Doing & Being

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.

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.

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?"

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.

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 what I do, it doesn't really feel like who I am.

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.

So if my doing is not my being, then I suppose it is not so much what I share as it is who 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 me - a friendly introvert with lots of things on her mind.

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?

The photos you see in this post were taken by Carlos Trujillo during a talk I gave in Albuquerque,
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.

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 be in all that I do. Please pray for me as I pray for you.

Sister Desiré Anne-Marie Findlay

The Heart of a Mother

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.

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?

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.

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.

Roller-coasters with my favorite nephew

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?

Twinning with my favorite niece

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.

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.

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."

JOY: Jesus, Others and You

Busy Busy Busy! 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. You may be wondering just how I ended up going to a little city out in the country. To find out, read on! 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. The group traveled together to and from Mass on a bus, and 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. 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. Teaching the little ones a chant with some movement! 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. :) 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?" Me with the Youth Group at Holy Name of Jesus Catholic Church 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 true?" 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. Posing with my new little friends at John Paul II Catholic School 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!" 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! Teaching a dance I choreographed for the upper grades 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. 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." 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. 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." Me & some attendees from the Black Catholic gathering in Henderson, KY 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. 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.