A blog sharing the journey of a young woman discerning her role in the world as a contemporary Catholic. Here she tells numerous stories of service, prayer, struggle, nuns, her students and her family. Each day is a beautiful one and why not spread the goodness?
Just yesterday my family opened our above ground pool to celebrate the beginning of Summer this week (my sisters will FINALLY be done school). I also just took a sip of refreshing ice cold water from my kitchen sink. Currently, it's pouring rain outside and people on social media are complaining about forgetting their umbrella. Later on, after dinner, my sisters and I will wash the dishes while subconsciously letting the water run. Of course, in my city alone, there will be lots and lots of water running when people take their showers after a long day, then another shower after their workout and a final shower right before bed because it's hot out. Ah, the luxury.
This morning, I came home from Mass to find that once again the faucet in my kitchen had been left running. Only ever so slightly, but still, it was running. After shutting off the faucet, I asked about who left the water running. Finally, someone said that the faucet was on for the cat. Apparently, cats like to play in the water. But I looked around and saw not a single cat in the vicinity of the kitchen. I also happened to look on the kitchen floor to see, not one, but four (one for each cat or dog) water bowls. I shook my head. Leave it to us, those living in such abundant luxury, to make sure each of our animals had a water bowl. There's a little bit of irony here.
Less than a week ago, I was getting my drinking water from a filtered water cooler in the kitchenette. It was room temperature but it was water. Everything we made with water, had to be done with the water in the cooler. So, if we wanted to wash our fruit off, we had to use the cooler. If we wanted to make coffee, we had to use the cooler. And if we wanted to make ice, we had to do it using the cooler water. Why? Well, Peru doesn't have the best water supply, even coming out of the sink. You know how people say, "don't drink the water?" Well, it's true in Peru. Everywhere we turned, the Sisters were making sure we were only drinking the filtered water. Quite a difference then what I have been experiencing at home these past few days.
On one of the days, we traveled to Montenegro. This place is my absolute favorite because here, life is simple and because it is simple, it is beautiful. The way there I was thinking if I would be able to live like most of the people in Montenegro. You see, from the school patio you can see mountains upon mountains with beautifully colored huts also known as family homes. Up the mountains run pairs of vibrant green steps. In these homes there is usually no electricity, in some homes, no ways to lock the doors, no way to heat the home or keep it cool, and no refrigeration. But above all, there is no running water. Sister explained it to us like this: some homes have hoses hooked up to their houses that are connected to the water basin on the mountain. Once a week, for five minutes, the water turns on and the family has to fill all the containers they can in those five minutes. Once the water shuts off, they have their water supply for the week. That's right, for the week.
After hearing this, I decided, okay, maybe I could do that. But then I thought, I, myself, one person, could do that. I wouldn't need that much water for the week. But what about the families who have seven kids and then maybe grandkids who live in their little homes, slightly larger than my bedroom? Could they do it? I guess they could because every day those families send their kids looking immaculate to school. Yet, they only have five minutes of running water every week. On top of not having 24/7 access to water, they also live in the desert.
Now, imagine, after having visited Montenegro a few times, both this trip and last year's trip, what I was thinking when we all came home to find that one of the eight bathrooms on the second floor of the convent had flooded. We had been out on the town all day and during the week we had had some issues with the toilets not flushing all the way or by running all night long. However, not one of us thought anything of the sounds of running water. That sound of running water turned into much more though. When we got home, the first thing I was headed to do was go use the bathroom. However, as I ran down the hallway, suddenly, I was standing in two inches of water. Try to picture the set up: a hallway set up a step, on the left two bathrooms, ahead another bathroom and to the right, a bathroom and a cleaning closet. All four of those bathrooms and the closet were sitting in two inches of water and by the time I happened upon the natural disaster, the water was spilling out over the step and into the hallway; like a mini waterfall. Yes, the sound of running water had turned into literal running water all over the place. Right away, I dashed down the stairs to get a nun, or two, or three and then went back upstairs.
As we all pulled together to clean up the small natural disaster, we joked about how we had the biblical flood in the biblical desert. We each found our spot doing something to help the cause, whether it was laying down newspaper (note to self: newspaper is an incredibly nunny and smart way to sop up water), mopping water from various rooms or collecting everything in trashbags and then getting rid of those trashbags. Our shoes were soaked and some of us even ventured further to just do the clean up in flip flops or barefeet. Don't worry, it was just clean water. And that's when it hit me. It was just clean, unused water that we could no longer use...gone.
Suddenly, I wondered how many "five minutes" we had just used up. I wondered how many baths or showers we had just lost. I wondered how many glasses of water we could have drank. I wondered a lot about the amount of water we had just accidentally wasted. Of course, there really wasn't anything we could have done with the water, to be honest, other than sop it up with newspapers and our socks. But it was an experience, for sure; a thought-provoking one at that.
Water has always been important to me. I have always loved being by the river or the ocean, so in that sense, water is just overpowering for me. However, water gained a bit more importance in my life post-Jamaica service trip. That was the first time I ever had the experience of not being able to drink the water. It was the first time I began to really appreciate my shower. Since then, showers last maybe ten minutes, but the good news is, they can be done in five. Of course, I also began to appreciate ice, cold water, with ice cubes. But there's never a moment where I don't let the ice cubes melt so I can drink that water, too. As for letting the water run while doing dishes, well, I try, I try really hard.
Water is something we so often take for granted. We can easily swim in our pools filled with water and if there's too much splashing, we can easily grab the hose and fill it back up. We can easily turn on the faucet for some nice, cold water and drink it, adding ice if we please. We can take showers as long as we want because we don't have five minutes a week to run water. We don't have to hold our water in various containers and pray we make it til the next five minutes. We can complain about not having umbrellas for the rainstorm and stepping in puddles. We can do a lot of things, because we are blessed with water. So, this summer, while we are out enjoying cooling off by a big bottle of water or a jump in the pool, let's remember that it's a privilege not a necessity that we have these things. And that there are plenty of people in this world who are thirsty and dirty tonight because running water is not even a concept for them to understand. Thank God for your blessings of running water and say a prayer for those who have no water.
Yours are the feet with which He is to go about doing good.
Yours are the hands with which He is to bless all now."
- St. Teresa of Avila
Well here I am, a few days after my return back to the United States, and I still can't shake the brokenheartedness of having to leave behind so many people I love. For the past three days, I've woken up and expected to look out my window at the children of Villa Maria, La Planicie going to school. I wake up expecting that my being home in the US is actually a dream. Now don't get me wrong, I absolutely love my country of the red, white and blue, and I most certainly love my hometown of little old Croydon, but two weeks most certainly was not a long enough time in Peru. Heck, even a month last year wasn't enough. I'm not quite sure what it is about that country, but I have a love for it like no other. But I'm not going to complain about being in the wrong country anymore. Instead, I'll share with you, my experience.
For the past few months, the Sisters have been asking me if I was counting down. I said yes, but not to what they had been suggesting. Of course, being it my Senior year, they wanted to know if I was counting down to graduation. OF COURSE NOT, I would exclaim, because truly the very thought or suggestion of having to leave the noble hill was cause for a small, but rather intense emotional breakdown which included lots of sobs and snotty tissues. Okay, maybe not that drastic, but you get the point. However, I would continue, I am counting down to May 21. Many wondered why that date and not graduation, but, of course, they understood my desire for not wanting to leave the great EEEE-MOCK-UUUU-LAAAA-TAAA. So when I finally explained that May 21 would be the date of my departure to Peru, the understanding came with a sigh and a, "oh, of course, your home." How did they ever know?!
The day of graduation came and as you know, there was so much beauty from God in that weekend. However, as soon as the ceremony was over, I could not help but count down the days til we left for Peru. At that point it was three days. The excitement was building and so was the anxiety of packing. If it wasn't for Theresa texting me every half hour on Monday worrying about packing, I wouldn't have packed until Tuesday night. But thank God for friends. By Monday night, I was ready, emotionally, physically and mentally, to get on a plane and go home. But alas, God was working on my patience and so, I waited.
Wednesday morning, I headed to morning Mass at St. K's at 6:30. As I was kneeling there, praying my little heart out, as Sister "Mom" Regina would say, I happened to look up to see a familiar IHM veil. All throughout Mass, however, I could not for the life of me, figure out which nun was in front of me. So after Mass, I happened to bump into S. Anne Mark, IHM. I asked her if she knew the lady in blue and alas, she did not. So we did what any two curious characters would do and went to say hello. Suddenly, I knew exactly who she was: S. Agnes from none other than PERU. I asked her when she was going home and when she said, "in a few hours" I could hardly contain my excitement. How ironic that the two of us would be traveling to Peru on the same day?!
Within the next few hours, I was dropping Lizzie off at school and getting my traveling blessing from Sisters Jeanne and Catherine Danielle. Before I knew it, we were at the airport, anxiously awaiting the arrival of all the members in our group before we headed off. After many hours of pre-travel pictures and finally traveling, we landed in Callou, Peru, at about 11:30 their time. The night drive from the airport to our home for the next two weeks seemed like a dream. I was having a hard time believing that I was back in the country I had fallen in love with exactly a year ago to date. Yet, there I was, staring out the window at some of the most beautiful sights in the world...well, at least, to me. The strong smell of diesel exhaust was welcoming and the "almost dying by car accident" heart palpitations were exactly what I had been missing for the past year. Oh those sights, sounds (insert Oxford comma here) and smells were a joyous serenade of "Welcome Home." That night, I fell asleep feeling like the happiest girl alive.
The next day we had our full tour of Villa Maria, La Planicie. Of course, before that I went to Mass with the Sisters and half of the Confirmation class. After Mass, I not only bumped into my dear Sister Marie who was there for a visit but we also went to the May Procession for the escuelita school. If only I could put into words how stinkin' precious those little ones were with their flowers for Mary, their rosaries and their smiles of pure joy. During our day we met the faculty of VM and also got our "assignments" for the next few days. Originally we had all planned to be helping out in the escualita (literally "the little school" for the poorer children. Here the students receive breakfast and lunch as part of their school. Many are children of the people who work in the richer homes in the area as maids, cooks and landscaping aids.), however, four of us soon found out that we would be giving faith witness talks to the Confirmation class (Juniors in High School).
Speaking in front of a group of people, especially students, never ever once phased me. In fact, it has always been like second nature. I never get nervous to the same extent I do when I'm performing. Nope. Never. But as Sister Cathy says, it's okay to have butterflies, so long as they are all in the right row. And so, I couldn't have been happier than when I was standing in front of all those beautiful, young, impressionable faces as I shared my faith story. I decided to go along with how one must be a Best Friend with God (that's a WHOLE other blog post) and immediately, I saw how the students were amazed that one could actually be best friends, let alone friends, with God. Once again, I was confirmed in my vocation to be a teacher. All my life I have wanted to teach, to blow students' minds with the awesomeness of God. Giving my faith witness allowed me to do just that.
For the first day, we thought we would only be talking to the fourth year class. However, during our time, we wound up speaking to 16 classes of young women in both the Villa Maria school and Colegio San Antonio. Believe it or not, that's a lot of young women. And not only did Theresa and I speak to all those classes, but they also asked the two of us to speak about our relationship with Mary, BVM, at the Villa Maria May Procession. Every day, through our talks, through my own and the others', I was spiritually fulfilled. Sharing faith with each other is so incredibly important and I have always been so reaffirmed. Talk about real life missionary work.
Faith sharing while probably took up the most time during our mission, was not the only thing we did while in Peru. One very special place we visited was Dr. Tony's. We went our first Saturday morning in Peru, before the big Kermesse (carnival-type celebration) at Villa Maria. After about an hour drive in the very small fifteen passenger van, we arrived at the home for children. This was not an orphanage, but rather a home for children who have had various surgeries. These children come from the poor mountain regions and Dr. Tony, a doctor from the United States, oversees their surgeries which include but are not limited to cleft palate, leg surgeries, cerebral palsy therapy and surgeries to help burn victims. Although the doctor was not in for the day, we saw the entire facility and were able to spend a few hours with the children. While I enjoyed being out on the patio watching the boys with crutches play soccer as if they had no disability, my favorite part was visiting the nursery. Some have said that I speak baby-I understand those who cannot speak better than those who can. One little girl in particular was suffering from cerebral palsy and could not really move her muscles. A few of the girls went over to her crib to say hello, but when they walked away, she started crying. So I went over and gently rubbed her little arms and legs. Immediately, she looked up at me with her beautiful, big, brown eyes and stopped crying. I spoke to her softly but as I was walking away, she began to cry again. So, I went back to rubbing her little arms and legs again for about ten minutes. She was so content, that when I left again, she was okay.
Another favorite moment was when I caught Sister Annette enjoying a few minutes with a little boy on the couch. He had pulled her packet of kleenex from her purse and then proceeded to pull them all out of the packet. I was laughing so hard that she invited me over to sit with him. She eventually got up, but left us with the tissues. I wasn't sure what to do with them, so we started counting. Then he ripped one in half and thought it was hilarious, so, of course, I did, too. Eventually, he got bored with me and ran off to play with his tissues alone. Looking back, however, I realize the simplicity of the moment - like a bored little kid in church, entertained by a pack of tissues. Who would have thought?
Saturday and Sunday were filled with exciting Kermesses and Bingos at Villa Maria and Fe Y Alegria N 37, Montenegro. Both of these days, it seemed to be a nun convention. I was so eternally grateful for these days because not only was I able to see the other four Immaculata girls who had arrived a week prior at EIC, but also all my beautiful nun friends. I could not have cared less about what was going on around me because there were too many Sisters with whom I needed to catch up. And catch up I did, especially with my EIC girls. Of course, I also met a few new Sisters, like Sister Anne. My initiation into her friendship came in twofold. First, on Saturday, she told me that her relative sister, who had been a teacher in my high school, had told her all about her. I told her the reverse was the same. For three years we had known about each other, but we had finally just met. The second part of the initiation came when at the BINGO in Montenegro, she asked me to accompany her to the market down the street. You see, we were in need of some hotdog skewers. So, we left the confines of the school and began our journey to the open market on the streets of Montenegro. Honestly, I couldn't have been happier. Not only did we chat a bit, but I also got to experience real life in Montenegro; a life I've been wanting (since experiencing it last year) to experience much longer than a day or two. That moment will forever be etched in my mind as one of the most memorable of my trip this time around.
The following week was filled with many faith witness talks, a visit to my "old stomping grounds" at Colegio San Antonio (which meant a HUGE reunion with my students, mis hermanitas, from last year and LOTS OF TEARS at our bittersweet parting), and a journey to Our Lady of Joy and Francisco Coll in Ate Vitarte. Our Lady of Joy is a home for adults who have a physical disability. It is absolutely beautiful, with physical therapy options and get this, handicap accessible bathrooms and rooms. Trust me when I say that this is a rarity in Peru. This place not only allows these beautiful people a chance to live life to the fullest despite their physical disability, but it also allows them the means to eventually be independent, that is, not dependent on their families. Many of these people were forced to believe that their physical disability was a curse from God, but now, as some told us, they can see the beauty of it. Our time spent there was beautiful.
At Francisco Coll the first day, we met Maria who showed us what she wanted us to do for the next day. It involved lots of paint and a pretty big wall. The next day we found ourselves sizing up a wall for a mural. Within a matter of minutes, I was covered in paint (shocking, I know). My job for the rest of the day was the mix the paint as Benito showed me. Good thing I remembered all those things about the color wheel from Kindergarten. Shout out to Miss O'Neil for teaching me all she knew about colors. We covered the wall in an array of handprints as butterflies, flowers and even tree leaves. The best part about this day was watching both Sister Annette and Sister Mary literally get their hands dirty as we painted their hands so that they could put their handprints on the walls. The mural turned out wickedly beautiful.
Our next weekend was spent well...doing touristy type stuff like shopping, walking through LarcoMar for ice cream, going to Mass, visiting central Lima, etc. My favorite part of the weekend, well there's two: first, it was seeing three of my lovely ladies in blue in the market from a mile away and then running at them to give them hugs. I had thought the last time I was going to see them was the previous Monday. Well, God had something else in store. My second favorite moment: getting to go back to Santa Rosa, my favorite church spot in all of Lima (and I've been to quite a few). I love St. Rose's story, even if it contained a hermitage smaller than my playhouse Barbie house, or trying her hair to keep herself awake. She was a beautiful woman of God.
Our final two days in Peru were spent in my favorite places: Montenegro and EIC. Montenegro is my favorite school for one simple reason: the simple joy emulated by the children of all ages there. Of course, there was a perk that I got to see my temporary spiritual director, Sister Liz. After the children welcomed us to Peru, they had recess. While most of the girls challenged the high school boys to a basketball game, a few of us stayed on the patio to play with the little ones. I have never seen or heard such joy from having an impromptu photo shoot. You see, I wanted to snap a few photos of the children. This small desire turned into the little ones modeling and me calling them Senor and Senorita. I have so many pictures of the girls and boys' faces smiling and jumping and screaming and laughing. Who know how awesome the words "mirame" and "sonria" really were?! At one point, after getting a tour of the school and singing and praying with the fourth year students and Sister Cathy, we climbed the infamous green stairs to the top of one of the mountains in Montenegro. The sight was breathtaking. I truly cannot put it into words. And the chapel for the school literally brought tears to my eyes, because as Sister Annette said, "Just as the IHMs started in a little hut in Monroe, this chapel started as a hut in Montenegro.
Our final stop on the tour of Fe Y Alegria N 37, Montenegro, was the convent. I'm not sure what it was, maybe the sunflowers all over the room, maybe the little Chapel that had a window which looked directly out to the streets, or maybe the simple beauty of the building, but when I got to the rooftop, tears started streaming down my face. I wasn't sad, no, that wasn't quite it, but rather happy, so very, very, very happy. When she noticed, Sister Cathy kind of put her arm around me in an awkward side hug and said, "It's okay to cry, you know. It's okay to be a hot mess, here." I smiled and I knew she was right. Here was a place where I felt my heart yearning to stay...for a very long time. But as all good things do, our visit came to an abrupt end and I felt a piece of my heart break off to stay there "siempre."
The next day, our last day in Peru, we found ourselves in Miraflores, my literal "old stomping ground." We paid a visit to Villa Maria lower and then, walked the way to EIC, which had been my home for a month last summer. I couldn't thank God for the opportunity to spend my last hours in Peru with the Sisters I had began to call family. I felt like a welcomed home little sis as I laughed and hugged and spoke with my dear Sisters. Once a month calls helped relieve the pain of being separated for a year but nothing could quite compare to literal hugs from them. Just like "old times" Sister Eileen was challenging me to grammar wars over flat adverbs and Sister Marie and I did a good amount of faith sharing in a matter of minutes. Of course, selfies with Sister "Mom" Regina were also in store as well as a full commentary on the dances and music the boys performed by Sister Antonieta. And, I finally got my hug from Sister Anjelica, my hashtag girl. I was so eternally grateful for those few hours with the girls and the rejoicing that came after I opened my present, revealing the sign from God I had been waiting for, for two weeks. When we had to pile into, for the last time, the van, I waved at my Sisters waving back at me and could not control the silent tears that fell down my face. I felt like a little kid being separated from her family. And again, a piece of my heart was left there, as well.
Before we knew it, we were back at La Pla to finish packing and cleaning up our spaces before dinner and then before heading out the airport to begin the journey home. There's so much more to this story of my Aventura Peruana take two like climbing the Andes Mountains, hearing stories of cougars, bobcats, scorpions and rice from Sister Annette, birthday celebrations and even a flood and an earthquake. But alas, I'm so emotionally spent by writing this blog post, that I simply cannot write anymore. I promise though, to myself especially, that I will write more about my Aventura Peruana because I need to. I need to write about what happened to my heart and soul while in Peru. I need to write about my experience, but until the next blogpost, I'll keep imagining myself walking down the streets of my favorite country. And of course, praying for all of the beautiful people I met along the way. Oh and I must not forget to thank all of you who traveled prayerfully with me during my journey. Keep those prayers coming, my friends, because I know it was through your intercessions that God was so incredibly good and revealing to me. VIVIR LA VIDA!
It is a day so many wait for anxiously while others wish the day never to arrive only because it means good-bye. For me and most of my friends, Graduation was a day that both excited us and scared us. We were stuck in between crying from pure joy and crying from sadness. After four years of working our tail feathers off, we were finally ready to say, "We did it." Yet, there is always the fear of what the future brings that looms over. However, I found comfort in Isaiah 43:1 : "Fear not; I have called you each by name. You are mine."
At every commencement there is a speaker. This year, we were blessed to have Ed Herr, President of the Herr's Food Company (you know, the potato chip guy) speak. Having been to the past two graduations at IU, I have heard my share of graduation speeches. However, I can say that Mr. Herr, by a landslide, was my favorite. His theme was "loving people like crazy." He shared many stories of his parents, what they had done, how the company had started, and even some beautiful stories of him and the kids growing up. At the end of each story, he said, "that's how you love people like crazy." I felt that resonate within me so incredibly because truly, I love people and I would go to any length to let each person I love, know that I love them so much. Even yesterday after commencement someone was joking as I shouted I love you to a plethora of nuns, "you love everyone." Yes, I do. But I love each person so uniquely. I remembered as Mr. Herr was speaking that it is my calling - to go forth and set the world on fire with love.
I kept thinking all during commencement, as I was surrounded by my family and friends, how I know one thing about my future is certain: I am meant to love and serve the Lord with all my heart and soul. I have no idea where in the world He will call me to, or who I will be with, but I know wherever I go, with whomever I go, it will be for Him. And all of this will be done through love - loving people like crazy. Of course, as I was sitting there thinking about all of this, I had many fears and doubts cross my mind. That's when I remembered Isaiah 43. FEAR NOT.
Suddenly, I was getting up from my seat and following the line of students preparing to graduate. As I walked onto the stage, faculty members and sisters were waving and blowing kisses to me as I passed them. I was even paying more attention to Sister Eileen that I almost missed giving Patty Canterino my name card. Suddenly, it was happening, I was being "called by name" across the stage to receive my diploma from Sister Lorraine, the chair of the board of trustees (and also the famous sister in my most recent sister selfie). She shook my hand, I hugged her, and continued my walk across the stage. On the other side were more sisters and professors holding their hands out to me as I passed for high fives. The Sisters were waving as my number one fans and in the background of this all happening, I could hear my family screaming and cheering despite the fact that Sister Jo asked the crowd not to do that. I could hear loud and clear, "I HAVE CALLED YOU BY NAME. YOU ARE MINE."
Just as I felt incredibly "chosen and precious" by God during our Baccalaureate Mass, I was feeling, "chosen and called by name" at Graduation. There is no denying that God has called each of us onto bigger and better things. Each of us had our names literally called at Graduation yesterday and there is no coincidence that God was in each of those name readings. Whether we realized it or not, we are all part of God's plan. Somehow He's got the "mess" we call life all figured out. I've got to trust in that.
How beautiful it was to see Isaiah 43 put into action during Graduation. I truly felt that there was no need to fear because God literally called me by name that day. I felt the intense feeling of being wholly His as I smiled at all those who had supported me throughout my four years at Immaculata. I felt so incredibly ready to take on the adventure God has planned for me. Even now as I write, I'm excitedly awaiting the rest of my life. Simply thinking about all the amazing things I know God has planned for me excites the fire within. That fire has been burning for a while....and now, it's time to go forth and set the world on fire by loving people like crazy.
After commencement, my friends and I gathered on our "back porch" and took a ton of pictures. Of course, I had a bucket list of nuns I needed pictures with. I had some incredibly precious ones of my number one mentors and closest "big sisters." In fact, the not so serious, very candid ones are my favorite. They are the definition of my relationship with these crazy Sisters. While it was easy to see most of the Sisters, since they were all ready outside and willing to be beautifully photogenic, there was one picture that required special access to the VIP section of the cafeteria. With one snapshot, the bucket list was completed. I felt like an incredibly blessed graduation princess. With all the pictures and moments captured, I truly felt God's smiling face looking down on all of us.
God has chosen each of us, He has called us by name and He has claimed us as His. Fear not. God is good and I know He has given me a flame inside to go forth and set the world on fire.
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.
"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.
"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!
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.
