Chosen and Precious - Baccalaureate Mass

"Behold I am laying a stone in Zion, 

a cornerstone, chosen and precious."

- 1 Peter 2:6

     On Tuesday morning I found myself driving the oh so familiar drive to Immaculata. There were no students about as the semester had ended for the Summer last Monday and the hallways were quiet. I walked the familiar walk to the music hall where I had often spent time practicing for one thing or another. I couldn't stand the silence that surrounded me in the building. But before I knew it, I was back to making noise. I was lucky enough to get to spend three hours practicing for Baccalaureate with Sister Regina. 

     Yes, for three hours both in the music hall and in the chapel at Villa Maria H of S, we practiced every single piece for Baccalaureate Mass. Sister handed me my binder and told me I had a few days left to practice. Cue nerves. I ended my day, as I end most if not all visits to the noble hill, with a visit to Sister Cathy. Truly it would have been an incomplete day without seeing my Sister Sunshine. 

     The week went by quickly and before I knew it, I was once again in the car, traveling the familiar way to IU. This time, however, I had to keep telling myself to keep it together. I was more nervous than I had ever been before. I'm not a music major, but I have always loved to sing. At IU, I was blessed to be a cantor for Mass for the past four years. That led to me being the cantor for our Baccalaureate Mass. While I may always seem to have all my ducks in a row when I'm singing, I am actually terrified out of my mind. However, I grew used to the congregation at IU, which usually consisted of my friends and some nunnies, and singing there wasn't nearly as bad. Today, however, I would be singing in front of my class, many of whom had no idea I sing, their families, and of course, the nunnies. Something about that Chapel, which usually always has me at peace, terrified me. Maybe it was the strong acoustics, maybe it was the amount of the people in the congregation, I don't know. Regardless, I knew I was scared out of my mind. My hands were so jittery I could hardly hold my binder. However, the moment the music began, I looked out at the people, saw all my best friends, saw my family AND saw all my nunnies. 

      A singer always knows that she must find a spot in the room to look so as to not see a particular person and get emotional. However, as a cantor one must find a few spots because she must always "use her eyes to invite the people in to sing," at least that's what they told me when I was younger. So, I found a Sister in every section of the chapel. Suddenly, the jitters were gone and when I looked up at the crucifix behind me really quickly, I knew I was going to be okay. Everything came as if I was born singing those hymns, that psalm and that tortuous alleluia verse that we had to re-write twice. I wasn't nervous anymore because I realized I was no longer singing for any particular person in that Chapel, I was singing for the greater glory of God. I was happy. I closed my eyes and sang, feeling so incredibly free. 

      Of course, something else that comes with the worries of being a cantor or in a choir is Communion. At school, the choir and the organist always received Communion before we sang the Communion hymn. For Baccalaureate, the choir received Communion during the song. Then there was me. Before Mass, we had planned it all out that I would receive Communion after the song. And so, as I was at the lectern singing, I felt the fear of being forgotten for Communion. But then I saw Sister Carol tap the Deacon and remind him that I needed to be taken care of. I smiled and waited for the end. However, when I went around the side to receive the Eucharist, I realized, as Jesus was being put back in the Tabernacle, that my fear had come true. And so with a very heavy heart, I went back to my seat in the choir. I tried so incredibly hard not to cry and told myself that I needed to keep it together. 

      As I was sitting in the choir section behind the altar, I kept hearing my name be called. I would look around and there would be no one calling my name. When I say that I had to try really hard not to cry, I'm being so honest. It wasn't a type of cry that I had ever experienced before. My heart actually felt like it burst because I didn't receive my Jesus. I was so upset and yet, I still kept hearing my name being called. Finally, I just let it go. I resolved to say that I would probably get up early on Sunday and go to an early Mass just so I could receive my Jesus. But even as we were singing the Recessional Hymn, my heart was so heavy and I couldn't focus on the harmony piece I was supposed to be singing. When we finished singing, I took a deep breath and began to walk away. But I heard my name being called again. I was beginning to think I was going crazy when I turned around and saw Sister Marita Carmel coming towards me. 

      When she was close enough she asked, "Bec, would you like to go to Communion?" I smiled and felt from the bottom of my heart the "please" that came out of my mouth. She opened the Tabernacle and right there on the altar, I finally received Communion. As she held up the Holy Eucharist before me and said, "the Body of Christ," I was already crying too hard to give an audible, "Amen." When she put the chalice back in the Tabernacle and turned to me, I hugged her so tightly. I let me tears flow freely and she didn't let go. When she did, she took my hands, looked into my eyes and I saw that she was holding back her tears. I hugged her again and thanked her. When we walked off the altar, a group of Sisters was standing there waiting for us. I got so many hugs from all of them and Sister Elaine even said, "Well, Sister Carmel beat the twelve of us who were going to make sure you got Communion." 

       As usual, I was one of the last people to leave the Motherhouse (even my family left before me) and I spent my time taking pictures with Sisters (and Postulants and Novices), including a selfie with the Mother General (see above), hugging my friends and their families, and yes, reflecting on my incredible blessings. As I drove home, I couldn't stop thanking God not only for allowing me to sing with a strong voice during Mass, but also for all the Sisters who were so ready to jump up immediately after Mass and make sure this Becca got her Jesus. I cried not only from being able to be united with my Jesus but also because I had so many spiritual mothers looking out for me. There are so many Sisters who up until the last few weeks of school I wasn't very close with. But in those last few weeks, I was blessed to have what I call, good-bye moments. Whether it was a walk or a chat in a Sister's office or even a hug, I suddenly was getting closer with these Sisters before the end of my time at IU. 

     Sister Carmel and I have shared some signs of peace during Mass, we've taken a selfie, she's given me advice on proper shoes (during Lent), and most recently she was my Sister Captain in Stone Harbor (aka she headed our cleaning team). I didn't really get to know her or she get to know until we were in Stone Harbor. I'm sure she had heard or seen me being my crazy self on campus, but she didn't get to firsthand experience my sass and silliness until then. She, who always wears a somewhat serious face, laughed with me as we accidentally broke curtain rods or made beds inside out. She laughed as I pretended to be a novice with the bed cover. And she laughed when something so incredibly sassy came out of my mouth without pretense. That week, I felt like I got to know Sister Carmel a little better. And while I was grateful for those moments, I am even more so grateful for the moment we shared yesterday. I truly felt that in that moment it wasn't just a hug but rather of two souls meeting. In that moment she was witness to the amount of emotion that comes from the soul being united with the Eucharist. In that moment, I was witness to the devotion of my Sisters. Yes, truly in that moment, we were doubly blessed. 

      Usually in the car I am singing to every song on the radio and changing stations when commercials come on. When I got in the car to drive home, I didn't change the station if a commercial was on or even sing along to any song that was played. I was too wrapped up in my blessings of the day. I was thanking God the entire way home. And as I pulled into good old Croydon, driving over the creek, I looked out my window and saw the most beautiful sunset. There was no question in my mind about feeling chosen and precious by the Lord. Truly, this is the day the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad. 

Sister Mama Mia

"Being a mother is an attitude, not a biological relation."

Robert A. Heinlein

     For many in the United States, today is a day to celebrate Mom. Personally, I think we should celebrate mom every day because honestly, moms are amazing. They do so much for us kiddos everyday. However, what many do not know is that today is Good Shepherd Sunday. In the words of my sister, Mary, that means there's lots of Scripture about sheep. BUT what it also means is that today is National Pray for Vocations Day. While many would never connect the two celebrations of Motherhood and Religious Vocation, I find it extremely fitting. 

     Day one of college, August 2010: little Becca on her own for the first time. She needs the comfort of a gentle mother. Sister Cathy enters to scene and ever since that day, little Becca has been snuggling under the Mother Eagle's wing. Little Becca would join in for prayers and Mass every day with the Sisters. Slowly but surely, the Sisters began to accept that this little college freshman was not leaving anytime soon. Whether the Sisters had Becca in class, saw her walking around campus or simply shared a pew with her two days out of the five day week, the Sisters began to realize that Becca was kind of like their pseudo child. And Becca, well, she kind of forced Pseudo-Motherhood on some of them. 

     Every single day of the school year for the past four years, I have spent most of my mornings with these lovely ladies in blue. We shared many a handshake or hug during the sign of peace, many funny faces at exciting happenings during Mass, and many moments of faith and prayer. But also, there were moments in my days where I would spend time sitting in random offices of the Sisters, laughing, sharing life stories and sometimes even crying. When I was scared or nervous about something, usually they were the first to know. Whenever I had accomplished something great or heard wonderful news, Sis usually found out by a quick facebook message, a knock on the door or even a whisper down the pew. Somewhere in the crowds at play performances, honors convocations, or even in the congregation at Mass, when my family couldn't be there, the Sisters were there. Granted, the Sisters live on campus, but still, I could always count on them to be somewhere in the sea of people. 

      As the years went on and I got older, part of me got smaller, and I definitely got closer with my Sisters. Of course, I think part of that came with the ability to simply be my crazy, silly self with each of them. It was also the ability to be my quiet, gentle self, too. But, of course, it was also the ability to be small. Sometimes all a girl needs is a motherly hug or a walk arm in arm with someone she trusts. I've always been a snuggler and somewhere along the line, some of the Sisters accepted that. As Sister Mary so perfectly put when I accidentally fell asleep on her should around the campfire during our annual bike trip to the beach, "I've known Becca for four years; I'm used to it by now." Thanks again, Sis, for sharing your shoulder. Of course, this isn't the only time this has happened. Apparently, I like to fall asleep in random places. So shout out, to Sister Cathy for my most recent shoulder stealing slumber. 

       The Sisters have been my on campus mothers for the past four years. They have fulfilled every role a mother has for me from being nurse to being confidante to even being best friend and advisor. I've been spoiled really to say that I have so many moms. You see, while none of them have any biological children, they can still be mom to me and so many. In fact, the very notion that they don't have any children, has allowed them to love all who come into their lives and force themselves under wing (like me). One Sister even told me that my graduating is like baby bird finally leaving the nest and the mother birds will eventually experience the empty nest syndrome. 

      The very fact that Mother's Day and National Pray for Vocations Day fell on the same day this year is no coincidence. Always I think of how, while I won't get to have any biological children of my own, I will maybe get to fulfill the role of loving mother to a homesick college student or a first grader having a rough day in the schoolyard like my Sisters have done for so many years. In their own way, they have lived out the motherhood of the Blessed Virgin, "gentle women, quiet lights, morning stars, so strong and bright, gentle mothers, peaceful doves." I see how so many of them embody the spirit of Mary, the first Mama Bear, and I cannot be anymore grateful. Because truly it is through this spirit of living out the life modeled after Mary's gentle heart, that they have been that motherly support for me while I've been away at college. 

      I would be remiss if I didn't say thank you to my many moms who reprimanded me for not wearing a coat in a snowstorm, who checked in on me while I had the flu or strep, who hugged the tears away, who allowed me to snuggle while I fell asleep (although, never in class!!), who gave so much of their time to me by allowing me to sit in their offices and chat. Today is special because it is a gentle reminder to me and it should be for so many, that Sisters have been Mom to so many in the history of women religious. 

      And so, to all the Sisters in my life, especially the Sisters with whom I have spent the past four years, who have been like a mom to me, thank you. To all those I have called mom in some respect, whether it was Mama G, Mama Jamma, Pseudo Mom, Sister Mom or even just MOM, I'm glad you haven't disowned me or thrown me from the nest. Thank you. I'm not quite sure how I'm going to survive now that I have to be an actual adult now, but I guess every baby bird has to fly away from the nest in their lives. On this Mother's day, I thank not only my own Mother, but all the religious who have been mom to me or someone in their lifetime. And, of course, a big shout out to the Blessed Virgin Mama Bear for being my spiritual mother since day one of life. Thank you for sending me your beautiful daughters as my companions on this journey. 

Celeb Status

"True humility is not thinking less of yourself;

it's thinking of yourself less."

C.S. Lewis

"A picture is worth a thousand words and YOU have two pictures."

- Princess Diaries

    I was out for the count for my post-Mass nap. As I was laying in bed, my phone started going off. I thought it was my alarm and thought, it couldn't possibly be an hour gone by yet. I pick my phone up off of my dresser and look at it: emails, facebook posts, texts all congratulating me on something. Confused, as anyone would be upon being woken up in a stupor, I began to read the notifications. "Great article! Congrats!" everyone seemed to be saying. I was still confused. Then I got a forwarded email with a link to an article. Suddenly, I realized this article was all about me. 

    Six and a half years ago, I found myself in Sister David's office. Although she was the disciplinarian at the time, I was not in her office because I had racked up too many demerits. Earlier in the week, I had left a letter on her desk mentioning that I maybe was possibly thinking about religious life. She read the letter and within a few class periods stopped me in the hallway to ask me to visit her the next day. Needless to say, I was terrified. Despite the fact that she was my teacher the year before, I was suddenly scared out of my mind. What was she going to tell me? 

     We sat adjacent to each other in her office. I could barely speak and I know I was nauseous because I was so nervous, so she did most of the talking. Out of all the things she said to me, what I will always remember is this: she took my arm and pinched my skin a little bit while saying, "Bec, you and I are the same flesh and blood. Sisters are just as human as you are on the outside. But on the inside, I'm experiencing something you want - God's love." I'm sure I was beaming ear to ear when I left her office - she supported me. 

      Later that night I remember thinking, oh well duh, of course she supports me - she's a nun. I began to think about what all my friends would say, what my family would say. No one entered the convent anymore as far I knew. All the Sisters I knew were (sorry, Sisters), were my grandparents' and parents' ages. There I was, a 15 year old girl, wanting to be a Sister. I couldn't possibly tell anyone because the would most likely tell me it was a dumb decision, not good for me, etc. However, slowly but surely I began to mention the possibility of being a sister to my friends. And when I did, I was met with nothing but support. 

     The idea of being a Sister is never something I've flaunted. I've been honest about it when people ask, but usually I'm not the one who brings it up. Unless, of course, I happen to randomly meet some nuns during my day. Then, I always ask them to keep me in their prayers as discernment in today's day and age isn't easy. But other than this blog, which I started for the sole reason to keep my family members and friends informed of my journey, I don't usually proclaim "Oh hey, I wanna be a nun" to the world. It brings way too much attention to me and away from God. 

     When Sister Kim called me one random day during Spring Break to tell me that she dropped my name to a journalist who writes for the Inquirer, I got nervous. Yet, I truly believe that God sets all things up as His plan for me, so I went with it. The next thing I know, I was on the phone with the journalist planning a date to meet at school. Within the next week, the two of us were sitting in the Gabriele Library at Immaculata and I was sharing my story. My story ... my story. Suddenly someone was interested in my story and there I was telling it. 

     There's a part of me that really debated whether or not I wanted to share my story. For one, it would mean a lot of focus on me and that's not something I do well. But more importantly, it was the concept of being vulnerable. I knew that the Philadelphia Inquirer was a big deal and sharing my story with the journalist meant sharing it with the world. Was I ready to allow myself that vulnerability? It wasn't as if it was an unleashing of a secret (or so I thought...); this was something I so passionately live out in my day to day life. Yet, I hadn't even shared parts of my story with my closest friends or with some of the sisters. But, like I said earlier, God set this up; I had to go with it. 

     The next week they asked me to go "be natural" and have my picture taken. I'm sorry to admit, my pictures aren't exactly "natural." Me being natural is terrifying...okay, but really, my hair is usually in a pony-tail or bun, I'm usually in yoga pants or leggings, and most days I'm too lazy to put makeup on. But for the world, I made myself somewhat presentable. As we walked into the library, I asked the photographer if she wanted a nun in the pictures. When she said yes, I used a not so library tone voice to ask Sister Annette if she wouldn't mind modeling with me. She laughed and agreed right away and to make things interesting, she not only posed with the IHM Community History book, but she also read it outloud to me. I was laughing so hard, it's a wonder my picture wasn't me with my mouth wide open. Regardless, it was an interesting moment in my life and thankfully no one stopped me to ask why I was being photographed in the library. 

     Weeks past and in all the busy-ness of my last semester, I kind of forgot about the article even coming out. That was until my phone started blowing up Wednesday morning, waking me up from my post-Mass nap. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with the amount of publicity this article was getting. University communications hopped right on it and not only emailed it to the entire faculty but also posted it on the Facebook page. In addition, my alma mater posted it on their Facebook page. I stopped counting how many times people tagged me in their sharing of the post on Facebook. Even today, when I scroll down my Facebook page, it's a million pictures of my face. Administrators of IU were emailing me, congratulating me, and students who I had never had more than a simple conversation with, stopped me on campus to thank me for my witness. Of course, the nuns could always be counted on for some sass as a few of them stopped me to ask for my autograph. I was given so many hugs, so much outpouring of love and of course, the sassiness from my best friends telling me to take a look at the comments of the article to get a laugh. (SIDENOTE: apparently I'm a really cute nun wanna-be). 

      What fascinated me was a few things. First of all: the length of the article and the beautiful positive reception it was gaining. I had been so nervous about sharing my story and I couldn't help but smile because I knew God was using it as a means to spread the Gospel. Second of all: the amount of people on campus that didn't know about my discernment. I realize that I don't flaunt it or shout it out from the rooftops, but I thought I wore my heart on my sleeve. My favorite comment was from my Sophomore Spanish professor who said, "I never knew but you know what, it makes sense." I couldn't help but laugh and thank him. Students and faculty members I didn't really know were suddenly hugging me and asking me to share even more of my story. I was amazed. By Wednesday night, I was exhausted. 

     It didn't end there, however, because yesterday at work the nunnies were prouder than a mom with a honors student, and even today, I had a few of my peers from high school friend request me so they could extend their congratulations. I've even had a few phone calls. How good this has been for my humility. Truly this has driven me to look at myself in even more a humble light. It's not every day I have nuns, students, professors knocking at the door of heart and expressing their congratulations. This has shown me that one simple word or expression can change the world. It's not about me...it's about the calling to serve God. It's about giving Him all the glory by my expression of service to Him. 

     My celeb status (I hope...) will eventually wear off but I'm sure I'll be surprised in a little while when people ask if I'm that girl from the paper. I mean even the IHM Mother General's mom saw the article and asked Sister Lorraine if she knew me. She was fascinated when she told her she had just seen me at work. Shout out to G-Mama G, you go girl! Of course, one thing I'm really excited about concerning this article is all the nunnies who are now willing to share their stories with me. Hey, I'll take all the Sister Coffee dates I can get in this last week of school. 

     It's been a blessing and truly a mark of humility but also a reminder from God that this is truly my call for greatness as a young person. God is good...all the time. All the time....God is good. Thank you for all your prayers and support. Remember: you, too, can change the world!

Down By The River

"But I love Your feet 

only because they walked 

upon the earth and upon 

the wind and upon the waters 

until They found me."

- "Your Feet," Pablo Neruda

     I feel the closest to God on two occasions: when I'm walking barefoot on the earth (in particular near water) and during Lent/Holy Week/Easter. On Tuesday, when I was late for class because I was too busy bonding with Sister Cathy, she told me to find the perfect spot for my Resurrection cup of coffee. I was told at the beginning of Lent that if I was being a cross to bear for others due to my Lenten sacrifice, I must give up giving up what I gave up for Lent. All of this being said, I should have felt extremely close to God these past forty days and especially during these past few days of Triduum. 

     Maybe you remember how Lent started: bitter cold in the first week of March. We had just celebrated the feast of St. Katherine Drexel and I spent the weekend before in Kensington for our Alternate Spring Break Weekend. These two events, while simple in nature, played a HUGE part in my decision and prayer for how I was going to spend the forty days of Lent. While in Kensington, I met a man whose foot was wrapped in a plastic, black trash bag and was using crutches to get from place to place. As I sat in my corner in the "dining room" with my new friends, I also watched this man. He couldn't have been much older than me, maybe only a few years. He sat weary, somewhat withdrawn. Thomas was his name and I remember thinking then, how much he looked like Jesus on His way to Calvary. Later, when we were sharing around the dinner table did I learn that this man had gotten frost bite on his foot because he didn't have proper shoes for the harsh winter that had been pummeling the Northeast this year. 

     On Sunday, I woke up early and drove home from school to the convent. Shocking, I know, that the first place I would go would be a convent and not my own house. But in truth, this convent was a home to my heart. It was the feast day of St. Katherine Drexel and there was a special Mass in her honor at the Shrine (and the convent of many of my beloved SBS Sisters). As a kid, I remember always being fascinated by the articles of clothing worn by Katie D. Most fascinating were her habit, which shows how tiny of a woman she was (if I stand next to the window casing, I line up perfectly with where her face would have peeked out from behind her veil), and her shoes, the only pair she ever wore. Katie D was a simple woman. The story about her shoes goes (loosely) like this: she had one pair of shoes and whenever they would start to fall apart, she would take a needle and thread to them so as to sew the leather back together. They were perfectly find in her mind and so she didn't need a new pair. Besides why replace that which can be fixed? On her feast day, I allowed myself a visit to the crypt where her habit and shoes are on display for the public. As I looked at Katie D's shoes, I remembered Thomas and then I looked at my own feet, protected by some pair of shoes. I counted my blessings.

      In a few days, I would be struggling with what on earth I was to give up for Lent. I knew I was going to give up coffee, but that was a tradition. I needed something else to do. I searched the internet for suggestions and found something that sparked my interest: shoes. Hmm...could I really give up shoes? Especially since it was the dead of winter in the Northeast and when I would be going to Minnesota in a few days? Well, no. I couldn't exactly give up my shoes BUT I could give up all my shoes but one pair. I have often been told that the hardest thing for me when I enter the convent will be giving up my fashion sense (although some might argue that I don't have one). I never really thought about how many pairs of shoes I owned, but when I looked in my closet to start packing for Minnesota, I realized that I actually might have a problem. Three pairs of boots, multiple pairs of flats and sandals, some heels, etc. So, I packed my bag, and put a single pair of shoes on my feet: my black flip flops. As I was standing at the train station getting ready to head to the airport, my mother called me crazy when she saw my feet. I just laughed. I couldn't wait to hear what the nuns had to say.

      I flew into Chicago, which, as you may know, is always slightly colder than good ol' PA. When I landed, my AE, who loves flip flops as much as me, said she hoped I had another pair of shoes in my bag. I just laughed. Nope. The next morning, when I was boarding the plane to Minnesota with Sister Angela, she, too, mentioned a hope of another pair of shoes in my bag. Again, I laughed. When we landed, I noticed lots of snow and ice on the ground. Well, this will be interesting, I thought to myself. I didn't even pack another pair of "just in case" shoes. I was going big or going home. 

     Those first few days of Lent in Minnesota were hard, I must admit. There was snow everywhere but lucky for me, it was the first few days above freezing Minnesota had seen all winter. Sister Angela got used to my shoeless feet and shrugged every time another Sister at the NCSW Conference asked me if my feet were cold and/or if I was crazy. I laughed. I always answered no. But no one ever really asked me why I wasn't wearing my shoes. I was still at the point in Lent where I wasn't sure what my bigger sacrifice was: not wearing shoes OR the nuns harassing me about my feet. At that moment I was stuck in the middle. There was lots of snow on the ground and there were a lot of nuns near by. But actually, it hadn't been that bad. First week of Lent with no shoes and no coffee was actually a breeze (not a winter wind). 

      I headed back to school after my adventure to Minnesota and was so blessed to experience my first Lent 2014 daily Mass in Marian chapel...that is, the chapel in the building in which I live. I wore my flip flops like a champ down the halls and through Mass. After Mass, Sister Monica Joseph asked if my feet were cold. "Oh no, Sister, I live in this building. Is it cold outside?" I said. She rolled her eyes at me and another Sister laughed. I walked back up to my room for my post-Mass nap without thinking twice of the conversation. As of then, the only side effect of flip-flopped feet for Lent was cold feet between the buildings. 

      A few days later, I started to experience what any devoted flip flop wearer experiences: the stretching of the arches on his or her feet. I began to realize how high the arches on my feet were and had to wrap my foot. In addition, my feet were beginning to be harassed by the cold weather and wet snow: they were cracking. At least they were trying to adapt. Lent was starting to get a little painful by week three. Although, I started to get a kick out of Sister Elaine who would comment on my toenail polish every week. You see, she sits in the first row of chairs in Marian chapel and when I would walk by after communion, she would sneak a peek at my feet. After Mass, she would comment with the color of the week. And on one particular snowy morning, Sister Marita Carmel enjoyed being a reprimanding mother by telling me I needed to get my common sense in check and find a better Lenten practice. 

     Of course nothing quite beats the night I was leaving a Campus Ministry event with the nunnies and we noticed the flurries. I offered my arm to those I was worried about falling and Sister Cathy graciously linked mine. She happened to look at my feet and asked if I was cold. I said, "it's all relative." Of course, she asked why I was wearing flip flops...so I had to tell her. A few minutes after that, I linked all the nunnies together and told them to be careful as they walked the rest of the way to the convent. I prayed none of them would slip for the snow was particularly slippery that night. And as I thought that, my feet went out from under me and I enjoyed a nice heart attack as I grabbed the railing. 

     On Palm Sunday, I entertained the nunnies by requesting Sister Selfies from them. I have always enjoyed being a source of entertainment for the nunnies. That Sunday was no different. As I knelt on the floor next to Sister Pat, our president, and Sister Marita Carmel, the rest of the nunnies gather around me and I said, "Okay Sisters, make sure you can see yourself on the screen." Six Sisters and a Joe Conte fit themselves into the screen. Of course, Sister Pat then asked for her own selfie with me. Wow, what an honor. So, for the next few minutes, we took Becca and Sister selfies. When I took mine with Sister Marita Carmel, the sister who ever so kindly and motherly told me to pick a new Lenten practice, told me, "Next Sunday, you better have shoes on your feet, child of God." I promised to send her a picture but I decided I'll probably just send her this blog post! Hi, Sister. I have shoes on my feet today and they're orange, just as promised. 

     Lent was almost over and every day last week in Sister Cathy's office, we mentioned coffee. She asked how I was surviving. I honestly had no idea. Between the bare feet and the lack of elixir of life, I should have been severely ill or something. But the grace of God sustained me, I am sure of it. On Tuesday she told me that I should plan out a perfect place to enjoy my Resurrection coffee. I hadn't thought about it too much until this morning...Of course, I was reminded of the need to find a special place when I read her Easter card in which she mentioned that Resurrection coffee. 

     As I was standing in the kitchen, with my Easter shoes on, I thought of my place for Resurrection coffee. Mid-Mass, while sitting in the pew with the memorial plaque for my Gutherman Grandparents in it (a way to spend the Holy Day with them, too), it hit me: down by the river. Of course, when I thought that, I couldn't help but hear my SEARCH VI leaders sing and shout "DOOOOOOOOWN BY THE RIIIIVEEEEER." I laughed and then, when I got home, brewed my "Peru San Ignacio" fair trade coffee. When it was finished, I added a little sweetness and got my sister in the car to drive to the River. There, I stood feeling the breeze off the river, with my orange, sunshine Easter shoes and cup of coffee, enjoying that first taste of coffee in forty days. My sister, meanwhile, took her shoes off and had her feet down in the mud by the water. I watched her, took a few pictures, and smiled. These were simple times. 

      I stood there thinking about the journey my feet had taken, the pain they endured and the suffering in solidarity with Christ. I stumbled upon a Neruda poem called "My Feet" halfway through Lent and smiled as it reminded me of Jesus. His feet had walked upon the water, but on the way to Calvary, He walked barefoot upon the wind and the earth. His feet probably looked a bit worse after a few hours than mine did after forty days. But during those forty days, my feet cracked, they bled, they were cold and a bit frozen (I'm not sure how I avoided frostbite), and they were definitely dirty all the time. As I watched my Sister, I wanted so badly to take my shoes off and jump into the river mud and water with her. I thought about how I came to the decision to give up shoes for Lent. I thought about Thomas who probably didn't have a new pair of shoes yet and I thought of Katie D who had a single pair of shoes for years. The more I thought, the more I wanted to take my shoes off, the more I felt constrained. 

      We got into the car and I let my Sister drive to Bristol (she just recently got her permit....ah). As we drove, "This Is How Country Feels" came on the radio during which Randy Houser says something about digging feet in the river mud. I smiled because even though Croydon is suburbia, it truly has the country small town feel. I grew up not wearing shoes for most of the summer and with my bare feet in the river mud. I never feel as free as I do when I'm not wearing shoes. I felt so one with God in that moment by the river with my feet in the mud. But I felt even more free after spending Lent essentially barefoot because not only did I share in the shoelessness of Christ, but also of Thomas and of Katie D. I understood what it meant to not really have a choice in shoe wear. I understand the pain of calloused and bruised feet. I understood the pain of the homeless in the dead of Winter. I understood the blessing of being able to choose to take my shoes off and stand in the river mud. But most of all because of all this, I felt freely bathed in the grace of God. Happy Easter...take your shoes off for a while. 

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.