Rachel Scott: What She's Teaching Me 15 Years Later

Saturday, January 21, 2017

I have a number of heroes in my life.
I have heroes that have passed on long ago, never having known me physically, but somehow reach me and walk with me through life in some way.
And I have heroes who have literally been by my side at the right moment and with their personalities, life stories, and work teach and inspire me more than they know.

Lately, in this time of transition for me, I've been thinking and praying of all my heroes.
And silently thanking them.

I've written a lot about the first type, some of those who lived in seventeenth century France, one who died just a few years before I was born.
But before St. Vincent de Paul, before Ita Ford, there was Rachel Scott.

When I was in high school, I received a copy of The Journals of Rachel Scott: A Journey of Faith at Columbine High (which, by the way, aren't really her journals but writing based on her journals). Rachel and I had lots of differences but I connected with the similarities.

We were Millennial high-school juniors, she being born in '81 and I in '85.
We were aspiring writers.
We avidly journaled our thoughts, fears, and prayers.
We struggled with the faith journey - the joy of finding Him, the grief of His silence, the confusion of not knowing His path.
We believed, against all odds, that we could somehow change the world.

With her, I felt like I had a companion on the journey. Her story pushed me to continue on as I grew deeper into figuring out life and faith and the future. It didn't matter to me whether her life ended with the "do you believe in God?" question or not. I still felt that I had a hero that taught me that people like me could change the world.

 As my life went on, Rachel and her story phased out of my mind. New heroes came in, accompanying me in new ways that I needed at the time. She didn't appear again until I saw on Facebook that a movie, I'm Not Ashamed, was being made about her life.

At first, I was just excited that a movie was being made about one of my heroes almost twenty years after her death. But now, watching I'm Not Ashamed, I realize the movie's timing, Rachel Scott's story re-entering my life, was Providential for me.

It's easy to narrow Rachel's story down to her not being ashamed of Jesus. After all, that's the thought process behind the title and I could certainly understand why. It's something to admire about her - something I admire - but I think it's just a piece of the bigger message for me (and probably a message that everyone can relate to):

Be true to who you are.
Don't pretend to be someone else just for the convenience of it.
Because it's you, the true you, that will change the world.

Or, in her own words,
"Don't let your character change color with your environment. 
Find out who you are and let it stay its true color." - Rachel Scott

It's a very appropriate message for a high school student. Peer pressure, trying to figure out who you are, discovering the depths of faith and all that.

But it's also a message for me now. Almost 20 years later after her death, 15 years after reading the book.
The truth is, when you leave a religious community, you lose an identity. You're no longer "Sister". You're just you, a face in the crowd. But if being "Sister" was an identity that you discovered never fit you anyway, there's some soul searching to do.

Who is my true self?
How do I show my faith now?
How will I change the world?

And then this question appears - is "changing the world" youthful naivety?
In a way, yes. I no longer believe that the entire world can change because of someone I did or said or wrote. I'm 31 now, not 16...
...yet I think of those heroes in my life that I mentioned earlier - the ones who have physically been at my side. They've changed my world for the better, giving me the inspiration to do the same for others. That's changing the world.

I'm still trying to figure it all out but I'm following the example of Rachel -
I'm letting myself be me, even the parts of me that may not be too popular;
I'll wrestle with the words and deeds of the faith journey;
and continue to believe that one day, I will change the world.

"To Hearts Broken": On My Anniversary

Wednesday, January 18, 2017

In a chapel in St. Louis, a Sister belted out Psalm 34, the quintessential psalm for any Daughter of Charity: "The Lord hears the cry of the poor, blessed be the Lord..."

It wasn't just any day. Or any Sunday. 
It was January 20, 2013 - the day of my Incorporation, the day I officially became a Daughter of Charity. 

"I will bless the Lord at all times, with praise ever in my mouth. Let my soul glory in the Lord, who will hear the cry of the poor..."

It was the first time I wore the habit, when I signed the dotted line, when I received the Vincentian cross, when I first felt increasingly paranoid my coiffe (veil) was slipping off  my head (and it was), when I first met so many wonderful Sisters in St. Louis, when I first saw my name written as "Sister Amanda".

But now, everything's different.

Back in 2013, I thought I had everything figured out. It was the start of my new life...a new life that was laid out for me. And wow, was I so excited to start it. I had the community to fall back on when nothing else worked out. I had a community to be with, to pray with, to minister with.

I haven't regretted my decision since I left but man, anniversaries suck.

The anniversary hasn't even happened yet and it's already getting to me. I snapped at a friend today because of something it turned out they didn't even do. After three frantic apology emails, I realized what this was truly about - the anniversary.

I'm in a spot I've never been in before. 
Have I lived alone before? Yes. 
Have I had professional jobs before community? Absolutely. 

But I've never before been a 31 year old living on my own with no idea what happens next. Most 31-year-olds are already well on a career path; most are already married and/or parents; some have already graduated grad school...or more. I'm behind the curve - not just in an academic subject or a hobby, but in life.
The world is wide open to me. People tell me that that's exciting. To me, it's completely terrifying. And even sad.

"Let the lowly hear and be glad: the Lord listens to their pleas; and to hearts broken, God is near, who will hear the cry of the poor..."

I did have a plan for my life. But, to my surprise, it was the wrong one. And now it's gone.
It's time to start over. 

But God is near.
And He'll grieve with me.
And walk with me on the new path.

(sidenote: sorry to everyone that I may snap at this week)

"Ev’ry spirit crushed, God will save; will be ransom for their lives; will be safe shelter for their fears, and will hear the cry of the poor..."

Lessons in Faith & Humanity from MASH's Father Mulcahy

Monday, January 16, 2017

2016 took one of its last celebrity victims in William Christopher, who played Father Mulcahy on MASH. Five years earlier, I had written a post on what his character could teach us about religious life.

My life has gone through many twists and turns since I wrote that post, especially in 2016, and now I see Father Mulcahy's lessons as much more universal than I did back then. His character is much deeper than just the token chaplain or a moral compass to tell this shameless cast of characters to calm the heck down. No, Father Mulcahy is there to give us lessons in service, faith and humanity.

One of the biggest lessons that he taught us - all of us - was that to be kind, to be good-hearted in a world full of chaos doesn't require perfection.

He was human, not a robot priest or a flowerly saint too perfect to aspire to be like.
He was just a Christian, trying his best to be as Christ-like as he could.

One of my favorite scenes with Fr. Mulcahy is from the episode "Dreams" (Season 8, Ep. 22). Being the human and overworked religious that he is, he falls asleep while hearing someone's confession. He dreams of becoming Pope. Instead of passing the position up like a “humble priest”, he's elated and even more so that his Mass seems full to the brim. If you've ever seen MASH, you know that Father's Masses (or even ecumenical services) are very sparsely attended.

Like the rest of us, he has selfish ambitions.
Like him, I grow elated when I'm praised and recognized for something, like when a client comes to thank me for something I've done, a coworker praises me for a job well-done, or when I'm chosen for a special task.
Try as one might to be Christ-like, everyone has selfish ambitions. It's what makes us human - and that's okay.

But there's something more to Father Mulcahy's dream. Father Mulcahy – now Pope Mulcahy – is at the altar celebrating Mass when he feels something from above drip on his shoulder. Drip, drip, drip. He looks up. Christ on the crucifix, just as it should be. The Father Pope continues.
Drip, drip, drip.
He looks up again. This time, the camera very quickly pans to the crucifix above him. 

The crucifix no longer has Christ.
The crucifix holds a wounded American soldier...whose blood is dripping on Pope Mulcahy's shoulder.

Screenshot from this blog:

With that look up, Fr. Mulcahy is brought back to the present as the characters operate around him and life continues as normal.

When he saw Christ - particularly, in that American soldier - Fr. Mulcahy is taken out of his completely normal human selfish ambition back to what it's really about -
"Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of my brothers and sisters, you did it to Me." (Matthew 25:40)

Who are the least? 
It's that wounded soldier.
It's that single mother struggling to make end's meet.
But it's also everyone around us, including ourselves.
But, most frustrating of all, it's our enemies.
Like Christ, we're all suffering our own crosses, seen or unseen.

Constantly circling back to that verse, to meeting Christ crucified and encountering God's goodness in those we meet, is what carries on any Christian during the ups and downs of this crazy journey of having faith and doing the best we can. God is here.

Or it's what carries me on, anyway. 

And I like to believe that, if he were real, it would be what carried on Father Mulcahy too...especially on those days he wished he could just get the heck out of there.

My Vincentian Prayer

Saturday, January 14, 2017

I still turn my head when I hear someone calling out "Sister!"
When I sit down, I still brush my hand against the back of my legs to smooth out the habit that isn't there.
One morning, when clocking in to work, I momentarily panicked, realizing I didn't put on my coiffe (veil) that morning.
I still use the first-person plural ("we", "us", "our") when referring to the Daughters.

Some of these will fade with time, I know. Some of them are laughable and some I wish would just go away already. But five years of building rituals, identity, and traditions is a long time.

It was five years ago yesterday that I officially became a postulant with the Daughters and received my postulant Miraculous Medal. Usually I'm meticulously (and annoyingly) good at remembering dates but postulancy slipped me by until Facebook reminded me. It was a stark reminder of what has changed, what is changing, and what will remain the same.

And there is one thing, however, that I pray never fades away.

I pray that I always be Vincentian.
I pray that I always see Christ in front of me, especially in the poor.
I pray that saints like Vincent, Louise, Elizabeth Ann, Catherine, Rosalie and the rest always inspire me.
        ...that, like all of them, I see God in       the events, even in the painful ones,        and it changes me all for the good.
I pray that I shake things up - both for the world and myself.
I pray that I understand the importance of friends, as Elizabeth Ann did, and the beauty of their differences.
I pray that I live a life worthy enough that God says at the end "well done, faithful daughter".

But when I'm in my office meeting with a client and wish they could see the God I see in them,
but when I feel compelled to educate about some coming legislation affecting our ministry,
but when I smile on my way home thinking yes, the pieces are coming together,
I realize that yes, I will always be Vincentian.

My letters to St. Vincent, St. Louise and the rest would be different today than they were five years ago, But that's okay. They grew...and I'm growing too.
And just as Vincent told Louise centuries ago, it's all going to be okay, I just need to trust.

Bloom Where You Are Planted

Friday, January 6, 2017

"You do not need to know precisely what is happening, or exactly where it is all going. What you need is to recognize the possibilities and challenges offered by the present moment, and to embrace them with courage, faith and hope." - Thomas Merton

When you lose traditions, you have to create new ones. 
One of my newest traditions is buying a cheap bouquet of colorful flowers when I go to the grocery store. I bring the flowers back to my apartment, cut the stems down, put them in a pink plastic cup and place them on my dining room table. 

Some days, the flowers are as simple as something to cheer me up when I get home.
Other days, the flowers remind me of life. Of blooming.

I've heard the saying "bloom where you are planted" plenty times, but I've never given it much thought. I've never really planted myself anywhere, moving from place to place even before I ever joined the Daughters, never staying anywhere more than two years. I prided myself on being a Vincentian nomad.

But life is different. When I left the Daughters, I decided to stay in San Antonio, where I was already missioned. Part of it was because I love my ministry here. Yet, another reason I stayed was to actually plant myself somewhere. To my surprise, I was getting tired of the nomad life.

And now that I'm actually planted, it's time to bloom. Just my flowers in the water.

But blooming isn't instantaneous. Or easy.
Sometimes blooming feels like you're just running in place.
Sometimes blooming feels like a jump of joy.
Sometimes blooming feels like a Rubik's Cube of frustration, either with yourself or others.

Yet, either way, it's happening. I know it's happening. 

Four years later...

Tuesday, January 3, 2017

Four years have passed and now many of my friends have no idea this blog even existed. It wasn't until yesterday when a national publication contacted me about one of the blog entries that I started sharing its existence.

One friend asked "Why don't you write in it again?"
I hesitated, sighing.
She continued "Well, why not? Why not share the rest of your story?"

All the way home, I thought about it, wrestling with the thought. But she was right - this was my story...although it might change my blog audience.

So, here's the rest of the story.  

In October 2016, three months ago, I left the Daughters of Charity. I realized that it just wasn't "me" anymore and that I couldn't imagine myself living this way for the rest of my life.

I had been on mission in San Antonio for almost two years.
I had been with the Daughters for over five years in total.
"Sister Amanda" became just "Amanda" again.

This blog is no longer a woman in discernment with a religious community.

This blog is now a woman who's going after adventures, seeking courage and climbing mountains.

Stay tuned.
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