Sister Selfie and Her Companions: National Catholic Sisters Week

"Real Woman, Real Stories"

"What is so significant in my life that I would be willing to give my life for it?"

- Sister Julie Vieira, IHM

Photo taken by: Rebecca Zenefski

      It was another scathingly brilliant idea my AE had, to send me and Sister Angela to Minnesota for conference on something about nuns. As usual, I agreed not knowing much about the program. Minnesota sounded cool, I guess and nuns were involved so, really there was no denying the opportunity. Weeks later, I found myself, once again on an airplane headed to Chicago for the night to meet up with "my sister" and eventually go to Minnesota the next morning. Before I knew it, we were landing in a foreign state (and country...the midwest is a foreign country). 

     As we gathered at the hotel for the sisters, there was a select few group of students and sisters already arriving. The program didn't actually start until 5:00 PM and we had landed a little before 11:00 AM. Needless to say, we had a few hours to kill. However, the Sisters were encouraged to travel via shuttle to St. Catherine's University with the students. So, on the shuttle we went and soon the students were shown our rooms in the Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet's previous Provincial House. If someone asked me to describe my room, I would say, it was a typical nun room. A room big enough for a twin sized bed, a sink, a dresser and a chair. There was a closet, too. Prime living, people. But honestly, all the necessities and all I've ever truly desired. 

     The afternoon was filled with activities like LUNCH, discovering Zentangles (an artistic approach to meditation) and tours of the university and the provincial house. Before we knew it, however, it was time for the festivities to begin. Sr. Angela and I headed over with the group, arm in arm, to the reception. We made new friends and chatted about where we were from, which communities we represented and so on and so forth. Soon, we were ushered into the beautiful ballroom for Dinner and the big welcome speech given by the university's president, Sister Andrea Lee, IHM. Of course, the table talk consisted of getting to know you small talk and lots of giggles between me and my sister. You see, we had a lot to laugh about with all our inside jokes. 

    After dinner, we moved into one of the most beautiful prayer services I have ever experienced. In this building, they have a three floor atrium and so, we split into three groups and surrounded the atrium on each floor. We sang, we gathered, we prayed with the Gospel of John. In the middle of the prayer service, Sister Andrea spoke about how Jesus was calling each of us present in some way, shape or form that weekend. She read out loud a list of all the names of those present and asked that each person respond with "present" so as to acknowledge being present for Jesus. I was happy to hear more than one Rebecca present for Jesus. The solemn environment of the prayer service was so astounding. I will never forgot the emotion that ran through my soul in those moments. 

     Following the prayer service there was an option for a late night even called "Veiled Threats." This session circled around the negative connotation surrounding the habit and the religious vocation. However, the talk began with acknowledging how so many women religious have been left out of history books. Women, especially women religious, are often given the back burner when it comes to acknowledging them with any accomplishments. Women religious have played such a HUGE part in American history establishing the first hospitals, first schools, first etc. The speaker then transitioned into talking about sisters in popular culture. The stories and the images shared in popular culture about Sisters, Nuns and Women Religious are so often false, degrading, and negative. This truly evoked great conversation among the Sisters and the Students. 

      The next morning there were multiple sessions focusing on sharing the stories of women religious. We were encouraged to use social media networking to share sister stories and asked to help with the video archive project which would help get the sisters stories into a huge online video archive for all to access. I found it so interesting that among the young people present, less than a third were active on three or more social media sites. Of course, I found myself bursting with ideas on how to share Sisters' Stories as we sat through the sessions. As a true student, I was taking eager notes. I couldn't wait to get started. 

      While I did love the morning sessions, I think my favorite part of the weekend aside from the liturgies, was the Sister Story Presentation where four Sisters presented a tidbit of their discernment or religious journey. I found myself feeling like a kindred spirit with the sisters. One Sister spoke about her missionary work in South America. Well, it's no wonder that story hit close to home as I have become so passionate about working in South America. I have always wanted to Hispanic Ministry, but in my journey to S.A., the passion grew even deeper. Another Sister spoke about how, even before she really started discerning, she felt a kindred spirit with the Sisters. My favorite part of her story was when she told us how she was sitting in the community room with a few of the sisters when she got the call that she had been accepted into the community. She was there with her sisters and she said, "I had already felt for so long that I was a part of their sisterhood." Finally, another sister (the cutest by far) told the story of how she didn't break up with her boyfriend until the night before she entered the community. My hear actually broke during this story. OH how close to home this one hit. I spoke to her afterward and told her honestly, how close that was to a part of my own story of discernment. However, I told her, I didn't wait too long before I was honest. Their stories were so rich and so deep and so honest. I truly felt in my heart their spirit as my spirit and their love for Jesus as my love for Jesus. Then I remembered, we all kind of fell in love with the same Guy.

     After the Sister Stories, we prepared for Mass. I kept telling Sister Angela that I needed a nap. Anyone who knows me knows that naps are, aside from Mass, the most vital part of my day. If I don't get a nap, I sure do get cranky. But I was on my best behavior and instead just closed my eyes in Chapel for a little bit. Mass was filled with beautiful liturgical dancing, beautiful music (nothing quite beats the sound of nuns singing) and a beautiful homily celebrating women religious. I've always been one fore using "hand motions" during Mass, especially during the Our Father. When I opened my hands to pray the Our Father, I closed my eyes and didn't expect anyone to take a hold of either hand. However, Sister Angela placed her hand in mine and gave a gentle squeeze. She doesn't know this, but she will after she reads this, but that moment moved me to tears. It was an expression of trust, of love and of friendship. She had one hand, Jesus had the other. 

     In the nunly tradition we did a lot of prayer, but also a lot of eating. So, of course, after Mass we had a very fancy sit down dinner. It was after this dinner that I introduced myself, like the brave soul I am, to the president of the university. I told her I was a college product of her cousins, the Immaculata IHMs and that my Sister Cathy said hi. Of course she was happy to greet me. I stole a quick look at her feet just to see if she was actually wearing shoes this time. Earlier in the weekend, I burst out laughing when I noticed her walking around barefoot. I had found a kindred spirit just by noticing her lack of shoe wear. Anyway, I moved to the legendary Sister Amata who was also very gracious. I passed on the IHM hellos to the other IHMs. Of course, I did have to do a little explaining to Sister Angela about how they were both IHM communities but they were different, too. Good thing Sister Cathy has trained me well in community history! 

      We had another late night event and this time it was about Sisters in Film, in particular, "Radical Grace." The few clips of this movie that we watched definitely evoked much conversation and it was during this that I found another kindred spirit (I'm assuming you're thinking...wow this girl has a lot of them...I'll get to that), Sister Mary Kay, who ironically is from Philly. Needless to say when she told me she was from Philly, I actually screamed in excitement and wrapped my arms around her. PHILLY SOLIDARITY, people, it's important, especially since everyone and their sister (see what I did there?!) was from the Midwest. Sister shared a lot about how she advocates for Immigration Reform in accordance with the church and the USCCB. I looked at her and said, "Me, too." Kindred Spirits for sure.

       The next morning, after losing an hour of sleep, we gathered once again for breakfast and then the morning prayer liturgy. At every one of our liturgies, we were encouraged to share signs of peace. In the words of Molly Hazelton, "share peace in the manner most comfortable for you." Good thing everyone liked hugs; I gave so much nun hugs this weekend and I regret nothing. Our final session was about taking what we learned and planning to implement it in our universities and communities. It seemed to me that all the other tables of sisters were very practical whereas we were very visionary. We spoke about needing courage and willingness to share stories. We spoke about learning about one another, learning charisms, learning communities, learning about ourselves. At one point, I was the only student at my table of nunnies. Wow, I was lucky. I shared with them the following:

       The weekend was so incredibly fruitful for me. Not only did I get to hear so many stories, something that as an English major, I absolutely love, but I also got to connect with so many beautiful witnesses of the faith. I expressed how awesome it was for me, as a young person, to hear about their charisms and watch them grow in their personal charisms as they shared them with one another. They each realized that there is so much they all have in common despite their diversity....something I had seen from the very beginning. It was so beautiful for me to be able to witness that...so very beautiful and so very awesome. I was able to find a kindred spirit in so many of the sisters who I met because there are so many similarities of all of us together. It was easy to see a part of me in their stories of discernment, especially the stories of my own sister, Sister Angela. 

       As the weekend came to a close, I counted the amount of Sister Selfies that were taken at every event and with so many sisters. The number was astronomical. I laughed at them and began to feel a sadness. I had had such a beautiful, fruitful weekend which not only helped me in my own discernment of becoming a religious sister, but it also strengthened so many relationships and built new ones. I was amazed that even though I had known Sister Angela for two years, I didn't really know her story. I was amazed, too, at how close a person can feel to another after only a few days with her. I counted myself blessed to have such a special Sister with me, one who was willing to link arms with me, let me nap on her shoulder, and even share a book (we actually read the same book simultaneously in the airport...we're adorable). I shared so many laughs with her, so many laughs that yielded hurting stomach muscles and bright red faces. I shared so many spiritual moments with her in prayer, so many smiles, so many hugs and the list goes on and on. While I enjoyed every moment of the conference and tucked away all the knowledge I gained, the most important part of my weekend was sharing it with her. I don't think she knows how special she truly is to me. But I'll tell you this much, when it came time for us to part ways in the airport, she gave me a tight hug which squeezed s numerous amount of tears out of my eyes. Before I knew it, I was sobbing in the airport like an idiot. Yeah...I guess you could say that Sister Selfie and I bonded; she became not only "my nun" as we students began calling our sister companions, but she also became my sister...God works in so many mysterious ways. And here I am, crying again at the beauty of His goodness, as I write this. 

       National Catholic Sisters Week lasts until Saturday so you better hug as many nuns as you can. Take pictures with them (sister selfies preferred) and hashtag #thankanun. Thank as many women religious as you can because they have done so much for our world and deserve the gratitude. I know, for sure, that I'll be hugging lots and lots of nuns this week. I started today...and of course, got strange looks because THEY DIDN'T KNOW. So, I spread the word. National Catholic Sisters Week. Oh and next week, according to my good friend, Kristie, is subsequently deemed "National Future Catholic Sisters Week." Sure, Kristie, sure. Remember, thank a religious sister (thank a few...) and share their stories. 

 

To Lent or Not To Lent?

"Each soul, upon offering herself to the Lord,
must be prepared to accept both cross and suffering
out of Love for HIM."
- Blessed Frances Siedliska

Brought to you courtesy of Catholic Memes...

     The question was posed the morning of our service trip: who drinks coffee with breakfast? Father and Sister raised their hands. Then Sister elbowed me saying, "What? Is this practice for Lent?" I laughed, then rolled my eyes at her and shook my head. Honestly, I'm not really sure why I didn't raise my hand because everyone knows I was lying to myself if I thought I didn't drink coffee. Needless to say, I was glad people raised their hands for the coffee because I was in need of some hot elixir of life. As I sat at the breakfast table (after laying down the cereal boxes so I could see everyone) with the warm cup on my cheek (to warm myself up, of course), I began to think about what I was going to give up for Lent. I had a few days...that was Saturday morning.

      Now it's the day before the beginning of Lent. I've been seeing statuses about giving up this and giving up that for Lent. My soul started panicking. I HAVEN'T EVEN REALLY THOUGHT ABOUT IT YET. Now, if you know me and you know me well, you know two things about Lent for me: ONE, LENT is my MOST FAVORITE season of the Church and TWO, I always give great thought to my Lenten sacrifice. If you don't really know me, well then, now you know why I was panicking. So, in my panic, I searched the web. I found a great site which listed some great suggestions such as: cream and sugah in coffee, the Frozen soundtrack, and the radio. Then I found another one that suggested some more practical, serious things, like hot water, smartphone addictions, pillows and beds, and shoes. (I really liked the last one...). I thought, wow how nice. I even read a blog post urging young people to NOT give up social media for Lent so as to maintain their presence on the "battlefield." All really good food for thought. Then it hit me....I knew exactly what I was going to do for Lent.

       Did you think I was going to tell you? Remember that story in the Bible about the Pharisee who said, "THANK YOU GOD FOR NOT MAKING ME A SINNER LIKE THAT MAN?!" Well, brothers and sisters, humility is a gift! The truth is, I mulled over quite a few options. I thought about giving up hot water. I thought about giving up cream and sugar in my coffee. Someone suggested giving up ice cream...I can't eat ice cream; that's cheating. I thought about giving up the Frozen soundtrack but like, I really can't give up listening to and belting out "Let It Go." I thought about giving up shoes (the sisters reprimanding me for not wearing sensible shoes in the snow would really be a cross to bear...hmm...just kidding, nunnies!). I thought about giving up driving to work considering it's only right across the street (once again...the reprimanding). I thought about donating all the change in my car to Catholic Relief Services. Then I started thinking about things that would be really difficult to do, like give up the snooze button (my roommate would appreciate that one..). Imagine, not staying in bed for a half hour longer (would it be cheating if I just set my alarm for later). I also thought about giving up sarcasm and sassiness (how would Sister Cathy feel about that?!). At that rate, I should just take a vow of silence for Lent. I was really trying to weigh my options. 

       I decided on a few things for Lent. It's been a personal philosophy to give up one and do an extra. I have my "do an extra" but I'm keeping it a secret. We'll see if anyone can figure it out. I don't have a give up yet (I'm still thinking about the shoe thing...). Maybe I will go with my traditional, all drinks but water. I will definitely have my Lenten weight loss program then. I might actually, seriously give up using my phone during the day. But then I'd have no friends. Tomorrow, during Ash Wednesday Mass, I think God will give me what I've been waiting for: an idea of sacrifice. Until then, friends, I'll be praying! Oh and if you have any suggestions, I'd be more than willing to discern them! 

Service, The Only Great Thing

"No one can serve two masters.

He will either love one and hate the other,

or be devoted to one and despise the other.

You cannot serve both God and mammon."

 - Matthew 6:24

     On Friday night my Dad called me.The conversation went a little like this: Dad: "Where are you?" Me: "Oh you know, driving through Kensington." Dad: "WHY are you in Kensington? Who are you with?" Me: "My friends, Sister and Father. We're just living it up on Spring Break." Dad: "Okay, not but really, why are you in Kensington." Me: "Dad, I told you, Spring Break." Dad: "Whatever, just be safe." Me: "Love you, DAD!" While my daddio seemed a little annoyed that I neglected to tell him I was doing a Spring Break Service Trip...in Kensington, but he got over it. I think he's starting to realize a common theme: whenever I do something seemingly dangerous, I don't tell him so he doesn't worry so much before I leave. Sorry, daddio. 

     Anyway, as you could gather, to start Spring Break (which began on Friday), I climbed into the school van with seven other students, Father Chris and Sister Cathy and headed to Kensington. I've come to the realization that one either knows exactly what Kensington is or they have no idea. For example, when I handed in the van sheet at the safety desk, the safety officers said, "Oh...be careful." When Father asked one of the students if they knew where Kensington was, she said, "What even is Kensington?" I've heard the stories, that Kensington has always been the forbidden place, as in, don't go there, it's trouble. It's always been the place where the sun doesn't shine and the birds don't sing. But, as you might have gathered from my life, not much bothers me, not much scares me. Why should I fear where Jesus walks? 

      Our first time driving down Kensington Avenue, we missed the turn and found a grammar error. Because we were under the El, the GPS couldn't get a signal. However, we turned ourselves around and finally found the white door to the Blessed Sarnelli House. Ed opened the door for us and up some super steep, unfinished steps we climbed. We dropped our stuff and immediately turned on the heat. When I say it was as cold inside as it was outside, I am not kidding. We even went exploring to the bathrooms which...had frozen water in the toilets! We decided that all the girlies were going to share one room. Sister got the front end with the view of the el and Father got shipped upstairs. Then we hurried over to the other house (where it was warm) to set up for dinner. 

       The home was a basic three floor row home. On the second floor was the kitchen, chapel and store room (oh yeah...and a bathroom). On the ground floor was the dining room (and another bathroom). When the time came, the members of the Kensington community who needed a meal came through the front door, were served a plate of yummy food (cooked by Ed) and invited to sit down at the tables we had just set up. It was really crowded at the very beginning and so a lot of us wound up standing around, talking to a few of the visitors. However, eventually, a few people began to leave, headed some place or another and there was an empty chair at a table with three people. I asked if I could join the table. David, Donna and Allen all said yes. I found myself right at home.

       I used to feel extremely uncomfortable around the homeless. I had a perpetual feeling of guilt around them and I was never sure what to say or do. I also always wanted to cry. I would see these people on the streets while walking through Philly and I never had anything to give them, so I never made eye contact. I almost felt ashamed. I wanted to help but I was afraid I couldn't. Slowly, but surely, I begin, almost by forth, working with the homeless. It was part of our New Orleans trip, to work at the New Orleans Mission and serve dinner. After a few times, I realized, there's nothing less humane about these people. Friday night, I pulled up a chair, sat relaxed and laughed so hard with my three newest friends. Honestly, the stories we were telling were fantastic. I felt happy and at home. Not a place of home but a homey state of mind. 

       I decided to stay in my chair at the table in the corner by the front door. A few more times, I made a few more friends. Paul, who's cat obsession is almost as great as mine, and John, who is close to my age. A few other friends walked by, said hello, and kept walking, but these are the people I will remember forever. They were such beautiful people. 

       After serving dinner and cleaning up when all our friends left, we ourselves had dinner. It was a simple but good meal of noodles, veggies and turkey. The same dinner we had just served to the community. Mind-boggling, really, and eye-opening. We cleaned up after and didn't have too much to do, but we discovered that the reason our toilets had frozen water in them was due to our pipes freezing. That means, in our house, we didn't have any running water. Not bad right? Well, that means, no toilets, no hand washing, no teeth brushing, no water drinking, no face-washing, no nothing that involved water. Of course, we did have two bathrooms in the community house we could use, but that involved going outside in the cold and running next door. We decided to make two bathroom runs: one right before bed and one first thing in the morning. I've never appreciated water more. 

       We spent part of the night reflecting and then, just by casual conversation, I was asked to share my journey of discernment. I love all the girls I went to Kensington with and I honestly don't know what I will do when I don't get to see their lovely faces every day next year. They are always so honest with me and I love it. One of the girlies, Krystal, asked me about the nunny thing. She doesn't know how blessed I felt when she asked me to share my story. I needed that glimpse of hope and she gave it to me. 

        The next day was spent doing all kinds of clean up work around the house. We also took a tour of the Kensington area. The very long story short is that now in our beautiful group of volunteers, we had an electrician, shot put throwers, and dust nunnies. Our day of clean up involved some pretty crazy things but we had fun none the less. The thing about service is that no matter what, one's heart always seems to be opened in some capacity and there is a joy that slips in. There is always a way to make doing service enjoyable, whether it's making art out of broken items found on the site, being assaulted by nuns throwing things, relocating bricks, drilling holes in walls, or dusting so much dust we find dust nunnies. We had a great time in Kensington and I'm sad we couldn't stay another day. 

        This morning, I packed up the car and finally departed the noble hill for one last spring break. I cried a little because everytime I leave IU, I realize that one day I will leave and never come back as a student. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY NUNNIES THAT MEANS I HAVE TO LEAVE BEHIND?! Sobbing! Anyway, I met my family at the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament Motherhouse for Feast Day Mass (Katharine Drexel's Feast Day is March 3). All the precious nunnies both SBS and IHM welcomed me home to Bucks County. Needless to say, I was a happy NIT. As Mass begin, I realized I recognized the Franciscan Priest who was saying Mass. Turns out, he's from Kensington and works at St. Francis Inn. And that my friends, is how God brings my life full circle. God came in like a lion this beginning of March just as He knew I needed. Father's homily was about young people living the vocation of service to others. That's how I felt in Kensington; this is my vocation, to serve the Christ in others. Father also mentioned that Service is the only thing Jesus calls great in the bible. Hm..sounds legit. Jesus was a man of service, wasn't he? I sat listening to the entire homily thinking, wow, how beautiful a confirmation that I am exactly who Jesus wants me to be.

        I reflected a little later and realized how happy, truly happy, I was. I felt free. I felt such pure joy. And I felt like myself, who I truly am, including all sassiness. I had to laugh because people claim that they love who I am but so few have seen me in my real element. Sometimes it's a part of me that most people, even my closest friends, don't understand. I am guarded at times, but when I'm doing service work, I'm free. I FEEL LIKE I COULD SPREAD MY WINGS AND FLY! And when I let people see the real, true me, I feel even freer. I'm silly, I'm full of laughter and I love making other people happy. When people I love see that, I feel as if suddenly I've opened a whole new book in my life. And all that's written on those pages is this: Service, the greatest thing in the world. I agree with Jesus. 

Happy Heavenly Homecoming, Birthday Twin

"Well done, good and faithful servant."

- Matthew 25:21

     Phone calls from my AE always warrant one of two things: either a scathingly brilliant idea or news from the homefront. On Wednesday night, it was both. It was that conversation that prompted me to decide to go home earlier in the weekend than I had planned. You see, I was going home on Saturday to help my sister shop for a prom dress. But as I hung up the phone, I decided I needed to go home Friday. Sometimes news from the home front is good, but this time it was hard news to deliver. My dear Sister Michael was preparing to go home to meet her Beloved and I needed to say goodbye. 

     So, after skillfully packing boxes upon boxes of chapel decorations into the closet with Sister Cathy, I packed the car and headed home in the pouring rain. I have two ways I could go home: the PA Turnpike or I-76 straight into Center City. On occasion, when I feel like taking the scenic route (and when I don't have toll money...) I take 76. I did just that. Of course, anyone from the Philadelphia area knows that no matter what time of day one decides to travel on 76, there is always traffic. Before I lift, Sister Cathy suggested I put on some peaceful music and drive slowly home (she knows I sometimes have a lead foot) and I did just that. Driving slowly was out of my control. It took me a little longer than usual but for once, the traffic didn't prompt the impatient driver in me. Instead, I focused on getting home to Sister Michael. 

      I went straight to the convent. I didn't even stop at my house. I checked in with Sister Josepha and soon enough found myself on the second floor. God has perfect planning in the sense that I arrived right at dinner time and the sisters were all getting ready. Therefore, I got stopped by a table of my crazy nunnies. I'm always on God's time and so I knew, my visit with these sisters was all part of God's plan. After at least a half hour of conversation with them, I gave a gentle knock on Sister Michael's door. A cheerful "come on in" beckoned to me from inside. I smiled when I saw Sister Regina sitting quietly with Sister Michael. They had told me she was preparing to go Home to Jesus all week and that she was sure today was the day. I knew otherwise. 

      It seems against my personality, I know, but I sat quietly with Sister Michael for about an hour. I prayed a finger rosary (you know, the best way to keep time and keep quiet in grade school...praying on your fingers) with her and occasionally, she would burst awake with a conversation starter for me. She asked me about school, student teaching and the most important question: what about your students inspired you the most? I think I lulled her back to sleep with my litany of ways my students inspired me. Every so often, she would muster a "mhmm" and I would laugh then keep talking until I knew she was asleep. Then I'd go back to praying for her. 

      As I watched her sleep, I realized that watching someone die peacefully, is like watching a baby sleeping. Both are so very close to God that on their faces is ultimate peace. I kept gentle watch over my sister and imagined the peace she would soon experience. I asked Jesus to take her by the hand gently and let her go through the gates of Heaven with no problem. I prayed and watched for an hour. At 5:45, I blew her a kiss and told her I loved her, knowing that it could quite possibly be the last time I ever saw her. 

      As my life would have it, as I was trying to leave the convent quietly (shocking, I know), I got snagged at the door by another one of the sisters and invited to stay for the presentation given by Mother Jana on the international missions of the Sisters of the Holy Family of Nazareth. The room was full of Sisters I loved so dearly and as I sat there, I realized how long it had been since I had been home to see any of them. I didn't even stop over for a visit at Christmas time. I tried to think back and couldn't remember the last time I saw any of them. I had stayed away for so long but I was still welcomed home with open arms. 

      The next morning, I went back to the convent for Mass and later in the day, I went one more time to see Sister Michael. This time, her sister was there, a few other sisters and some family members. I didn't want to overwhelm her, so I stood close to the door, said my final goodbye to her and once again blew her a kiss. My sister was with me, and part of me felt as if she knew how hard it was for me to lose a friend. 

       I had known Sister Michael for so many years...she lived at the convent I frequented so often after school on the weekends and during the summer. She had her favorite spot in the community room, which just happened to be my favorite spot, too. We always had a gentle conversation when I was there for a visit, and she always had a hug for me. But what bonded us together was our birthday. The very first conversation I ever had with Sister Michael, we discovered that we were birthday twins, both of us born on May 9th. Not the same year, of course, but we were birthday twins none the less. I couldn't help but smile remembering all the conversations I had had with Sister Michael as I rode the elevator down with my Sister. 

       As I drove home to school that night, I went back over the last conversation I had with Sister Michael and all her "mhmms." I had been crying but suddenly, I burst into laughter. Poor girl was just trying to sleep. I do the same thing to my roommate when she talks to me as I'm trying to fall asleep. I give little affirmative "mhmms" until I fall asleep. But that wasn't the end of it. I remembered how every time I was over for supper during college, we would always go upstairs for recreation. While I would be playing some card game with some sisters, Sister Michael and a few other sisters would be watching the news and then jeopardy. Without fail, Sister Michael would sit in the same seat and slowly fall asleep. Her head would bob a little until it eventually fell on her chest. If someone was talking to her, she would answer with words and then eventually "mhmms." Of course, the true test of whether or not she was sleeping was if she started to snore. No one ever woke her up though, she always woke herself up and eventually go upstairs to her room for the night. I always found this to be the funniest thing and often would giggle every time this happened. I guess it's because I knew that one day, I would do the same. Now, I know for sure that I do the same thing. Gosh, I even fall asleep reading at work in the same fashion: heading bobbing and then out. I laughed a good portion of the way home after remembering those moments of slumber and "mhmms." 

        The next few hours were spent waiting to here from anyone back home. The phone call (and texts and emails) didn't come until the middle of our 7:00 PM mass on Sunday night. I had spent the hour before Mass  sitting in Chapel, glasses off and head bobbing on occasion. I kept a prayer vigil with Sister Michael. I found out later that she had gone home to God during that time during which I was praying for her. I know for sure that God welcomed her home just as the sisters welcomed me home Friday night. She went peacefully, surrounded by family and her sisters. I thanked God that her suffering was over and shed the reasonable tears. However, I couldn't help but rejoice. I gained another saint in Heaven and she is now living it up with her Beloved. Lucky girl. Happy Heavenly Homecoming, Birthday twin. I hope I make it to as many birthdays as you did. Keep watch over us, Saint Sister Michael! 

Rebel With A Cause: In Memoriam

"Here's to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels.

The troublemakers. The round pegs in square holes. 

The ones who see things differently. They change things.

People who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, 

are the ones who usually do."

- Apple, Inc. 

Please indulge in some of my creative writing inspired by Sister Peggy's class today. I think you might enjoy it :)

They'd call me little miss sunshine; in grade school, it was little miss perfect. So what if I had my shoes always tied, my socks always pulled up, my skirt always at my knee? I was far from perfect, but everyone had this idea of me as a goody-two shoes. I was lucky if I could ever find two shoes in my room. My favorite color is yellow, but it used to be purple. I was shy once, believe it or not, never, ever speaking up until spoken to. I obeyed my parents, my teachers, the authorities as a perfect little girl should. I never got into any trouble, except once I whispered to a classmate after the lunch bell rang and I got a five minute reprimand. I went to church every Sunday with my family, folded my hands in silent prayer and listened intently to the readings. I fought with my sisters on occasion, but I never did anything crazy like run away from home. I kept with the good crowd. Then I met him. 

Maybe it was the biker beard or the grunge look he sported, I'm not quite sure, but his eyes were deep brown. Normally, I wouldn't find myself even looking in the direction of someone like him, but his eyes drew me in. It was like he saw straight to my soul. I turned away. It felt like I had met him once before and so as I walked down the street, I turned back for a second glance. Hoping that he would be gone as if he were a mirage, I looked. He hadn't disappeared, however, he was staring back at me as if he knew I'd turn back. I shook my head in disbelief and gave a shiver of getting the creeps. Try as I might, I couldn't get his face out of my mind. 

The next week, I walked past the same spot where I had first seen him but he wasn't there. I began to believe I had never seen him. But as I turned the corner onto a different street, there he was, sitting with a homeless woman on a piece of cardboard. They were both drinking a cup of hot tea and trying not to get snowed on as another winter storm was blowing in off the river. I stopped a few feet ahead of them and stared. He looked up, his eyes meeting mine again, and everything about me froze. When I regained control of my body, I ran in the opposite direction. Who was he? And why on earth was I somehow attracted to him?

As I walked through the streets of my city, I began to hear whispers about him. They called him J. They whispered about him running away from home at a young age; he was only twelve. His parents convinced him to come home but he kept to the story that someone else made him run away. People thought he was crazy. They blamed his untraditional birth. He wasn't born in a hospital or even with the help of a midwife. He was born on the side of the road while his parents were on the way to his dad's hometown. He was different, they all said. 

Every day, on my way to classes, I would see him somewhere knew and he always gave me the same look. I wasn't intimidated anymore, I guess because I had always been the different one, too. Instead, I was intrigued by his so called friends: the drug addicts, the alcoholics, the homeless, the prostitutes, the desolate, the outcast. He called them friends and I always found him sharing a cup of tea with someone cold or alone. 

The whispers continued. I heard that he used to be the life of the party. One time, at a wedding, he made sure there was enough wine for everyone to celebrate all night long. Another story I heard whispered was that he brought enough bread to feed a whole crowd of people. How did he even know how many people were going to be there? He used to live by the sea, but he found his way here. No one knew where he lived except that on occasion, he would gather a few of his friends at a sidebar and have a meal. More often than not though, he frequented the "badlands." 

I was enamoured by his "rough, grungy look," but more so by his eyes. Suddenly, I found myself falling for this man who had a negative running track with the authorities. Once I saw him stop a group of people ganging up on a poor woman. He protected the woman without even knowing her name. When the crowd dispersed, he hugged her, and promised her a cup of tea. I watched as he walked into the closest coffee shop and I hurried over to the woman. 

"Who is he?" I asked.

"I have no idea. But he saved me. To me, he's my savior."

I saw him walking down the street toward the woman and me. I tried to turn to leave but before I could, he offered me a cup of tea. I thanked him and once again tried to leave. But he said that if I wanted to drink the tea, I had to sit with him and woman. I tried every excuse possible but he simply said, "Give it up. Follow me." He smiled and I smiled in return. Together, the three of us shared a piece of cardboard on the side of the street and spoke about God. 

He walked me home that night, right to my door step. But as I was turning the key to enter my apartment, he disappeared before I could thank him. The next day, I saw him in the park with a group of people, people I'd have normally passed right by if I didn't know this man. But the truth was, I didn't really know him. Not yet. I stopped and listened to him speak about the coming of the kingdom. He kept speaking as the authorities came to break up the gathering. Try as they might, they couldn't stop him. This happened multiple times and I found myself becoming a follower of this man. He spoke about all types of justice and authorities tried over and over to silence him. The more they tried, the more he spoke out. 

Gradually, I got to know him. Each time he would walk me home, he would tell me to give up my lavish life and go with him. I didn't know where he lived. I didn't know if he had a family. I didn't know. Each night, he gave me a choice: follow him or enter into the apartment for another night of easy living. Each night, I chose the lavish lifestyle and he went away sad. I couldn't love a man who caused so much trouble. I simply couldn't follow this man who ate and drank with the outcast, who led demonstrations on social justice, who had a record with the authorities, who had rumors spread about him. I simply couldn't. I couldn't ruin my reputation. 

"You've got to stop following him," my roommate said to me one night.

"It's like you love him or something," another said.

I denied it. I stopped walking down streets I knew he frequented. I stopped going to the coffee shop where he stopped for tea. I stopped passing the park on the way to classes. My roommates told me that following this man was dangerous, that I would find myself arrested or worse, dead. I was scared but there was something that, after a week of going out of my way to avoid him, I had to go back. 

I couldn't find him anyway. I asked the women on the streets, but they knew nothing. I asked all his "friends" disregarding any reputation I may have had. I realized that I had fallen in love with this man. Me, little miss perfect, miss goody two shoes, little miss sunshine. Yes, I had fallen in love with him. But I didn't get the chance to tell him. I had lost the opportunity. Sobbing, I walked home that afternoon; it was a Friday. As I walked, I was distracted by the noise of a rioting crowd. I ran to it as only a goody girl gone bad could. I pushed and shoved my way through to the front, tears dripping down my face still. And that's when I saw him. He was being publicly humiliated. He had been arrested, he had had a trail and now was on the way to his execution. 

"What did he ever do to you?" I screamed, running to him. 

The authorities held me back. I fought. 

"I love you," I whispered. 

"Careful, little girl. Or you'll be next," an authority warned me as he led me back to the crowd suddenly feeling bad for the little girl whose only friend was this troubled man.

As I was sobbing, a woman suddenly wrapped her jacket around me and handed me a tissue. 

"I understand," she whispered and kissed my forehead. She held my arm as we walked with the crowd to his execution. 

I did not know this woman, although I had recognized her as another face from the crowds of his followers. I watched with a heavy heart as they prepared him for his execution. 

"He will never know how much I loved him," I said to the woman next to me.

"No, my dear, he knows. Trust me he knows." 

That's when we both heard him tell us, "Mother, behold your child. Child, behold your Mother."

"You're...you're his mom?" I questioned.

Smiling, she nodded her head, yes.

"Oh, how convenient that I meet his mother on the day of his death." 

"I told you he loved you. He never stopped speaking of you."

I blushed, not understanding what she was saying.

"He knew this was going to happen. He came so that it might be so. But you are his follower, one who loves him. You must go and do as he did. Do it in memory of him. His name was Jesus."

I guess every good girl falls in love at least once with a rebel...at least my rebel was a rebel with a cause. 

      Every so often, I engage in writing prose or poetry giving Jesus a modern day story. Jesus, in His day, broke the rules, rebelled against society, cured the sick on the Sabbath, ate and drank with the sinners, etc. He had a band of rebellious followers, some men and some women. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have been Mary Magdalene or another one of his women followers. But, I'm a child of the 21st century and thus, I have to rebel in different ways, in memory of Jesus. 

Who Am I?

"I am an only one, but still I am one.

I cannot do everything, but still I can do something.

And because I cannot do everything, 

I will NOT refuse to do something I can do."

- Helen Keller

     This past weekend I did some soul searching at retreat. While at retreat, Sister Jeannine spoke to us about journaling, which is clearly one of my most favorite things to do. During her presentation, she challenged us to take journaling to a deeper level. She challenged us to figure out who we are. She gave us a formula as a little guideline and I decided to share my discovery with you. 

Who am I?

I am Rebecca Lynn, whose name means "Servant of God" and "Lady of the Water." Makes sense. I am a daughter, a granddaughter, a sister, a niece, a cousin. I am Croydon. I am the God-mother to two beautiful little girls. I am the Confirmation Sponsor to five beautiful young women. I am a student who is dedicated to her studies and currently misses being in the classroom (thanks, Snow). I am a lover of the English language and of literature who appreciates diagraming sentences and reading. I am a writer who expresses best through the written word, in poetry and journaling. I am a lover of words. I am a singer although not the best, can still sing praise to God. I am sometimes an artist. I am a photographer who enjoys capturing nature as it's most beautiful. I am a friend with one mouth and two ears. I am a traveler. 

I am a young woman searching for her place in this world. I am one who falls in love with people no matter where she goes whether it be the next city over or a third-world country. I am one who yearns for the soft rush of the ocean because it is steady and that is sometimes the only steady thing in life. I am one who yearns for the rush of water over my skin in a swimming pool, or the gentle breeze in my hair or the sound of blade scraping the ice because it makes me feel beautiful and it is rare I feel that way. I am one who prefers the quiet, gentle touch of hands than perpetual loud conversation between two people because between touch two share so much more. I am one who desires simplicity and not extravagance. I am one who desires not the spotlight. I am one who prefers pulling curtains than performing on stage. I am one who wishes she could cry in front of others to prove her authenticity but cannot for fear of being broken. I am one who smiles despite pain. I am often misunderstood. I am questioned. I am one who wears protective shields of armor to protect myself. I am one who has been challenged by others who have hurt me. I am one who knows heartache and brokenness. Yet I am one who loves and loves and loves without condition for I was taught by the Father to love all those I meet. I am one who loves with forgiveness and without judgement. I am one who loves all who have hurt me and all who may hurt me. I am one who responds to hurt with love. I am one who loves those who deserve love and those who, by the world's standards, do not. I am one who loves. 

I am love. I am the light of the world. I am the candle burning the bushel basket from my light. I am light for others not for myself. I am salt of the earth. I am the seasoning with which I spice up life. I am passion. If I read a beautiful book or have a great dish at a new restaurant, I let the world know. I do all things with passion because each day I am given life. Each day I am a champion over death for I have woken for yet another day and I am grateful to God. I am laughter. I am joy. I am she who laughs without fear of her future. I am joyful with the thought of each day being yet another miracle. I am bursts of energy in every task I am given by God. I am a supernova, an exploding star, of love for the world and all the beauty within it. I am a splurge of energy each second giving witness to LIFE itself. I am a servant of God who has been asked to walk a tough road; a tough road that only God and I know. I am faith on fire. I am a charismatic young woman on fire with love for God; a fire that cannot be put out. 

    Journal writing has always given me an insight to who I truly am. Writing out powerfully who I am, however, gave me strength. I cried while writing this, I laughed while writing this and at the end, I felt as if God had given me a surge of energy to continue His mission for me. Of course, this is not everything. There are many things about me that many do not know and never will know because that is simply who I am. I like to think I'm like Shrek, an onion of layers. However, I'd probably go with Donkey's alternative of a cake or parfait, both of which have layers. There are always layers to be reached, even for ourselves and Sister Jeannine reiterated that for us this weekend. 

     Now, you read mine. Go and do your own. Who are you? Start at the surface until you cannot think of anything anymore. Then start a new paragraph, go deeper this time. Stop when you cannot think of anything anymore. Finally, go even deeper. WHY are you who you are? I am energetic because of the love GOD gives me and the love I have for Him. All things in my life are expressed with that passion of being on fire for God. Who are you? Why?

Alive Again/Opened Eyes

"You called, you shouted, and your broke through my deafness.

You flashed, you shone, and you dispelled my blindness. 

You breathed Your fragrance on me; I drew in breath.

You touched me and I burned for Your peace."
- St. Augustine

     The second "half" of Mass always seems so rushed to me. Right after the homily, I feel like it's a quick boom boom boom, Communion, done. Then I am left kneeling there thinking, wait...where did Mass just go? Okay, maybe this really isn't so, but some days, I really find myself kneeling there, after receiving Jesus, yearning for just a little more time in prayer after that holiest of holy moments. Even today, I found myself longing for the song to last a little longer, for a little bit more time to close my eyes. That's when I opened my eyes.

     I wasn't singing along with the Sisters, but rather listening to their beautiful voices. Some days, I like to listen because people are seemingly always listening to me. Today, I listened and I wondered how so many sisters could make such a great sound. Usually, on days when I simply listen, I close my eyes and smile because of the happiness that simple moment gives me. Today, I opened my eyes and allowed myself to look around at my sisters, the lovely ladies I have prayed with for the past four years. While part of me got nostalgic, the other half could not stop thanking God. It was then that I had finally seen. 

     You see, this past week has been a rough one. Let's just say, it started with a "solo" adventure. I had this need to go away from school but I didn't want to go home either. So I decided, why not drive a few hours to the beach and take pictures. I couldn't explain the need to get away and I wasn't quite sure what I was getting away from. But what I do know is that Stone Harbor is a little bit closer than Peru (the other place I tell people I'm going to when I'm "running away"). So, I picked up my sister, Mary, and headed to the beach. We didn't stay very long, only an hour, but I got some BEAUTIFUL shots of the sunset. I was happy, but I was still missing something. It was a strange feeling.

     We headed back to campus and my Sister camped out for the weekend. I worked all day Saturday at the Motherhouse and even there, I was not my normal self. I was feeling empty. I also was feeling under the weather. LONG story short, I wound up with strep throat for four days and a lovely fever for three. Yay. I was stuck in bed, not that I could really complain, because I was feeling AWFUL. But I could hear everything around me. I could hear my neighbors enjoying the snow day, I could hear the nunnies shuffling down the hall to get to Mass, I could hear my roomie coming and going throughout the day with friends. I felt even more empty; like I was missing out on something.

     As I snuggled in my bed and attempted to get better, I thought about was really bothering me. Suddenly, it seemed that everyone was settling into their futures, whether it be making plans for apartments, applying for jobs and most definitely, getting into relationships. Now, don't get me wrong, how many times have I said that seeing my friends happy makes me happy. I love watching them experience life and be happy. But often, I feel I am not really participating in their lives when they are happy. I've always been okay with that. In fact, my personality kind of enjoys it. It's the introvert in me. But for some reason this week I had just felt like I was really missing out on something, even if I was in the same room as they were. Then it hit me: my life, no matter how close we may be, will always be very different from theirs. 

      My friends will enjoy going out on first dates, double dates, wedding planning outings, dress shopping, baby shopping, baby stuff, family stuff, etc. I will enjoy living with my Sisters, making my vows, watching families grow up, teaching children, maybe living in a foreign country. You see? Very different. I know that by accepting the call from God, I have chosen to give their lives up and there is usually peace about it (because it is the right path for me). But sometimes, it gets little difficult. They can hold hands with their boyfriend/girlfriend. I, alas, cannot. And for some reason, this notion really hit the heart this week. Of course, I was dealing with strep and everyone gets the icky sicky blues when they are stuck in the infirmary of their room. 

       On Monday, the first day I had skipped morning Mass in a VERY long time, Sister George called me. She asked how I was feeling and then told me that on Channel 59, Academy Award Winning Musicals were on all day. I smiled at her outreach. She's so precious. She's coming with me when I graduate. On Monday night, my lovely neighbor sent a little message : "So strep? That's why you've been so quiet." I laughed. It hurt, but I laughed. Of course, throughout the day a few other sisters reached out just to say take care or get well. I smiled. By Tuesday night, I was feeling much better. I didn't have a fever anymore and I needed some fresh air. So, I walked outside for a treasurer's meeting with our class advisor and class president. MAN DID THAT FEEL GREAT. However, I was still feeling a bit melancholy about everything else. 

       By Wednesday, I was feeling much better. So, after noon mass (we had a snow/ice day), I decided to get a few people together and go to Camilla. What an adventure that was. Long story short, Sister Mimi, one of my Sisters from Peru, was visiting and giving a presentation. I saw so many of my dear Camilla Sisters that suddenly all the sadness and melancholy-ness (I know this is not a real word...) disappeared. I was surrounded by beautiful women of God who reminded me why I am discerning this life. As we watched the presentation from Sister Mimi, I had many of the same reactions as they did. Sighing over the cute babies. Excitement at the sight of new buildings. Claps of joy, loud whispers, etc. That's when my friend, Paxton, leaned over and said, "One day, that will be you." 

       In the middle of my sickness, I had also had the thoughts that I might not make a good sister. I fought with the devil on that one. I struggled thinking that actually, I was not worthy of that life. I could not possibly make a good sister. But then Paxton reminded me, without knowing it, that I was right. I AM NOT WORTHY...but, no one really is. She gave me a glimmer of hope, just as those dear Camilla Sisters did. I need to persevere; I need to keep going. I refuse to give up, I needed to say. 

      I left Camilla feeling renewed in my Spirit. I had seen the Mother General checking up on her Sisters at Camilla (the power had been out all morning thanks to the ice storm) and that warmed my heart. It was a reminder of why I had ever thought of this life. I needed that. I found myself at the Motherhouse that night and at peace. Then this morning, when I opened my eyes after Communion and looked around to see those beautiful women of God singing their hearts out, I felt my heart overwhelmed with peace. 

       It doesn't matter that my life will be different from my friends. It's okay to go through difficult times, too. It's okay to experience hardship and pain. A dear Sister Eileen told me once that religious life is full of struggles and challenges, but in the end, it is the most beautiful life one could experience. I don't know why I didn't remember that this week (I had just spoken with her the other day...). This morning, I couldn't agree with her more. There are times, even in my discernment, when the road gets rocky. This past week was one of the rocky times. And yet, this morning, when I watched my Sisters sing and even yesterday holding hands with Sister Cyril, I felt that I knew, once again, that this path was still right for me. I left Mass this morning with opened eyes and feeling ALIVE AGAIN!