Holding Hands With God

"I, the Lord, have grasped you by the hand. 

I formed you and set you as covenant of the people, 

a light for the nations to open the eyes of the blind,

to bring prisoners out from confinement

and from the dungeon, those who live in darkness."

- Isaiah 42

      The wind was blowing my curly hair every which way and the ocean was spraying its salt spit at my face. The sun was now a bright orange circle just above the horizon, something I watched form from somewhere on the expressway. The sand was cold between my toes and it was starting to drizzle. My glasses were sitting on my messy, salted hair and my eyes were closed when I felt the gentle hand of my dear sister on my shoulder. All around us were the retreat girls and the other sisters giggling or running down the beach. I looked her in the eyes and smiled; I felt a humility in my heart. She began to tell me how much she loved me as we walked arm and arm down the beach. To anyone else, the woman appeared as a grandmother walking next to me (as we share the same very curly hair). To me, she was my sister, not just my Sister, but my sister.

     As the wind and the rain picked up, we walked to take shelter in the lifeguard stand. Of course, for someone who had had double knee replacements, this was a feat to be had. So, I got up first, and then with all the strength I could fathom, pulled her up. Together, we sat. Literally, we just sat there in the quiet and let ourselves simply be. Eventually, she took my hands in hers and opened them. She then simply placed them in my lap and said, "Always pray with open hands, Bec. Always." This was two Summers ago. From that moment on, I, without a doubt, always pray with my hands open. 

     After our prayer on the beach, the whole group of us headed to Mass at a church so familiar to me from my childhood. We sat next to each other, giggling like little girls as the pews creaked with every move we made. After finally calming ourselves, we settled in, with hands wide open in our laps, and listened to the readings for the day. The reading was the above reading from Isaiah 42. This reading came back to remind me of the reason why I must pray with my hands open yesterday as it was the first reading for Monday of Holy Week. Needless to say, I got a little nostalgic in remembering the day at the beach so clearly.

      Sister Virginia, after Mass that day at the beach, sat back for a few minutes with me in our pew. She told me to close my eyes and leave my hands open as she read the few lines from Scripture above. It hit me. I got it. I understood. She told me that without my hands open, how could God grasp them. If I pray with my hands folded all the time, there is no room for God to literally take hold of my hands. Just as a person cannot give a hug with his or her arms folded, a person cannot have her hands held unless they are open. She continued by telling me that in praying with open hands, it is a physical image of me being open to whatever God wants to give me. A person cannot receive a gift if her hands are folded or balled up in fists. No, in order to receive all that God wants to give me, I must say to Him with my heart and my body that I am open. My hands are open for You, God, to place whatever it is You wish in my them. My heart is open and my hands are open. I am allowing You, God, the opportunity to GRASP my hands, to HOLD them tight, and to LEAD me wherever it is I must be led. 

      When I think back to that memory of the beach, I remember how much it changed my heart. I called Sister Virginia today to tell her that I was simply thinking of her yesterday and praying for her. She taught me a lot that day, more than just how to pray with openness. She taught me that in opening my hands, a seagull might decided that it's the perfect place to go after breakfast. She taught me that some people might take my hands and later let go. She taught me that my hands will help the elderly, the poor. They will get dirty, they will get rough, they will build houses, they will wipe away tears, they will touch hearts and souls. My hands, my being open, will do all that Christ would do if He walked this earth again. Just as in my most favorite prayer of all time by Teresa of Avila, mine are the hands and feet of Christ. But honestly the best part about learning to be open like this, is knowing full well that I am open to holding anyone's hands.

     I guess that's why I am such a hand holder. Even if I am simply walking with a friend down the street, I am most likely going to take their hand. This is why I hold the older sisters' hands when I visit them or simply am just saying hello. Being open to holding hands is so important for me because I am convinced that in the other hand, is the hand of God. In the hands of the children I play with like my sister or Caleigh and Meghan, in the hands of my Mommom, in the hands of my older Sisters at Camilla or the Mount, in the hands of my Daddy, in the hands of my peers during the Our Father at Mass, in the hands of anyone willing to place their hand in mine, is the hand of God. 

     I am brought to a more recent memory of my hands. Just two weekends ago, during SEARCH, it snowed (seriously...the snow....ugh). Snow, while I love it, also gives me reason to worry. You see, my biggest worry is that it will ice over and the sisters will fall. Honestly, that's my biggest fear. So, in the snow and ice, I was a little more than worried about Sister Cathy falling. Despite the fact that being clumsy is usually my job, I was worried about her simply slipping. You see, if you fall there, it's all down hill from there....literally. One slip and you're down the mountain. Anyway, so I offered my hand. And by the good grace of God, she took it. So, needless to say, Sister Cathy and I did a lot of precious hand-holding that weekend. But there was something different about holding hands with her. You see, she wasn't simply holding my hand for support on the ice, she was literally grasping it, as if she really was depending on my hand. 

     She put that line in Isaiah into true perspective for me. God said he has grasped my hand. Not merely held it, but rather, grasped it. Literally took hold of my now forever open hands as if He depended on it. And the truth is, so many people in my life have depended on my hands. Sister Virginia taught me a lot that day on the beach. But it all starts with being open. If we are not open, if our hands are not open and willing to accept all that God has in store for us, He cannot hold us; He cannot grasp our hands and make us light for those in darkness. 

I'll Carry You - Battling the Flu

"When you saw only one set of footprints, 

it was then that I carried you."

- "Footprints In The Sand"

      It's been a pretty frigid winter. I hate wearing a coat, but I'll often bundle up in multiple layers just to keep warm. One afternoon, the topic of getting and staying warm came up at work study with Sister Cathy. I began to tell her how hard it is to get warm in my room because my roommate and I have this on-going, back and forth, passive aggressive fight over the heat. I'll come in, turn it up, go to bed. She'll come in, turn it down, go to bed. I'll wake up in the middle of the night freezing (under five blankets) and turn it up again! Back and forth we go, turning it up or down when we enter the room if the other isn't looking. I just looked over at the heat adjuster...guess what: it's been knocked down again! Of course, this little debate we have going is all in good fun...except when I'm freeeeeeezing! I just can't ever get warm unless it's Summer outside! I like to be warm, I like to snuggle, I like to sit by a campfire, I like Summer heat, I like sunshine. I hate being cold. 

      This time last weekend, I was freezing by behind off despite snuggling next to two Searchers on the notorious blue couch. I had almost all the clothes I packed on my body and I was under two blankets. I had a distinct throw-back to freezing every night while in NOLA, but this was different. I could feel heat behind my eyes, but I was shivering. Earlier that day, I had rolled out of my bunk bed and shuffled over to where Sister Cathy was sitting. Like the SEARCH Mother she is, she felt my head and cheeks only to tell me what I was already fearing: a fever was coming. A few minutes later, I took the hottest shower of my life and was finally warm. But soon after, I couldn't get warm and up until about Wednesday, I spent almost every moment of my days shivering in my bed. I spent the rest of retreat, trying my hardest to be the active, bubbling over self I usually am, but I was sooo cold. I even was bundled under my blanket during Mass. Nothing like the flu to humble me. At least I had a beautiful SEARCH Family to carry me. 

       After retreat, our Peru group had a mandatory meeting about Peru. All I wanted was my bed and sleep, but alas, that was not going to happen. My little sister had to cuddle me for two hours while I tried to listen to "all I needed to know" before I went to Peru, but to be completely honest, I retained nothing. I was too focused on trying to stay awake. I think I slept twelve hours that night. For the first time in a very long time, I didn't set a morning alarm. When I woke up, I found quite a few layers on the ground under my bed. Apparently, I had started to sweat it out over night. But the fever wasn't gone for sure. In fact, it held on for a few days. Today is the first day I am actually starting to feel closer to 100% better; even my cough is minimal!

      Sickness always humbles me. While on retreat, I had to let people help me with things and let me tell you how perfect my small group was, especially my other leader half, Matt. The other leaders really helped me out and reminded me that no matter what, I am loved. Whether it was simply rubbing my back, or tucking me in, or bringing me a cold water bottle for my head, they stepped up to the bar. Also under the "taking care of Becca catagory" was sitting on Becca's feet, legs, entire body to keep her warm, taking horrendous pictures of her, holding her hand so she didn't fall and making her smile despite the rainy days. In fact, I'd go back to SEARCH VI in a heart beat, because of what it did for me. It reminded me how to truly live the Fourth in a whole new way. 

      Back on campus, all the beautiful retreat bliss faded, but the love didn't. On Monday, Sister Cathy brought me an extra smile and told me that I didn't have to come into work study all week. On Tuesday, Sister Elaine told me she was postponing the due date for our research paper. On Wednesday, Sister Marcille reminded me of our Cast and Crew's ministry to simply smile. On Thursday and Friday and today, so many more gave me gentle smiles, uplifting words and lots of hugs! I felt as if I was dragging my feet every place I went, every time I got out of my nice, warm, bed. And yet, God surrounded me by so many uplifting people. I received encouraging emails, heart warming conversations with the Mother General and lots of laughter from the sisters at work. I got check up text messages and facebook posts. I have never felt this loved before. And to think that I needed the flu to help me realize it. 

      The flu honestly helped slow me down! Of course, I'm sure a SEARCH high played a huge part in my realization that I am loved, but the flu really helped. I didn't realize the amount of people in my life who would be willing to help me when I need it until this past week. I almost refused to believe that people actually do care for and love me here at school. But I couldn't ignore all the love I was given, especially from people I didn't think loved me as much as they showed me this week. I was blessed with so many little things, like smiles, gentle words and hugs, that really, truly, deeply showed and reminded me that I am loved. I learned a lot this week, but most importantly was that I am loved. It's hard for the lovers to accept and realize that they too are loved and the flu definitely helped me. It showed me how many people are willing to carry me, because at most moments this past week, it felt like all the sisters were literally carrying me. My heart was definitely being carried...the rest of me was probably being dragged (especially by Sister Elaine!) I guess you could say I am grateful for the flu. So, thanks God, for knocking me down, giving me the flu and then giving me so many people willing to carry and love me. Thanks a lot, from the bottom of my heart! I'd do it all again in a heart beat!

My Best Friend, Katie D

"My sweetest joy is to be in the presence of Jesus in the Holy Sacrament.

I beg that when I am obliged to withdraw in body, I may leave my heart before the Holy Sacrament.

How I would miss our Lord if He were to be away from me by His presence in the Blessed Sacrament."

- Saint Katharine Drexel

      Just a few days ago, I had the realization that if we weren't blessed with a priest to say Mass for retreat, I would have the crisis of a Mass-less Sunday. Now, of course, I would try everything to get to Mass somewhere, but the problem is: this girl has no wheels. I have a mandatory meeting for my upcoming Peruvian adventure...one that I am not allowed to be late for or leave early from. This meant, I either had to find someone with wheels who wouldn't mind going to a "last chance Mass" at West Chester or I was out of luck. When I was telling one of the sisters, I actually just started crying. My tears were not sobs or forced tears. In fact, I didn't even know I was crying, until a tear dripped onto my shirt. I didn't know what to do; my heart was literally breaking at the knowledge that I could quite possibly not be able to be united with the love of my life in the Most Blessed Sacrament. So...what did I do? Well, I called on my Facebook prayer group and asked for their prayers for my special intention. BUT, I also called my best friend, and told her about my predicament knowing that she would understand exactly how I felt. Of course, she took care of it. 

      I carried the crisis (and that's what it really was...a crisis) on my heart all day. Needless to say, I fell into my very quiet, problem-solving self. All day I was constantly thinking about how I (and my fellow retreatants) could get to Mass. Eventually, I wound up with a few "worse case scenarios" but I knew they still weren't the answer to my prayers. Even after talking to someone about, I was still in a predicament-plagued, heavy-hearted mood. I definitely moozied on through my day. However, there were a few spots of sunshine in my day when I randomly saw Sister Cathy. Seeing her more times than I normally would on a Monday gave me some hope that I would get the answer to my prayers soon. I felt that her over joyous smile was Heaven's hope to my heart. 

      Soon, the time came for me to head to the Motherhouse for work and still, I had no answer. I prayed as I walked across the street, feeling the heaviness in my heart. It wasn't a heaviness of guilt that I wouldn't get to Mass, but rather a deeper pain. It's a pain almost like that of an aged couple where one is suffering from Alzheimer's and cannot remember his wife so much so that he cannot live with her. The wife desires so much to be able to at least hold his hand or kiss him again, but he refuses to be touched. The wife, while knowing she can visit her beloved cannot kiss his lips and feel the physical uniting with her husband. I would be able to visit my Beloved in the chapel, but I would not be able to taste His Goodness on my lips or unite my soul to Him in the Eucharist. My heart simply broke and gloom filled the cracks. 

      The Motherhouse was very quiet for a typical Monday night, but I guess the oh so attractive scaffolding has been scaring away visitors...well, at least to the front door. I easily fell in the quiet pace of reading the most horrendous book for class and let God take care of the rest. I happened to look up from my book at the same time the Mother General was walking into Chapel. I smiled, not thinking she saw me before she opened the door, but then she pressed her face to the stained glass door, smiled and wrapped her arm around the door the wave. Once again, she became a glimmer of hope for me. After supper, she came through the "Portress Fortress" just to "catch up" on my life and hear the good news about Peru (we just ordered our plane tickets yesterday...IT'S ON!) and everything else. She playfully mocked my inked hand (where I had written down ALL my play lines...) and my bright yellow nail polish. Of course, I think she was just jealous about the nail polish. Regardless, the few minutes I had conversing with her was actually exactly what I needed. It was just a few minutes and I began to feel hopeful. However, it wasn't until Sister San came to visit me that I knew I was going to get an answer to my prayers. 

      Imagine the tiniest sister you have ever seen with the most beautiful white hair and most gentle eyes. She came almost dancing off the elevator. Now, you must understand that sister and I share a very special bond. We have a HUGE devotion to St. Katharine Drexel and she knew the closest SBS sister, Sister Thomasita, I ever had. I found out not too long ago, that Sister Thomasita would frequent the IHM Motherhouse just to visit her. She walked the same hallways I do now. And how perfect that our paths crossed once again. Last night, when Sister San came dancing into the "Portress Fortress," she handed me a tiny, paisley jewelry box. I asked her if I should open it and she said, "Yes! Of course!" So, I gently opened the box and inside was a medallion with Saint Katharine Drexel on the front. My mouth curved into a smile and my heart felt happy. But that wasn't the end. She asked me if I had any idea of who had given her the medallion. I said no. She then told me so gently that it was my dear Sister Thomasita. Instant tears. I leaped out of my chair, wrapped my arms around her and essentially wept uncontrollable tears into her veil. A few of the other sisters walked in and out and didn't know I was crying until I sat back down behind the desk. They didn't understand, but Sister San knew exactly why it hit me so close to the heart. Sister Thomasita is the reason I have a vocation to the church. She prayed for my vocation before I was ever born. It's a long, beautiful story and one day I might tell you, but right now, all you need to know is that Katharine Drexel used Sister San to give me the reassurance I needed to know that she was taking care of my prayers. I think after Sister San left, I cried a little more and simply ran my fingers over and over the medal, thanking God. 

       When I got back to my room after making a stop at play practice, I hopped on the computer to do some homework. Of course, like every typical person of my generation, I checked Facebook first even though everything goes straight to my phone anyway. As I was scrolling through my notifications, a little message box popped up at the bottom of my screen from Sister Cathy. Her message, "We got a priest!" I through my hands up in the air and thanked God out loud. Katharine, my girl, Katie D, my best friend, my number one God girl, did it again. She pulled through and answered my prayers while at the same time reminding me that I am loved and that right now, I am exactly where I am meant to be.

      On Sunday, my Junior class celebrated Ring Day, another IU tradition, together. A dear heart friend of mine, Kristie, an alum of IU, presented me with my ring and I was so grateful. However, she went above and beyond and got me flowers also: White lilies (for St. Joseph), White Roses (for Mary) and Yellow Sunflowers (for the Sun in my life...Jesus). Unfortunately, I didn't have a vase in my room so I asked Sister Cathy if I could share the happiness with Marian Chapel, my favorite place on Campus. She said yes and today, as I placed the vase of flowers right in front of the Tabernacle, I had this strange feeling that Katie D was standing there right next to me and all I wanted to do was hug her. I know she is always with me; she is always reminding me. And I think, as Sister Ruth Catherine, SBS, once told me, she is calling me onto something higher, to walk in her footsteps in a whole new and unique way. But I'll wait for a confirmation from her, before I let you know! One thing I am certain about is that as soon as I get to Heaven, that girl and I are having coffee forever and sharing our lives with each other, even though she'll already know everything about me! She's my best friend, and best friends just know!

A Day In The Life of a Monjita

"Do not think that I am sitting here to pass away the time

telling you that religious life is poetry; 

it is the roughest type of prose."

- Mother Justina Reilly, IHM

     Every so often, I tell you that I spend a day in the life of a Sister. This day consists of prayers, Mass, meals, maybe visiting the older nunnies and some recreation. Occasionally, there will be some "laboring" activity (like that one time I literally built two benches with one of the Sisters...) but most of the time it's the "normal," "every day," activities. Eat. Pray. Love. But today I spent a few real hours in the day of the life of a Monjita. Let me tell you a few of the things I learned today: I now understand why the Sisters wear aprons while cleaning; I now understand why they often times go to bed so early; I now know the best possible way to clean votive candle holders; and I know that no Sister is perfect. 

     This morning started like every morning: I woke up smiling at the crack of dawn and ready to greet the day. Okay, okay...really it started like this (which happens most often...): my alarm went off at 6:00 AM screaming in my ear that I needed to get up. I yelled back by hitting the snooze button three times. Finally by 6:27, I was rolling (literally) out of bed and dragging my feet to the shower room. By 6:45, I was ready. I had thrown on a sweatshirt, some yoga pants and my shoes. I tossed my hair up in a bun and ran down the stairs. This morning was the second morning in a row that I was doing wash before anyone else on campus (minus the Sisters) was up. Only this laundry wasn't my own. These towels ad such had to be washed for our retreat in a few weeks. Ironically, this was all part of my "work study assignment" for the day from Sister Cathy. At college, we often sticky note our washers with our room number just in case the wash cycle gets done before we get to it. I was so tempted to put "Nun Laundry" on the sticky note this time, but I didn't....I simply put my room number.

     After the wash was thrown in, I headed over to prayers and Mass. You know, the usual. And by the time Mass was over, the retreat wash was ready to be put in the dryer. So I said to myself, I said, "Self. You deserve a nap." And so, I took one. In a hour, the retreat wash was ready to be folded. In rainbow order, I folded the retreat wash in a nice orderly fashion and moved on to job number two. This is where the apron comes in.

     You see, I had spent countless Fridays after school with Sister David in high school cleaning Chapel. We would do everything from rearranging the flowers to...cleaning votive candle holders. The thing that baffled me the most was that Sister David would always wear her apron while cleaning. Like why? I thought those most unfashionable things were only used for baking. Okay, now flash forward to Camilla Fair 2011. All of these sisters had on these beautiful, hand-made aprons. Many times the sisters at the Motherhouse would wear them while doing housework. While still confused by the notion of wearing an apron while cleaning, I needed an apron for baking. And you know what, they weren't unfashionable anymore. I was soon the proud owner of a pink Camilla apron. Now, present day, I am sitting literally picking wax out of these tiny votive candles trying so hard to get all the wax in the trashbag. Where did most of it end up? All over me. Yeah...needless to say, next time I clean votive candles (or anything at that), I'll be donning my apron, too. 

     Of course, in cleaning these votive candles, I also learned the best possible way to do it. Of course, I was not instructed to how to really clean these things. I was simply given the supplies at my door the night before. However, I am convinced that somewhere inside all sisters and sisters to be, there is an INNER NUN, almost like a conscience, but better. This INNER NUN tells you how to do things perfectly in NUNLY fashion. Because after I had scraped as much wax as I could from all the votives (and trust me it wasn't all), I had this genius idea. SOAK THEM IN SOAPY SCORCHING HOT WATER. Ingenious, really. So I filled the sink with SCORCHING HOT WATER and some Palmolive soap (it HAS to be the green kind, right, Sister?) and let the votives soak. Can I tell you that it worked like a charm? Literally, it was so much faster. So, for all my nunny friends....here's a (maybe) new way to do it! Of course, your INNER NUNS probably told you that years.

      Soap and water, as you know, often make things very slippery. And so this is where "No Nun Is Perfect..." comes into play. While washing the votives and lining them up to dry, I accidentally dropped one on the floor and to no surprise, it shattered into a million little pieces. Instead of being disappointed though, I merely shrugged and said, "Well that's the first of many votives I will break." It's true. I am sure sisters EVERYWHERE, while cleaning votives, drop one every so often. Of course, just no one tell Mother Superior and we'll all be fine! I realized that it was lesson in perfection. No one is perfect, we all drop a votive candle holder at some point in our lives. It's bound to happen. I found myself thanking God for letting me realize this early on so that I'm not an older sister when I drop my first votive; that would be earth shattering. Besides, I know this is God's way of saying, "I'm keeping you humble." 

      At the end of my morning, when I was carefully (very, very, VERY carefully) transporting the votives back over to the "Jesus Closet," I realized how exhausted I was. Literally, I found myself closing my eyes for longer than a few seconds and thinking, am I ever going to get a nap today? As some of you may know, I am a pro napper. I pretty much take a nap every day. Today, I did not get a nap. Right now, it is 9:16. As I was crossing back campus from play practice just a few minutes ago, I promised myself that I would be asleep tonight by 10:00 at the latest. I now understand why my Daddy used to call the Sisters the "Five and Ten" girls. No, they didn't work at five and tens. But rather they were up at five and in bed by ten. After a mere few hours in the day of a monjita, that life is literally a life I would be all about. I guess to elevate in the levels of getting closer to a monjita, I better start doing other nunny things. Maybe I'll start sewing a habit....that'll take a few years!

Okay, it's a bit extreme but....all for good humor!

Breaking Down Stereotypes - Anywhere With You

"I'll go anywhere.

I travel light and my bags are packed.

Just as long as I'm where you're at, 

I'm gonna have a real good view. 

I'll go anywhere, anywhere with you."

- "Anywhere With You," Jake Owens

    Imagine: You're a freshmen in high school and you find out your Theology teacher is a nun. Go figure. You're not only new at school, but you still have this idea that nuns are going to kick your butt. You sit silently as the young nun in front of you tries to start prayers. This woman in front of you is a ball of mystery and you're intrigued. 

    It's not that hard for many of you to imagine. Perhaps you were a few years younger and in grade school when the nuns taught you. Maybe you were a little but more terrified because the nuns were stereo-typically  harsh and cruel to any bad students. Maybe you never spoke in class because nothing you could possibly say would have been right. Many of you reading this have had a sister in the classroom at some point in your life and so, going back to those moments isn't hard. 

    Now imagine: Sister is trying to start the YouTube video for prayers when suddenly there's a knock on the classroom door. You have no idea who these two young women are, except one appears familiar to you. Sister stops what she is doing, throws her hands in the air and almost picks up the taller of the two, the one who seems familiar. After a few seconds of joyful conversation, Sister goes back to prayer. The two strangers stand there, heads bowed in prayer. You try so hard to pay attention, but you can't stop thinking about where you've seen the one young woman before. After prayers, the two quietly tell Sister they have to leave but before the walk out, Sister mentions something about having a movie date again soon. Then the familiar girl laughs, asks Sister if she wants to go Ice Skating later that night and you remember where you saw her: the other night at dinner...out with another sister. 

     Your first reactions? Nuns go ice skating? Nuns leave the convent? Nuns have friends? Who is this girl? Why does she hang out with nuns all the time? Is she serious? She's not a nun but...maybe? Ironically, as I was leaving the classroom atmosphere I just described (yes, I was that girl who interrupted class), I heard the class begin to whisper all of these questions. I had to laugh at the girls and my sister, who was with me, casually said, "Don't they know she's a cool nun?" 

     Often, I forget that it's a little "abnormal" to hang out with nuns so much. I forget that walks in fly helicopters, or drives across the city, or invitations to go ice skating is normal until nuns are involved. Most people are shocked when they see sisters or priests out in public, but why? I simply giggle and move on. Yes, we often get questioning glances, or even sometimes we meet extremely brave people who ask the questions everyone else is thinking. I watch as my sisters shrug, smile and answer the questions. It doesn't bother them....it doesn't bother me. My sisters are just as real as you and me. And I guess that's why I really often forget that it's "abnormal." Oh well...

      Yesterday, I partook in my own personal "Convent Run." I started with interrupting classes at Nazareth with my real life, blood sister, then I ran to visit Sister Phyllis, then after having been in my house no less than a half hour, I was out the door again to visit with my lifelong cheerleader at Santucci's and then finally a night of feeling old and out of shape at the skate rink with my partner in crime. Each time I walked out the door, my mother asked me where I was going. My answer? The convent, Mom. Don't worry, I'm with the nuns. It's a common joke in my family that while most people think when a person is hanging out with the Sisters, there would be no trouble. But when Becca hangs out with the Sisters, there is always trouble. 

      I was already thanking God for the amount of blessings He was giving me before I left Nazareth. Little did I know, He would continue to shower me with blessings. Not knowing it at the time, I wound up spending a good few hours chatting it up with Sister Phyllis and ironically most of it was about my girl Katie D, better known to the world as St. Katharine Drexel. As we were chatting, I could feel nothing but blessings from the good Lord above. I am so spoiled, I decided. God is so good. The adventure continued when while I was with Sister Phyllis, Sister Virginia called me. Of course, as usual, she didn't answer when I called back. We're like little kids in the sense that we love to play tag....phone tag that is. 

      But finally, we connected. I told her that I had a few hours before my ice skating adventure and so, within minutes after hanging up the phone, I was in the car headed to her convent. The thing about friends, I have learned, is that if they are true friends, you could go months without seeing them or talking with them and you pick right up where you left off. The last time I had seen Sister Virginia, we were sitting in a corner booth in a restaurant in the middle of August. Cheerleaders, as you know, are there to cheer on their players when they play well AND when their morale is down. She is my cheerleader through and through. This particular time, I was at the verge of tears in that corner booth. I told her how scared I was, how doubtful, how unsure I was about what God wanted me to do with me life. She took my hands and said, "No matter what, I'll always been your number one cheerleader. Whether that means letting you go or welcoming you home, I'll be here for you. Don't ever forget that." And I carried what she said with me through the year. Despite never being able to connect over the phone or email, I knew she was praying for me. And I knew that I had to try all I could to see her before I went back to school. So, we once again found ourselves at a corner booth (this time at the high top tables...oh boy.) and sharing our thoughts. 

      I never gave a second thought to the fact that there I was, sitting in Santucci's with a Sister. We were enjoying pizza and water on a Lenten Friday at a high top table. This time, instead of tears of desperation, I was crying tears of joy and laughter. I was laughing so hard that literal tears were streaming down my face. I was telling her tale after tale of all my adventures. Finally, I told her that God has given me such peace, that I am happy, that I know where God wants me. Once again, just like last time, she took my hands and thanked God with me. There was no question about praying in public, we simply just did it. For me, this was normal, something that brought joy to my heart and truly gave me a vision of future me. Arm in arm we left, laughing and giggling like the two sisters we are. 

      Within minutes of departing from my dear-hearted, Sister, I was headed down the road to pick up my partner in crime, Sister Mary Anthony so we could join my family ice skating. When we arrived on the ice, arm in arm (it's a running theme...) my sisters, my dad and my sister's friends skated over to us absolutely overjoyed. I said to the girls, "I hope you don't mind that I brought my friend with me...do you?" We all laughed. My family, by now is so used to hanging out with the sisters at family functions. There is a beautiful mutual love that makes me feel like I am home. We skated for a straight two hours and I couldn't help but laugh as the Older Staff Member kept following us around the rink. At first, I didn't think anything of it. But then I thought, oh maybe Sister's veil or skirt is a rink violation, because she wore her habit, you know. Later though, we realized that he was merely intrigued that Sister was out Ice Skating. Of course, a few other random rink kids were also very intrigued. My family and I merely skated. 

      While Sister and I were skating around, I thanked her for being a visible sign for me. I told her that long ago, when I first felt called to this vocation, I had planned on wearing my habit everywhere. It came about when my extended family asked me if I would wear my habit when I was at home at family parties. Without hesitation, I told them that of course I would! Of course, all my uncles asked about the kids who would probably get my habit dirty and various other scenarios since my cousins love me to death and I always wind up dirtier than they do. What's a habit without a little wear and tear? There's nothing a little Tide can't fix! The habit, for me, symbolizes deep simplicity. There are no frills and thrills about a habit. There's no tight waist line or low scoop neck; there's nothing fashionable about it. Yet, I love it. And just like my dear Sr. Mary Anthony, I would wear my habit in the snow, on the ice, on the service sight, basically anywhere. 

      One thing I really didn't realize until now is that her being a visible witness to religious life last night really helped break down some stereotypes. Does anyone know a nun who goes ice skating? Now you do! When my sisters agree to going out with me, whether it's out for Chinese, out for Pizza, out to the Zoo or Ice Skating, they give me hope. They, without knowing it, are helping me help them break down these stereotypes of religious life. My Sisters are real people just like me and you. They are made out of the same flesh and blood (to quote Sister David...) as you and I. These Sisters do so much just as normal people and you can all count on the fact that I will follow their footsteps. Life is a constant adventure and journey of questions and answers, and I hope that because I'll go anywhere, as long as I'm with Him, my friends, family and so many others can begin to have a clearer view of this beautiful, religious life. Amen? Amen!

This Ain't Prom; It's Home

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

- The Lazarus Project, Aleksandar Hemon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In The Arms of Angels - Camden, Alternate Spring Break 2013

"Let us open wide our hearts. It is joy which invites us.

Press forward and fear nothing."

- St. Katharine Drexel

     "What are you doing for Spring Break?" It was the question on everyone's lips. Some were traveling to NOLA, my favorite city in the world. Others were traveling to Chicago, my home away from home. Still others were headed home to their respective cities and towns. Me? Well, I was more than excited to be headed to Camden, New Jersey for the weekend. 

     Imagine my parents' reactions when I neglected to tell them exactly where I was going on Alternate Spring Break until I was already settled in with my six other lovely lady peers, Father Chris and Sister Cathy. I simply just texted my Daddy a picture of the quotation from Katharine Drexel that was on my bedroom wall in Camden. Needless to say, he didn't respond via text message but rather by phone call. What are you doing there? Are you staying? Who are you with? Are you asking for a death wish? Are you serious? Camden of all places? What are you thinking? Yes...my Dad had a little bit of a freak out session. "Relax, Dad," I told him, "we haven't heard any gun shots yet." That didn't help much...obviously. But I reassured him that I would be fine and God was watching over me. If I was meant to be scared, I would have freaked out already. And I didn't. 

      Camden is rated the 1st poorest city in the United States. Not only is it poor but it has the highest crime rate per capita in the US, this includes murder and homicides. Almost half of the city is dependent on drugs. Surprisingly enough an elementary student can make up to $200 a week just by being a drug outlook for dealers. This being said, the drop-out rate for high schoolers is 60-70%. Oh and the average income for a family of four? $18,000. Get this....the entire NINE-SQUARE MILE city of Camden has 80,000 people "living" in it. I say "living" because do you really think sleeping on the street in a wet sleeping bag every night is living? 

     So, needless to say, my Dad had a right reason to be worried about me in a city like Camden. Camden is a city for me that I can see right across the river when I'm home. And while I was in Camden, the skyline of Philly was looming over us as a constant reminder that this is the Calcutta of the United States. However, there wasn't a single second I felt fearful of this city, I had long ago learned to love. 

     They had asked us at the beginning if anyone in our group had been in Camden before, aside from being there for a concert or a visit to the aquarium. Two of us. I spent one day during my summer three years ago gardening with a group of my CREW girls. I saw that Garden this weekend; it still looked good. I spent another day during my summer two years ago painting over graffiti. I saw those murals this weekend...and I painted the same exact spot on the same exact wall I did two years ago. Our murals are still there though. I remember the first time I walked through Camden. I thought to myself, this is what hell looks like. So many imagine hell as place of fire and heat. But Camden, oh no..that's what hell looks like: broken houses, so much poverty it makes you sick, the smell of trash for miles, children running around with no clothes on because no one loves them, and needle after needle after needle, the used-to-be source of drug lovin'. Oh and the skin and bones of people who haven't eaten anything nutritious perhaps their whole lives. There's no love, no hope, no sunshine. That's hell. 

      Yet, it's a hell that didn't scare me. I felt like Orpheus. If I could go into that hell and pull just one person out of it, if I could make someone my Eurydice, I would. That's what keeps me going back. (The story of Opheus and Eurydice is simple. E dies and goes to the underworld. O goes down and pulls her out, saving her and bringing her back to life.) Like I said before, I was excited to be going back to the streets of Camden. I was excited to be meeting people, or as I call them, "New Friends." I was excited to open a window to a world that most people don't know about. 

      We arrived after sundown and as we unpacked our car, a group of young men walked by. My friends were standing on the front porch as I stood in the middle of the street waiting for father to turn around the school van. We didn't want anyone taking the perfect parking spot. When I turned around, I saw the young men and joyfully waved and said hello. I could see the eyes of my friends bug out of their faces. What? I shrugged. It seemed so late, but the night was still young. After a first night of making spaghetti for dinner, a few of us headed to the Joseph's House. 

       Joseph's House is a unique and humbling place. Located in an old Lutheran Church, volunteers set up and cook dinner for about forty regular homeless people. These people come with all they have and set up camp on the floor of the church. It is literally exactly how the would sleep outside but with heat, a warm meal and the opportunity for showers. The first night there, there were a plethora of volunteers already there and so we went home, a bit saddened that we couldn't do much to help. We went back to the place we called home for four days and watched one of the most heart-wrenching documentaries on the children of Camden. As someone who wants to be a teacher, I can tell you it hit so very close to home. 

      The next morning, we were up and at 'em, ready to help out at the Holy Name Confirmation Retreat. But first we got to make fruit salad for the Joseph's House with the Freshmen Students from the Cristo Rey High School in Philadelphia (I was so totally hype because teaching there would be a dream come true....). I made some new (and crazy) friends among the students and easily assumed the role of their older sister. When they were leaving, I was blessed with numerous hugs from all of them. With the Confirmation retreatants, we put on Gospel skits which was a feat for sure. There for four boys and one girl in our group...thankfully, we were blessed with the Gospel of the Prodigal Son. We then had to have a slightly silent Puerto Rican lunch since we were sharing our space with another group. It was soooooo hard! After making so many new friends, it was super hard to keep quiet with these overly-eager beavers. I love them all so much!

       Once the retreat was over, we were blessed to hear the real story of Kenny, a homeless man who lives in Camden. He truly invoked so much conversation and gave us so much insight. He gave us a chance to truly express our feelings for the homeless and what we wanted to bring back to our homes. It was such a beautiful chance for us to share as a group, as individuals and as ourselves. I saw the hearts of so many so open and willing to go the extra mile for people. It was so beautiful!

      That night we had homemade dinner take two. The first night Lindsey and I cooked dinner and very casually Sister Cathy asked if we would let anyone else cook during the weekend. Well, the next night there she was all precious in her apron cooking crayon chicken nuggets, mac and cheese and broccoli with the two of us, while setting the others to fruit salad making and whatnot. We young ladies had a nice lesson in Convent Etiquette 101, lesson: how to peel an orange. Sister Cathy is a trooper for putting up with all the young lady sass this weekend....it didn't end there. 

      After our meal, a few of us headed out again to Joseph's House. That night, I met my friend Archie who looks like an African American Santa Claus and his friend, "Santa." These men shocked and surprised me with their wit, their playful bantering back and forth and extreme knowledge. These men shared their dreams with me and asked me about my dreams. I went to bed that night feeling so overly blessed for gaining two more grandfathers here on earth. 

     The next morning, we were once again up and at 'em ready to help out with CCD classes before going to a Spanish Mass. The truth is, I love kids so much, which is why I have always wanted to be an educator. My dreams as an educator include, but are not limited to, making sure my students know they are loved, knowing that I care about their dreams and their lives, and being able to communicate that to them. The hardest obstacle was communicating with those students that morning. I was silenced literally because most of the students did not speak English and I did not speak Spanish. I tried, but I failed admittedly. I couldn't do it and from that I learned that I need to try my hardest to become bi-lingual. Especially if I want to fulfill my dream of teaching inner city kids. I prayed for all those CCD kids at Mass and I prayed that God would give me the strength to learn another language...soon. Mass, of course, was beautiful. I was blessed enough to sit next to Sister who just happens to be fluent in Spanish and has a beautiful voice. Yes, it truly was a blessing.

     After Mass, we quickly changed into painting gear and headed to North Camden to paint those same exact walls I had painted before. I was literally painting the same exact block of wall I had painted before. It was like a time-travel and it was awesome. Of course, we had to paint with the wind off the waterfront at our backs. It only gave us a more solid understanding of what the homeless had to deal with every day. They never get the chance to go inside a warm home or a warm car. They are outside all the long day, in the cold, with much less than we all had on. I felt the sting of homelessness right there in my heart. I'm not sure what the others got from our experience in the cold, but that was the truth resonating in my heart. Later that night, after cooking again with the whole IU family, we headed out to Joseph's House for a last night with the homeless. When we were leaving, "Santa" and Archie broke my heart by asking if I would be back there again the next night. Oh how I wanted to be there. 

     Monday, our last day consisted of sandwich ministry and recess with the kids. When I woke up this morning, I was so sore. I didn't understand why until I remembered I lifted 10 pound bags and chased kids for an hour. In the sandwich ministry we literally fed some many homeless people sandwiches and made up bags of canned goods for them. What a sight to behold to see a line of people waiting for their first meal in what may have been a long time. At school we ate with the same kids and the peers of the kids we helped on Saturday at retreat. These children are super precious. We played tag for an hour and I've literally never been that out of breath. However, chasing those kids around in tag was the best. I miss that being at school, I miss being able to go over to the grade school and be lunch mom. It was so hard for me to leave those kids.

      As we rode home that day, I couldn't stop reflecting on those kids and their smiles, their beautiful innocent smiles. I love them all so much. I wanted nothing more than to preserve their innocence and let them keep it forever. But I know that in a city like Camden, they would lose that innocence most likely before they even left grade school. My heart ached and broke for them. I will forever remember their smiles and their hugs and innocence. But they aren't the only ones. I found myself in the arms of angels this weekend. Angels whose faces were those who greeted the homeless, angels whose faces were the poor and homeless, angels whose faces were children, angels whose faces were people just needing love. In each hug, I felt myself truly in the arms of angels and I can only hope they each left my presence feeling the same; in the safe haven of an angel's arms. 

Fruit Salad...yummy, yummy

Enough said

Painting the walls.....

Painting Sister....

Sandwich Ministry Time

My Cristo Rey lovebugs <3