A blog sharing the journey of a young woman discerning her role in the world as a contemporary Catholic. Here she tells numerous stories of service, prayer, struggle, nuns, her students and her family. Each day is a beautiful one and why not spread the goodness?
For the first time this semester, I was up before the alarm went off. I was laying in bed when it felt like butterflies were kissing me on my eyelids. It was as if Daddy was gently telling me to wake up, that He had a surprise in store. And after rolling over and almost ignoring the natural wake-up call, the alarm went off a few minutes later. So, I climbed out of bed and actually took my time getting ready for the day. There was no rush, no running late, no trying to find shoes in a hurry, no throwing my hair in a bun because I didn't have time for a crack of dawn shower. There was just time and peace and quiet. Often I am baffled by the fact that I don't actually speak, I don't break the silence of the day, until about an hour after Mass (excluding Mass responses). Yet, today I felt such peace in the quiet and felt no need to speak, no need to break the silence. In fact, I wanted the silence.
Imagine my surprise when, after coming to the peaceful recognition of the beauty of silence, all of a sudden I heard this insane scratching noise as I walked down the pathway to back campus. What on earth, I thought. So, I stopped, thinking for a brief second I was going crazy and was hearing things. When I looked up to see if there was anything in the tree, I saw nothing but an empty bird's nest; a solid reminder that Winter is still upon us. And when I looked, I realized the noise had stopped. So, I kept walking. But a few seconds later, I heard it again and so I turned around. Humbly sitting on his hind legs in the highest branch was a little gray squirrel chomping down on his breakfast. He was literally cracking down on a HUGE walnut. I laughed, realizing how impossible the squirrel seemed attempting to eat a nut bigger than his head and much bigger than his little hands could hold. Yet, he was determined. I smiled, said hello, took his picture and left him in peace to finish his breakfast.
As I continued on my walk, I noticed Sister Susan walking from the convent. We would eventually meet at the fork in the sidewalk. I smiled in her general direction and then realized the beautiful red sky behind her. She smiled back in the silence and then nodded her head with a gentle hand motion to direct my attention the back of the school building. I stopped solid in my footsteps and couldn't believe my eyes. THE WHOLE BUILDING SEEMED DRAPED IN A BLANKET OF CRIMSON RED! It was breathtaking. Like, I literally think I stopped breathing for a few seconds. She watched me take it in and then together, like little kids, we watched the sunrise as we walked across the rest of back campus. I snagged a picture real quick, because I could literally NOT let the opportunity slip. It was too beautiful. However, as I was taking the photo, she brought my attention to the cross on the corner of the building. There was "just enough crimson" to cover the Cross. And I thought, how appropriate for the day before Lent: to see the cross draped in red, as a reminder that He shed His blood for us. I smiled as I thanked Him in my heart and then Sister Susan proceeded to take the stairs for me so we could continue our journey to Chapel together. Before I entered Chapel, I said, "I know today will be a day of beautiful wonders because we shared the sunrise together. Thank you."
Ever since I was a little kid, I have been fascinated by the sun. I could watch sunsets and sunrises all day. In fact, I could watch the sun dance in between the clouds all day, too. I yearn to take beautiful photos of the sun setting and rising. It, just like words, fills my heart and soul with so much beauty. How could I not accept God's invitation to love after all the beautiful sun scenarios He has given me? Now, I know that many see the sunrise or sunset as something to watch with their significant other, but for me, I wish to share that beauty and love with EVERYONE! In truth, my significant other IS there with me, for He sent me the sun in the first place. But to be able to share the beauty of the sunset or sunrise, like I did this morning with Sister Susan, is such a beautiful moment.
The sun does for me what the ocean does for a lot of people; it brings me peace and makes me stop. It's like God is putting up the RED LIGHT and telling me to stop, to recognize, to breathe and to feel the beauty that surrounds me and is within me. God knows, however, that I also love water; calm, drops or flowing streams. And so, He gave me today, both in a poetic sense. Just as a splash in the water catches our attention, God caught mine with a splash of friendship with Sister Susan and a splash of crimson on my face. If only we could all take a few moments of our day and realize the splashes He is making in our lives!
When we finally got to Chapel, I noticed that a lot of the sisters were straggling in a few minutes after prayers began. It may have been because prayers started earlier than usual, but I like to think that they all enjoyed a moment with their significant other as He splashed all their faces with the beautiful, crimson Son.
"What knocks me out is a book that, when you're all done reading it,
you wish the author was a terrific friend of yours
and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it.
That doesn't happen much, though."
- The Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger
When was the last time you read a love letter? Or a poem that made you swoon over the beauty of the words? How about a children's book? Maybe even viewing a quotation on Pinterest, StumbleUpon, Instragram or Tumblr? Many of you know I love words so much. Sometimes I read certain words that make my soul and heart fill with so much emotion. I can read sometimes just a sentence and it speaks so much to me. They can make me breathless, sorrowful, loved and so much more. Words can also, when used correctly, give me the power to do the same for someone else. I can choose the most endearing words to flatter someone with true flattery, or I can express my sadness and make the reader cry with me. I could also make heads spin when I work puzzles of words around them when I feel like being cryptic. I can confuse a person, express my anger, and win any debate. When you can use words, you have so much power between your lips. I've often thought this was simply an English Major thing...but then, if it is, God must be an English major.
Sometimes I am feeling the need for love. So, I take my bible off my book shelf and gently open it. Where I have placed rose petal after rose petal, the pages open to Song of Songs 2:16 "My lover belongs to be and I to him." I swoon for a second, and then read on. It is a love letter from God, written to me (and so many others). It is the most beautiful love letter I have ever read. I never tire of reading it. In Isaiah, only a few books away from SOS, God tells me that "though your sins are like scarlet, I will make them white as snow" (Isaiah 1:18). Next Book, Jeremiah, He tells me,"For I know the plans I have for you" (Jeremiah 29:11). Even in Lamentations, He gives voice to the suffering, the broken-hearted. Friends, we didn't even get to Psalms, Proverbs or Hosea, yet, much less the NEW TESTAMENT. If I were to actually quote all the beautiful words the Bible has to offer me as the most beautiful piece of literature, I would essentially be quoting the entire Bible. Instead, I just whet your taste buds for the beauty that is the Bible.
I have always thought that the Bible was God's truest, deepest, best work of Literature. However, I never really thought of the possibility of God being an English Major. No, that didn't happen til last week when I was in Theology class and we read a section from the Gospels about how Jesus essentially owned those Pharisees in a gentle debate. He not only didn't give them the chance to argue, but he stuck the truth straight to their hearts. Like I said, English Majors can really get to the hearts of people and make them feel. Jesus did that not only with the Pharisees, but with his disciples, his followers, his mother, everyone he spoke to. He was quite the orator, if I say so myself. In fact, he was so great, that someone should have written a book about him. Oh wait....
Anyway, like a good English Major, I am always reading and increasing my personal Canon. Anyone can tell you that when I read, I read with a writing instrument. Whether it's a pen of varying colors, or pencil, or marker, or crayon, I always have it near by. There are so many words that just jab at my heart or make me feel so much emotion in my soul, that I have to highlight them or write them down somewhere. You can my favorite books from the amount of markings in them. There are plenty of folded, leafed corners and cracks in the spins. My books are well-loved.
Often the words I find in my books, I feel as if God, Himself were speaking them to me. Take, for instance, my favorite Children's Book, "Where You Are, My Love Will Find You," by Nancy Tillman. It is a book written from a parent to a child and yet, when I sat in Barnes and Noble reading it to my Sister, two Christmasses ago, I knew immediately why I was meant to read it: God wanted me to feel loved. I felt as if God Himself was reading the book to me. Of course, there are my other favorite books like "A Prayer for Owen Meany," "This House of Brede," "The Shack," "The Alchemist," and so many more....all of them highlighted, underlined and written in, pages leafed and spins cracked. In all of them, I found God's voice. Wow, God. Just wow.
Suddenly, last week it hit me. God gave us the most beautiful work of Literature in the Bible, but he also gave us countless authors and illustrators to give us countless books. And so, essentially, He gave voice to these people and what they write are the words He gave them. He is in every word that I read and it is beautiful. God is a writer and a beautiful, creative writer at that. He loves to send those words straight to our hearts. God seriously must be an English Major. What do you think?
After a long fifteen hour day on Thursday, I called Sister Michele and double-checked the solo flying protocol. All I had to do was print the ticket and the next morning just go through to security in the airport, she confirmed. And so, Mike and I went to the Library to print my ticket. Then, after a series of venting sessions, dinner at Applebees and some homework, I finally finished packing around 2 am. For a few hours I slept in my bed before getting up and going for a run. A nun run, that is.
I went to bed Thursday night knowing that I would not have time for a nap and I would probably be exhausted by the time I landed in Chicago. But there was an energetic flame in my heart. Within a few hours, I knew I would be seeing not only my AE but also my beloved Chicago Nazareth Sisters. I remembered clear as day how nervous I was about going last year for the first time. I didn't know anyone. Okay, I barely knew a few of the sisters. But still it was a new place and a new mission and a new experience. I was slightly terrified. This year, however, I was super excited. I was so excited that even the notion of flying solo (I'm flying solo, solo, solooooooooo....) didn't phase me! I was so excited that before the plane even left the ground, I was passed out solid between a few business men and a dad. Before I knew it, the plane was landing! Now there were merely only minutes before I would see my AE! MINUTES!
I got the warning not to step outside until she texted me. Like a good kid, I obeyed. And when I finally did get the text, I was glad I had listened. Talk about 11 degree weather with a 7 degree wind chill. YIKES! It was FREEZING! Right away bustling conversation took place! Of course! It had almost been a MONTH! And soon, we were pulling into the Provincialate Parking Lot! There were plenty of new sisters to meet and plenty of old friends to hug! Honestly, it was just like walking through the back door of a place I called home. I placed my things in my room in the 2c wing and headed back to help the Coach of the Nun Run team (AKA my AE, Sister Michele) prepare for the Nun Runners.
What's this jargon, you ask?! Well, a Nun Run is just that. A group of young women get together and run to the nuns. This year, the nun runners (myself included) were starting at the CSFN Convent (where I just happened to be staying anyway). A few vocation directors from various communities in Chicago joined us for dinner and a Vocation Panel during which we not only asked millions of questions but also heard so many great stories of the sisters. The sisters that joined us ranged from full habited, new communities to very ancient communities to communities without habits and so on and so forth. What was the most beautiful story, I felt, was Sr. Elyse, OP's description of charism. She told us that a charism is the light that shines forth from a facet in a beautifully cut diamond. The light is the same for every community, but the difference is how the light shines through! How beautiful?! We ended the first night of the nun run with The Trouble With Angels. Heel. Toe. Heel. Toe. SHORT CUT.
The next morning was an early one as we began with Mass. I fell in love with the priest who gave such an energetic homily where he not only engaged the congregation but also told extremely intriguing stories. Like I said, in love. Soon after we had breakfast. The girls were surprised by the AWESOME breakfast we had, but let's be honest: there's always good eats at the convent! And then we trekked out in the three inches of snow to visit the Carmelites.
Sister Teresita (little Teresa) greeted us at the turn and asked us for our special intentions before we headed upstairs to the speak room. In the speak room, behind the grate (I wish I had been able to take a picture....) there were a plethora of brown habited sisters and two German Shepherds. For two hours they spoke to us about the life of Carmel, vocations, life in general and told us so many stories. It was as if they spent all day in silence....oh wait. They do! It's one of the most beautiful things about Carmel that I love: the peace and silence! Contemplative life is the life of my soul. However, Apostolic life is the life of my hands. I could never make it as a Carmelite, not because I can't ever shut up (although some would argue this is the main reason....) but rather because I know I am meant to touch people and help them heal. I can't necessarily do that from the cloister. However, there will always be that longing, that senhsucht, in my heart for the life of Carmel.
Next on the Nun Run were the Sisters of the Resurrection. We spent lunchtime with these sisters and how beautiful our time was there. In fact, one of the sisters here knew one of my close CSFN sisters from home. What a small world (and confirmation!). After a beautiful prayer service, we headed on out to visit the Felician Sisters! One of the sisters who was with us, struck up conversation right away with me. Even though she was telling us many stories in the car, it wasn't until we got to the convent that her and I really got to talk. I felt as if we connected right away, before we even had a conversation. Here's the kicker, I was the only one who really understood her word for word. She's from Poland. As we were headed into Chapel, she whispered to me that I was fall in love. And boy did I ever. It was like a mini cathedral hidden like a diamond in the rough. As part of our visit with the Felician Sisters, a few other Vocation Directors from the area joined us for what they call an Emmaus Walk. This is when we each get paired with a Sister by luck of the draw and walk with them to share stories. As I was handed the pile of names, I prayed that I was meant to have a sister who would understand me. I was blessed with Sister Eliana, the Polish Sister who I connected with earlier. I thanked God, because in my little heart, she was the sister I was praying to walk with. And so, we did. We walked and shared and understood. I told her how I understood her so well and we shared much wisdom! I felt so blessed.
There was one more stop on the nun run and that was at the Convent of the Sisters of Charity. It is here that I discovered that in Chicago, they cut their round pizza into squares. Yeah...very strange. And I let the Philly girl out of me when I said it was so weird. Of course, at that time I was still saying soda and not pop and getting strange looks. We prayed here, too, with the sisters which was beautiful! And we always received prayer partners. Ironically, when I first sat down in the living/community room, I had no idea my Prayer Partner, Sister Marsha, was sitting next to me. At the end of our time, it was revealed to us and I couldn't help but think how great God is with His poetic foreshadowing. God must have been an English Major!
My exhaustion was running high as we piled into the convent car and headed back to the CSFN convent. Except, I was the only one staying again. I kept thinking to myself, I can't wait to hop into my pj's and get some sleep. AND IT WAS ONLY NINE O'CLOCK. But then somehow, I ended up in the 2B community room around the corner with Sister Maria Sophia, Sister AE, and Sister Gabriella. FOR THREE AND A HALF HOURS. I edited Sister Gabriella's paper, we skyped with Sister Cordia in Philadelphia, we chatted tons and tons, and after Sister Maria Sophia and Sister AE trickled off to bed, Sister Gabriella and I stayed up chatting some more.
You see, she's also a college student and most of her energy is spent during the night. Staying up til midnight (or later) is normal for both of us and there was plenty to catch up on. She's always been one to ask me "So, when are you entering?" And I've always given her the quick answer, "I don't know." It's not a pressure filled question, but rather a question from one big sister to her little sister. It's exactly how when I ask Mary, my little sister, when she is coming home. I always get an indefinite answer. This time, however, I was able to really put into words my fears, my joys and my duties. Finishing school, getting a degree and a job and paying off loans all have to be done before I can enter. The loan thing is the biggest hurdle. But then, how do I leave home? How would I survive a community where so many sisters are almost old enough to be my parents (no disrespect intended!)? How could I do it? And she gave me so much insight. I honestly felt like I was confiding in my big sister and she was giving me counsel and HOPE!
The next morning, I joined the council for prayers and breakfast in their wing. Later, I joined the rest of the sisters for Sunday Mass during which we celebrated: Consecrated Life Day, a 51st Wedding Anniversary for a local couple and the feast of St. Blase. When I sang, as a mere member of the congregation, I truly felt my heart sore. It was a true recognition of truth, beauty and home. Right after Mass, a good group of us ran out the door in six inches of snow to see the High School Production of Beauty and the Beast at St. Viator High School where Sister Maria Sophia teaches. I can honestly say that as many times as I have seen Beauty and the Beast, I have never cried so much during it. It was just so well-done and simply beautiful. Of course, I obviously found so many connections to what I was feeling that weekend.
The good news that follows this, is that we made it back just in time for supper and the Superbowl. Of course, my interest in football is about a negative 54%. So, while the majority of the sisters were watching, and a few others were doing homework, school prep work and council work (or playing Words with Friends....) I was teaching Sister Luke how to not only add contacts but take pictures and set them as caller IDs! I knew the lesson was successful when she called me later from upstairs just to check the score of the game! We made it to the end of the game where the emotions were running high in the room. Of course, I was busy snacking on the AWESOME Buffalo Chicken Dip made by the always lovely Canonical Novice, Sister Faustina! At the last 13 seconds, when the Ravens took a safety shot, the sisters were on the edge of their seats. Half the room was voting 49ers, and the other half was voting Ravens. At 34:31, it was so close! And finally....finally, the room exploded in cheers as the Baltimore Ravens came through with the wind. It was almost ten o'clock by then.
Oh how I so wanted to sleep. But there was a subtle invitation from Sister Gabriela. Of course, I did the natural college wake me up and took a hot shower. Which, mind you, every time I took a hot shower, I thought I set off the fire alarm because half way through the shower, the water just starts SCREAMING. Anyway, quickly into my PJ's I went and headed softly down the hall to her door. She jumped up, grabbed the blanket and a movie and ran with me (like sisters..) to the community room to watch it. Of course, it was a new movie for me and yet, a movie she had "known well." I was crying, she was crying, we were laughing and gasping and yeah...it was a good movie! By 12:30, I was exhausted again and had no problem falling asleep.
The next morning at 5 am, I quick jumped out of bed and met Sister Maria Sophia in the lobby. We headed out in what was now ten inches of snow for Mass and then a long day at St. Viator High School. There I observed different English and Theology classes as well as shared my story. Who was I? Where was I from? What was I doing there? It all came down to a mere college student who wants to be a nun. However, at one point I got introduced as a nun and I had to smile and say, nuns don't normally where mascara or eye liner. Before I knew it, the full day was OVER and we were headed home. Then...it was a rapid mission to pack and clean in an hour. Could I do it? Yes. Could I do it without crying? Maybe not.
During the time I was packing and organizing my room, Sister Maria Sophia and Sister Angela came to visit. You know you are comfortable with the sisters and the sisters are comfortable with you when you can pack all your belongings (including dirty laundry) in front of them and neither party minds. I was trying so hard not to cry. So hard. I had felt so at home, so loved during the time I spent there. I felt like me. Truly Becca, truly me. I didn't feel out of place or awkward or even restrained. In fact, I felt freer than ever.
As I carried my things down the stairs before one final sweep of my room, I met a few Sisters along the way: Sister Michael Marie, Sister Mary Ann and Sister Stella Marie. Each of those sisters have such a beautiful spot in my heart. I made a final stop in the Chapel, gave hugs goodbye and did the sweep. I took my time saying good bye because nun time is all relative. We printed my plane ticket and packed the car. To the airport I went after one final good-bye and "Kochem Cie" (I love you in Polish....). Do not cry. Do not cry. Do not cry.
Finally, I was on the plane sitting next to a gentle old man and an empty seat. I plugged my earbuds into my iphone and pressed play. What was the first song that came on? "This Is Home" by Switchfoot. Yep, instant tears. There was so much about this weekend in Chicago that made me thank God over and over. There were so many little confirmations or God-Winks as I like to call them. The snow was a HUGE confirmation that I was where I needed to be at that present moment. I know they are called Sisters of the Holy Family of Nazareth for a reason, because I certainly felt like a mala siostra (little sister) in a big family. I felt loved, so very loved. And yes, deep down in my heart, I knew, rather, was almost reminded of where I belong: As Jesus' beloved. Because honestly, this is home.
"You may say I'm a dreamer but I'm not the only one! I hope someday you'll join us." - John Lennon
For many of you, you know that it is Catholic Schools week! You might also know, whether by the infamous Facebook posts from moms or the giggling little ones standing outside of stores, that it's also Girl Scout Cookie season! Both of those events are key players in my crazy, adventure-filled week!
A few weeks ago before I went back to school, Sister Marcelina asked me to be a special person for her class on Special Persons day during Catholic Schools Week! Of course I said yes! CSW was my favorite week growing up and honestly, one of the reasons I was so sad when my grade school was closing was because our parish wouldn't be celebrating it anymore! But God had a different plan! Typically on Special Persons Day, parents or grandparents of the students come in and talk about their profession. That's great except, I'm neither a parent nor grandparent and I also don't have a profession!! So, at work on Monday morning, I was almost begging the sisters for prayers for inspiration for something to talk about! Having nothing, I pulled into the driveway of the school on Tuesday morning and sighed! Then I went to move by backpack from the front seat when I got the inspiration! My profession is that of a college student/teacher wanna-be! Needless to say, with no preparation at all, I carried my backpack into the classroom and began talking with the sixth graders about dreams and my dream to be an English High School teacher! It all started with one book, I told them: Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss! They loved it! At the end, I told them all that in order to achieve their dreams they have to want it and they have to work toward it, especially in college!! Admits all the talking and questions we also had music practice because I told then that I love to sing and then they performed their favorite song for me too! My morning with them ended with the two boys proposing my thank you gift to me in the front of the room! I couldn't stop laughing! As mug as I loved being in that classroom though, those kids certainly instilled in me that I am meant to be a HIGH SCHOOL TEACHER!
Later that day, I headed back to school to find a package in my PO Box! It was an entire case of mixed Girl Scout Cookies from the Brogan girls, Caleigh and Meghan! I was overjoyed....and so were my friends! At Mass the next day, I prayed for the Brogan family and realized how much in my heart I missed them all! But I was reminded too of how much faith in my vocation they instill in me! I don't think those girls know how much they instill that faith in my vocation! It is because of their faith that I know I am meant to be a sister!! Not because they drive me crazy (they are perfect little girls) but because they are a reminder of how many children I could affect with my love for Jesus!
And so, it's the little signs given to us from God that truly do help us know we are what He intends us to be! We simply have to be open to hearing His voice!
Marriage. It's something I don't know too much about, right? I'm not married now, nor will I be in the near future if ever, to a man on this earth. I am twenty years old and so, that's expected. However, at twenty years old, my grandmother, Evelyn, was already married for two years, had a baby and another on the way. Apparently, to get married at 18 was a huge scandal in the Catholic Church back in 1963. But although her father couldn't walk her down the aisle because of this, she still went and married my grandfather. And for fifty, long years they have been married. It's been a tough road, but they still made it. They took that vow, "til death do us part" pretty seriously, and I couldn't be any more proud of my grandparents.
Yesterday, a few members of our extended Reichardt family gathered in honor of my grandparents. There was food everywhere, kids everywhere, love everywhere. Oh and plenty of "tweetable" moments. However, the real party didn't start til my Mommom and Poppop walked through the door to see a crowd of people standing there. Although the beans had been spilled to my Poppop, my Mommom was still surprised. From that moment, it was a loud, hustling, bustling party. When half the family is Italian, that kind of happens.
Half way through the party, my Mommom's best friend pulled me aside and asked if I could sing for her. Clare asks me every single time I see her if I would sing for her. I usually always say no. I usually just can't sing on the spot; I get, too nervous. Yet, this time, she wanted me to do it for my grandmother. And so, a half hour later, Clare made an announcement that something big was going to happen. So, I stood there, in the corner of my aunt's kitchen and sang "Wing Beneath My Wings" by Better Midler (yes, I know who she is....) for my grandparents. When I finished my extremely shaky and falsetto performance, I took the deepest breath. What did my grandmother have to say? "That was the first time I've heard you sing in over three years."
It was true, once I graduated grade school, I stopped solo performances except at the bi-annual family reunion. Once I graduated high school, I stopped altogether. Performing vocally actually makes me sick to my stomach nervous. It always has and it probably always will. Even when I sing at church (every.single.Sunday.) I have to put myself through mental preparation to get the nervousness to go away. It never really does. But whenever I sing for my grandmother, those feelings always seem to go away. If I can make eye contact with her in a huge crowd, I will be fine. She has always been my support and always will be.
For years, my Mommom has always had a subtle hint of support for the religious life future for me. It has never actually been brought up with that side of the family, since religion is such a sore topic, but every so often, when it's just me and Mommom, she will say, I think you're deep faith is beautiful and I wish I had that or I support you if that's the future you might want. For years, up until yesterday, I really thought my grandmother was Evangelical still. Having grown up in that faith, she often brought up what church was like for her as a kid. My grandfather is Catholic, and honestly, the only time I have seen them in a church in my life time was for our Baptisms, Communions, Graduations, and Confirmations. I'm pretty sure they aren't practicing Catholics. Yet, there was always something in my Mommom, that if I was up and needed to go to church, she'd take me. I always thought this was strange.
If she was Evangelical, wouldn't it be weird for her to be in a Catholic Church? Why wasn't Poppop taking me to church? I just never understood it as a kid. What I also didn't get was how my Mommom seemed to be the most understanding of the "nun thing." How did she seem to understand more than any of my Catholic family members? How come she was always more than willing to pray Night Prayer with me and the sisters over Skype? How come she was the most excited to meet my "nun friends"? None of this made any sense to me until last night when I was looking through the photo album with my Great Aunt Bunny (her real name is Mildred Olga....).
Someone had brought all the wedding photos from fifty years ago of my Grandparent's wedding. I had already fallen in love with their actual wedding picture, but being a lover of "old" photography, I quickly fell in love with each of the photos I was holding in my hand. I asked my Aunt Bunny why she wasn't the Maid of Honor and she said because she wasn't Catholic. I didn't know that was a thing back then. She then added that it was because of that reason, my Mommom converted to Catholicism..... SHE WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! Imagine my shock when all my life, I grew up thinking that my Mommom was evangelical and had no idea how the Catholic Church worked. Yeah...I was wrong for a good twenty years. Good job, Bec, I congratulated myself. Good job! It all suddenly made sense.
I looked back on everything with this new view of my Grandmother. As I watched my grandparents interact throughout the night, it was easy to say, my Mommom was a woman of class as she followed so many "well-known" party protocol. She was also a woman of devotion both to her husband, her children, her grand-children and the rest of her family. She was also devoted to breaking the stereotype and plague of divorce in the family. But finally she was a woman of love and deep faith. I also saw her as a woman of faith, but even more so now. I was literally in so much shock!
In addition to learning something new about my grandparents, I was so blessed to watch them stuff cake in each other's faces, kiss after their "testimony" of marriage and enjoy the family. My grandparents literally gave me so much hope that marriage can defy odds. Even as they were growing up, they lived in a culture of divorce. Yet, they made it fifty years. FIFTY LONG YEARS! We live in a culture of divorce now, where it's strange to say I live with both my mom and dad. But if they can defeat the odds, so can my generation. They are the example of what it takes to make marriage work. And I couldn't be more proud to be called their granddaughter!
Congrats on Fifty Years Mommom and Poppop! Here's to another fifty! Til death do you part!
Aren't they still precious?!
Aunt Bunny!
Clare!
Oh and then this one...where my best friend looks like my grandfather. WEIRD!
I have been silent this week, friends, but that doesn't mean I haven't been writing. I have been using my other (secret) outlet as a coping mechanism. Yes, I have been writing poetry. Today was the funeral of our dear Sister Marie Albert, and so, I feel it is the time to share one of my poems with you, that I wrote in her honor.
The Remnant of a Sniff
it's what lingers after
a sledding adventure in
the brisk, snow-filled air.
it lingers over hot cocoa
even as we try to warm ourselves.
it's what lingers after
the common cold or flu
has paid a visit to the body's
immune system.
it lingers over the tea
we drink to regain our sense of smell.
it's what lingers after
an allergy attack in the
awakening of Spring.
it lingers over afternoon coffee.
it's what lingers after
hearing the joyous news of a birth
or
the heartbreaking news of a sudden passing.
it lingers as hugs and tears are shared.
it lingers after my weeping
and
my mourning.
it lingers now.
but what lingers also,
is the remnant of a smile
as memories of you
flood my heart.
- 1/21/13
It's snowing right now, and if I have never said it, snow is a sign from Heaven for me. I take snow as a sign that all is right in my world. It snowed the first day I ever mentioned my discernment to Sister David and I knew it was my path of life. It snowed on a day I was walking to the Motherhouse for Mass on a Chapter weekend and I knew I was meant to be there. It snows today, and I know Sister Marie Albert is at peace. This is her sign for me.
Yesterday may have been one of the longest days in my life. Sixteen straight hours of being awake and not a signal break in the day. I went from 5-11 full force. In the middle of my day, around 3:30, my best friend, Cameron, and I walked down the street to Camilla where we were finally going to get our closure. But before we even walked down the street, I said, "Just a fair-warning: this is not okay in my heart yet; I am going to cry. I'm sorry." And just as he does for me, he nodded in silent agreement that he not only understood, but may have to do the same. That's the one thing about him that I love, we can have conversations upon conversations of full understanding with each other without saying a word. God blessed me in that sense.
We walked into the front doors of Camilla and right away we saw some of our sisters from school. There were shared smiles and waves and that was it really, until Sister Denise came up to my side. It was as if she had known I walked through the door; like magnets connecting with great force. She linked my arm and said, "Be strong, baby girl, we're just going to talk to her." Before we even entered the parlor, however, Sister Carol opened her arms wide and greeted me with a, "My hall buddy. I am so glad you are here with us." Of course, already, tears were silently streaming down my face. Sister Denise once again linked my arm, but I honestly admitted that I would need to hold her hand and I asked her not to let go. Cameron followed behind me, close enough to be there if I needed him, but far away enough to give me space to cry. I closed my eyes and did just what Sister told me, I spoke to my sister.
I got through the rest of the night, my six hours of classes with an angel by my side. Truly, I knew she was with me. When I finally was able to collapse in my bed, I let the river pour. But even then, it was still just a river. This morning, I moved around so slowly, as if trying to avoid the inevitable. Finally, I pulled myself together and trekked down to Camilla once again, in my black and yellow, but this time alone. I prayed and talked with her during my ten minute walk and told her honestly how hard it really was for me. Thankfully, when I walked into Camilla, I saw "little poss," or as many know her, Christina, the Postulant. I sidled up next to her, and listened as the IHM community prayed the Rosary, with Sister Lorraine, the Mother General leading. To a few of the school sisters I saw during the final good-bye, I gave hugs, even to the cold-ridden ones, like Sister Marcille and then made my way to Chapel.
I don't think my cheeks were ever as wet, even in the rain, as they were today. When I saw each of the sisters from school, line up on either side of the main aisle, I couldn't hold back the tears. Honestly, the hardest thing for me, was not only carrying the heartbreak of my own heart, but the heartbreak of the sisters. They created a passage-way of sorts for their sister. It was so difficult to watch their faces and not feel their pain. Yeah, it was hard.
It wasn't toward the end of the Mass that I realized which sisters were sitting behind me a few pews. Part of the council and a good deal of the motherhouse sisters. So, it was no surprise to me when I walked into the Portress office for work tonight, to have the sisters ask me about it. What I was surprised about was the amount of support they each gave me. Plenty of beautiful words were said, but what stuck with me was what Sister Rita (my home girl, I call her, since she's from Levittown) said. She said, "Becky, dear, she's going to be your special friend up there. I can promise that. Pray to her all the time, she's got you special under her wing."
The surprising thing about that saying, was that as I stood with Sister Marcille and a few of the students, I felt a peace come over me. Of course, tears were still streaming down my face, but I could feel her presence with me. I closed my eyes and just let that peace come over me with the gentle breeze that came with it. The sisters began to sing the Salve Regina, and you know that feeling in your heart, when even if you can't sing, you have to sing? That's what came over me. I joined in with the sisters who were literally surrounding me and sang as if that song has always been engraved deep in my heart. Afterwards, I heard Sister Marcille whisper to Dara, "That's a community tradition." Oops. Yet, I know Sister Marie Albert would have just laughed at me in her kind way.
As I walked home tonight from work, after listening to so many of the sisters at the Motherhouse wrap me in words of support, I couldn't help but smile up at the sky. It's clear tonight, despite the snow. I couldn't really tell if it was snowing or not, but when I looked into the lights that lit my journey home, I could see the fine pieces of icey snow falling so gracefully. I felt as if someone was literally dumping a bottle of fine, silver glitter on my head as if to make me shine. Then I realized it. Sister Marie Albert always told me to shine. And wouldn't she be the one to dump a bottle of glittery snow on my head from Heaven tonight.
Hey girl, I know you're listening, so let me tell you, how much I really appreciate your loving support during these beautiful times I knew you. And honestly, I know you're with me more now than you ever could have been here. Help me keep shining with a smile in remembrance of you!
"What I longer for, I now see; what I hoped for, I now possess;
in Heaven, I am espoused to Him whom on earth I loved with all my heart."
- Morning Prayer Antiphone for the Feast of St. Agnes, January 21
Sometimes, I like to pretend that I am little. You may say that I already am little, as I stand only five foot tall and am light enough to be carried on various people's backs. You may say I am little because I have an air of innocence. But I like to pretend that I am little like Lizzie. I like to pretend that I can hug everyone and hang on really tight like she does. But mostly, I like to pretend that when I am upset, I can just knock on my big sister's door and then snuggle up to her and cry as she holds me. And then I remember, that sometimes I don't have to pretend.
When I look up into the infinite sky, I can only feel miniature. I think, out of all the people that need God's love this day, He choose little me to send me a Valentine of sorts. He choose little, itty, bitty me, to warm my heart. When I look into the eyes of my many sisters, I, too, feel so little. These women have gone years and years before me in school, have accomplished so much in their lives, and still are so humble. When I sit with them in Mass, I feel so little and yet, I feel loved. Because I am little in two senses: little as in very young in experience and little as in the little sister.
There is a bond between sisters that is so hard to describe, but if you have a sister, you know how strong and unique that bond is. Even from far away, I know when my little sisters need me. I know when they need a hug and some loving words. I know my sisters and they, in turn, know me. This bond exists between some of my religious sisters and myself, as well. Which essentially makes this so hard to write.
As we were practicing for church choir before Mass last night, Sister Cathy made her way over to us. Just before were various moments of laughter and joking and suddenly it was as if a bomb had been dropped on my heart. Often times, I feel, I can "guess" what a person is about to say and prepare myself to react accordingly. However, what she had told us was such a shock to me that I reacted like a little child. I even surprised myself with my reaction. My mouth immediately gaped open and my hand flew to my mouth. Tears immediately started filling up in my eyes. I couldn't even look Sister Cathy in the eyes. I turned around, told myself to get myself together, and turned back, still with a hand over my mouth. I reacted as Becca in the raw (and rare) form. I acted like a child, like a little sister, like Lizzie.
During Mass, I tried my usual coping mechanism: not thinking about it. But alas, as Father began the familiar Homily (I had heard it earlier yesterday morning), I began to think about it. A steady stream of silent tears fell down my face and for the first time, I didn't care who saw me crying. Because just moments prior, as I sang the Psalm, I saw our president, Sister Pat, wipe away her steady stream of tears, too. I was numbed by the shock and felt the loss times 48 because sisters feel each others' pains, and I felt my sisters' pains.
After Mass, on my way to replace some borrowed "furniture" from behind the altar, Sister Denise and I caught each others' glances. It took a matter of two seconds for her to know and for me to know, that we needed each other in that moment. So we hugged, and she held me tight as I cried a little more. I thanked her and I thanked God for all of my sisters.
It wasn't until daily Mass this morning that I really began to reflect on my "little-ness." I realized that as normal as it was for me to attend daily Mass, I didn't quite fit in. Most mornings I am the only student. All the time, I am the youngest (by far with no insult intended...). And yet, as I began togo through the list of reasons why I appear out of place, I remembered my being a little sister. I've attended daily Mass with these sisters almost every day (for the exception of holidays and breaks) for the past three years. I have my own particular seats in our Chapels and the sisters get worried if I don't show up on a day I usually am there. I get hugs and kisses during the sign of peace and beautiful smiles around campus. I have essentially made my way into being part of this family of sorts. And that being said, I feel all their pains and my own, too.
Heaven gained a few angels yesterday, one of them being our dear Sister Marie Albert. It's so rare, they say, to lose a "school" sister and a school sister she was. And so, I believe that in addition to the pain of losing a sister (and she was to so many of us), there is a shock of losing someone we see so often, so suddenly. As we prayed Morning Prayer today, which for the Feast of St. Agnes, fit so perfectly for thoughts of my heart and soul, I could feel the emotions of my sisters all pushed into one small Chapel. There was an emptiness of undescribable capacity. I admit to wiping my cheeks a few times as father "cheered on" the life of the 12-year old Agnes and the 80-year old, Sister Marie Albert. Indeed, both lived lives of saints.
As such a little sister I have become, one of my greatest fears have also came into fruition. That fear was emulated yesterday and even still into today. It is the fear of losing my sisters. Being so young, I know the possibility is great and yet, I still never expect to lose someone so close to my heart. I may not have told my deepest secrets to Sister, but I shared time, space and beautiful words with her. I cannot help but have beautiful fond memories of her, as she was a big sister, I so often looked up to. Sometimes, it's tough being a little sister.
However, I know my big sisters are grieving with me and perhaps are still in shock. But what St. Agnes reminded us all today is that we need to rejoice. "Rejoice with me, and be glad, for I have taken my place with all the saints in the kingdom of the light," our morning prayer said. I felt peace. I still felt a loss, but I felt a peace, that for sure she is in Heaven kicking it back with God. I saw the faces of my sisters but I saw their hearts, as well. I think we might all just need one big group hug so we can embrace all the emotions flowing through us. Just as I know they will be there for me, I will also be there for them. My hands may be little, but they are hands that can hold and love.
It is hard to lose someone so dear. And yet, there is or will be a peace that comes when we can rest assured, she is with Him whom she loved with her whole heart. Yes, she is in Heaven now, for sure.
