Leaving

Our house community in our chapel together
last week.  Picture courtesy of Romina!

I sat down in the chapel late last night when the house was quiet.  I couldn’t let the day be over just yet, knowing that the morning would bring leaving.  I opened my journal and wrote a heading for an entry: “Last Night as an Affiliate in Casa Caridad – June 11, 2013 – 11:30pm.”  I sighed and looked around, wondering how many hours I had spent cross-legged on that little floor pillow, in prayer with my community and our loving God.

Just before I began to write, I remembered that each page of my journal contains a different Bible verse.  I glanced to the bottom of this so-far empty sheet to see today's nugget of wisdom.

My jaw dropped.

“The Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.” (Psalm 121:8)

I smiled through my tears.  Okay, I hear You, God, I thought.  You’ve got this.

I’d been feeling as ready as I could feel for the move from El Paso back to Cincinnati.  Then last Tuesday, I had my small obligatory pre-transition freak out as I spent probably seven hours straight going through belongings and packing.  That physical act always gets my anxiety going.  Suddenly, my somewhat settled life was becoming fragmented into a bunch of suitcases.  I realized that soon my room wouldn’t be my room anymore.  The trust I felt before was MIA.

On Wednesday morning after my frazzled afternoon and evening of packing, I met with my spiritual director, Veronica.  Sensing my unsettled heart, she looked me in the eyes and told me, “The Paschal Mystery is at the center of who we are as Christians.  And you, you’re living it right now.

“Transition involves a lot of letting go.  Well, really, this whole time of discernment has involved a lot of letting go.  You’ve had to die to ideas of yourself and your life that will no longer come true.  You’ve had to let go of control, of knowing where and how God will you use you, of the security of a romantic partner, and many other things.  Now you’re letting go of “Affiliate Tracy” or “El Paso Tracy.”  Like death, this letting go hurts.  But we know that death is not the last word.  All of this death has made room for new life.  And it’s all been happening simultaneously.  Tracy, things are RISING in and for you!” she said.   

She’s right.  In this moment, there’s mourning happening, but there is much treasuring and rejoicing and looking forward to.

Loved ones at Proyecto Santo Nino in Mexico
that I carry in my heart as I go

 In prayer last night, I scanned the many faces that represent people I have loved and have loved me in my almost three years at the border.  On a walk with Janet and Romina this morning, I tried to soak in the big Southwest sky, the sounds of the birds, the beauty of the pecan groves and this year’s cotton crop just sprouting up.  As we drove along I-10 to the airport, I tried to swallow up the Franklin Mountains, Mt. Cristo Rey, and the view of the tiny houses of Mexico just beyond the border fence.

In the same instant, I imagined that beautiful red brick building overlooking the Ohio River that the Sisters of Charity of Cincinnati call home.  I imagined all of the hellos that would follow these stinging goodbyes.  I felt the warmth that comes from spending some time in Fairfield with my beloved Mom and Dad who I never get to see quite enough.  As our plane landed in Cincinnati tonight, I celebrated the lush green Midwest terrain and rivers that stretched out before my eyes.

Leaving – somewhere, or something, or someone – always seems to show me the expansiveness of the human heart.  In saying good-bye, we behold all of the gifts of the phase that is ending and open ever-wider to all of the gifts that will come.  We cry because we have loved deeply.  We hope and rejoice because we will love deeply.  How is it possible that our hearts are able to contain so much at once? 

A bursting heart!

As I shared teary-eyed hugs with loved ones before heading through security at the El Paso airport today, I felt it all.  There was love, joy, pain, fear, excitement, gratitude, memories, faces, places, moments, feelings, hopes, dreams, and more love.  A bit like in The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, my heart swelled and throbbed and maybe even grew.  As Romina said today, our lives are so full!  These moments help me to stand in awe at the fullness of my life.  And at the infinite nature of God's love.

Tonight, Mom and Dad picked me up and brought me back to Fairfield, Ohio.  I ate delicious leftovers from the dinner Mom cooked last night.  We watched some episodes of Seinfeld.  Dad and I each had one of his home-brewed beers.  Now, sitting in my childhood bedroom, I'm surrounded by pictures and trinkets from my grade school and high school days.  I feel so far removed from the younger Tracy that this room represents, but I’m not separate from it.  It is all a part of me, just as these three years in El Paso are ingrained in my soul and will be with me wherever I go.

God is watching over us now and forever – our coming, our going, our staying, our starting, our seeking.

As I go to bed tonight, words that surfaced in my heart during community prayer this morning surface again.  It's an itty-bitty prayer that perhaps can sum up today’s bursting-heart experience of leaving:

“For all that has been, 

Thank you. 

For all that is to come, 

Yes!”

(― Dag Hammarskjöld)

Home

How in the world did this Midwest-grown girl end up in El Paso, Texas, anyway? 

The question surfaced last week as I reflected on the last few years in light of impending life changes.  My time at the U.S.-Mexico border is coming to an end, at least for now.  Andrea and I will move into a community near the Sisters of Charity Motherhouse in June to begin the next step in formation, Novitiate.  Of course, my heart is full with many emotions about the looming transition.  I shared some of those emotions with our neighbor, Dominic, and he offered this centering advice: Whenever I find myself in an unsettling moment, I think about how God has carried me to, through, and beyond all of my previous unsettling moments.  I smiled, knowing the words to be true.  When I look back and connect the dots that led me to today, it’s easy to see God’s fingerprints all over the story.

With neighborhood children and UD friends Ali and Kaitlin
in Anapra, Mexico, Spring 2006

During my sophomore year at the University of Dayton in 2006, Sr. Laura Leming, who I mentioned in my last post, encouraged me to go on a Spring Break Border Immersion trip to El Paso and Ciudad Juarez, Mexico.  Our immersion was directed by Annunciation House, a shelter for undocumented migrants in El Paso (that I ended up volunteering at after moving here).  We stayed in one of their houses, Casa Emaús (Emmaus House), in Anapra, Mexico, and spent the week visiting outreach and human rights organizations on both sides of the border.  I’ll never forget crossing the bridge into Mexico for the first time.  We peered out of the white van at the fences, floodlights, patrol cars, and barbed wire that stood as a strange and appalling division between our countries.  It was the first of many eye-opening moments.  I had never been in a neighborhood like Anapra, and I had never seen so up-close the struggles facing people living in poverty, especially those in migration.

Anapra

The experience of meeting and talking with fellow human beings who live in such desolation, violence, and injustice seeped into my heart and moved something in it.  I clearly remember sitting on the porch of Casa Emaús the last night.  I stared pensively over the tiny houses and absorbed the sounds of dogs barking and Hispanic music that floated into the warm night air. I wrote these words in my journal: My life is never going to be the same.

My time at the border stayed with me, and I grew ever more passionate about understanding the plight of the modern-day immigrant.  I added a minor in Sociology and studied abroad to strengthen my Spanish skills.  When it came time to develop my Honors thesis project as a Junior, I knew I wanted to study something in the ballpark of immigration.  Dr. Theo Majka, professor of Sociology and resident Immigration expert, agreed to advise me on a project that would send me back to the border for research.  When I presented the idea to the Director of our Honors Program, however, she said that their office could not financially support me in a project that would take me to a potentially dangerous place (Before the drug violence escalated in 2008, Ciudad Juarez was known for a horrible femicide).  I was crushed.  Now what?

Clare and I in 2012 when she visited
me in El Paso and we both ran the
half-marathon!

First things first - my boyfriend took me to our favorite Mexican restaurant to cheer me up.  The next day, I had lunch with Clare Acosta (nee Strockbine), a grad student at UD and wonderful friend and mentor.  I told her everything and asked if she might have any ideas on how to adapt the project and do it in the Dayton area.  She put her utensils down, and looked at me intently.  “Tracy, you are GOING to the border!  You HAVE to!  Go home tonight and write a fundraising letter.  Send it to as many people as you can think of.  This is going to happen.”  How could I say no to her enthusiasm?  I know now that hers was the voice of God. 

Later that night, I wrote and revised furiously.  I sent the request for funding out at 4 a.m. to anybody and everybody - departments, organizations, and people - I could think of that might have funds to support me.  After crashing and getting up at 9 a.m. for class, I sleepily opened my laptop.  To my utter shock, in my inbox were reply emails guaranteeing hundreds of dollars already.  By the end of the day, I had been offered more financial support than I needed. I was going to the border!

L to R: Carol, Janet, and Peggy at Proyecto Santo Nino
Easter 2013

Now, I could make plans.  I started putting out feelers to find places to stay and people to interview.  A quick online search of universities in El Paso took me to the Campus Ministry page for the University of Texas at El Paso (UTEP).  I emailed the Franciscan priest who was listed as the Director, Fr. Henry Beck.  He replied quickly and told me about a small community of Sisters who lived outside of El Paso and often offer hospitality at their home.  A day later, I received an email from one Sr. Janet Gildea saying that she and her housemates, Sisters Carol and Peggy, would be happy to host me.  I could never have guessed then the profound inspiration and love these three women would bring to my life.

I spent my week doing research with the Sisters here at Casa Caridad.  I even stayed in the room that is now my bedroom.  I visited their clinic, Clínica Guadalupana, on the East side of El Paso.  They shared evening meals and wonderful conversation with me.  Sr. Janet took me over to Mexico to visit their clinic for children with special needs, Proyecto Santo Niño.  I was in disbelief as we pulled up to the little white building.   It was right next door to Casa Emaús where I had stayed almost 2 years before during the immersion trip.

Me with Sr. Janet and friend in front of Proyecto Santo Nino
November 2007

Casa Emaus is the white building with brick pillars;
The sliver of a building to the right is Proyecto Santo Nino

My experience with the Sisters impacted me greatly, but becoming one of them was just not really on my radar then.  Even still, I stayed in touch with Sr. Janet, and when I started to feel “the call” in Ecuador, my mind wandered to Casa Caridad.  Perhaps I could volunteer with them, I wondered.  The pull to the border that I felt at UD had not gone away.  Although the thought scared me, maybe, just maybe, living and working with them would be the perfect way to get a no-strings-attached closer look at what it is to be a Sister. 

Well, as you know, the rest is history.  Although I grew up in Cincinnati, it took going over 1,500 miles away to find the Sisters of Charity of Cincinnati.   The Motherhouse is less than a mile away from the house where my Mom grew up.  How many times did we drive those roads to Grandma and Grandpa’s home in Delhi, never guessing that my future home would be right around the corner?  God is so darn clever!   I finally met Fr. Henry Beck, who had “e-introduced” me to Sr. Janet, in person in 2011, shortly after I decided to enter the SC’s.  “This is all your fault, you know,” I told him, smiling.  “Oh, I’m so glad!” he replied and wrapped me in a hug.

Beloved Casa Caridad

These last few years have been so blessed.  The border continues to be a special place.  I’ve found purpose and grace in my service at Annunciation House, Proyecto Santo Niño, and Sacred Heart Church.  And Casa Caridad – oh man.  It’s a place that holds for me memories of great joy, pain, growth, and love.  It’s a place that set my heart on fire and filled it with dreams.  It’s a place that holds people who have become my family.  It is home.

Annie with Mia at Proyecto Santo Nino
during her visit to the border in May

There are moments of sadness when I wonder how I’ll ever be able to leave Casa Caridad. At the same time, there is excitement, gratitude, and a deep sense that all is as it should be.  I felt that yesterday when Romina, Peggy, and I “Skyped-in” to my friend Annie’s beautiful Pre-Entrance Ceremony at the Motherhouse, her first official step of discernment with the SC’s.  Admiration, pride and love for Annie abounded as she said a brave “yes” to the journey with her parents and Sisters by her side.  After the ceremony, we waved and chatted excitedly with them on the screen, and the palpable sense of family made it feel like we weren’t halfway across the country.

And so, I was reminded: as I leave one home, I am going to another.  Sometimes life is funny this way.  God blesses us with “family” in many places along the journey, and all of the sudden, “home” could never be contained in just one of them.  Andrea and I will be welcomed by our Sisters of Charity family, especially by Sr. Donna, the Novice director, and by Sisters Nancy, Maureen, Carol, and Terry, who will be our new house community.  And I’ll be in same city as my biological family for the first time since I left for college.

As I talked the transition over with my spiritual director, Vero, she reminded me the most important thing in all of this – that as I go, no matter what’s happening around or inside me, I can and must hold on to God.  I go forward with hope, knowing that the sneaky, creative, and wonderful God who brought me to the border in the first place is the same One who walks beside me into the future.  When we know our true home to be in God, of what should we be afraid?  Bring on the Novitiate!

The Call (Part II)

The wonderful Sister Laura and I at my graduation
party in May 2008

Well, after the initial freak out and refusal to believe that any of this was happening to me, I opened slowly to the idea of becoming a Sister.  I told my house community in Ecuador over dinner one night, and I let my Mom and a few close friends know over the internet.    I sent an S.O.S. email to Sr. Laura Leming, a Marianist sister who had been my professor and mentor while at UD.   Her wise and caring response closed with these words from Julian of Norwich:  All shall be well!  All shall be well!  All manner of things shall be well!



I wanted to believe her and Julian, but I truthfully didn’t see how things would ever be well again if I was being called to be a Sister, mostly because I had no real idea of what becoming a Sister means.  Even growing up in a Catholic family and attending sixteen years of Catholic school, I wasn’t really encouraged to consider that my vocation could be something besides marriage.

I grew up hearing “Vocation Prayers” at my parish.  If you’re Catholic, you’ve probably joined in saying one of these at the end of a Mass or two.  It’s a prayer that we say to ask for God to call “laborers into the harvest.”  Although sometimes these prayers include all vocations, most often they focus on the priesthood and religious life.

I always thought the prayers sounded a little desperate.  They gave me the sense that our Church valued Brothers, Sisters, and priests, but that becoming one was not really something someone in their right mind would choose to do.   And so we had to beg God to rope people into it:  Pretty pleeeease with sugar on top, God, force some poor suckers, but not us (or not our kids and grandkids), to take one for the team!   

Little Me always felt a sorry for the unsuspecting victims whom God picked after hearing the Vocation Prayer enough times.  They would now have to join that group of people separate from normal human beings who don’t get to have a wife or husband or kids or money and have to do whatever they’re told.  What a drag!

Once God started pestering me into becoming one of those “poor suckers,” I grew to resent the Vocation Prayer.  I watched my fellow Catholics mouth the words all too calmly. “Easy for you to say,” I thought indignantly.  Those people had no idea what they were doing to my life with all that stupid vocation praying!

Of course, I’m saying all of this a bit tongue in cheek.  But my point is the following: my perceptions echo a societal misunderstanding of this uncommon path.  Is it any wonder that I freaked out when I felt that first nudge to the religious life during that fateful November of 2008 in Ecuador? 

For starters, I think that in general, people think I am embarking on a life of utter sacrifice.  Yes, it involves giving up very tangible things, which is difficult!  I’ve shared my struggles with you.  Especially in a world that tells us that sex and money are the end all, be all of the human experience, choosing this might seem absolutely loco.  But, come on, do you really think people would do it if there wasn’t something wonderful involved?!  Every life involves some degree of sacrifice and a greater degree of gift. 

As Ronald Rolheiser says in the The Holy Longing, “every choice is a renunciation” of something else.  The call, I think, is about figuring out what is the GIFT that we’re willing to renounce other gifts for.  The joy we feel when we find that gift makes the sacrifices seem less daunting.  That’s the idea of “governing desire” that Fr. Jim Martin told me about.

In the case of the religious life, the gifts may be more unseen and are certainly less talked about, but they are real and deep.  A mother who can’t imagine life without her beloved children is willing to endure sleepless nights and tiring days to give them all that they need.  I am willing to wrestle with the “renunciations” of the religious life to embrace the beauty and freedom of giving all of my being to God and to the service of my sisters and brothers. 

Last Sunday, the Catholic Church celebrated the World Day of Prayer for Vocations, a day set aside specifically to pray for vocations to the priesthood and deaconate, to the religious life (both male and female), and to the missionary life in all forms.  I spent the day with Sister Janet, helping her to lead a retreat for young adult women and men in our diocese who are intentionally considering what God might be calling them to at this point in their life – a “Life Awareness” Day.

Luis and I being questionably normal but undoubtedly joyful
and passionate at a youth rally in El Paso last year

I served on a panel with 3 others: Sister Lourdes, a Franciscan Missionary of Mary from Mexico; Father Jose, a diocesan priest from El Paso (both of them in their 30’s), and my friend Luis, age 25, who is discerning the priesthood while living with the Columban Fathers.  We all responded to the question: How did you know?

I can’t describe how it felt to sit next to them and share intimate experiences of God's call.  Our stories were all different but marked by a similar passion.  Listening to them would blast anyone’s stereotypes of the priesthood and religious life.  It was clear in each one’s sharing that we are not just “taking one for the team,” by accepting this “life of sacrifice” for our world and our Church.  We are energetic, joyful, normal (most of the time) young people with gifts and faults who have found that one thing that sets our hearts on fire.   I laughed, and I cried, and I felt overcome with gratitude to be sitting right where I was.

Our community and friends proudly reppin' the
Sisters of Charity at the Voice of the Voiceless dinner

Two weeks ago, my community and I attended the Voice of the Voiceless, a social justice benefit dinner in El Paso put on by Annunciation House.  This year, they chose to honor women religious in both the U.S. and Mexico for the faithful service they have shown to migrants.  What a moment it was when all of the Sisters present were invited to stand!  They did so humbly and were met with thunderous applause.  My heart sang: I can’t WAIT to be a Sister!

During my early discernment, I read a pamphlet called “God Isn’t Trying to Trick You.”  As obvious as that statement sounds, I needed to hear it, and hear it a lot of times.  My spiritual director during my second year in Ecuador, Hermana Maca, told me that if I was called to be a Sister, one day it would be a joyful thing.  I am beginning to know the truth of Maca’s words.

In 2008, the angry question in my heart was, “God, how can this be!?”

Now, I ponder, “God, how can it be that I am this blessed?”

God didn’t call me to be a Sister because God thought it might be funny, or because God wanted me to suffer, or because God had to meet a certain quota in response to so many Vocation Prayers and thought that I was as good as any.  No.  God created every hair on my head and knows every pulse of my heart.  God, who is Abundant, Irrational Love, wants more for me than I could ever want for myself.

That’s the beautiful thing about the call:  God. Wants. Our. Joy. Period.

I’d like to propose a new kind of vocation prayer, one that recognizes that all vocations are equally precious in God’s eyes and equally enriching to our Church; one that takes our expansive-loving, joy-bestowing God into account:

God, we know you’re crazy for us.  You’ve created us, and you know us, and you love us beyond the wildest capabilities of our imaginations.  Help each of us to discover the unique and beautiful way that you call us to respond to that love. May we be open to embrace your generous dreams for us.  Give us trust, knowing that it is you who call and you who lead.  Give us wisdom, at every step of our life, to invite you to be our guide.  Give us courage, that we may claim our terrifying and marvelous role as your hands, feet, and heart in this world.  Amen.

If you've never thought of yourself as an instrument of God, maybe now is the time.  If you’ve never asked God, “Hey, what do think I should do?” maybe now is the time.  The call isn’t a one-time event; it’s an unfolding experience that grows as we grow.  It’s never too early or too late to begin to invite God into our decisions.

Life is sweet for these 2 sisters-to-be, Andrea and myself!

And, a special PSA to anyone who wonders, even an eency-weency bit, if your call might include one of the more uncommon paths (priesthood, religious life, or missionary life):    Do not be afraid!  God does not impose burdens on poor suckers; God invites each of us to greater joy than we could ever imagine.  You owe it to yourself to check it out!  A little nudge, whether exciting or alarming or confusing to you at the moment, could be the doorway to something wonderful.

It's been a bumpy ride, and I'm sure the road won't ever be perfectly smooth.  But I can't imagine driving down any other.  I only hope that every person can find the deep peace and down-to-the-soul gladness that I am stumbling upon as a Sister-in-Training.  Sr. Laura, somehow you and Julian were right.  Truly, all is well!

The Call (Part I)

“Let me tell you the story ‘bout the call that changed my destiny…”

Okay, I’m guessing that my peers who grew up on 90’s pop music just bobbed their heads and mouthed these opening words to the 2001 Backstreet Boys hit “The Call.”  Maybe you even ended the phrase mimicking AJ’s catchy inflection: destinay-ay.  Most of the song, which is about a wishy-washy dude being unfaithful to his girl, has nothing to do with my vocational journey.  But this first line came to my mind at the L.A. Religious Education Congress when my community and I had a chance to chat with Fr. James Martin, a Jesuit priest and one of our favorite spiritual writers.

Fr. Jim was just as approachable, kind, and sincere in person as one might suppose from his writings.  When I told him that I’m in formation with the Sisters of Charity of Cincinnati, he smiled with genuine delight and asked me how it’s all going.  Then he asked if I wanted to hear the two best pieces of advice he’s got on living the religious life.   I was touched and replied that obviously I did!

1.       “Ok, the first one is this: stay true to your governing desire.  You’ll have lots of desires in your life,” he said.  “You’ll desire to get married; you’ll desire to have kids; you’ll desire lots of different things.  But keep going back to that question: What is my governing desire?  And that is what will lead you and pull you through.”

2.       “The second one is simple,” he then shared.  “In the difficult times, go back to the power of the call.”

Fr. James Martin and I

I’m 98% sure that when Fr. Jim said that second thing about “the call,” he was not referring to the 2001 Backstreet Boys hit.  I do think that maybe he was talking about that divine invitation that God speaks into each of our hearts, helping to guide us to our vocation.  In fact, the word vocation comes from the Latin word “vocare” which means “called.”  Our vocation is the unique way that we’re called to be God’s love in the world.

We come to know our call through various and varied experiences.  It is something that grows and becomes clearer throughout our lives, but there are often telling moments we can identify that revealed parts of our call to us.  They might be fairly ordinary events that seem somehow mystical to the person experiencing them: an unforgettable first date; a life-changing encounter with someone in need; hearing a song that seems it was written just for you.  Fr. Jim's advice is wise for anyone in any life, I think -- when we hit bumps in the road, retelling the story of how it all began might give us some insight into why we are where we are and some courage to keep pushing ahead.

The first “telling moments" of my own personal call came as quite a shock, as I had never given a conscious thought to becoming a Sister. I want to write them down today (and share them with you).  Here goes:  Let me tell you the story ‘bout the call that changed [revealed] my destiny.

Our neighborhood in Duran, Ecuador

As you read in my first blog entry, my call to the religious surfaced during my time as a volunteer in Ecuador with the program called Rostro de Cristo.  Some crazy impulse, also known as God, inspired me and ten other recent college graduates to commit one year living together in community and walking beside the people of Duran, Ecuador, an impoverished town outside of Guayaquil on the Pacific coast.  (My one year actually became two – another surprise from God and a story for a different time!).   We each had different work placements in the community and also spent a lot of time, true to the mission of Rostro, just being with our neighbors.  God transformed us and opened our eyes as we entered closely into the lives of people who struggle with great economic poverty but who live a powerful faith life.

The volunteers, minus Elyse and Amy!

A few months into the year, we loaded up the 12 passenger van and drove to the little beach town of Crucita (little cross) where would we spend a weekend on retreat.  It was a much needed time of rejuvenation for us as we were dealing with all that comes with being an international volunteer.  I missed my family and friends dearly; I already fantasized about the moment that I would see my parents again in the Cincinnati airport in August.  Learning to live in community was hard; it was too early to see all of the rewards.  At the same time, we were processing the poverty and pain that surrounded us.

On Saturday afternoon, I sat on my towel in the sand, feeling the wind whip my hair around gently as I contemplated the vastness of the water before me.  I talked to God and wondered many things.  Was I right to break up with my boyfriend in August?  How will I make it through the next nine months?  What will I do when I get back to the U.S.?  How will I know what career I’m supposed to follow?  How will I know who I’m supposed to marry? (I’ve always been good at excessive worry and rumination.)

Very clearly, I felt a deep sense inside of me:  ‘Just wait,’ said the loving voice.  ‘Trust me, and all will be as it should be in time.’

Crucita

The next morning, I sat in the same spot, my heart a bit more peaceful as I considered the hand of God guiding my future.  That’s when that seemingly quiet, kind, and gentle voice from the day before returned, this time in a different mood.  I don’t know how, but the words floated into my consciousness: “You should be a nun.”

I reared around, trying to find out who was playing this weird joke on me.  But there was no one, just the words hanging in the air.  “How strange,” I thought.  “Where did that come from?”  It disturbed me a bit, but I didn’t think too much of it.  Maybe it was just the St. Teresa of Avila prayer book I was reading putting ideas in my head.  They would surely soon disappear.

The next day, we were back in Guayaquil.  A few of the girls from my house and I had made plans to visit with a community of nuns from Peru.  We took the bus downtown to their lovely home.  They gave us time to pray in their chapel and toured us through the convent.  Despite the peaceful environment, I felt increasingly nervous in their house.  Then, they showed us a video about their ministries.  As images scrolled across the screen of the Sisters teaching, singing, hugging little children, handing out food, etc., my stomach flipped.  Something mysterious inside of me said, “I could see myself doing that!”  I started to sweat in terror.  What was happening?  I held the feelings inside and looked out the window on the bus ride home.

Melissa and I at work

Two days later, I was at my morning worksite – a clinic where Melissa, a fellow Rostro de Cristo volunteer, and I worked in health promotion.  I spent a lot of time in the Psychologist’s office, helping with pre-HIV exam counseling.  Francia, the psychologist, was also a counselor for children from the neighboring school.  On this particular Tuesday, Francia was out, so I was in the office alone.  A cute little girl I had never seen before wandered up to the office door.

“Hola, amorcita! (Hi, love!)” I said as she poked her head in.  We started to chat.  She told me her name was Jennifer and she was 12 years old.  She asked if I was a psychologist.  I told her that I studied psychology but would have to study for a few more years to become a psychologist.  Then I asked her, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

I couldn’t have prepared myself for what came next.  Innocently, she smiled.  “Yo quiero ser una monjita.  (I want to be a nun)”

“Are you for real, God?” I thought, looking up in no particular direction as my face flushed.  Suddenly, the conversation wasn’t about the little girl anymore.  I pretended to be delighted, but I began to interrogate her:  How long have you known you want to be a nun?  Why would you ever want to do that?  Don’t you want to get married?  Don’t you want to have kids?

I was a maniac, trying to squeeze wisdom out of this 12 year old girl who answered each question with uncanny poise.  Finally, the recess bell rang.  “Bueno, hasta luego! (Well, see you later!)” she said and slipped away, totally unaware of the storm she had just stirred up in my heart.

Instinctively, I dialed down to the nurse’s office where Melissa was working.  “Can you come here for a minute?”  I heard her feet on the concrete stairs.  As soon as she sat down, I started to sob and told her everything.  “It’s possible that God could be calling you to the religious life,” she said, comforting me gently.  “But you don’t need to know that right now.  God will show you in God’s time.” 

Her words calmed me momentarily, but my heart remained troubled.  Later that night, I frantically wrote in my journal:

11/5/2008

God, seriously, what are you doing to me?!  I’m just sitting there, trying to work, and little Jennifer comes in and…What does this mean?  This year is already so hard for me, and now this?  The life of a nun is not the kind of life I want to lead. The thought brings me pain.  I don’t want to follow it, pray about it, or even think about it.  I’ll do anything you want God – just not that!

God had called, and I had pressed the ignore button.  But the "Missed Call" message remained there, flashing stubbornly on the screen…

To be continued

Community

I was too excited to sleep Wednesday night awaiting what Thursday would bring. Romina and I were actually messaging each other from our respective bedrooms down the hall because the mounting sleepless anticipation just had to be shared.  What were we looking forward to, you may be asking yourself: A great party?  A tropical vacation?  Better.  It was the (drumroll)… Los Angeles Religious Education Congress! (pushes glasses up nose).  I definitely made the right life choice, didn’t I? 

Our house community, minus Peggy who we missed dearly, flew to Anaheim to join approximately 38,000 Catholics for a weekend of learning and celebrating our faith.  We’d been looking forward to it ever since Andrea attended last year and came back bursting with outstanding reviews.  I joke about my nerdy joy over attending, but it really is quite an impressive event!  It's not just for religious educators but really for anyone excited about their faith.  Staff in the L.A. Religious Education office work for 2 months of the year planning the over 200 workshops, 10 Masses, and other events and prayer experiences.

Tongan dancers at the opening of the Congress

The Congress opened Friday morning with a breathtaking ceremony.  There were Tongan dancers, an amazing choir, and a rousing discourse by Sr. Edith Prendergast, the director of Religious Education in the Diocese of Los Angeles and the engine behind the whole weekend.  The elation and wonder felt in those initial moments only grew throughout next three days.

I’m wishing that I could share everything with you, but I’ll try to give you a taste without writing a novel.  My number one piece of advice is this – read anything and everything written by the following people who I was lucky enough to see present in Anaheim:  Jack Jezreel, Kathleen Norris, Fr. James Martin, Fr. Greg Boyle, Fr. Richard Rohr, Fr. Ronald Rohlheiser, Fr. James Heft, Sr. Maureen Sullivan.  Trust me: your life will be significantly better if you get to know these modern spiritual geniuses.

Along with the imparted insights from the presenters, perhaps the most powerful part of being there was the palpable sense of community that is the heart of our faith.  Do you know what it feels like to go to Mass with probably 20,000 other dedicated members of the Body of Christ?  Looking around the packed arena left me with an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the tradition I was brought up in. 

The seats were filled with people of all colors and all ages from all over the U.S. and the world.  It was getting a real electrifying taste of the “Catholic”-ness of our Church.  We sang and read and prayed in many languages – English, Spanish, Tagalog, French, and Tongan.  Many offered their talents to fill the space with vibrant joy – dancers, singers, musicians, lectors, catechists, preachers, ministers.  Mass felt like the true celebration it is meant to be.

Mass at the Religious Education Congress

As a wonderful group of dancers and servers dressed the altar in the center of the Arena for the Liturgy of the Eucharist, the words of the good old John Foley church song, “One Bread, One Body” popped into my mind.  “Many the gifts; many the works.  One in the Lord of all.”  How awe-inspiring to think of each person at the Conference returning to their local community and living out what they learned that weekend.  THIS is Church, I thought.  Within that diversity of those gathered there were so many personalities, passions, and gifts.  And to be sure there was discord represented -  a slew of different ideas, opinions, political persuasions, and ways of expressing faith.  But when it comes right down to it, we can pull up a chair, side by side around the table of Lord, and break bread together.  This is the challenge and the marvelous gift of our “universal” Church.

Kathleen Norris said in her talk that Church is “inescapably communal.”  It seems that our salvation does not rest just in an isolated relationship with God but rather in letting that relationship open us wider and wider to our oneness with all of our brothers and sisters.  In the words of Jack Jezreel, founder of JustFaith ministries:  “The reign of God must be relational.”

All we had heard in the talks echoed this call to community that I felt clearly as the thousands present came forward to receive the Eucharist.  The “Amen” we were all saying was not just a rote, empty word.  It connects directly to a life of faith in action.  It is a commitment to communion with God and others; to taking that self-emptying way into our own strides and giving of who we are for others.  It is recognition that encountering the “Real Presence” is not some magical thing that happens once a week at Mass and stays there.  It MUST transcend our lives.  It is a willingness to seek out, revere, and serve the Real Presence experienced in Eucharist in every single person that we meet, in all of Creation, and especially in the poor.

Romina, Andrea and I with Jack Jezreel of JustFaith Ministries

Everything in our faith points us right back to the two Commandments that Jesus considered to be the most important: Love the Lord your God with your whole heart, soul and mind.  And love your neighbor as yourself.  As Sr. Maureen Sullivan put it, “We’re meant to be Sacraments to each other.”  At a rocky moment in Catholic history, I was reminded of the goodness, joy, and unity at the heart of it all.

I felt the same sense a few days ago as I sat in the Sacred Heart Social Ministry office with Hector.  We’ve gotten to know this dear elderly man well over the last months as he sought our support during his wife’s terrible illness.   She died yesterday.  Today, there were glistening trails of tears traversing his rough, sun and wind beaten face.  He was a bit dirty, smelled like sweat and smoke, and looked totally worn out, like a marathon runner who has finally crossed the finished line and must now catch his breath.

Hector fought so hard for his wife for the last few years.  They live in Ciudad Juarez, Mexico, where she was unable to get the treatment that she needed.  Although he was a U.S. Resident, she had no U.S. documents.    He did everything he could to try to get her a humanitarian visa, but it was to no avail.  He eventually took the classes and spent the $600+ needed to apply to become a citizen himself and then petition for his wife. He sold much of what they owned to pay for this.  Even after all of that, his petition wasn’t approved.

Hector came to us to see if we could help pay for the funeral and burial, which would cost 10,000 pesos, or almost $800.  As I was filling out the paperwork required to give out emergency financial help, word about his story got around the office.  There were people sitting in the lobby, hoping to be picked up for a day of work through our job program.  There was also a Citizenship class going on in the Adult Education room.  Nobody there is well off, but people started scraping their pockets for whatever they might give, like the Biblical woman placing her treasured coins in the collection plate.

The volunteer Citizenship teacher, Mr. Benitez, brought in the envelope of the collected money and handed it to Hector with loving eyes.  “This isn’t much, but it’s a sign of support for you.  We know your story. You are such a good man.  We’re here for you.”

Just a moment after he left, another woman came in with a bit of money crinkled in her fist.  She handed it to him, and then embraced him.  “God bless you.”  Hector shook in her arms and cried, this time overcome with gratitude.

I asked if he wanted me to help count the money.  There were $35 in the envelope. Hector then opened his fist and found 2 dollar bills from the woman.  $37 was a small step toward the $800, but it meant far more than its quantitative value.  Hector clutched the money to his chest and lifted his watery eyes to the heavens, calling out to his wife.  “Mira, mi amor!  Diosito me esta ayudando!”  (Look, my love!  Our dear God is helping me).  Now it was my turn to cry.

Christian community.  Sacrament.  Real presence.

This is the vision of Church as the People of God.  Each of us called to the table and sent out in our own special way to be Christ’s hands and feet in this world.  During this time of transition in our Church, of course it is a moment to join in prayer for the election of a new Pope who will shepherd us with love, courage and integrity.  But it is also a good moment to remember that the Church's mission will never be fulfilled by one person.  It is up to each person to listen for and respond to God's call of Love.  Many the gifts, many the works.

The theme of the Congress was “Enter the Mystery,” and Sr. Maureen Sullivan, the Sunday morning keynote speaker, shared theologian Karl Rahner’s definition of mystery:  It is not that which I cannot know but that which I cannot exhaust.  What a wonderful thing to reflect on our Lenten journeys.  Our God is a God whose love and forgiveness cannot be exhausted.  Our oneness with God and neighbor cannot be exhausted.  Our capacity for transformation as we turn again to the Lord cannot be exhausted. That is the hope of Lent.  In God, there is always more, further, deeper.

Community helps us to know this inexhaustible Mystery.  The Real Presence of Christ imbued the gathering of Christians at the Anaheim Congress and the small act of love to a poor Mexican man in my office at Sacred Heart Church.  Can you imagine a world full of people committed to really loving God and neighbor?

"Many the gifts; many the works.  One in the Lord of all."  How will you be sacrament to others today?

Happy Celibate Valentine's Day to Me?

I’ll be honest:  Even before this whole religious life thing happened, I was a bit of a Valentine’s Day Scrooge.  It’s not that I don’t see the beauty in or enjoy the cherishing of love and friendship that occurs; I really do. I just can’t stomach the way that commercials tell us from New Years until February 14^th that love must be conveyed through a commercialized flurry of red tissue paper, bling bling, and expensive dinner tabs.  I know I’m not the only one who has a love/hate relationship with Valentine’s Day.  If you’re dating, engaged, or married, it is a moment to celebrate the gift of love shared with your partner.  If you’re single, recently broken-up, just lost a loved one, separated, long-distance, divorced, widowed, or, well – celibate, it might be a day that digs up unpleasant feelings.

Me officially "joining the ranks" - signing the
Sisters of Charity book of membership after
my Affilation ceremony in June

Almost a year into the process of becoming a Sister of Charity of Cincinnati, I’ve permanently joined the ranks of those who will not be curling up with a loved one and a glass of wine tonight.  For anyone unfamiliar with Catholicism, Sisters make vows of poverty, obedience and chastity.  Chastity within the religious life means celibacy – at its most basic definition, being unmarried and sexually abstinent.

This vow of celibacy is a tricky thing.  Sister Janet told me a story about Sister Annina Morgan, a wise and well-loved Sister of Charity who will turn 97 this spring.  I’ve had the privilege of talking with her a few times, and I am struck by how wonderfully real she is.  One night years ago, all of the novices were hanging out when Sr. Annina came down to join them.  One of the novices asked her, “Annina, when did you figure out this celibacy thing?”  She replied, “Well, probably I’ll figure it out about 24 hours after I’m dead!”

 

It’s reassuring and discouraging at the same time to know that this may never totally make sense.  As an Affiliate just barely dipping my toe into the waters of the religious life, especially at a time in life when most of my friends are married or headed that way, it’s difficult.  Out of the three vows, celibacy will likely be my biggest struggle.

Here’s the thing.  Confession of a Sister-in-training: I LOVE men!  Love them.  I think they’re beautiful!   I also LOVE many things about being in love:  the intimate sharing, growing in acceptance and vulnerable knowing, mutual support, laughter.  I love cuddling, holding hands, and slow-dancing.  I love the “look” in the eyes of someone who sees you as their one-and-only.

Andrea and I talked about this as we cooked dinner on Monday night, and she said it well: “Sometimes it would be nice to be loved in particular.  Of course, we love and are loved in lots of different ways.  But to have someone to say, ‘I love YOU more than anybody else.’   That’s a really nice feeling.”  I miss that.

It’s not a constant struggle, but it does creep up on me some days, like during Downton Abbey (spoilers to come if you’re not caught up to the current episodes).  Haha!  I know; it’s a little pathetic.   I’m guilty of being all too emotionally attached to those characters, and their “lives” sometimes bring my own into light.  Like the priceless way that Matthew looks at Lady Mary as he proposes to her; or like Lady Grantham gushing to Mary about the “delightful fun” that she and Matthew will have on their impending wedding night.  I want that look!  I want that “delightful fun!”  Especially on Valentine’s Day, I can’t help but feel the sting of those unfulfilled desires.

The tough part is this: Just because I choose to become a Sister doesn’t mean that the natural, human desires of my heart and my body will just turn off.  I’ll be just as prone to falling in love as I always have been.  Kathleen Norris, a spiritual poet and writer, reminds us in her book The Cloister Walk that this is normal and healthy.  She says that one prioress (head nun in an abbey) shared in an address to her community, “The worst sin against celibacy…is to pretend to have no affections at all…Most of us should have fallen in love twenty times or so by now.”

It’s true, and it’s confusing.  If I’m out in the world, loving and serving as I’m called to do, I’m bound to rub shoulders with some pretty amazing guys like the one I fell in love with two years ago.  I’m sure I haven’t been swept off my feet for the last time.

I think most religious and priests would say that it is a lifelong journey to figure out how to live their commitment with integrity.  At the same time, I think that most would say, too, that being celibate frees them to love and serve in the way that God calls them to.  And that it actually brings them a unique and joyful experience of loving.  With every struggle, there comes a gift.

 

Eddie and I at his going-away luncheon

Fr. Eddie is a Jesuit priest who just finished his term as pastor at Iglesia Sagrado Corazón, where I work.  He is the kind of priest that a parish falls in love with – gentle, laid back, accessible, goofy at times, sensitive, and so very loving.  Eddie has been an exceptional mentor and role model for me as I prepare to become a religious.  He has shared his journey as a priest openly, including that he fell in love and learned to channel his affections into a wonderful friendship.

Eddie treasures his role as a priest and the way that it opens him up to love a lot of people.  I remember once when we were chatting, he said something that really touched me.  “Being celibate has really been one of the greatest gifts of my life.  The people in the parish here, man, they give me so much love!  Just when I think about being lonely, I get a hug, or a phone call, or a kind word.  My life is just filled to the brim with love!”

It’s true, of course.  I have experienced exactly what Eddie’s telling me even in my short time of formation.  God’s love breaks into our lives in so many ways.  I suppose one of the gifts of being celibate is being especially sensitive to those many ways.  The absence of that one very tangible romantic love creates a sacred space in which I give and receive all kinds of love.

Our community at Christmastime

There is the deep, family-like bond shared among Sisters, who have all committed themselves to living without that one human source of “particular love.”  They love each other.  They strengthen each other as they walk side by side, striving to serve whole-heartedly and be faithful to their vows.  This is the love that I come to know in community.  It’s the bond I feel each morning with my housemates, starting the day united in silent prayer.  It’s the warmth I feel sitting around in the living room, laughing and sharing about our days.  It’s the understanding I’m met with when I share moments of joy and struggle in religious life with the other young women in formation.

There is the love shared with those I minister to.  Just when I’m feeling lonely or lacking in love, little 4 year-old Mili greets me at the clinic door with an excited shout and the sweetest hug you can ever imagine.  Or one of the clinic moms wraps me in an embrace the way only Mexican women know how.  Just when I wonder if it’s all worth it, someone at Sacred Heart looks at me through teary eyes and says, “Muchas gracias por todo.”

There are the many wonderful friends and family members, near and far, who enrich my life with their care and support.

And, of course, there is God, who is the source of all love and the driving force of my life.  As Sr. Sandra Schneiders says in Finding the Treasure, “all religious life is centered around the single-minded God-quest, the…concentration of the whole of one’s life on the ‘one thing necessary,’ which is union with God.”  This quest is a gift.  As I lay in bed some nights, feeling the aching of loneliness that comes with the territory of religious life, I reach out for God with all that I am.  The hole inside, then, allows me to experience dependence on God in quite a profound way.  It's like that gritty but powerful turning of our hearts to God in Lent.  The emptiness stretches me and draws me ever deeper into God’s mystery.    

I suppose I’m writing all of those flowery words in part to convince myself.  I know darn well that this wonderful “mystery” won’t get me a nice candlelit dinner and a long kiss good night.  But I do know, with all of my being, that it has ignited my life with God-given purpose that is truly my unique call.  And although it might not be in the way I expected it, my life is anything but void of love.

This is the Good News for all of us – single, married, gay, straight, Mexican, Caucasian, 26 years old or 97:  our Creator is filling our lives with a great love that is always bigger than we can fathom.  There is no life without sacrifice, of course.  Feelings of pain, loneliness and emptiness are experienced in all walks of life. But God’s sustaining love abides, really.

Even this Scroogey, celibate girl can get excited about that.   It will be a happy "Celibate" Valentine’s Day. I’ll try to spend the day lifting up prayers of gratitude for all the channels by which God fills my life to the brim.  For me, it won’t be a man with a bouquet of roses.  But it will come through many other people and moments.  Hopefully, years from now, an older, wiser and expertly celibate (haha) Sister Tracy will reread this reflection by her 26 year old self and smile knowingly.  Until then, I’ll fumble on, inspired by the many religious and priests I know who are living their vow of celibacy courageously and with great love. 

Shoes

 “Never judge a man before you've walked two moons in his moccasins.”

This is a quote from one of my favorite books growing up, Walk Two Moons by Sharon Creech.  It popped into my head two Wednesdays ago, prompted by something you might not expect.

That night, I accidentally left a door to the Sisters’ Subaru unlocked while it was parked on a street near downtown El Paso.  I was inside the Columban Mission Center for a weekly faith formation and sharing group called Engaging Spirituality.  When I came out after the meeting, the vehicle’s front door was propped open a teeny bit.  Thankfully, there was no damage to the car.  However, I noticed that my well-loved University of Dayton drawstring gym bag was gone, along with a Sisters of Charity lunchbox I had left in the front seat.

 

At first I was amused.  What would prompt someone to steal a lunchbox filled with empty Tupperware?  Then, I began to think through what was in the UD bag:  running shirt from the 2011 El Paso Half Marathon, visor, watch, deodorant, brush and comb, …shoot!  Nice running shorts and socks that my Aunt and Uncle gave me for Christmas in 2010, and …SHOOT!   The brand new running shoes that Mom and Dad gave me for Christmas.  I got mad for a minute.  I don’t spend a lot of money on clothes, and these were some nice things that I use a lot.   If only I had locked that door or brought the bags inside with me!

After the initial surge of anger, I thought about how the clothes were all stinky from my run earlier that afternoon.  I chuckled, much like a five year old might.  I imagined the “thieves” opening the stolen bag to a wonderful surprise odor.  I thought again about the lunchbox.  “Who would steal something that says Sisters of Charity?!”  I thought.   “I bet they feel so guilty!”  We later realized that the car insurance card and registration had also been taken from the glove box.  A bit annoyed, I wondered what a person would do with such a random assortment of snatched items.

 

I reached the acceptance stage pretty quickly.  What can you do really?  It was a little lesson in non-resistance.  Sister Carol is always good at reminding me that we save ourselves a lot of inner turmoil when we can just look at what is, even an unpleasant situation, and say, “Oh well.”  Lo que pasó pasó.

I reflected as I drove home.  I was relieved that I hadn’t lost my cell phone, wallet, or laptop.  I was relieved that nothing happened to the car.  But even if it had, obviously, the situation would have been far from a crisis.  Things are just that - they serve a purpose but certainly aren’t the source of life.  In fact, I realized that I have 2 or 3 extras of most of what was stolen in my drawers and closets at home.  I even began to remember things that I had forgotten I owned.  I have so much stuff!  I began to feel a bit guilty and strangely grateful.

I had been most disappointed initially about the loss of the nice running shoes, but I quickly remembered that I have two old pairs in my closet.  They’re not brand new but still do the trick.  I pictured them on my closet floor, amid pairs of heels, flip flops, different colored flats, sandals, boots, clogs, slippers…you get the idea.

Visualizing this little mountain of shoes that I own, I remembered a little boy I met during my second year in Ecuador.  I met him early on while singing with the youth choir at Bautismo de Jesus parish but then didn’t see him for months and months.  When he finally came back to sing toward the end of the year, I asked where he had been.  He glanced down at his feet that were covered by some dusty, second-hand black shoes.  “We have to have closed-toed shoes to sing in the choir, and I only had this one pair of zapatillas (flip-flops).  It took us awhile to get the money.”

I also thought of Mary (pronounced “MAH-ree”), a mother of 4 from our clinic in Mexico who is just a few years older than me.  Last week, Sr. Carol gave her a donated pair of brand new tennis shoes that were just her size, 8.  Mary smiled radiantly as she slipped the shoes on and felt their perfect fit.  She rocked back and forth and bounced as if wearing moon shoes, her face glowing. “I’ve never worn a new pair of gym shoes before,” she said.

I wondered now about the person who took my things.  The neighborhood around the Columban Mission Center is low-income and filled with people who struggle to make ends meet.  Maybe someone in need walked down the street, checking for unlocked car doors in hopes of finding something to sell for food.  Maybe it was a couple of teenage kids who don’t get much attention or have much of a future and so resort to things like that for entertainment.  I'm not saying it was right.  But I’d bet that whoever did it has a lot less shoes in their closet and a life much more difficult than mine has ever been.  And I can't be sure I wouldn't do a similar thing if I had walked their road of life.  Initial resentment turned into compassion.

“Never judge a man before you've walked two moons in his moccasins.” (or running shoes, or zapatillas…)

My friend Fr. Bill reminded me that "moons" in indigenous cultures represent a certain period of time, probably about a month.  What would it mean to walk two moons?  I think if we gave ourselves to that persistent empathy and understanding, we'd find that we would still have more to learn after walking 20 or 200 moons in someone else's shoes.  We can't ever know for sure the journeys of others.  We can only know the way things look from where we stand.  It's a pretty limited view.  We can only fairly judge ourselves.

I’m not sure where my stuff ended up.  Perhaps all of it is in a trash can somewhere, or maybe the shoes are warming the feet of someone who really needed them.  I hope so.  Either way, I’m thankful for the awareness gained through the “loss.”  Each day as I put on my shoes, I hope I can hold in my heart all of the different people around the world lacing up , slipping on, Velcro-ing, and the many wearing no shoes at all.  What different lives we all have.  What would it be like to be in their shoes?

My prayer is this: to be ever grateful for the shoes I stand in 

and to be always compassionate to the many, many people

who stand in shoes that I have never tried on.