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

of Bikes and Men

This week I finally started riding my bike to and from school!  To my absolute delight, it has been everything I expected and more.

When I started this past Monday, I smiled just thinking about the work-out I was getting, but then I began to notice the people around me.  When I rode in the car they had been so distant, but now I could see and hear them so clearly.  On Tuesday morning I started paying attention to the rest of the world's activities: mothers loading children into cars, sleepy teenagers waiting for the bus, the impoverished digging through trash cans... I felt like I had been separated from such a struggling yet beautiful world, but I had now been immersed back into it because I was no longer hiding behind a windshield.  While pondering this on my way to school Tuesday morning, I heard a man yell out, "Que Dios le bendiga!" which means, "May God bless you!"  I turned and saw him waving at me from his porch, so I waved back and kept on riding as I returned the greeting.  It made me smile the rest of the way to school and I secretly hoped it wouldn't be the last time we encountered one another.  Thanks be to God, it wasn't!

I saw the man again the following day and the same event unfolded.  The next day another one of the men who had been out on the porch was now standing by the sidewalk.  He greeted me with a great big smile, so I stopped and spoke with the two of them.  As the conversation continued, we discovered that we had met before.  Kyle, the one who had greeted me on Tuesday, was living on the streets a few years ago, so we had crossed paths when I was here in Pomona ministering to the homeless.  Now he and his friend Dan (who was the man standing near the sidewalk on this particular day) live at what I believe is a group home for men who are recovering from an addiction to alcohol.

Almost every morning now, Dan will fling the screen door open as soon as I pass by on my way to school just so he can say hello.  On my way back, of course, he is usually sitting out on the porch or standing near the sidewalk, excited to tell me about his day or offer me some afternoon coffee.  Kyle is not around as much, but when I do see him he usually asks for prayer.  He suffers from gout, but he also told me that his son, who was my same age, was recently murdered and so I have promised to keep the prayers coming.

I had no idea that when I chose to ride my bike I was choosing to enter into a whole new reality.  I have posted a little note on my wall which came from a single bag of tea.  It says, "Your choices will change the world."  I truly believe it, not only for me, but for everyone.  For all of us, each and every one of our choices will change the world.  If not the world across the ocean, then the world which is the neighborhood we live in.  What will your next choice be?  Who will it affect?

A Reading from the Blog of Lamentations

If you are friends with me on Facebook, you may have heard the brief story of my very temporary pet fish.  Well, here is the story at length and in detail:

One of my students brought her goldfish to school on Thursday, August 29th and gave it to another

one of my students.  The student who received the fish then brought it to me saying, "Sister, look what I got today!"  Holding up a Ziploc bag with a fish swimming around inside she asked, "Do you want it?"  I couldn't refuse the little creature (the fish, that is), so I accepted.  I had a vase sitting behind my desk from a bouquet of flowers the Sisters had brought me during my first week of school, so I gave it to her to fill up with water and we plopped the fish inside.  Sister Feliz and I went immediately after school to pick up some fish flakes and when I got home I smiled at my luck upon receiving this little surprise.  "God must've wanted me to have a pet," I thought to myself.

On Friday I transferred the little guy to a large juice container since his water was already pretty dirty.  I watched him swim around and dart about, but as I watched him throughout the day his behavior seemed to be a bit odd.  That evening I browsed through Google to better understand my new pet and discovered that putting a fish straight into tap water is not a good idea.  I resolved to run errands Saturday morning so that I could get all the necessary supplies and give him a better home.  It turned out that Saturday morning was too late.  I woke up to a floating fish.  Needless to say this did not make me happy.  In fact, it put me in terrible mood.

Attempting to go to Mass now before running errands, I reverted back to trusty Google so I could find a late morning Mass in the area.  I found a site that said there was a 12:15p.m. Mass nearby so I got ready and was in the car by 11:40 a.m.  I got out my phone to pull up the site again so I could get directions.  I found the same link, but for some reason it wasn't opening.  I sat in the car attempting to find another Mass, but to no avail.  "Fine," I resolved, "I'll just run errands now and go to Mass in the evening."  By this time my own personal rain cloud had already formed.


I was in need of some pots for my plants as well as some potting soil, so I looked up "plant nurseries" in the area.  I found one about 6 miles away, so I finally put the car in drive and got going.  As I pulled up to my destination I found that I had arrived at the botanical gardens.  I might have stayed to browse a bit if they had been open, but they were closed.  Of course.  The next Google search led me to a wealthy neighborhood where the plant nursery I had hoped to find (again) was closed (again).  Frustrated and fully enjoying the presence of my rain cloud by now, I tried searching one more time.  This time when I arrived at my destination I could let out a sigh of relief.  I had finally found a real, live plant nursery.  And it was open!  I skipped happily around until I began to find that all the fancy pots I admired were made in China.  I finally found a little plastic green pot that said it was made in Canada, but I couldn't find any more.  Annoyed that no one had asked me if I needed help, I trudged up to the front for assistance.  The guy there showed me where I could find some more unexciting plastic green pots and offered to take a bag of potting soil up to the front for me.  As I picked out my pots, my eyes were drawn to some simple terracotta pots.  Read the label... Made in the USA!  I excitedly exchanged the plastic for the terracotta and went up to the front to make my purchase.  I was feeling a little bit better, but decided maybe a trip to PetSmart would help.


It didn't.  All I got to do was look at every pet I couldn't have and think of the many I had left behind.  After about an hour of sulking in PetSmart I went over to Staples for some very necessary classroom supplies.  I found some whiteout - made in China.  Looked for a stapler - made in the Philippines.  Checked out the binder dividers - made in Mexico.  As much as I really could have used all of those things and as much as I could have come up with good excuses to override myself, I wouldn't do it.  I couldn't, especially because I had just told my students about this shopping practice of mine.  In knowing that buying these products was going to perpetuate the poverty of others, there was no way I could allow myself to ignore my conscience.  No whiteout, no stapler, no binder dividers.  I walked away annoyed with Staples and the rest of the world.




Not wanting to further upset myself, I made my way to a thrift store.  While there I found a nice water bottle for a Sister who had lost hers as well as a small flower pot and a fancy watering vase.  Everything totaled $3 and I left feeling satisfied with my shopping items despite the fact that I hadn't actually found what I needed.



I returned home and relaxed with the Sisters a bit before going back out to attend a 7 p.m. Mass down the road.  I was excited not only about the time of the Mass, but also about the fact that it was in Arabic!  I understood nothing of what was spoken during the Mass, but it was absolutely divine to listen to and be a part of.

As Mass ended I just stood in my pew watching everyone reverently file out of the church.  Eventually, people started coming over to me, excited to see me as if we had been friends forever and hadn't seen each other in a long time.  I received warm greetings, handshakes and kisses on the cheek

from people I'd never met before in my life; it was beautiful!  One young girl, about 9 years old, ran over and held something out to me.  "Please accept this from me," she said, and waited until I stopped being confused so I could open my hands and receive what she was holding.  As she placed the item in my hands I noticed it was a bill of some sort.  I figured it was about $5 and smiled at this happy child who was giddy with excitement because she had just given me something.  "Thank you so much," I said, and I gave her a big hug which I could tell she was thrilled to receive.  She darted off as others continued to greet me.

As I turned to finally exit the church myself, I decided to take a peek at the bill since I hadn't recognized the face on it when I glanced at it earlier.  I thought maybe it was a $10 bill, but I soon found out that it was actually a $100 bill!  My heart leapt in thanksgiving to God as I quickly folded the bill back up and put it in my pocket.  As I did so, my fingers touched the rosary which was also in my pocket and I knew exactly what that meant.  Walking to the main entrance, I spotted the girl with her father.  I went up to her with my hand out this time and said, "Please accept this from me."  I placed the rosary in her hands and she immediately clutched it to her chest as she gasped through an instant open-mouthed smile.  "It's very special; it came all the way from Rome," I told her.  She thanked me, still smiling, and I thanked her father for the gift.  "It's just a small gift," he replied.  "Oh no it's not," I said, "I just looked at it."  He only smiled and asked that I pray for them.  I promised to do so and returned home singing praises to God.

I had sulked all day because of my dead fish and because I couldn't find what I needed at the store, but I felt like this $100 was God's way of saying, "Look, your efforts alone are enough.  Don't be so hard on yourself."

An excerpt from the Book of Lamentations 3:20-24

 

"Remembering [my afflictions] over and over

my soul is downcast.

But this I will call to mind;

therefore I will hope:

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases,

his mercies never come to an end;

they are new every morning;

great is thy faithfulness.

'The Lord is my portion,' says my soul,

'therefore I will hope in him.'"

Knock knock! Who's there?

It's me!

Me, who?

Good question.

Who is this "me" that is otherwise known as "Des", "Desire'", or "Sister Desire'"?

I must say that lately I have been questioning my authenticity.  "Who am I to be a teacher?" I wonder, or "What on earth am I doing in a convent?"  I feel sometimes like I am participating in a sort of game, like I am playing dress-up or teacher as I secure my knee-high stockings and put on my shiny black shoes before sauntering off to school.  "Is this really my life?" I ask.  "Am I really a 'nun'?  A teacher?"  Everyone seems to think so, plus I publicly professed my vows and signed a teaching contract, so I guess it's true.  But what does that mean?  What does it mean to be a 'nun'?  How am I supposed to be a teacher?

That's not me.

Sister Desire' the teacher:

She gives quizzes, assigns homework, tells her students to please stop talking, attends staff meetings, has to create lesson plans on a regular basis, sits behind a big desk during her prep period to catch up on attendance and never sleeps.

Absolutely not me, either.

Sister Desire' the 'nun':

Prays at 5:50 a.m. Monday through Friday, wears a habit, doesn't own a car, is responsible for contributing to community life, also tells her students to please stop talking, and is uninterested in popular music.







Why question my authenticity, you ask?  Because none of that feels like me.  The real me does NOT want to torture students with quizzes and homework, nor does she want to torture herself with the grading.  The "real" me would also love to chatter with a classroom full of teenage girls especially if it would decrease the amount of time I had to spend on lesson plans.  I don't mind the big desk and the attendance, but I would prefer a lot more sleep than I've been getting... Which brings me to the next point: prayers at 5:50 in the morning.  That is most definitely not me.  The habit is nice, although I wish I could wear a Franciscan cord with it; I don't mind not owning a car either, but it is tough to remember that I'm also supposed to put gas in it like the other Sisters kindly do.  And in regards to the popular music, I think perhaps the real me wouldn't want to know what's currently happening with popular music either, even though I still enjoy the rhythm it has that just makes me want to get
up and dance!

So if I am not those things, then what things am I?

Well, I know I love to ride my bike.  I love to feel the wind greeting my face and running down my back when I race down a hill.  Jumping on a big trampoline when the winds are strong also thrills me to no end.

Making rosaries and giving them away is one of my favorite hobbies.

I smile and laugh as much as I can, but it's hard to do when I haven't had enough sleep.  Sleep.  Ohhh, I love my sleep.  Sleep is like a prayer for me.

Shoes.  Those are fun.  I like to shop for shoes, but mostly I like to shop for gifts that I plan to give to my friends and family.

My favorite color is purple.

Mornings, as beautiful as they are, are my least favorite time of the day.  Can people be nocturnal?  I'm pretty sure I'm nocturnal.  To me the dark is like peace and quiet for my eyes.

Shopping at big businesses bothers me.  I love to shop at thrift stores!  Recycling everything is fun, especially clothing.  I recycle almost every scrap of paper I don't use.  If a plastic container is labeled as 'non-recyclable' in my area because of a number on the bottom, I send it in anyway.  Recycling food would be fantastic, too.  I wish we had a compost pile at our house.  One day I might try using handkerchiefs instead of tissue, but I haven't gotten brave enough just yet.

My secret dream, which is now not so secret, is to live on and operate a farm with lots of food and lots of animals.  It MUST include horses.  I could definitely do composting there.

ME
I am a writer
and a dreamer.
I am a sister, a friend, a daughter.
I am compassionate
and imperfect.
I love God and His creation, especially people and animals.
I love to dance and sing, even if
I'm not the best at it.
I love the ocean
the desert
the mountains.
I love my family
which includes my friends
and the Felicians.
I love to be silly and laugh
as often and as frequently as possible.
Simply,
I love to be.

This is the real me, the me who has been called to religious life and who is being challenged to develop gifts and talents that she didn't know she had, or didn't know she'd have to have.  I was scared that this "me" was trapped inside of the teacher and the 'nun', but I think I've figured out that the real me holds within her a Felician Sister who is learning how to be a teacher.  Yeah, that's me :)