Sunday, October 8, 2017

Prayer is the Master Key

My heart is all over the place. It goes from celebrating my new ministry and home with utter joy, to missing my Sisters and students in Pomona, to mourning over lives lost in catastrophe and violence. Individuals and entire countries settle in my being wherever they can find room, and usually without warning. Sometimes it hurts; sometimes it feels like I could never be happier. As I get ready to go to the Holy Land where Jesus spent His very short time on earth, I wonder if He sometimes felt the same. I bet Jesus’s ministry brought Him great joy, especially when He could see how people’s lives were changed once He healed their spiritual or physical ills. Jesus had very good friends and people He loved that I’m sure He was sad He couldn’t always spend time with. And I’m sure first-century Palestine was no stranger to natural disasters or violence either. So what did He do with all that emotion? Sometimes He wept, like when His friend Lazarus died. Sometimes He celebrated, like when He ate and drank with the disciples. One thing I noticed is consistent, though: Jesus prayed. Sometimes He prayed alone, sometimes He prayed with others, but He always prayed.

Both of my new ministries are extremely life-giving for me. My main ministry is what we call “vocation ministry”. It involves a lot of travel. I have plans to attend a lot of different youth and young adult events, but it also includes creating my own events and putting together prayer services or meaningful experiences for those who wish to grow in their relationship with God. I’ve already gotten to facilitate a Come and See weekend where three women who are interested in religious life come to pray and visit with our Sisters in Canada. I will be going to a day of discernment at Franciscan University this week to share about our Felician community with college students who may feel called to discern religious life. In the meantime, I’m also working on a camping retreat to be held next February with women between the ages of 18 to 35. It’s the best kind of busy I’ve ever been. Every day is different and every assignment that comes my way is like a Christmas present I can’t wait to unwrap. I wonder if Jesus felt the same as He moved around from place to place, responding to His Father’s love and purpose for Him. I can only imagine that Jesus loved His ministry, and so must be sharing that joy with me as I continue to respond as best I can to God’s love and purpose for my life.

Not only do I get to work on all these fun projects, but I also spend time at an after-school program in a neighborhood that struggles with poverty and substance abuse. So far I’ve been helping the kindergarten and first graders with their homework. I must admit, I was terrified when I initially received this assignment. I thought, “No way, Jesus, You’ve got to be kidding me. I work with high school kids. This is not my crowd.” He didn’t say anything of course, He just let me go in there all pale and petrified. Except, I discovered, He gave me the grace to do exactly what I thought I could never do: work with 5- and 6-year-olds. Now, don’t let me fool you into thinking they’re angels. No, no, they punch each other and run around when you ask them to sit down and quickly find ways to get out of doing their homework; BUT they are so darn lovable, and they really just want to be loved. I wish I could give each of them the one-on-one attention they deserve, but I do my best to give them attention however and whenever I can. I got called “mommy” on the first day, and now I proudly claim them all as my babies. Is this how Jesus felt about the “little ones”, the ones who probably fought for His attention, wanting to sit on His lap or curl up under His arm? No wonder He said the kingdom was made up of children and those who were like them. They’re so full of love! Their affection is so pure and so sincere, I can see why He calls us to be like them.

Enjoying my ministries as much as I do does not mean that the people I love in California have been replaced. Enjoying my new home and ministry almost makes me miss them even more, as I wish I could share all this new life and excitement with them. It helps that my students and friends still keep in touch with me, whether through Instagram, texts, or letters, but I miss them even then. I can say, however, that in a way all my Californians are still with me. I couldn’t love the kids I work with now as well as I do if I hadn’t learned such love during my time in Pomona. I’m able to be stern when I have to (which with 5- and 6-year-olds means reminding them to say “please” and “thank you”) while knowing that I do so because I know they are capable of greatness and understanding human dignity. I am also able to collaborate and share ideas with leaders and colleagues now because I had so many wonderful mentors, co-workers, and friends in California. Perhaps as Jesus travelled from home to home He felt a tinge of sadness too, not knowing when or if He’d see certain friends or families again. As each family and community welcomed Him, He was probably reminded of all those who had lovingly done the same in years past. Maybe He wondered how they were doing, maybe He asked about them from time to time. Either way, I bet He never forgot about any of them.

With this latest act of domestic terrorism, I can’t help but think of all the family members and friends whose lives were forever changed in just one night. Unless we have a family member or friend suffering with a life-threatening illness, most of us don’t wake up and think, “This might be the last time I see them.” When tragedy like this happens, I am reminded of how unpredictable life is, and of how deeply painful loss can be. I can’t say I know what any of the families and friends who lost loved ones on October 1st are going through, but I do have a certain sense of what sudden loss feels like. In my own family, we experienced a sudden loss of sorts without any kind of warning. It shocked all of us, and the lives of those involved were changed forever in an instant. We continue to grieve, even in the midst of hope, because nothing has been the same ever since, and nothing will ever be the same again. It’s made some of us question our very worth, wondering how God could let something like this happen. I wonder if that’s how Jesus felt when He cried out and asked why God had abandoned Him. I think most of us have asked that of God for some reason or another: “God, why have You abandoned me?” In other words, “Where were You when I needed You? Why didn’t You do something to keep this from happening?” It feels like a crucifixion, like the world has destroyed us and we’ve been left to suffer unbearable pain. Jesus experience this in His very body as He suffered from an act of terrible violence. He is no stranger to our pain, physically or emotionally.

Prayer, that constant thread woven through Jesus’s life, held everything together. Prayer kept Him connected to His Father. It reminded Him Who to thank for His great joy; it strengthened His relationships; and it enabled Him to endure the darkness for the sake of the light. When I find myself between laughter and mourning, Jesus’s fidelity to prayer reminds me that this is what holds all things together. There’s a little song a priest from Africa once taught me. The words and tune are simple, which makes it all the more memorable:

Prayer is the key
Prayer is the key
Prayer is the master key
Jesus started with prayer
And ended with prayer
Prayer is the master key

Prayer can open any door. It can open the door to a deeper sense of gratitude, a call to action, to healing and forgiveness. What is it you’re looking for in life right now? Because I can guarantee you it’s behind one of those doors, and you’ve already been given the key.

With love and prayers,
Sister Desiré Anne-Marie Findlay

Wednesday, July 5, 2017

On Prayer

I am going to be speaking this weekend at the National Black Catholic Congress in Orlando, Florida. I was asked to give a presentation on prayer and was given the title "Prayer: Our Greatest Weapon". My lack of self-confidence quickly led me to wonder what in the heck I could offer on this topic that would be worth sharing. I started to look up quotes and think about books that I knew could say a lot about prayer; I tried making an organized PowerPoint with images and words that would do the trick; I even thought about doing a survey in my convent of what the other sisters had to say about prayer; but then I stopped. I realized that even though I didn't believe in myself, God did. I didn't sign up to be a presenter at the congress. In fact, they had to ask me twice because I turned them down the first time. I may be stubborn, but God is persistent. For whatever reason, God chose me to speak on the topic.

The other mistake I made, aside from thinking I should use everyone else's words, was the idea that God wanted my thoughts on prayer. One of my spiritual directors once told me I was in my head too much, that I needed to let my heart move me once in a while. When I was working on writing a book with several other sisters over Christmas break this past year, that message was reiterated. We would break off into small groups every day to share our progress and provide feedback for one another. One of the sisters whom I admire very much gave me this critique: she said that I was a storyteller and that it was a unique gift. She said she was intrigued by everything I had to say until I stopped telling the story. When my part of the book became academic, she confessed that she lost interest. I realized it was because I started relying too much on my "head" and started trying to write without relying on my heart. My gift is not in academic writing I discovered, it is in sharing stories. Since this blog enables me to tell stories in my own words and through the experiences of my heart, I figured it would be the best way to prepare my talk for this weekend - so here are some stories of prayer.

This summer I was able to return to the 100-mile pilgrimage I used to walk annually before I joined the convent. (It's actually how I met the Felician Sisters.) Every year, hundreds of pilgrims walk from designated cities around New Mexico to a small Marian shrine known as the Santuario de Chimayó. There were four groups walking in total this year and I was on the women's route walking from Albuquerque. So why do I bring up pilgrimage other than the fact that we were walking to a place of prayer? While it's true that we prayed together every day, morning, noon and night, that's not even the reason I bring up my experience of pilgrimage. I bring it up because we had become prayer. Walking 100 miles is no joke. It's extremely taxing on your body, even if you train for it. The altitude can get to you because the air is thinner; the heat can get to you, especially when there is no shade for miles; dehydration is always a threat; shin splints, blisters and cramping often show up within the first day or two; and then there's just the general soreness of achy muscles because no one's body is used to walking 20 miles a day for five days straight. That's how we had become prayer - we had opened up our bodies to extreme physical discomfort, not because we thought it was a good idea, but because we welcomed whatever the journey would bring and we did it for others.

There's a quote by Arthur Ashe that says, "Success is a journey, not a destination. The doing is often more important than the outcome." I want to paraphrase that in terms of the pilgrimage: Prayer is a journey, not a destination. The effort is often more important than the outcome. On the pilgrimage, it was our desire to keep on going and our fidelity to the journey that transformed us. Most importantly, everything we did, we did for others. The journey and the determination to continue was for the sake of the people who had entrusted us with their prayers as well as for each other. Sometimes prayer was ignoring our own pain so we could comfort another, giving tissue to a tearful companion, or offering our suffering for the family and friends we had promised to pray for. Because it was so physically taxing, and because we did it all out of love, we carried prayer in our very bodies. That's called sacrifice, the highest form of loving one another that Jesus Christ explained and exemplified. And what is the result? Why should sacrifice mean anything to us? It transforms us. It brings us closer to others and closer to God. So often my prayers are about what I want or what I need God's help with, but in sacrifice it becomes all about how I can be of service to others. That's what prayer is for - transformation, becoming more like the images of God we were created to be. Are we not called to be perfect like our Heavenly Father is perfect? We will likely not reach absolute beauty and truth in this lifetime, but again, it's about the journey not the destination.

Another form of prayer has been my recent interactions as I prepare to leave Pomona, California after four years here. During that time I formed many friendships and became a part of many families. It hurts to leave, but I cannot explain how grateful I am to have lived and loved here. The "goodbyes" started at the end of the school year, but they continue as I go out to lunch with a colleague or grab some ice cream with a former student. The other night I was invited to dinner at the home of a family I got to know through teaching. I arrived at 5 p.m. and was greeted with smiles and kindness before I even rang the doorbell. Along with the conversation and company, I enjoyed a wonderful homemade meal, dessert, and several glasses of water. Everyone was so gracious and genuine. We talked and laughed like we could go on all evening, but I eventually confessed that it was probably time for me to go. They walked me to my car and we hugged goodbye, but we promised it wouldn't be the last time we saw each other. As I turned the key in the ignition, I looked at the clock and almost started laughing. It was 2:23 in the morning! I had been there for nine hours and the conversation might have even continued had I not decided to go home. I almost couldn't believe it, and yet I could. The whole time I was at their house I had not been worried about what time it was. I wasn't repeatedly looking at my watch to check the time, or wondering when there would be a break in the action so I could leave. It was like I had experienced time the way God does.

Our time together that night became a prayer because each of us was living in the present - each of us was content to simply be there with one another. We weren't thinking about where else we could be or what else we could be doing; we were simply being. That's not easy. I know I often find myself thinking about ministry or community needs even when I am visiting with people. Questions pop into my head like, "Did I send that email?" or "What was I going to pick up from the store today?" However, none of us allowed any distractions that night. I could probably count on one hand the number of times I have experienced timelessness like that, and that was one of them. Jesus spent a lot of time with His disciples. Sometimes He was preaching and teaching, but often times we read about Him eating with people. He spent a lot of time just being with them, and why? Why do we spend time with anyone? We spend time with people to show we care. It's part of how we love each other. Sometimes we visit our family and friends because they're sick; sometimes we visit for special occasions and holidays; other times we visit because we are saying goodbye. No matter the reason, our desire to be with that person or those people comes from our love for them and thus we are able to give them a glimpse of God's love for them. Any time God's love is involved, it's a prayer.

Prayer sometimes involves teaching. It is one of the spiritual works of mercy after all, not to mention one of Jesus's greatest gifts, so it should come as no surprise that I also encountered prayer when I was teaching. One of my most powerful experiences of prayer actually came when I was watching my students pray. I taught Theology 12 for four years in a row, so I had the opportunity to introduce different forms of prayer when the curriculum allowed it. On this particular day, I had introduced lectio divina as a way to pray with Scripture. I had never heard of it before entering religious life, but when I became a novice in community, we would pray lectio divina together every Friday and I came to really enjoy it. It's a prayer typically done in small groups, but for the sake of time, I had my students do their practice run using a journal. Rather than sharing their findings aloud, they wrote them down. It was a very quiet activity, but I had a lot of introverts in the class so I knew it would work out just fine. At one point, while they were jotting down their personal messages from Scripture, it was like everything in me stopped and focused on one simple truth: this was a holy moment. I must admit that I have a terrible memory and have forgotten many special moments throughout my life, but this one hasn't left me. As I watched them journal I knew that it was a spiritually decisive moment - like some of their souls were choosing God right then and would never be the same.

Just like we don't receive all of our nutrients from one type of fruit or vegetable, the prayer of sacrifice and the prayer we find in relationships are not the only types of prayer that bring sustenance to our souls. There are various types of formal prayer that also have the power to transform us and therefore the world around us. Getting to know God and ourselves better has the potential to again remind us of who we are called to be - perfect, like our Heavenly Father. Scripture is one of the best ways we can do this, but lectio divina is not the only way to pray with Scripture. Mass and the rosary are two other excellent examples of formal prayers that can enrich our lives with Scripture. Praying with lectio divina has helped me discover areas of my life that I didn't realize needed healing, and has consequently helped me find the path to wholeness. The transformation that took place within me as a result has enabled me to love God, myself and others more deeply. My experience on pilgrimage had never been as rich as it was this year. What changed? I did. My love for dance had never been meaningful before religious life. What changed? I did. Again, prayer has the power to transform us. It's the tool that chisels us into God's image and likeness throughout our entire lives, enabling us to act justly, love tenderly, and walk humbly with our God (Micah 6:8). Prayer is the journey toward perfection.

Yours in Christ and in prayer,
Sister Desiré Anne-Marie Findlay

Sunday, January 1, 2017

Closing Doors

I have always loved animals. It probably helps that as a child my family always had at least one pet in the house. From cats to birds to dogs to hamsters, my mom was the best when it came to bringing us furry friends to love. I loved them all, but of course there was nothing quite like having a dog. We had more dogs than any other type of pet. Their loyalty was healing and their shenanigans made my sister and I look all the more innocent. We had dogs from the pound, dogs from friends, dogs from family members, dogs from all over. We hardly ever turned one away. In fact, I don't think we ever did. That must explain why when I've had to, it's been a fairly painful experience.

This year I am preparing to walk a one hundred mile pilgrimage that I walked a few times several years ago. It's a beautiful and graced experience, and I would recommend it to anyone. This particular pilgrimage takes place across New Mexico over a period of almost one week. Getting to know the women I walk with and receiving the love of those who feed and house us has always been spiritual nourishment. On occasion, stray dogs walk along with the pilgrims, and sometimes even go home with them if the owners cannot be found. As you might imagine, I was ecstatic when a dog joined our group during one of the years I walked.

The lovely little dog that followed us had many names since almost every one of us chose a name for her. We decorated her with a bandana around her neck and she wore it proudly, never scratching or pawing at it. When we had to stop along our path for breaks and she was not allowed inside, she would wait patiently outside. During our longer stops, many of us wondered if she'd stick around or not, and we'd eagerly go back outside when the break was over to see if she was there. To our surprise and absolute pleasure, she always was. She followed us twenty whole miles the first day, and when we had to retire for the night, we worried about where she'd go or if she'd be there when we woke up. We prayed for our faithful companion and anxiously waited for the answers morning would bring.

Morning brought answers indeed, and our little friend of many names was still there. We rejoiced and the journey continued. She followed us another twenty miles, but at the end of our second day's walk, we had to be bussed to the location where we would be sleeping. We assumed our pet could join us for the ride, but that was not the case. The bus driver wouldn't let her on and none of our supply vehicles would agree to take her either. I got on the bus and never cried so hard in my young adult life. I couldn't even stand to look out the window, but was later told that the dog didn't know what to do. She would turn in a circle, look at the bus, and circle around herself again. I don't even remember hearing if she tried following us or not, but I couldn't bear it. We'd taken a dog forty miles away from home and then abandoned her. Even as I write about the experience now it makes me cry. My family had never turned a dog away, and for the first time I was leaving behind a little companion I'd grown to love.

I try to avoid thinking about this story because I cry every time I recall the event. However, I could not help but return to ponder its meaning because I had a dream recently which reminded me of it. I dreamt that I was ministering with a group of Sisters. We were at a hospital, visiting and praying with people, and one of the Sisters had her dog with her. The dog was not allowed into the people's rooms, so she told it to sit and stay each time we came to a different corridor, and it obediently did so. At some point a dog came in from outside and began following me around. I enjoyed its company, but it was not as obedient as the other dog. It would never sit or stay when I told it to. Instead, I had to close and re-open the doors to each hallway whenever I made my way around to the different wings of the hospital. It was a lot of work and it began to slow me down. I couldn't keep up with the Sisters or with my ministry obligations. I didn't know what else to do, so as much as I didn't want to, I decided to send the pup back outside. Its company was no longer a luxury I could afford.

The title of this blog is “Closing Doors" because as we enter a new year, there are some doors I'll be closing. Most often the new year is associated with resolutions and exciting new plans. For me, the new beginnings that await are ushered in by an ending. As much as I love dogs, I've had much more amazing people friends. They have made the greatest companions I'll ever know and have impacted my life with great peace and joy. I have a small circle of close friends, and most of them remain. Some have drifted out, as happens over time, but this is the first time I've ever had to choose to close the door on a friendship. It feels like a great loss. It feels like abandoning someone who's walked countless miles with you, or like choosing to shut someone out whose company was worth more than a thousand perfect days. If I felt like I had any other choice, I wouldn't close those doors. But I have to. I'm spending all my energy on opening and closing doors and it's slowing me down. I open myself up for the sake of the friendship, and then I have to close myself back up in order to guard against its instability. It doesn't change how much I care about my friend. My friend may never even know how valuable they were and still are to me, but their happiness and my happiness are equally important.

Please continue to pray for me as I pray for each of you. May all your friendships, all your relationships, all your beginnings, and even all your endings be abundantly blessed throughout 2017. Happy New Year, my friends.

Thursday, July 21, 2016

With Love from Jacmel, Haiti

This summer I was given the opportunity to minister with Sisters Marilyn Minter and Inga Borko in Jacmel, Haiti. I arrived on June 18th and reluctantly left on July 19th.

When I shared the news that I would be visiting Haiti, people did not hesitate to begin asking what they could do to help. I received donations of peanut butter, thermometers, Tylenol, vitamins and other needed supplies. However, since one of the ministries I offered during my visit was a dance class for the older girls, I also asked for funds to purchase dance clothes. Everyone was so generous I ended up being able to buy the tanks, shorts, sports bras and dance shoes you see in the photo. The ages of the girls I taught ranged from about 10 to 20 years old. We had dance class for one hour every Monday through Thursday. During our first week I taught the basic positions of ballet along with basic movements. Sr. Inga was always there to help me translate and manage the twenty girls who came every day. After a couple of days I was actually able to say each of the five positions in Créole. I could also count from 1 to 8, and I could say "right" and "left". Very important words for a ballet class! The second week of class I taught them a dance I choreographed to "Hello" by Adele. The third week I asked one of the girls to teach a Haitian dance since she has experience, so she was in charge and I got to be a student for a while. Our fourth week was one of rehearsals because after Mass at the convent on Sunday, July 17 they showed off their skills by performing both of the routines they learned in class. It was a big event for them. We even made over one hundred cupcakes for the occasion! I'm so excited  they had an opportunity to perform in front of an audience. They enjoyed receiving so much attention, and they definitely deserved it.

Another ministry I helped with was arts and crafts in the late mornings. Sometimes the kids would work on puzzles, play with Legos, or enjoy playing some sort of game. However, both the children and young adults especially enjoyed making beaded bracelets and necklaces. If they could do it every day, they would!

This picture is from Friday, July 1st. It was my first trip with the mobile clinic. I was fortunate enough to go on three trips total. On this particular day, we left at 7:00 a.m. to minister to people at St. Rose of Lima Parish in the village of Decouze. Our team consisted of two Haitian doctors, two Haitian nurses, one Haitian pharmacist, a Haitian driver, and two Haitian wannabes (me and Sr. Marilyn). The drive was stunning. It was so beautiful that I didn't even mind feeling like a bobble head during our hour and a half drive up, or our hour and a half drive back down. The roads were unyielding, but the people we ministered to were kind. That day we saw about 115 patients, from several infants to a 93-year-old man. They would check in with one of the nurses first to provide their name and age, and then the nurse would weigh them and send them to one of two doctors. After seeing a doctor, they would come to where I was sitting with the pharmacist and receive whatever medications the doctors prescribed. I helped count out all the pills. I have no idea what we gave them, but I know sometimes it was pain medication, sometimes vitamins, and other times very serious looking stuff. It just made me happy to know that they felt cared for.

This was the first of two trips to the beach with the kids. Round one was on
Monday, July 4th. For the first round we piled all 12 of the kids you see here into one vehicle. It was amazing. The second time around (Tuesday,  July 5th) we added one more, so we had 13 kids in addition to the three of us. Beach day was another one of my favorite days because the joy bursting from every seam of these kids made me feel so alive. Even the cramped car ride was a blast. They sang songs at the top of their lungs and I joined in when a Mass song cropped up every now and then. While at the beach I splashed around with them a little, but I mostly loved watching them chase the beach ball and each other. They would roll around in the shallow waters on the shore and yell "Gade, gade!" ("Watch, watch!") and they'd show us how brave they were by submerging their faces underneath.

On Saturday, July 9th the Sisters organized a Divine Mercy pilgrimage. We took the young adults from our catechesis class. They had special scarves to wear with the icon of the Year of Mercy, and they happily tied them around their necks or on their heads. The day included a drive to the Immaculate Conception church in Zoranje where they received a mini lesson by one of the seminarians on the Chaplet of Divine Mercy. After that, Madam Omanie led us as we chanted the Divine Mercy Chaplet in Créole. Once we finished, the opportunity to receive the Sacrament of Reconciliation was available. Following confessions, we had adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, then we celebrated Mass together and concluded the day by walking through the Doors of Mercy two at a time. Before heading home everyone enjoyed a nice peanut butter and jelly snack.

On Friday, July 15th, Sr. Marilyn and I took a walk around the neighborhood to
visit with the children in their homes. They knew we were coming and they were so excited, they came to our place first so they could accompany us. They giddily and proudly showed off their simple homes, and we chatted with plenty of their family members and friends. It's a good thing I've been practicing and learning Créole!

Another great blessing during my time in Haiti was the community life. We celebrated Mass together (in Créole) every day. We prayed together twice daily, as is our Felician custom, and we had adoration of the Blessed Sacrament every day as well. On Sundays we had faith sharing, which is one of my absolute favorite ways to pray, and afterward we had movie night. We'd make our way to the kitchen from chapel and Sr. Marilyn would start the popcorn while Sr. Inga and I set up the laptop and projector. One night we watched a movie called "Hidden in Silence", which was about a young Catholic woman who hid several Jewish friends and acquaintances in her home during World War II. One Sunday we watched a movie on Mother Teresa called "The Letters" and on another night we enjoyed "Despicable Me 2". We found time one Sunday to go to the pool and swim for a couple of hours, but I also enjoyed the community life that wasn't recreation. I liked the quick grocery shopping trips, discussions on ministry matters, and last-minute schedule changes, along with the fact that we did almost everything together.

These  were just a few of the moments I enjoyed, but over a period of a month I enjoyed many more, and was challenged by countless others. At first, one of my biggest struggles was not being able to talk with anyone outside of the convent. By the end of my trip I could laugh with the kids and make silly jokes with my simple ways of communicating. I also had to adjust to a whole new culture. I didn't realize that I had glorified the idea of learning about other cultures until I was immersed in one other than my own. I thought everything would be perfect, like falling in love for the first time. It was, but then I also had to learn to embrace the imperfect aspects of my new love interest. I learned not to create my own idea of who someone should be, but to let them show me who they were so I could love them with sincerity. I also adjusted to the heat, cold showers, dusty feet, and children pulling on every one of my limbs. I sure am going to miss the Sisters, the children, the scenery, and the food.

To conclude with a phrase I learned in Créole:
(Praised be Jesus!)

Monday, May 30, 2016

The Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit

You, Lord God, have done
many wonderful things,
and you have planned
marvelous things for us.
No one is like you!
I would never be able to tell
all you have done.

Psalm 40:5 (CEV)

A couple of weeks ago, the Catholic Church celebrated Pentecost on Sunday, May 15th. Like most Pentecost Sundays, we were reminded of the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit as well as the twelve fruits which follow. I enjoyed the reminder and promptly went about my busy life as usual. When I began writing this post, it had nothing to do with Pentecost Sunday, or the gifts or fruits of the Holy Spirit. I simply started by writing about all the things in my life that I recently felt grateful for, and as it turns out, many of those areas in my life coincide with the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit. Makes sense. Gratitude usually comes when one has received a gift. Now I see that I have received seven very meaningful gifts. I feel blessed, as if God has leaned over to kiss the top of this silly girl's curl-laden head, placing upon it a heat that feels like tongues of fire.

"L" is for Love!
One gift that I've recently come to cherish even more is the community of sisters I live with. Let's face it, no one gets things right all the time, but especially not me. Ever since high school I have had difficulty getting up early. It seems that the earlier I have to wake up, the harder I struggle to do so. Now that I've had to be in chapel for morning prayers no later than 5:45 a.m., that struggle is definitely real. I'll be honest, some mornings I make it, and many mornings I don't. But you know what? None of the sisters here has ever come to me and asked, "Why aren't you making it to morning prayers on time?" I mean, it's a valid question. It's a question I would almost expect to receive, but instead the typical question is more like this: "I've noticed you're having a hard time getting up for prayers in the morning. Is there anything I can do to help you with that?" The forgiveness and support around here is top notch. But it's not just a gift for me. I've realized that this means I need to start rephrasing the questions I ask, too. When my students turn their work in late, I usually ask, "Why did you turn your work in late?" Instead, I should be and will be asking a question more like this: "I noticed you've been getting your work in late. How can I help you to get it in on time?"

Thank you, Holy Spirit, for the gift of understanding which can only happen when we join together in communion.

I have always had a wonderful circle of friends. My best friend Jenny has been a source of joy ever since we joined forces in the 5th grade. (We knew each other in 4th grade, but we didn't like each other. She thought I was trying to steal her best friend and I simply didn't like her haircut. Just goes to show that jealousy and vanity can be overcome!) Jenny has always been a model of strong faith. Her passion continues to inspire me even from miles away. My lovely friend Vanessa and her generous heart first helped to foster my love for the Spanish language and culture. Eventually, she became a great support as I pursued the joy that is my religious vocation. My fabulous friends Erin, Christine and Chanelle have contributed to my life as a dancer and as a Christian. Our late-night talks and silly shenanigans could never be replaced. My new bestie
Stephanie has made me laugh enough to keep me awake for nights on end. Our chats and pizza splurges give me energy and make me wish she'd just join the convent so that I could hang out with her more. There are so many of you with whom I have worked, learned and grown that I could not possibly mention all of your beautiful names here and the meaning you have given my life. The movies we've watched, the conversations we've had, the times we've laughed and cried together -- these are all so much a part of who I am that you're still with me. All of you, including those of you I took the time to mention, have contributed the many vibrant fibers that color who I am today.

Thank you, Holy Spirit, for the gift of wisdom which flows through the faithful and sturdy shelters that are our friends.

My role as a mentor is one that I have sort of grown into over the past couple of years. I didn't know how important it was to create that boundary of authority until I realized what my classroom looked like without it. I know I still have a lot to learn, but as my third year of teaching comes to an end, I can see how the clearer lines of authority have strengthened my role as a mentor. Instead of my students coming to talk to me about drama with peers, now they talk to me about the deeper joys or sorrows that are taking place in their lives. Every time one of my students fell apart this year, tears streaming down her face, and she chose to bring that to me, I felt like the big sister God knew I could be. I felt like my students trusted me, but I knew that all along God had trusted me. God had trusted me to love them this whole time! I feel so honored that God would place such tender and fragile hearts in my care. That I would be one in a handful of people who gets to guide these girls along this part of their path still fascinates me. And yet, they are not the only ones who  gain something in the process. They teach me on a regular basis how to be more relaxed, how to be more responsible, and how to be more generous. Seeing them stand up for themselves
and each other, or signing off on their hours of service, even watching them play volleyball at lunch; it all reminds me of who owns the kingdom of heaven.

Thank you, Holy Spirit, for the gift of receiving and giving counsel, especially when it comes in the form of a child.

Some of you may know, and some of you may just be finding out right now, that I really enjoy shopping. Seriously, it's one of my favorite things to do. Lately shopping online has been my preferred method since it saves me time and I'm able to find items that are difficult to find at the store. I've also been trying to change my shopping habits because of what I have learned concerning production behind the items I purchase. It started with a documentary I saw a few years ago called "The Dark Side of Chocolate". Ever since then life as I know it has come undone. To think that my purchases contribute to child slavery around the world; or to deadly working conditions in developing countries; or even force field workers to endure harsh chemicals in our own country; it makes me yearn for change. And how else will things change if I don't? So here I am now, browsing Etsy for organic cotton shirts; spending money on fair trade food and household items; using everything I have until it falls apart; all because I like to shop but saw a documentary that demanded I do things differently. It makes me happier actually, knowing that because I buy and promote brands like Alaffia, two or three women somewhere in Africa have healthy, stable jobs. It's not easy, and it costs more, but if I'm going to spend money I'd rather it go to individuals who need it rather than to large corporations who seek it.

Thank you, Holy Spirit, for the gift of knowledge and for those who help bestow that knowledge upon us in their creative and varied ways.

Art by Katherine Skaggs
I think my image of God has been evolving. While I was in the novitiate, I saw God as someone who understood my hardships and cared for me. However, God was still just "someone". There was no personal relationship even though I knew God was active in my life. Now, I have been coming to see God as a parent. It's interesting because even though I have been calling God "Father" my whole life, I have never felt God's presence in my life to be that of a parent. Mostly, I think this was because I didn't see myself as a child, let alone God's child. Thankfully, this is shifting. Memories of myself as a kid have reminded me of the precious joy and innocence that still reside within me. Now that I see myself as a little girl in need of God's providential care, I can better appreciate everything God does for me. At the same time, I work harder to please God the way a child would her mom or dad. I think, "God would be happy if I tried harder to be generous with my time," or "God would probably not be happy if I choose not to get up for prayers today". In this way, I am a child who fears the disappointment of her parents, but also one who rejoices when she pleases them.

Thank you, Holy Spirit, for the gift of fear of the Lord, which is strengthened and nurtured through love.

This year has been one of the easiest and happiest of my religious life. Having a few years of experience behind me, most of what I accomplished this year was like putting a cherry on top of a cake. Of course, that cake first had to be mixed together and baked in just the right way so it wouldn't come out lumpy, raw, or burnt. That means if this year was the cherry on top, the years before were the hard years of mixing and measuring. During those times I thought I'd never make it. I said to myself, "This is it, the cake is going to topple. The fun is over." But even then I stuck around. Even when I thought the world as I knew it was coming to an end, I didn't give up. I attribute that to God's grace. God always seemed to place people and events in my life exactly when and where I needed them. If I needed someone to talk to or commiserate with, I had someone. If I needed to be reminded as to why I joined religious life, a vocation event always seemed to remedy the issue. I still have at least three years remaining in discernment, but I sure am glad that I've stayed put for the past six. I'm glad, not because this year was easy and I'm glad I made it to this year, but because instead of believing that I shouldn't have to work to be a part of something I love, or that I shouldn't have to stay in a commitment if I'm "unhappy", I'd rather do the work that strengthens me than avoid the work and remain weak.

Thank you, Holy Spirit, for the gift of fortitude, even and especially when it blooms in the midst of adversity.

This post would be incomplete if it did not include my family. Without them, my vocation to the religious life and my current state of peace would not be
possible. I have them to thank for my appreciation of solitude, for my love of people, and for helping develop my gifts of dance and writing. They are the ones who worked with God to prepare the soil where my soul would be planted. Here's a story to give an example of how my mom helped me grow: I was in first grade. We had reading time every day for some specified amount of time, and we got to choose our book. We were supposed to read a book from the shelf specific to our grade level, but I had happily chosen to read a sixth grade book - "Where the Red Fern Grows" - without any qualms. When my teacher noticed this, she asked me to put the book away and pick a different one, one that was specific to my grade level. Apparently I didn't think that was a good idea, so I did what she said, but I hid my copy of "Where the Red Fern Grows" inside of the first-grade level book. When she found out I was doing this, she spoke to my mother. Here's the best part! My mom wasn't upset with me. Instead, she asked my teacher why I should read lower level books if I was capable of reading books beyond what was considered my grade level. As a result, we settled on a compromise. I had to read the lower level books at school, but I could take "Where the Red Fern Grows" home to read. This tells me that my mother always believed in me. She pushed me hard (how else was I able to read 6th grade level books at my age?) because she knew I had the ability. Not only that, but she wouldn't let anyone deny my abilities. My entire family continues to believe that I am capable of great things and have in turn led me to believe this about myself.

Thank you, Holy Spirit, for the gift of piety and for those family members who teach us how to believe in ourselves.

Come Holy Spirit
Fill the hearts of your faithful
And kindle in them the fire of your love!