With Arms Wide Open

"I am He whom thou seekest!

Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest Me."

- "The Hound of Heaven," Francis Thompson

     I looked up at the crucifix as I knelt in an unfamiliar church. I had just finished taking my PRAXIS test (my teacher test) and I was on my way home. I was hoping I'd make it in time for a 7 PM service for Good Friday. Did you know that there was only one church in the Archdiocese that had a 7 PM service? What's even more interesting, is that I found the church. I walked into a church that I had passed multiple times on my journeys through Mayfair to visit my Nunnies. It was long, spacious and had a lot of steps. I surprised myself by how close to the altar I walked to (I'm the typical, let's sit in the back Catholic) but knelt there praying anyway. I watched as the priest showed the altar servers where they would be going throughout the service. Suddenly, the open tabernacle caught my eye. 

    In most Catholic churches, right below the Crucifix, is the tabernacle (the vessel in which the Blessed Sacrament is held). After Holy Thursday Mass, the tabernacle is left open while the Blessed Sacrament is reposed in another location (a chapel, a repository, a different part of the church). The tabernacle in my home parish as well as the one in this church I was visiting have two doors that split down the center and push away to either side in order to open, that is, the same way one would have to uncross their arms and spread them to give a hug. 

     Many times I have quoted a dear priest friend of mine when talking about hugs from the Savior. So many times I have needed to hands of a friend when I was suffering or when I wanted to share good news. Often I have found myself in Chapel in tears wanting only for someone to find me and allow me to curl up next to them and cry with them. I've wanted someone to hold me safe from the pain. I've wanted to run into someone's arms and have them swing me around at the mention of good news. But often, in those moments, no one seems to be around...except for Jesus. I look to the crucifix in those moments and I hear Jesus say, "With arms wide open, I'll show you love. I'll show you everything" (CREED). The best hugs come from someone who is always ready with open arms to hug and love you. 

      On Holy Thursday night, while I was laying in my bed reflecting on my night, I was thinking about the AGAPE prayer service Sister Marcelina had told me about that her Sisters do on every Holy Thursday night. AGAPE, my favorite greek word since high school, means unconditional love. There are three different types of love in the GREEK language: eros (physical love), philos (love between friends) and agapos (unconditional love). In the Gospel of John, Jesus asks Peter three times if he loves him. In English, we hear love three times. In Greek we hear philos twice and agapos as the final question. This is how I fell in love with the Greek word AGAPE, while studying the Gospel of John in my Senior Greek class with Senor O'Connell. Every so often I go back to those memories of class and learning those words of love and I can always guarantee a personal reflection on AGAPE love during these holy days of the Triduum.

      These days are the most awesome and accurate actions of AGAPE. Jesus loved us so much, beyond all conditions (regardless of whichever sins we commit, whatever amount of wrong we do, no matter how long we go without speaking to Him) and so much that He gave His life for us. At the Garden, He loved his apostles despite the fact that they fell asleep while keeping watch with Him. He loved the sinners, the prostitutes, the tax collectors, the sailors, even those who arrested Him. He loved them all so much that He allowed himself to be arrested. And what was His crime? Imagine that one could be convicted of loving too much. For truly those who love much, suffer much. Jesus suffered because of His AGAPE love for us all. With arms wide open, He stretched His arms across the cross so as to remind us of his AGAPE hug. 

      That's not the end, however. I go back to the Tabernacle. During the Mass, the tabernacle is opened right before the congregation receives the Eucharist, which is the Body and Blood of Christ. When the tabernacle is opened, it is a literal reminder of the opening of Jesus' arms. His AGAPE love is present above the tabernacle in the visual of His arms wide open, in the tabernacle as the doors open like arms opening for a hug or the be spread on the cross, and in the Eucharist. The AGAPE love is the love from Heaven present among us. The truth is, Jesus' arms are always wide open, ready at any moment to give us His hug, to give us His AGAPE love. Yet, often we do not take advantage of His love. We look at His open arms and turn away. 

      As I reflected on the beauty of the open tabernacle and the arms of my Beloved spread across the cross for His death, three lines from the poem, "The Hound of Heaven," written by Francis Thompson, ran through my mind. While it may be hard to understand with all the dravests and seekests and thees and thous, when one converts these words to modern English, it says "I am the one you seek. You drive love away from yourself, you who drive away Me." I have been working with this poem as I work on my Seminar paper because it was a personal favorite of Eugene O'Neill. For the past month and a half, I have reading and re-reading "The Hound of Heaven" trying to figure it out. As I reflected at Good Friday service, I had a revelation. So many of us, myself included, is the hound of heaven. The first few lines talk about fleeing the Lord, running away like Jonah had, like O'Neill did, like I do. 

      "You drive away love from yourself, you who drive away Me." How often have we looked at the crucifix, the open tabernacle, the Eucharist and refused the love of God?! How often have we searched for love in so many other places and refused to believe the AGAPE love of Jesus on the cross?! So many times we have driven away the love of God by our actions, by our sins. We have built walls and walls of sin, emotion and refusal. We have refused to believe in the love of God and the AGAPE of Jesus. So many, many, many times have we looked at the Crucifix and not believed that we were worth the unconditional love of Jesus. 

      Yet, I also read this another way. "You who drive away love, drive away Me." That is, whenever we drive away love for whatever reason. Whenever we believe that we are not worth the love of another, or that we are not capable of being loved, we drive away God who is LOVE. Anytime we do not accept love because "we accept the love we think we deserve" (Chbosky), we drive away the love from God. The love of God is present in each human being and when we do not accept another human's love, we are refusing the love of God as well. As I thought of this, I began to cry. 

     There are so many reasons why I often only accept the love I think I deserve and there are many people who have tried to love me beyond that. Often, I have had a hard time believing I am worth the love they try to give me. When I read the lines of the poem, I suddenly realized that every time I drive away the love someone is trying to give me, I am also driving away God. I am driving away his AGAPE  love present in another person. I am driving away the reason He died on the cross, the reason for Holy Week, the reason for EASTER. I am driving away God. 

      Often times, we are so busy throughout our days to even remember that we are loved by others, much less by Jesus. There are other days when we are in search of love and cannot find it. On these days we must remember to turn our eyes to Jesus on the cross, with His arms wide open telling us that it is "with arms wide open, I'll show you love" (CREED). 

Keeping Jesus Company

"In the silence of the heart, God speaks.

If you face God in prayer and in silence, God will speak to you.

Then you will know that you are nothing. It is only when you realize your

nothingness, your emptiness, that God can fill you with Himself. 

Souls of prayer are souls of silence."

- Mother Theresa 

     Holy Week began on Sunday with Palm Sunday. As per the tradition, the choir met at ten am and practiced with Sister Regina with the same Palm Sunday songs we do every year. However, there was something different: she wanted me to sing the opening antiphon: Hosanna to the Son of David. I'll be honest; I didn't think I could sing that loudly or strongly. But when she made me sing, I felt like she was Sister Mary Clarence and I was Sister Mary Robert from Sister Act...you know that scene when Whoopi comes in and rearranges the choir and then tells Sister Mary Robert to sing out - loud? Yeah, that happens to me everytime Sister Regina makes me sing. Needless to say, I was a little nervous to sing out in the rotunda in front of all those people. But, after Mass I could feel the Holy Week High coming on.

    In years past, Holy Week was always my most favorite week. This year, I was praying to be filled with the same excitement for Holy Week. For some reason, I had lost my excitement for Lent about week three of fasting and almsgiving. Although, SEARCH did help with my excitement about LIFE, my excitement about Holy Week was still being tucked dormant in my soul somewhere. Starting with my emotional sob fest after Palm Sunday Mass on Sunday Night, the week was a roller coaster of emotions. I cried and laughed many times.

    Again, this year, I partook in the Busy Person's Retreat and this time around my Spiritual Director was Sister Mary. A big focus of my reflections was the idea of servitude to God. My whole life I felt I had been called to be a Servant of the Lord. Even the very word, servant, is important to me. The second day of retreat I prayed with the first reading from ISAIAH in which it was proclaimed: by your mother's womb, I have called you by name. My name, Rebecca, means servant of God in Hebrew. So, as you can see, the word servant is so important and it plays a huge part in my discernment story. 

     As I shared with Sister Mary, often the tears came as I spoke about all the times I have already been blessed to give of myself to others. Tears came when I spoke about the blessing Immaculata has been. And of course, the tears came when I spoke about the Sisters at school who have become a family to me. But as we spoke, she seemed to notice that I wasn't as talkative as usual. Perhaps it was because our meetings were at 9 in the morning or maybe because I didn't get much sleep. But I remember bringing up the idea of having two ears and one mouth for a reason. The reading of the day for Wednesday, our last day of retreat, said something about God hearing us when we cry out. And so, there was suddenly a reflection on not only hearing God's word as a servant of His, but also knowing that God is always listening. 

     Flash forward to Holy Thursday night. In keeping with tradition, Sister Marcelina and I headed to Our Lady of Czestochowa in Doylestown for Mass. While we were a few minutes late (red lights...every single one) and walked in during the Gloria, I couldn't help but notice one thing: the music. But it wasn't actually the music that struck me even though the voices were absolutely beautiful, it was the lack of organ playing. The music was only voices. They sang a meditative hymn: Ubi Caritas and I closed my eyes and listened to the gentle silence of the hymn. All throughout Mass, all I could think of was silence, silence, silence.

     When we got home to the convent, I got in my car and turned off the radio (I have a bad habit of leaving it on when I turn the car off). Typically on Holy Thursday, I make a pilgrimage to either three or seven churches. While I knew I wasn't going to make seven churches considering the hour, but I made it to three. As I traveled, I was surprised to see how many children were out late with their families visiting churches. It made me smile to see how many beautiful families, the true witnesses of the faith, were out and keeping with the Old School Traditions. My first stop was Saint Katherine of Siena parish (aka where I parked my car at the convent). There, everything was stripped down and silenced in the very physical form. There were a few children, families and older couples.  At my second stop, St. Charles, again I noticed the quieting of the atmosphere. Statues were covered in purple linens so as to maintain the quiet and silence. I also noticed that it really drew the attention to the focal point of Holy Thursday night: Jesus. 

      Finally, at St. Ann's, my favorite chapel, it dawned on me. I knelt on the floor and gazed at my beautiful and beloved Savior. All around me was quiet, I had no more words for Jesus. Silence overtook my heart. It was in those sweeping moments that I realized why Holy Week wasn't quite Holy Week for me yet; I wasn't engulfed in a sea of silence. Although, I did share in the tears of Christ all week, I hadn't shared in the quieting of His mind and soul. I realized though, that Jesus' mind was restless on the night of His betrayal. He kept asking His father to let the cup pass. He was experiencing the true pain of being a servant of God as we so often do. I realized last night that I had shared in so much of Christ's passion already and I didn't know it. I had shared in His tears, His anxiety about His future, His overwhelming knowledge of His Father's presence, His pain in being a servant of His Father...and of course, the silence in the garden. As I kept Jesus company in the garden last night, I felt true solidarity with Him. I felt, again, peace of Holy Week. I felt Jesus speaking to me in my silence of heart and mind. It was there in the garden of silence and agony, that I felt one with Him. It's beautiful what simply sitting with one's Beloved can do for one's soul. Thank you, Jesus. 

Normally, I'd add a song here. But in keeping with the tradition of silence, 

my invitation is that you, too, can spend a few minutes in silence with Jesus. 

A Week of Little Miracles

"I still get wildly enthusiastic about the little things...

I play with leaves, I skip down the street and I run against the wind."

- Leo F. Buscaglia

     One of my most favorite things in the world is feeling the wind. Literally, I love having my hair blow in my face or my skirt get rustled or even just the breeze on my cheek. DISCLAIMER: I do NOT like the harsh, bitter, angry winds of winter that cause my face to get all crackled and yucky. I'm a fan of the spring breezes that come when the sun is shining on my face. I like the wind that comes when you're driving down the highway with the windows down on the way to the beach. I love standing in the middle of back campus with my arms spread to the wind, with my eyes closed, imagining that at any moment I might actually be picked up by the wind and be able to fly. 

     This week we have been blessed with a beautiful bout of Spring weather. While I slept most of the day on Sunday (to recover from SEARCH), I have spent the rest of my days enjoying the outside and counting my blessings. On Tuesday, I was so blessed to gather a group of my new SEARCH Family members together and head out to Chipotle (which, if anyone cares, is my FAVORITE "fast food"...you know, if you wanted a lunch date or anything...) In the car, we rolled down the windows, and blasted our SEARCH VII song "Live Your Life." We serenaded the people in the Chipotle parking lot, the people in the Gabriele Library parking lot, our friends who we drove past. We sang at the top of our lungs and felt infinitely free. I guess warm weather can do that to you. This all motivated me to punch out eight pages of my English Seminar Paper (aka the current bane of my existence). 

     On Wednesday, because I had finished so many pages of my seminar paper, I didn't have to go to the library class for Seminar. So, I took a nice long walk while my laundry was being done. I love walking across the street at the Motherhouse, one because I know how far I've walked and two, because usually I'll see a friendly nunny face. This time around, I knew it was a little too early for the nunnies to be out walking, so I was surprised to see not only one, but FOUR sisters. Here's the catch: not a single one of them was an IHM. On my second lap around the building, I met two beautiful Capuchin Poor Clare Sisters. I saw them coming out of the building from a distance and thought immediately that they might be Carmelites. I LOVE CARMELITES. But alas, they were not...and my nunsense should have known better. The Sisters stopped and spoke with me for a while. I told them who I was (a Senior across the street) and we chatted about life. I asked them where they were from (Mexico, originally) and they invited me to come visit their convent in Delaware. They were super cute and precious with their accents and at the end of our conversation asked me if I ever thought about being a Sister because I would make a great one. I smiled and giggled a little before admitting that I had been discerning for quite a few years now. Of course, they promised to pray for me and then we went our separate ways. 

     By the next corner of my walk, two other Sisters, not dressed in a habit, were walking toward me. I greeted them saying, "Hi Sisters," and after they said hello in return, asked how I knew they were Sisters. Well...it's my nunsense, I told them. We laughed and they asked who I was and what exactly brought me over to the Motherhouse on my walks. I explained that I love seeing the nunnies around but also that I love walking over there because of the peace it brings. They also asked about my studies and when I told them I wanted to be a teacher, one Sister said, "Well, maybe you could be a nun." I smiled and asked her if she really thought I could. When she said yes, I thanked her for being another confirmation in my discernment. She smiled and we went our separate ways.

      I couldn't thank God enough for the gift of those random four Sisters who had been such beacons of light on my journey. In a time when I have been stuck choosing between so many goods, these Sisters reminded me of the original joy that brought me to all these choices: pure love of God and a desire for religious life. They reminded me of the joy I have for living and essentially refilled the tank in which held my stamina to plow through this time of intense decision making. As I walked back to do switch my laundry, I couldn't help but spread open my arms and let the Lord "sweep me off my feet" again. 

      On Thursday, the working day was long. I can't even really remember what I did at work on Thursday but I remember this: lunch and walks with Sis afterward. It was later in the afternoon than usual when we "got done" work and she decided she was going to lunch in the caf. I asked if I could join. We strolled into the caf to find it mostly empty since it was past prime feeding time at the zoo...I mean, past normal lunch time for most students...except for a few tables, one of which was a table of all my friends. We do this thing where we try to fit as many people around a round table as possible. It's quite obnoxious really and there's not rhyme or reason. Not a single one of us has ever thought of maybe sitting at a long table where we could all fit comfortably. Nope, we like the round table. So anyway, Sis and I pick up lunch and since my table of friends was really crowded, we sat at the round table next to them. I told Sis, "We need to be extra loud so they are all jealous of our two person table." She laughed and even one of my friends switched tables. 

       After enjoying almost 45 minutes of simple lunch time conversation, I went out on a whim and asked her if she wanted to join me on a lap around the building...walking that is, not running. Without hesitation she said yes and so off we went on our lap around the building. The thing I love most about Sis is that we can either had a full conversation for hours or we can sit (or walk) in silence. There's no need to fill the silence and when we walked, on occasion there was conversation, but we walked in silence a good amount of the time and I loved that. Finally, it was time to part and as I said goodbye to her for the day, I realized that these are the little moments in life I am truly going to miss when it comes time for me to leave IU. 

      Friday was yet another day of work study with Sis, only this time we moved boxes from one closet in one building to another closet in another building using, of course, a nun gogo mobile. By the time we had finished all of that, there were a few things that needed to be done on the computer and before I knew it, I was back in the office. I took up residency in my favorite chair and as she spoke, I slightly nodded off. I may have actually fallen asleep for a few minutes, but soon she was telling me it was time to call it quits for the day. That's when Sis drove me (and the nun gogo mobile) home. 

       The miracles don't stop there; my weekend was full of them. Saturday night was Mr. IU and I was blessed to be a part of it in two capacities: one as a dancer in one talent act during which we chacha-ed to "Save The Last Dance For Me" and an escort for one of my best friends. Afterward, the night was spent celebrating with friends. Sunday, one of the best days, was the beginning of Holy Week. I found myself singing at the top of my lungs with Sister Regina preparing for the Mass earlier than usual for a Sunday morning. Palm Sunday is probably one of my favorite celebrations at IU because we have a procession from the Rotunda to the Chapel. Also, it's one of the days I get to wake up all the Villa kids with my singing. Sis even "joined the choir" for the morning which was a great moment for us choir kids. During the hours between Masses was our semesterly honors convocation during which I almost cried since it would be my last one. I looked out at the audience and saw my Dad, my little Sister, my friends and...Sis. 

       I can always count on her to be somewhere in the audience during these times of celebration. She has her usual spot and her usual partner in crime most of the time. I can look out and see her standing or sitting there just watching, being attentive and listening to all that is going on. I'm not sure why she makes an appearance all the time; she doesn't have any reason to HAVE to be there but she's there. She's an image of support and love for all the students. She might not know a single person personally getting awarded or participating, but I can guarantee you, she will be there shining as a number one cheerleader for the students at this school. She's always there and I'm glad she's always there. 

        Finally, I think my biggest little miracle came Sunday night during Palm Sunday Mass when I looked up to scan the crowd of students and people. We were singing "Now We Remain" a song I pretty much have memorized from all the years singing it at church. As I was searching the crowd, I saw Sis sitting peacefully with her eyes close just singing her little nunny heart out. That's when a lump rose in my throat and almost couldn't sing for the rest of the hymn. I realized at that moment that of all the people I will eventually have to say goodbye to in these next few weeks, she is going to be the hardest. After Mass I found myself sobbing in Marian chapel (when I say sobbing, I mean gross sobbing...tears and snot down my face, yum). I was thinking of the Sisters, my Sisters, who have basically raised me from baby Freshmen to young college woman Senior who is ready (or not so ready) to conquer the world. I have spent every day of my college career with these women - seeing them at daily Mass and then in classes. I have spent hours laughing with them, chatting with them, loving life with them. They were a family of stability for me for FOUR years and now suddenly, I won't be with them anymore. I think I've spent more time with them than I have with even my friends. As I sobbed a few Sisters walked in through chapel and I didn't do much to hide the tears, I just smiled. Saying goodbye to them is going to be the hardest thing in the world. 

      After crying, I went upstairs to my room and wrote Sis a letter, which we talked about yesterday. I went in for "work study" and spent an hour with Sis chatting about life, the here and now and the future. I cried a little, and there's a lump in my throat now as I write this. We laughed about my yellow ducky umbrella that was causing a commotion in the hallway and discussed dates of summer activities. Oh we did one productive thing for work study yesterday: planned a shopping list for our post-retreat pasta party. I must not forget the productivity! Of course, after all the talking, I wound up being a few minutes late for class but that's really because I stopped to share my umbrella with Sister Annette who was getting pummeled by the nasty sideways rain. I sat in class and smiled; these past few days have truly been a day of little daily miracles. If I was open to the idea of baby miracles, I would have never noticed how blessed I had been last week simply because of the conversations that took place or the silence my heart was given. I am so blessed by little miracles. Of course, I think I'm really thanking God for each of those little moments whether it's a few minutes of a conversation or a walk around campus in silence that was spur of the moment with my sisters. Truly these girls are my miracles everyday. They give me so much life and they may never know how much of an influence they have had on my life. They have helped me grow into who I am today and I cannot be anymore grateful. The truth is I'm not ready to say goodbye, so until the time comes, I'll be embracing these little miracles day by day. 

SEARCH and Find

"I think you travel to search and you come home to find yourself there."

- Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

The SEARCH VII team huddles for a prayer before giving the retreatants their retreat crosses.

    Weeks and weeks of planning had gone into actually executing the plan. The closer we got to the dates of the retreat, the more nervous anxiety welled up within. The week before we had planned to leave for the retreat, each day I spent fighting the tears of anxiety welling up inside. I knew that anything could tip me off and make me cry. The thing that I did eventually cry about? Misplacing candlesticks. Trust me, it was an emotional roller coaster of a few weeks. But maybe before I jump right in the middle, I should start at the beginning.

     One Sunday night, after Mass, Sister Cathy had asked me to come in for work study...she never asks me to come in on a Monday morning. But alas, it was agreed that I would sacrifice my post-Mass morning nap to go to work study. When I sluggishly walked into the office, one of my best friends, Theresa, was sitting in the chair in her office. I suddenly felt like I crashed a party because for the first time I forgot to see if anyone was in her office before I walked in. As I started to walk out, Sister told me to take the other seat in her office. Then I knew I wasn't interrupting anything, but rather that I was being ambushed. I wasn't sure what was about to happen but Sister was super serious as she said, "I have a question for both of you." We looked at each other, I was terrified, Theresa was just awkward and giggly. So we nodded and encouraged her to ask away. That's when she asked us both to be head team for the annual SEARCH retreat offered to students at IU. We both said yes.

      The next few weeks were filled with "I should have said no..." "I can't really do this..." "I am definitely not good at this stuff..." aka lots of doubt that Sister choose the wrong person. Yet, I knew God was somewhere in this. I remembered often back to the SEARCH IV retreat I made as a Freshman. I remembered back a year ago to the SEARCH VI retreat I helped lead. I reflected on the journey I was taking now. SEARCH for me had always been and always will be a journey of love - giving it and receiving it. It is often so easy for me to love others - I can love so many without hesitation. When it comes to receiving love, however, I struggle. I struggle a lot. There's a belief in oneself that must occur in order to be able to receive love. Often, it's a belief that one is worth another's love. That's my SEARCH story. And every week when we met, whether it was as just the head team or the entire team of leaders, I thought of that. I thought about how I never actually opened up about my SEARCH story...nope, not until I confessed it at our leader retreat.

       A few weeks before the actual retreat, the leaders got together for a weekend retreat of our own. It was a whirlwind of reflecting on questions, reading talks, eating lots of food and praying for our future retreatants. Over the past few weeks our group had grown intensely close and we had been able to share our personal stories. I'm not sure what question sparked the discussion this time around but it had to deal with Living the Fourth but suddenly three of us were crying. We were sharing stories and that's when I began to tell everyone of my struggle with love. 

      Suddenly weeks became days before the retreat. I don't necessarily stress about things, I'm used to dysfunction as someone might say, but I was stressed about SEARCH this time around. Perhaps all my fears were coming in full force. As I walked into the Motherhouse Portress office on the night before we left for SEARCH, the council was gathered waiting to leave for something. That's when Sister William Therese opened her arms for me and gave me the hug I needed. That's when I cried a little. Me, the girl who doesn't cry in front of anyone, was suddenly crying in the Portress Office. I was worried but I was reminded by those nunnies that I love so much, that truly everything is in God's hands and He has all control. 

      Fast forward to Friday afternoon at 4:30 pm in Lourdes Security. No longer was I worried. The time had come and there was nothing I could do about it. So, I wrapped my bandana bow in my hair, pulled up the mom van to the circle and began to drum up the excitement in the room well...hallway. By the time we were in the car getting ready to go, I was blaring the SISTER ACT soundtrack with my new SEARCH Sisters, Brittany, Madison and Jennifer. We belted out all the words as we drove down the turnpike. I didn't need the directions because the way to Gretna Glen was carved in my heart and when we pulled into the drive, I was more than excited. 

     I think I cried more this SEARCH than any other. That's not to say the others didn't affect me as much, but it's to say that this SEARCH came at a time when I really needed it. I was reaffirmed in my own self-worth, I was able to believe that I was a little bit loveable, and I gained a whole new SEARCH family. I think the hardest part came at the end when Sister Cathy put my new SEARCH cross around my neck. I almost cried in front of everyone. And then, I turned to Theresa who was crying. *cue waterworks*. There was a moment when I was so tempted to snuggle up to Sis while we sat and reflected at AGAPE, but she was so precious with her eyes closed and face so full of peace. I didn't want to scare her. 

     Of course, there were plenty of hilarious moments where I was roaring laughing so hard my stomach hurt like when James ate that apple off the floor during his skit, or when Sis freaked out the second morning I woke her up, or when we made Jen sleep in the hallway, or when Dan the Cabin Man found out his nickname, or every time we clapped when Sis (Tyra Banks) entered the room or when Theresa, Jen and I laughed so hard we snorted. So many memories were made, so many tears were shed, so many laughs were had and so many pictures were taken. When I say that SEARCH was my saving grace this year, I mean it. I needed it more than I can even describe. 

     When I think back to all the doubt I had about Sister asking me to be a head team leader, I still wonder why on earth she asked me. But, I also can't thank her enough because truly it was what I needed. Maybe she knew, even months before that I was going to need this reminder of love. Maybe God had it in His plans all along. While the struggle to getting to SEARCH VII was a long and hard one, I truly needed it. I have tears of gratitude running down my face now as I write. I'm on a SEARCH journey of giving and receiving love. Oh I wish it wasn't so late, otherwise I'd probably knock on Sis' door and ask her for a hug. I guess that's what work study is for tomorrow. Thanks SEARCHERS of SEARCH VII for helping me more than you can even imagine.To my fellow leaders, thanks for carrying me through this journey of realization of self worth. To Sis, just thanks for everything. Can I have a hug tomorrow?

"Saying" I Love You

"As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you."

John 15:9

    A few weeks ago, I found a quotation that told me that "I love you" doesn't always come in those words. It said, "There's a million different ways to say 'I love you' : 'put your seatbelt on,' 'watch your step,' 'get some rest.' You just have to listen." It really hit my heart hard because of how much I search for love. I never love with the expectation to be loved in return, but there is a desire and a need to be loved by at least one other person. Most times I am perfectly okay being the independent person I am, but there are times when I truly need to feel love. For example when I am upset about something or when I am having trouble loving myself. I never say anything because I expect someone, anyone, to pick up on my cues and love me. When I saw the quotation, I thought that suddenly I was looking for love in all the wrong places. Yesterday, I remembered the quotation and decided that I needed to write about it simply because I needed love.

     Yesterday, I was at a funeral for a dear friend of mine, Sister Barbara. My motto for the day: "Once a portress girl, always a portress girl. And we portress girls never leave each other." Sister Barbara was one of the many beautiful sisters who worked Portress with me. Often we would be on the same day and she would relieve me for lunch or I would relieve her for prayers. We became close over the two years she lived at the Motherhouse. After she moved to Camilla, I would visit her when I would do my rounds. She was a beautiful example of religious life. When I heard, abruptly during morning prayers, that she had passed away, I gave a very audible sound of shock. I couldn't believe it. But death comes when we least expect it and after I prayed about it, peace overcame my soul. 

     At the viewing before the funeral, I was standing with Sister Mary Angela, another dear friend of mine. We were talking about the realities of life and how as we get older we learn to be gentler and simpler, just as Sister Barbara was. During the entire conversation, Sister Mary Angela held my little hand in hers, I think more for her sake than for mine. After saying goodbye to Sister Barbara, I went to sit in Chapel for a while. I was praying that at some point some Sister that I knew would take the seat next to me so that when I would cry later, I wouldn't be too embarrassed. Right before Mass started, Sister Mary Angela slid in next to me. I smiled, thanking God for the gift of her presence in my life. At the end of Mass, as Sister sung the recessional hymn, "On Eagle's Wings" (you'd think that after the amount of funerals I have been to, I'd be numb to this song by now), I saw a tear slide down Sister Mary Angela's cheek. Of course, I had my own set of tears sliding down my face. That's when I slid my hand on top of hers and we held hands as we cried together, mourning the loss of our friend. 

      As the people followed the procession out the back door and to the cemetery, I snuck out the back because I had to get to class. Tears were still falling down my face when Sister Margaret turned to hug me. Sister Margaret is a very tall, beautiful woman of God, who could literally engulf me in her arms and smother me with love. She did just that. That's when I really let the tears fall down my face. She held me and rocked me gently back and forth telling me that Sister Barbara was now my personal saint in Heaven...and that it was okay to cry. 

      Later in the afternoon, after I had gone to class and slept off a bit of the emotional fatigue after, I was walking with two of my best friends to class when I saw Sister Agnes walking down  the hall. Sister Agnes gives some of the best hugs: she holds you so tight, there's no doubting she loves you. I walked right up to her with open arms and hugged her while telling her that she had no idea how much I needed a hug from her. Right after, Sister Jo came out of her office to jokingly say that there was too much hugging in the hallway. I laughed and said, "No such thing, Sister. Do you want a hug?" I may be the only person with the audacity to go up to nuns and hug them while yelling about how much I love them. They probably all want to hide their faces out of embarrassment. 

     I found myself laughing because I know love by touch. I hug and I hug a lot. On any given night at work in the Motherhouse, I can give anywhere from five to forty-eight hugs. When I need a cry, I need a hug. But actually, I need someone to physically hold me in a hug until I am done crying. When I'm upset, I need someone to hold my hand in a gentle way. When I need love, I search for it in hugs, hand holding and forehead kisses. I am a child in that sense that needs to know the physical love. My family is not really this way though. So maybe I search for hugs and hand holding because my family was more of a I'll tell you I love you, not show you. And that's okay. 

     This morning at Mass, I was overcome with tears while the Sisters sang "My Soul Doth Glory." I tried to hide the fact that I was crying, but Sister Cathy realized it. After Mass, she said, "God will reach down and hold your hand many times today." She didn't hug me as the tears were streaming down my face or even reach out to hold my hand. Maybe I needed a snuggle hug like Sister Margaret gave me yesterday, but Sister Cathy gave me the words. There was no doubt in my mind, however, that she cared because her words told me that she cared and I needed comfort. 

      That's when I began to reflect on the quotation I had found a few weeks ago about love showing up in different places. In all the instances I have just described there was a different action happening, but there was a common theme: love. Regardless of whether it was a hug, a hand holding or comforting words, I was being shown love and care. None of the people with whom I was sharing the gift of love said the words "I love you," not even myself. Yet, we knew there was an exchange of love and care. That's when I suddenly thought of Jesus in the Bible. Did He ever say "I love you?"

     Well, I googled it. Jesus never actually says the phrase, "I love you," in the Bible. He says variations of it like, "As I have loved you..." or "I will love you" but never that phrase. However, we know that Jesus loves us, right? God is love and where God is, there is love. God so loved the world that He gave His only Son. Jesus, out of love for us, bowed His head and died. It's clear in the Scriptures that Jesus loves us, but He shows us through His actions, through His words, through His touch. We never read about Jesus telling anyone outrightly that He loves them. But, every time I partake in an exchange of love with someone, I know that Jesus is there, and that Jesus loves me just the same. 

      I went back to the quotation again. We are shown love in so many ways, we are even told in so many different ways, but if it's not the way we expect or the way we desire, we do not believe we are loved. I can't tell you how many times I have questioned where I stand in relation to someone. Often I feel like I love others way more than they love me, which I am totally okay with. We should not love so as to be loved in return, but rather we love because we love. The love in return comes from the other person doing the same: loving just because they love. Love is a finicky emotion and people often misconstrue things that do not mean love as love and love as something other than love. But the truth of the matter is, love comes in all shapes and sizes. It can come in phrases like, "take care of yourself," "eat a good breakfast," "give yourself some time," "thank you," etc. It can come in actions like the holding of a door, a gentle pat on the back as a teacher over looks a students' work, a smile, or even silence. 

      Our society and culture today gives a distorted of what love is, especially among friends. Each of us have a view of what love should be. I always thought that love should be hugs, kisses, snuggles and hand-holding, like the actions of a grandmother to her dear grandchild (my Mommom still does this...). I always felt that I could express love best through extending a gentle hand to a suffering friend or giving a hug to someone. But as I grow older and wiser I realize that not everyone likes to get or give hugs, not everyone likes to hold hands when they are upset. I also realized that another's love for me can come in the comforting words they say or the silence (peace) they give my heart as I cry. Love, like in the Scriptures, is more often shown in actions or in different words, and we often miss these signs of love. We are not open to other expressions of love and because of this, we fail to see and believe that we are actually loved. 

      I can say this for sure, it is hard, sometimes for me to believe that I am loved. That is a recognition of my failed humanity. I know that I am not alone in this feeling. But perhaps it is more because I have a belief that love is hugs and holding hands when it could easily come in the form of words or silence. I know that Jesus loves me but He never once said, "I love you" in Scripture. So, why then, do I doubt others' love for me? It's a reflection that I often have and felt the need to share today. I truly believe that so many people in the world doubt that even their very best friend could love them because the best friend does not love in a way the other needs or desires. I often doubt others' love for me but I am partly at fault. I cannot expect everyone to love in the way I see love. Instead, I need to be more open to the ways others show love perhaps through words or silences. 

     Of course, all of this being said, when we actually hear the words, "I love you" in that exact phrase, it should send shivers down our spines and warm our hearts, because those three words are the hardest to say and the ones that mean the most. I know I will always be one who, when I need a cry, will seek out a hug, but I must, too, understand that the hug may not come because the comforting and reassuring words will come instead. I cannot fail to see that not only am I actually loved but also that I am worth being loved. We must never fail to believe that and trust me, if you think it's hard, take it from the girl who wakes up every morning and looks herself in the mirror to tell herself that she is loved. She may not know who loves her, but she tells herself that she is loved by someone in this world as a gentle reminder that she is worth being loved. Jesus would agree with me when I say, you and I are worth being loved. We must open our hearts to feel the love in any way, shape or form it may come in. You are worthy of love. 

Silly Putty Heart

"Sometimes I think the heart is like silly putty: 

flexible, lovable, impressionable, and able to wrap itself around anyone and anything.

The heart can be stretched so greatly, which is great.

But then, like silly putty, if stretched in two opposite directions too much, 

it might snap."

- A Becca Original

     Yesterday, I was feeling incredibly stretched. Maybe I have written about stretching in the past, maybe not. But stretching is a good thing. Think of dancers who not only stretch before they practice or perform, but also after. It adds incredible flexibility to the body. Think of pizza makers who need to stretch the dough so as to make the best pizza. Think of even rubber bands that need to stretch to keep things together. Stretching, one can see, is clearly something that is good. However, dancers will tell you that sometimes stretching pulls a muscle, pizza makers will tell you that sometimes the dough stretches too far and a hole emerges and sometimes the rubber band snaps. Stretching the human heart can be somewhat similar. 

     Today I write about how much my heart loves and with loving much also comes susceptibility to much hurt. I always knew that I was one to love much; I was born compassionate toward others. However, I didn't know that loving much had great consequences like immense hurt. The good news about this is that God loves you through the hurt; He stretches you. I didn't like stretching at first, much like the young dancer. I just wanted to dance; I just wanted to love. Many around me spoke to me about stretching, telling me it was a good thing. It was a lesson I needed to learn: in order to dance the best, I first needed to stretch. And so, God gave me many opportunities to stretch so that I could learn to love even more greatly. 

     While I learned that stretching was such a good and healthy thing for me and even began speaking about the stretching one endures in order to gain strength, myself. However, there was something rarely anyone spoke about and it was the very fact that stretching hurts sometimes. I never really focused on the pulled muscles, holes in the dough or snapped rubber bands. Why? Well that was negative and why focus on that? But the truth is, I was avoiding the truth. I kept telling myself that stretching is good, stretching will make me better, stretching will help me love. But there was always this little voice saying, "Well then why does it hurt so much?"

      Many of you know that the way I deal with conflicts of the heart is by seeking the advice of others. In recent months I have found myself many times in multiple offices around campus seeking the advice of my older, wiser, sisters. Of course, these are the Sisters who know quite a lot about me, some who have been with me from day one on campus. The future is both terrifying and exciting which led me quite a few times even this week to Sisters' offices and I think it can go without saying, but there were tears, too. In talking with Sister Cathy about the future, mi futura she called it, she reminded me of stretching. She reminded me that I will always have options and God will lead me to the right one. She encouraged me to keep going and keep on keeping on. I left her office feeling at peace, even though I had not truly made a decision about a topic. Just simply talking about my future with her allowed peace of mind for me for the time being. But of course, I'm a great thinker and with great thinking comes great worrying. Slowly, the worry slipped back in. I sought solace a harsh reality aspect from Sister Elaine and of course, I poured my heart out in the portress office to Sister Lorraine because I asked her to pray for me. All three times I was on the verge of tears...because I was being stretched and it hurt. 

     Yesterday, after I spoke with Sister Elaine, I went back to my room for a little bit truly felt in my heart the pain of being stretched. Because I am a writer, I needed to write a metaphor of how I was feeling. I'm not a dancer (anymore...once in my heyday of five years old, I did ballet) and so I couldn't equate my heart to the actual stretching the dancer does and I am most definitely not a pizza maker. And while I've definitely had a number of rubber bands snap on me, that just didn't seem quite like the right metaphor. Thats when I remembered one of my favorite toys as a kid: Silly Putty. 

     I'm sure many of you remember Silly Putty. It's flexible, lovable, impressionable and able to wrap itself around anything. It looks like a wad of pink gum. I remember twisting and turning it, massaging it in my hands. I remember pressing it upon the newspaper and seeing the cartoons reversed and stretched on the Silly Putty. It was ruined after that but that never bothered me. It also got ruined when you lost the red egg shell container it came in. Of course, often  I would get in trouble for wrapping my silly putty around things that I shouldn't have been like pens or the table or things in the kitchen. But it was so cool and awesome and I just couldn't put it down. One time I even remember "losing" my silly putty and then my Aunt Karen giving me a new red egg with the silly putty in it. My Dad got a little upset because seemingly I had wrapped it around too many things and I didn't actually lose it. But the part I remembered the most about Silly Putty was that if you stretched it too far in two different directions it got limp in the middle or eventually snapped. Silly Putty, I realized, was the perfect metaphor for my heart. 

     First of all, my heart is definitely flexible and able to wrap around anything and anyone. It has been stretched so much in the past that I have become able to love even more greatly and love many. My heart is flexible in the sense that I can truly find a way to love anyone. When it comes to being lovable, I've been told by a few that my heart is just as lovable if not more so. I'm not quite sure what it is about my heart, but people love it. My very human heart is also very impressionable.This one comes from my High School Greek Teacher, Senor (he also teaches Spanish....). He told me that when he was a kid, Silly Putty was ruined after only one cartoon/newspaper trick. That being said, once an impression has been made on the heart, perhaps it may be ruined. For example when someone makes such a beautiful impression on you and you learn to love that person, but suddenly that person does something that hurts greatly. The impression may not have false, but the reality of recognizing that another is only being human hurts. Perhaps, the heart then is ruined? The heart can no longer trust? That's a deep concept of equating the heart to Silly Putty in that sense. Of course, we must also think of the red egg shell casing. While it is good to open up the egg shell, because how else would we get to the Silly Putty to play with it? If one loses the red container, the heart can longer be protected against all the icky gunk that might get mixed it. Definitely, the Silly Putty was ruined after that. The heart, perhaps, just as so. At this point, I was really thinking about how perfectly this metaphor was working for me. But it wasn't until I remembered the part about my Dad getting upset at my aunt for giving me new silly putty that it truly hit the spot. 

       My heart has been through the battlefield and lost it's protective container a long time ago. During Lent we pray "God give me a new heart." Did anyone ever question this? Like why on earth would we want a new heart after our old one has already been stretched, has already been hurt so anymore hurt wouldn't matter, and has already, without a doubt, been impressed upon. Doesn't it seem a little ironic? Well, we ask for new hearts for the same reason that I asked for new Silly Putty. My Silly Putty, aside from being "lost" was also ruined. I wanted a new clean slate with a new container. But just as my Dad got upset at the new Silly Putty, knowing that I would only wrap it around everything under the sun, copy newspapers and probably lose the container, I found myself upset at God for a few minutes for giving me a new heart that would only be hurt and soon ruined again. But God reminded me that He was molding my heart and He would not let it get ruined. 

       So then I asked Him why on earth, then, was He stretching me so far in two different directions? In being honest, this past week, I was feeling so stretched by two different things that I loved so much. I could feel one pulling me in one direction while another was pulling me in the opposite direction. There was no malice or even negative aspect of either sides stretching me. In fact, both are beautiful ways to celebrate my gifts and talents. But oh my goodness, was I being stretched. And so, in being honest with God, I told Him how I felt that it He stretched my heart anymore I was fearing that I was snap and my heart would break. I was already feeling like weak Silly Putty because I have been harboring a hurt inside for a while, one that I haven't spoken about or really even debriefed. I questioned God and was upset at this new heart that was still so brand new and impressionable and flexible. 

      I posted my metaphor on Facebook and within minutes many of my dear friends of God were telling me that while the heart is like Silly Putty, the heart is stronger. Some told me that yes, the heart may break, but God is the glue that puts the pieces back together. Some even said that my heart, the Silly Putty is molded by the Maker, my God and He knows what my heart is capable above. Why else would He wrap my heart around people and places that I love so tightly. I was reminded once again that stretching is a good thing and it's only because of the hurt that I have yet to deal with, that I am afraid of breaking. I was reminded that I need to be stretched in both ways equally so as to be able to love constantly and consistently both things which are stretching me. I was reminded that being stretched well help me love beyond the harbored hurt. 

     And so, I can to the conclusion that while my heart is like Silly Putty and I may fear it might snap, God won't let it snap. He is the molder and the maker of all good things, especially my heart. While I'm still at a period of hurting from stretching (you know how those days are...after working out, you're sore for a few days), I know this is for the best. 

Do THIS In Memory of Me

"And when He had given thanks, He broke it and said, 

'This is My body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of Me.'"

- 1 Corinthians 11:24

Jesus and John, the Beloved Disciple at the Last Supper

    Last week in my Sacraments class, we began our discussion on the Sacrament of Eucharist. May 6th, 2000 at St. Thomas Aquinas Parish in Croydon, PA at 11:00 AM on a Saturday, I made my First Communion. I was wearing a beautiful white dress that I had worn a few months prior at my Uncle Charles and Aunt Maryanne's Wedding as their flower girl. I had annoying, lace, ankle socks and an obnoxious headband from which extended my veil. I couldn't wait to get the outfit off and run around in the mud with my cousins at my family party later that afternoon. However, at the moment right before Communion, I suddenly got the jitters; I was so nervous. This was the moment that would change my life forever. As I received the Eucharist on my tongue for the very first time, I instantly felt like Jesus, Himself, was hugging me so tightly to Himself that I became one with Him. Littler did I know that my Theology was kind of right. At Eucharist, Jesus' body becomes one with our body and soul. The image of hugging Jesus at Communion has always stayed with me.

     In class, we watched a video on Eucharist with a song playing in the background. Despite being such a musical learner, I have no idea what the song was or what it was about. I was captured by the video of a few actors acting as Jesus and the Apostles at the Last Supper. I was so struck by the continuous action between Jesus and John, the beloved disciple. During the video, John had his head resting on the shoulder of Jesus while Jesus went about the breaking of the bread and the sharing of the cup. John never once lifted his head off Jesus' shoulder. I was so moved by it and then suddenly, I started laughing. 

     The weekend before, while in Minnesota, I confessed my need for napping to Sister Angela. I say to people that I am a serious napper. No one actually believes me until they see what happens when Becca doesn't get her nap. Sister Angela thought I was just kidding, but as we were sitting in the MSP airport waiting for the plane back to Chicago, I was sitting in the chair when suddenly my head dropped. Her gentle nunny hand picked up my chin and pushed my head gently to her shoulder. I snuggled there, sleeping, until they called for us to board the plane. Ironically enough, I fell asleep on the plane and the same thing happened. 

      As I watched the video in class, I couldn't help but remember the gentle simplicity of being able to sleep on another's shoulder. Even deeper than that is when one can cry on another's shoulder. Something I also spontaneously did to Sister Angela when we had to say goodbye. Poor girl. Just as Sister Angela did for me, Jesus did for John. He comforted him in the eventual separation of life and death. He comforted his tears when Jesus said his last words. It was beautiful. But what struck me the most, after all of this was the words "Do this in memory of me?" What exactly did Jesus mean? What is the "this" to which he is referring? Suddenly, my mind was spinning. I just needed to put it in words!

     First, Jesus is allowing beloved John to snuggle up to Him at a time when Jesus is already suffering His eventual arrest and death. Jesus, while feeling so sad within His own heart, is not only breaking the bread for those around Him but also letting John use His shoulder for comfort. John most likely was feeling pain and sadness, too, and so Jesus allowed John to seek comfort during His own suffering. He sacrificed His own feelings so that John could be comforted.
     Even deeper than that is what Jesus was doing at the Last Supper. He was giving up Himself for the sake of others' salvation. "Do THIS is memory of me," He says. Do THIS...the THIS meaning the breaking of the bread and the sharing of the cup. However, in John 6, Jesus says this, "I am the BREAD of HEAVEN." He is demonstrating the breaking of the bread, the breaking of Himself and the sharing of His blood in the cup. "Do THIS," He says. On the surface He means, do this, do this breaking of the bread, in memory of me. We celebrate the Last Supper every time we celebrate the Eucharist. Deep right? Well, it goes even deeper.
     The THIS Jesus is doing is the THIS of the breaking of His body, His offering up of Himself. He asks each of us to do the THIS He does; to offer ourselves for the greater good of the Kingdom of God. He may not be asking us to be martyrs for the faith as He was, but He is asking us to sacrifice for others that which we hold most dear. Every time we hear these words, we are called by JESUS HIMSELF to do the THIS He did, in memory of Him. We are called to sacrifice for others, to give to others as He gave to the apostles, as He gave to John. True sacrifice is giving all out of love. Jesus gave up His own emotional state to comfort John and the apostles both at the Last Supper and in the Garden. Jesus gave up His own body to be broken just like the bread at the Last Supper, on Good Friday. Jesus gave up His life for us. That is the THIS in "do THIS in memory of me."
      How perfect that I came to this realization of the THIS I need to do during Lent, a time of true sacrifice of self for others. Once again, I've fallen in love with the Eucharist and all it means for me. I am continuously developing a deeper devotion to the Blessed Sacrament, a devotion that has been with me all my life (Thanks, Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament). I am always growing more and more in love with the REAL PRESENCE of Jesus in the Eucharist and all His beautiful words to me through the Mass and through Scripture. Now, every time I hear these words: "Do THIS in memory of me," I will remember truly what Jesus is asking of me. I must be the crying shoulder, I must be the comfort in the suffering, I must give of myself. Of course, I must also be grateful to those who have comforted me, who have given of themselves to help me, and who have given me a shoulder upon which I can rest and cry. There are many Jesus' to my John in the sense of literary metaphors.