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."

My Ice Water Challenge - A Reflection

"If I offer you a cup of water and bring you a glass of ice, 

I am trying to teach you patience."

- Jarod Kintz

     Most of us, in recent weeks, have logged into various social media sites and seen a newsfeed full of ALS Ice Water Bucket Challenges. For those of you who haven't enjoyed this phenomenon, there are numerous videos of people having buckets of ice water dumped on their heads. Of course, some are extremely funny, some are super precious; they bring us entertainment as we pray and hope we don't get nominated by a friend or two. It was started by one man who has ALS doing the challenge...then, shortly it spread across the world. Even the nuns were doing it. According to BostInno.com, the challenge has raised over 88.5 million dollars. It's absolutely amazing what this social media effort has done for the ALS Foundation. Of course, there's one troubling thing that I keep thinking about: the amount of water that has been wasted in doing the challenge.

     At first, I found the Ice Water Challenge to be entertaining. I thought it was hilarious watching people I know experience this cold water challenge. But the more and more it took place, the more and more I thought about the water. I have always LOVED water and if you've read my many blog posts about water, you already know about my desire to conserve water. I've done much traveling to countries where I couldn't drink the water...where the natives couldn't drink the water...because it was dirty and unhealthy. This past Summer in Peru, I learned that the people on the hills of Montenegro only get ten minutes worth of water a week. For many of us, that's only enough time in the shower to get wet. The more I experience in other places, the more I am grateful for the gift of water. Seeing all of the Ice Water Challenges got to me...look at all that water. I had to stop watching them. Then, I was nominated. Twice.

      According to the challenge, once a person is nominated, he or she only has 24 hours to complete the challenge. I was nominated twice, so I gave myself 48 hours to come up with a creative way to participate but also to spread the word about water conservation. So, after church last Sunday afternoon, I dragged my sister outside with the video camera and took the Ice Water Pitcher out of my fridge. I started in the back yard, thanking my nominators and giving my plug to ALS, as many other videos. But then I stated my claim about water conservation. Then...I challenged everyone to think about the water and about those who don't have. Then...I put the water back in the fridge and ended the video. My sister, who thought she was going to watch me dump a bucket of ice water on my head was a little disappointed but she mentioned that people were probably going to get mad about my video. I didn't care what kind of uproar it could potentially start. I just wanted to get the word out there. 

     I uploaded the video that afternoon and watched as my likes soared. Comment after comment came filing in thanking me for speaking out for the water. A few people even shared my video. For the time being, I wasn't catching any grief for the video. I was surprised. People were actually listening to my message. They were acknowledging the need for water conservation. I mentioned in my video that in California, the ALS Water Challenge was banned due to a prolonged drought season. Other places in the USA have banned it, too, due to water conservation needs. I thought, how fortunate are we in the US that we can ban such things when in other countries, dumping a bucket of water on your head would not even be thought of. I find it interesting that my pitcher of water that I put in the fridge is something out of which I would later get eight glasses of cold water to drink while in a different country, that same amount of water would be used to bathe an entire family. I started to think about all the buckets of water...that's a lot of baths for families in countries that don't have every day access to water. 

     As the days went on, a few of my friends started tagging me in videos. A close friend's mom tagged me in her ALS Water Challenge. The first thing she mentioned was that instead of filling her bucket up with water from the sink, she used collected rain water. My uncle was nominated and decided to do his water challenge in the garden so that he could water the garden at the same time. Matt Damon (not because of me...) even did something different and used toilet water...or so I've heard. Of course, I'm pretty sure he took a nice long shower after that one. But anyway the point is, people were starting to find conservative ways to partake in the ALS Water Challenge. I found it inspiring really. People were now giving a second thought to simply dumping water on their heads. Of course, it wasn't long before I met my first comment of opposition.

     The comment challenged me to take fewer showers and to brush my teeth once a day instead of twice a day. Now, while many people might be weirded out by that and think, ew the hygiene that won't happen, I, on the other hand, laughed. Not out of spite, honestly, but because for the past four years, I've made a conscious effort to reduce water in the simplest ways. I used to shower every day for at least twenty minutes. In high school, I reduced my showers to about ten minutes. Now folks, that includes shampooing and conditioning my wickedly curly hair. But when I got to college, I made a very conscious effort to shower every other day. No one ever said anything to me about me being smelly, so I don't anyone ever noticed. There are ways to be hygienic without showering every day. I know this may come as a shock to some people, but it's true. It takes one handful of water to rinse your face. It takes two spreads of deodorant not to smell. It takes one ponytail holder or a comb to make one's hair look presentable. I actually like to put my plug out there for the fact that it's actually better for your skin to shower every other day as opposed to every day. 

     There are other ways to conserve water in a day to day life. When you drink ice water, don't dump the ice in the sink when you finish the water. Let it melt and have more water. Patience. When washing the dishes, don't let the water run while you're not rinsing. Instead, fill the sink up and rinse in that. When brushing your teeth or washing your hands, don't run the water while lathering or brushing. If you really want to be conservative, turn the water off in the shower when you wash your hair or shave. Don't drain your pool at the end of the summer like my family does (yes, that was a BIG one because my pool was in the video). We mostly use the same water every year. When doing the laundry, use cold water (conserves energy) and use the lowest water setting. See? Plenty of things one can do. 

      Water is so important to me, not only because I LOVE being by the ocean or the river or the lake or the creek, but because I've experienced what it's like to be thirsty. Maybe it's because I've experienced firsthand what it's like to be a country where water isn't readily available to drink...or to bathe...or to wash hands. I've seen the great and amazing things the ALS Ice Water Challenge has done...I mean look at the amount of money it has raised and the awareness. But I'm challenging you to think about the water and the people who don't have the water before you simply dump a bucket of water on your head. Dump it over the garden, use rain water, make that your daily bathing, use a cup instead of a bucket, jump in the ocean when it's cold or the pool, do something different and do it for the conservation of the water.

To Whom It May Concern. Sincerely, Rejection

"I am crying over the loss of something I never had.

How ridiculous. Mourning something that never was - 

my dashed dreams, dashed hopes, and my soured expectations."

- E.L. James

    In these past months I have experienced everything from the rush of being a new graduate to the adventure of being FREE to the anticipation of hearing from potential employers to the anxiety of being rejected by the same potential employers. What's tough about being in education is that in order to apply anywhere for teaching, you need to have your certification. The tough part about that is you can't get certified until after graduation and even then, it might take a while. So needless to say, my summer was filled with lots and lots of waiting.

    It started out as an excited adventure. I was a new graduate, I had just gotten back from my two weeks in Peru and things were looking great. I had a few promising potential employment options and so, I decided to give myself a week or so of Summer before I started typing up resumes and letters and then mailing them out. Sooner or later, I was getting all sorts of clearances in the mail but not my certification yet. But finally, it came. While I was waiting, I had gotten a call for a seemingly really promising potential employer. I had a personal connection with the school, it seemed to be something that would be perfect for a first year or two teaching, and it was a comfortable spot. The interview went so well and I was getting excited. I even let myself dream up classroom decorations and lesson plans before I heard back. I was so sure that I was going to get this job because I (and everyone under the sun) was praying for me to get the job. A week passed and I was in the middle of answering an email when my phone started ringing. Here it is, I thought, the call. I was so ready to accept the position that when they told me I wasn't chosen for the job, it didn't quite register. 

    In the process of waiting to hear back from this potential employer, I put every other resume and cover letter on hold. I was so sure that this job was mine that I stopped panicking about getting a job. At this point it was now early-July. I had only about six weeks left of summer…that was, of course, if I got a teaching job. 

     The phone call hit me hard and I actually let myself have a debbie downer day during which I stayed in bed and cried every other hour because I had no idea what I was going to do with my life. How was I ever going to use my degree? How was I going to pay off my loans? How was I going to move on with my post-grad life? How? How? How? I was so upset that a friend had to come and cheer me up a little bit. It worked but the next day, I used my blues as motivation to find a job. I searched the Archdiocesan website for DRE and Youth Ministry jobs. I sent out five letters that day and one by one the emails came back informing me that the positions had just recently be filled. Rejection again. I finished my education application packets for the Archdiocese and sent them off. Nothing. I applied to the local county library system. Again, nothing. I even applied to Barnes and Noble just as a side job to hold me over until I got a real job. I was rejected from not just one store location but two. I was starting to feel a little hopeless. That's when another friend who had been on the lookout for his own job, sent me a link for a Campus Ministry position. The application was due in two days. I sent it as soon as I could. 

     After waiting a few days, I heard back and was asked to set up a phone interview. I was so nervous that I completely messed up answering the first question. I thought I bombed the interview. But that afternoon, I got a second phone call. This time, they wanted to set up a second interview. In less than 24 hours I had to prepare multiple facets of information and material to present to an esteemed board of five administration members. I was sick to my stomach as I drove the forty minute drive to the school. I was conscious about everything from my nail polish color to my shoe choice. But I made sure I wore my BVM blue just for luck. I knew I had a an army of people praying for me so I had to let go and let God. When I did, I was amazed. 

    I was told there was one other applicant and that they would be in touch. The following week, I was on vacation with my family when I got yet another phone call. I was being called in for a third interview. At this point, I was thinking, well this is mildly extensive and maybe quite ridiculous. But the more I learned about the job, the more I wanted it. I was going to do everything I could to get it. But at the same time, I was so used to rejection by this point that I was almost sure I wasn't getting the job. I left the house the morning of my third interview with cover letters and resumes in envelopes ready to be mailed off to three more schools if I didn't get the job. Of course, a dear friend told me that they wouldn't ask me to drive all the way out to the school for a third interview if they weren't too interested. I agreed, but still was hesitant. I made the decision to not get my hopes up like I had for the last really promising job so that if I was rejected, my hopes and dreams didn't have as far a drop when they came crashing down. 

    They never asked me to prepare anything for the third interview so I basically went in cold-turkey like I had for the phone interview. This time, however, there were only two people sitting in front of me. I was asked a few more questions and when the principal asked me if I wanted to job and why, I had tears fill my eyes as I spoke about my passions. My whole life, the thing that fueled every little event of my life was my faith. This job in Campus Ministry would not only give me an outlet to keep on doing what I have been doing (service, liturgy, retreat, teach), but it would be a greater outlet for me to reach young women much like myself and allow them to do the same. If that didn't scream passion, I don't know what would have. When I finished answering, the president offered me the job. A smile grew and grew and grew across my face. I couldn't believe it. I was finally employed. I was accepted, not rejected. 

    In all of my endeavors in trying and trying to get employed, I kept lessening and lessening my expectations. I had what I thought was my dream job in mind and it was the first one to reject me. After that I started looking for jobs further and further away from my what my major was. I had always wanted to teach. But then I started looking for positions that weren't teaching but still had a religious aspect to them. Then I was looking at things that didn't even have them. And all the while, people were praying and praying for me to find a job. I remember one week visiting the IHM Motherhouse when every Sister kept asking me if I had gotten a job yet. They suddenly had faces of determination when I said no. They were going to pray even harder. Some suggested Mary in the style of IHM life, but others suggested St. Joseph, the great provider. 

   I was anxious, I must admit. But there was also a huge calm over me. In my relationship with God, I have learned that I always have to wait for good things to come my way. I had to trust that God was going to provide for me. I knew He was going to, I just didn't know when or where. I was trying to do my part, but again, it was rejection after rejection after rejection. There had to be something in all of this negative news. I was sure God was going to give me something, anything. Then, I started praying to St. Joseph myself. I kept praying to Mary (hoping she would gently push her husband to, you know, getting me a job), but I added St. Joseph to the prayer list. (I had even started praying to St. Jude, patron of hopeless causes….). Then suddenly, I was provided with a job. The connections my new job has with St. Joseph are astronomical and I know this is truly a gift from God. 

    What I learned from all this rejection in my life this past Summer was that often God allows some good things not to happen so that GREATER things CAN. So for example, all those jobs that I was applying to were good, the first one was a perfect fit, but God had something better in mind. Of course, I only saw the negative rejection at those moments. However, I was still sure that God was going to provide for me. If it wasn't for a slight positive attitude, the rejections would have gotten to me. But, I was holding on to my thin string of creative hope and praying that God would provide.

    When I landed to job, I was overjoyed. The more and more I learn about what I get to do, the more I know that this is the job God had in store the entire time. I get to coordinate service trips and projects, I get to plan liturgies (with the music!!), I get to plan retreats, I get to minister with a group of amazing young women, I get to teach a class on Catholic Social Teaching, I get to be the best Becca I can be and love every moment of living out my job. I get the feeling that God created this job for me. I feel like He literally handed it to me personally. This job was made for me. 

     Someone asked me today how I found this school. I laughed a little and said, I didn't find it, it found me. I never in a million years would have looked at the school employment site for a job if it hadn't been for the friend who sent me the link. I never thought about doing Campus Ministry after four years of English/Secondary Ed in school, even though before college that's all I ever wanted to do. I get to teach Theology, something I wanted to do from the very beginning. I get to do everything that I've fallen in love with doing the past four, if not more, years. God hooked me up real sweet. 

     This Summer was a rough one with lots of ups and downs. I was facing lots of rejection and lots of challenges. I was up against what seemed to be the world, but I knew that my God would take care of me. I trusted enough to hang on until the my thread of hope was very thin. I called on my spiritual mother to take care of me with her gentle compassion. I asked St. Joseph to provide as he did for his beloved family so many times. I prayed and prayed and so did so many others. (I can't thank you all enough, you know!). I am so happy and so beyond grateful that this place found me. God is so good. 

Get In The Water - Doubt and Faith

"Doubt isn't the opposite of faith;

it's an element of faith."

- Paul Tillich

    I have always been a hopeless romantic. I can embarrassingly enough admit to reading every Nicholas Sparks novel and loving it. I can also admit to knowing just about every word in the movie "The Notebook." I absolutely loved reading cheesy romance novels (nothing distasteful, of course). But that wasn't all. I loved hearing how couples met, their stories of first dates, the little things about each other that they love. I'm always willing to hear love stories partly because I have my own love story to tell...between me and JC. And this morning, while I was sitting in Mass, I couldn't help but think that if I was in the boat with the disciples, Jesus might react much like Ryan Gosling in the Notebook (see above picture). 

     If you've seen the movie, you know exactly what I am talking about. Noah (Ryan Gosling) has just started dating Allie (Rachel McAdams) when they find themselves at a summer, Southern lake or pond. All but Allie have swung on the rope swing to get in the water and Noah is cheering her on. After a few "fake-outs" and lots of screaming, Allie finally swings on the rope swing and falls into the cold water. She had been looking out over the pond (probably filled with creepy-crawlies, so I don't blame her), scared out of her mind to jump in, and Noah, already having been in the water, shouts at her "GET IN THE WATER." This scene was playing in my head as I listened to the Gospel reading. Now, trust me, I was paying attention.

     In the Gospel reading today, we hear the familiar story of the disciples in the boat in the middle of a storm. Jesus, walks on water toward them, and they are fearful of Him possibly being a ghost. When the disciples realize it is Jesus, Jesus asks Peter to get out of the boat and into the water. Of course, we all know what happens. Peter starts to get scared and begins to sink. Jesus, then, raises him up. I pictured myself in the boat facing a terrifying storm (or the terrifying pond). Jesus, having been on the water (in the storm) already, beckons for me to come out of the water, perhaps playfully like Noah in "The Notebook. Much like Allie, I hesitate, unsure of what is going to happen once I get in the water. But, because I love Jesus, like Allie loved Noah, I get in the water. See the visual? Yeah...then there was me trying not to giggle as I imagined Jesus looking like Ryan Gosling. But that's not all...

     As I continued to reflect, after the Homily, I pulled out the Gospel reading again. I was looking for any sign of Jesus actually calming the storm before asking Peter to come out on the water. There wasn't any. So you see, the disciples were already sitting in a boat in the midst of the storm when Jesus comes. Now remember, Jesus had to walk through the storm to get to the boat. Jesus doesn't calm the storm; there's not even a brief mention of the sea calming when He walks toward them. But instead, He simply says, "Do not be afraid." Oh yeah...the disciples were already terrified because of the storm. Then suddenly Jesus shows up and says, do not be afraid, but doesn't actually do anything about the storm?! Sounds reasonable (enter sarcasm here). Not only does He not calm the storm, but then He asks Peter to join Him out on the water, which was probably extremely choppy and rough. If anything, the storm is worst out in the water where Jesus is standing, than in the boat, thus, being even more terrifying. Yet, Peter does it. Of course, we know that Peter at one point "thinks about the wind" (I would be more worried about the sharks underneath but to each his own) and starts to slip beneath the water. At this point Jesus, raises him up and says, "Oh you of little faith, why did you doubt?" 

    How often is this our life? As I listened, I felt the reading strike a chord with me. Right now, I'm sitting in my own boat and I can feel the waters starting to get rough and choppy. I can see the storm of uncertainty coming. I don't have a job secured yet; I'm not sure if I'm going to live at home or move out; I don't know what's going to happen in the next few months, weeks, days; I don't know a lot of things. All of this is swirling around me and I can feel the storm coming. So often we see these storms coming; these true storms of uncertainty. Often, we find ourselves begging for the storms to go away, to be calmed, to just stop, much like I was last night. But the storms don't stop; they get worse and we feel we are stuck in our boats. But Jesus will come to us; He will go through the storm to find us. And then, He will ask us to go even deeper into the storm. We see Jesus and we are peaceful, but the moment we start thinking about the storm again, we start to sink. This is when Jesus asks us about our faith. 

     At this moment in my life, I feel Jesus asking me to get in the water. I haven't quite yet left the boat, but I know He is there asking me to get in the water. I see Him and I'm begging Him to calm the storms, but He wants me to go deeper into the storm. He wants to show me that with Him, I can weather the storm. He wants to show me my strength; He wants me to believe in myself. But I think, too, all sailors gain experience by the storms they go through. They are better prepared the bigger and worse storms they might have to weather. This storm now is teeny compared to the storms that will come later in life. Jesus is asking me to go deeper into the storm to better prepare me for the ones I might encounter later in my life. And all the while, He is promising to hold my hand. He is promising to be there with me, either through another person or via carrying me in prayer. Right now I'm looking at the storm and at Jesus, holding out His hand and begging me to get in the water. 

     As I was thinking about all of this, I happened to look over at a dear friend of mine who was seated on the other side of the church. On some mornings, she and I share a pew in the Chapel, so we have truly gotten to know each other by praying with and for one another. She has become a spiritual mentor for me and I am extremely grateful for her presence in my life. Anyway, I was looking around the Chapel and found her seated there with our Pastor's mom. At this point in the Mass, we just knelt down for the consecration. Our Pastor's mom was sitting in her wheelchair in front of the pew my friend was kneeling in. As soon as she knelt down, she reached in front of her and offered her hand. Our Pastor's mom took her hand and throughout the consecration, they held hands. Of course, both both and after this, I had seen moments of similar comfort. On occasion, my friend would put her hands on the shoulders of the dear woman in front of her or offer her hand in a comforting way. It is clear to me that this dear woman, our Pastor's mom, is going through a storm herself. She is aging and the aging process is sometimes terrifying. Yet, my friend is often with her and offering her comfort. It seems to me that our Pastor's mom might be in the middle of her storm, and Jesus is holding her up through my friend. 

     It was these moments through Mass that reminded me of what would happen when I finally get out of the boat. Right now, I'm holding onto my boat, the things in life of which I am certain, which really isn't too much. I can see Jesus in the distance, coming towards me and begging me to get in the water. I used to be a cannon ball girl. That is, I used to jump right in the pool or ocean no matter how cold or rough the waters might be. But now, I'm more reserved. I don't know what's in the water, I don't know what's in my storm, and so it's harder for me to jump out. I know though, that Jesus will be much life my friend. He will offer me a gentle hand to hold, gentle hands on my shoulders or arms, just so that I know He is there. He will hold me up when I start to fear in the storm, too. 

    So why am I holding onto my boat? I'm afraid I'll sink in my fears of uncertainty. I'm afraid. Jesus is telling me, "do not be afraid; do not fear that which you do not know." I know, Jesus, I know. But my human instincts say, "stay in the boat." No one in their right mind would jump in the ocean in the middle of a storm and yet, Jesus did. Jesus walked right into the storm to find me. And now, He's telling me that the only way to survive the storm is if I get in the water. So often, our human instincts don't match what faith says to do. In fact, a lot of times, it feels quite like they are opposing forces. I feel that way now. I know that faith says I will survive if I weather the storm. So, maybe it's time I heed the message. Maybe it's time I just "get in the water." Maybe, like Allie, I need to trust the love of my life enough, and just jump. But until I get the courage to do so, I'll work on making my doubt walk the plank. 

Introducing Mama Mary to the Methodists

"Gentle Mother, Peaceful Dove,

teach us wisdom, teach us love."

- "Hail Mary, Gentle Woman" Carey Landry

     It was time for one of my most favorite weeks of the Summer: Vacation Bible School. I was anxious to be back in the grove of actually doing something with my Summer, but also because I got to spend a week with some of my favorite people on Earth. It's only one week a year that I really get to see them, unless we bump into each other in the neighborhood. But, as Miss Char and I agreed at the end of the week, when we do finally see each other after a year, it's like no time lapsed. And that, my friends, is due to the fact that we carry each other in prayer every day.

     I couldn't wait to meet my group of favorite ladies Saturday morning to help set up for VBS the following week. There is nothing quite like carrying around the giant industrial roll of packaging tape and struggling with every rip. Of course, really I was looking forward to all the hugs and laughter that often come when I'm with them. It's always like being welcomed back into a family. And my favorite part of the morning came when Miss Carol essentially tackled me on the ground with a hug that simply said, "Bec, I've missed you."

     Monday, orange night, the first night of VBS came quickly. Our theme for the week: "Workshop of Wonders." Essentially we were talking about all the ways we can imagine, build, grow, walk and work with God. Of course, every time this was said, the room erupted in a shout of "GEAR UP." I was blessed yet again to be working with the always lovely "Miss Christine" and "Miss Kelsey." Words cannot describe these lovely ladies. They simply amaze me with their selflessness and I've seen it throughout the years. The best part about our trio...we are all the same age. Yep, you got that right: the youngest VBS teachers. We are a triple threat. The night began with a welcome, lots of bathroom runs, and a little bit of anxiety from some new comers. Yet, the end of the night, there was a sigh of relief from all of us: we were blessed with a particularly sane group of first and second graders. That was until Tuesday night came along....

    Tuesday night we were blessed with a few new lovely students. We now officially had a full class: fifteen. The whisper of a blessing of a particularly difficult student joining our class started surfacing and I couldn't seem to figure out which one he or she was. Of course, when we got to the workbook segment of our night (literally only about a half hour into the night), there was no need to guess. It was clear that this particularly difficult child had to be the sticker fiend. As the night wore on, the triple threat team was getting worn out. We were trying everything to get the class to calm down but as many of you know, once one starts, it's down hill from there. 

     The next night seemed to be a level higher than the night before when it came to behavioral episodes for a few of our students. It was then that I began to pray for sanity and patience. At one point, after our game, we had a sit down breathing moment. We had everyone go from our tables one by one and this seemed to work. By Wednesday night, I was feeling so worn out. Two more days, I thought. Then, I realized I never, ever count down to the end of VBS. Something was wrong...but of course, I casually remembered the faces of all the little ones who made it worth it. As much as I and the other members of our triple threat team were feeling worn down by the craziness of our class, I knew that there was God in these hectic moments. 

     Thursday night, I thought it would be a good night. During our songs of praise in the beginning, no one was aggravating another and everyone seemed to line up nicely without having to be asked more than once. This was also the night that I got to the read the story. Sidenote: I absolutely LOVE to read to people. I love reading stories out loud because it just makes me so happy. I also love to do weird voices and stuff so there's that...Anyway, instead of sitting at the table for story time tonight, we had them all sit on the floor around my chair. I asked them all for their eyes. If they weren't paying attention, I simply put my hand on their head. It was like a miracle happened...until the ice cream fiasco. 

      For our activity that night we were making ice cream. You know, ice and salt in a bag with cream, sugar and vanilla in another bag. Shake it up and in five minutes, you should get some ice cream. It was absolutely hilarious to see all our kids shaking and baking their ice cream. They were jumping, laughing, and simply enjoying themselves. We were enjoying watching them enjoy the moment and their eventual ice cream. That was until ice cream suddenly came flying through the air at us. Yes, within seconds we were splattered with some nice sugary ice cream and we weren't exactly happy about it. Of course, this type of outburst required some discipline. So, as you might guess, we needed some isolation from the group. 

      We had two more rotations to go and our dear ice cream flinger was with me for the rest of the night. While the class enjoyed their snack together, we enjoyed snack, just the two of us, at a separate table. What I noticed about this particularly difficult little boy was that when we were one on one, he was well-behaved. He didn't act out because he was getting attention. So, I asked him about his likes and dislikes. He liked reading and drawing comics. For the next half hour, we drew comics. The entire time, I prayed. I prayed to Mary, asking her to help me be a gentle mother to this little boy. I felt a flood of patience come over me and I felt strong enough to deal with this seemingly troubled child of God. Of course, his discipline didn't end there, as we had agreed he wouldn't participate in Music at the end of the night. So, after having a nice chat about how we were going to behave the next night, we sat in the back of the church. After a few moments of not wanting to listen, this little one quickly fell asleep. And I? Well, I continued to pray to Mary. Yes, my friends, I whipped out my Rosary and started praying to Mary in the Methodist church.

     However crazy that may seem, for me, this was normal. Last week, I had been up around school and was out for a run. I didn't have any headphones in or anything, I was simply running and praying. Behind me, at one point, Sister Margaret pulled up and asked me how I was doing. Great, Sister. Then she saw my rosary and let me go on my merry way. Pulling out my Rosary in the most random, peculiar places is something I could probably be known for. So, pulling out my Catholic Rosary in a Methodist church was nothing. Before I left, Miss Carol pulled me aside and mentioned my incredible patience with out little friend. She told me she thought I was much akin to Mother Teresa. Later that night, I posted about praying to Mama Mary as Gentle Mother. When a few of our team commented, I promised to tell the story of Mama Mary and me. 

     On our last night of VBS, I got there a little early to tell the story about Mama Mary. All night while I was praying to Mama Mary for patience and gentleness, the song "Hail Mary, Gentle Woman" was playing in my head. Gentle mother, peaceful dove, teach me wisdom, teach me love. I kept saying it over and over and over. When I laid in bed Thursday night, I realized how great Mama Mary was to me. She had given me the grace to be patient and gentle mother. She had taught me love yet again. As I was telling Miss Carol this, I started to recite the words to the song. Of course, the song begins by chanting the Hail Mary. As I started, Miss Carol finished. I was so confused. It turns out she knew a little bit about Mama Mary already. 

     The thing I love about being with my Methodist family is that we can faith share in incredible capacities. While we may not practice our faiths entirely the same, we can still join together in prayer. We can still talk about Scripture. We can still share things about our faiths...like me sharing about Mama Mary. Working with my Methodist family reminds me of my belief that we can all connect over faith. We can always travel with each other in prayer and that is so important. I love being with them because there are no boundaries to love. Every year, VBS comes at a time when I need it the most. Little did they know, but I needed VBS so much this year. I needed a sense of purpose and it came when I saw the faces of those little children. But more importantly, I needed a chat with Mama Mary. Who would have known that it would be through my Methodist family that I would find a gateway to prayer with Mary, my Mother. Of course, I also really needed a chance to catch up with my dearest Sisters in Spirit and mentors. Shout out to all the lovely people who helped me discover my Catholic faith a little deeper by living out so proudly your Methodist faith. 

Sunflowers and Sisters

"Never say goodbye because
saying goodbye means going away
and going away means forgetting."
- J.M. Barrie

One of my favorite pictures with this lovely lady.
Circa. Summer 2011

      I was mid-conversation with a friend when the phone started beeping telling me there was another call waiting for me to answer. When I saw the name, I immediately cut my friend off and said, "I'll call you back. This is important." I could barely contain my excitement when I heard her voice on the other end. "Hi Sister..." Before I knew it, I was jumping in the car and racing to see her at the Mount. 

     It had been months since I'd seen her last. In fact, as part of our hellos, we were trying to figure out how long. "Well, you were in Chicago for vows," she said. But then I responded, "But I saw you for a few minutes when I stopped over in Chicago before going to Minnesota." We laughed and agreed. Yes, the last time we had seen each other was in passing for only a few minutes. It was enough for a hug before I was off and running to the next state. Yes, it had been months, yet, it seemed as if it was only yesterday we had had our last conversation. It was so easy to pick right back up where we left off the months before. 

     Usually, I write an exact recent moment in my life but today, I'm going to write a piece of my past and a piece of my discernment story. After our brief hour together yesterday, I decided that I would (sleep in and) join Sister for Mass before she headed back "home." She mentioned that she would be leaving right after Mass and I told her that spending time with her in Mass was just as good if not better than talking for an hour. She agreed and so, this morning, I found myself in an all too familiar setting. Together we prayed and celebrated Mass; it was beautiful. As I was leaving, she mentioned that we've been close for a very long time. That's when I said, "This September, it will be eight years since we met." Both of us let that sink in for a few seconds and I hugged her again. Even though I know I'll see her again soon enough (perhaps in a few months), it's always hard to say goodbye to the woman that has been one of the most influential people in my life. 

     Sister David was the first Sister I ever had as a teacher. I grew up with the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament, so I knew nuns, but I never had one as a teacher. We took semesterly Theology classes so I didn't have Sister David until January but I knew who she was and was secretly in awe of her. I couldn't wait to have her in class. When I finally did get to have her in class, I noticed her all around joy. She was always happy, go-lucky, it seemed and there was something about her that I just wanted to share. I remember studying Old Testament Theology with her, I remember her singing with us, I remember her bouncing around the classroom, super excited for the day. I had her 8th period and I remember trying to think of questions to ask her after class just so I could talk with her (I'm such a nerd, still...) One question I asked her in particular was about what I was doing for Lent. I asked her, "Sister, my boyfriend and I are going to be reading the Bible for Lent. Is there any place we should start?" I think part of her was a bit crushed that I had a boyfriend, but she was happy that we would be reading the Bible. To be honest, I don't remember what she answered. At the end of the year, I hung back after class and asked her to sign my yearbook. I hugged her good-bye for the Summer and left the classroom thinking, next year I must get to know her better. 

      Over the summer between Freshmen and Sophomore years, I broke up with my boyfriend and thought it was really time to focus on what God might be calling me to do with my life. (Long story short, I had been talking with my boyfriend about the possibility of being a sister....yeah....he didn't like that very much). Fast forward to maybe early October of my Sophomore year. I spent the night writing and re-writing a letter to Sister David before I finally conjured up the right words. I begged my best friend the next morning to go with me to her office (she was the disciplinarian, you see) so that I could drop the letter off. Lucky for me, she wasn't in her office. So, I dropped it on her desk and BOLTED out of there. I was praying and hoping that she would read it and NEVER SAY ANYTHING TO ME ABOUT IT EVER. But alas, as I was headed into my French class, there she was, waiting for me. "How about you stop by my office tomorrow after school?" Oh no. She read my letter. NOW she wanted to talk about it? I hesitated but something deep down inside forced me to say okay. Yes, little sophomoric me agreed to chat with Sister about my letter. 

       The next day, I found myself down in her office. It was a Wednesday (because that's the day she did detentions) and a dress-down day. We sat in her office for at least an hour and a half as she addressed every single thing I wrote in my letter. You see, my letter was all about how I felt that I was being called to religious life. I told her that I was scared and nervous about saying anything. I didn't know what it meant, I had not a clue what to do about it. She sat next to me and assured me that it was totally okay to be feeling called to religious life. She told me that Sisters are just as human as every other human being. But the most important thing that she told me was that she would be right next to me the entire journey. She would be praying for and with me. I didn't know how true her words were then. But almost eight years later, she's still journeying with me. 

     The rest of my high school career, Sister David became a mentor. She mentored me in everything from my discernment to making college decisions to even research topics for Senior Research Paper. So many of the Sisters at Nazareth influenced me greatly in my four years there but she was the one who listened to my every nun-related fear. I knew come graduation, it was going to be difficult to say good-bye to her. God, however, had different plans. Because today, years after my graduation, I got to laugh with her as if she was my long lost best friend. 

     Sister David never once ceased writing to me when I was at college. Every so often, I would get a letter in the mailbox from her. She loved to write little cards with little messages to people (I even got one this morning). And I, of course, always loved to receive them. When I was home for break, we somehow always managed to meet up. Often, we would go for a walk around school or even her humble abode, just to catch up with one another. She has a memory like an elephant, by the way; she remembered almost everything I ever wrote to her about when I was at college. Of course, last summer she got transferred...not just to a different convent, or to a different state BUT TO A WHOLE OTHER PART OF THE COUNTRY. Needless to say, I thought the world was ending. How was I going to live without my best friend? 

     But here we are a year later, and I've seen her quite a bit. Every so often, we call on the phone and it's like there hasn't been a month's lapse of time between the last time we spoke and that moment. She still writes to me often...in fact, more often than ever before. I'm always getting cards in the mail from her and I'm always sending something in response. She'll be getting one soon enough from me. Seeing her these past two days, even if it only was for a little bit, was a God moment for me. She has taught me so much in her witness of religious life. She has shown me gentleness and kindness. She has shown me tears and faith and love, incredible love for every person she has ever met. But probably the most important thing she ever taught me from day was is that if I wholly and totally depend on God, He will always take care of me.

      As we were saying good-bye today, I tried to hold back tears. Yeah, I know, I'm a big baby, but she's been journeying with me for the past eight years and it's been a very crazy journey. She's listened to my pains, my fears, my hesitations. She's wiped away countless tears (she always has a tissue in her pocket, just in case) and has been a caring shoulder to cry on. Of course, she's also shared many laughs, smiles and good times with me. I laugh so much with her; she is joy. We laughed as we hugged goodbye one more time. I didn't want her to go, but another thing she has taught me is that one must make their home wherever God sends her. Go with God and nothing will go wrong. She told me to listen to my heart. I called her Grandmother Willow. 

     Sister David, a constant companion, mentor and friend, has stood by me on my crazy journey. We shared so much in the little hour that we had together yesterday, just as if it hadn't been months since our last visit together. She's amazing. I secretly think she might be an angel. And she has been such a key player in my discernment story. One of the last things she said this morning was that no matter where I go, it's between me and God and I can't let anyone else influence that decision. No matter where I go, she will always continue journeying with me as my Sister in prayer. I smiled as I walked away and said, "Self. Do not cry. Your mascara will run and you'll look like a fool." So instead, I smiled and already started looking forward to the next time I'll see this beautiful woman of God. Maybe I'll take a road trip soon. As I thought of all my blessings in simply seeing her and praying with her, I couldn't help but remember that in the Chapel, there right in front of the altar, were sunflowers. 

On The Look Out: Maintaining Dignity

"She is clothed in dignity and strength;

she laughs without fear of her future."

- Proverbs 31:25

Picture Courtesy of IU Respect Week 2013
Taken by: Kerry Wagner

     Imagine a group of people sitting around a cafeteria table, or standing around after class in the hallway, or sometimes even after church services on Sunday. It's not something hard to imagine. Perhaps we can even picture ourselves in that group of people. People congregate all the time and what do they do when they do but talk. Sometimes they chat over the weather, recent changes in life, or really anything to keep a conversation going. But on occasion, it's not always the little things being chatted about. Sometimes, just sometimes (a small hint at sarcasm here), the topic of conversation is another person. 

     I can remember a moment from my grade school days so clearly, that I didn't think about until just this past week. We must have been at an anti-bullying seminar or maybe we were talking about it in the classroom. But I remember this question being posed: if you were with a group of friends and they were talking about someone, would you stop them? I remember sincerely struggling and grappling with the question at probably only ten or eleven years of age. I think that's when my love for moral theology was planted. Of course, I think then I was struggling so much with the question because usually I was the one being talked about. It's a rough life when you're well-behaved and introverted, let me tell you. But I think the more I thought about the question, the more I said, yes. I would definitely speak up for the voiceless. 

      Growing up as a product of a very deeply religious and outspoken Catholic family, I learned that the voiceless were the unborn, the homeless, the marginalized. It came as second nature to say that abortion was against my beliefs, and that we had to always bring in food for the food drives to help with the homeless outreach. I remember hearing stories of my grandmother doing radical things to speak up for the unborn and I love those stories. I remember how all the BIG NAME ITEMS were the topics of respecting human dignity. You know, all the big controversial topics = human dignity. But then I started studying morality. That's when I realized that dignity doesn't just concern those big topics of discussion, but the little things, too. Like that question posed to me and my classmates in grade school. 

       This past week, all of these memories of proclaiming human dignity came back to mind. I remember someone saying to me once that I should be honored when I find my name the topic of conversation among others because it means they have nothing better to do than talk about ME. Oh yes, it's flattering really, when your name is on everyone's tongues for seemingly negative reasons. Instead of feeling honored, as it was suggested, I decided to prove the rumors, the talking, false without directly addressing the topic. That became exhausting so I decided to not care. That was so insanely liberating and freeing. Not caring about what others were saying. Wow. I adapted the philosophy of believing that anyone who knew me and actually cared about wouldn't believe the rumors. This is nice, this is so so so nice. 

      But this isn't a post about my woes and anguishes. This is about the dignity of another person. I was sitting in the car when it hit me. Every time we talk poorly of another person, or we spread rumors, OR we even believe a rumor, we lessen a person's dignity. We have no idea what a person may be experiencing in their lives and yet, if we believe a rumor, or talk about that person, we are automatically lessening their human dignity. The worst part is that more often than not, the person being talked about, has no clue. Name calling, spreading rumors, talking about people. It all seems so elementary, doesn't it? Yet, it happens in high school, it happens in college, it happens in the work force, it happens about the older generations. It happens everywhere despite the fact that it is such an elementary concept. Let me tell you a story:

        The other day I posted this status: "I  think something we all need to keep in mind is that we take away the dignity of another person when we participate in gossip or rumor spreading. The truth is, we don't know where another person is in their life nor do we know their struggle. So perhaps we should lighten the burden and proclaim human dignity instead of talking about others. We should be looking out for and protecting our brothers and sisters not looking to lessen their human dignity." I had been really thinking about how much we take away from another's dignity simply by discussing "their image" or their actions. We lessen another's dignity when we talk poorly of them, when we simply discuss their lives by our own judgments. Something had provoked this sudden outspoken post and I expected many to brush it aside BUT the conversation it began seemed beautiful. Those who commented were among the elder wisdomatic figures in my life and each seemed to agree that life would be different if we simply thought about another person's dignity before we engaged in a conversation. That was when I realized that this issue isn't something among young people, but among young and old alike. 

       It's something we all need to stop and think about. Gossip is part of day to day life. It's inevitable that people will talk and I don't think we are anywhere close to eliminating this issue, but we can lessen it by our own actions. I will start with myself. I know I will find myself in group situations and I know gossip, rumors, or talking will occur, but I must find it within myself to refrain and even suggest a change of topic. When we participate in these belittling actions, we take away from the dignity of another person. We perhaps slowly destroy an image, we judge another's mistakes or actions without remembering that we, too, are flawed. 

      So I think back to the question addressed to me as a grade school student: if you were with a group of friends and they were talking about someone, would you stop them? Would I let one person rob another of his or her dignity? Would I allow the voiceless to go on being voiceless? Would I continue to let others destroy an image of someone simply by their words? Or would I stop it? And would I even allow myself to be in a situation where the dignity of another could be the topic of conversation? Can I allow myself to be surrounded by people who abuse their gift of words and use them to take away another's dignity? 

      My job, your job, our job together, is to be on the look out. We need to look out for and protect our voiceless brothers and sisters when their dignity is in question. We must remember that Jesus loves despite flaws and imperfections. We must remember that Jesus would stop a destruction of dignity. We must remember that as we are brothers and sisters, we must stand up for one another and protect each other. We must build up instead of destroy each others' human dignity because we each are worthy of love and dignity. Truth. 

"Think good thoughts and sunbeams will shine out of your face.

You will always be lovely."

- Roald Dahl