Dome is Home #FourMoreYears

"There comes a time in your life when you have to choose

to turn the page, write another book or simply close it."

- Stephen Adler

    I never thought the day would come: moving my younger sister, Mary, into her dorm at Immaculate, my alma mater. No, it's not because I was in denial of her growing up or even that she would want to move away. But rather, it's because Mary always forged her own path and as much as I secretly wanted her so badly to go to IU, I knew she would choose somewhere else. That's when she surprised us all by choosing IU. It's funny because even she never thought she would go there. But God wanted her there and well, let's be real, God gets what God wants. 

    Immaculata was the best four years of my life. I loved high school and I think the real world is kind of rad but IU was different. It was there that I forged down paths of service, discernment, academia, and even relationships. I lived an independent lifestyle and learned so much about myself through all the different opportunities with which I was presented. Sometimes I think, I have no idea who I was before Immaculata and in reality, that's true. IU was where I became someone. It was home, it was comfort, it was sacrifice and sorrow, it was everything I needed in the past four years. And no, it wasn't perfect, but it was what God had in store for me, making it perfect for me despite ups and downs and turn arounds. I loved the school, I still do and probably always will. 

     When it came time for Mary to start her college search, I had all the tips and advice. Apply early. Apply here, here and here, even if you don't want to go there - scholarship money. Don't apply anywhere that requires you to pay unless you really want to go there. Visit every where and ask questions. Go somewhere you feel at home. Naturally she did everything but most of the time, but hey at least she still applied to IU. I remember when I got my acceptance letter - I was overjoyed; the search was over. When she got hers, IU was added to a lengthy list of "places I've been accepted to." Even up until the last minute she was fighting going there. Yet, suddenly, she said, OKAY. I'm going. 

     I remember trying to hide my excitement. I didn't want her to feel like she would be hidden in my shadow. But whenever I would visit I would tell everyone that my sister was going to IU in the Fall. I was so happy, over joyed, that she was going to a place I felt at home. But more importantly, I was PROUD TO SAY THAT MY SISTER, as if she was a big shot, WAS GOING TO IMMACULATA. I thought everyone should know that someone as amazing, far more amazing than I could ever be, was going to Immaculata. I knew she would be the life of a party, do well in school, be known as a friendly gal with a dry sense of humor. She would be the one who will stay up late hours into the night and always be there for people. She would have no qualms about giving her opinion. She was going to forge a louder, stronger path in one year than I did in four years. I was just so proud that she was going there. 

      The night before move-in day, we had a huge argument. I was so upset that I hadn't been able to hang out with her one-on-one in a while, aside from the random target trips. I was going to miss my sister so much more than she even realized. I knew it would be hard for her best friend and our youngest sister, but I wanted some of Mary-time. And I didn't get it. We cried and fought but the next morning, things were back to normal as we packed up my car, piled in and drove the familiar drive to IU. I could do it with my eyes closed (but don't worry officer, I will never do that!) and probably so could she. I can drive from anywhere and get to IU; it's the north of my compass. We naturally picked up wawa on the way and arrived way too early for move in. But at least we were there. 

      Our day was spent moving stuff in and out, decorating, partying with nuns in the dorm and me running around like a chicken without her head. Of course, every where we went, I met someone who I needed to give a hug to and catch up with. Lizzie was fascinated that I knew so many people. Some even asked why I decided to visit on move in day. Naturally, I set them straight. As much as I love IU, it would be crazy to visit on move in day. I explained that my sister was moving in today and everyone was just as ecstatic as I was. They couldn't wait to welcome her in themselves. It's like she was more a celebrity than the president. She has no idea how many people want to know her. 

       When I left that day, I knew that our argument the night before was stupid. I knew that now that Mary was at IU, I would have more one on one Mary-time with her than probably ever before. It's so easy for me to drive up after school one day for dinner or visit on the weekends. She'll probably need someone with a car anyway, to drive her places.  By Sunday, we were sitting next to each other at Mass and dancing, singing (okay that was just me) and laughing at the little things. And yes, we were at Target right after Mass. 

      I hope Mary's IU is like mine, but not just like mine. I hope she forges a new pathway but falls in love with the school just like I did. I hope everyone knows her name from the good that she's done and how smart she is. I hope every professor talks about her behind her back saying that she is great to have in class. I hope she stands on stage so many times and freshmen next year want to be her best friend. I hope all the nuns harass her just like they harassed me and that her work study boss gives her grief every so often. I hope she runs into ups and downs but knows that rotunda launch is only a piece of figurative language. And of course, I hope she somehow gets to go on all the awesome trips I did and more. Maybe even study abroad. No matter what, though, I hope that Dome is Home for her. And that she doesn't mind when I visit...because in essence, it's more like going home for me every time than visiting. 

Pilgrimage (The Catholic Version of a Music Festival) Pt. 1

"If music be the food of love, play on."

- Twelfth Night, Shakespeare

      Most recently there has been plenty of articles about going to music festivals. There's the pre-festival hype, the "how you know you survived (enter name here) music festival," and the post-festival blues. While I've never experienced going to a music festival as huge as Glastonbury or Coachella, I participated in a walking pilgrimage this weekend and based on what Buzzfeed has to say, they are basically the same thing. Only a pilgrimage has way home to offer. 

     While I couldn't participate in the entire 3/4 day walking pilgrimage, I was blessed enough to participate in the last day during which I walked just about ten miles. The group with whom I walked started at St. Adalbert's Parish in Port Richmond and walked for three days to the National Shrine of Our Lady of Czestochowa in Doylestown. That's a lot of miles and a lot of walking. People of all ages partook in the pilgrimage from various different places. Overall, there were about 3000 people at the closing mass. The youngest pilgrim was only a few months old and the oldest was 79 years old. There were families, single people, children, babies, and older people. There were people who spoke only Polish and people like me, who didn't understand a single word. Oh, I forgot to mention that 99% of the pilgrimage was in Polish. So, needless to say, that was an interesting part of my journey. 

      As we walked, we prayed, we listened to faith witnesses, we sang, we danced, we praised the Lord. We made friends, sisters and brothers. Despite not being able to speak the main language of the weekend, I was able to connect with so many people. I was surrounded in so much faith and felt closer to those with whom I walked and prayed. I experienced God in a brand new way and it was beautiful. The faith sharing, the pain from walking so far, the getting to know people on a faith level, was beautiful. 

      We made it to the shrine about 12:15pm and we were to celebrate Mass together at 2:00pm. As we were waiting for Mass to begin, we watched the church get filled and packed like sardines. People were every where, even on the altar. I felt that despite never having experienced something to this capacity, I felt like I knew all about it; like I had read about it some where. Then I saw a few girls walk into the church with those weird flower headband things people wear. That's when I realized, I had read all about something similar this pilgrimage. Music festivals are all the rage and the similarities are insane. Here's what I discovered: 

1. Pilgrimages are filled with music, clapping, and dancing. Just like music festivals (duh). People walk with their guitars and play it at the most random times. All the cool kids have one. There's also drums, violins, flutes; you name it, it's there. People just join your walking group with instruments and play right along with whoever is there. Even when you aren't walking and you're sitting for a break, there's music being played somewhere. If someone can't play an instrument or didn't bring one, there's always a voice to be heard. People who can sing, sing and people who can't sing, sing. There's lots of clapping, dancing, and laughing. The only difference between music at a pilgrimage and music at a music festival? We sing hymns instead of pop culture music. 

2. Showering is few and far between. Basically you shower the morning of the pilgrimage, then walk all day only to sleep on a Church hall floor. There's no showers. The next day, same thing. Walk all day, stop at the Church, no showers. Three days of this. If it rains, you're going to get dirty. To keep packing light, you bring maybe two sets of clothes. You're going to smell. You're going to get sweaty. You're going to have terribly stinky feet. Your hair will be knotty, greasy, icky. You're children will be even dirtier because somehow kids always manage to get dirtier when they do the same activities as parents. You're going to have to get comfortable with the fact that everyone stinks after three days. And don't even think about apologizing for your stench. I repeat, everyone stinks. 

*according to my sources pilgrims do shower. I rest my case, however, because there were no showers in the church hall. They get water...somehow!*

3. You're going to get very close with people. At music festivals one typically pitches a tent in a field of tents. You get to know your neighbors pretty quickly because if not, you'll forget where your tent is. On a larger scale, pilgrimages do encourage you to pack a tent or a hammock. The truth is on a walking pilgrimage, one is never really sure where he or she will be sleeping. In this case, people were camped out on church hall floors. EVERYONE WAS IN ONE ROOM. That's right, babies, kids, parents, single people, everyone. Imagine getting some sleep after a very long day of walking. By day three, you're bound to be exhausted. 

4. You make friends in the most unique ways. In many cases, music festivals bring together people from every language and culture. Pilgrimages, too. Now while this pilgrimage was mostly a Polish pilgrimage, there were still people of many different cultures represented. People say the universal language is love. Most times I agree. But this weekend, there were two universal languages: coffee and God. And since God is love, well I guess the universal language was LOVE. Truth is. It doesn't matter, it didn't matter what language I spoke. People were grabbing my hands, dancing, singing and talking with me whether I understood them or not. You learn how to communicate despite a language barrier (I had a personal translator though which was fun. Thanks, Sister!). The people you walk with are suddenly your sisters and brothers. They hug you, kiss you, make you dance and sing and feel like a complete fool for Jesus. It's amazing. 

5. You are forever changed. A pilgrimage changes you. Whether you walked because you wanted to, someone invited you, or you were basically fighting the Lord and someone dragged you along, you will be changed. You will not be able to recognize your feet after a few days. I kid you not. Your feet will probably be covered in bandages, gold bond and have a number of blisters. You will have terrible tan lines, too. Especially if you're a nun. Talk about only have tan wrists, ankles and ears (but only half way). Your feet, face and hands will be so physically changed. But don't worry, it's only temporary. Your heart will change, too. You will feel a peace, joy and excitement like never before. There is nothing more beautiful to me than a group of people singing, dancing and chanting praise to the Lord. At music festivals you experience the praise and worship of various different rockstars. At pilgrimage, you experience the praise and worship of the ultimate rockstars: Jesus and Mary. Your heart will unknowingly be changed by the sacrifices, the witnesses, the homilies, the sacraments. Your soul will become closer to Jesus and there's no question about it. You will feel this indescribable joy rising in your soul with every drum beat, every clap, every footstep. It feels like a thousand drum beats rising in your soul. It's amazing. 

And finally...

6. You will experience a post-pilgrimage depression. The whole time you are walking, you are walking on public streets and pathways. People driving or walking by will think you are crazy. Yet, as you are walking, you wave and think about those crazy people who do not yet know the truth of the Lord's goodness. Why aren't they joining us? you think. And just when you think that, people run and join the back of the pilgrimage. Your whole life for however many days was simply music, joy, peace, prayer, love behind all description. When you leave, reality hits you hard. You must learn to communicate in a normal way. You will experience a reverse culture shock when you go home. Living your day to day life for Jesus will be difficult again because you are no longer surrounded by people who sing and dance and pray. And as much as you might like to do that all the time, basic reality says, not exactly. However, there are plenty of ways to infiltrate your pilgrimage experience in your every day life. I promise; life after pilgrimage exists. 

     Pilgrimages aren't exactly like Musical Festivals, but the sentiments that people feel when they go to one are similar. I encourage each Catholic young person, child and old person alike to do a pilgrimage. Whether it's a day, three days, two weeks, whatever, do it. Music Festivals are great but here at pilgrimage, there is God. Jesus is present, He permeates this place. He lives and breathes and is so real. You can feel the arms of our loving Mother around you in every hug and embrace. You experience beauty in a whole different way. It's amazing. 

     Of course, the truth is that whether you experience a walking pilgrimage like I did or not, you are a pilgrim. We are pilgrims on a journey from the day of our Baptism. Our life is a journey in finding, loving and living in relationship with Jesus. Our walk from our pews to the altar during Holy Communion is a pilgrimage. It is a reminder that as we live and breathe we are journeying with Jesus.  So journey. Get those good shoes (sandals and socks) on and begin living out your journey for Jesus. You're on the journey, just out your heart in it. Trust me, my sister or brother, pilgrimage is an experience like no other. 

Freedom in God's Will

"Being free is not being able to do whatever you want.
Being free is surrendering to God's will."
- unknown

     I've been riding an emotional roller coast this past week. There isn't much detail I can go into, but my weeks have been filled with lots of time for reflection, prayer, Eucharist and visits with my Sisters. Between running back to school this week to going for walks to teaching a class of first and second graders at VBS, there may seem to be little time for reflection. However, God finds His way in my heart in every little second. God knows my heart and God speaks to me there. 

     My biggest reflection this past week has been on freedom. As Americans, we so often proclaim the word, Freedom. Freedom in so many things and while I could beg to differ that these past two weeks have offered arguments about freedom in the media, I'm not even going to talk about those things. What I would like to offer is a different definition of freedom, one that doesn't include specific rights or abilities to do something. Some may say that freedom is the ability to do whatever we want. On the contrary, freedom is abiding by certain laws. 

     One of my many good conversations this week was about the ten commandments. Many people, even Christians, feel that following the ten commandments is restrictive. Why do we have to follow these ten rules or guidelines? Some people fail to remember that other faith beliefs have many more rules and guidelines; many more than ten. In this conversation, we brought up specific driving rules of the road. When you're driving instructor, whether it's your mom, dad, older sibling, or actual driving teacher, shows you how to drive, some of the number one rules are: stop for three seconds at the stop sign and look right, left and right again, and always stop at a red light. Yes, there are times when people fly through the stop signs and even red lights. But some times when they break the rules, they either get caught by the red light cameras or cause an accident. The rules of the road are meant to protect your car, the driver and the passengers. They exist to avoid accidents and awful patterns of traffic. Sometimes, I find myself in intersections without lights saying, I wish there was a light here. These rules of the road are important and must be followed for everyone's safety.

       The rules and laws of the ten commandments are meant to do the same. They exist to give guidelines on how to positively live life with no incidents. Think about some of them: honor your father and mother, do not covet your neighbors' goods, do not kill, etc. When these commandments aren't followed, someone usually gets hurt whether emotionally, physically or even mentally. Kids who don't listen to their parents usually get hurt in some way. For example, when parents say don't jump off the pool ladder and the child does. The child can get seriously hurt. Stealing usually puts people in jail. As does murdering people. These are basic levels of following the commandments but you can see that even on the top layer, it can end badly. His commandments are meant to protect us. 

      The ten commandments are just meant to protect us, however, they exist to free us. In His laws we are free. We are free from so much more than we can even imagine. Freedom, I offer, is found in following His will. In the past year I have been a witness and a participant in the world. I have been a worldly woman, working a job, enjoying things of the world. I have made time for prayer, but not nearly as much as my heart desired. I have spent time out with friends, bought more dresses than I honestly need, and ate out more than I care to even admit. All of these things are good, but in moderation. However, our world doesn't preach moderation. I experienced that in the past year and I can tell you that my "worldly living" while not extreme as most of the world, definitely was a barrier to my relationship with God. I ran from Him at times, making excuses for one thing or the other. I maintained a minimal relationship with Him. I prayed when it was convenient and went to Mass every Sunday but didn't give myself fully over to the Sacrament. In all these moments of living the life of a worldly defined "successful first year in the real world," I felt restless. I felt bound to something and less free. 

      At times I would catch glimpses of freedom and experience and indescribable peace, peace the world cannot give. In these moments, I was with my Sisters or praying on retreat with my students or allowing myself to be alone in nature. Freedom was in prayer and giving myself over to the will of God. At times I felt I was running away from what He was calling me to and when I finally entertained the thought, I felt peaceful. It began to occur to me that no matter what the Lord was calling me and how restrictive it may appear to the world, I was actually experiencing freedom. When I stopped fighting God's will for me, I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I felt so incredibly free and peaceful. 

     God's Will for us is designed with us in mind. He knows the deepest desires of our heart but He also wants the best for us. He gives us free will to accept His will or not but we must no that we avoid or run from His will, we are missing out on such a huge freedom and peace. I've experienced that peace. I know that it's harder to fight the will of God than to accept it. I have felt the restlessness that comes from fighting day and night, fleeing from the Lord (or trying to at least). But God knew that I would come back and He was ready to offer me peace the world cannot give. The freedom, the biggest freedom we can experience, in His Will, His power, His name. 

B-E-A-U-tiful

"We are all different, too big, too small, too short, too tall. But the beauty of it is that God is still waiting for us anyway."

- S. Natanaela

     My most recent adventures have included a week long intensive course on Beauty and a spur of the moment road trip to Chicago with a nun. Has much changed in my life? Nope. Not at all. While I have been busier than ever in my life, God is still moving in my heart. My course was extremely difficult for me because of many reasons such as the length and intensive nature of the course, as well as the concepts presented. So many times the lectures consisted of various conventions of beauty - how one can label something beautiful. Some presented various definitions of what beauty is, some offered conceptions of beauty and some even gave instances of "real" art versus kitsch. Naturally, I disagreed with most of what was presented because I come from the viewpoint that what is beautiful to me might not be beautiful to someone else. I struggled a lot with the class but the following week of spur of the moment adventures gave me a whole new vantage point of beauty; one that confirmed my own personal beliefs of beauty. 

     My class presented various paintings, images, pieces of art, some literature and even music to us under different lights - good, bad, real, kitsch. I found myself in awe of some beautiful religious paintings while other people thought they were awful. I found certain pieces of music to be beautiful and for others it was painful. On the flip side, some people thought some pieces of music were so outrageously gorgeous while I felt like my ears were bleeding. As a musician, I felt like I had the upper hand. Of course, this isn't meant to be a rant about how much I pretty much hated my class. So I'll steer away from that now. What I want to get across is that what is beautiful to me might not be beautiful to another person. What I find to be the most beautiful things in life, like laughter, sunsets, ripples in the lake, holding hands, and even the faces of those I love, might not be the most beautiful things for others. Of course, for me, beauty is found in the simplest things. I don't need art and music to connect my soul with the divine. I need simply to be made aware by the presence of another soul. 

     My faith in beauty was restored the following week when I found myself driving 13.5 hours to Chicago on a grand adventure. It was a spur of the moment trip with one of my Sisters. I jokingly suggested we go, she jokingly said ok and then eventually we found ourselves traveling at the crack of dawn. She kept saying how hard it was to believe she was there...me, too. Did I really just drive halfway across the country with a nun in my car to go visit more nuns? Yep. Did I love every second of it? Yep. Was I prepared for what the week had in store for me? Absolutely not. 

     When we eventually arrived at the convent, we were greeted so warmly as friends, as sisters. I truly believe that the nuns helped shape me into the person I am today...the person who believes that food is love. I pretty sure every second I wasn't eating, I was asked if I was hungry! But that wasn't the best part; I was also taught how to make some perfect Polish dishes. I cannot wait to try them at home. After we had dinner together with the community, we headed on another adventure. It was during these few days of adventuring all over Illinois, that I had to come up with a paper for my past week's class. In my reflections on beauty I realized some most amazing things. 

      With my sisters, the conventions of beauty do not exist. By this I mean, I barely had to look in the mirror. It didn't matter if I didn't wear make-up, had frizzy hair, or even if I wore the same outfit twice in one week. I looked at my sisters, who in the morning, were just as stinky breathed, frizzy haired, and groggy-eyed as I was. There was no questioning my need for adventure when I jumped in the water fully clothed. It didn't matter how much or how little I ate, how skinny or how fat I was. It didn't matter if my hair stuck out in all the wrong places even though it was in a ponytail. The worldly conventions of beauty did not matter with them and it's not because we were at the convent. Yes, it's true that sisters don't necessarily abide by the worldly conventions of beauty. But the reason I felt so beautiful in my Sisters' presence was because of their radiating beauty. 

      There was beauty in every story they told me about religious life, about their journey to meeting God, about the ups and downs of their day to day life. I found particular beauty in the way they spoke about the hardships they encountered and still experience. I discovered that my Polish sisters are some of the strongest women I know because of all the sacrifices they have made for their vocation. There was beauty in every moment of laughter and trust me, we laughed a lot. I laughed until it hurt. I laughed until I had tears rolling down my cheeks. There was beauty in every Polish accented English word. There was beauty in every search for proper vocabulary. There was beauty in every step we took together or moment we spent. There was even beauty in the silence, too. 

       Many days we visited different holy places, different churches and shrines. In these moments at Mass or in adoration, I prayed so hard. So much was put on my heart, especially in terms of beauty. Religious life is not easy. This is something I have always known. But there is a beauty in it. As Sister David would say, "It's been hard, but I wouldn't change it for the world." I saw the beauty in their deep relationships with God and with one another. I felt beautiful simply by being in their presence. Whether we were walking together, talking together, sitting together, swimming together, whatever, there was beauty. They know that the beautiful is God's creation. The trust in His promise and His endless beauty. There really are no words to describe the feeling of true beauty, except that I know these women are some of the most beautiful women I know. 

       My week was a beautiful retreat in a way, despite it being so full of adventure. I was able to focus so clearly on God this past week. I felt peace and true beauty in being able to be my true self - obnoxious laugh and all. I felt so free in ways indescribable. I felt the love from the Father above and from my Sisters. I felt such immense peace from Jesus. There were many conversations I had that lead me in many reflective ways. Whether it was, "God already knows...you just have to answer," or "I don't think it's a matter of if, but when," I was lead back down the roads from which I have felt distance. I allowed myself to be curious about religious life again and pray like I had once before - freely, openly, with tears, with pain, with happiness. To say this past week was a blessing is an understatement...it was so much more. 

       Toward the end of the week, I found myself entering into conversations I never could have imagined. Conversations that involved me to be so vulnerable and so open with my Sisters. I have kept so much in my heart and pondered my thoughts, but I never spoke them. In my conversations I released some pains, some frustrations but mostly my joys of peace and knowledge of the Lord in my life. My Sisters allowed me to be dramatic at times, laugh and joke, and share my heart. They, in turn, shared their hearts with me. I never expected that such deep, positive relationships could come from this week, but God had different plans. 

      My Sisters opened yet another window to beauty for me. They reminded me that I do not need to be perfect to be loved. They reminded me that the worldly conventions of beauty are impossible and that I am beautiful in my own ways. They reminded me that it's okay to not know what I'm doing with me life, to be afraid, to be scared. But they also reminded me that peace comes from within, from my own relationship with God. Peace doesn't come from making other people happy. Peace and beauty exist when I allow myself to be freely me. They showed me this by their most beautiful example. 

      If I could define beauty, if I could find the right words to even describe this week, I would say, that my Sisters are beauty. They are the pathways to the divine. They are example of service, sacrifice, struggle, and strength. They are my crutch when I need them. They are my best friends. They are my Sisters and I feel so incredibly blessed to have them in my life. They have been examples of joy and peace...what happens when one surrenders to God's will. And at this moment, I feel like saying, "I'm back in the game!" I'm back in touch. I've wiped the dust from my feet. I'm ready to do His will, whatever it may be. Because at this moment, I feel peace, joy, and above all, beauty. True beauty; His beauty. There aren't adequate words to truly and fully describe how God moves the heart. But I can say that His moving in my heart lead me to tears many times this week and that's better than any words. I tried my best, but nothing will ever truly grasp how beautiful God's presence in my life was this week. 

Blessed Are the West Virginians

"Not that others should have relief

while you are burdened, but as a matter of equality,

your abundance at the present time should supply there needs

so their abundance may also supply your needs. "

- 2 Cor 8:13-14

The JusticeWorx Team with Bill and Addie Likens

     It's been one busy month since I've last blogged. Between the end of the school year, Graduation festivities for my students and my Sister, conferences and planning trips and meetings, I've barely had enough time to enjoy the Summer sun and the backyard pool. However, Monday allowed me to sleep in a little bit, go to 8:00 am Mass, come home and make breakfast for me and my Sisters, and hang out after unpacking from my most recent adventure. Summer is finally here, people, and I can finally "relax."

     Last week was the last "official" school-related event for the school year. Yes, I know classes have been over since the first week in June, but still, there were conferences and service trips to be run. This past service trip was to Dunlow, West Virginia, where Bill and Addie run the town. As a part of JusticeWorx Camp, an event run by the Center for Faith Justice in new Jersey, we drove ten mini vans down to the bottom of West Virginia. It took us nine hours and three stops to get there. After our long drive up, down and around the mountain range, we pulled into the stone parking lot of the Dunlow Community Center where we unpacked and set up shop. My girls spread out cots and sleeping bags in every which direction upstairs and I took shelter in a little side room with two other chaperones. There were 20 girls and 28 boys from a brother school in New Jersey (don't worry they stayed somewhere else!). What an adventure it already seemed to be. I could hardly wait for the week. 

     We spent the week in prayer and service in love of the Lord. Ten service groups broke up to go different places including refurbishing a shed into a home for a woman who had been beaten almost to the point of death over a quad and was now living in her parents' backyard because no assisted living was available in the area, putting in brand new windows for a man with MS who had been a huge part of the community for years, shopping, organizing and running the monthly food pantry and clothing donation give away during which we fed 141 families from all over the area (up to 2.5 hours away) and redoing a floor in Miss Mary's bedroom and hallway because her original floor was giving in. We also helped paint and clean up the community center toward the end of the week. My students were faced with my challenges all of which they accepted and accomplished. I watched my students learn how to respectfully speak with people who spoke a different type of English, organize fruits, veggies and foods in so many different ways, utilize teamwork, use power tools and of course, serve the dear neighbor living in rural poverty. 

      My students also were given opportunities to explore various types of justice according to the Seven Themes of Catholic Social Teaching. We explored environmental justice, economic justice and so much more. We talked about poverty in urban and rural settings, our carbon footprint, what we could do to change it. We also experienced many different ways to pray. It was a beautiful experience for so many of them and I know we will be coming back, for sure, next year. 

     Often, I see things through the eyes of justice. Fairness and Justice are two different things and so may say, "well that's not fair," but for me, I see things by saying, "that's unjust." Poverty is awful and I think often of all the places I've been so privileged to go because I was financially able. I was able to go to a place, serve and then go home, back to the comfort of my own financial status. One thing I heard so often through the week was, "I'm out of my comfort zone." While that's so good for people, I often wonder how much it sticks when we go back to the comfort zone. I've never felt hunger because I didn't know where my next meal was coming from. I'm willing to bet neither have most of my students. Yet, we were working with people who may not know that. Considering that the nearest store was 45 minutes away, people might not be able to afford getting to the store, either. I saw a lot of injustice in the world last week and I felt so blessed to have experienced that. 

      I teach Catholic Social Teaching at my school and I love it. I love Theology but my favorite thing to teach is ethics. It makes people think about the rights and the wrongs of society. One of the first things my students were told when we arrived in WV was that each day they would be allowed 4 minute showers each. That's it. When they started grumbling, I spoke up and said, "I take about a five minute shower every other day before school. I can still function as a human being. You can do it, too." I believe in practicing what I preach. Like I've said, I have never felt the pinch. But that doesn't mean I can't live in solidarity with the people I serve. So, as much as I teach I try to practice. It's not always easy, but it's certainly possible. I challenge my kids to do the same. 

     What they all saw this week was everything I teach in reality. Everything I tell them about, yes, it really exists. But the most important part the realized was the importance of my first lesson every time I start a new class - the importance of names and stories. People. We are so far away from the poverty and the injustice of society because we fail to recognize that it's OTHER people involved. My students even commented on this many times. I challenged them to get to know as many names and stories as possible. And they certainly rose to the occasion. They sat with so many people at the food pantry, they sat with the owners of the houses on which we worked and they sat with one another. It was beautiful to see God's work at hand. 

      I was sitting in my pew on Sunday, the day after we drove nine hours home in perpetual pouring rain and storms, and thinking about the past week. I heard the above Scripture quotation and took it as a little nod from God - you done good, kid. But not me, my students. They gave from what they had and allowed the poor to become friends with them. I saw so many beautiful things and it was mind-blowing. I told my kids every day how proud I was of them. When I heard that verse, I thought, and this is why I do the things I do. It's in Scripture, number one, but it's God calling me onto holiness through solidarity with my brothers and sisters. Blessed are the poor in spirit...blessed are the West Virginians. 

A Weekend of Infinite Forevers

"I guess sometimes the greatest memories are made 

in the most unlikely of places, 

further proof that spontaneity is more rewarding

than a meticulously planned life."

- J.A. Redmerski, "The Edge of Always"

     For many people, Memorial Day weekend is the unofficial start to Summer. It means weekends down the shore or up the mountains. It means the first sunburn or sun tan. It means boating, swimming and camping. And of course, it means BBQs. It's the beginning of joyous season of summer, a final awakening from the dead of Winter. And it's the false hope for teachers that Summer has begun where in reality there are a number of weeks left (haha!). Memorial Day Weekend is the time to be with family and friends, enjoying the simple times allowed to us as a result of the many lives lost during our wars. As I read on the church sign at Our Lady of Fatima, "before you party this weekend, remember while you can."

     My weekend was no exception to this stereotypical holiday weekend. On Friday, I ventured down to the great unknown - Delaware - to visit my best bud from college, Theresa. We enjoyed a walk to the Asian Fusion place for lunch, cuddling and entertaining her brothers' puppies, chatting, ordering pizza for dinner with her parents and just being with one another. We spent hours just talking to one another without the distraction of cell phone calls or texts (save for the important ones from parents). We were with one another in wholeness. It was spontaneous togetherness. 

     I also enjoyed hosting a bbq for my high school girl friends on Saturday night as we commemorated the spontaneity of our dear friend as she gets ready to hit the road for California. Not just a beautiful road trip adventure but a journey of continuing life - she's moving. I enjoyed grilling burgers, dogs and chicken of every seasoning as well as planning salads and fruit and drinks. I love being that Suzie homemaker party hostess. I got so much enjoyment from running to the stores so I could prep everything to getting creative in the kitchen with the ingredients we had laying around the house. I love being in the kitchen and creating enjoyment from food. I even said to my best friend from high school, so many people these days wish they could have someone come over and cook for them. I'm the friend who wants everyone to come over and eat. Maybe that's me being Italian and wanting to feed everyone on the street and their friends, too. I love food - so much happiness in my life has been surround by food of every kind. I can't help it. 

      As we sat around the fire eating and sharing stories, it was once again the spontaneity of togetherness. I looked later for some pictures of the night - I had three. We were living in the moment and being together. It's so difficult sometimes to really be together but there we were laughing and enjoying every moment. People came and went but despite the group of people always changing, we maintained the atmosphere of togetherness - true togetherness. As the last few of us remained, we began talking about plans for the Summer - plans to be spontaneous. Plans to spontaneously go down the beach to be exact. We laughed and said we were all too busy for something spontaneous. The irony of that comment was that almost every time we planned to do something together we never could; every time we spontaneously asked around, we were able to do something. As we continued talking, someone said, "Let's go to the beach - now." Before any of us could chicken out, we were in the car and headed to the beach. 

      There were four of us in the car and I was driving as we blasted the radio with the windows down. My friends were dressed in every one of the sweatshirts that had just been washed and now smelled like campfire. We were far from prepared for the cold wind of the beach at night but hey it was so worth it. We pulled in the first beachy area we knew and walked along the shore. We picked shells (and golf balls) and collected sand as a memory. We took a few pictures of nothing but darkness. We linked arms and walked down along the water, struggling with the shifting sands underneath our feet. We admired the stars for they were truly glorious. All this at about 12:30 at night. We got home around 2:30 and appeared to be one of the very few cars on the road. When my head hit the pillow that night, my best friend was on my floor, our feet were dirty and yet we slept better than before. Spontaneity yields much peace. 

     Mary Kate and I woke up to get to Mass and did a list of things we hadn't planned - omelettes at the diner and visits with one of our favorite high school nuns at Mount Nazareth. We drove around, laughed, shared even more stories and enjoyed the time together. Eventually when we got home after all our "spontaneous errands," I took a nap. When I woke up I played some music, did some artwork, went for a run with my dog, all things I hadn't planned on doing. It was just me and my parents so naturally there wasn't a laundry list of things to do. Hey, I even watched an episode of Grey's Anatomy - because, well, why not? 

     My Memorial Day consisted of going to Mass, watching the yearly small town USA parade with my dog and kid neighbors, lounging around in a pool, and going to another BBQ hosted by my friend's fam squad. We ended the night with my little sisters roasting marshmallows in the backyard. 

     When I got ready for bed last night, I remember watching all these memories stream through my mind. One of my friends said that when he looked to the sky, he just realized how much he wished that the day could go on forever because it was such a good one. In the words of my students, retweet. In real people speak, same, so same. These past few days have perfect and as I sit back to think about why they seemed so perfect - togetherness and spontaneity. Nothing about my weekend was really planned and I had allowed myself to be together with people I care about. It's so rare that we get the blessing to be spontaneous or to relax. We have to make time to make time. We have to pencil in every activity but we also need to pencil in relaxation time. My friends joke that they need to book a year ahead of time to get on my calendar and I pathetically have to agree. I don't like how busy my calendar is and yet, there seems to be no way around it. This weekend, I had nothing planned and as I was driving to Delaware I felt peaceful in knowing that this was going to be a weekend of random togetherness with so many people.
      My goal this Summer is to avoid filling in the blank days on my calendar. Each time I find myself looking to pencil something in, I'm going to stop and take a breath...then remember that I have a river in my backyard waiting for random dates with me and the kayak, a couple of little sisters that are waiting for ice cream and a grill waiting for me to get creative in the kitchen. Amen to spontaneity.

P.S. I Love You - Remembering Sister Sandi

"Death leaves a heartache no one can heal;

love leaves a memory no one can steal."

- Irish Proverb

      "Happy Birthday...dear, dear Becca. It was so good seeing you again. You did a great job with the girls...and they love you. Seems like you found your ministry. Just like Jesus the Teacher! Have a beautiful birthday, my friend, filled with the choicest of God's graces - whatever your heart needs! Put this towards a little treat and think of me. Love and prayers, always, your Sister, Sandi."

      I came home from a wickedly emotion week at work today and saw on the dining room table a few brightly colored envelopes with my name on it. There's nothing I love more than getting letters in the mail. This is day three of being blessed with such a thing and of course, I smiled when I saw my name on the envelopes. I carried my bundle of stuff up the stairs and sat on my bed to open the envelopes. I needed a smile - this week was a tough one. 

      The first envelope came from my great aunt Bunny (no, that's not her real name, but she'd kill me if I told you what her real name was). A simple pink envelope with a little birthday message scribbled inside. In a few days she will call me to see if I got the card and we will have a little conversation about missing each other and hoping to see each other soon. I'll thank her for remembering me and we'll hang up with an "I love you." A few days later, I'll write her a thank you note just to remind her that I got the card :) 

      The second envelope had a strange message written between the lines. The return address label read typed: Sister Sandi and then scribbled in pen next to it: & Sister Lucille. I didn't want to open the envelope. I was so scared to see what was inside. I sat the envelope back down and sat for a few moments before I got the courage the open the envelope. Inside the pastel yellow (my favorite color) envelope, was a little diddy card and in the card was the following message, five dollars and a cut out page from the Angelus book about the St. Rebecca, a nun from the 19th century. I couldn't even get through the first sentence without starting the sob. When I realized tears were rapidly dripping down my cheeks, I made a careful notion to not get any tears on the ink. I didn't want to smear the last handwritten note I'd ever get from her. 

      Sister Sandi, my dear friend, passed away last Sunday. I was dressed as a woman from the 18th century at a Revolutionary War Reenactment when suddenly my phone went off. A text message from one of the Sisters letting me know that Sister Sandi had gone home to God. A few hours later, I got a phone call from another one of the Sisters ready to have that tough conversation with me. I remember standing for a few moments reading the words on my phone. That dramatic thing that happens when someone gets bad news in hollywood, where they drop everything and start sobbing? Well, that happened to me. I dropped my phone and just started walking. I eventually say on a bench near the Potomac River and cried. 

      Exactly a month ago this week, I interrupted Sister Sandi's prayer in the Chapel in Chicago for a hug. The little woman who stood only a few centimeters shorter than me, smiled gently when she looked up at my face and walked with me to the hallway. It was there that we joined in a hug that was so tight, making up for the distance and the time since we had last seen each other. She so graciously hugged and joyously welcomed each of my students and my fellow faculty member as they entered the doors to Chapel before Mass. There was something good about being home and I knew part of it was being with my Sister, Sandi. 

      The rest of the week we saw each other here and there because although we were living in the same convent for the week, we both had very different schedules. I mean, after all, I was there with my students on a service trip and she had her daily life to attend to. However, we would always engage in wonderful conversation when we had the time. She was so gentle, as always, with my students. I knew that she loved them because I loved them and there would be no question about that. She asked me about the family and every day another little surprise would show up at my bedroom door labeled: for mom, for dad, for Mary and for Lizzie. My little surprise came on the first day - a hand written welcome note, as per her tradition. 

      I met Sister Sandi because of my little sister. A number of years ago, I was home from school and it was a huge weekend at the convent: Sister Anne was making her final vows. I decided to go over to the school, where the ceremony was being held, to see if there was any help needed to set up. Naturally, I dragged my little sister into it. She had to have been only six at the time. I remember so clearly how I had been upstairs in the Chapel with her when Sister Mary Joan asked Lizzie to go with her - she had a job for her. My Sisters could always be counted on for making any member of my family feel welcome and useful and appreciated. After a while, I went downstairs to see what kind of work Lizzie was getting herself into. I saw the following interaction taking place:

      Lizzie was running back and forth between tables setting them with utensils. However, she wasn't doing it all at once but rather spoon by spoon, fork by fork and knife by knife. She was getting each spoon, fork and knife from this little nun sitting down at a table. This little nun just happened to be Sister Sandi, who introduced herself and began to tell me how much she loved my sister. She came from Chicago and over the course of less than 24 hours I immediately felt like I had found a new friend. After the ceremony the next day, I was standing outside with Sister Sandi when she asked me if I had ever thought of religious life because I was truly make a good fit. I hugged her and just knew that she would be a beautiful confidant and prayer partner. 

       In the course of knowing Sister Sandi for four and a half years, she never failed to send me or my sisters a birthday card, Christmas card and Easter card. Whenever I would visit Chicago, she either picked me up or dropped me off at the airport. Of course, regardless of her airport duty, she would always have a little welcome note in my bedroom. She would always make time to have a little conversation with me. Some of the most memorable conversations include all the times she told me that she would love me no matter what community I enter, all the conversations we had about our gifts and talents, and all the conversations where we cried because of God's goodness. She was so gentle, so loving and always up for fun. She had a great laugh, a great knack for friendship and a huge love for Culver's Ice Cream ("it's tradition!"). 

       Tonight is Sister Sandi's viewing and I can't tell you how many times I searched every flight website for a low cost flight this week. I was obviously dreaming. I contemplated driving out for the day for her funeral tomorrow, but there would be no way I could do it. I wanted to be there but I knew that she would always be with me. I got her Birthday card to me today on the day of her viewing. Tomorrow is my birthday and the day of her funeral. I'll be spending morning Mass with our Sisters in prayer for the repose of her soul - I know she's dancing in Heaven right now. I know that she was so ahead of her a game that she had had my birthday card written and sealed and addressed probably before she had her knee replacement surgery. She was just waiting to mail it. 

        Of course, typically, I would write Sister Sandi a thank you note. I know she wont' receive it but if I were to write one it would say: My dear, dear Sister Sandi. I can't thank you enough for the card and in an envelope of my favorite color, too! I think I'll save your little gift for the next time I come to Chicago - Culver's on me? It was so good seeing you over our Spring Break trip. The girls LOVED being there and I know they LOVED you. You're such a wonderful woman of God and I am so glad you're in my life. Praying for you always. Love, your Sister, Becca. P.S. I love you."

        Had I known that my goodbye to her right before we journeyed home from Chicago was going to be my last time seeing her, I wouldn't have done anything different. I gave her a squeeze, told her I'd see her soon and that I'd be praying for her. Of course, I finished our goodbye with an "I love you." There's something I love about my Sisters and it's that they always know how important those three little words are to me. They always know that I'm going to say it and they always know that they need to say it in response. So when I told Sister Sandi that I loved her, she put her hand on my cheek and said, "You, too, kid, you, too."