The Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit

You, Lord God, have done

many wonderful things,

and you have planned

marvelous things for us.

No one is like you!

I would never be able to tell

all you have done.

Psalm 40:5 (CEV)

A couple of weeks ago, the Catholic Church celebrated Pentecost on Sunday, May 15th. Like most Pentecost Sundays, we were reminded of the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit as well as the twelve fruits which follow. I enjoyed the reminder and promptly went about my busy life as usual. When I began writing this post, it had nothing to do with Pentecost Sunday, or the gifts or fruits of the Holy Spirit. I simply started by writing about all the things in my life that I recently felt grateful for, and as it turns out, many of those areas in my life coincide with the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit. Makes sense. Gratitude usually comes when one has received a gift. Now I see that I have received seven very meaningful gifts. I feel blessed, as if God has leaned over to kiss the top of this silly girl's curl-laden head, placing upon it a heat that feels like tongues of fire.

"L" is for Love!

One gift that I've recently come to cherish even more is the community of sisters I live with. Let's face it, no one gets things right all the time, but especially not me. Ever since high school I have had difficulty getting up early. It seems that the earlier I have to wake up, the harder I struggle to do so. Now that I've had to be in chapel for morning prayers no later than 5:45 a.m., that struggle is definitely real. I'll be honest, some mornings I make it, and many mornings I don't. But you know what? None of the sisters here has ever come to me and asked, "Why aren't you making it to morning prayers on time?" I mean, it's a valid question. It's a question I would almost expect to receive, but instead the typical question is more like this: "I've noticed you're having a hard time getting up for prayers in the morning. Is there anything I can do to help you with that?" The forgiveness and support around here is top notch. But it's not just a gift for me. I've realized that this means I need to start rephrasing the questions I ask, too. When my students turn their work in late, I usually ask, "Why did you turn your work in late?" Instead, I should be and will be asking a question more like this: "I noticed you've been getting your work in late. How can I help you to get it in on time?"

Thank you, Holy Spirit, for the gift of understanding which can only happen when we join together in communion.

I have always had a wonderful circle of friends. My best friend Jenny has been a source of joy ever since we joined forces in the 5th grade. (We knew each other in 4th grade, but we didn't like each other. She thought I was trying to steal her best friend and I simply didn't like her haircut. Just goes to show that jealousy and vanity can be overcome!) Jenny has always been a model of strong faith. Her passion continues to inspire me even from miles away. My lovely friend Vanessa and her generous heart first helped to foster my love for the Spanish language and culture. Eventually, she became a great support as I pursued the joy that is my religious vocation. My fabulous friends Erin, Christine and Chanelle have contributed to my life as a dancer and as a Christian. Our late-night talks and silly shenanigans could never be replaced. My new bestie

Stephanie has made me laugh enough to keep me awake for nights on end. Our chats and pizza splurges give me energy and make me wish she'd just join the convent so that I could hang out with her more. There are so many of you with whom I have worked, learned and grown that I could not possibly mention all of your beautiful names here and the meaning you have given my life. The movies we've watched, the conversations we've had, the times we've laughed and cried together -- these are all so much a part of who I am that you're still with me. All of you, including those of you I took the time to mention, have contributed the many vibrant fibers that color who I am today.

Thank you, Holy Spirit, for the gift of wisdom which flows through the faithful and sturdy shelters that are our friends.

My role as a mentor is one that I have sort of grown into over the past couple of years. I didn't know how important it was to create that boundary of authority until I realized what my classroom looked like without it. I know I still have a lot to learn, but as my third year of teaching comes to an end, I can see how the clearer lines of authority have strengthened my role as a mentor. Instead of my students coming to talk to me about drama with peers, now they talk to me about the deeper joys or sorrows that are taking place in their lives. Every time one of my students fell apart this year, tears streaming down her face, and she chose to bring that to me, I felt like the big sister God knew I could be. I felt like my students trusted me, but I knew that all along God had trusted me. God had trusted me to love them this whole time! I feel so honored that God would place such tender and fragile hearts in my care. That I would be one in a handful of people who gets to guide these girls along this part of their path still fascinates me. And yet, they are not the only ones who  gain something in the process. They teach me on a regular basis how to be more relaxed, how to be more responsible, and how to be more generous. Seeing them stand up for themselves

and each other, or signing off on their hours of service, even watching them play volleyball at lunch; it all reminds me of who owns the kingdom of heaven.

Thank you, Holy Spirit, for the gift of receiving and giving counsel, especially when it comes in the form of a child.

Some of you may know, and some of you may just be finding out right now, that I really enjoy shopping. Seriously, it's one of my favorite things to do. Lately shopping online has been my preferred method since it saves me time and I'm able to find items that are difficult to find at the store. I've also been trying to change my shopping habits because of what I have learned concerning production behind the items I purchase. It started with a documentary I saw a few years ago called "The Dark Side of Chocolate". Ever since then life as I know it has come undone. To think that my purchases contribute to child slavery around the world; or to deadly working conditions in developing countries; or even force field workers to endure harsh chemicals in our own country; it makes me yearn for change. And how else will things change if I don't? So here I am now, browsing Etsy for organic cotton shirts; spending money on fair trade food and household items; using everything I have until it falls apart; all because I like to shop but saw a documentary that demanded I do things differently. It makes me happier actually, knowing that because I buy and promote brands like Alaffia, two or three women somewhere in Africa have healthy, stable jobs. It's not easy, and it costs more, but if I'm going to spend money I'd rather it go to individuals who need it rather than to large corporations who seek it.

Thank you, Holy Spirit, for the gift of knowledge and for those who help bestow that knowledge upon us in their creative and varied ways.

Art by Katherine Skaggs

I think my image of God has been evolving. While I was in the novitiate, I saw God as someone who understood my hardships and cared for me. However, God was still just "someone". There was no personal relationship even though I knew God was active in my life. Now, I have been coming to see God as a parent. It's interesting because even though I have been calling God "Father" my whole life, I have never felt God's presence in my life to be that of a parent. Mostly, I think this was because I didn't see myself as a child, let alone God's child. Thankfully, this is shifting. Memories of myself as a kid have reminded me of the precious joy and innocence that still reside within me. Now that I see myself as a little girl in need of God's providential care, I can better appreciate everything God does for me. At the same time, I work harder to please God the way a child would her mom or dad. I think, "God would be happy if I tried harder to be generous with my time," or "God would probably not be happy if I choose not to get up for prayers today". In this way, I am a child who fears the disappointment of her parents, but also one who rejoices when she pleases them.

Thank you, Holy Spirit, for the gift of fear of the Lord, which is strengthened and nurtured through love.

This year has been one of the easiest and happiest of my religious life. Having a few years of experience behind me, most of what I accomplished this year was like putting a cherry on top of a cake. Of course, that cake first had to be mixed together and baked in just the right way so it wouldn't come out lumpy, raw, or burnt. That means if this year was the cherry on top, the years before were the hard years of mixing and measuring. During those times I thought I'd never make it. I said to myself, "This is it, the cake is going to topple. The fun is over." But even then I stuck around. Even when I thought the world as I knew it was coming to an end, I didn't give up. I attribute that to God's grace. God always seemed to place people and events in my life exactly when and where I needed them. If I needed someone to talk to or commiserate with, I had someone. If I needed to be reminded as to why I joined religious life, a vocation event always seemed to remedy the issue. I still have at least three years remaining in discernment, but I sure am glad that I've stayed put for the past six. I'm glad, not because this year was easy and I'm glad I made it to this year, but because instead of believing that I shouldn't have to work to be a part of something I love, or that I shouldn't have to stay in a commitment if I'm "unhappy", I'd rather do the work that strengthens me than avoid the work and remain weak.

Thank you, Holy Spirit, for the gift of fortitude, even and especially when it blooms in the midst of adversity.

This post would be incomplete if it did not include my family. Without them, my vocation to the religious life and my current state of peace would not be

possible. I have them to thank for my appreciation of solitude, for my love of people, and for helping develop my gifts of dance and writing. They are the ones who worked with God to prepare the soil where my soul would be planted. Here's a story to give an example of how my mom helped me grow: I was in first grade. We had reading time every day for some specified amount of time, and we got to choose our book. We were supposed to read a book from the shelf specific to our grade level, but I had happily chosen to read a sixth grade book - "Where the Red Fern Grows" - without any qualms. When my teacher noticed this, she asked me to put the book away and pick a different one, one that was specific to my grade level. Apparently I didn't think that was a good idea, so I did what she said, but I hid my copy of "Where the Red Fern Grows" inside of the first-grade level book. When she found out I was doing this, she spoke to my mother. Here's the best part! My mom wasn't upset with me. Instead, she asked my teacher why I should read lower level books if I was capable of reading books beyond what was considered my grade level. As a result, we settled on a compromise. I had to read the lower level books at school, but I could take "Where the Red Fern Grows" home to read. This tells me that my mother always believed in me. She pushed me hard (how else was I able to read 6th grade level books at my age?) because she knew I had the ability. Not only that, but she wouldn't let anyone deny my abilities. My entire family continues to believe that I am capable of great things and have in turn led me to believe this about myself.

Thank you, Holy Spirit, for the gift of piety and for those family members who teach us how to believe in ourselves.

Come Holy Spirit

Fill the hearts of your faithful

And kindle in them the fire of your love!

You Have a Choice

Teaching world religions always opens up opportunities to talk about different concepts and cultures in class, but sometimes it leads us to discuss concepts that we think we are already familiar with, and we end up discovering a deeper meaning. We were recently having a discussion about the Hindu concept of Atman - it is the source of everything, it is the deepest part of us, but not something we can feel or define with any of our five senses. As I explained this, one student said, "Oh, like love!" Another student countered, "No, because you can feel love." "You can't feel love," someone else argued, but one student finally had enough and cried out, "What is love?" Of course that briefly took us off track as many of us echoed that famous 80's song: "What is love?! Baby don't hurt me, don't hurt me, no more..." but we soon returned to our discourse and I simply said, "Love is a choice."

I went home and the classroom discussion lingered in my head as it often does when it's a particularly interesting one. I started to wonder about the times I had chosen to love - times when I had chosen forgiveness, understanding, or compassion instead of resentment, distrust, or pride. It also made me wonder about the results of those choices.

The other day I made a phone call related to school and the man on the other end of the line was rude from the start. It bothered me so much that I consciously made the decision to return his unkindness. At the end of the conversation I hung up feeling very hurt, but after going home and crying on the shoulders of my Sisters, I realized I might have made him feel the same way. "What if I hurt him just as much as he hurt me? What if he goes home to an empty house and, unlike me, has no shoulder to cry on?" I felt terrible. Worse than the hurt I felt was the idea that I might have caused that hurt for someone else. Whether or not I believed he deserved it had nothing to do with the guilt that was slowly rising up; it was the knowledge that I had treated someone in a way I would never want to be treated. Looking back, I know it a was moment in which I had chosen resentment over forgiveness - I had chosen not to love.

It's no secret in the convent where I live - in fact, in my whole religious community - that waking up early is a huge struggle for me. Due to the varied schedules where I currently live, we pray Monday through Friday at 5:45 in the morning. Usually when I wake up during the week the first thought in my head is, "No." Well, our director of formation, Sister Suzanne Marie, recently came for Provincial Visitation and stayed at our convent. She and I had a nice talk about my choice of not getting up for morning prayers. Admittedly I had felt bad about not praying with the Sisters every morning. However, I had simply not found the motivation necessary to change my choice. After speaking with Sister Suzanne, I found that motivation; as you may have been able to guess, it was love. I want to be present for morning prayer now, not because I have to, but because I want to. To choose to be present to my Sisters means I am choosing love.

In just looking at these two examples, choosing to love versus choosing whatever is its opposite, brings about different results for me. Not choosing love led to frustration and guilt whereas choosing love led to peace and healing. In addition, it seems my decision not to love was self-centered, and my decision to love was actually other-centered. That's how I want to live: focused on others and choosing to love them no matter what. May God grant each of us the graces necessary to choose love no matter what.

Fighting the Bear

I don't know how many of you have seen the movie Life of Pi, but I highly recommend it. I wrote a blog post about it some time ago (which you can find here) because I was enthralled with the idea of animal instincts dwelling within each of the characters. Pi and the tiger were of particular interest to me because they seemed so opposite. They were enemies, and yet, they were each other's only companion and source of strength.

I eventually stumbled upon my own "untamed" self. I had a dream in which I was attempting to care for a grizzly bear, but it didn't take long before I decided to send the bear away. "It has to go," I thought. "There isn't room for it here." As I chased the poor thing out, it stopped and turned to look at me, but I would not change my mind. My spiritual director suggested I have a conversation with the bear, so I wrote out what I felt was exchanged in that glance:

Girl,
I can't say
that it isn't easy to love you
that I can walk away
without wishing to be near you

Bear,
why can't you just leave
because despite the fact
that I want you to stay
I want all that you are to go away

At first I thought I identified most with what the girl was saying, but then I felt I was instead the poor grizzly bear being driven away. It didn't take long, however, for me to see that I was both woman and creature. It made me realize that I value only part of who I am, but attempt to push away that which I feel is "unlovable" or "untamed". This is in no way a new concept, but it is not familiar territory for me to try and love something with such sharp edges. Much like Pi saw the tiger as something to be feared, I also want to escape the claws and teeth of the bear. Pi attempted to chase the tiger away as well; then he tried to befriend and tame the tiger, but to no avail. Pi's journey only became successful when he respected the tiger and its place in his life, while at the same time not letting it take over. That's where I am now in this journey of self-discovery. What about you? Have you been fighting any wild animals lately?

A Simple Life

I feel as if this summer has just begun, and at the same time I feel that it has been extremely full of adventures and love already. Just after school ended, I was able to be with my family in NM and celebrate my sister and brother-in-law's renewal of vows. The Christian ceremony was beautiful and it was great to see so much family in one place. The day after, I traveled to Holly, MI where my community hosts Seeds of Hope, an annual leadership conference for young women from our four Felician high schools. I had the opportunity to serve the young ladies behind the scenes, but also found time to laugh with them and play a few outdoor games when the weather permitted. At the end of the week I drove to Canada with Sister Maria Louise and two students who had attended the program. I stayed there a few days and had a great time. Sister Maria Louise and I watched lots of movies at home since 1) we both thoroughly enjoy watching movies and 2) it rained during most of my time there. We also painted some lady bug pet rocks for ourselves and visited the majestic Niagara Falls when God granted us a sunny day. Straight

from Canada I traveled to Chicago where I spent almost a week with Sister Heather. We walked Nala, the 2-year-old Weimaraner pup who has a mind of her own, twice a day, every day. I actually kind of miss the exercise, but we did a few other things besides dog sit. We went on a picnic, braved the traffic for some ice cream, and even found time to wash the car.

As much as I enjoyed every moment mentioned above, as well as all the moments in between, it was my departure from Chicago that sent me down an unexpected and profound path. The morning of my departure, I decided to go out the backdoor. The Sisters don't have a recycle bin, but their neighbors do, so rather than throw my plastic bottles in the trash I figured the neighbors wouldn't mind a few extra bottles in their recycle bin. Well, I stepped outside to a very sad sight: two baby birds on the cement steps next to each other, fallen from their nest above the door. They were so young that neither of them had any feathers. To my surprise, one of them had survived the fall. I called Sister Heather over and she thought perhaps we could get it back into the nest. She brought me a step ladder, so I picked up the little bird and climbed up, but it was no use. The nest was too high. I was running out of time, but she thought maybe a phone book would add some height and so she brought that over too. Placing it on the step ladder I tried again, but the nest was still too far out of reach. Being the 4th of July, I knew that any wildlife refuge center would be closed. I didn't know what else to do, so I figured, "If it's going to die, I can at least give it a soft and warm place to be in the meantime." I resolved to sneak it onto the flight with me.

I had a nice fuzzy sweater on hand so I gently placed the little bird inside the pocket and we left for the airport. During the drive my mind was working overtime to try and figure out how I would actually pull this off. "Should I try to wear the sweater through security?" I wondered. "No," I thought, "They'll see something in the pocket and I could get caught." As you know, my options were very limited. "Ok," I decided, "I'm going to leave her in the pocket and place the sweater in the bin that goes through the scanner. Maybe they'll see her, but maybe it'll just seem so odd that they won't say anything." I said goodbye as Sister Heather dropped me off, and I eventually made my way to security. My heart was pounding as I stood in line. "What if this doesn't work? What if they find her and take her? What would they do with her, throw her away?" The suspense at what might happen had me so nervous I even thought that perhaps the body scanners were possibly able to detect a person's heart rate so they could tell whether or not someone was trying to hide something. "If that's the case," I thought, "I better calm down or they'll know something's up! Just breathe.." I stared at my sweater as it slowly traveled along the conveyor belt. "Please don't beep, please don't beep.. If there's no beep then everything's fine.. Please don't beep." I stepped through the body scanner, watched my bag come out the other side, and then my sweater.. No beep! The little bird made it through security after all. I grabbed my belongings and headed to my gate.

I had brought a plum and banana with me, so I figured some mashed banana might be an ok snack for my new travel companion. I must say that feeding her was one of the most exciting aspects of caring for the little creature. She would open her beak, which was still soft around the edges, and chirp with her tiny tongue sticking out. Her neck was still so weak that her head would wobble all over the place and I'd have to try to hold her steady as she searched for the food on the tip of my pinky. Now that I had time to look up more details about baby birds on my phone, I checked to see how I might be able to best care for her during what I figured were the last hours of her life. We had about an hour left before boarding, a four hour flight to Sacramento, a two hour layover, and a final one hour flight from Sacramento to Ontario. I wasn't sure how long she'd last, but I wanted to make her as comfortable as possible.

I discovered that birds her size needed to be fed about every ten minutes from sunrise to 10:00 p.m. I fed her as much banana as I could while we waited for the plane, but once we boarded and took off, her appetite diminished. After about two hours, she only slept and was no longer moving around as energetically as before. By now the woman next to me had discovered why I was putting banana into my pocket and we started to chat. She told me about a son who was in prison and struggling with a drug addiction. "When I saw your crucifix," she said, "I just started praying." She told me she hadn't been to church in a while, but that she believed it would be best for her and her son if she started going again. In between stories, we would check on our little bird and both express how much we wanted her to live. At one point I was able to give the little one some banana and the woman marveled at the sight. "She's in good hands," she said with a smile. As we got ready to land, we discovered that we were both on the next flight together.

As we waited, I decided the bird needed something more than banana to eat. Besides, it was getting her all sticky and I had to pat her down with a damp paper towel to free her legs from the sides of her belly. "Perhaps avocado," I thought, and so the search began. I found a little string of restaurants near our gate and purchased a single avocado from a burger joint. As I was walking past a pizza place I heard someone call out, "Excuse me!" I turned to see a young woman about my age looking at me from behind the counter. "Excuse me," she said again, "Can I talk to you? Do you have some time?" "Of course," I said, and I walked over as she pushed some condiments out of the way. "Can you pray for me?" she asked. "Can you pray that I find peace and happiness? I struggle with anger." I talked with her for a moment and then we prayed right there together. She kindly offered to refill the water bottle I had in my hand and I returned to my gate. Unfortunately my little pal didn't eat much more, but she was still breathing. The woman and I kept checking to see that her little rib cage was expanding and contracting regularly.

When we boarded the plane we sat together again and were joined by a smiling 14-year-old girl. We decided to show her the little treasure in my sweater pocket and the three of us had a great conversation all the way into Ontario. Both of them declared that it was the first time they had ever sat next to a nun. The young girl said, "You're nice. I thought they were all mean like they show in the movies." We laughed and talked about more serious issues too, such as divorce and difficult family situations. We occasionally checked on our precious cargo and were relieved each time to see that she was still breathing. We weren't certain of her future, but we were all really hoping she'd survive.

My dear little featherless friend lived only about one hour after my arrival home. I was

surprised she had even made it that far, but I was disappointed to have to let her go. I buried her in our backyard and put a small cross on top of the spot where she is. In honor of Padre Pio and at the suggestion of one of my former students (Rio Mendez), I named her Pia.

Pia was a part of my journey for a mere matter of hours, yet her simple life allowed me to touch the lives of others with whom I likely wouldn't have spoken otherwise. Caring for this little bird caused a sort of domino effect and led to conversations that may change the course of many lives forever. Who knows, maybe the woman I sat next to will start going to church regularly and through a renewed relationship with God may inspire her son to seek a path of healing. Or perhaps the young woman I prayed with will find the peace she seeks and in return give glory to God by helping lead others out of their struggle with anger. Or maybe the 14-year-old who never knew religious sisters were nice will open her heart to discerning a vocation to the religious life. The pssibilities are endless, as are the mysterious ways in which God works. Pia was just a little bird fighting for life on the steps of a convent; but no life, no matter how simple, is ever without purpose.

*As a side note, here is a link which explains what you should do if you ever find a baby bird fallen out of its nest.
http://healthypets.mercola.com/sites/healthypets/archive/2011/05/24/when-rescuing-a-baby-bird-is-not-the-compassionate-thing-to-do.aspx

All Aboard!

My mom and baby sister, Angelina, will be coming out to California on the train to visit for the second time since I've been here! Their last visit was awesome and I know it's going to be amazing again. But you know what? This time there's more. This time my younger sister Johnele, her husband Andrew, and my niece and nephew - Grace and Jeremiah - will be coming as well! It will not only be their first family trip (how fantastic!!), but also the first time they will see where I live, who I live with, where I minister, and who my kids are. And if it couldn't get any better, they will also be here to see the dance recital that keeps me occupied for half of the year. (In case you were wondering, the dance recital is basically one of my biggest accomplishments of all time.)

You will never know just how happy all of this makes me.

I travel back and forth about three times a year to visit my family in New Mexico. It's always a great trip and I love being a part of the daily routines I once enjoyed as well as learning new daily routines as our family evolves. I get to take Angelina to school and pick her up; I get to stay up late with my sister and brother-in-law as they try to put the babies in bed; I get to have meals, watch movies and get up in the morning with the people God gave me as lifelong companions. Until now, however, I didn't realize that I hadn't shared my daily routines with them.

Although my mom and Angelina have been able to visit me a couple of times, they, like the rest of my family, have not been here while school is in session. This time, they will be here for a whole Friday and so can step into my classroom and enter into my life as a teacher. None of them have been able to do this before.

Johnele and Andrew will see where I live and pray and who I joke around with at the dinner table. They will witness an element of who I have become that they would otherwise not know about. They will see my bedroom where I plan, think and dream. They will finally get to know the routines and environment that are so much a part of me.

All of this, and more... My family will be here to witness a major stage production that I help plan and bring to fruition. They will watch a performance that I and some very dedicated students create through costumes, choreography, music and lots of energy. Countless hours, which turn into months, are required for a production like this. This will be my second year to put on a dance recital and I actually will have family here to witness it.

When the disciples asked Jesus where He lived, He simply said, "Come and see." An invitation into someone's home is an invitation into that person's very self. This is why I'm so glad my family will be able to "come and see".

Pray for their safe travels, please!

2-Year-old Grace

3-Year-Old Jeremiah