See Me, Be With Me

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

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

- William Shakespeare, Macbeth

"See Me - Tahlequah" - Lori Christopher

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I AM WOMAN

"I am no bird; and no net ensnares me.

I am a free human being with an independent will."

- Charlotte Bronte, "Jane Eyre"

       I had a teacher in college that whenever talking about feminism, he would always say, "I AM WOMAN," in a deep voice, proclaiming in his own way, the strength of the woman. I would always laugh and think, well real ladies would never use a deep manly voice. She would use her dainty, lady voice and say, "Well yes, sir, I do appear to be a bit stronger than you." Today, on my adventure with my best friend, I could not stop thinking about Mr. Mooney saying, "I AM WOMAN." In fact, I may have even said it a few times myself. If there's anything that feels mighty liberating as a woman, it's being able to lift two kayaks out of the water and into a truck that I just backed down the ramp. Say what? Yes, I did that.

     I've been reading a book titled, "Rose Under Fire." This book is a companion book to another book I just finished, "Code Name Verity." Both are written by Elizabeth Wein and both are historical fiction. Now, a little bit of a back story for you before I continue. As a kid, I always loved reading historical fiction books, especially books that showcased young women as the main character. I don't know if you ever heard of the Dear America series, but I thrived on those. Each were a diary form book written by a young girl during a historical time period. Now, flash forward to present day me searching in the book store for a casual Young Adult Literature book to read on vacation. As Sister Marcille taught me, I went after the book that had the Printz Award label on the front. Turns out, it was a historical fiction book. I knew I would love it, so I bought the companion book, too. I just started the second book Thursday...I'm almost done. 

     When I first picked up the books, I thought, oh good, another historical fiction during the WWII time era; one I personally love studying. As I got started, however, I realized I was reading about quite a few hipster ladies. By that, I mean, young women who were breaking stereotypes left and right by doing amazing things. One was a Special Orders Pilot...imagine, a woman pilot, especially during that time period. Of course, her best friend was a spy and interrogator. I fell in love with the characters who not only stayed true to the characterization of women at the time, but also were insanely feminist and willing to go above and beyond what women normally did. The second book also features a female pilot and describes at length the women concentration camp that still to this day doesn't have too much written about it. It describes in insane detail the strength of thousands of women. I felt as if these women were my comrades, my fellow strong women. Of course, there was one scene that struck me in particular that I felt extremely connected with. 

     The scene takes place toward the beginning of the story when Rose, the female pilot, gets trapped between two German fighter planes. She eventually is requested to follow the fighter planes to a German airfield; she has become a POW in the air. When she lands the plane and is asked to remove herself from the aircraft, she steps out of the pilots seat, but still has her helmet on. They order her to take her helmet off and a stream of curly brown hair falls out from underneath. The men's mouths gape open and suddenly they are saluting her and clapping for her; she fielded an excellent landing. Of course, there is much irony in this scene. The young woman, first of all is a POW and an American one at that. These mean saluting her were German airmen. At first I thought, well good for her to get such a response to landing that plane. But then I thought, if it had been a man pilot, they wouldn't have done that. What made her landing so special other than the fact that she was a woman pilot?! Nothing. As absurd as it was, the scene struck accord with me.

      You see, so often I am mistaken for a weak person. People always offer to help me carry things and stuff like that. Sometimes I think it's because I am little; a whopping five foot. But other times, I think it's probably because I am a woman. Today, like I said before, my best friend and I went kayaking in the river. Imagine the scene: two young women riding high in a Ford pick-up truck with two kayaks in the bed. First of all, a little lady is driving the truck. Second of all, she's going to have to get those kayaks out of the back of the truck. As I pulled into the parking lot, I could already see the crowd of men staring at me. Yes, boys, I had just hopped out of the cab of this truck. Now, look away. I knew they were anxiously waiting to see how I would approach getting the kayaks out of the bed of the truck. Shocking to admit, but I did it with no problem. Of course, my best friend was there to get her kayak out of the bed of the truck, too. What a sight to behold, two ladies carrying kayaks down the river. 

     I started to laugh at the absurdity. I really didn't think it was that big of a deal that we had just done that. However, the end of the craziness was no where in sight. As we were pulling the kayaks down the river to put in a bit further away from all the mud, an older gentleman stopped us. He asked if I had ever put in there before. I answered yes. He then told me that I should be careful because the tide was changing soon. Shocking, but I knew this to be true. Of course, he mentioned a few more river facts, all of which I knew. And as I nodded my head, he seemed to get more and more shocked. I wasn't sure why actually, but later it hit me. I'm a lady. He was a kind man, but he definitely thought we had no idea what we were doing. I thanked him for his conversation and we were on our merry way. 

     We enjoyed a paddle down stream and soon decided to head back. There were a lot of boats and jetskis out enjoying the Summer's last hoorah and so we often had to stop and change direction so we didn't tip. As we headed back, the river current got rougher and rougher and it was getting harder and harder to paddle back. Going against the current is the worst BUT it does build muscle mass. It was difficult but we continued. Suddenly, Mary Kate noticed some "fog" up ahead. Ironically, however, it wasn't fog, it was a downpour. We paddled for cover (because the last thing you want is a kayak filled with rain water) and took refuge under some kind peoples' dock. We made a video and then decided to head back out. We were only about half a mile away from where we put in. 

     The rain ceased as we paddled and the river current was much calmer, thus, easier for us to paddle. The boat ramp was in sight and the tide was coming in, so there would be much less mud to plow through. Of course, as we neared the boat ramp, another downpour. We laughed and this time, kept going. We were so close. We decided to take pictures, too, when we landed, because it was, after all, a monumental moment. There was one guy fishing who was enjoying the moment by laughing at us, but that soon changed when we hauled the kayaks up the ramp a bit. You see, it appeared that I was going to leave them there. But that was not the case. 

     I ran, still in the rain, to the truck, hopped up in the cab and reversed so I could turn around. Then I backed the truck down the ramp so that the two of use could swing the kayaks in the back and head home. We actually gained the attention of many as we did this quickly and efficiently. I smiled and laughed. As we drove home, I said, "Nothing is more liberating to me than being able to do things that people think women can't do...like handle her own kayak and drive a truck." My best friend just laughed.

     I am a feminist and often, I find it hilarious that women are always underestimated. Yes, I believe that there is such a feministic beauty in being genuine, caring, motherly, gentle. Those are the characteristics that make me a woman. But what also makes me a woman is my strength, both emotional and physical. To put things in perspective...my kayak weighs about 60 pounds. That's about the size of a toddler. Both of these facts enhances my feminism. As a woman, I may be expected to take care of children, babies and toddlers. I may be expected to pick them up and coo over them. Don't get me wrong, I loooooooove doing that. I love children and child-rearing is an amazing beauty all in it's own. But, if my toddler weighs 60 pounds, then why, when I pick up a kayak weighing about the same, is it a shock to everyone around. People, get a grip, I want to say. I don't, of course, because I'm a lady. I simply smile and behind my smile, I say, "Now, let me see you do that."

     I felt proud to be a lady today. Every day, I proud to be a woman, but today I felt especially proud. It wasn't that I already knew the things that our older man friend was telling us about the river. No, it wasn't because my Daddy had already taught me these things. And it wasn't that I got to drive Daddy's truck either (seriously...I NEED one of my own though). I learned to drive in that monster, so that was just taking the truck for a spin. And it actually wasn't the fact that my best friend and I paddled against the current in the pouring rain. That was just fun. What made me super proud was that all those strong men who were shocked when a lady hopped out of the cab of a pick-up truck and watched me as I lifted the kayaks out of the bed with ease, didn't offer an ounce of help. Now while that might make a few people upset (how dare they not help a damsel in distress), I enjoyed it. Why? Because they watched, they were shocked and they didn't offer help, because they knew I could do it. 

     I'm not always a radical feminist, but when I am, I lift kayaks out of trucks and paddle against the current in the pouring rain. Now I can't wait to see people's reactions when I do that as a nun. In the words of Mr. Mooney, "I AM WOMAN."

Like A Girl

"By watching her, I began to think that there must 

be some sort of special skill involved in being a girl."

- Harper Lee, "To Kill A Mockingbird"

  On occasion, when I surfing the net (does anyone actually say that anymore?!), I come across some severely influential videos or articles. I think of it as my means to broaden my brain. You know, read or watch something that helps you learn something new or ignite a fire within. While I prefer to learn through oodles and oodles of books, I do enjoy the occasion learning experience online. The best part is when it comes across my computer screen on social media. That means someone else engaged in some learning as well and felt he or she should share the knowledge. That's what happened yesterday when I stumbled across a video about what it means to do things "like a girl."

    Believe it or not, I was blown away. I didn't know that running like a girl meant running with her arms flopping around and her feet seeming dainty. I didn't know that doing things like a girl meant being afraid to get her hands dirty or disturb her perfectly painted face or mess up her hair. I didn't know that doing things like a girl was demeaning and wrong. I didn't know because well, I guess I never read anything that told me doing things like a girl was wrong. In fact, all my information always said that doing things like a girl was good...because well, girls SHOULD do things like girls. However, I watched a video the other day that told me that according to most adults, "like a girl" is an insult. But what the video also told me was that young girls believed that doing things "like a girl" meant doing things with all they had within them, like running as fast as she can, fighting with all of her will power, being as strong as she can be. And here, I thought it would be the opposite. 

     Watching this video reminded me of a conversation I had with my CREW girls in the car on the way to the beach for the day last week. I was sitting shotgun to help Sister Mary Anthony with directions and also playing DJ. At some point in our very long winded conversations, the concept of feminism came up. Aside from Jesus and literature, it's my favorite topic (although, I like to think they are all intertwined with one another). I like to think about the evolution of feminism, how it began, how it progressed, how it changed dramatically and where it is today. Sometimes I venture out and say radical, crazy things like, "Mary was one of the first feminists," "St. Teresa of Avila was a feminist," and of course, "I'm a raging feminist down inside." Usually this gets insane, crazy looks. Mary, the Mother of God, was a feminist? St. Teresa of Avila was a feminist? She was a cloistered nun. You're a feminist? Yes. These are often things I hear when I add my two cents. 

     When I was talking with the girls, we talked about feminism. The feminist movement came about during the Women's Suffrage movement. Women like Lucretia Mott and Elizabeth Cady Stanton (names I haven't forgotten since my grade school days) fought long and hard for my right to vote. Of course, this was a great thing and I never forget to exercise that right. We spoke about how to feminist movement changed from fighting for rights to fighting to be treated equally to men to be treated as womanly men. The fight of feminism these days seems that all women want is equality with men. In my own personal study, however, I see that men and women were NOT meant to be entirely equal. Yes, each are meant to have their own political, social and economic equal rights. But women, instead of fighting to be treated just like the men, should be fighting to be respected as women, the lovely ladies that they are. 

     I've said it a million times and wrote about just as much, but here's the view of  feminism that was present in the van among the women ages 14-40: feminism is relishing in the beauty that is woman. It is believing in your womanhood, embracing the awesomeness that is maternal instinct and child-rearing, loving the curves and the edges, loving the natural skinniness. It's not about being the superior woman, but rather being the respected woman. It is demanding the respect of men and not presenting oneself as an object to be claimed but rather a lady to be loved. Being a feminist is embracing all things woman and loving it. Oh yeah...stand in front of that mirror and tell yourself how lovely you look when you first wake up (yes, even before coffee), when you dress up really fine for that fancy date, or dress in shorts and a t-shirt for a day of hiking, or with your sisters, mom, grandmother, aunt, daughters, nieces. It's being a beautifully, strong lady. But trust me when I say, there's not much you have to do to be beautiful and strong. All you have to do is be yourself. So next time you hear someone say, you do something "like a girl," take it as a compliment; because YOU ARE A GIRL AND YOU SHOULD BE DOING THINGS LIKE A GIRL. That's always been my response to every, "like a girl." THANK YOU, I AM A GIRL. Be proud, ladies, be proud. 

The Men Who Can't Be Moved - Part Two of A Three Part Series

"Every man I meet wants to protect me. I can't figure what from."

- Mae West

     If you are reading this sentence and have not read Part One of this Three Part Series, go back, read it. Trust me, it will make this blog post (and the next one) make so much more sense! But just in case you only have time for one blog post, I'll give you a little background as to what I'm doing here. Thursday night in my Christian Marriage and Family class, we were sent out on a mission: ask the first five people you meet three questions. Those three questions: what is femininity in three words? what is masculinity in three words? and what is marriage in one sentence? So, we went around and questioned people from our professors to the nunnies to random students and what a wide variety of answers we collected. This later prompted me to question what my views on femininity, masculinity and marriage are. So, Part One described my views on femininity. This, Part Two, will take you on an adventure of a lifetime: me, a woman, trying to explain, masculinity. Are you ready? Let's see how much I know!

     He was my first kiss, my first love, my first friend: my Daddy. I saw this quotation on Pinterest (that place is actually extremely addicting....) and fell in love with it! How true! I also saw one that went sort of this like: be the man you'd want your daughter to marry. My Daddy is the number one full embodiment of those two quotations. I was always Daddy's Little Girl and I still am. Daddy taught me everything from how to ride a bike to how to fish to how to work a pony tail (not by example, of course) and of course, how to pray. I have distinct memories of riding in the back seat of the bike down to the marina just to feed the geese bread. Of course, there was also that time Daddy bought me a pink fishy rod kit complete with a target that you laid down in the grass and tried to hit with the hook; we would throw the line off the back deck. And I can remember tons of painful, laborious moments when Daddy tried to pull my CURLY hair into a ponytail; well, I still work it today! And how to pray: well, one night I was all dressed up in a beautiful dress and for some reason had on my white gloves (every little girl was in love with those). He was sitting on the couch, tying his church shoe when I came over and asked him how to fold my hands to pray. He stretched my hands open and then pushed them together saying, "Hands folded in prayer always point up to Jesus." 

     As I got older, he'd bandage up my knee when I skinned it falling off my bike trying to ride right over a giant pothole (this happened more than once because I thought I was...invincible). He'd let me stir the pot before dinner as long as I didn't eat it (which stunk...). He'd sometimes drop me off at school in the morning and as I'd exit the truck (the BIG truck), he'd shout after me, "Make good decisions!" Then, eventually he'd let me DRIVE THE TRUCK. Of course, there were plenty of times when he'd pick me up from my dates with my boyfriends, movie dates with my girl friends, walk in the park with me. But the thing he did the most and still does the most that I absolutely love, is when he drops me off at the convent...and then stays a little while just to chat with my sisters. It's just like those scenarios when the boy is picking up the girl and while the girl is still upstairs getting ready, Daddy is just casually shining the barrel of his shotgun. Except, he was sitting in the community room, laughing and telling story after story to the sisters (yeah..I get the story telling from my Daddy). That's when the convent feels like home; when I know my Daddy is proud and comfortable knowing that this is my life.

     Every since I was young, however, my Daddy, by the little things he did, protected me (and my sisters and mother) as his most important cherished people. I remember asking him once after work, if he'd have rather had us be boys not girls. Because, you know, every child thinks when they are young that Daddies want sons and Mommies want daughters. He said, "No. I love my princesses." Daddy did and still does all he can do to show us the simple happiness, the happiness that most of mankind can't find. One because they don't have my Daddy but two because they are so filled with ideas that happiness lies in money. It's the happiness that comes from road trips and long bike rides. Because even if we're not really doing anything like taking vacations in Cancun or buying a sailboat, he still makes us feel loved by his laborious sandwich making before an adventure or long nights spent planning the perfect day or the laughter that can be heard from miles away. My Daddy has proven to me that in order to be loved, one must sacrifice for his loved one.

     My Daddy is no body builder, that's for sure. He's no business who wears a suit a tie every day. He's no gourmet chef (although, he probably could be). We don't live in a huge house, actually we're all smushed together in three bedrooms. We don't have luxurious cars, although I'd beg to differ; the mom van is stylin'. We don't have a vacation house in the south of France. Nope, we have each other. And we are happy. My Daddy may not "provide" like so many think a man should which fancy dinners and fancy cars and fancy houses, but rather, he provides his daughters and his wife with an irreplaceable love. He gives us the time of day to listen when we're upset, he watches us struggle for a little bit before stepping in to help, just to prove that we each need to struggle first before learning that we need another person, and he shows us that happiness in the littlest of ideas is the best happiness.

     Because of my Daddy, I have become a thick skinned, raging feminist. Okay, not really. I'm a feminist in the sense that I know I am a woman, I am proud of being a woman, and I know what being a woman entails (we disgusted this in Part One!). My Daddy has taught me that being a woman, embodying God's love, demands the utmost respect from all. That is, a woman should be listened to and heard as an equal, not talked down to, not shouted at, and not, be any means, degraded. And so, I have always been a very strong advocate for woman's respect. Have you ever seen the phrase, do not walk ahead, I may not follow, do not walk behind, I may not lead, but instead, walk beside me so as to grow together? That is what my Daddy has essentially taught me about human interaction. While I am fully aware that in many situations like work and school, there are authoritative positions, that does not give anyone the right to disrespect someone who may not be in as high a position. We are all human beings to be treated by other human beings with the same love and care that we, ourselves, demand and desire. All this from my Daddy...woah. 

     Disclaimer: This paragraph is hard for me to write and may be hard for you to read. One night, I was driving with my sisters after having a horrendous argument with my best guy friend. I can still remember that moment with such clarity as it truly was the moment, I knew I had become a woman in all her strengths. Throughout the "conversation" I kept my voice calm, cool and collective, and asked for the possibility of discussing the matter in a more adult time and place. But, there was no backing down. The worst thing for me was to have my little sisters right behind me, almost as if I was shielding them, and listening to the entire "conversation." With every sentence, his voice got louder and louder until finally, I was being yelled at and accused of many falsehoods. I simply, nodded my head, and told him, that I was going to give the conversation a chance, but that was until I realized he disrespected me so much that he would raise his voice at me. Never in his whole life has my Daddy ever raised his voice at my mother. Never. So, immediately, I knew that it was wrong, that is, what was happening to me. I took both my sisters by the hand and walked out the door that night and the first thing I said to my sisters, "Don't ever get involved with a guy who doesn't respect you as much as Daddy taught us a man should. Don't ever get involved with someone who isn't just like Daddy." Of course, my older little sister said, "So....he has to be hairy?" 

      My Daddy has taught me that as a woman to demand respect while still being respectful. He has taught me how to provide for myself but that when a man who loves me enough comes around, to let him provide for me (cooking is NOT women's work....). He has taught me how to be strong, but to let my womanly emotions be the back bone to that strength. He has taught me how to struggle and depend on others because as much as I may know, I am always learning and I will always need others to depend on. My Daddy has taught me all about what it means to be a woman by being the utmost number one example of what it means to be a man. He has provided for me my whole life and will always do so. He has protected my heart, soul and body. He has been the man I need. 

     Of course, this means that any man who wants to try their hand at winning of my heart has HUGE standards to live up to. Let's be honest, if I have to teach you that opening a door for women, old people and children is respectful, forget about trying. I know that may sound harsh, but my Daddy taught me what to look for in a man. And I guess that's why Jesus won my heart over. The only thing that Jesus did that my Daddy hasn't done or can't ever do is....go to Hell and back for me. My Daddy could and would give his life for me and my sisters and mother if he needed to, just like Jesus. But Jesus, when He gave His life for me, traveled the ends of the earth, to Hell and then back again. So yeah...Jesus won my heart over because He's just like my Daddy. Or is it, my Daddy won my heart over because he's just like Jesus. Well...after all is said in done, and you have just read an entire blog post of me bragging about my Daddy, I can sum up masculinity in three words: My Daddy's Love!

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

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

in following Him and communicating his face, 

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

- Pope Francis

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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