A Piece of Heaven on Earth - A Reflection on Singing

"When you sing, everything that you sing is a prayer. Every song that you proclaim with your voice is a praising of God. Let your voice be heard, my dear. Just do it." 

- Sister Regina

    If there was one person who taught me what music at Mass is supposed to be like, it's the above quoted sister. I studied Liturgical Music for a full year under her direction and I never, ever want to go back to before her class. Let's be honest: there were three of us in the class and we never had any homework. However, that's not why I loved it so much. I can't tell you how many times she told us that if we make our music a prayer, something changes about it; it makes the song sweeter. And if you really think about it, everything that one would sing in church, is Scripture or based on it, therefore, it's a prayer. I can't tell you how many times people have come up to me after Mass and told me that there is something different when I sing. I owe it all to her.

    Growing up, we had a Sister who was a very close family friend ours, Sister Thomasita. I can recall time and time again of our visits with her when we would sit in the front parlor and play the piano together or I would sing for her. Ever since I can remember, I've loved to sing. Singing with Sister Thomasita was always a special treat because I absolutely loved her. As I got older and she got sicker, those days of playing and singing were no more. I did, however, begin my cantoring career. Come my Junior year of High School, she passed away and part of my love for singing went with her. I stopped singing in my Parish that year, for a plethora of reasons, but part of it was because I no longer had her to sing for. 

     Fast forward a few years to my Freshmen year in college. I had not sung in front of a congregation in over two years and I severely missed it. I joined the church choir at school and eventually became a solo cantor again for our morning Mass. I was also taking my class with Sister Regina. However, there were some mornings when she would be the scheduled accompanist for Mass when I would be scheduled to sing and so, we began to form a bond outside of the classroom. She would sit high upon the organ seat and I would stand next to her to sing. Every five measures or so, she would stop playing so she could critique either my breathing, my vowel pronunciation and then finally, to congratulate me on a job well done. Since I am a high Soprano and she is an Alto, when we would be scheduled together, we would harmonize while she played either the piano or organ. I loved being able to sing with her and eventually, my heart kind of said it would never sing with anyone as honestly as it would with her. Basically, I decided I would never sing with anyone else but her. However, duty calls and I have to, but she is my favorite to sing with. 

    Ok, so now that you know that...classes have been over for three weeks. I have not sung at Mass either as a cantor or in the choir in three weeks save for Baccalaureate (which my dear Sister Regina conducted and it was heaven). I can honestly say, I miss it. But, there is no way I would ask to start cantoring in my own Parish again, for many reasons. However, I still miss it. I miss being about to lift my voice in my highest type of prayer. So, the other day, I was really praying hard about this desire to pray with singing. I really wanted to go back to school and sing with Sister Regina. After mass was over, I was talking to our pastor. I said nothing about praying about singing during Mass. However, he asked me if I wouldn't mind singing the Response and the Alleluia for the special Mass he was saying tonight. I couldn't say yes fast enough. His bargain was this (since he knows more or less why I won't sing at home anymore...): I would chant the music  a cappella. I was more than excited because God answered my prayers almost instantly. 

     And so, two days later, tonight, I finally sang again. Although I wasn't with my dear Sister, I was singing and the whole time I was, I could hear her in the back of my head telling me to make it my prayer; to use my voice only to praise God! Father's homily tonight circled around how the Mass is a piece of Heaven on Earth. After Mass someone said, "It is a piece of Heaven on Earth, but only when she sings." I sincerely missed singing for God so much, so the opportunity to sing, alone, was gift enough. But to have some of our Parishioners tell me that my voice is their piece of Heaven, was more than a blessing.

     When I was younger, the only reason I wanted to sing was to bring them closer to God. In all the years that I have sung as a prayer, I've had so many people come to me and tell me how I helped them find or see God. These people range from the homeless on the streets of New Orleans to the Parishioners of my home Parish. To be such an instrument (literally) of God's love is a most beautiful blessing and I am so grateful for those opportunities. I sincerely only want to lead people to God and if I can be a piece of Heaven on Earth, well, I know for sure that God is speaking (well...singing) through my voice. Thanks God for the beauty of that opportunity. Amen, Amen, Alleluia. 

Let's Go To The Beach, Beach - Stone Harbor

"We may think that what we do is a mere drop in the ocean but the ocean would be so much less without that drop."

- Mother Teresa

     The later into the school year it got, the less work I did at work study and the more heart to heart conversation that took place. Essentially, by the last week of school, both my Work Study Sister (she's lovely, legitimately) and myself really could have used a day or two at the beach. Fortunately, for us, we were going to get four! 

     It was the annual Nun's Beach Service Trip. Last year, because I was in Florida, I couldn't go and I was heartbroken. But, my calendar assured both me and my Sister that I could go this year. Praise God!! I had just moved out of my dorm room Monday night and hadn't even been home for more than twelve hours before I was on the road again headed back to school. I had gone out early to Mass, got back on the road, and after picking up s'mores boy (see pictures below) and getting coffee, we were at school again preparing for those four days down the shore with the sisters and some students. Soon, we were on our way, myself driving behind the school van with all the luggage and s'mores boy (who would later in the week be referred to as simply "cardigan"). After taking all the crazy back roads to the beach, we finally made it to the mansion! Having been there once before, I was ecstatic to see the familiar white building and hear the ocean. Sidenote: I have a minor obsession with water and the ocean. So, just the very notion of the ocean (that rhymed) brought me happiness. 

     We arrived, unloaded the vans and were given x amount of free time to do whatever. Me? I went wading, of course. I legitimately ran to the beach, which by the way is in the back yard of the Mansion and owned by the Sisters (how cool?!). I was in the water after just barely pulling up my pant legs. It felt wonderful. I was the happiest girl in the world. After free time, it was dinner around a HUGE rectangular table and then a bout of "collecting" fire wood. By collecting, I mean borrowing without the intention of returning. Then we had our campfire during which a few sisters and students had their very first s'mores (which, really, how does one go through life without ever having eaten one?!) and we played the famous alphabet game during which we deducted and added points like we were doing a chemistry problem. We also played the story game where each person adds a line to a story. Apparently grandma makes tuna which really isn't tuna when she's down the shore...suuuuuure, Sister. 

   The next day was quite a special one since I went to bed nineteen years old and woke up twenty. I, like some people, don't really like my birthday; it's too much attention. Yet, my friends, knowing this, decided to tell everyone in the house. Yes, oh how I love them. When my dear work study sister gave the ok to have everyone sing to be at breakfast, I uncontrollably gave her a most horrendous stink face (for which I later apologized) because I absolutely, positively DO NOT like that song!! All in good humor though, I swallowed it. We spent the morning cleaning the third floor, working in teams. My team, made up of myself, my roommate, some new friends and Sister Work Study got the most lovely view : the beach. Yep, we were spoiled. And it was most likely fixed...but whatever. Since it was rainy that day, I very willingly took the free time in the afternoon to curl up in bed with my book and take a nap for a little while. Dinner followed and then, after I had allowed myself believe that the birthday embarrassment was over, a cake was wheeled out with a very typical convent like candle (a vigil candle) and a most beautiful birthday card. I don't know how she managed it, but everyone signed it and I was completely clueless the whole time. I will honestly say, as much as I don't like my birthday, it was the best birthday I had ever had. I couldn't have been more grateful for the amount of love that was put into it. 

     The next day followed the same pattern, minus the whole birthday celebrations. That afternoon I spent my free time with some of the sisters and lovely ladies in Cape May "shopping" and by shopping I mean, doing Pop Rock Shots (dumping the whole bag of pop rocks in your mouth at one time and having your mouth EXPLODE), animating puppets, and telling stories about the paintings we found in the stores on main street. After the shopping trip, a few crazy girls and myself went swimming. By swimming I mean, full out bathing suit, head under the water, swimming. It was glorious. And it made my bum knee feel absolutely wonderful. Hello Water Therapy!!! That night, my best friend (who is a "baby nun") and I took a severely long walk...and that was even better therapy...for my heart.

    Friday came before we knew it and so, it was spent hanging out with the sisters, cleaning up the place one final time and teaching the other sisters who were on retreat how to fly a kite on the beach. When it came time to leave, I almost cried. So much of me is the ocean; I thrive on water. It's such a spiritual thing for me but also, I am a true believer in the fact that the beach does something so wonderful: it strips a person down to their core and allows them to be who they really are. 

     The truth of the matter is this: the sisters we see at school are our teachers and our administrators. The kids they see at school are their students and people they must look out for me. But down the shore, everyone is on the same level. Conversations that may never have taken place at school, happened at the shore. We all learned something new about one another and it was such a growing experience for everyone. From tagging along to Mass in the morning with the sisters, to having those quiet heart to heart conversations in passing, to counting the number of extra hugs received, to simply sharing the peace and joy of the ocean with some of those who I love so much. 

     I would honestly give anything to have stayed an extra day. But let's be honest. I think next time, it should be two weeks long. I miss it. I miss it so much. I miss the sound of the ocean coming through my window. I miss the smiling faces of hard workers cleaning, cleaning, cleaning. I miss the early morning sun rise and pre-coffee conversations with the sisters. I miss simply being there. It was quite possible the best way to start Summer of Service 2012!!! Here's to the rest of my service trips this summer going just as well!

 "Collecting" wood for the firepit 

 Some things never change 

 Sister's first s'more

 Cleaning the bathrooms 

 Two-thirds of the Kitchen Crew 

 Pop Rock Shots...to humor me

 These were the best...after the yodeling pickle

 Hello Summer Mansion

 Just a little bit of photography

 Teaching Sister how to not crash a kite

Best group ever? I think so!

Princess for a Day - First Communion

"The most beautiful thing in the world is the communion between Jesus in the Eucharist and the littlest hearts who have the fullest understand of who He is!"

     Do you remember that day? For me, it was May 6th, 2000. I wore a beautiful white dress and cute little white shoes. I wore precious little socks with little white bows on the side and my veil was attached to a headband. I had practiced time and time again on how to fold my hands and bow my head and stick out my tongue. I was ready! 

     When I think back on it, it feels like it happened so long ago and yet, I can perfectly recall it like it was yesterday. I can't honestly say I remember my sister's the same way, but I'm sure she could easily recall the whole thing for you, too. It's been a while since there was a First Communion in our family and while some people have told me they think about their special day every time they receive the Eucharist, I can't truthfully say I do. It's not very often that I do think about it. But one thing is for sure, I never want to go back to those pre-Eucharist days, because Jesus in the Eucharist is my ultimate strength!!

     Flash forward to May 5th, 2012; the First Communion of my littlest sister and my god-daughter (that, my friends is CRUCIAL information). I had come home from school late the night before and the alarm went off at a whooping 5:30 am; I hit the snooze button til 6. The little princess was sound asleep on my floor as I crept down the stairs to get myself ready. At 7, I finally woke her up. Princess Face (my latest nickname for her) got up and hopped in the shower to finally start getting ready! We had to be at school by 8:30 and for a little Princess, that might seem impossible. But, we did it! Her hair, subtle makeup and outfit was all ready to go and although I am a bit biased, she was the most beautiful little First Communicant I had ever seen. 

      Mass was at ten and so I was granted another hour of running around like crazy trying to calm her down, see all the parishioners who almost didn't recognize me because it's been so long since I've been home, and finding my great-grandmother (true story. she got lost.) My own heart was beating like crazy because I was so excited for my little Princess. Soon enough, the music began and all the little princes and princesses came walking down the aisle. I love to sing and always sing my heart out in church, but when I saw her smiling as she walked down the aisle, I choked up and couldn't sing without tears running down my face. I was so happy for her!! After the whole congregation got over the little awkward parts of the Mass by saying, "And also with you spirit," and my great-grandma awkwardly asking me when I was going to get back together with my previously dated friend, everyone was into the actual swing of the Mass. From where we were seated in the church, I could not see a thing. I guess it's a short person problem!! But, I could hear everything.

       Father's homily was absolutely beautiful. He started by asking where the parents were, then the grandparents, then the God-Parents. Out of all the people packed into our Parish, there were only five God-Parents and I was one of those five proud God-Parents!!!! He then asked all the kids why they were excited for the day!! After asking almost all the kids, he tied together all their answers and produced the most beautiful First Communion Homily I've heard in a while (and I've heard a lot!!!). 

      Finally the time came for the first communicants to receive their First Eucharist and while I couldn't see a thing, my heart knew when my little Princess received Jesus! Immediately, tears were streaming down my cheeks for the beauty of the First Communion between Jesus and the little hearts of the kids! I walked down the aisle as the time came for me to go to Communion and Sister Jeanne, reached her hand out from her pew as I walked by to pat my arm. I smiled at her and saw that she had damp cheeks, too. I guess it's a sister thing!! In both senses of the word!! I smiled at Little Lizzie as I walked past and she was all smiles!! Yep, the most beautiful thing in the world is to witness the First Communion between Jesus and the little hearts of those who know exactly who He is!!

Long Time, No See...Literally

     So how do I explain my silence in recent weeks? One word: school. The truth is, I have never in my whole life been so busy with school work than I have been in the weeks between Easter and now. The good news is this: the semester is OVER and I ended with a successful 3.84 GPA!! Woot Woot. Now while I like to pick some bones with some of my professors about why I should get a higher grade because I was the ONLY participant in their classes, I don't really care too much. I mean, check that GPA, sistah!! Since the school year has officially ended, let's list some things I learned this year:

1.) Camilla aprons are actually NOT fire proof and will catch fire when used for pot holders.
2.) Coffee IS the elixir of life and one simply cannot function without it.
3.) Rosencrantz and Guildenstern is actually very comparable with my life story: the road less traveled lacks directions.
4.) Chicago is FLAT!!
5.) It's good to know the Mother General.
6.) Functioning on 2 hours of sleep is OK as long as the reason you only got two hours of sleep is because you were baking cookies with your friends.
7.) Observations aren't all that bad when spent with the three best friends a girl could ask for.
8.) Sometimes God takes us through deserts so we can learn full dependence on Him.
9.) The ability to forgive those whom you love the most is the greatest thing to possess.
10.) Falling asleep in Mass is OK as long as you have a pew buddy to wake you up.
11.) When in doubt, while giving speeches in Public Speaking classes, always talk about nuns or sisters.
12.) Some sisters can see right through you, regardless of how much you try to hide.
13.) You can actually paint really well.
14.) Sometimes the littlest note of encouragement can make someone's whole week.
15.) Working at the Motherhouse has immense perks!!
16.) Some people don't know what a preposition is and that is why we need really good English teachers!!
17.) Never take for granted those moments you spend at work study not really working.
18.) Don't be hesitant to receive hugs as easily as you give them; your strength lies in them.
19.) Sometimes the sisters figure out your code names for them...oops.

but most of all....

20.) No matter how silent God seems to be, He is always there. Promise.

I learned a lot more this year, don't worry, but those are just a few. In the next week, I'll be posting about my little Lizzie's First Communion and my week in Stone Harbor with the sisters!!! Look forward to them!!! 

Easter Never Tasted So Good - Welcome Back, Jesus

"Well end your suffering, little man. Why don't you pack up your gear and clear outta here?" 

- West Side Story

     

    Welcome back, JC! Easter is always an amazing time for reflection and thus, I have so many thoughts for you to ponder. First things first: since I'm not a sister yet, I don't have a set outfit to wear everyday. And let's be honest, when I was younger, I absolutely despised shopping. But it became a bonding thing with my cousin and now I find it quite enjoyable. Especially when I find the perfect Easter dress (see below)! Since my cousin and are away at school, however, we can't go shopping together. So our compromise is that every time we have a new outfit, we have to post a picture on the other's facebook. Today, I did just that. Someone else intercepted the picture and helped me realize that I looked just like Maria from West Side Story, so that explains the quotation above. But really, let's think about it for a hot sec...no one told Jesus He had to leave the tomb except His Father. But if His Father was in West Side Story, He might have said something like that. Did you ever hear a Daddy call his son, little man? Often I refer to my little cousins as little man and little princess. So, it's like God the Father saying, "Ok little man, end your suffering. Get up and move out!" Now if God was like my Daddy, He would have gone into the tomb, tickled JC's feet and said, "Wakey, wakey eggs and bakey!!" Actually, I can easily imagine God saying to Jesus on Easter Morning, "Come on, Son. Get up. We've got things to do today. Let's go!" Imagine God like your Daddy...how would He wake you up on Easter morning?

      Second thing: I'm not sure if many of you reading this have the understanding of what YOLO means. Let me explain. It's a hot trend on twitter and it's an acronym just like LOL or BRB. YOLO means "You Only Live Once." It winds up at the end of a risky tweet in the form of a hashtag looking like #YOLO. So for example, I would tweet, "Pulling an all nighter before observations telling Ghost Stories #YOLO" or "Going exploring for Mary's Lake in galoshes #YOLO" and so on...so basically anything one would do because he or she only lives once. Make sense? Ok, good. So now, I was checking Twitter yesterday and someone tweeted "Jesus died for our sins #thanks #YOLO" but the truth is, it was inaccurate. Jesus, technically didn't "only live once" because He died and came back to life. I shook my head in laughter. This morning, I get a tweet on my phone thank says, "Welcome back, Jesus #thanks #YORO (You only rose once)" Now how's that for accuracy? 

     Third thing: When you went to church as a kid with your family, or even now with your family, did you only sit with your family in a pew? Now granted, if you're like my Dad's family, all of you took up a whole pew, so there was no room to share. But most of you had families like mine, five or six people. And most likely one or two of the kids were either in the choir or altar serving, so there was plenty of room to share a pew with. And if you're a Parish like mine, no one cares about awkwardly sitting with six different families over two pews, and most likely the kids sitting between you and your parents aren't related to you in any way AND your little sister is probably sitting on some other mom's lap because your mom is busy with the other little kids trying to find the song in the songbook AND your dad is holding hands with your best friends mom during the Our Father and it's ok. That more or less happened this morning at my Parish. At the beginning of Mass, my mom and dad were sitting next to me and then my little sister on my other side. Our middle sister was in the choir loft. Next to her was another choir kid's parents and next to them, some random Grandma everyone knew. Behind us were three more families with six other kids. By the Homily, one of the little girls behind us dropped her doll in our pew and I somehow had my seat moved twice. After Communion when all the seating gets rearranged, I was now at the total opposite of where I started out and there was now a little one behind me poking my stomach as I knelt because it was hilarious to see me flinch every time. As we were all awaiting the final song announcement, the two moms behind me who were now sitting next to each other were trying to send me signals about how school was going. Finally, we were singing the final hymn, dancing and clapping our hands like Jesus had just risen that morning...oh wait...He did. All seating arrangements aside, what I'm trying to say is this: Easter is a morning when people we don't necessarily see all the time, come to church (myself included...college girl problems...) and...sit in our seats. So, we smush together and we don't mind. You know that common phrase, "It takes a whole village to raise a child?" Well, consider my Parish family, my village. People I saw this morning commented on how much I've grown up, how wonderful it is to see me back and of course, they had plenty of hugs to give me and I to give them in return. For a quick second, I imagined myself coming back to my Parish as a sister, having the same thing happen, except, my Pew would probably be filled with even more families and little kids. If all the kids had their choice, they would probably all try to sit on my lap at once! I know a lot of people don't like feeling claustrophobic in church, but that's something my Parish family thrives on...we just LOVE to smush together in one pew all the time. 

    Final thought: Lent is over. This means, we can go back to those things we gave up. As many of you know, I gave up coffee (more or less the greatest cross I've carried during Lent). While I wasn't as anxious as I thought I was going to be to have my first cup of coffee in forty days, it was still so great to have that warm elixir of life drip down my throat. Mhmm...coffee. When I grabbed the first cup I found in the cupboard, I didn't realize what it said. When I sat down to start my blog, that's when I realized. It says, "I love you with all of my heart." My favorite prayer leaflet in my Liturgy of the Hours book says, "With all of my heart, with all of my heart, I love you." It was just a quiet little "Thank you" from Jesus for my sacrifice this Lent. That made the forty days all the more rewarding. Thanks Jesus. Thanks for dying, thanks for rising, and thanks for letting me know my sacrifice meant something to You, too. 

Happy Easter All!

What Child Is This, Who Laid To Rest...Good Friday

"What Child is this, who laid to rest, in Mary's lap, is sleeping?"

     While a Child to us, He was no more, to Mary, He was still. If I said Good Friday is my favorite day out of the whole liturgical year, that makes me out to be some kind of pessimistic, narcissistic, crazy girl. And yet, Good Friday is my favorite day of the liturgical year. While "favorite" might not be the ideal word to describe my feelings for the day, I have no other word (the English language is such a slacker). OK, now that that is over, why Good Friday?

      Many people I've met tell me I'm a very sensitive person. Spiritual directors hold onto the idea that because I am so sensitive, I gather a lot of other people's emotions. In addition, as sensitive as I am, I rarely cry openly in front of people...except on Good Friday. Good Friday was my favorite day to cantor, because the Psalm for the service is "Father, into Your Hands, I commend my spirit." It is sung in minor key (my FAVORITE) and although technically, we're not supposed to scoop our notes and vowels, if one can properly scoop for this Psalm, the emotion one can find and provide for the congregation while singing it, is immense. I would have to practice at least a hundred times so I wouldn't cry while singing it. And yet, if Good Friday makes me cry, and I don't like crying in front of people, why is it my favorite? Well, because it does just that! It fills my heart with such emotion I can only experience with the Passion, the way of the Cross, the day Christ died for me.

        Since I'm home from school for Easter break (Catholic school perks), I've been visiting all the various churches nearby to see the sisters, who double as my friends. So, yesterday for Good Friday service, I drove a good twenty minutes (maybe longer thanks to the SEPTA buses I was driving behind) to be with some of the Sisters. That service, out of any Good Friday service I had ever been to, was the most peaceful and most thought-provoking. At all the services I had ever been to growing up, during the veneration of the cross, I have only seen a little cross; too big to hang on your wall at home, but way too little to hang on the church wall above the altar. Of course, this cross also had on it, the body of Christ. However, the cross this year, was a basic wooden cross, put together by two Parish men, and there was no Jesus. Also, it was so large that both the priest and the altar server girl had to hold it together. It made me think: my favorite Rosary is made of wood and has no corpse on it; my favorite necklace also has no corpse. How many times have I reflected that the reason I love them so much is because they remind me that not only has Christ risen, but that I must now take the place of Christ on the cross in my life. That large, beat up, ages-old, empty cross did that for me and right away I felt such emotion and such gratitude for Jesus' death.

     A few hours later, at my church, some Parish members were putting on the Passion of Christ/the Living Stations in the voices of Via Dolorosa. While I sat in a side pew by myself (my little sister beat me out of the spot next to Daddy...) I really began to reflect on how I would have behaved if I had been present. One of the first things the narrator of the story told us was that during the play, the soldiers call out to members in the congregation asking if they are a Christian. She said for us not to be afraid and to answer "Yes", to go along with it. For some reason, I immediately got so nervous that I would be the one they called out to. What on earth was going on inside of me? I knew all the players; grew up with them, even. So, if one of them called out to me, why would I be so scared? I reflect a lot of what it means to "die to self and for Christ" during the Lenten days and yet, I'm OK with it. But honestly, this would not be something I planned to give up, but what Christ planned. And immediately, I realized, I have to do what He wants when He asks me. I understood that maybe I am scared of what He wants from me, but that because He wants it, there is no denying Him. 

      When I came to terms with that, it turned out that I wasn't going to be the one who called was called out to. So, then I was able to reflect on the actual Passion. I realized that if I had been there that day with Jesus and the crowd, I would have been the one who cried into her robe silently, in the back corner of the crowd. I would have been the one the weeping women turned around to face after meeting Jesus and I would have comforted them, telling them it would be OK and trying to be optimistic. My tears wouldn't exist at that moment. Then later, at the foot of the Cross, when I was left only with Mary and the Beloved disciple and a few others, I would have broke down and hysterically cried for my Lord. 

       When I found myself crying immense amounts of tears during the actual play, I realized I had been sucked into the reality of it. I was crying as Mary sang about her boy child, while holding Him in her arms. And when she stopped singing, in the silence that followed, "What child is this" was continually looping through my brain. How perfect that song, written for the birth of Christ, fit for the death of Christ. Yes, our faith made full circle. What Child was this? The One who came from Heaven to earth to love us and save us. 

Visiting Jesus in the Garden ... Seven Different Times

     Happy Triduum!! These days are my most favorite days out of the whole year!! Ever since I was a little kid I was enthralled with Holy Week and the traditions. When I was little, our traditions included going to Holy Thursday Mass with my Daddy, watching him get his feet washed, singing at Mass, and visiting three churches after Mass. Every single year we would visit those churches and it was a tradition I simply loved so much. I don't know why they excited me so much, all I know is that I loved it.
      So, last year, I googled (like a good student) why we did this tradition. There are so many reasons and so many number of churches. Some say it's a walking pilgrimage, to walk to three different churches to remember the walk to Calvary. However, this can only really happen if you live a big city with churches on every other block. Some say it is a custom to remember the seven wounds of Christ. Some say, for a novena and they visit nine churches. Some even say it goes back to Mary searching for Jesus when he was lost in the Temple. But I like the one explanation that explains it is like visiting with Jesus in the Garden.
       Now that I was a fully informed scholar, I made it a goal of mine to visit Seven Churches on my own last year after I went to Mass with the sisters. I succeeded in making it to five, because two were closed for the night already. I remember getting upset because who closes churches at 10:30 at night, I mean really?! But honestly, when I thought about it, I understood. So this year, my goal was the same. I had a whole route planned out in my head and knew I would make it! I went to Mass with the Sisters again, but this time my little sister came with me as well. Mass was beautiful, as always!! And then, my little sister, in all her innocence, invited one of our closest sisters with us. And so, we made the journey!
       After traveling to many different churches, seeing so many of my sister friends at each one (which really warmed my heart!), I dropped my little sister off at home and went to our final church of the evening with my "Big Sister." It has always been my favorite chapel to visit on Holy Thursday and it is always the last one I visit. It is the most beautiful by far and the most enriching. We had just made it for the final twenty minutes of the night before they locked up the Chapel at midnight. Yes, we were out that late visiting churches!
      At the last church of the night, I always reflect on the lateness of the night and what this means to Jesus. Truly I felt, that while everyone else was sleeping, we were still up with Jesus. I think that if I had been a disciple on the night of the Last Supper, I would have had no problem staying up with Him while He was in the Garden. Now that may sound presumptuous, but let me tell you this: I am a college student, which is a synonym for insomniac which means, too many times have I done my praying at 2 or 3 in the morning after finishing all my school work. I think I would have made it. There's something mystical about this night, too. On any other given night at midnight or later, I probably would have been a little terrified going out by myself in places I rarely ever go, at night. And yet, last night, and every Holy Thursday, there is no fear for myself. But rather, for Jesus, and His awaiting of the news that He was going to be crucified. My Jesus, my Beloved Jesus, was just waiting for the bad news to come. I can't tell you how many tears I shed at the various churches we visited!
     The truth is, out of all the days of the year, late, late night on Holy Thursday is when I really feel the closest to Jesus. Because while everyone else is asleep, I'm awake in the garden.