Never Alone: A poem by yours truly

Never Alone

The fan turns in my room
but the heat still settles on my skin
and I feel the weight
of every heavy heart
I've ever encountered.

Their faces linger in my mind
traveling all throughout my body
as if they've always existed
in the crevices of my life.

Their eyes cry out
seeking validation through the window
which bears my soul
seeking love
from someone
barely learning to love herself.

But these messy lives
create a masterpiece
revealing the face of God
because we fit well together
holding each other's hearts.

Dedicated to everyone.

With love,
Sister Desire' Anne-Marie Findlay
June 27, 2014

To Teach is to Learn

I taught high school seniors this year.

They also taught me.

Full of noise and energy all year long, these young women taught me the importance of humor and excitement.  They reminded me that to be fully human means to be fully yourself.

Not all of the noise from the seniors was screeching and hollering just for the fun of it.  Sometimes they were loud in other ways.  They were loud with compassion.  They were loud with their genuine concern for people.  They were loud with their many gifts and talents, enjoying the abilities God gave them by excelling in sports, academics and creativity.  From this I learned the importance of embracing my gifts as well as developing them.

At the beginning of the year I was concerned that teaching World Religions meant I would be bombarded with questions about the many religious traditions of our world.  I was right.  But I loved it.  Their thirst for knowledge increased my own and kept me open-minded.

As young women with barely 18 years of experience, they also carried with them a lot pain.  I saw heartache.  I held them as they cried.  I cried with them.  Embracing their hurt taught me to embrace my own, showing me the value of acknowledging life's trials.

Though they did not know it, the seniors did well to remind this teacher that she is still a student..  I will be forever grateful.

I love you Pomona Catholic Class of 2014!  There is wisdom in remaining learners for life, but know that you also have the ability to educate.

Love Thyself

This semester my religion class has been learning about and discovering many of the world's major religions. We have covered religions such as Judaism, Taoism, Buddhism, Confucianism, Hinduism, Sikhism and a few of the primal religious traditions. Discussing the different aspects of these religions, and coming to a better understanding of their practices and origins, has provided insight beyond the surface of the rituals and creeds that constitute these belief systems. I teach senior religion, which means that as the year ends, so too does their high school experience. They will soon enter the world as young adults where expectations will go from turning in homework and showing up to class on time, to creating their own schedules and paying their own bills. But just as the externals of religion must point toward something greater, I wanted my students to know that the external expectations of them must also stir something deeper.

First of all, I wanted them to know that there will always be expectations placed on them, sometimes by others and sometimes by themselves. Sometimes they will be able to fulfill those expectations, and sometimes they won't. Our list of what is expected of them during this stage in their lives looked a bit like this:

Be on time
Turn work in
Dress modestly
Don't drink
Don't do drugs
Don't talk in class
Learn to drive
Be kind
Be charitable
Be respectful toward authority
No sex
Curfew
No partying
Forgive
Go to college
Get a job
Obedient
No cussing

When I asked them how they felt when they didn't meet these expectations, they provided a list that looked somewhat like this:

Guilty
Low self-esteem
Disappointment
Frustrated
Angry

When I asked how many of them were actually able to abide by our list of expectations, only a couple raised their hands. "What do we tell ourselves when we don't meet these expectations?" I asked. They said, "Oh it's ok, maybe next time I'll do it," or "What's wrong with me?  Why can't I get it right?" So we concluded that we come up with excuses for not meeting these external expectations as a sort of self-defense mechanism. Other times we let that negative voice take over and tell us we must not be good enough.  However, I let them know that these excuses and feelings of shame can be done away with by simply and honestly trying our best. And as important as these externals are, they mean nothing if there is no internal connection.

There are also those times in life when we don't get the externals right, but there is still something happening beyond the surface that others don't see, or refuse to see. Only you and God really know what you are capable of. I told them, "If you truly couldn't get that homework assignment in on time, but you know you did your best and are not making excuses, then there is no reason to feel guilty.  There will always be someone we disappoint, just know that. Others will disappoint us, too. It's freeing to accept the fact that you can't and won't please everyone. We are responsible for doing what we can and loving ourselves in the process."

I just wanted them to know it was ok to celebrate the little victories, even when no one else sees them, or even when everyone else sees failure. Little victories still count. I guess I wanted you to know that, too. Celebrate your victories. Celebrate you. ♥

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."