Paschal Candle, Sister Anne gave me the wink of "go time" and I walked up to the ambo to proclaim the Exultet. Suddenly my fears and hesitations were gone - God. I stood where I am sure Katharine herself may have stood so many times before. 

     From the deepest parts of my soul came the most beautiful words I have ever read: O happy fault, oh necessary sin of Adam that gained for us so great a redeemer. It is because of our human flaws that Jesus came. Without our human flaws, without Adam's sin, Jesus would have had no need to come save us. And there I was singing about it; proclaiming it with my whole being. I felt my heart yearning for the greatness of God and realizing that with each and every breath I was taking, He was filling me with knowledge of my own beauty; my beauty of my imperfections. My journey of Lent, though literally complete on Holy Thursday, was finished - it had come into fruition. 

     Everything the entire Mass, from the dramatic reading of "Creation" by James Weldon Johnson, to the music, to the feeling that Katie D was right there next to me the entire Mass, to the ringing of bells during the Gloria in utmost praise of His breaking of the veil, was beautiful. I felt complete. I felt God's beauty wash over me. I felt so imperfectly beautiful - Jesus loves me beyond my greatest imperfection. 

     My Easter, complete with singing, discovering my inner and natural outer beauty, and our annual photo shoot by the river, has reminded me of the greatest beauty - Jesus died for me. He died for you. And just to make our life complete - rose from the dead to be with us once more. He is my Lord, my Love, my Salvation, my Rock. He is with me always, reminding me of my beauty. He has blessed me for so much and for the necessary sin of Adam, I am eternally grateful. May today our Hallelujahs be MULTIPLIED. Amen? Amen!

Chosen and Precious - Baccalaureate Mass

"Behold I am laying a stone in Zion, 

a cornerstone, chosen and precious."

- 1 Peter 2:6

     On Tuesday morning I found myself driving the oh so familiar drive to Immaculata. There were no students about as the semester had ended for the Summer last Monday and the hallways were quiet. I walked the familiar walk to the music hall where I had often spent time practicing for one thing or another. I couldn't stand the silence that surrounded me in the building. But before I knew it, I was back to making noise. I was lucky enough to get to spend three hours practicing for Baccalaureate with Sister Regina. 

     Yes, for three hours both in the music hall and in the chapel at Villa Maria H of S, we practiced every single piece for Baccalaureate Mass. Sister handed me my binder and told me I had a few days left to practice. Cue nerves. I ended my day, as I end most if not all visits to the noble hill, with a visit to Sister Cathy. Truly it would have been an incomplete day without seeing my Sister Sunshine. 

     The week went by quickly and before I knew it, I was once again in the car, traveling the familiar way to IU. This time, however, I had to keep telling myself to keep it together. I was more nervous than I had ever been before. I'm not a music major, but I have always loved to sing. At IU, I was blessed to be a cantor for Mass for the past four years. That led to me being the cantor for our Baccalaureate Mass. While I may always seem to have all my ducks in a row when I'm singing, I am actually terrified out of my mind. However, I grew used to the congregation at IU, which usually consisted of my friends and some nunnies, and singing there wasn't nearly as bad. Today, however, I would be singing in front of my class, many of whom had no idea I sing, their families, and of course, the nunnies. Something about that Chapel, which usually always has me at peace, terrified me. Maybe it was the strong acoustics, maybe it was the amount of the people in the congregation, I don't know. Regardless, I knew I was scared out of my mind. My hands were so jittery I could hardly hold my binder. However, the moment the music began, I looked out at the people, saw all my best friends, saw my family AND saw all my nunnies. 

      A singer always knows that she must find a spot in the room to look so as to not see a particular person and get emotional. However, as a cantor one must find a few spots because she must always "use her eyes to invite the people in to sing," at least that's what they told me when I was younger. So, I found a Sister in every section of the chapel. Suddenly, the jitters were gone and when I looked up at the crucifix behind me really quickly, I knew I was going to be okay. Everything came as if I was born singing those hymns, that psalm and that tortuous alleluia verse that we had to re-write twice. I wasn't nervous anymore because I realized I was no longer singing for any particular person in that Chapel, I was singing for the greater glory of God. I was happy. I closed my eyes and sang, feeling so incredibly free. 

      Of course, something else that comes with the worries of being a cantor or in a choir is Communion. At school, the choir and the organist always received Communion before we sang the Communion hymn. For Baccalaureate, the choir received Communion during the song. Then there was me. Before Mass, we had planned it all out that I would receive Communion after the song. And so, as I was at the lectern singing, I felt the fear of being forgotten for Communion. But then I saw Sister Carol tap the Deacon and remind him that I needed to be taken care of. I smiled and waited for the end. However, when I went around the side to receive the Eucharist, I realized, as Jesus was being put back in the Tabernacle, that my fear had come true. And so with a very heavy heart, I went back to my seat in the choir. I tried so incredibly hard not to cry and told myself that I needed to keep it together. 

      As I was sitting in the choir section behind the altar, I kept hearing my name be called. I would look around and there would be no one calling my name. When I say that I had to try really hard not to cry, I'm being so honest. It wasn't a type of cry that I had ever experienced before. My heart actually felt like it burst because I didn't receive my Jesus. I was so upset and yet, I still kept hearing my name being called. Finally, I just let it go. I resolved to say that I would probably get up early on Sunday and go to an early Mass just so I could receive my Jesus. But even as we were singing the Recessional Hymn, my heart was so heavy and I couldn't focus on the harmony piece I was supposed to be singing. When we finished singing, I took a deep breath and began to walk away. But I heard my name being called again. I was beginning to think I was going crazy when I turned around and saw Sister Marita Carmel coming towards me. 

      When she was close enough she asked, "Bec, would you like to go to Communion?" I smiled and felt from the bottom of my heart the "please" that came out of my mouth. She opened the Tabernacle and right there on the altar, I finally received Communion. As she held up the Holy Eucharist before me and said, "the Body of Christ," I was already crying too hard to give an audible, "Amen." When she put the chalice back in the Tabernacle and turned to me, I hugged her so tightly. I let me tears flow freely and she didn't let go. When she did, she took my hands, looked into my eyes and I saw that she was holding back her tears. I hugged her again and thanked her. When we walked off the altar, a group of Sisters was standing there waiting for us. I got so many hugs from all of them and Sister Elaine even said, "Well, Sister Carmel beat the twelve of us who were going to make sure you got Communion." 

       As usual, I was one of the last people to leave the Motherhouse (even my family left before me) and I spent my time taking pictures with Sisters (and Postulants and Novices), including a selfie with the Mother General (see above), hugging my friends and their families, and yes, reflecting on my incredible blessings. As I drove home, I couldn't stop thanking God not only for allowing me to sing with a strong voice during Mass, but also for all the Sisters who were so ready to jump up immediately after Mass and make sure this Becca got her Jesus. I cried not only from being able to be united with my Jesus but also because I had so many spiritual mothers looking out for me. There are so many Sisters who up until the last few weeks of school I wasn't very close with. But in those last few weeks, I was blessed to have what I call, good-bye moments. Whether it was a walk or a chat in a Sister's office or even a hug, I suddenly was getting closer with these Sisters before the end of my time at IU. 

     Sister Carmel and I have shared some signs of peace during Mass, we've taken a selfie, she's given me advice on proper shoes (during Lent), and most recently she was my Sister Captain in Stone Harbor (aka she headed our cleaning team). I didn't really get to know her or she get to know until we were in Stone Harbor. I'm sure she had heard or seen me being my crazy self on campus, but she didn't get to firsthand experience my sass and silliness until then. She, who always wears a somewhat serious face, laughed with me as we accidentally broke curtain rods or made beds inside out. She laughed as I pretended to be a novice with the bed cover. And she laughed when something so incredibly sassy came out of my mouth without pretense. That week, I felt like I got to know Sister Carmel a little better. And while I was grateful for those moments, I am even more so grateful for the moment we shared yesterday. I truly felt that in that moment it wasn't just a hug but rather of two souls meeting. In that moment she was witness to the amount of emotion that comes from the soul being united with the Eucharist. In that moment, I was witness to the devotion of my Sisters. Yes, truly in that moment, we were doubly blessed. 

      Usually in the car I am singing to every song on the radio and changing stations when commercials come on. When I got in the car to drive home, I didn't change the station if a commercial was on or even sing along to any song that was played. I was too wrapped up in my blessings of the day. I was thanking God the entire way home. And as I pulled into good old Croydon, driving over the creek, I looked out my window and saw the most beautiful sunset. There was no question in my mind about feeling chosen and precious by the Lord. Truly, this is the day the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad. 

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!

The Worst Minor Tragedy to Ever Happen - Losing My Voice

"There is a time for speaking and time for silence; He is silencing your heart right now."

- Sister Teri

    One of the first things people notice about me is that I have a loud mouth. Most people would agree that you hear me before you see me. I blame it on my height; I have to make up for my lack of height by my loud mouth. I won't go unnoticed. Those who know me will vouch for the fact that I LOVE to talk and the joke continues that I could talk to a brick wall if I needed to...or wanted to. There are different levels of talking for me such as the basic conversation, using conversation as a ministry, reading to the little ones at school and so much more. However, the usage of my voice doesn't stop there. I also love to sing and whether it's simply singing in the car, or singing in my room to the radio, or singing in Mass, if I'm not talking, I'm usually singing. I'm always using my voice.

     And so, when I woke up on Friday morning with barely a voice, it was a minor tragedy. You see, I was headed to school that day and that drive is about an hour. To take the drive alone is one thing but to not be able to sing as loud as I needed to for an hour, I was going to die without my voice. All day, it fluctuated in and out of sounding normal and sounding like a deep baritone voice. Cute. I was spending the night at the convent at school and all Friday night and Saturday, the sisters playfully kept making fun of my lack of voice. As one sister put it, "This is Bec's greatest tragedy. She can't speak OR sing." I tried to laugh, but of course, my laughter was hindered, too. I have to admit it was quite amusing, even to myself. 

     However, by Tuesday night, I was getting frustrated. We were going on five days without a voice and I was not having it. I was even trying so hard NOT to use my voice. I resisted the temptation to call or skype people or even talk to my family. It was a hard challenge, but I did it. Regardless of how much I tried to gain back my voice, I had nothing, just the occasional baritone, whisper and frog voices. 

      While visiting the convent last night, still with no voice, a few of the sisters said that they really understood how much trouble I was having not being able to talk or sing, especially since singing is my favorite way to pray. One of the sisters told me she needed me to have a voice before our teen retreat week so I could sing for them. Another sister promised to pray for me so I regained my voice simply because five days without talking is a minor tragedy for anyone. Then finally, another sister said, "There is a time for speaking and time for silence; He is silencing your heart right now." My whole way home, in silence of course, I reflected on that. She was right; I needed to silence myself. As I am always constantly running and running and running from one thing to the next, I was in desperate need of some silence. So, I decided to stop fighting the silence, and really quieted myself when I got home. I fell asleep at 9:15pm. That never happens.

      The next day, today, I wake up and head to Mass, still with no voice. As I am kneeling, it dawns on me that it is the Feast of St. Anthony of Padua. Many people know him as the patron of lost things. So, laughing to myself at this coincidence which is really a God-wink, I prayed for St. Anthony to help me find my lost voice. I could not sing the opening hymn, but I kid you not, the moment our pastor begin to talk to me after Mass, my voice was back 100%. Get this: He was asking me if I wouldn't mind doing an informal vocations chat with the young people of the Parish. What started as just having the young women/girls of the Parish be a part of this, turned into a co-ed night and then turned into a day of vocation chats with kids of all ages, and then turned into a potential informal information day for any one who might be wondering what my life as a discerner is like. Of course, the moment God wanted, I got my voice back.

     And so, this week I have learned the lesson of silence, dependence on God and how He wants me to use my voice. I have to laugh because so many of my friends and even some of the sisters say I might turn out to be my community's vocation director one day. The truth is, I've already done so many vocation talks at my grade school and for different groups of people, that I have become the poster child for vocations. So, I am undoubtedly excited for this blessed opportunity to speak with all types of people about my journey so far and where it has lead me. And all of this from losing my voice for a few days!! I guess it wasn't really a tragedy or even a minor one at that!! God sure does work in mysterious ways!!

Christmas Week, Carol Night, and Cotillion, OH MY!

    There is nothing more that I love than tradition. OK, well maybe traditions with nuns. Christmas has always been a time of tradition in my family; however, not the same traditions. When I was little we had the tradition of going to the convent for Christmas Eve Mass (I'm bringing that back this year!) and then going to my Dad's parents' house Christmas Day. Now, it's Mass at my own parish on Christmas Eve and my Mom's brother's house the day after. The few traditions that have stayed are decorating the Christmas tree with each other (they wait for me to come home from school) and going to downtown Philadelphia to see Dicken's village, the Christmas Light Show, and the Christmas Villages. Last year, however, we started a new tradition: Carol Night. 

     Now what is that, you ask? It's a night when the Chorale and all the students at our school gather in the rotunda around the Christmas tree that reaches to the second floor. Family and friends are welcome, too, as well as all the sisters from EVERYWHERE!!!!!!!!! We all sing Christmas Carols, we pray together, and there is a procession of the Baby Jesus from the Chapel to His Manger in front of the tree. It is one of the most beautiful and longest standing traditions we have at school. I love it. This year, my Dad and my littlest sis came to visit and I could hear her voice from the floor above me. She could see me directly and was sending my hand signals and mouthing words to me during the whole performance. The best part is that I understood everything she was trying to say. Our connection is deeper than that of sisters; she is my soulmate. 

     After Carol Night, the next tradition in Christmas Week is Cotillion. It is the semi-formal winter ball and almost everyone comes out for it. Since my class (the class of 2014) was running the show, I got roped into helping set up for one more thing. It was beautiful, I must say. With lights and arts and crafts and snowflakes and mistletoe and streamers, it brought so much excitement to my heart. All the girls got ready in my room in a cloud of perfume, hairspray and Christmas music while the boys simply threw on the shirts and ties and were good to go. We had a ball, dancing our night away until it came time for us to stand back and watch the rest of our schoolmates embarrass themselves slightly. 

    And now, onto finals week. Here's to hoping we all survive!