tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59426750502195657822024-03-12T18:04:45.446-07:00Religious Life for BeginnersThe Poor, the Chaste and the Obedient.Vocation Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281359364919030563noreply@blogger.comBlogger68125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-43578714439979503052020-11-17T13:26:00.005-08:002020-11-17T14:13:09.095-08:00Inhale, Exhale<p>One of my good friends recently asked why I hadn't written any blog posts in a while. I admitted that even though I really enjoy writing in this manner, I just hadn't had the time. "I guess I've felt too busy with life," I said, "I haven't had much breathing room."</p><p>"So why don't you write exactly that?" she asked.</p><p>Somehow the question startled me. What I had revealed in my simple sharing was not something profound or insightful. It was just a real and honest answer about how I'd been feeling lately. But her question made me wonder: Why not write about something so real and honest?</p><p>Sometimes I trick myself into believing that my every blog post has to be some lofty sharing resulting in all sorts of "aha" moments. It doesn't make my posts less authentic, but it does keep me from writing about other topics that I feel aren't as enticing or interesting. Which makes me wonder if I do the same with myself. Do I share only the parts of me that I feel are exciting and interesting? With whom do I share my simple, real, and honest self?</p><p>I suppose that's what made my friend's question so startling. I wasn't planning on sharing my simple self. Her question was the impetus that made me ask, Why not? Why not share what's simple?</p><p>My life might look exciting to people from the outside. If you look me up on the internet I bet you'll find my various social media accounts; my photo and bio on a website or two; and a number of videos that myself or other organizations have produced. I've been asked to speak for different conferences and with groups of all ages; I have been offered some intriguing job positions; and I have been invited to write reflections on a variety of topics for some wonderful Catholic organizations. But the internet cannot show you who is underneath all of that.</p><p>Underneath the media spotlights and before all the labels - Sister, Catholic, Person of Color - I will always simply be Desiré.</p><p>I still get overwhelmed. I still wake up sometimes and say to myself, "I wish all of it would just stop." I get tired of the phone and the computer and the work. I get tired of trying and tired of doing. I get tired. I am human.</p><p>There are days you'll see me smile and say, "Now there's a woman who loves life." And you would be correct. I do love my life. I love this life. But loving this life doesn't mean I'll always be smiling. It doesn't mean I'll never get tired. I know I will keep going. I will keep working for justice and praying for peace. I will keep learning and unlearning so that I can be better and love better. I will keep getting out of bed, even when it takes me longer than I'd like it to some days. I will keep loving this life, and I will keep giving love in whatever way I can.</p><p>But I will still be me. I will still be human and simple and real. I will still have great days and hard days. I will still wish I'd said, "No" to something I just agreed to do while attempting to keep my eyes open on yet another Zoom call.</p><p>I may be a smiling Black Catholic Felician Sister with over 4,000 followers on Instagram, but I am still simply human me. There will still be plenty of times I struggle to stop and remind myself: Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Just breathe.</p><p>We all have permission to be human, to be in love with life and to be worn out by it at the same time. That's why we all need reminders to breathe. Maybe this is your reminder, too.</p><p>Inhale. Exhale.</p><p><i>Sister Desiré Anne-Marie Findlay</i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiguqk3JEf1ETBCmnQlTt9nv_1l8dYe84Br28Cygu_4xXP0-MmYoT7uUPX7M2p_SRaXMpVe8nld0_umng_faso2dmqiOPmCZy7qNHwYW5g4Pdlek_4C3-8f7p1PuAlw7DvjlrtDKnFeIM11/s2048/profile+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiguqk3JEf1ETBCmnQlTt9nv_1l8dYe84Br28Cygu_4xXP0-MmYoT7uUPX7M2p_SRaXMpVe8nld0_umng_faso2dmqiOPmCZy7qNHwYW5g4Pdlek_4C3-8f7p1PuAlw7DvjlrtDKnFeIM11/s320/profile+pic.jpg" /></a></div><br /><i><br /></i><p></p>Sister Desire Anne-Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01367807974001050862noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-28981257785593712972020-07-23T17:49:00.005-07:002020-10-21T12:35:35.331-07:00I Don't See Color"I don't see color."<br />
<br />
Is that so?<br />
<br />
I know I don't speak for all people of color, but for myself and many others, this statement is not consoling. When you tell me you don't see my color, is it because I am invisible to you? Or is it because you would rather not see what makes us different?<br />
<br />
I have no problem with my skin color nor do I have a problem with being different. The danger of desiring sameness is that people often mistake sameness for unity. We don't have to be the same to be united. Celebrating diversity is much more beneficial than trying to pretend it doesn't exist.<br />
<br />
I realize that some people will say they don't see my color as a way of saying they see beyond the color of my skin. I get it. But I still don't find it comforting. Here's why: my color is part of what makes me who I am. It has shaped my experiences in this world and therefore has shaped my ways of understanding myself and the world. It has also pushed me to be more courageous and outspoken on matters of injustice.<br />
<br />
I want you to see my heart, but I also want you to see my color - it contains layers of beautiful cultures that I inherited from my ancestors. I am proud of where I come from and of the people who created the skin tone I now wear. I have roots in Nigeria, Trinidad and Tobago, the Indigenous Americas and Spain. Just as I am proud to be a woman - and to have a heart that loves with a feminine strength - so too does my heart pound with the strength of those who came before me. Why would I deny my heritage, or let anyone else deny it?<br />
<br />
I also want you to see my color because there are so many ways that the American culture tries to stomp it out or push it down.<br />
<br />
As a dancer, I regularly had to buy make-up and clothing for performances. I didn't notice until I was a young adult that the color described as "nude" was a problem. This "color" didn't match my nude, but somehow it was the default. So what did this say to me in the world of dance and beauty? As a woman with darker skin, the message was clear: "Your color doesn't belong here." That created a problem not just for the way I saw myself, but for the way others would see me. What do you think that says to little girls and young women who are "white"? It tells them they are the default, the preferred, that they belong. But it also says that anyone who isn't like them doesn't belong. This is how racist attitudes are born without it even being taught at home. So unless parents are actually attentive to things like that and discuss it with their children, the idea of "I belong, but other colors don't" remains the norm.<br />
<br />
Think about other labels, too. I use the term "African-American" because that's the blanket term used to describe anyone who's black and born in America. But that leaves out other parts of me that are equally as important. In addition, have you ever noticed that people of European descent don't have to check off boxes on official forms that say "Polish-American" or "German-American"? Why not? Why does their box just say "white"? To me terms like "African-American" or "Asian-American" are terms used to label others as if to say, "You don't belong. You are not from here. You are only part American." Just a gentle reminder: most of us are not from here. So why not call out ALL of us who originated from somewhere else?<br />
<br />
This brings me to reflect on two concepts that I've recently learned about: racism as America's original sin, and the fact that race doesn't even exist.<br />
<br />The best I can do to explain these concepts is to refer to <i><a href="https://www.racepowerofanillusion.org">https://www.racepowerofanillusion.org</a> </i>where you can find an interview with Audrey Smedley, author of <i>Race in North America: Origins of a Worldview</i>. In the interview, Smedley speaks of the greed on which America was built, as well as the reason behind separating Irish indentured servants and African slaves who had once lived together harmoniously without the need to differentiate between "race". Essentially, Smedley explains how race was created as a way to keep power in the hands of some and out of the hands of others.<div><i><br /></i><div>I invite you to read the above-mentioned article in order to gain a deeper understanding of race and racism - of how race was created and why, and how it leads to the ways in which we see each other now. What I wish to say about how others might see me is that I do not have a problem with the color of my skin. What makes me angry is the idea that to some, the color of my skin is a problem. So the next time you walk past a group of black teenagers, pay attention to where your mind goes. Does it go there when you walk past a group of white teenagers? Or when you see a black woman upset about the way she or her loved ones are being treated, must she be stereotyped as an angry black woman? Or can she be allowed to stand up for herself and others?<br />
<br />
It's all about paying attention. Pay attention to how people of color are portrayed in movies, the news, etc. because what we see shapes our way of thinking whether we realize it or not. As long as we pay attention, we are able to see not beyond the color, but beyond the prejudices and stereotypes about the color.<br />
<br />
This is why representation matters. To see myself represented in a positive light - such as in sacred art featuring people with various cultural backgrounds - it says to me, "You can achieve this. You can be holy, good, worthy. You can be a leader." Not only that, but for people of all colors to be represented in images of holiness and authority says to each of us, "People who are different than me can achieve this, too. They can be holy, good, worthy. They can be leaders."<br />
<br />
The way I see myself is important. But the way we see others is what changes the world.<br />
<br />
Choosing to Journey in Hope,<br />
Sister Desiré Anne-Marie Findlay, CSSF<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxHyzcgQOdS30kDB9JdT9hQ_nleNiHGN3-4jRjtwyS9DGva5_qGi0wOY0TnvAMSRulmJd0fKo8RqpIfN1tiq47y629BDsirHaDiBTzKb_j3xyoDGVeHMi-yMSJVy5r7gm4oX0ORxxO1vtf/s1600/Screenshot_20200721-231208_Instagram.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1342" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxHyzcgQOdS30kDB9JdT9hQ_nleNiHGN3-4jRjtwyS9DGva5_qGi0wOY0TnvAMSRulmJd0fKo8RqpIfN1tiq47y629BDsirHaDiBTzKb_j3xyoDGVeHMi-yMSJVy5r7gm4oX0ORxxO1vtf/s320/Screenshot_20200721-231208_Instagram.jpg" width="257" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Taleisha Goodson (feat. her daughter)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i><br /></i><div>
<i>Photo by Taleisha Goodson used with permission</i><div>
<i>Instagram: @taleishagoodson</i><br /><br /></div>
</div>
</div></div>Sister Desire Anne-Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01367807974001050862noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-79737205984279982342020-06-05T08:23:00.000-07:002020-06-08T09:51:52.836-07:00A Letter from the Only African-American Felician Sister<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO7O82DNv7bgy4P8wwhszsKiyodmnCsQtdegxCSZd1jiPIHTym02cOMzE94YtrCLOcLa7pqLYtmLrg-RDGuf80BcbFe7zrOu_mALNblcN1MAe2Oxt10v-0jNcjq0MkjdkqjKjyzxVD3QT7/s1600/20200531_140923.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1368" data-original-width="1600" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO7O82DNv7bgy4P8wwhszsKiyodmnCsQtdegxCSZd1jiPIHTym02cOMzE94YtrCLOcLa7pqLYtmLrg-RDGuf80BcbFe7zrOu_mALNblcN1MAe2Oxt10v-0jNcjq0MkjdkqjKjyzxVD3QT7/s320/20200531_140923.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As a woman of color living in the United States, who
is woefully underrepresented within my own religious community, there are times
when I feel uniquely seen and heard. Sometimes I am invited onto particular
committees or into particular groups both inside and outside of my community
because of the color of my skin. My opinion is sought on topics that have to do
with culture, diversity, and representation, which gives me a valuable opportunity
to speak up on matters concerning people of color. However, there are other excruciating
times when I feel invisible, like right now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I don’t blame you. I do feel the need to say
something. There are plenty of prayers being invoked for an end to the violence
of the riots. That’s good. Riots are scary and harmful. I’m just wondering where
the prayers were for Ahmaud Arbery and his family, or Breonna Taylor and her
family, or George Floyd and his family? That is why I feel invisible. All those
who are praying for an end to the riots did not seem to notice that there was
violence before this violence. A riot, as Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. said, “is
the language of the unheard.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">So now we have looting and violent riots, but even
still, most of the protests taking place are peaceful. I have seen videos of people
standing in front of stores to block others from causing destruction. Other
videos show hundreds, even thousands, of peaceful protesters </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">marching together.
If black people are rioting, it is out of the wounds caused by centuries –
CENTURIES – of injustice, brutality, and murder based on a prejudice which intends
to rob us of our dignity. But if you look closely enough, beyond the prejudice perpetuated
by the media, you will see plenty of white people causing destruction. Are they
angry too? Do they think they’re helping? Or do they simply want to give our
cry for justice a bad name? I do not know, but what I do know is that praying
for an end to violence needs to go beyond the riots.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Praying for peace needs to include a prayer to end violence
by police officers towards black people; the end of violence by those who judge
black people negatively based on the color of our skin; and an end to the violent
mindsets that dehumanize black people, immigrants, natives, and people from
developing countries. This prayer needs to break open the hearts and minds of
those who do not view their privilege as a threat or a problem. Complacency and
silence concerning matters of injustice toward the marginalized creates a
burden of pain that the marginalized can carry for only so long. Complacency
and silence have no place in Christianity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am not condoning the violence of riots, nor am I
saying that all police officers are corrupt. Only one police officer knelt on
the neck of George Floyd, but where were the voices of the other three? Silence
is complicity. That is why all four police officers have now been charged in
the death of Mr. Floyd. If the privileged had not been silent all these years,
we would not need to be praying for an end to riots. Unfortunately, I know
there will be a next time. Please, the next time we say, “I can’t breathe,” we
need you to hear us, cry out with us and be compelled to act on our behalf.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Yours in faith, hope, & love,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sr. Desiré Anne-Marie Findlay</span>Sister Desire Anne-Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01367807974001050862noreply@blogger.com59tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-10914831569056215242020-05-08T10:47:00.000-07:002020-05-30T20:43:55.602-07:00Ahmaud ArberyI can't think about him without feeling sick to my stomach. I barely heard about his murder yesterday, but today he's all I can think about.<br />
<br />
His death holds years of injustice, of unrelenting hatred, of dignity thrown to the ground and massacred.<br />
<br />
Now I get a sense of what longing for the Messiah meant for the Jewish people; hoping and waiting for someone who would fix everything, take away the suffering imposed upon your people for generations. I get the disappointment now when Jesus hadn't shown up to end political evils and upturn unjust infrastructures.<br />
<br />
I feel the weight of the phrase,"We had hoped..." as I think about the dejected disciples on their way to Emmaus. I can understand that heaviness as I realize every day I am hoping, but turn to find that hope tossed away by another senseless killing.<br />
<br />
If the world won't change unless I change, then should I be placing the burden of hope upon myself? Is it I who should be ending political evils and upturning unjust infrastructures?<br />
<br />
My mind falls upon a scene from an unassuming Netflix series called "The Letter for the King". Tiuri, a young knight in training, has an incredibly profound encounter with an odd monk. It is the monk's last paragraph which grabs my attention now, but the entire conversation and scene is worth noting:<br />
<br />
Tiuri and his travel companion have taken refuge at a seemingly dark and sinister monastery. Late into the night, Tiuri realizes he's lost an item very important to him and goes out into the hall looking for it. The odd monk finds him instead and they make their way downstairs for a turning point in Tiuri's inward journey...<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #999999;">[Monk hands Tiuri a large sword.]</span><br />
T: It's too heavy for me.<br />
M: On the contrary, that heaviness, that weight, that's what we carry around in our hearts our whole lives.<br />
<span style="color: #999999;">[They lift their swords for a duel, but Tiuri says he can't and drops the sword.]</span><br />
M: What's in there? What's in that heart of yours that dare not speak? You will have been told to ignore it. To pretend it's not there. But ignoring it is like choosing a lighter sword. And what comes from turning our back on the heaviness inside?<br />
<span style="color: #999999;">[Monk hands Tiuri a lighter sword. They duel and Tiuri quickly loses.]</span><br />
M: It destroys us. You have to face it. You have to face the heaviness. Because the heaviness is what's keeping you from being who you really are.<br />
<span style="color: #999999;">[Tiuri picks up the heavy sword again.]</span><br />
M: Embrace it. Look into your heart with clear eyes and move with it.<br />
<span style="color: #999999;">[They duel and Tiuri does much better.]</span><br />
M: Let out the boy you are inside, the boy you've never known, the boy who's never dared step into the light. Face the heaviness that's stopping that boy and name it.<br />
<span style="color: #999999;">[They duel again. Tiuri continues to fight well and then names his heaviness as "loss".]</span><br />
M: It's not the pain which ruins us, my child. It's the things we do to avoid the pain.<br />
T: I fear it will break me.<br />
M: Then break. Break. Let Spirit crack you open. Let yourself be forged in the crucible of your own agony, transformed into the most perfect instrument of destiny... If you can embrace the fullness of your pain, you can embrace the fullness of that power.<br />
<br />
It's this final paragraph from the monk which comes to me today, offering a bit of consolation and encouragement. It's a reminder to me that hope crucified is not the end of the story, but a place from which true hope flows.<br />
<br />
Ahmaud Arbery, today you are my hope crucified. You are the innocence I had hoped would live. Instead, you have been robbed of life after only 25 years on this earth and it has caused pain for so many. May we allow this tragedy to be a crucible which forges us and transforms us into the most perfect instruments of destiny. May embracing our pain lead us to embrace the fullness of our power. May this not be the end of Ahmaud Arbery's story.<br />
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<br />Sister Desire Anne-Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01367807974001050862noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-72060251086462804832020-04-25T18:26:00.001-07:002020-05-04T11:13:00.803-07:00A Moment of HonestyThis post is for those of us struggling with quarantine and feeling guilty about it. If you’re like me, you’ve probably been vacillating between knowing how much quarantine has troubled you, but trying to shush yourself since there are other people out there with “real problems”. Well guess what, every problem is a real problem, so welcome, my troubled friend.<br />
<br />
When it comes to my interior movement these days, there's not even a back and forth I can describe - no going between two different emotions like a high and a low. No, I'm just all over the place.<br />
<br />
Some days I'm mad; other days I'm content and can see God at work even in the mess. And then other days I feel like an ungrateful first world brat because I'm constantly complaining about my own discomfort. Sometimes I even get to experience all of that in a single day. But every day I start over by reminding myself that it's okay to feel whatever I'm feeling and that minimizing my hurt isn't going to help anyone. In fact, it would only be detrimental to me and the people around me (or in front of me on a screen).<br />
<br />
While I may not be working on the front lines accompanying the sick and dying, or losing loved ones from across the miles without a chance to say goodbye, there are losses and challenges in my own daily life that I must acknowledge, even as I work from home, virus-free and well-fed. My pain doesn't have to look like somebody else's pain to count, and neither does yours.<br />
<br />
I first started to notice that I was feeling angry after spending two weeks in quarantine. I came back to my convent in Pittsburgh halfway through March after traveling to California for a few different events. As I left California, schools, restaurants and movie theaters slowly began to close their doors.<br />
<br />
Upon arriving in Pittsburgh, I spent 14 days in quarantine because the sister I live with is immunocompromised. She stayed at another convent while I stayed at ours alone. At first I thought I would enjoy it and that I’d finally have a chance to catch up on all the sleep and downtime I could have ever dreamed of. Instead, I found myself staying awake until the sun came up on some nights and simply waiting for the days to end because every hour felt heavy and empty all at once.<br />
<br />
I went from spending time with people constantly to having absolutely no human interaction except for the single day I went to the grocery store. Even as an introvert I felt myself drained of all energy. I was fed up with Zoom calls already and didn’t even want to respond to texts or phone calls anymore. I have never experienced clinical depression, but I’m pretty sure that was the closest I have ever come. And all it took was 14 days.<br />
<br />
It was hard to understand why I felt so lethargic, but looking back on it, I realize I was grieving. I had just lost my life in the way I had known it for the 33 years I’ve been alive. Not only that, but going from constant interaction to zero interaction was like jumping into a water so cold it lunged at every cell in my body. If the coronavirus could attack the lungs of my heart, that’s what it felt like.<br />
<br />
Not only did my calendar go empty - which was once so full I could barely understand how I actually made it to appointments without double-booking myself - but my days did as well. For 14 days I had absolutely no reason to get up in the morning. Since I am a religious sister, people might wonder, “Isn’t Jesus your reason for getting up every day?” Well yes, but for me the idea of Jesus being present “where two or three are gathered together in [his] name” is very much a reality (Mt. 18:20). I may be an introvert, but I love people because I find the Jesus I love among them.<br />
<br />
My days were empty of activity, which meant they were empty of people, which in turn made me feel like they were empty of purpose. I was grateful for God’s invitation during this time to look at my days and how I spent them - not just in the past, but in the present. It brought to mind thoughts and questions around the idea of meaning and purpose. Having a full calendar and days overflowing with activity once told me I had a purpose. As all of that disappeared, how was I supposed to believe my life still had purpose? I knew it was a chance for transformation, and yet it was still very painful.<br />
<br />
When it was time for the sister I live with to return home, my mixed emotions continued. I wanted company, but her return to our convent wasn’t going to change anything. It made me angry. Fortunately for me she is very patient and understanding because she was the only one around and thus became the object of my frustration.<br />
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Throughout Holy Week I continued to fume about all that was disappearing in my life - friend’s weddings, vocation events, gatherings in new and exciting places, a spiritual retreat in the desert, time with my family in New Mexico, outings of any kind - while at the same time feeling like I shouldn’t complain since other people had bigger problems. But when the resurrection of Easter began to uncurl the tightness in my chest, I could begin to see my own “problems” were also very real. Slowly, very slowly, I started to acknowledge the losses and let go. It was like watching new life take root after a forest fire even as the ash is still falling.<br />
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Contemplating the process of a caterpillar becoming a butterfly began to help me understand transformation on a deeper level. What first stood out to me was how the caterpillar becomes an absolute mess in the cocoon. Kirstin Vanlierde describes it well in a post on medium.com entitled, “A Little Story on Death and Resurrection”: <i>In order to become a butterfly, the caterpillar has to fall apart completely, decompose down to its very essence, devoid of any shape or consciousness. It literally dies. There is nothing left of it. And from this ... essence, the butterfly starts to put itself together, from scratch.</i><br />
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I had no problem identifying with that. There was a darkness in this time that seemed to be both painful and healing. It was causing me to question everything, down to whether or not my life had any purpose anymore; but it was also helping me to value life in ways I never had.<br />
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Secondly, I once heard that sometimes caterpillars delay their process of becoming a chrysalis. For whatever reason, when the time comes they do not begin the process and can even put it off for up to a year. Do they know what’s coming? Do they know they will be completely undone? Maybe they sense a change in the air and, like most of us, do whatever they can to avoid it.<br />
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This time, though, none of us could avoid the change. We couldn’t even try to delay it. Here we are now, in a global cocoon, with our lives coming undone.<br />
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We have all lost something. Maybe it’s health, maybe a loved one or a friend, maybe a “right of passage” ceremony, like graduation or Baptism. So let yourself grieve. Your loss doesn’t have to be the same as someone else’s loss to be painful. You’re allowed to be angry, hurt, disappointed, scared, lonely, anxious, sad, or any other kind of emotion labeled as “negative”. Allow the arteries of your spirit to open up so that healing can begin. Maybe some days we will experience depression unlike anything we’ve ever felt; maybe some days we’ll feel a hope as real and grand as the sun itself. No matter what, every day is a day closer to healing.<br />
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Maybe we’ll never arrive at the life we once had, but we’ll arrive somewhere. The caterpillar doesn’t know what’s on the other side of its cocoon, and we don’t know what’s on the other side of ours - but if God’s patterns reveal themselves time and again in nature, then coming undone completely means eventually we’ll get to fly.<br />
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<i>Sister Desiré Anne-Marie Findlay</i></div>
Vocation Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281359364919030563noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-17450261117736004292020-02-26T12:02:00.002-08:002020-03-12T14:59:43.791-07:00Doing & Being<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've been speaking to a lot of groups lately, but I find it ironic that I'm speaking at all. By nature I keep most of my words in my head, but even when I do want to speak, I prefer it to be minimal and in a group of no more than five people. That, or in a profound conversation with someone whose depth of spirit speaks to my own.<br />
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By definition of what I've been doing lately I guess you could call me a "national speaker". I've spoken all across the country in a number of churches, schools and institutions; have been interviewed for various media and written material; and have even had to turn down some invitations because of a schedule that can't fit anything more.<br />
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When I reflect on this, I'm tempted to laugh, but I'm mostly confused because I have no interest in public speaking. I'd rather read a book than speak about it, so I keep asking God the same question dear old Moses did, "Why me? Don't you want someone else?"<br />
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I have a very simple philosophy when it comes to God's will: God opens doors when there's a path I should walk and God closes doors when I need to look elsewhere. God has shown me where to turn by making things happen that I couldn't have accomplished on my own (like when I took the wrong test to apply for the School of Education and was admitted anyway); or by giving me "no" as an answer when I wanted to hear "yes". Sometimes a "closed door" has been simply knowing in my heart that I'm not pursuing what I know I should be, and I'm not at peace until I listen.<br />
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As I see all these doors opening for me to walk into schools and parishes, it tells me that this is where God wants me right now. The invitations wouldn't be coming if God had other plans in mind. Even still, while this may be <i>what I do</i>, it doesn't really feel like <i>who I am</i>.<br />
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The other day I was preparing to lead a retreat for high school seniors. I always get nervous before presentations and retreats because I want to offer the best and leave people with something they can really use in their relationship with God. The night before this particular retreat I prayed, "Lord, please help me to be who you need me to be for these students." In that moment my mind quieted and I felt the Lord say, "I don't need you to be anything. Just be yourself." It was both comforting and unsettling. I wanted more guidance than that, and yet I knew that was truly all God wanted.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9t1qQ9_yuk0/XlbKx5HtmmI/AAAAAAAAB0o/jeZBkjXwCGwtKplez5ZGd19QyZgBoa-TQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/54596.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="854" data-original-width="1280" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9t1qQ9_yuk0/XlbKx5HtmmI/AAAAAAAAB0o/jeZBkjXwCGwtKplez5ZGd19QyZgBoa-TQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/54596.jpeg" width="320" /></a>So if my <i>doing</i> is not my <i>being</i>, then I suppose it is not so much <i>what </i>I share as it is <i>who </i>I share. I have been trying to fit the role of how I view public speakers - as dynamic extroverts with lots of things to say. Instead, I need to find a way of public speaking that is <i>me </i>- a friendly introvert with lots of things on her mind.<br />
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I wonder how many people get stuck trying to fit a role as it is commonly cast. How do we break free? How do we re-imagine the role so that we can still do what needs to be done, but in a way that gives us space to be us?<br />
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The photos you see in this post were taken by Carlos Trujillo during a talk I gave in Albuquerque,<br />
NM. They say so much of who I am, and yet give the impression that I am a speaker and a performer. I consider myself neither, but, in the words of Mother Teresa, I do consider myself a pencil in the hand of God. Who am I to decide what story God should write with me, or how it should be written? It is enough that God should want to write with me.<br />
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So, as I continue to be entrusted with a stage and a microphone, I will do my best to make the most of it. Considering that Lent has just begun, perhaps I could use it as a time to further explore how to <i>be </i>in all that I <i>do</i>. Please pray for me as I pray for you.<br />
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<i>Sister Desiré Anne-Marie Findlay</i>Vocation Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281359364919030563noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-88961381920381017112019-10-03T13:08:00.001-07:002019-10-07T08:32:51.626-07:00The End of Doubt<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kate Buckley Photography</td></tr>
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After nine years of prayer, formation and formal discernment, I made my final vows with the Felician Sisters on August 15, 2019. Those years flew by like clouds on a windy day, but they were meaningful and packed to the brim with experiences and people who helped to shape me. Even after those very full nine years, I still couldn't be 100% sure that I was ready to say "yes" forever. I was about 90% sure, however, that I didn't want to say "no". I had been living this religious life for nine years and I couldn't imagine myself doing or being anything different.<br />
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In preparation for the big day, we spent several weeks throughout the year in prayer and conversation. It was a year of reflection, but even the day before <i>the</i> <i>day</i> I thought to myself, "This final vow ceremony is pretty much just a formality. I've been living the vows for six years already, and nothing changes after this. I'll still be doing what I've been doing and living where I've been living. It's no big deal." Oh, but it was a big deal.<br />
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When we processed into the chapel at the start of Mass, joy flooded my heart with wave after wave of<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kate Buckley Photography</td></tr>
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smiling faces. Parents, siblings, family from miles away, friends, sisters from other congregations, sisters from my own congregation, people from my Pomona family - they were all there, and they were there to support and encourage me as they had all along the way. I was so excited I couldn't even cry, but I'm crying now just recalling that moment. All these eyes connected with mine, but our hearts had been intertwined long ago. Almost 100 people came to celebrate, and Jesus was certainly in our midst. Not just another body in the crowd, He was the pulse of it - the branch connecting all the vines with mutual love and excitement.<br />
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I don't remember much else, but I do remember that I wholeheartedly enjoyed the music. I'm a dancer by nature, but I fervently sang along to songs that had been a part of my journey from the beginning and songs that had connected me with my sisters over time. Basically I was just enjoying a rather fancy and personalized Mass; but then came the reception of the ring. I stood at the front of the chapel while the priest held up a simple silver ring. I'm sure he said something very profound and I probably responded with "Amen" but all I really know is that as soon as the ring made its way onto my finger, a sudden and slow explosion began to go off in my mind.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kate Buckley Photography</td></tr>
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About 50 different thoughts came at me as soon as I received that ring. For one, I realized that I had been subconsciously keeping myself aware of all the options still available to me prior to that very day. Up until that moment, I had subconsciously been saying to myself, "This isn't forever yet. I can still choose to pursue anything. I could travel, get married, have kids, anything." However, as I watched that little silver ring slide onto my finger something else became apparent: out of all the options out there, I chose this one. I could have chosen anything else, but I didn't.<br />
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As I continue to reflect on that moment, I realize that I was not only living with an awareness of other options, I was living as if I might choose one of them instead. I loved my community from the beginning, and felt all along that God had been inviting me here, but even then I hadn't fully given myself all of those years. Not only was I holding onto those other options subconsciously, but I was living them subliminally. I was not going on dates or flirting, of course, but neither was I 100% invested in my call to religious life. I was living it knowing that it could potentially be temporary, halfheartedly showing up to prayers and never giving a thought to how it affected others. That ring changed everything.<br />
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It makes me think of the Catholic Church's firm stance on couples not living together before they get married. I always knew it was important, but I never really paid attention to why it mattered so much. With this new understanding of commitment, I'm finally "getting it". When two people live together before marriage, they know in the back of their minds that the person they're with is still just one option out of many. They may not say that out loud, but it's subconscious, and so at some level they will live that way, too. It may not come in the form of physical betrayal, but it's hard to invest oneself fully in a commitment when it still just remains an option. At the same time, the other person knows that they remain simply one option out of many. Thus, marriage becomes a way for a couple to say to one another, "Out of all the options out there, I choose you. I choose to give myself fully to you and to nothing and no one else."<br />
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My little ring has become a symbol of just that. On August 15th I said to God, "Out of all the options out there, I choose you. I choose to give myself fully to you and to nothing and no one else." So here I am, committed to no one and everyone all at once, serving through the charism of my beloved congregation. Where will it lead me? I have no idea, but I am content in knowing that "I have found the One whom my soul loves" (Song of Solomon 3:4).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kate Buckley Photography</td></tr>
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<br />Vocation Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281359364919030563noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-7692080275267012142019-07-03T11:30:00.002-07:002020-04-27T17:48:02.051-07:00The Elbow<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9BJCDF-xj20/XRz-5MKhE8I/AAAAAAAAByA/f4ujYQi2QdUN4JYjtS41XxVGsSmN--cuACLcBGAs/s1600/Seeds%2Bof%2BHope%2BLogo%2B%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="302" data-original-width="201" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9BJCDF-xj20/XRz-5MKhE8I/AAAAAAAAByA/f4ujYQi2QdUN4JYjtS41XxVGsSmN--cuACLcBGAs/s1600/Seeds%2Bof%2BHope%2BLogo%2B%25282%2529.jpg" /></a>I recently traveled to Holly, MI for a program sponsored by the Felician Sisters called "Seeds of Hope", which is a youth leadership experience for young women going into their sophomore or junior year of high school. This was my fifth year helping out; every year I walk away with something to ponder, and this time it's a moment of personal reflection that still has me fascinated.<br />
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This year our program was graced with a new speaker, Erricka Bridgeford, a co-organizer for the "Ceasefire" weekends in Baltimore who appeared on TEDx as a result of her efforts. She spoke about "The Power of One" to our group of young women and walked us through an exercise that would help us envision our unique and essential place as a single member in the fabric of humanity.<br />
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"Close your eyes," she instructed. We did so very obediently since Erricka is not a force to be reckoned with, but also because her entire talk throughout the morning had held our attention like nothing else. We didn't want to miss anything she had in store for us. "Imagine a huge body. It could be male, female, just picture a person larger than normal." She let us sit there in silence, fashioning our people. I imagined a genderless being, large, but not quite the size you'd imagine a giant from a fairy-tale. "Imagine all the parts at work," she said, gently focusing our minds. "Think of whatever you can: organs, limbs, hair. Think of it all working together." I pictured little people all making up this big person of mine. They were holding hands, going about their work, but careful not to let go of one another. I liked picturing humanity that way. It made me see more clearly the reality that we are one big life depending on all the parts for strength. "Now," Erricka continued, "think of yourself in there. Where are you? What are you? Are you a finger? A nose? The heart?" Again, she gave us time to think about what vital piece of the body we might represent.<br />
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I didn't know where to start as I tried to imagine what part of the body I might be. A few things came to mind, but it didn't take long until an image popped into my head and I knew right away it wasn't just me looking for an answer. I saw myself in that giant body, resting contently in the elbow. <i>The elbow?</i> I thought. Even though the image gave me peace, I couldn't understand why I would picture myself there. <i>Why would I be an elbow? </i>Getting into a thinking position, I leaned over in my chair, placed my elbows on my thighs, and that's when I understood it. The elbow. It's hidden, right there in the back of our arms, not even visible unless you bend awkwardly to get a good look at it; but it's an important place of support. It helps to hold us up when we are tired; allows our arms to stretch and bend; it even springs into action and aids us in breaking a fall. That silly little elbow has so many jobs, and yet it's not in any noticeable place.<br />
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The more I considered the role of the elbow, the more happy I felt in knowing that it was God's place for me. A silent and unseen place, but one that enables people to reach farther and keeps us from hitting the ground too hard when we fall. I liked thinking I could quietly be that for others. Less attention on me, and more attention on supporting my human family.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B10fbfaZ1c8/XRz-jwWl1-I/AAAAAAAABx4/kkCzXaZeg6g-Gx5VU6lJvMSN9Xh9i6fvwCLcBGAs/s1600/SoH%2B1%2B%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B10fbfaZ1c8/XRz-jwWl1-I/AAAAAAAABx4/kkCzXaZeg6g-Gx5VU6lJvMSN9Xh9i6fvwCLcBGAs/s400/SoH%2B1%2B%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a>Why not give it a try! Follow Erricka's promptings and see which part you are. Don't force it, just let the image form as you imagine all the parts of the body working together. You'll know which one you are when it comes to you. Once you feel sure, even if it seems odd, take some time to ask yourself some questions. <i>What makes this body part represent me? What is my job in the body of humanity? What is it that I do for others because of my unique place in the body?</i><br />
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As always, thanks for reading! Many blessings as you do your part to hold up humanity,<br />
<i>Sister Desiré Anne-Marie</i><br />
<br />Vocation Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281359364919030563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-55699783577686382802019-04-29T19:18:00.000-07:002019-04-29T20:27:16.064-07:00An Easter Poem<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: #351c75;">Love Reborn</span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #674ea7;">Darkness lies solemn upon the earth</span></div>
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<span style="color: #674ea7;">And yet, new light</span></div>
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<span style="color: #674ea7;">A death</span></div>
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<span style="color: #674ea7;">A birth</span></div>
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<span style="color: #8e7cc3;">Silence spreads slowly across the sky</span></div>
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<span style="color: #8e7cc3;">A long, deep breath</span></div>
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<span style="color: #8e7cc3;">A fall</span></div>
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<span style="color: #8e7cc3;">A rise</span></div>
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<span style="color: #c27ba0;">Fire breaks softly inviting the day</span></div>
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<span style="color: #c27ba0;">Whispers of hope</span></div>
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<span style="color: #c27ba0;">A cross</span></div>
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<span style="color: #c27ba0;">A way</span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">Glory runs swiftly toward the tomb</span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">Mary finds life</span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">A cave</span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">A womb</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">God speaks boldly humanity’s truth</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">The Spirit burns on</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">In me</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">In you</span></div>
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<i>Sister Desiré Anne-Marie Findlay</i></div>
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<i>4-29-19</i></div>
Vocation Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281359364919030563noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-32818992440993161112018-11-29T12:29:00.002-08:002018-12-03T11:19:18.656-08:00The Heart of a Mother<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I love giving vocation talks, not because I'm trying to recruit young women to religious life, but because a lot of young people are curious about the lives of Sisters and don't always have a chance to ask us questions. The Q&A portion is my favorite part of a vocation talk. I get questions as simple as "Are you allowed to listen to any kind of music?" and questions as complicated as "Don't you want to have children?" This second question is the one I sat down to write about today.<br />
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When I ask a young woman whether or not she has considered the possibility of religious life, if she says, "No," it's often followed by, "Because I want to get married and have children." Oddly enough, a lot of Sisters I know said the very same thing when someone had asked them the very same question. Despite all the gender stereotype and social construct arguments, I do believe that our bodies are deeply connected to our souls. The womb of a woman is not just another body part, but is central and sacred, even the womb of a woman physically unable bear children. The space within us tells us that we are bearers of life, that we can carry another human being within ourselves. It makes sense, then, that a young woman's hesitation to religious life would be the relinquishing of such a gift. But is it something we actually relinquish?<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xMra4afzolE/XABLZ6nSwLI/AAAAAAAABwA/EVgNtAJ9xEILpHJBnyLocHXPRCZZyrrzwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_1390.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1600" height="152" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xMra4afzolE/XABLZ6nSwLI/AAAAAAAABwA/EVgNtAJ9xEILpHJBnyLocHXPRCZZyrrzwCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_1390.PNG" width="320" /></a>This reminds me of the story of Abraham, called to return his son to the Lord by sacrificing him. That's how I felt about dance once upon a time. I thought that once I entered the convent there would be no dancing, that it would be a gift I would have to sacrifice and return to God. Instead, it has been returned to me and its blessing upon my life has increased a hundredfold, just like God promising Abraham "descendants as countless as the stars" because he was willing to let go of that which he held dear (Gen. 22:17). I think it's the same for a woman who cherishes her life-bearing abilities and yet decides to live out the religious vow of chastity. Many of us enter religious life thinking, "I would love to have children, but this is where I am called, and so I am willing to make this sacrifice." In the end, though, I am starting to see that much like Abraham, we too receive descendants as countless as the stars.<br />
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I didn't think too often about having children until I was a novice and my sister was pregnant with her first child. The mystery and excitement of it all paralleled a deep sadness that began to run through me. Being the older sister by only a few years, my younger sister and I had always been very close. I had often experienced life's challenges first which gave me the ability to help guide her through similar challenges later. That was not the case this time. I couldn't understand what she was going through and, I realized, I never would. "We'll never be able to swap giving-birth stories," I thought, "Or watch our kids play and grow up together." I would smile whenever we spoke on the phone, but at night I would turn to my pillow and cry.<br />
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It's been six years since then. In addition to her gentle son, my sister also has a girl now, a spicy little 5-year-old who couldn't wait to start kindergarten this year. As I prepare to make final vows, I still let my mind drift from time to time and wonder what it would have been like to have children. I wonder what they would have looked like, or how they would have behaved. Would they have been artists or athletes? Maybe both! I wonder if I would have ever gotten them to school on time since I can't stand waking up early. Would they have been little night owls, too? Or would they have pounced on me at 5:00 in the morning, ready for a new day?<br />
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While I do not have answers to those questions, I am starting to feel my heart open up in a way I can only describe as the heart of a mother. I would do anything for my nephew and niece. I save all the drawings they give me; I think mean thoughts about the kids that bully them (and then try to pray for the conversion of their heathen souls); I spend all my money on them at Christmas; and I sit on the phone with them for as long as they want when they call. They may not be my kids, but my heart can't tell the difference. My sister jokes that they're half of her and half of me. My nephew is becoming a little bookworm, just like I was when I was his age, and my niece is obsessed with animals of all sorts, wanting to rescue them no matter how big or small.<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UWSW8__6BQw/XABL34GS3RI/AAAAAAAABwU/axUNvvTSFPwclAQK6BM92snG2uLmqh2aQCLcBGAs/s1600/28765.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UWSW8__6BQw/XABL34GS3RI/AAAAAAAABwU/axUNvvTSFPwclAQK6BM92snG2uLmqh2aQCLcBGAs/s200/28765.jpeg" width="150" /></a>That maternal love is extending now, further and further, as I spend more time with the youth in our country. During a retreat this month I had the opportunity to speak one-on-one with a handful of high school students. I was surprised by the level of despair and pain with which they came to me. They were carrying tragedy and questions that I never had to deal with so young. As I listened to them I longed to carry it all for them. I found myself asking God how I could help lighten their loads, or how I could help them discover the abundance of God's love for them. I would sometimes look out at all of them during quiet moments of prayer, just to take in every little hair on their precious heads. I imagine that's how a parent feels - wishing they could take away their child's pain, whether it's a scraped knee or a deep heartache; or watching their child, toddler or teen, during some simple activity and feeling overwhelmed with gratitude for the gift of their lives.<br />
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Maybe I thought I was giving up a huge part of my life when I realized I wouldn't be having children; maybe I felt like I was sacrificing my own child the way Abraham must have felt as he held the knife over Isaac; but God's invitation is always followed by lavish, life-altering love. That's what I found instead of sacrifice and emptiness. I am discovering each day a love that is as true as any I could have hoped for. I guess my answer to the question "Don't you want to have children?" will now be something more along the lines of, "Of course! That's why I have hundreds."<br />
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<br />Vocation Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281359364919030563noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-74178984274694194862018-08-17T19:20:00.000-07:002020-05-30T21:17:48.131-07:00The Famous QuestionI have had one of the most adventurous summers of my life. It started with a single phone call from a young woman named Emily Cunningham. After tracking me down through a list of phone numbers she had received, Emily finally got a hold of me at my new place of residency. When I answered the phone I started trying to imagine all the reasons I might be receiving a call from someone I did not know. "I was given your name by Father Tom Sparacino," she said. "My friends and I have been asking around about a Sister who could join us for a camping retreat." My heart started pounding. A camping retreat?! Never mind that I had only gone camping like twice in my life, I was being invited to a camping retreat! Well, it didn't take long for me to rearrange my vacation, despite the fact that I had to cancel a surprise trip for my baby sister's 13th birthday. (It sounds terrible of me, I know, BUT ... <i>spoiler alert</i> ... it all worked out in the end.)<br />
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During our week at camp, every activity we did was discussed during a debriefing time when campers and camp leaders would talk about the day's events in light of their relationship with God, themselves, or others. It reminded me of the question that so many spiritual directors love to ask: "Where did you see God in this?" The famous question.<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Hw_ryuLRYIk/W3d_BbF3jKI/AAAAAAAABu8/jQbqo6vGBzgV240D5UTxv3fUSv9lK-pfQCLcBGAs/s1600/GOPR0059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Hw_ryuLRYIk/W3d_BbF3jKI/AAAAAAAABu8/jQbqo6vGBzgV240D5UTxv3fUSv9lK-pfQCLcBGAs/s200/GOPR0059.JPG" width="200" /></a>As I ponder my many trips and adventures, that continues to be my guiding question. During the camp - named Camp Lajas after the Colombian miracle of Our Lady of Las Lajas - we had a chance to go hiking, rock climbing, kayaking, and rafting. I was forever gaining insights from the campers and camp leaders, but also coming to my own insights as I processed the experience for myself. In order to continue processing the experiences, I am sharing them with you here and hopefully it can help you ask the same question for yourself about your own summer activities: Where did you see God?<br />
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On Sunday, July 22nd, Emily's wonderful mom gave me a ride up to Muskrat Cove at Moraine State Park where I met the rest of the retreat leaders. We cooked, cleaned, set up tents, put together an outdoor chapel, laughed, ate, took pictures, and got ready for the eight retreatants who arrived the next day. They were young women in all levels of high school and from different areas of the Diocese of Pittsburgh. They all looked nervous when they showed up Monday since most of them did not know each other or the camp leaders, but it was easy to see that they were all excited to be there. I was excited too, except for the white water rafting we'd be doing on Thursday. I was not excited for that.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rock climbing - it's not as easy as it looks</td></tr>
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When we went rock climbing on Tuesday, the instructors were great and gave tons of good tips as they explained the difficulties and rewards of rock climbing. I looked up at the tall rock walls they had chosen for us and couldn't wait to give rock climbing a try. We had two options, so I went to the wall that had more edges and crevices since it looked like more fun to climb. When it was my turn, I put the harness on and happily started my ascent. I wish I could say I never looked back, but I could barely hang on after I'd gone up only two feet! I gracefully fell off the wall and had to start again. I think that's when I lost my confidence, because after that I began to second guess everything. It took me so much time and effort to consider my next move that I was getting frustrated. My arms were getting tired and every crevice seemed too far away for me to grasp. When I made it about halfway up the wall, the instructor simply called out to me, "Trust yourself!" It was like a movie moment, when everything is suddenly still and your spidey senses start tingling. It was exactly what I needed to hear. I had been relying on the strength of my wobbly arms when the instructors had clearly told us in the beginning to rely on our legs. "Most beginners think they need to use their arms to get themselves up, but all the work should really be in your legs." <i>Of course, </i>I thought to myself, <i>Why would I rely on my arms anyway? They've always been the weakest part of my body. My strength has always been in my legs. </i>It was like I suddenly realized that God had already given me the strength I needed, I just had to trust in it.<br />
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I read the book <i>I Am Malala </i>by Malala Yousafzai and it reminds me of something she said the doctor had told her father when the hospital was getting ready to transfer her for recovery after she was shot. Her father had expressed gratitude in the fact that God had sent those specific doctors to his daughter's aid right when she needed them most. The doctor, Dr. Javid Kayani, replied, "It is my belief God sends the solution first and the problem later" (pg. 269). It felt the same for me - although in much less drastic circumstances - God had already given me a solution. The solution was my strong dancer legs, so instead of trying to come up with my own solution by using my arms, I needed to trust that God had already equipped me for the task at hand. I saw a clear parallel in my rock climbing adventure with implications for daily life: I have already been given certain strengths with which to navigate this life, and I'll only be able to find my way if I use them.<br />
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When Thursday came around I woke up with a pounding headache and thought perhaps it was a sign. As you may recall from my post about the Holy Land, drowning is one of my biggest fears, so with a headache on white water rafting day I figured it meant I shouldn't go since I might not make it out alive. I seriously considered staying behind and had an interior battle before getting into the van. I thought, <i>If I don't go I'll miss out on time with the campers. Maybe I won't die. Maybe I'll be fine. No, this headache is terrible. I won't be fine. I'm going to die. </i>Even with that conclusion, I somehow convinced myself to line up for the van.<br />
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Halfway to our destination, we missed our exit on the highway. Usually you can just turn around without too much of a change in your estimated time of arrival, but not on white water rafting day. Once the GPS rerouted us we got 30 minutes added to our trip. Instead of arriving right on time at noon, we were now going to be a half hour late. To me, that was another sign. Emily gasped in a panic. "They'll leave without us!" she said. "The paperwork clearly states that if we don't get there on time, the group will leave without us." She sat in shock for a moment as I silently thanked God that we missed our exit. <i>This must mean I was going to die! Now we're definitely not going white water rafting. Thank You, Lord. </i>"Wait," Emily said, "I'll just call and tell them we missed our exit. Maybe they'll understand." She made the phone call and the very kind woman on the other end said they would wait. I was disappointed. <i>So there's a chance we'll make it, </i>I thought. <i>Great.</i><br />
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When we finally got rerouted it seemed that all was going smoothly until suddenly the tires on the van screeched and the wheel locked. The camp leader who was driving slowed down, pulled over to the side of the road and took the keys out of the ignition. We sat for a moment, wondering what could have possibly happened and I uttered another silent sigh of relief. <i>We're definitely not going to get there now. Good! </i>Our driver tried restarting the van, but it fought back while I tried to fight back my smile. She tried it again, but to no avail. I held my breath on the third try and suddenly it started. <i>Ugh.</i> But I was still holding out hope that we would not get there in time.<br />
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Nope, we were on time. <i>Figures, </i>I thought. <i>Now all I can hope for is that I don't die. Please, God, don't let me die.</i><br />
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As the guides were giving their instructions, I practiced every move they described. I tightened my life jacket until I could hardly breathe, just as they suggested, and we set off for the rapids. Our group was split up into three rafts and I ended up with four teenagers and only one adult who had been white water rafting just once before. She was younger than me. I looked at my crew and thought, <i>Yup, today is the day. My earthly pilgrimage is over.</i><br />
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We started out nice and slow in our bright yellow raft. There were about five other rafts on the trip with us, plus a rescue raft and our two guides in their kayaks. The river was moving pretty quickly, but didn't seem too threatening. It was almost like an exciting lazy river ride. Our guides called out directions, telling us what was up ahead and explaining whether we should stay to the middle, left, or right. As soon as we hit our first rapid, I was immediately in love! I couldn't wait for the next one! We went a total of 7.4 miles downstream that day, and at the halfway point we all stopped for a lunch break. Plenty of people had fallen out of their rafts during the first half of the trip, but none of us in my raft had. We were so proud of ourselves and our great teamwork! We had almost tipped over once, with water rushing in as we slumped halfway off a rock, but we had narrowly avoided the disaster and used it as an excuse to build our pride.<br />
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Once we got back in the water we were feeling more confident and were happy to know we still had another few miles of rapids left. At one point, one of the guides was explaining that there was a hydraulic ahead. He said, "This is the spot where plenty of rafts get flipped! You need to watch out and make sure you avoid it. If not, then hit it straight on and with as much speed as you can, because if you're turned sideways or going too slowly, your whole raft will flip over." We listened intently and followed the group along as we watched for this infamous hydraulic. When our guide shouted that it was just ahead, we saw it, but there was nowhere to go. There was a raft on our right and a bunch of rocks to our left - we were headed straight for it. Without enough time to fight the swift pace of the river, the nose of our raft turned and we were headed slowly toward the hydraulic at a crawling pace, exactly the way we were not supposed to. It all happened just like our guides had explained during the instructions, "If you fall out, everything will go dark and wet." It sure did. <i>Dark and wet</i>, I thought. <i>Yup.</i> But then I remembered his next words, "Don't panic. You'll float right back up to the surface. Just stay calm." I paddled my arms a bit as I came up and then there I was, back in the sunlight. I stayed calm, just as he said, because I realized that there were rules in place to keep me safe, so as long as I followed those rules I would be just fine. His words kept coming to me, "Once you come back to the surface, make sure you get your legs pointed downstream. Don't try to swim, and don't try to stand either. There are plenty of rocks and crevices your feet could get stuck in. Just get your feet pointed downriver and float." I realized my head was pointed downriver, and even though we were wearing helmets, I still didn't like the idea of hitting my helmetted head on a rock. I turned myself around and floated downriver with my feet out in front of me. I grabbed two of the paddles floating next to me and marveled at just how calm I was. Eventually the guys in the rescue boat reached out and pulled me over using the paddles I was holding. They quickly took hold of my life-jacket and pulled me up by it. I was so glad I had tightened it just like the guides said, otherwise I would have slipped right out. After that, they gave our paddles back and promptly returned us to our raft.<br />
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When we were talking about the rafting trip afterward, my little crew was still in awe over the experience. Almost all of us had loved it - even the falling out part - but one girl from our raft said she had been terrified the whole time. However, when our raft flipped, she explained that her consolation came from the fact that there were others in the water with her. I hadn't thought about that aspect, but I realized when she said it that it had been a consolation for me as well. I was comforted by the fact that I wasn't the only person adrift, but that my whole team was with me. I joked later that our teamwork was the best because we were either all in the raft together, or we were all in the water together.<br />
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It made me think about how important it is for us to be <i>with </i>people during their time of need. Of course we need people there to pull us out of the water when it's time, but we often need to feel like people are <i>with</i> us in the water. When I'm feeling upset or distraught about a personal situation, I don't always need saviors. Sometimes I just need someone who will say, "I understand. I'm here. I'm <i>with</i> you in this. We'll get out <i>together.</i>"<br />
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These are just some of the places where God showed up for me at Camp Lajas: in learning to trust the gifts God has given me; in better understanding what it means to work as a team; and in realizing just how important it is to be at the side of those who feel alone in their struggles. So, back to the famous question: <b>Where did <u>you</u> see God in this...</b><b style="font-style: italic;"> </b><i>summer / post / year </i><b>? </b>If you want to know where God is at work in your life, this question is a good place to start.<br />
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<i>Wishing you peace and plenty of adventures,</i><br />
<i>Sister Desiré Anne-Marie Findlay</i><br />
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<i><br /></i>Vocation Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281359364919030563noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-78285349224190122552018-05-29T19:56:00.006-07:002018-08-24T20:46:24.948-07:00Bring Me Your Sick and SufferingI have been in Haiti for a little over a week now, and today I experienced a Gospel story in real life. You know how Jesus would walk the streets and visit different towns and neighborhoods? He would kneel down and ask what was ailing an individual, and then people who saw and heard about His miraculous touch would desperately seek His help.<br />
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Today was my first time walking with a team of student nurses through the small neighborhoods of Jacmel, Haiti. We were lead by Sister Marilyn who had visited a few people the day before and promised a return visit. They were all waiting outside on their porches and steps when we arrived, eager to receive help from this group of healers. You could see the hope in their eyes and the excitement as they called on their children and grandchildren to search for chairs, offering a place for the nurses to sit. Sister Marilyn translated as people shared their aches and pains, burdened by illnesses they couldn’t understand or afford. People would stand around and listen, curious and watchful, but then more people would start to show up, just like they would with Jesus. We would finish with one person, and then someone would lift up their child onto the porch - “She doesn’t have an appetite,” they would say, concerned for their little one. The team of nurses would then discuss the possibilities as Sister Marilyn translated their questions. After granting small doses of medication, another neighbor would bring their elderly mother. “She has terrible headaches,” they’d tell us, and then all would watch, amazed, as the nurses checked blood pressure, took temperature, and pulled bottles of medication out of their bags.<br />
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We were almost finished with one home visit in particular when the small crowd parted to let a young man come through. We all winced as he walked up the steps, slowly and carefully, suffering from what looked like road burn. It turned out he had been near a propane tank when it exploded, leaving burns and blisters on his arm and face. The student nurses quickly began surveying the damage. After gathering all the necessary information, they cleaned the open skin with peroxide, then gently applied antibiotic ointment to the affected areas. When it was particularly painful, the young man would close his eyes, but his face was still covered with signs of relief, knowing that he was getting the help he needed.<br />
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As I observed the nurses and their patients, it was like watching people flock to Jesus; people with a hope big enough for miracles.<br />
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<br />Vocation Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281359364919030563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-59860909067899894222018-04-27T09:10:00.003-07:002018-04-27T12:33:21.065-07:00JOY: Jesus, Others and You<br />
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">I just wanted to share a wonderful experience I had last week in Henderson, KY. I was there from Sunday, April 15th through Sunday, April 22nd visiting a variety of schools and sharing my vocation story.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">You may be wondering just how I ended up going to a little city out in the country. To find out, read on!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">Last summer, I had the chance to speak at the 12th National Black Catholic Congress in Orlando, FL, where I also proclaimed the reading during Mass at the Basilica of the National Shrine of Mary Queen of the Universe.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">The group traveled together to and from Mass on a bus, and </span><span style="font-size: 10pt;">it was on this bus that I met Father Anthony Shonis. After some lively conversation, Father Shonis extended the invitation that eventually brought me to the Diocese of Henderson, KY.</span><br />
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While in Kentucky, I had a full itinerary - I spoke the night I arrived, every day thereafter, and then again on the very morning I left. I met with groups of all ages at schools across the diocese. My youngest audience included pre-kindergarten, but I also spoke with children in elementary, middle, and high school.<br />
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">I always shared my story first, talking about where I grew up and how I met the Felician Sisters. Then I talked a bit about religious life, explaining the vows and the difference between nuns and sisters, as well the difference between Franciscans, Dominicans, and Benedictines. I would then ask the kids a few questions, sometimes rewarding them with a knotted rosary I had made when they answered correctly - or even sometimes when they answered creatively, even if it wasn't the answer I was looking for. :)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">After my story and explanations, I allowed time for the kids to ask me questions. I received excellent questions from every grade, including some interesting ones such as "What happens if you break the vows?"; "What do you think you would be doing right now if you weren't a sister?"; and "How do you pay for all of your travels?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">My favorite question, however, came on the last day. After Mass, I spoke with the kids who came from the public schools for religious education. It was a mixed group, so there were children from elementary to high school present. When I finished speaking and invited questions from the students, a little boy in the front row raised his hand high and asked, "Is all of this <i>true</i>?" I held my laughter in behind a great big smile and said, "It is, actually! It's pretty much my whole life story all in one very short presentation." He stared at me in awe as I continued answering some other very good questions.</span></div>
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After all of the questions had been asked and answered during my presentation, I did one of two things. With the lower grades - usually kindergarten through fifth grade - I would teach the students a chant with some movements I had made up. The kids had a great time, jumping up and down and using their 'outside' voices even though they were inside. One of the teachers came to me afterward and said, "That was great! We're going to use that as opening prayer from now on!"</div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">With the middle and high school students, I would do something a little different. I had some choreography prepared that went with a popular song all the students knew, so it was a nice surprise for them to see I could dance. The older kids loved it! They started bouncing around as soon as the song came on, but they also had a great time learning the dance and competing to see who could do it best. I received several compliments afterward, from both middle and high school students, and sometimes even from their teachers who had gotten up and tried the dance, too. At one point, Father Anthony Shonis even tried learning the dance!</span></div>
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Near the end of my time in Kentucky, I was blessed to be able to speak at the annual Black Catholic gathering for the diocese of Henderson. The day began with breakfast and Mass, followed by a short Q&A session with the bishop.</div>
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Afterward, everyone moved to the parish hall where I spoke with the small group of about 20 people in attendance. The theme was "Missionary Discipleship from a Multicultural Perspective: Effective Inclusion." I shared my story and focused on how God has been able to break barriers in and around me simply through my "Yes."<br />
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">Explaining that it was not necessarily my intent to break these barriers, I shared that now I know it was God's intent and that my choice to follow His will is what allows me to be a voice for the minorities I represent. Several of the individuals shared their own difficult stories about racism and prejudice, explaining that they had been mad at God, wondering why He would make them "like this" (African American/black) if it meant they were going to be mistreated.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">In the course of the sharing, many individuals expressed their gratitude for groups and events like the Black Catholic gathering because it gave them the opportunity to have a place in the Church. As the presentation came to a close, I thanked the group for their invitation and for their sharing. I explained, "I fall into many minority groups - I'm a minority as a woman of color; I'm a minority as a woman of color who's Catholic; I'm a minority as a young sister; I'm a minority as a young sister who's black; so a lot of people have begun turning to me, asking for my opinions. They see me and say, 'There are not many of you. We want to know what you think.' Now that you have shared your stories, I will join your voices with mine so we can speak together when people ask me what I think."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">I can hardly express the joy and beauty I experienced in Kentucky. It confirmed the hopes I'd had when I first began to contemplate religious life seriously - hopes that God would use my gifts and life for a purpose, and that my relationship with God and the world around and within me would deepen.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">I can only describe it in this way: I felt as if I were being lifted to God by all of my Felician Sisters at once; like I was in the middle of a wonderful celebration where all at the same time I was learning, loving, and laughing. It was like looking up at the sky right when the shooting star made its appearance; like knowing I am right where I am meant to be.</span></div>
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Vocation Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281359364919030563noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-9657728487721346382018-03-31T13:22:00.002-07:002018-03-31T13:58:33.363-07:00An Easter ChallengeEvery liturgical season has its own flavor — Advent with its anticipation; Christmas with its awe and wonder; Easter with its beauty and excitement — so every year we are able to enter into a rhythm as one body of Christ. Sometimes a certain liturgical season will be particularly potent for me and I will discover new insights or come to better appreciate long-lasting traditions. I did not have that experience this Lent. Instead, it was a steady and balanced season without any “aha moments” or extraordinary prayer experiences. To be honest, I was sort of disappointed. I thought, “Well this doesn’t feel like Lent. Lent is supposed to be deeply spiritual. Shouldn’t I be crying at Mass or something?” But my experience of Lent doesn’t have to be the same every year, and just because I cried at Mass before, or I’ve seen other people cry at Mass, doesn’t mean it’s a requirement. So what did I get out of Lent this year if it wasn’t tears? A very simple invitation with a very practical way to implement it. The invitation? Let go. The implementation? I’ll explain.<br />
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This September I moved from California to Pennsylvania. I sent some of my items ahead and others I took with me on a cross-country drive with my dad. Once we got to my new home, I took everything to my room and had it organized and put away within a couple of days. This January, I volunteered to move to another neighborhood, not far from my new home, in order to maintain a Felician presence in a place where the locals need a little extra love. Rather than move all my items at once, I took my time and transferred things over a period of two weeks. I spent a few final nights in my empty room before finally making the move to my new house. During those nights and days in my room where there was absolutely nothing on the walls and I had only the bare essentials in my drawers, it was as if I could focus better. My mind was clearer, I had more energy, I was not as easily distracted, and I was more attentive to my prayer life. It was like what I imagine fasting does for the body. When I made the transition and came to my new house, there was my room, full of items on the walls and on the shelves just like it had been at the other house. Now don’t get me wrong, I like my colorful room — it’s very cozy! — but I also realized just how much I could really let go of. There are a variety of areas in our lives where letting go is essential, but I have begun to focus on the material aspect first. I think it helps create the atmosphere that makes the act of letting go more possible in other areas of our lives, just as my empty room helped clear space in my mind and heart.</div>
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As I further reflected on the invitation to “let go” during Lent, I came to see that it is not just about letting go of items I have and donating them or sharing them with a loved one, but also actively working to <i>not accumulate</i>. In addition, it even means letting go of the familiar and of the ways in which I do things if they are harmful to others or the environment. So, I promised you a practical implementation for the invitation... Here it is! Soap containers. Yes, that’s what I’m being invited to let go of. You know those small Softsoap or Bath and Body Works hand soaps that last about a month? Well, here’s my challenge to you and to me: to decrease or eliminate the amount of plastic going into our landfills starting with soap containers. I know, I know, the smaller soap containers are easy and convenient: there’s no mess in refilling the soap container and you get a variety of scents and colors when you get to choose a different one every month. But why not let go of what’s convenient and save the planet from some of that plastic? We could buy refillable hand soap dispensers and refill them from a larger container. Or, to eliminate plastic all together, we could purchase bars of soap that come packaged in cardboard, paper, or not packaged at all. Then we can keep them in a wooden or glass dish by the sink and voila, no plastic! If you already do this, I applaud you, but perhaps there’s another way in which you can eliminate your use of plastic; maybe by pledging not to use straws, by choosing products with less plastic packaging, or by using a refillable water bottle.</div>
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It’s simple, but I believe that by letting go in this very practical way, we will find ourselves moved beyond the world of material goods. Perhaps up until now we have been like Peter, warming his hands by the fire as Jesus was being tormented and ridiculed — we have been thinking of ourselves and what’s convenient while the planet and our sisters and brothers in Christ have been crying out in pain; but it wasn’t too late for Peter, and it’s not too late for us (John 18:25). As we celebrate the great joy of the resurrection this Easter, may we let go of all that keeps us from being open to God and to one another. May our courage be strengthened and our hearts be made new. Let’s aim for increased mindfulness and decreased plastic, amen? Amen.</div>
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<i>Sister Desiré Anne-Marie Findlay</i></div>
Vocation Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281359364919030563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-75742953269508719532018-01-08T16:24:00.001-08:002020-05-30T21:01:24.757-07:00PerfectionThere is a quote attributed to Albert Einstein which says, "There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." I agree with this and I do my best to live the latter. However, I think we could also replace the word "miracle" with the word "perfect" and say, "There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is perfect. The other is as though everything is perfect."<br />
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I remember receiving a painting from my aunt as a child that was titled, "Everything is Perfect". It bothered me. I didn't like the title, or that it was always staring at me from underneath the small image. I didn't agree with it at all. "<i>Some </i>things are perfect," I thought, "but not <i>everything</i>." I think about that little painting's title now though, and I have actually come to agree with it.<br />
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Even the most "perfect" things - like Barbie's measurements or a beautiful Christmas snowfall - have their issues. For one, hardly any woman who has ever walked or will ever walk this earth shares Barbie's measurements. Plus, her measurements only match what a random handful of people <i>believed</i> to be the perfect female body. As for the "winter wonderland" of snow on Christmas, it may look beautiful, but it requires a lot of work. So which is it? Are Barbie's measurements flawed or perfect? Would we rather have snow on Christmas or not?<br />
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"Be perfect as your Heavenly Father is perfect," reads a line from Matthew 5:48. Seems impossible, right? I always thought so. Every time I heard that reading I thought, "Seriously? How could I ever match the perfection of God?" But the more I think about it, the more curious I become about God's perfection. What is God's perfection like? My first inclination is to think about physical characteristics and personality traits, but then I stop trying to measure God by human standards. Rather than look at God in terms of height or weight or behavior, I look at God in terms of forgiveness and compassion and kindness. I think that's the type of perfection we're called to - to forgiveness, compassion, and kindness. So maybe we overeat, or maybe we're chain smokers and workaholics, but can we bring ourselves to forgive when we're hurt? Can we show compassion when it would be easier to settle for condemnation? Do we choose to be kind when we see someone in need or when we find ourselves in an argument?<br />
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This reminds me of my favorite character from the movie <i>Silence</i> by Martin Scorsese (I'll try not to spoil it for you in case you haven't seen it). It was about a couple of young Jesuit priests who went to Japan in search of their Jesuit mentor who seemed to have gone missing. In the process they were faced with a very harsh political, cultural, and religious clash. This caused painful tragedies and spiritual torment throughout the Christian community in Japan. Continually forced to choose between life and death, several Japanese Christians were martyred for refusing to renounce their faith. They faced their persecution bravely, but there was one individual in particular who found it impossible to follow their example - his name was Kichijiro. A Japanese Christian and a drunk, Kichijiro renounced his faith every time he encountered this difficult decision. I couldn't stand him, especially when I compared him to the other brave Christians who clung to God and their faith despite the consequences. Kichijiro fell into despair and drunkenness throughout the entire movie, repeatedly renouncing his faith, but I began to notice something - every time he renounced his faith, he desperately sought out the Sacrament of Reconciliation. He failed constantly, but at the same time he constantly acknowledged his wrongdoing and trusted wholeheartedly in the mercy of God.<br />
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While it's true that the Japanese Christian martyrs and all who have died for their faith are worthy of admiration, I believe Kichijiro is as well. For those of us who cannot be as steadfast as martyrs in our own Christian commitment, we can choose to seek forgiveness just as Kichijiro did. We can wholly seek holiness, which can sometimes mean repeatedly failing and wholly seeking forgiveness. There is more than one way to God - and thus, more than one way to perfection.<br />
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I realized that when I stopped comparing Kichijiro to the martyrs, I was able to see him for who he was and accept his unique albeit wobbly path to holiness. It is the same for each of us; when we quit with the comparisons, we can see ourselves and our situations more fully and with greater understanding. So maybe we happen to be in great shape, with measurements even better than Barbie's; or maybe we don't take care of our health as best we should, but by acknowledging our weakness and striving to do better, we cancel out our imperfect measurements. As for the beautiful blanket of snow at Christmas, even such a masterpiece is not without its challenges. So do we start cursing the beauty of winter? We may be tempted to, but the thorn does not have to detract from the rose. So, enjoy the snow! Recall your childhood wonder at the falling flakes and take a day or two off if you can. And if you have to go to work, use shoveling the sidewalk as a good excuse for exercise and shovel the neighbor's sidewalk while you're at it. Like a line from the movie <i>Wonder </i>by Stephen Chbosky, "Auggie can't change the way he looks. Maybe we can change the way we see." <b>Maybe we can change the way we see.</b><br />
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Try not to look at your body vs. Barbie's or Ken's, or at the snow vs. its aftermath; if we dwell on the imperfections, <i>nothing </i>will be perfect. Let everything be perfect in its own right. Look in the mirror less and look more at the perfection of God. Do you choose patience? Or do you frown at the sky when the snow falls? Will you choose self-control? Or will you blame your boss for the dark circles under your eyes? If we acknowledge our shortcomings for the sake of learning to better love ourselves and others, we can live more fully. If we seek to imitate God's perfection with the fervor of Kichijiro, we will be able to show God's perfection with the heart of a martyr.<br />
<br />Vocation Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281359364919030563noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-14672235469143459092017-11-20T10:57:00.004-08:002017-11-20T14:40:44.136-08:00Holy Land EntriesLots of people dream about going to visit the Holy Land; to see where Jesus lived and preached and prayed, or to visit and venerate various holy Jewish and Muslim sites. Oddly enough, I never dreamed about it. I never put it on a "bucket list" or thought, "I'd love to go one day," because I figured it would never happen. I guess I just didn't want to get my hopes up, but sometimes God dreams for us. I suppose that's how I ended up traversing one of the holiest places in the world for about a week and a half.<br />
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Before I tell you how amazing the trip was, I want to tell you how I ended up going:</div>
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A very generous (and anonymous) donor decided to gift our religious community with a large sum of money. The stipulation, however, was that it be used toward the spiritual development or benefit of our Sisters. Together, our Provincial Council decided that the money would go toward pilgrimages to the Holy Land. Obviously they wouldn't be able to send everyone, so they decided to do a lottery. Our annual gathering was coming up, so it was announced that when we were gathered, those who were interested needed to put their names in a jar before the final day of the gathering. We were told, "Four Sisters will be able to go, but we will draw only two names. Each of the two Sisters who are chosen will then be able to choose a Sister companion to go with them." Why not? I thought. Might as well give it a try. I slipped my name in and then forgot about the drawing all together. When the day of judgement came around, our Provincial Minster stood on stage with the jar. Fireworks started going off in my chest while simultaneously my lungs decided to quit on me. "Calm down!" my brain said. "You're not going to win anyway, why get yourself all worked up. There are hundreds of names in that jar." In the midst of my positively negative self-talk, the first name was drawn. Hundreds of names, literally, and the first name read was mine. Yes, straight out of the Provincial Minister's mouth I hear, "Sister Desiré." There was no mistaking it. I'm the only Sister Desiré! My whole body jerked as my hands flew up to cover my gaping mouth. And then, even better than hearing my name called, half the room stood up immediately - in a room of approximately 300 Felician Sisters - and began to cheer for me. Like I said, sometimes God dreams for us.</div>
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I wish I could go into detail about everything we did and saw, but you didn't sign up to read a novel right now and I didn't sign up to write one. I'll share as much as I can, but mostly I'll share the highlights and the moments that meant the most to me.</div>
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First of all, let me just wow you by saying we spent our first three nights in Nazareth. It still baffles me to think that I can now speak personally about places I'd only ever heard of in the Bible. Staying in Nazareth brought me close to one of the most important stories Scripture has for us: the Angel Gabriel's visit to a young virgin. I have read the story of the Annunciation plenty of times in Luke's Gospel (Luke 1:26-38), and I pray with one of its passages every day during evening praise as my community recites the Magnificat. Who knew that I'd be sleeping in a hotel less than a block away from such a historically and spiritually significant spot? Since we stayed three nights there, I stopped in the Basilica of the Annunciation every night to pray just so I could be near it. Of course there's a huge church built up all around the site, but they have preserved the humble dwelling of so prominent a family. I would stare at its stone walls and wonder about all the activities that went on there. Was I looking at Mary's actual bedroom? Was I looking at the kitchen where her mother, St. Anne, would have been busy working to nourish her family? Or maybe there was no separation and every room ran into each other, just small corners making up one whole. I'll never know, but what fascinated me even more was being so physically close to the place where God began to weave Himself from the fibers of humanity.</div>
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I was reluctant to leave, but as always, the best was yet to come. We departed from Nazareth and took a bus to Palestine. The days ahead featured visits to Jericho, Bethany, Bethlehem, the Jordan River, and the Dead Sea. Again, I couldn't believe it. So many of these names had once been untouchable sacred sites in a faraway world found in a miraculous Book. It was almost unreal. Our trip to Jericho was brief, but it remains one of the most profound moments during the entire pilgrimage. We had arrived at the church where we would be having Mass for the day, but the group ahead of us was not yet finished. "We still have about twenty minutes until their done," our group leader told us. "It's not on our list of things to see, but the tomb of Lazarus is just up the street. If you take a left out of here you'll see the man standing outside to collect your money. It's $2 to get in." We all looked at each other and nodded in agreement. "Two bucks, why not?" Although the raising of Lazarus is yet another powerful and prominent story from Scripture (John 11:1-44), I never really had a personal connection to it. I really just wanted to see his tomb because it was there and I could say that I went. Up the hill we walked, all 24 of us, to pay our two bucks. We stepped inside, one by one, and shuffled down some very narrow and steep stone steps. We were greeted at the bottom by a tiny doorway through which we basically had to crawl. Each one came in, took a photo or two, touched the walls, and then turned to go. It was our seventh day on the pilgrimage and we had been moving from site to site so quickly that I had been longing for some stillness and quiet. After everyone had left the small space and I was left standing alone in Lazarus's tomb, I poked my head out and told my friend I was going to stay and pray a little while longer. She made her way back up with everyone else and I stood there in the emptiness. I sat down near the small doorway and looked around, imagining the darkness that would have surrounded Lazarus there. It wasn't hard to imagine since the little light inside was fairly dim and the silence was absolute. I realized that I was in yet another place where holiness broke into our helplessness. Not only did Jesus stand in this place, but He wept here. He cried with us and for us, and then He prayed so fervently that His friend was called back to life. This was a <i>personal</i> miracle. This was someone Jesus knew and loved, and a moment in which He felt His humanity. If anything could show me that God is not far from us, this would be it.</div>
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Although it may seem somewhat unrelated to the religious nature of this trip, I thoroughly enjoyed our visit to the Dead Sea. I had been going back and forth in my mind as to whether or not I would swim in it. Finally, like my rationale with so many other decisions, I figured, "Why not?" I suited up and walked down to the water's edge. As I stood there looking over its surface, it appeared to be just like any other body of water, but underneath I knew it was different. The Dead Sea, known for its high salt content, cannot support marine life. As a result of its salt levels, it is also unique in that items which cannot usually float in water are suddenly able to - like humans! This helped me with my two very real fears of large bodies of water: the fear of creatures biting my limbs off, and the fear of drowning. I walked in slowly, watching others splash around on their backs, so when I finally had water up to my waist I decided I would give it a try. I lifted one leg, then the other, and that was all it took; with hardly any effort I was lying on my back in the shallow waters of the Dead Sea. With that one swift motion, my fears disappeared. I marveled at the fact that there was nothing to be afraid of, that I didn't have to wonder about what was below the surface or if I would be able to survive the pull of unknown currents. I drifted out as far as I could go and lifted my face to the sun while my arms and legs gave themselves to the movement of the water. Pure freedom. Even now I am drawn back into that place of calm as I re-imagine the experience. It's a gift that I will never forget, and one that I hope to recall in times of turbulence and fear. God's love is even more abundant than the salt that carried me beyond fear; if salt can keep me safe, how much more safe is the love of God - infinitely able to lift my soul beyond the fear of pain and death.<br />
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Continuing the journey, we departed from Palestine and entered the city of Jerusalem where we stayed for the remainder of the trip. While in Jerusalem, I was able to set foot and heart upon another set of holy sites, including the Basilica in which Calvary and the tomb of Jesus have been preserved. One of my favorite experiences took place at the Church of All Nations which sits over the Garden of Gethsemane and houses the stone upon which Jesus is said to have prayed during His agony. We actually visited the church twice, going there a second time for a late night Holy Hour. As the Blessed Sacrament was exposed, I knelt at the railing near the altar with the stone at its base. I tried imagining the stone in its original setting and pictured the garden that was outside the church. "This must have been a beautiful and comforting space," I thought. It brought to mind all the times I had sought out a comforting place or person when I knew I needed to cry. Perhaps Jesus came here with His closest friends because He knew He needed to cry. We see Gethsemane and the garden as a solemn and somber place, but maybe it was different then. It's somber now because we know the rest of the story - because we know that Jesus wept there and was betrayed there - but before all of that, perhaps it was a cozy place to pray and Jesus knew it would comfort Him to be there. Suddenly, I felt like I needed to cry. I couldn't understand why, so I closed my eyes and pictured myself with Jesus in the garden. Kneeling beside Him at the rock, He looked into my eyes and said, "It's okay, you can let the tears come." Then, lifting His hands to my face, He gently placed His thumbs over my eyes. I immediately began to cry real tears. I tried not to let my face fold into the sadness that had just taken over, but I couldn't help it. I felt now that I was no longer there to comfort Jesus in the garden, but that He was there to comfort me, sharing with me His sacred space. Just as He did during His agony, I cried out to my Father, not sparing the pain welling up inside me. I felt united with Jesus, as though He wept with me not only in the moment, but even when He had wept in the midst of His unfolding Passion. It made me realize just how connected Jesus's life is to ours. Jesus may have walked the earth over 2,000 years ago, shedding tears and sharing joy, but God is timeless. God's life on earth continues, and is especially real because Emmanuel - God-with-us - enfleshed and redeemed our humanity.<br />
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As Advent makes its way into our homes and our hopes this year, my prayer for us all is that we not only long for God's renewed presence among us, but that we also recall how He has been and remains present to us. Your tears are His and your joys flow from His heart; may you know during this special season and always just how present God is to you, and when you are able, may you remain present to God by being compassionately and boundlessly present to others.<br />
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Wishing you peace and all good,<br />
<i>Sister Desiré Anne-Marie</i><br />
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Vocation Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281359364919030563noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-43491551792279596932017-10-08T13:06:00.001-07:002018-04-07T12:58:45.931-07:00Prayer is the Master Key<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">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 were interested in religious life came 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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">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 <span style="font-style: italic;">high school </span>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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">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 experienced this in His very body as He suffered from an act of terrible violence. He is no stranger to our pain, physically or emotionally.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">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:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Prayer is the key</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Jesus started with prayer</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">With love and prayers,</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Sister Desiré Anne-Marie Findlay</i></span></div>
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Vocation Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281359364919030563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-4765053463545944002017-07-05T23:04:00.000-07:002017-10-08T18:59:31.400-07:00On PrayerI 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.<br />
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The other mistake I made, aside from thinking I should use everyone else's words, was the idea that God wanted my <i>thoughts </i>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.<br />
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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 <b>we </b>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 <i>and we did it for others</i>.<br />
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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: <b>Prayer is a journey, not a destination. The effort is often more important than the outcome.</b> 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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 <i>being</i>. 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.<br />
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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 <i>lectio divina </i>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 <i>lectio divina </i>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.<br />
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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 <i>lectio divina </i>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 <i>lectio divina</i> 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.<br />
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Yours in Christ and in prayer,<br />
<i>Sister Desiré Anne-Marie Findlay</i>Vocation Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281359364919030563noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-2359413259339111132016-07-21T11:46:00.000-07:002016-08-26T15:29:45.143-07:00With Love from Jacmel, Haiti<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This summer <span style="font-family: inherit;">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.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When I </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">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 </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;">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 </span><span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Another </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">ministry I helped with was arts and crafts in the late mornings. </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sometimes t</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">he 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!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">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 </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Haitian wannabes (me and Sr. Marilyn). The drive was stunning. It was so beautiful that I</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> 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 </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">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.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This was the first of two trips to the beach with the kids. Round one was on </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">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 </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">splashed around with them a little, but I mostly loved watching them chase the beach ball and </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">On Saturday, July 9th the Sisters organized a Divine Mercy pilgrimage. We took the young adults </span><span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;">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.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">On </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Friday, July 15th, Sr. Marilyn and I took a walk around the neighborhood to </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">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!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">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 </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">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.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">These </span><span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"> 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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">T</span>o conclude with a phrase I learned in Créole:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">(Praised be Jesus!)</span></div>
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Vocation Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281359364919030563noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-41923556326926272722016-05-30T16:36:00.001-07:002016-08-26T15:37:24.357-07:00The Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>You, Lord God, have done</b></div>
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<b>many wonderful things,</b></div>
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<b>and you have planned</b></div>
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<b>marvelous things for us.</b></div>
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<b>No one is like you!</b></div>
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<b>I would never be able to tell</b></div>
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<b>Psalm 40:5 (CEV)</b></div>
<b><br /></b>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.<br />
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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?"<br />
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Thank you, Holy Spirit, for the gift of understanding which can only happen when we join together in communion.<br />
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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 <br />
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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.<br />
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Thank you, Holy Spirit, for the gift of wisdom which flows through the faithful and sturdy shelters that are our friends.<br />
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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<br />
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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.<br />
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Thank you, Holy Spirit, for the gift of receiving and giving counsel, especially when it comes in the form of a child.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art by Katherine Skaggs</td></tr>
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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.<br />
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Thank you, Holy Spirit, for the gift of fear of the Lord, which is strengthened and nurtured through love.<br />
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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.<br />
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Thank you, Holy Spirit, for the gift of fortitude, even and especially when it blooms in the midst of adversity.<br />
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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 <br />
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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.<br />
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Thank you, Holy Spirit, for the gift of piety and for those family members who teach us how to believe in ourselves.<br />
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<b>Come Holy Spirit</b></div>
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<b>Fill the hearts of your faithful</b></div>
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<b>And kindle in them the fire of your love!</b></div>
Vocation Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281359364919030563noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-62332715916312168922016-04-04T00:20:00.002-07:002016-08-26T15:38:59.386-07:00You Have a ChoiceTeaching world religions always opens up opportunities to talk about different concepts and cultures in class, but sometimes it leads us to discuss concepts that we think we are already familiar with, and we end up discovering a deeper meaning. We were recently having a discussion about the Hindu concept of Atman - it is the source of everything, it is the deepest part of us, but not something we can feel or define with any of our five senses. As I explained this, one student said, "Oh, like love!" Another student countered, "No, because you can feel love." "You can't feel love," someone else argued, but one student finally had enough and cried out, "What <i>is </i>love?" Of course that briefly took us off track as many of us echoed that famous 80's song: "What is love?! Baby don't hurt me, don't hurt me, no more..." but we soon returned to our discourse and I simply said, "Love is a choice."<br />
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I went home and the classroom discussion lingered in my head as it often does when it's a particularly interesting one. I started to wonder about the times I had chosen to love - times when I had chosen forgiveness, understanding, or compassion instead of resentment, distrust, or pride. It also made me wonder about the results of those choices.<br />
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The other day I made a phone call related to school and the man on the other end of the line was rude from the start. It bothered me so much that I consciously made the decision to return his unkindness. At the end of the conversation I hung up feeling very hurt, but after going home and crying on the shoulders of my Sisters, I realized I might have made him feel the same way. "What if I hurt him just as much as he hurt me? What if he goes home to an empty house and, unlike me, has no shoulder to cry on?" I felt terrible. Worse than the hurt I felt was the idea that I might have caused that hurt for someone else. Whether or not I believed he deserved it had nothing to do with the guilt that was slowly rising up; it was the knowledge that I had treated someone in a way I would never want to be treated. Looking back, I know it a was moment in which I had chosen resentment over forgiveness - I had chosen <i>not </i>to love.<br />
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It's no secret in the convent where I live - in fact, in my whole religious community - that waking up early is a huge struggle for me. Due to the varied schedules where I currently live, we pray Monday through Friday at 5:45 in the morning. Usually when I wake up during the week the first thought in my head is, "No." Well, our director of formation, Sister Suzanne Marie, recently came for Provincial Visitation and stayed at our convent. She and I had a nice talk about my choice of not getting up for morning prayers. Admittedly I had felt bad about not praying with the Sisters every morning. However, I had simply not found the motivation necessary to change my choice. After speaking with Sister Suzanne, I found that motivation; as you may have been able to guess, it was love. I want to be present for morning prayer now, not because I have to, but because I want to. To choose to be present to my Sisters means I am choosing love.<br />
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In just looking at these two examples, choosing to love versus choosing whatever is its opposite, brings about different results for me. Not choosing love led to frustration and guilt whereas choosing love led to peace and healing. In addition, it seems my decision not to love was self-centered, and my decision to love was actually other-centered. That's how I want to live: focused on others and choosing to love them no matter what. May God grant each of us the graces necessary to choose love no matter what.<br />
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<br />Vocation Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281359364919030563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-86199571970201338122015-10-11T23:48:00.001-07:002016-01-23T23:19:07.074-08:00Fighting the Bear<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I don't know how many of you have seen the movie <i>Life of Pi</i>, but I highly recommend it. I wrote a blog post about it some time ago (which you can find <a href="http://sistalogue.blogspot.com/2014/11/the-life-of-pi.html" target="_blank">here</a>) because I was enthralled with the idea of animal instincts dwelling within each of the characters. Pi and the tiger were of particular interest to me because they seemed so opposite. They were enemies, and yet, they were each other's only companion and source of strength.<br />
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I eventually stumbled upon my own "untamed" self. I had a dream in which I was attempting to care for a grizzly bear, but it didn't take long before I decided to send the bear away. "It has to go," I thought. "There isn't room for it here." As I chased the poor thing out, it stopped and turned to look at me, but I would not change my mind. My spiritual director suggested I have a conversation with the bear, so I wrote out what I felt was exchanged in that glance:<br />
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Girl,<br />
I can't say<br />
that it isn't easy to love you<br />
that I can walk away<br />
without wishing to be near you<br />
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Bear,<br />
why can't you just leave<br />
because despite the fact<br />
that I want you to stay<br />
I want all that you are to go away<br />
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At first I thought I identified most with what the girl was saying, but then I felt I was instead the poor grizzly bear being driven away. It didn't take long, however, for me to see that I was both woman and creature. It made me realize that I value only part of who I am, but attempt to push away that which I feel is "unlovable" or "untamed". This is in no way a new concept, but it is not familiar territory for me to try and love something with such sharp edges. Much like Pi saw the tiger as something to be feared, I also want to escape the claws and teeth of the bear. Pi attempted to chase the tiger away as well; then he tried to befriend and tame the tiger, but to no avail. Pi's journey only became successful when he respected the tiger and its place in his life, while at the same time not letting it take over. That's where I am now in this journey of self-discovery. What about you? Have you been fighting any wild animals lately?<br />
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<br />Vocation Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281359364919030563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-11858536846370072832015-07-08T02:28:00.001-07:002015-07-08T10:37:58.070-07:00A Simple Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I feel as if this summer has just begun, and at the same time I feel that it has been extremely full of adventures and love already. Just after school ended, I was able to be with my family in NM and celebrate my sister and brother-in-law's renewal of vows. The Christian ceremony was beautiful and it was great to see so much family in one place. The day after, I traveled to Holly, MI where my community hosts Seeds of Hope, an annual leadership conference for young women from our four Felician high schools. I had the opportunity to serve the young ladies behind the scenes, but also found time to laugh with them and play a few outdoor games when the weather permitted. At the end of the week I drove to Canada with Sister Maria Louise and two students who had attended the program. I stayed there a few days and had a great time. <span style="font-family: sans-serif;">Sister Maria Louise and I</span> watched lots of movies at home since 1) we both thoroughly enjoy watching movies and 2) it rained during most of my time there. We also painted some lady bug pet rocks for ourselves and visited the majestic Niagara Falls when God granted us a sunny day. Straight <br />
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from Canada I traveled to Chicago where I spent almost a week with Sister Heather. We walked Nala, the 2-year-old Weimaraner pup who has a mind of her own, twice a day, every day. I actually kind of miss the exercise, but we did a few other things besides dog sit. We went on a picnic, braved the traffic for some ice cream, and even found time to wash the car.<br />
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As much as I enjoyed every moment mentioned above, as well as all the moments in between, it was my departure from Chicago that sent me down an unexpected and profound path. The morning of my departure, I decided to go out the backdoor. The Sisters don't have a recycle bin, but their neighbors do, so rather than throw my plastic bottles in the trash I figured the neighbors wouldn't mind a few extra bottles in their recycle bin. Well, I stepped outside to a very sad sight: two baby birds on the cement steps next to each other, fallen from their nest above the door. They were so young that neither of them had any feathers. To my surprise, one of them had survived the fall. I called Sister Heather over and she thought perhaps we could get it back into the nest. She brought me a step ladder, so I picked up the little bird and climbed up, but it was no use. The nest was too high. I was running out of time, but she thought maybe a phone book would add some height and so she brought that over too. Placing it on the step ladder I tried again, but the nest was still too far out of reach. Being the 4th of July, I knew that any wildlife refuge center would be closed. I didn't know what else to do, so I figured, "If it's going to die, I can at least give it a soft and warm place to be in the meantime." I resolved to sneak it onto the flight with me.<br />
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I had a nice fuzzy sweater on hand so I gently placed the little bird inside the pocket and we left for the airport. During the drive my mind was working overtime to try and figure out how I would actually pull this off. "Should I try to wear the sweater through security?" I wondered. "No," I thought, "They'll see something in the pocket and I could get caught." As you know, my options were very limited. "Ok," I decided, "I'm going to leave her in the pocket and place the sweater in the bin that goes through the scanner. Maybe they'll see her, but maybe it'll just seem so odd that they won't say anything." I said goodbye as Sister Heather dropped me off, and I eventually made my way to security. My heart was pounding as I stood in line. "What if this doesn't work? What if they find her and take her? What would they do with her, throw her away?" The suspense at what might happen had me so nervous I even thought that perhaps the body scanners were possibly able to detect a person's heart rate so they could tell whether or not someone was trying to hide something. "If that's the case," I thought, "I better calm down or they'll know something's up! Just breathe.." I stared at my sweater as it slowly traveled along the conveyor belt. "Please don't beep, please don't beep.. If there's no beep then everything's fine.. Please don't beep." I stepped through the body scanner, watched my bag come out the other side, and then my sweater.. No beep! The little bird made it through security after all. I grabbed my belongings and headed to my gate.<br />
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I had brought a plum and banana with me, so I figured some mashed banana might be an ok snack for my new travel companion. I must say that feeding her was one of the most exciting aspects of caring for the little creature. She would open her beak, which was still soft around the edges, and chirp with her tiny tongue sticking out. Her neck was still so weak that her head would wobble all over the place and I'd have to try to hold her steady as she searched for the food on the tip of my pinky. Now that I had time to look up more details about baby birds on my phone, I checked to see how I might be able to best care for her during what I figured were the last hours of her life. We had about an hour left before boarding, a four hour flight to Sacramento, a two hour layover, and a final one hour flight from Sacramento to Ontario. I wasn't sure how long she'd last, but I wanted to make her as comfortable as possible.<br />
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I discovered that birds her size needed to be fed about every ten minutes from sunrise to 10:00 p.m. I fed her as much banana as I could while we waited for the plane, but once we boarded and took off, her appetite diminished. After about two hours, she only slept and was no longer moving around as energetically as before. By now the woman next to me had discovered why I was putting banana into my pocket and we started to chat. She told me about a son who was in prison and struggling with a drug addiction. "When I saw your crucifix," she said, "I just started praying." She told me she hadn't been to church in a while, but that she believed it would be best for her and her son if she started going again. In between stories, we would check on our little bird and both express how much we wanted her to live. At one point I was able to give the little one some banana and the woman marveled at the sight. "She's in good hands," she said with a smile. As we got ready to land, we discovered that we were both on the next flight together.<br />
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As we waited, I decided the bird needed something more than banana to eat. Besides, it was getting her all sticky and I had to pat her down with a damp paper towel to free her legs from the sides of her belly. "Perhaps avocado," I thought, and so the search began. I found a little string of restaurants near our gate and purchased a single avocado from a burger joint. As I was walking past a pizza place I heard someone call out, "Excuse me!" I turned to see a young woman about my age looking at me from behind the counter. "Excuse me," she said again, "Can I talk to you? Do you have some time?" "Of course," I said, and I walked over as she pushed some condiments out of the way. "Can you pray for me?" she asked. "Can you pray that I find peace and happiness? I struggle with anger." I talked with her for a moment and then we prayed right there together. She kindly offered to refill the water bottle I had in my hand and I returned to my gate. Unfortunately my little pal didn't eat much more, but she was still breathing. The woman and I kept checking to see that her little rib cage was expanding and contracting regularly.<br />
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When we boarded the plane we sat together again and were joined by a smiling 14-year-old girl. We decided to show her the little treasure in my sweater pocket and the three of us had a great conversation all the way into Ontario. Both of them declared that it was the first time they had ever sat next to a nun. The young girl said, "You're nice. I thought they were all mean like they show in the movies." We laughed and talked about more serious issues too, such as divorce and difficult family situations. We occasionally checked on our precious cargo and were relieved each time to see that she was still breathing. We weren't certain of her future, but we were all really hoping she'd survive.<br />
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My dear little featherless friend lived only about one hour after my arrival home. I was<br />
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surprised she had even made it that far, but I was disappointed to have to let her go. I buried her in our backyard and put a small cross on top of the spot where she is. In honor of Padre Pio and at the suggestion of one of my former students (Rio Mendez), I named her Pia.<br />
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Pia was a part of my journey for a mere matter of hours, yet her simple life allowed me to touch the lives of others with whom I likely wouldn't have spoken otherwise. Caring for this little bird caused a sort of domino effect and led to conversations that may change the course of many lives forever. Who knows, maybe the woman I sat next to will start going to church regularly and through a renewed relationship with God may inspire her son to seek a path of healing. Or perhaps the young woman I prayed with will find the peace she seeks and in return give glory to God by helping lead others out of their struggle with anger. Or maybe the 14-year-old who never knew religious sisters were nice will open her heart to discerning a vocation to the religious life. The pssibilities are endless, as are the mysterious ways in which God works. Pia was just a little bird fighting for life on the steps of a convent; but <b>no life, no matter how simple, is ever without purpose.</b><br />
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<i>*As a side note, here is a link which explains what you should do if you ever find a baby bird fallen out of its nest.</i><br />
<a href="http://healthypets.mercola.com/sites/healthypets/archive/2011/05/24/when-rescuing-a-baby-bird-is-not-the-compassionate-thing-to-do.aspx" target="_blank">http://healthypets.mercola.com/sites/healthypets/archive/2011/05/24/when-rescuing-a-baby-bird-is-not-the-compassionate-thing-to-do.aspx</a>Vocation Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281359364919030563noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-33485040124996883592015-04-10T16:42:00.000-07:002015-07-16T16:16:17.187-07:00All Aboard!My mom and baby sister, Angelina, will be coming out to California on the train to visit for the second time since I've been here! Their last visit was awesome and I know it's going to be amazing again. But you know what? This time there's more. This time my younger sister Johnele, her husband Andrew, and my niece and nephew - Grace and Jeremiah - will be coming as well! It will not only be their first family trip (how fantastic!!), but also the first time they will see where I live, who I live with, where I minister, and who my kids are. And if it couldn't get any better, they will also be here to see the dance recital that keeps me occupied for half of the year. (In case you were wondering, the dance recital is basically one of my biggest accomplishments of all time.)<br />
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You will never know just how happy all of this makes me.<br />
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I travel back and forth about three times a year to visit my family in New Mexico. It's always a great trip and I love being a part of the daily routines I once enjoyed as well as learning new daily routines as our family evolves. I get to take Angelina to school and pick her up; I get to stay up late with my sister and brother-in-law as they try to put the babies in bed; I get to have meals, watch movies and get up in the morning with the people God gave me as lifelong companions. Until now, however, I didn't realize that I hadn't shared my daily routines with them.<br />
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Although my mom and Angelina have been able to visit me a couple of times, they, like the rest of my family, have not been here while school is in session. This time, they will be here for a whole Friday and so can step into my classroom and enter into my life as a teacher. None of them have been able to do this before.<br />
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Johnele and Andrew will see where I live and pray and who I joke around with at the dinner table. They will witness an element of who I have become that they would otherwise not know about. They will see my bedroom where I plan, think and dream. <span style="font-family: sans-serif;">They will finally get to know the routines and environment that are so much a part of me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: sans-serif;">All of this, and more... My family will be here to witness a major stage production that I help plan and bring to fruition. They will watch a performance that I and some very dedicated students create through costumes, choreography, music and lots of energy. Countless hours, which turn into months, are required for a production like this. This will be my second year to put on a dance recital and I actually will have family here to witness it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: sans-serif;">When the disciples asked Jesus where He lived, He simply said, "Come and see." An invitation into someone's home is an invitation into that person's very self. This is why I'm so glad my family will be able to "come and see".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Pray for their safe travels, please!</span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KsYZaxxtUSI/VSdyr8vZcYI/AAAAAAAABjQ/UrN7qwk5qyk/s1600/20141125_173502.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KsYZaxxtUSI/VSdyr8vZcYI/AAAAAAAABjQ/UrN7qwk5qyk/s1600/20141125_173502.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2-Year-old Grace</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-roK6eYXZ4NE/VSdx_nok_QI/AAAAAAAABjI/2R54ZR9gK5o/s1600/20141126_113813.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-roK6eYXZ4NE/VSdx_nok_QI/AAAAAAAABjI/2R54ZR9gK5o/s1600/20141126_113813.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3-Year-Old Jeremiah</td></tr>
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</span>Vocation Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281359364919030563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942675050219565782.post-60682294487260062952015-04-09T01:10:00.000-07:002015-04-11T18:48:16.630-07:00Falling in Love<b>I am in love</b><br />
<b>with Sunday afternoons and ice cream splurges</b><br />
<b>with laughter and the gentle guidance of mentors</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>I am in love</b><br />
<b>with the singing and screeching that greets me after lunch</b><br />
<b>and with complaints about homework, heat and boys</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>I am in love</b><br />
<b>with the scent of California jasmine</b><br />
<b>and the cool evening breeze on my dusty skin</b><br />
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<b>Each of these is a divine whisper</b><br />
<b>adding to the song that birthed my beginning</b><br />
<b>and each time I listen</b><br />
<b>I find again</b><br />
<b>myself, God's image, and thus God's own humming heart</b><br />
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Vocation Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14281359364919030563noreply@blogger.com2