What Belongs to Caesar? - Mission Sunday Reflection

"He felt a call to the missions of America. 

But when we think 'America,' we don't usually think 'missions.' 

The problem? We were and still are the missions."

     Early Sunday morning (earlier than usual for a Sunday), I found myself sitting in a quiet, half-full, church with my dad. We were sitting in the pew that had the nameplate in honor of his parents. I looked around the church and saw a number of familiar parishioners. They were the parishioners who I see at daily Mass, at almost every church function, and even around my little town. They were the parishioners I love, my family. But when I looked out from my little pew, the emptiness of the church really affected me. 

     Our celebrant for Mass was a Holy Spirit Father currently missioned at their all boy preparatory school down the street. As he began his homily he spoke about his journey from Nigeria to Haiti to the United States. He was a young when he was ordained and felt called to missionary work. I smiled as he spoke about Haiti and his love for the people there. I thought about my children in Jamaica and Peru; memories of a missionary spirit truly in action filled my heart. I cannot wait to go back, I thought. I cannot wait to continue putting my call into action. I got a little lost in my thoughts and memories until Father started talking about his mission to the United States. 

     For the past four summers, I have given the Mission and History presentation at Immaculata. This, without a doubt, includes the mission and history of the Sisters, Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. When I introduce the incoming students to Father Gillet I always ask them if they think of the United States as missionary territory. Most times I get looks that read: uh, no? we have food, water and society. OR what exactly is missionary territory? Regardless, most will not necessarily understand that the United States was a missionary territory at some point. Missionary work is not something we usually equate with the US but rather Africa, Asia or South America. Anywhere but here. 

     For those who are like some of the new students, Missionary Territory usually relates to a place where people are "unchurched," that is, people who don't know Jesus yet, the unbaptized, etc. Religious Priests, Brothers and Sisters go to these places to catechize and preach the gospel. More and more, lay people are also getting involved as missionaries. Some people even say, "Want to see the world? Be a missionary." Many people have the idea or the concept that in order to be a missionary you must go to a foreign country that is poor or desolate or without the bare necessities. 

     As I listened to Father speak about the United States as a mission country, I remembered back to a conversation I had with Sister Eileen in Peru two summers ago. She had been missioned in Chile in a poor school before coming to a higher class school in Peru. She said she missed being with the poor but eventually realized that her students still suffered from poverty. However, it was a poverty of a different kind: a poverty of communication, a poverty of conversation, a poverty of love. Many have said that after working with the poor, "they may have nothing but they still have love." Yet those who have so much do not have love. Our conversation stuck with me because while I would love to move to a different country and do missionary work, I know God needs me here and now. But as Father kept talking, I knew how right he was. The United States is a mission country more than ever, I believe. 

     In Sunday's Gospel Reading we heard from Matthew, "Give back to Caesar what is Caesars and give back to God with is God's." The more I reflected the more I realized that we have been doing it backwards for a very long time. You see, Jesus in this Gospel, is asked, "to whom do we pay the tax?" Basically, "If we can only serve one master, how do we get away with not serving Caesar?" Jesus never said do not pay the tax, do not do your civil duty. He encourages them do that but while doing so to give their lives to God. Caesar did not give life, God did and thus, we must not give our lives to Caesar but rather to God. Make sense? Well let's give Caesar another name...

     Let's rename Caesar "technology, social media, independence, fast food dinners, etc." We won't rename God, because God, in Jesus' story was not a metaphor; Caesar was. Again, "technology, social media, independence, fast food dinners, etc." does not give us life. God, on the other hand, still gives us life. There are healthy things that can come from technology and social media and thus, we should give a bit more of our time. But more often than not, we give our lives to technology, social media, independence, fast food dinners, etc."and not to God. If we were to live according to Jesus' message, we wouldn't spend so much time trying to connect without really connecting on social media. We wouldn't spend so much time trying to create family time by trying to find the quickest place to eat. We wouldn't try to create peace by independently removing ourselves from situations. But the sad truth of the matter is, too often this is what happens. We are giving too much of our life and time to the distractions of life, we are giving Caesar way too much tax money. 

      Jesus tells the people that they should be giving Caesar what belongs to Caesar. We should be giving a little bit to the positive progressions. But we have confused Caesar with God and God with Caesar. We have focused too much and made gods of the things of Caesar. We need to step back and take a chill pill for a second. We need to re-evaluate the things we have given to Caesar regardless of whether or not it is his. We need to give back to God what belongs to him. Perhaps if we started doing this, the United States wouldn't need missionaries nearly as much. 

     The people of the United States are hungry. But instead of filling up on healthy things like God and spirituality and religion, we are continuously going to McDonald's. I don't want a McDonald's faith. Yes, french fries are good every so often, but if we ate them every day we would be in a bad place. Our country has filled up on the very good tasting hamburgers and chicken nuggets of Caesar and not on the bounty of God. We have given so much of our time to the things that shouldn't run our lives. But we live in a world where text messaging requires instant attention. We have neglected the fact that God doesn't text but still requires our attention. 

    This past Sunday was Mission Sunday in our Archdiocese. We have heard so much about the foreign missions but we have neglected the fact that the United States itself is a mission territory. While I love my travels to South America, I, too, must remember that the American people need God just as much if not more than the foreign places. I see so much need for missionary work and evangelization in our country. I see it in the empty pews, the phones glued to hands of children and adults, the families that go out to eat but do not speak to one another because each person is attempting to connect with the outside world, the violence, the sadness, the poverties of a whole other kind. 

   Believe it or not, we are the missions. While it may seem absurd to think about because we have running water, we have food services, we have technology, we still need love and we still need Jesus. We need to stop giving Caesar way more than is due, we must start giving God what actually belongs to Him - our lives. Give yourself to God, not to "technology, social media, independence, fast food dinners, etc." 

#sisterselfies #foundersday2014

selfie:

(n) a photograph that one has taken of oneself; 

typically taken with a smartphone or webcam and shared via social media.

- Oxford Dictionary Online

     It all started back in March during the first weekend in Lent in ice cold, Minnesota. I found myself with my dear Sister Angela, CSFN, at the NCSW (National Catholic Sisters Week) Conference. Maybe you've read my blog post, "Sister Selfie and Her Companions." In my blog post, I wrote all about my weekend at the Conference, how fruitful it was, how many stories I heard and how I became passionate about sharing Sisters' Stories. But I also mentioned my Sister with whom I took way too many selfies. You see, at every event, we took a selfie. We even rubbed off on a few other Sisters and their students by getting them to take selfies. Believe it or not, that was probably one of the most magical things that happened that weekend: nuns taking selfies. 

     When I got back from Minnesota, I was on a high. I wanted to get started on all my idea projects. But alas, I was a second semester Senior in college. To say I was busy was an understatement. I didn't have enough time to work on my Senior thesis let alone take on a full documentary project. While disappointed at my grown-up realization that I did not have the time to take on my desired project, I always kept the concept in the back of my head: "How can I, a lay person and student, get the stories of our religious sisters out there?" I thought about writing a book, I thought about recording stories when I got the chance, I thought about a ton of things. But then my college decided they were going to do a project: Photo Time Capsule. Every day, students could enter pictures of day to day activities. I thought that in the years down the road, when the time capsule is open, a lot of the sisters who were teaching now, probably weren't going to be teaching then. I immediately felt the need to put their pictures in the time capsule. And what better way to get their pictures in there then to take selfies with them. 

     Yes, as the weeks of the project went on, I went up to every sister I could and asked if I could take a selfie with them. Some said no, but most of them agreed. In fact, I got a selfie with almost ever Sister on campus. Those pictures are now hanging all over my office as a gentle reminder that nunnies like to have fun, too. Of course, the selfie game continued long after the time capsule project ended. In fact, I even joked about the selfie game with the girls at work. I said that if anyone could get a selfie with the Mother General, they would win the selfie game. One girl got creative and took a selfie with a picture of the Mother General. But, alas, that did not count. I finally got the motherload of selfies with the Mother General on the day of Baccalaureate Mass, the day before my Graduation. I won...technically I was still a student! 

     Of course, as the Summer began, life got busy and my Sister Selfie project kind of got put on hold. I took a few Sister Selfies but my selfie game wasn't nearly as strong as it used to be. Occasionally, I prayed for a way to promote Sister Stories but alas, I was too busy trying to find a job. When I finally got hired (praise God!!!!!), I was too busy getting acclimated and working to promote Sister Stories. But then I got a facebook notification from the one and only, Molly Hazleton. She had a package to send me and needed my address. A few days later, I opened a box of #sisterselfie pins at work. I was so incredibly excited, I didn't know what to do with myself. But then, I concocted an idea, a plan, an activity of sorts. 

     Every year at the school where I work, they celebrate Founders' Day. This day celebrates the founding of the Sisters of St. Joseph, the community of Sisters who later founded our school in 1858. Our school is a very mission-oriented school and the mission of the Sisters is being passed on through our students. I love this. But as I was sitting at my desk thinking about both Sister Stories and Founders' Day, I thought that unless you work or go/went to this school OR worked with the SSJs, you wouldn't know their story. Of course, I also began to wonder how many Sisters here at our school have stories unknown. Stories about past missions, stories about their vocations, stories about their lives in religious life. Suddenly, the bright, pink, sparkly pins caught me eye as they were sitting on my desk. I knew exactly what we could do. 

      Teenage girls love to take selfies. Heck, I love to take selfies with people. I love making faces, I love capturing the silliest moments all in a selfie and I knew my students certainly love the same. I proposed my idea to the principal and then once I got the okay, proposed it to the sisters. Without hesitation, the Sisters at school took many a selfie with me. I had the administration take some selfies, too, and then I got started on making a video in which we would show the girls the video and how them take selfies during the afternoon's activities. It was a surprise for everyone except the sisters and the administration. I stood up in front of the entire school and pushed play. The laughter and the cheers from everyone was phenomenal. I couldn't help but laugh so hard myself. 

     Of course, after the video, we had to have the girls go to Mass. After Mass, the entire student body was being filmed for commercial to promote the school. The faculty wasn't allowed to be in the video, so as we were all standing around, waiting for the girls to be finished, faculty members started taking out their phones and taking selfies...with the sisters and with each other. I stood by and watched for a few minutes before I got in a few. I couldn't believe what I started. The best part? "How do I tweet this?" 

     The girls finally moved into the afternoon activities and during the all girl dance party they had, students were taking selfies with the Sisters, with faculty members and with each other. It was the cutest and most entertaining thing. The Sisters loved having their picture taken, the girls loved the concept and I loved to watch it all unfold. By the end of the day, I had so many tweets via our campus ministry twitter and emails in my inbox. I cannot even explain how many pictures I now have on my computer of Sister Selfies. Even days later, they pictures are still coming in. I love it. 

     While we didn't make a giant documentary of oral histories of our Sisters on Founders' Day nor did we really write down anything about them, we took their pictures. We immersed the Sisters into the hip teenage culture of social media and allowed the students to welcome the Sisters into their worlds. It allowed for a fun way to get to know the Sisters, especially our President, and it allowed the Sisters to get even more involved in their students' lives. It's a start to sharing our #sisterselfie stories. Maybe we could follow Buzzfeed's lead and do "Tell us about Yourself(ie)" segments on our Sisters. Until then, you can enjoy the video that started it all. Stay tuned for an update on how our #sisterselfie project is coming along. Until then, say cheese! 

"Just" Happy To Be Here

"The most important thing is to enjoy your life

 - to be happy -

it's all that matters."

- Audrey Hepburn

    One of the most rewarding things in this world is checking things off a to-do list. Often at work I make multiple to-do lists: people to call, things to put away, emails to send, documents to type, etc. Nothing makes me happier than crossing things off that list, unless, of course, I finally get to the end of the list and can crumple the paper to recycle it. Last week was full of to-do lists in preparation for Freshmen Retreat. At the end of retreat, I took a deep breath, sat in my chair and said, "kudos, kid. Another event under your wing."

     This week provided lots of time for reflection on retreat. Did it go well? What can we change for next year? How much of the same schedule do we keep? etc. Lots and lots of reflection on the retreat. However, those weren't the only things I found myself reflecting upon. One thing in particular was what one student said during a Q&A in the middle of the day. After we asked the students if there was anything they wanted to share with the group, one student raised her hand in the back of the auditorium and said, "I'm just happy to be here." It made me smile and I've been thinking about her comment ever since. 

     I thought about it in regards to the actual retreat. How many students would have volunteered (if only they had that option....) to go on retreat at 8:00 in the morning? Not many, I'm sure. However, they were "getting out of class" and even had free time to be with their friends after the retreat. And yes, there were probably quite a few in the group of 125 who didn't want to be there. But there was one student who was "happy to be here" and that was all I needed to hear. If I only reached one student, that's all I needed; that's all that God was calling me to that day and I was ok with that. But my reflection began to go deeper than that. 

     I thought about what would happen in my own life if I started saying that to things I attended...like meetings or school or even long car rides. What if, regardless of what I was actually feeling, I said, "I'm just happy to be here." Would it make my disposition concerning the event better? Would I be more able to "grin and bear it" for things that I might not really want to attend? Would it be even more transformative and make me actually be able to say, "I am EXCITED for this meeting?" Hmm...maybe not as drastic as that, but maybe, just maybe it would allow me to be more positive about the experiences. 

     As I continued to think about what that one student said, I thought, hmm...what if when I woke up, instead of yelling at the alarm clock or hitting the snooze button, I opened my eyes and said, "You know, I'm just happy to be here." Of course, that's not difficult at the end of the day...getting in bed and saying, "OH I AM SO HAPPY TO BE HERE." In fact, all the words might not make it out of my mouth before my head hit the pillow and I fell asleep. But if I woke up like that, would my day be better? In order to be able to say that would I have to have a scene straight out of Cinderella or Snow White with the singing birds and the happy sunshine and the singing and the music and the unrealistic morning happiness? Or am I actually able to wake up (maybe after hitting snooze a few times) and say, "I am just happy to be here....happy to be alive." 

    I remember a few years ago making a conscious effort to wake up and express gratitude for another day alive. I do often say, especially on my worst days, "Well...it's a good day because I'm alive another day." I used to reflect so deeply on those first conscious breaths of the morning. How much does God love me that He, yet again, gave me the air in my lungs and another day of life?! But for some reason or another, I stopped with that conscious effort. Perhaps it was because it became too much a part of my routine, I got too busy, I don't know. But it suddenly was brought back to my mind with this one student's comment. 

    My reflection continued as I gave myself a deep look in the mirror the other morning. Usually is almost dark in my room when I get up, but the other day I was blessed to wake up after the sun. This made my room a bit brighter and so I was able to read a message I had written on the mirror way back in high school. It read, "Bec, have you talked to God yet?" I remember someone seeing it years ago and commenting on how funny it sounded. It was as if I needed to set up an appointment with God and hadn't contacted Him yet. But really I had written it as a daily reminder that I need to talk with God every day. I can't just go about my day treating Him like a secretary and asking Him for favors every time I need something. I probably wouldn't have caught the phrase on my mirror if it hadn't been for that one student's comment. 

      So today, I'm sitting here thinking, "Am I happy to be here yet?" It's Friday. Of course I'm happy to be here. But there was something different about my morning. I might chalk it up to having fresh coffee this morning, but I think, honestly, it was because the first thing I said this morning was "Five more minutes....I'm happy to be here today." I felt like I was bouncing into school today. I felt on top of the world today. I felt like I go about my day wishing everyone a VERY HAPPY FRIDAY. So...I have been. I'm happy to be here today. I'm happy to be at work. I'm happy to be with my co-workers. I'm happy to be on this earth. I'm happy that God blessed me with another day of life and breath. God is so good. 

    So maybe tomorrow when you wake up you can say, "I'm just happy to be here." Or maybe right now, think about if you are happy to be here wherever here may be for you. Maybe it might change your Debbie Downer mood to a slightly happier one....maybe just maybe. So try it out...maybe every day can be the best day of your life.

    

Dare to Love and Be Loved

"Dare to be strong and courageous. 

That is the road. Venture anything.

Be brave enough to dare to be loved."

- Sherwood Anderson, "Winesburg, OH"

Shouldn't I be a hand model?

     Driving to work long before the sun was up, the readings of the day were the farthest thing from my thoughts. I was sipping my piping hot coffee from my new travel mug and worrying about whether or not I would have enough dollar bills in the cup holder for the toll. Being the prepared woman I am, of course I had enough toll money set out. Once past through the toll booth, I began thinking about all the preparations I needed to make for today's Communion Service at school. It was only going to be the third one, but I was feeling pretty confident that everything would go smoothly. When I got to school, I opened my iBreviary app and quickly glanced at the readings. Today? The very well known reading from Corinthians "Love is patient...etc. etc. etc." I quickly thought, oh good, easy, and then didn't give it a second thought. 

     If you're a typical young woman between the ages of 14-25, you might be slightly obsessed with Nicholas Sparks' "A Walk to Remember." I remember watching it for the first time in high school and then quite possibly almost damaging the DVD I borrowed from the library due to over watching the movie. I remember sobbing every time I heard Mandy Moore sing, beg Shane West not to fall in love with her, and walk down the aisle. I loved the movie and every so often, when I need a good cry, I admittedly pull out the movie and watch it alone in my bedroom so I can sob into the pillow again. Of course, the movie was also far from my mind as I drove into work this morning, but the moment the student reading at the Communion Service began to read from St. Paul's letter to the Corinthians, I could hear Shane West's voice in my head reading the same passage to Mandy Moore as she lay sick in the hospital. Suddenly, I was equating Scripture to Nicholas Sparks...again. However childish it may have seemed at the moment, suddenly my view on this verse started to change.

     Shortly after our Communion Service, the bell rang signaling the beginning of the school day. I walked out to the hallway to hear the announcements and say prayers with the community. As part of the morning reflection, I heard the announcer say, "Love isn't easy." That's when I had my AHHHHH moment. How many times have I reflected on love and not given Corinthians a thought? How many times have I heard Corinthians read and not given the hardships of love a thought? How many times have I missed the boat on realized what St. Paul was really trying to say? Oh so many times. 

     St. Paul tells us that love is patient, love is kind, love does not boast. We have all heard it a million times. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things and ENDURES all things. I have reflected many times on how I've loved, because at the end of earthen life, we shall be judged on how much we have loved. I often ask myself, did I love enough in that situation? or what could I have done to love more? Many people say that I love everyone, I love life passionately and through my gentleness, I show so much love for people and God. Yet often, I say I can love more. I know I can, because God can love limitlessly. If He can do that, and if we are meant to love like Him, why do I put limits on my love? Why do I, when I'm already dressed for bed, say I can no longer help my sister with her homework? Why do I, when I'm running late for school, say I can not stop and turn the coffee machine on, when it would only take thirty seconds? Why do I, when I'm in the middle of typing something at school, not immediately turn around when a student enters the office? Why do I not love more? Why do I, when things get rough, decide to run from love, instead of run toward it? St. Paul tells us that it is during the rough times that love is needed most. When things are fine and dandy, love is easy. When things are rough, love is difficult. We run toward easy and away from difficult. It's part of being human. Yet, we must love more. 

      There is a flip side to loving, however, and that is being loved. Loving, most days, comes easy for me. Although I do wonder if there are ways I can love more, love through pain, love through hurt, love through difficulty, I know that when compared to being loved, loving is easier. Yesterday, I found the above quoted quotation. Our principal started the year off by telling all the students and parents that we each needed only 20 seconds of insane courage to do something great. I started to joke that I had heard the speech a few times and that I now had more than 20 seconds of insane courage...I had about a minute and a half. All joking aside, however, the word courage has been my anthem lately and when I saw the quotation, I knew it was one that would stick with me. "Dare to be courageous...be brave enough to dare to be loved." That was my message. It was reminded that I can only love as much as I am loved. The tank of love can only be emptied with it is filled. I thought of that this morning when I heard, "love endures all things."

       I began to think of a very close friend of mine who for the duration of this blog will be referred to as "the other JC." Many have heard me call Jesus, JC. He is "the other JC;" my Jesus in action. I have long believed myself to be tough, not soft. I have long believed that because of my life's experiences that I have grown to be so tough that I would not need anyone to break down my walls. For a very long time, loving and being loved was controlled by my terms. I could love as much as I wanted and accept love as much as I wanted, but as far I was concerned, I didn't need much being loved. If no one liked me, I would survive. God was the only one I needed to love me. Needless to say, I was wrong. 

       As human beings, we were made to love AND TO BE LOVED. I have often said this, but I have never wrote about my journey to reaching this realization. I am one of many "toughies." We are the group that if anyone shows affection or care, we stray away from it. We are haunted by the thoughts, I don't need to be loved by others, I don't deserve to be loved by others, why would anyone love me, anyway? Chances are each of us, at one point in life, have had these thoughts. If you're like me, you essentially built up a wall that said, "I do not need being loved because I am not courageous enough to dare to be loved." For a very long time, I believed all of these things. Yes, believe it or not, I wore a huge "tough girl" shield over my heart. That was until "the other JC" and a few others stepped into my life. 

      What "the other JC" did for me was take a wrecking ball (not in the style of Miley Cyrus) to that wall I had built around my heart. He started by the little compliments that would make any woman swoon: You're beautiful...in your pjs, without makeup, on your worst day, on your best day, in that dress, with your hair all done up. However, I was one who did not believe this about myself and so I scoffed at him. I truly thought he was only saying these things to get my attention. Well sisters, he was not getting it. But he continued. Every so often, I'd find a morning note on my windshield just saying hi, or a note under my door when I got home from student teaching. When I was upset, he would remind me that he was there if I needed, but allowed me to come to the need to be loved on my own terms. He didn't take the wrecking ball to my wall right away, but instead started chipping away at my wall piece by piece. 

       The year went on and slowly but surely, things got rougher for me. I didn't want him to love me. I didn't want anyone to love me. I didn't need it. I was tough enough without it. My fighting his love was actually a fight against myself...I was fighting to very human desire to be loved by another person. I was fighting the very human need for another to care about me. For so long I believed that I was tough enough to love and be loved on my own terms. However, I soon realized that there was a greater force in this experience. It was a reminder from God that I indeed needed to be loved. 

      "The other JC" put the love that St. Paul speaks about into action. He was patient with me, he was kind. He wasn't in it for his own interests, he only wanted the best for me. He never believed that loving me was going to end badly for him, loving me could only yield good. He endured everything I went through with me; he held onto hope. He was a living example of what I needed to do with my own life. I needed to maybe be a bit more kind and patient with those around me. I needed to look out for others and not myself. But mostly, I needed to love by enduring all things. I needed to take a look at how I was loving others and not give up on them; I needed to hold onto hope. "The other JC" has taught me an awful love about the love of Christ; he is so good for me. He is a daily reminded that I have been made to love and be loved. 

      Sometimes I look at the people I love so dearly and see my personality of being too tough to need to be loved. I want to say so strongly, "Just let me love you. Just let down your guard and let me love you like Christ loves. Let me help you carry the burdens of life." But sometimes I give up when they are tougher than I am...or seemingly so. I need to remember what "the other JC" teaches me: love endures all things. I have been courageous enough to love within my own limits. Now that I have dared to be loved, I need to be courageous enough to love even more. I need to be brave enough, patient enough, kind enough to love beyond all measures. Love isn't easy. It's not what the fairy tales convince us it is. Love is difficult, it is enduring, it is persisting through the toughest times, plowing through the toughest walls. Love is tears and smiles, hardships and bliss. Love is saying, "I love you enough to continue loving you even though you think you don't need it, don't deserve it, don't believe in it's possibility." Love is saying to every excuse another may come up with, "I love you more than that." Do you know how difficult that is?

     It took me a while; there were lots of growing pains. Maybe it was those 90 seconds of insane courage I collected over the course of the first week of school? Maybe it was the sudden reminder of my favorite hopelessly romantic movie of my teenage years? But probably it was the example of "Love in Action" given to me by "the other JC." It was as if we had entered a game of truth or dare and given that I'm a tough girl, I chose dare. But "the other JC" didn't dare me to go swimming in a pool with all my clothes on or filled with ice so as to dramatically drop the temperature. Oh no, his dare was much worse. He had dared me to love and be loved. And now, it's my turn to dare you. 

   

Pray for Surf

"Life is a lot like surfing.

When you get caught in the impact zone, 

you've got to just get back up.

Because you never know what might be

over the next wave."

- Bethany Hamilton

     It was a spur of the moment, mid-week decision: I was going to accompany three of my good friends to the Surfing Contest in Stone Harbor at Nun's Beach. I had originally planned on staying home and catching up on some sleep since it was a crazy first full week of school, but the girls convinced me otherwise. Besides who doesn't need a trip to the beach every so often, even when it's no longer Summer beach weather. Before I knew it we were all set and ready to leave Immaculata at the crack of dawn to make the two hour trek down to the beach. After a stop at Wawa for some breakfast and coffee, we were on our way. 

    Of course, some of you reading this might be saying, "I didn't know she surfed." Well folks, sorry to disappoint, but I do not surf. So why were we going to the surf contest? Well to steal a look or two at some surfer boys, of course. No, I'm just kidding. Actually, we had been recruited by my dear Sister Elaine to go and help the Sisters run the show. The Nun's Beach Surf Contest is an annual fundraiser for the Sisters of the IHM's Retreat House, Villa-Maria-by-the-Sea. For a few years in a row, the four of us had gone down in the Spring to help clean up the retreat house for the beginning of the retreat season. We only thought it fair to volunteer for the end of the retreat season fundraiser. Besides, this is my potential future beach house we are talking about. 

     We pulled into Stone Harbor about 9:30 (we missed the turn for 55 which set us back a bit) and headed straight to the kitchen. After a quick hello and a selfie with Sister Bern, we were ready for the food tent. The morning was full of cookies, brownies, coffee, laughter and inquiries about the famous chili and pizza. Of course, that was our shared morning. My personal morning consisted of believing a false tale of seagull brownie snatchers, watching the Hot Chocolate queen make the "secret recipe," and snapping photos of cute surfer boys (8 year olds with surfer hair just melt my heart) and my favorite nunnies. Over the course of the day, I had my life planned out for me by Sister Elaine, we wrote a rap, and we even did some dancing. I'll admit, I didn't see much of the surf contest, but I didn't complain. I got to spend the day outside with my favorite ladies who didn't judge me for my insane ocean-wind hair. 

     We were so blessed to have the rain hold off while we were outside. As we cleaned up the food tent (and all the extra hot dogs...I have never seen so many in my life), the drizzle drops started to come down. But, we made it inside before it down-poured, praise God. We had about an hour of downtime before dinner and the next event, so the four of us headed out to the front porch. Some of us took a nap...ahem...while others enjoyed some small talk. Of course, the sleeping princess (I do look like one if I don't say so myself), was awakened from her nap for dinner. It was then that I found myself among even more friends. 

     I have to admit that I didn't know a lot of the Sisters working the day's events before I got there, but I certainly left with a few more friends (on Facebook). I found myself eating dinner around a little island in the kitchen with some old acquaintances who quickly became good friends. I admittedly always laugh the hardest when I'm with the Sisters. Whether it's a Sister who I just met or someone I've known for years, usually at some point in a conversation, I have tears in my eyes from laughter. I re-met Sister Judy, became facebook friends with Sister Amadeo, and of course, sang our rap for Sister Elaine. It was like being among family, simply eating around the island with the girls. 

      The past two weeks have been an emotional roller coaster, as any might suspect. I started my new job, I've made lots of transitions, I've had to adjust my spiritual life to make time for adult life...it's a roller coaster. At one point last week, I cried bitterly on the way home simply because I missed "my girls in blue." It's different from missing my friends. If I'm missing one of them, I can easily shoot them a text or call them and they'll more than likely answer. With the Sisters, it's not so easy. They all have different schedules and texting isn't always easy. I was so used to seeing them every single day at Mass, getting at least fifty hugs a day from them, and enjoying a friendly banter with the older Sisters. They were more than just religious to me, they became my Sisters, "my girls." Not seeing them every day now is hard for me and I miss them more than words can express. Spending the day at the beach with some of my original group of nunnies and adding a few more to the "my girls" category was exactly what I needed. 

       I needed the laughter of tears rolling down my cheeks, I needed an insane amount of moments to embarrass myself by being freely, I needed the companionship of "my girls," heck, I'll even admit to needing all the hugs and love. I can't tell you how many goofy pictures we took with the girls, how many insane moments we shared, how many beautiful conversations happened over cranberry sauce, washing dishes and horse-racing. The truth is, these lovely women of God made it so easy for me to forget that I had ever felt like a piece of me was missing from being away from the ladies in blue for so long. I know I am so insanely blessed to have so many women with whom I share a companionship. From mentors to friends to partners in crime, these are "my girls." I found it absolutely amazing that I now share a deeper friendship with many of the Sisters who I just met. It's a wonder how friendships can be established over only a course of a few hours. I am feeling so blessed.

       Our night didn't end with dinner, of course. The four of us girls found ourselves helping prep dinner, wash dishes and even clean up. The second part of the fundraiser is a dinner and raffle night for many patrons of the retreat house. While many of the Sisters were out on the floor serving dinner, the girls were back in the kitchen helping things go as smoothly as possible. We weren't only on kitchen duty though, we had to introduce our beloved teacher, Sister Elaine, for her role in the horse race. Yes, that rap we wrote earlier in the day was making a come back that night. Everyone enjoyed it. Of course, with a line like "she went on one small date and her ma got scared, she said, you're moving to the convent in malvern, pa," how could you not like it. A good time was honestly had by all. 

      As we drove back to school that night, I couldn't help but thank God for all my blessing that I had received that day. It simply proved my belief that the more you give of yourself, the more blessings you receive. I simply gave my two hands and volunteered for the Sisters at the Surf Contest. What I got in return was a ay full of laughter, good times, good food and many new friendships. I had been missing the feeling of belonging, the feeling of family, and the ladies in blue, my girls, gave it back to me. Of course, there was a small fee for some: one selfie, please. Next year, I hope to be finding myself praying for surf once again with my girls at Nun's Beach.

Run So As To Win

"Therefore, I run in such a way, as not without aim;

I box in such a way, as not beating the air.

but I discipline my body and make it my slave, 

so that, after I have preached to others, 

I myself will not be disqualified."

- 1 Corinthians 9:26-27

    

    As many of you know, recently I started a new endeavor in my life: working as a Campus Minister at a local high school. It has been a whirlwind of adventures from planning Community Service events, to meeting with students, faculty and administration alike, to ordering various this for the school to especially planning our first BIG official Liturgy...that was today. 

     For the past week, I've been reading through various Scripture readings, asking for volunteers to help at Mass, picking and then practicing music with the Liturgy Singers, and so much more. It seemed that every time I thought I was finished planning, something else would come up. You know how it is, every time you sit down to catch your breath, you're off and running again. Well, finally sometime earlier this week, I found I was ready to go for today. That's when I sat down to write my before Mass reflection. 

     The Scripture readings for today were excellent. I did not even hesitate to use different readings other than the ones set for the day. The first reading was St. Paul's letter to the Corinthians which I have quoted above. It has been one of my most favorite Scripture passages for a very long time and last year, when I was asked to think about a theme for the beginning of a school year for my students for an Education class, I immediately resorted to that passage. I had dreams of my students reflecting often on the needs for preparing oneself to run in a race. I had dreams of running with them hypothetically. I had dreams of even wearing sneakers on the first day of class just to say, "We are now running to win." I may have even dreamed of my students eventually nicknaming me coach. I know, I was dreaming big. Yet, God, as He is so amazing, answered another one of my prayers - He allowed my dreams to come true. 

     This morning I stood before the entire student body, the entire faculty, staff and administration as well as some parents who were present for the Student Council Induction. Little me in front of hundreds of people of all ages. But was I nervous? No, actually. I remembered what Sister Cathy had said to me about this time last year: It's okay to be nervous, to have butterflies, so long as all the butterflies are in the right place. So, after sharing that with a few of those who were assisting in the Mass, I got up behind the Lectern and began. Here is my reflection:

     "During my first week at Mount St. Joseph Academy, I heard some hustling and bustling in the hallway. It was still summertime and so, I was confused as to who might be making all the noise. As I walked out of my office, I found an entire team of girls laying on the hallway floor doing some type of exercise. After introducing myself and inquiring about which team was lying before me, I enlightened the team on my recent endeavor to get in shape by running. It was then that the Cross Country team invited me to run with them. I couldn’t help but think that their invitation was the most perfect way for me to start off the new year.

     Today we hear in Paul’s letter to the Corinthians to “run so as to win.” St. Paul invites us, just as the cross country team invited me, to drive and train our bodies, our spiritual, emotional and physical bodies, so that in the end we may achieve the greatness that is Heaven. We must train our brains so as to achieve in the classroom, train our bodies to achieve on the field or court, train our voices to achieve on the stage, train our brush strokes to achieve on the canvas. We must train our spirits by prayer to achieve holiness. St Paul also cautions against running aimlessly; we must run with purpose, with drive. We cannot run if we do have a destination. May your destination be Heaven. Of course, a final aspect is that we must run together as a team, striving to be instruments of unity and reconciliation.

     Students, Faculty and Administration alike, I encourage you to take up the invitation from the Cross Country team. Set your hearts, minds and souls on Jesus and run; run so as to win."

      As I spoke, I could sincerely feel the Holy Spirit within and around me. Oh how beautiful a feeling. I walked to the back of the auditorium and felt the eyes of many students and teachers upon me. I was greeted in the back by the President who graciously gave me a thumbs up. I thanked God and let the rest of the Mass take place. I thought I wasn't in for any surprises, but alas, God always has something up His sleeve.

      When it came time for the Homily, Father asked the entire Cross Country team to stand up. I started laughing. The girls hesitated at first but eventually, girls all over the auditorium stood up. Father than asked the captain of the team to join him on the apron of the auditorium. She, again, hesitated, but went. Father asked her a few questions about what it took to train and practice for Cross Country. He then asked her why she invited me to run with the team. She answered by saying that I was new and they wanted to welcome me. Of course, Father then asked if I had been out to practice with them. When she said no, I had to laugh. It was true. You can bet your bottom dollar that the next thing I will be doing after I finish this post is emailing the coach and asking for a practice schedule! I need to go at least once with them! 

       Our Liturgy went beautifully and throughout the day I have been congratulated on a beautiful first Liturgy. I am so grateful for the amazing faculty, staff and administration who has continued to support me since day one. I am so grateful for my students who have been nothing but helpful. Oh how amazing they are. And of course, how grateful I am to my God for giving me my dream come true: standing before my students, my colleagues, and my students' parents asking them to run with me and with Jesus. It is truly amazing that I got to preach my desire to run for God's Cross Country team. 

      I will keep running so as to win, to attain holiness. Of course, I might also be caught running with the Cross Country team. So, if you happen to see me after school one day with my sneakers on underneath my skirt, don't judge. I've just been running with my students. 

I AM WOMAN

"I am no bird; and no net ensnares me.

I am a free human being with an independent will."

- Charlotte Bronte, "Jane Eyre"

       I had a teacher in college that whenever talking about feminism, he would always say, "I AM WOMAN," in a deep voice, proclaiming in his own way, the strength of the woman. I would always laugh and think, well real ladies would never use a deep manly voice. She would use her dainty, lady voice and say, "Well yes, sir, I do appear to be a bit stronger than you." Today, on my adventure with my best friend, I could not stop thinking about Mr. Mooney saying, "I AM WOMAN." In fact, I may have even said it a few times myself. If there's anything that feels mighty liberating as a woman, it's being able to lift two kayaks out of the water and into a truck that I just backed down the ramp. Say what? Yes, I did that.

     I've been reading a book titled, "Rose Under Fire." This book is a companion book to another book I just finished, "Code Name Verity." Both are written by Elizabeth Wein and both are historical fiction. Now, a little bit of a back story for you before I continue. As a kid, I always loved reading historical fiction books, especially books that showcased young women as the main character. I don't know if you ever heard of the Dear America series, but I thrived on those. Each were a diary form book written by a young girl during a historical time period. Now, flash forward to present day me searching in the book store for a casual Young Adult Literature book to read on vacation. As Sister Marcille taught me, I went after the book that had the Printz Award label on the front. Turns out, it was a historical fiction book. I knew I would love it, so I bought the companion book, too. I just started the second book Thursday...I'm almost done. 

     When I first picked up the books, I thought, oh good, another historical fiction during the WWII time era; one I personally love studying. As I got started, however, I realized I was reading about quite a few hipster ladies. By that, I mean, young women who were breaking stereotypes left and right by doing amazing things. One was a Special Orders Pilot...imagine, a woman pilot, especially during that time period. Of course, her best friend was a spy and interrogator. I fell in love with the characters who not only stayed true to the characterization of women at the time, but also were insanely feminist and willing to go above and beyond what women normally did. The second book also features a female pilot and describes at length the women concentration camp that still to this day doesn't have too much written about it. It describes in insane detail the strength of thousands of women. I felt as if these women were my comrades, my fellow strong women. Of course, there was one scene that struck me in particular that I felt extremely connected with. 

     The scene takes place toward the beginning of the story when Rose, the female pilot, gets trapped between two German fighter planes. She eventually is requested to follow the fighter planes to a German airfield; she has become a POW in the air. When she lands the plane and is asked to remove herself from the aircraft, she steps out of the pilots seat, but still has her helmet on. They order her to take her helmet off and a stream of curly brown hair falls out from underneath. The men's mouths gape open and suddenly they are saluting her and clapping for her; she fielded an excellent landing. Of course, there is much irony in this scene. The young woman, first of all is a POW and an American one at that. These mean saluting her were German airmen. At first I thought, well good for her to get such a response to landing that plane. But then I thought, if it had been a man pilot, they wouldn't have done that. What made her landing so special other than the fact that she was a woman pilot?! Nothing. As absurd as it was, the scene struck accord with me.

      You see, so often I am mistaken for a weak person. People always offer to help me carry things and stuff like that. Sometimes I think it's because I am little; a whopping five foot. But other times, I think it's probably because I am a woman. Today, like I said before, my best friend and I went kayaking in the river. Imagine the scene: two young women riding high in a Ford pick-up truck with two kayaks in the bed. First of all, a little lady is driving the truck. Second of all, she's going to have to get those kayaks out of the back of the truck. As I pulled into the parking lot, I could already see the crowd of men staring at me. Yes, boys, I had just hopped out of the cab of this truck. Now, look away. I knew they were anxiously waiting to see how I would approach getting the kayaks out of the bed of the truck. Shocking to admit, but I did it with no problem. Of course, my best friend was there to get her kayak out of the bed of the truck, too. What a sight to behold, two ladies carrying kayaks down the river. 

     I started to laugh at the absurdity. I really didn't think it was that big of a deal that we had just done that. However, the end of the craziness was no where in sight. As we were pulling the kayaks down the river to put in a bit further away from all the mud, an older gentleman stopped us. He asked if I had ever put in there before. I answered yes. He then told me that I should be careful because the tide was changing soon. Shocking, but I knew this to be true. Of course, he mentioned a few more river facts, all of which I knew. And as I nodded my head, he seemed to get more and more shocked. I wasn't sure why actually, but later it hit me. I'm a lady. He was a kind man, but he definitely thought we had no idea what we were doing. I thanked him for his conversation and we were on our merry way. 

     We enjoyed a paddle down stream and soon decided to head back. There were a lot of boats and jetskis out enjoying the Summer's last hoorah and so we often had to stop and change direction so we didn't tip. As we headed back, the river current got rougher and rougher and it was getting harder and harder to paddle back. Going against the current is the worst BUT it does build muscle mass. It was difficult but we continued. Suddenly, Mary Kate noticed some "fog" up ahead. Ironically, however, it wasn't fog, it was a downpour. We paddled for cover (because the last thing you want is a kayak filled with rain water) and took refuge under some kind peoples' dock. We made a video and then decided to head back out. We were only about half a mile away from where we put in. 

     The rain ceased as we paddled and the river current was much calmer, thus, easier for us to paddle. The boat ramp was in sight and the tide was coming in, so there would be much less mud to plow through. Of course, as we neared the boat ramp, another downpour. We laughed and this time, kept going. We were so close. We decided to take pictures, too, when we landed, because it was, after all, a monumental moment. There was one guy fishing who was enjoying the moment by laughing at us, but that soon changed when we hauled the kayaks up the ramp a bit. You see, it appeared that I was going to leave them there. But that was not the case. 

     I ran, still in the rain, to the truck, hopped up in the cab and reversed so I could turn around. Then I backed the truck down the ramp so that the two of use could swing the kayaks in the back and head home. We actually gained the attention of many as we did this quickly and efficiently. I smiled and laughed. As we drove home, I said, "Nothing is more liberating to me than being able to do things that people think women can't do...like handle her own kayak and drive a truck." My best friend just laughed.

     I am a feminist and often, I find it hilarious that women are always underestimated. Yes, I believe that there is such a feministic beauty in being genuine, caring, motherly, gentle. Those are the characteristics that make me a woman. But what also makes me a woman is my strength, both emotional and physical. To put things in perspective...my kayak weighs about 60 pounds. That's about the size of a toddler. Both of these facts enhances my feminism. As a woman, I may be expected to take care of children, babies and toddlers. I may be expected to pick them up and coo over them. Don't get me wrong, I loooooooove doing that. I love children and child-rearing is an amazing beauty all in it's own. But, if my toddler weighs 60 pounds, then why, when I pick up a kayak weighing about the same, is it a shock to everyone around. People, get a grip, I want to say. I don't, of course, because I'm a lady. I simply smile and behind my smile, I say, "Now, let me see you do that."

     I felt proud to be a lady today. Every day, I proud to be a woman, but today I felt especially proud. It wasn't that I already knew the things that our older man friend was telling us about the river. No, it wasn't because my Daddy had already taught me these things. And it wasn't that I got to drive Daddy's truck either (seriously...I NEED one of my own though). I learned to drive in that monster, so that was just taking the truck for a spin. And it actually wasn't the fact that my best friend and I paddled against the current in the pouring rain. That was just fun. What made me super proud was that all those strong men who were shocked when a lady hopped out of the cab of a pick-up truck and watched me as I lifted the kayaks out of the bed with ease, didn't offer an ounce of help. Now while that might make a few people upset (how dare they not help a damsel in distress), I enjoyed it. Why? Because they watched, they were shocked and they didn't offer help, because they knew I could do it. 

     I'm not always a radical feminist, but when I am, I lift kayaks out of trucks and paddle against the current in the pouring rain. Now I can't wait to see people's reactions when I do that as a nun. In the words of Mr. Mooney, "I AM WOMAN."