A Moment of Honesty

This 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.

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.

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).

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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”: 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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Sister Desiré Anne-Marie Findlay

Prayer is the Master Key

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

Both of my new ministries are extremely life-giving for me. My main ministry is what we call “vocation ministry”. It involves a lot of travel. I have plans to attend a lot of different youth and young adult events, but it also includes creating my own events and putting together prayer services or meaningful experiences for those who wish to grow in their relationship with God. I’ve already gotten to facilitate a Come and See weekend where three women who 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.

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

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

With this latest act of domestic terrorism, I can’t help but think of all the family members and friends whose lives were forever changed in just one night. Unless we have a family member or friend suffering with a life-threatening illness, most of us don’t wake up and think, “This might be the last time I see them.” When tragedy like this happens, I am reminded of how unpredictable life is, and of how deeply painful loss can be. I can’t say I know what any of the families and friends who lost loved ones on October 1st are going through, but I do have a certain sense of what sudden loss feels like. In my own family, we experienced a sudden loss of sorts without any kind of warning. It shocked all of us, and the lives of those involved were changed forever in an instant. We continue to grieve, even in the midst of hope, because nothing has been the same ever since, and nothing will ever be the same again. It’s made some of us question our very worth, wondering how God could let something like this happen. I wonder if that’s how Jesus felt when He cried out and asked why God had abandoned Him. I think most of us have asked that of God for some reason or another: “God, why have You abandoned me?” In other words, “Where were You when I needed You? Why didn’t You do something to keep this from happening?” It feels like a crucifixion, like the world has destroyed us and we’ve been left to suffer unbearable pain. Jesus 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.

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

Prayer is the key

Prayer is the key

Prayer is the master key

Jesus started with prayer

And ended with prayer

Prayer is the master key

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

With love and prayers,

Sister Desiré Anne-Marie Findlay

On Prayer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whisper of Hope

As I look at the sprouting pomegranate seedlings I planted several weeks ago, and as I reflect upon some sad news I received yesterday, I figure now is a good time to post a poem I wrote last summer.

Whisper of Hope

There is something inside
which has not come out
it still lies beneath
as a hidden sprout

I feel it is growing
deep
deep
into the soil
while the toiler sleeps

Silently slowly
down slide the roots
holding like hands
the laborer's fruits

Movement and stirring
and upwardly climbing
the green starts to show
the sower is reaping

Up
it is stretching
silencing strife
this beautiful
indescribable
wobbly
new life

It has come so far
but there's much more to grow
so toiler, laborer
you keep what you know
until the sun moves
and beckons you follow

Rise
little one
reach for the heart
surrender yourself
to the Master of art

Calling
He's calling
as if for the first time
you hear Him
He says
I love you
you are mine.

I dedicate this poem to all who are struggling, to all who feel lost and in the dark.  Remember, the roots must be submerged into the darkness if the new growth is to make its way to the sun that sustains it.  Do not be afraid to bend yourself towards the light and love that reaches out to you.

My baby pomegranate trees!

Christ Beside Me

Crazy hair... It runs in the family ♥

I woke up late Friday morning after staying up to prepare lessons for the coming week.  I meandered slowly into the bathroom to brush my teeth and looked sleepily at my reflection in the mirror.  I chuckled at my wayward hair and thought, "Wow, I look like a mess."  I freshened up my breath with some minty paste and plastic bristles and went back to my room.  As I crossed the threshold from the bathroom to my bedroom which is the hallway, I thought for a moment about my silly hair and my reflection.  "I'm kind of like that on the inside, too," I realized, "A mess."  I sat on my bed to think about it a moment longer and thought about the "cracked pot" story (see below) and it prompted a simple prayer.  "Lord," I began, "I don't want to let my brokenness get in the way.  I want to learn how to let You work through my brokenness - don't let it stop You.  Don't let it stop me, either."  With that, I offered an "Amen" and continued to get ready for the day.

I love being outdoors and so am often looking for an opportunity to walk or ride my bike somewhere.  So, after having gotten myself ready, I decided to walk down to the RiteAid near our convent.  I only needed a few things, but any excuse was good enough.  I left without a coat or sweater, it was so warm, and as I skipped down our steps the woman across the street greeted me with a kind "Good Morning!"  It added an extra piece of goodness to an already beautiful day and I happily prayed a rosary down the street to my destination.

I found only one of the items I was looking for, so I decided to continue my walk and went a block over to Walgreens.  Looking around at a world I don't normally walk through, my eyes landed on an auto shop that was coming up on my right.  Some music was playing and I caught a line of a very familiar song.  "I just want you to know who I am" was all I heard, but in that very brief moment, as I peered into the lot of cars and felt the sun on my face and listened to the music, I was somewhere else.  I was in someone else's childhood, someone else's memories, someone else's reality.  For a split second, I knew that no one else has or ever will experience life like I have, nor will I ever experience life the way someone else has.  It seems so basic, so obvious, but even though I knew that before, I never understood it.  As I waited to cross the intersection, the words from the song came back to me - I just want you to know who I am.  Though they may just be lyrics from a 90's song by the Goo Goo Dolls, at that moment it was part of God's answer to the prayer I had uttered earlier in the day.  By saying, "I want to learn how to let You work through my brokenness," I was basically asking for Him to be my teacher.  "Teach me," I had pleaded, and this was part of His lesson: "Know who I am."

When I got back home my dear mentor - and most frequent comment-giver on this blog (thank you, Sister Seraphine!) - returned from picking up some groceries.  We chatted for a few minutes before I hopped in the car to run a few more errands.  As I left she mentioned it was First Friday and with a smile said, "Stay close to Jesus."  That was the second part of God's lesson.

The next part took place at Mass.  After I ran my errands I drove to a nearby parish where I knew they had an evening weekday Mass.  I arrived a bit early, so I took some time to kneel before the Blessed Sacrament and began another rosary.  I got halfway through when I looked at my watch and saw I only had about five minutes left.  Finding a seat, I took my journal out so I could jot down a few thoughts from the day and then I quieted myself down for Mass.  We began with a song, although there was no official choir, and I found myself somewhat reluctant to chime in.  I enjoy singing, but I have not yet figured out how to use my vocal chords for something other than talking.  However, I noticed that the church was actually loud with song, that almost everyone was singing, perfect or not, so I quickly gave up on my insecurity and gladly joined in an a cappella "Hark!  The Herald Angels Sing".

The priest started his homily with a story: "I was at Wal-Mart shopping one day when this woman passed by me in the aisle.  She was looking at me in a very strange way and I wasn't really sure why.  Finally she said, 'Do I know you from somewhere?  I feel like I've met you before.'  I told her I wasn't sure, so she asked what I did for a living.  'Well, I'm a priest,' I told her.  'Aha!' she said, 'from church.  That's where I've seen you.'  It's funny," he continued, "how people don't recognize us outside of a familiar setting.  I think that's how it can often be with Jesus.  Jesus is present in every situation, but sometimes we only see Him when and where it's obvious, like church.  I think Jesus is more often found in those places and people we are not expecting, places in which it would be a surprise; that's where we need to look for Him."

The priest's homily was the last piece of my lesson for the day.  In conclusion, God's overall message to my plea was this: "In order to receive what it is you're asking for, you must know who I am and you must stay close to my Son by looking for Him where you do not expect to find Him."  Perhaps knowing who God is has to do with entering into the experiences of others and perhaps one of the places in which I can begin to look for His Son is within the brokenness that I have been reluctant to embrace, like our dear friend the cracked pot.

The story of the cracked pot

An elderly woman had two large pots.  Each hung on the ends of a pole which she carried across her neck to gather water each day.  One of the pots had a crack in it while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water.  At the end of the long walk from the stream to the house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For a full two years this went on daily, with the woman bringing home only one and a half pots of water.  The poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, miserable that it could only do half of what it had been made to do.

After two years of what the pot perceived to be bitter failure, it spoke to the woman one day by the stream.  "I am ashamed of myself," it confessed, "because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house and I only bring home half as much as the other pot."

The old woman smiled.  She placed the pole on her neck to begin the walk back home.  In doing so, she replied, "Look at the path as we walk.  Do you see the flowers growing on your side only?  I have always known about your flaw.  I planted flower seeds on your side of the path and each day as we walked back home you watered them.  For two years now I have been able to enjoy seeing the beauty of these flowers during my long walk home.  I need you to be just the way you are."

The Love of the Incarnation

Do you see?

Do you believe?

A little baby,

our God!

Outside

it's cold

and yet He chose

to be among the lowly.

With me?

Like me?

A perfect love,

oh, God!

This world

it's cold

and yet He chose

to be among the lonely.

Son of man?

Born of Mary?

A human being,

and God!

The night

it's cold

and yet He chose

to be among the weary.

In me?

Through me?

A merciful Savior,

my God!

This soul

it's cold

and yet He chose

to make this creature holy.

Ode to Ordinary

Perhaps you know, and perhaps you don't know, but the Catholic Church has just begun a new year.  It is called the Season of Advent.  Advent is one of seven liturgical seasons celebrated by the Catholic Church.  Just like January begins the calendar year, so Advent begins the Church year.  And just like December ends the calendar year, the season known as Ordinary Time is what sums up our Church year.  That means the Church year for 2013 came to a close on Saturday, November 30th, the last day of Ordinary Time.  I am excited for Advent.  Advent prepares us for Christmas as it is meant to be a time of anticipation - we are longing for the birth of Jesus as well as for His second coming.  However, I must admit that I feel a little sad about having to say goodbye to Ordinary Time.

I just came back on Saturday from New Mexico after having celebrated Thanksgiving with my family.  When I had first moved away and started returning home for vacations, I expected everyone to gather together so we could run around and do as many exciting things as possible.  "We can go on a hike," I'd say, and a friend or my sister would say, "Yeah!  And then we can do dinner and a movie in the evening!"  "Maybe we can squeeze in a short road trip, too!" my mom and I would suggest.  But as much as we talked about these things, they almost never happened.  Mostly we would just have simple meals together, play with the dogs outside, go for walks, fall asleep to movies at home... Nothing outside of the ordinary.  I wasn't quite sure how I felt about that until recently.

Thanksgiving has never been one of my favorite holidays.  It seemed like nothing ever happened, like it always moved so slowly.  Plus, I never really enjoyed the turkey.  "No, no," someone would promise, "You'll like it this year," or "You'll like the way this person makes the turkey," but I never did.  So, Thanksgiving, not my favorite.  However, I was really looking forward to it this year since I hadn't been home for Thanksgiving in a while.  I had forgotten about all the unexcitement and the turkey; I just wanted to see my family.  Ideas of great big adventures didn't really creep in, either.  We did the usual: played games, ate, helped take care of my nephew and niece, bought some toiletries, visited the convent, and slept.  When I got back on the train I carried with me a vacation that had been just right.  Not thrilling, not boring, but Ordinary.  It was perfect.  I got to be a part of my family's daily comings and goings, to be immersed in what they live on a regular basis.  I could breathe in their smiles, touch their weariness, walk with their triumphs.  For five gorgeous days their routine was mine.  Somehow, I didn't recognize the beauty of that before.

After several months of Ordinary Time, I am having difficulty letting go.  Holding on to the ordinary has enabled me to welcome the imperfections of life; it has been stability in the struggle, and now it is gone.  But a new season is here, one which can help me appreciate the surprises in life and the patience of waiting for those surprises.  Advent.

Advent
as in "arrival" or "coming"
you demand my attention
tugging
seeking
from every direction

Advent
as in beginning
not end
your purpose, to renew
to seek all people of good will
that Christ may dwell within

Advent
the truth
that is past future present
you cry out
as a woman giving birth
you promise us Emmanuel again

This is My Life

It was suggested to me by a friend (Paula Binsol) to write a blog about my daily activities.  An excellent idea, dear Paula!  I will also mention, as suggested, my favorite prayers and/or ways to praise God.  This is for all the men and women out there discerning their vocation!

 

Our schedule is basically the same Monday through Friday with a few variations here and there, so I will share what a typical day is like:

 

• 5:15 a.m. -- (Not a requirement)  I go for an hour walk with any Sister who wishes to join me

• 6:40 a.m. -- The Sisters gather together in Chapel for 40 minutes of silent meditation
• 7:20 a.m. -- We pray Morning Prayer from the Franciscan Office together
• 8:00 a.m. -- Mass at a nearby Parish
• 8:45 a.m. -- Breakfast together, my favorite meal :)
• 9:45 a.m. -- Class with one of the Professed Sisters in the house
• 11:40 a.m. -- Common Rosary (on Mondays and Wednesdays)
• 12:00 p.m. -- Lunch together
• 1:00-2:00 p.m. -- Adoration in half-hour shifts  (on Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays)
• If you are scheduled to cook, somewhere in here would be your prep time
• 3:00 p.m. -- Second class of the day
• 4:45 p.m. -- We pray Evening Prayer together from the Franciscan Office
• 5:00 p.m. -- Dinner together
• 7:00 p.m. -- Recreation (on Tuesdays and Sundays)
• Times may vary due to individual sleeping habits J -- Private Night Prayer

Sister Bridget hammin' it up for the kiddos!

That is our basic schedule, although as I said it does change from time to time.  For example, Tuesdays are our outreach days, so we do not have classes or Adoration.  When I say "outreach" I mean it is the day we go out for ministry.  Our ministries vary from spending time with children to visiting our older Sisters who live next door.  We also help tutor adults who are learning English and entertain our neighbors at the Adult Day Care.  In the fall and spring we also attend a Scripture class through the Archdiocese, which has been a wonderful source of wisdom and friendships.

 

As for the weekend, Saturday is usually a day of relaxation, so Morning and Evening Prayer is private.  Sometimes there are special events to attend, or we novices go shopping together for our monthly outing.  On Saturdays we are also given the option to attend 11 o'clock Mass with the Little Sisters of the Poor (Sleep in?  Oh yeah.), and on Sundays we spend time with our Sisters in the central convent.  We have breakfast with them as well as Morning Prayer and Mass, and then one Sunday a month we help at a local soup kitchen where the Sisters provide a hot meal for the guests.

 

At the Mashantucket Pequot Museum and Research Center

On occasion the novices and their directors go on outings together, or educational trips.  One such trip was a visit to the Pequot Tribe Museum; another was accompanying our Sisters to the Aquarium in Mystic; there were also a couple of trips to the water; even some trips to Pennsylvania, New York and New Jersey.  I have found that both our daily routine and the special events are equally exciting.  What we learn during our time at home seems to enhance our time outside of the house.  Due to what I learn through our novitiate classes, I am able to laugh with strangers, share myself with others and give from what I have received.  Although this year has not been easy, it has been a blessing.  I have struggled with confusion and frustration, but in the midst of it, God has taught me patience and communication.

A large part of our lives is prayer.  Beyond the prayer we experience together in Chapel, we are also encouraged to spend time in prayer on our own throughout the day.  Here are my favorite ways to praise God and to converse with Him:

• making rosaries
• praying outside, whether with a book, an Office (Divine Office, Franciscan Office, or Office of the Passion), or simply by enjoying the outdoors
• walking
• talking with my Sisters... and sometimes with plants, such as Joseph my tree
• journaling -- I love to write!
• making candles
• dancing
• drawing
• painting

Yup, I made that candle and those Rosaries!

When it comes to praying on my own, I have discovered that there are a multitude of ways to enjoy my time of reflection or meditation.  The type of environment I need to create for myself shifts from day to day, or even by the hour.  Sometimes I enjoy listening to music (Danielle Rose mostly) and sometimes I prefer silence.  Sunny weather and rainy days are both great for me; each have their own ways to inspire!  When I pray at night I usually enjoy a dark room with candles lit to remind myself of the mystery of God.  I consider sleep a prayer, too!  I love to sleep: it is the only time when all my senses have been quieted and I can be 100% open to the Lord.  I take my dreams very seriously and they usually end up becoming a large part of my prayer life as well.  Prayer is not always exciting or instantly gratifying, but faithfulness to prayer produces an abundance of grace which may not always be recognized or felt.  It took me a while to learn this, but I think I finally caught on ;)

 

I hope I was able to answer some questions or satisfy some curiosity, but if any questions remain, do not hesitate to post them in the comment box below!

~May God continue to bless and keep you~

A Weekend of Retreat

My fellow novices and I went on a wonderful retreat in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania for a whole week.  We stayed at the Villa of Our Lady retreat center and were taken care of by three super fun jolly Bernadine Franciscan Sisters.  They and their staff cooked meals for us all week long and made sure we were well fed.  The interesting fact I must share with you about these Sisters is that they began in Poland just like the Felician Sisters did.  Upon meeting them, I made the connection that these were the Sisters some of our own Sisters stayed with during the War in Poland.  Now here we were, generations later, reunited!  I really feel that they're family.

I made a few new friends of the feline class.  The Sisters feed families of stray cats that live in the woods nearby and I was able to coax a few kittens with some dangly things.  I also made some human friends at the grotto outside which is perfectly situated at the corner of two major streets, so people stop there all the time.  I talked to several visitors and learned that many of them were not even Catholic, they just wanted to spend some time with Mother Mary :)  They could light candles, sit in prayer, or go inside the retreat house to check out the gift shop.  Perfect!


I found the Mount Airy State Park nearby and the four of us novices went hiking a few times. I even rode my bike around. It was the first time I ever used that bike in the mountains -- it finally fulfilled its purpose! A mountain bike on the road is nothing like a mountain bike in its natural environment. I loved it! It actually provided for a neat reflection on allowing myself to fulfill the purpose for which God has created me. What is my natural environment? Am I made for the road or the trails? Married or religious life? That's what discernment is all about -- discovering where we work best!
While hiking and biking around, we caught glimpses of wildlife.  We heard about bears, but never saw one.  However, we did run across some toads, frogs, a couple of snakes, deer, a rabbit, squirrels, a beaver, a turtle and a few unknown creatures.  Not to mention mosquitoes... I came home with over 25 mosquito bites.

I have to mention the stream as well which was an icy cold relief from the heat and humidity.  We sat in it almost every day and made sure to submerge ourselves enough to make it last for the walk back home.  It was like a baptism, being embraced and comforted by my Sister Water.  Despite the trail's bugs and possible predators, the path was like a deep conversation with God.  With flower pedals strewn across the ground, we could feel the Lord drawing us closer to Himself.

May you be able to see God's love for you no matter where you are!  Amen.  Amen.

To be Mother

I Wonder

A reflection

When I had the chicken pox,

my mom powdered my face

and applied some lipstick;

the powder stopped the itching

and the lip color helped me feel better.

I brought a dog home from the pound once

and tried to keep it a secret from my mom.

She wasn't too happy about that

but three days later, smile and all,

she was helping me pull tics off the new pup.

I used to paint and draw all the time

and my mother was very encouraging.

She would give me boxes galore to decorate

but one time I found some nail polish

and painted the bathroom sink...

During my birth, and even after,
the doctors continued to tell my mom,
"Your daughter will not make it.
You need to let her go; she's going to die,"
predetermining the loss of her first child.

When my mother accepted this and took me home,
she loved me completely despite the circumstances.
During this time, I grew healthier
and the little child she held in her arms
came back to life.

I wonder what Mary did when Jesus got sick --

let Him sleep in? Skip some chores?

I wonder how often Jesus came home saying,

"Look mom! Can we keep him?!"

I wonder what messes little Jesus made for Mary --
food on the floor? Mud in the house?

I wonder what Mary felt when Simeon said,
"And you yourself a sword will pierce."

I wonder how many emotions ran through Mary
when her crucified Son was raised from the dead.

Hello, World!

Days of Being a Novice: 24

Today, I, Sister Desiré Anne-Marie Findlay, am taking over the novitiate blog for the next two years J  It is a great honor and, so far, a great joy to assume this role.  (I say “so far” because I have not yet encountered what writing a blog will be like under the full-fledged force of “novice-ness”.)  “Novice-ness” is a new word; let me tell you about it, as this may lead me into more substantial mumblings later on…



Spanish Teacher for a Day!

I went to Pomona, CA for my apostolic ministry as a postulant during the month of February this year.  I spent time visiting with families, feeding the homeless, and talking to young women at the Pomona All-Girls Catholic High School.  I spoke with many of the classes and all of the girls were welcoming and kind; they were eager to talk with me about religious life and listened attentively to what I had to say.  Upon my pending departure, the girls encouraged me to “Come back!”  “We’ll be sure to visit you when you teach here,” they said, but I wondered when I’d ever see or hear from them again.

On August 14, 2011, I celebrated my Mass of Thanksgiving and entrance into the novitiate with my family and friends in Rio Rancho, NM.  A package from Sister Feliz was among my gifts and inside was a stack of papers.  Pulling them out, my eyes widened and almost started to leak – this “stack of papers” was a bundle of cards the girls made to congratulate me on becoming a novice.  “Whoot!” and “PC is proud of you!” they said.  Nina gave me the new word; she said: “I’m sure you will make a fabulous nun (at the end of your novice-ness…)  “Huh,” I thought to myself, “novice-ness.  It’s perfect!  All of novitiate – the homework, ‘formation moments’, excitement, transition, everything – it can now be summarized into this one word.”  So when you see it in my future blog antics, you’ll know just what it means and where it came from.  Fancy that!

Mass of Thanksgiving

Now, “what does this have to do with prayer?” one might ask, since this is the blog of a young woman pursuing religious life.  I’ll tell you.  In response to their thoughtfulness, I am making each of them a knotted chaplet.  On the knots of each decade, I recited either 10 Hail Mary’s, Glory Be’s, Jesus prayers, or prayers to the Immaculate Heart of Mary for the student and her intentions, or the student and her family.  On the cross of each chaplet I sprinkled 1) Holy Water from the Shrine of Divine Mercy, 2) Holy Water from the Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Mexico, or 3) blessed soil from the Marian Shrine in Chimayó, NM.  As you can imagine, this was (and still is) a lot of work.

I began making these chaplets just after I’d been thinking about what it meant to “pray always.”  When I looked for this verse in the Bible, it appeared in 1 Thess. 5: 16-18; Lk. 18:1; Eph. 6:18; and Lk. 21:36.  I’m sure it appears much more often than that, but to find it in four different places so quickly shows us how important an instruction it is.  So as I worked on these chaplets, the words “pray always” came to life: instead of simply making chaplets, I asked Christ to turn my activity into a prayer.  There are plenty of things in our lives that can become prayer, like cooking, or dancing… Even cleaning!  We know we can offer up our joys, our chores, and especially our sorrows, as prayers for others to our Heavenly Father.  I think that’s what it means to pray always – when we learn how to sincerely be in prayer during times of solitude, conversation, ministry, or wherever else the Lord beckons us to be at the moment.  See, I told you my story would lead us to some substantial mumblings...  I praise God the Holy Spirit for that!  Amen.

With Much Love and Many Blessings,

Sister Desiré Anne-Marie J