I have great reason to say, in truth, that it has been Divine Providence alone at work. Going there, I had no knowledge of what there was to do. I can say that I saw what was being done only when it was completed. In encounters where I could have met with obstacles, the same Divine Providence provided, totally unexpectedly, persons who could help me . . .. It also seemed to me that I was doing what I was meant to do without knowing how. May God be forever blessed for it! - St Louise de Marillac (L. 159)

Hna Paula and aspirant me
meeting an American Daughter of Charity

Five years ago today, I rolled in my suitcase through the front doors of the Divino Niño Convent. By doing so, I started my first day as a member of a Salesian religious community. I was very nervous. In fact, I spent the night before crying (which, in hindsight, I should have considered a sign...) A few weeks later, I would receive the aspirant habit and start my second job as a third-grade religion teacher soon after that.

The doubts started pretty soon after that first day. For many different reasons, I was unhappy there. And about six months later, I finally decided and got up the courage to tell the Sisters I was leaving the community. I don't like talking about the details of those months in that community because I find those experiences and emotions to be very private for me. However, I will say one thing....

...I know now it was all part of a plan of Divine Providence. Like St Louise said, I was doing what I was meant to do without even knowing it.

And it led me here five years later, in late 2012, in the final months of my postulancy with the Daughters of Charity. And I can't imagine myself anywhere else but with the Daughters. I had no idea that my journey would be like this, that a relative "mistake" would bring me to what I was always meant to be - a Daughter of Charity.

Almost four centuries ago, our foundress Saint Louise wrote to a Sister that was leaving for Poland, one of the first foreign missions of the Daughters of Charity. She wrote this, showing her dear affection for the Sister that she quite possibly would never see again. Yet, quite egotistically perhaps, as I read it, it's as if Saint Louise is talking straight to me and I can feel her comfort and love.

With all my heart I wish you the joy and interior consolation of a soul that is lovingly submissive to the most holy will of God . . . Oh, what an excellent way of life, hard on nature but sweet and easy for souls enlightened by eternal truths and by the awareness of the joy to be found in pleasing God and in allowing Him full mastery over their wills! This, it seems to me, . . . is the road that God wills you to travel to reach Him, however difficult it may appear. Enter upon it, then, wholeheartedly as would a vessel that will carry you where you must go. - St Louise de Marillac (L.448)

I pray that I may always lovingly submit to Divine Providence and remember where He has already taken me....and I wish the same for you, readers, wherever you may be on the journey.

The Poor, True Jars of Clay: A Reflection from January 2009

January 2009, Cochabamba, Bolivia - We are jars of clay. We are imperfect, maybe chipped or cracked or worn. We are, after all, clay jars - not glass ones, not silver ones, not gold ones. We are far from being put in any art gallery. Yet, despite our ordinary appearance, all of us have an extraordinary power within us. It does not come from us, but from something bigger.


"But we have this treasure in jars of clay, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be made visible in our bodies." - 2 Corinthians 4:7-10

A typical house in Itocta

Clay. The material that makes most the houses here in Itocta, the village where I live. The poor here are jars made out of the same material as their houses. And in a way, they exemplify more the second half of the verse than anyone I know. They are afflicted, but not crushed; perplexed but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down but not destroyed. Their life is hard. There is no eating out. There is no spending money on frivolous things. Bolivianos (the currency) are pinched to the very end - people are careful where they shop, whether they take a taxi or bus, what they can afford to eat. Their life is not like what we experience in the United States, although some living in Appalachia or Baltimore City might understand it more than we think. Bolivia has been through more than 80 governments (no, that's not a typo; the number's right) since their independence in 1814 and nothing has changed - Bolivia remains poor.  They suffer but yet I hear no one complaining. I see no one crushed, driven to despair, forsaken, or destroyed. They go on.

And do they, the Bolivian poor, represent the death of Jesus? And/or His life?

Our town church was dedicated
to this bloody depiction of Jesus

The Christs here in Bolivia are different than what we see in the United States. Walk into any church in Bolivia and you will find a crucifix that may actually scare you. Blood pours down from Christ's nails and from His crown of thorns. This Christ looks in so much agony from the pain. It's not a pretty sight. It is rare to find such a "scary" Jesus in the United States. While it can be argued that it could be because of the cultural ancestry, I have a socio-economic theory. My theory is that the Bolivian people identify more with a suffering Christ, who suffered as they do, who understands them when they come before him and worry about money or cry over the meaningless death of a child or relative. With this devotion, subconsciously they seem to say that, in their own bodies, they share in Jesus' death. In His suffering and pain. Hopefully in His faith. Hopefully in the hope.

The poor in Bolivia share in Jesus' death with His suffering, but also, as Christians, (hopefully) spread His life. It is not only following Jesus' commandments, but also love. And hope. And joy. I firmly believe that joy is one of the most important aspects of sharing in Jesus' life. I have never seen so much dancing as I have in my year here. I believe Bolivians are born with this special gene that not only gives them the desire to dance, but also dance well. There are dozens of types of traditional music and one is so fast that it basically consists of jumping up and down. Bolivian music is so lively and it can make anyone smile. Psalm 30:11 says "You have turned my mourning into dancing"...and despite all their suffering, Bolivians always find a reason to dance.

When I think of an example of a jar of clay here in the orphanage, I think of Catalina (her name has been changed for the sake of this blog post). Catalina is in eighth grade and has no living relatives. When I first came in August 2007, she was impossible to deal with - she disrespected everyone, she didn't listen, she was overall a  troublemaker. There was only one person she trusted - Father Franco, our parish priest. She and Father Franco, an Italian Salesian priest, had a special connection -  Father Franco's sister was Catalina's sponsor (as in someone who sends money every month for her, like those commercials you see on TV). He was like a father to her. Catalina affectionately called him her "uncle" and considered him her only living relative. One December morning, the news reached us that Father Franco had a stroke and just a few hours later, we got a call saying he had died. Catalina was devastated. She cried non-stop during the funeral. She refused to talk to anyone. When, a few Sundays later, Father Pepe (who became the new parish priest) wanted to bless all the girls and employees in the orphanage during Mass, she ran out of the church crying. She grew even more angry. Sister Roxana, who at that time was working in the orphanage, said "Look, Catalina, you're going to change because of this experience. You're going to be the good person you've always been on the inside. Father Franco will help you from heaven." Catalina ignored her, saying "no, I'm a bad person. I can't change". Well, little by little, she did change. This same girl who used to disrespect me is now my friend. This same girl who used to make me so angry now cooks chicken soup for me when I'm sick. Catalina is a jar of clay - she may be cracked or chipped. She has been through so much sadness in her life, especially now that her "only living relative"  is gone. Like the verse says, she has been afflicted and perplexed...but she survived. Though it be through suffering, she has unlocked that great treasure, that great power, she always had inside. She is an example of how God truly makes all things new. She is an example how the saints, whether they be canonized or not, help us from heaven. Catalina has already shared in Jesus' death through her suffering and now she is sharing in His life...

"And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us." - Romans 5:3-5

But I can not blanket all Bolivians (poor or not) to be true jars of clay that have unlocked their special power, that share in Jesus' death and life. Why? Because I live and work in an orphanage where girls have been raped, abused or abandoned by their fellow countrymen, sometimes their own parents. One girl witnessed her mother shoot her father in the head, killing him. Two others, sisters, begged on the streets as their father wasted away their money on chicha, local moonshine. Another girl lived a typical fairy tale childhood - only that hers resulted in her stepmother cutting off her finger. We are jars of clay, but some decide not to recognize God in themselves or, even worse, be "Christian" and recognize Jesus as the Son of God but decide to ignore the part where He tells us to follow His commandments and live as He lived.

We are all jars of clay in our own sense, poor or rich, man or woman, American or Bolivian. We are a piece of art, even as ordinary as we may seem, because we carry in each one of us an incredible treasure, though it may be hidden. We carry in each one of us the life and death of Jesus - it's just a matter of unlocking it and making it visible to others. Time for us to take out the treasure we have and show it to the world...

The End of an Era: My Passport Takes Its Last Breath

My passport expires tomorrow. It marks the end of an era for me - that decade of constant travel within Latin America is over. I was one page away from having a full passport. Today, when I should have been packing for Texas, I flipped through the pages nostalgically, remembering the people I met in country after country, remembering the hell I went through to get one of the resident visas, and smiling for and missing those friends I left behind.

Truthfully, that last one was the main reason for the nostalgia. I love traveling, yes; love airports and flying, yes but what I miss more than anything is the relational part of international travel, connecting with a person despite the differences, creating deep relationships cross-culturally and even cross-linguistically. Through those connections, I've formed friendships with people I otherwise wouldn't have talked to or maybe not even met. Without either one of us knowing, it is those people that have formed me into who I am - both emotionally and spiritually.


My passport expires tomorrow (or today, now that it's 12:30am), but a new adventure starts. Tomorrow, I begin the two-day car ride to Harlingen, Texas to complete the second half of my postulancy. It's a different journey now than what started a decade ago - it's one without stamps, red-eye flights or visa bargaining. (There are, however, applications involved) 


Later on today, after some passport nostalgia and packing, I was led to the new international Daughters of Charity website through an email I received. I was drawn to the "where we are" section and I got sucked in. 

As of January 2012, we are 17,743 Sisters. In ninety-three countries.
Let that sink in, Amanda.
93.

23 countries in Africa.
16 countries in Asia.
3 countries in Oceania (Australia, Cook Islands and Fiji)
28 countries in Europe.
ALL of Latin America.
ALL of North America.

My passport may be expiring but I have a feeling this journey I'm on now, this decade to come, may be  even more international than I think...not in the sense of uncomfortable and awkward airport naps, or visa headaches, or pretty stamps, but in that relational sense I love.
And that makes me very excited for the decade ahead. :)

My Biggest Sacrifice: The Family of My Soul

Today was a day where half of me wasn't there. Sure, I worked in the Hispanic Ministry office, typed up bulletins and did everything that needed to be done....but part of me was somewhere else. Why? Because I knew, thousands of miles to the South, two of these goofballs on the right were making their perpetual profession, the goofball on the far left being one of my closest friends during my two years in Bolivia. I imagined them laying prostrate, flowers being thrown around them, the huge smiles on both their faces. But instead of being there, I was here in middle Georgia doing office work.

I miss them. A lot.

Only recently have I truly discovered my biggest sacrifice entering religious life. I knew it coming in but its reality has slowly taken root - leaving behind the girls of the orphanage and the Sisters I lived and worked with for two years (the same community I entered). They aren't family, but for two years, they were my family. And while it's been almost three years since I moved back to the United States, they've continued to feel like family.

And now I am a postulant with the Daughters of Charity, a community that puts a heavy emphasis on the belief that your family becomes our family and has regular family visits. Yet I know those Sisters in Bolivia, those girls, are not my family. They grew up in a different culture, a different country, even sometimes a language I don't even know. But there is something deeper than blood that makes them family to me, as if it was the utter being of my soul that picked them out to more than just former co-workers/housemates to me.

But the truth is I don't know when I'll see them again, I don't know if I'll see them again. (Saying that, thank God for modern technology....for the use of Skype today to hear their voices, for chats over Gtalk)

They are, by far, the biggest sacrifice I've ever had to make to be a Daughter of Charity. The strangest thing is, though, I somehow know this is where God wants me....which is where the conflicting feelings of the joy of true vocation and the sorrow of unwanted sacrifice clash. Where the sting of loss mixes with a somehow-authentic sense of "it's all worth it"I'm sure those two Sisters who made their perpetual profession today would tell you the same thing. They each had to sacrifice something to reach where they are today, to dedicate their lives entirely to God. They both entered the community in high school but there are sacrifices even for high school girls and even more as they continued on in community life. Those two women that made their perpetual vows today...women that I have seen chase loose chickens around the convent, twist their faces in all sorts of funny ways to make others laugh, hold my hand as they used an escalator for the first time, beautifully demonstrate the dances of their Aymara ancestors.....are truly examples for me. They inspire me. I am so proud of them and I am so blessed to know them. Perhaps that is why God brought them in my life, so that they be sisters of mine, inspiring lights for me to follow, even from a thousand of miles away.

That doesn't make missing them any easier though.

Imamanta waqanki? Why Are You Crying?: A November Bolivian Reflection

Every year, as All Souls Day approaches, I think of my time in Bolivia, most especially of the girls I worked with those two years in the orphanage.

It’s important to explain the Catholic context behind these two days. All Saints Day, November 1, is a celebration of all the “saints“, canonized by the Church or not. Interestingly enough, “saint” and “holy” are the same word in Spanish so it is even easier to explain in Spanish. Who are the “saints”? Those who we may not recognize - those who may live an ordinary life but follow the will of God, who do everything for the love of God. In the United States, this is a holy day of obligation, meaning the Church asks all Catholics to come to Mass this day.

The next day, we celebrate All Souls Day, November 2. This is a Church holiday to commemorate all those who have died, whether they’ve lived a saintly life or not. In Bolivia, this is the more important holiday of the two and certainly a more important holiday than it is in the United States.

In a country where the life expectancy is 66 years old, everyone has their own dead to pray for. On All Souls Day, everyone visits the cemetery and prays…but first, before explaining those traditions, let me tell you what this holiday means for the girls here.

On November 1, we had a Mass with the intention of all the dead family members and friends of the girls (and the employees). Sister Veronica read every one of them by name. I was in charge of collecting all the names. So my job was to walk around the orphanage and ask if there was anyone they wanted to pray for. The response was overwhelming. As typical in an orphanage, most had at least one parent on the list.
“My mom/dad needs to be on the list!” and then turning to their sister (or half-sister) and asking “What was her/his name? Do you remember?” Other girls told me “I don’t know where my mom/dad is. They could be dead, I don’t know. Should I put their name down?” Others said “Some of my brothers and sisters died but I don’t remember all their names.” Those were usually girls who had brothers/sisters who had died in infancy. Then one told me “My dad is dead to me. Does that count? Maybe he is actually dead, I don’t know, but he’s dead to me.”

I went to each one of them without thinking. When I got to Mileyda, I asked “Is there anybody that you want to put on the list?” She just looked at me for a few seconds in disbelief and laughed. “I don’t have anybody.” And then I remembered - Mileyda really doesn’t have anyone. And I don’t mean she doesn’t have any departed souls to pray for. Mileyda really doesn’t have any family. Nothing. I don’t think we know anything about any of her relatives, living or dead.

Beatriz doesn’t have any family either. We know nothing about her relatives or her family or her story before she got here. She’s been living here for years and years; before that, lived in another orphanage. The director of that orphanage told Sister Veronica that Beatriz had come with a older brother but to this day, that is the only thing we know about Beatriz and we still haven’t been able to find her brother that she doesn’t even remember.

Later that night, I was alone in the office making rosaries with Bernardita. Bernardita has been a friend of mine ever since I first arrived there in August 2007. She’s a high school sophomore and 16 years old. She has one sister here, Karen, who’s a high school junior and 19 years old. The both of them have such a unique laugh - joyful and kind of similar to Goofy. Bernardita, for some reason, gave me the nickname “Amandus” almost a year ago and it pretty much has stuck among the high-schoolers.

I don’t know how it came up. Maybe we were talking about the dead we prayed for. I don’t remember but Bernardita started telling me her story. Bernardita and her sister came to the orphanage in 2000 - Bernardita 8 years old,  Karen 11. Within a year of arriving, their dad died. Just a few years later, unexpectedly, their mom also died. Bernardita and Karen are complete orphans. In total, they have 4 siblings, three in other orphanages. The oldest immigrated to Brazil, now working but unable to afford to come back to Bolivia to visit his two sisters.

Francisca, an eighth-grader, also ended up telling me her story the night of All Souls Day. Her dad died shortly before she was taken to the orphanage. That was almost 14 years ago, too long ago for her to even remember her dad. She has three brothers and sisters, and she is the youngest. According to Francisca, in total they were supposed to be 8 children - but 5 died either in childbirth or infancy. If you think about it, it must have been some miracle that Francisca survived, considering over half her brothers and sisters died before they could even grow up. After Francisca’s dad’s death, her mom had children with another man…the father of her half-sister, Matilde, who also lives in the orphanage. Matilde’s dad died not too long ago.

These are certainly all terrible stories to hear around the month of Thanksgiving. After all, that is what November is for us Americans. Yet, after living in Bolivia, November has come to mean something different for me. It's become more of a somber month, a month of reflecting, both in gratitude but also in those who came before me. Those who shaped me but are gone now, both people I knew personally or indirectly. There's a sorrow in remembering them, knowing they are no longer with me, knowing that I can no longer touch them, that I can no longer hear their laugh or see their smile.


“For I know that my Redeemer lives, and that at the last he will stand upon the earth, and after my skin has been thus destroyed, then in my flesh I shall see God.” - Job 19:25-27

Yet, in the end, as Christians, we know that death is not the end. This is what comforts me when I think of the friends I left behind in Bolivia. The fifty girls in the orphanage, some of whom are out on their own now. And people like Sister Delia, who I count among my best friends, who is about to leave for El Salvador in preparation for making her perpetual vows. Becoming a Daughter of Charity means that the chance of seeing my Bolivian friends again is slim to none. But I'm doing it anyway....and doing it with joy....because I know that although I may not see them again on this Earth, I hope to see them in heaven.

That is what makes November so different. We remember the saints, not in pure curiosity, but as those who continue to help us beyond the grave. We remember the dead, but not in complete sorrow, but rather in the hope, in the joy of seeing them again. And we thank God for this life that He's given us, yes.....but also for the saints and souls who have passed before us and for this God who does not let them go unforgotten.

I Saw What I Saw: Why I Serve the Poor

Sara Groves is able to say what my soul cannot. I recently re-discovered her throughout this year, the year that led to becoming a prepostulant with the Daughters. So many of her songs epitomize my spiritual and discernment journey. The song "I Saw What I Saw" is no exception. It expresses my feelings about seeing poverty firsthand, from experience in Appalachia to the Hispanic community in Baltimore City, but especially in Bolivia. She sings:

I saw what I saw and can't forget it
I heard what I heard and can't go back
I know what I know and can't deny it
Something on the road cut me to the soul

Many people can come back from a mission trip and think "wow, that was wonderful" and continue their everyday life without a second thought. Which is fine in a way, but I knew as early as high school that I couldn't do that. From that first mission trip to a coal mine town in western Virginia, there was something about serving the poor that cut me to the core. Something told me that this wasn't a temporary thing, that it couldn't be, my soul wouldn't allow it any other way. All I know is that I was compelled...not out of some obligation to "help" as if I were the better one, but out of love. That compulsion took me from the hills of Appalachia to the Hispanic community in Baltimore to dusty rural Bolivia and now to the heart of Georgia.

It was God compelling me - not a "something" - and way back when, as a 16 year old, I wasn't able to explain it. The motto of the Daughters of Charity is, and has been since the 1600s, "The Charity of Jesus Crucified Urges Us!" And perhaps that's just it. I know now that it is a compulsion of vocation, that it is a compulsion to imitate Him in His love for the poor, that it is less of a obligation against my will and more of a drive towards my own true happiness.  

I couldn't imagine the path that would take me on. Throughout the years, despite the rough days, I grew to love them and see the face of Christ more and more in them...in families in coal mine towns, in kids stuck between two nationalities, in girls who had been abused and neglected in every way imaginable, and lately I've seen it in my students, whose parents pay the bare minimum of tuition because it's all they can afford, in their problems, in their curiosity, in their enthusiasm and in the Hispanic community here, in their love for one another and their hope.

One of the last verses of "I Saw What I Saw" is:

I say what I say with no hesitation
I have what I have but I'm giving it up
I do what I do with deep conviction

Nine years ago, I had no idea that serving the poor for life meant giving up so much...but it also led me to the utter joy of saying what I say with no hesitation and doing what I do with deep conviction and giving it all up with pleasure, not thinking of the costs.

Serving the poor does not mean "helping". For me, it simply means loving my brothers and sisters and my Christ, and doing what I can to show them my love. "Helping" seems to have the air that I am their superior, when if anything, they are mine.

After all, how could we claim to be "helping" Christ, the son of our God? We are His servants. And likewise, we are servants to His face in the world.

The Daughters of Charity & the Salesians of Don Bosco...Connected?

So I know what you're thinking..."what do these Sisters and these priests have to do your formation with the Daughters of Charity"? Or, even more realistically, you're thinking "who the heck are the Salesians?"

Like the Vincentians and the Daughters of Charity, the priests were founded first. Don Bosco founded them under the name "Society of St. Francis de Sales". St. John Bosco founded them in 1859 to care for children and youth in nineteenth century Italy. They quickly spread around the world. A few years after founding the priests, Don Bosco met St. Mary Mazzarello, who encouraged him to found a womens' religious order under the same charism. (After all, behind every great male saint, there's a great female saint!) Together, they founded the Daughters of Mary Help of Christians (FMAs) and those Sisters also quickly spread around the world. Eventually, the Salesian family grew as more religious congregations and lay groups were founded. Today, there are about 28 groups that count themselves among the Salesian family! Strangely enough, you could substitute "Don Bosco" with "St. Vincent de Paul" and "Mary Mazzarello" with "St. Louise" and you'd get almost the same story!

Anyway, there seems to be no connection between the Daughters of Charity and the Salesians, right? Founded in a different country, founded in a different era, founded with a more specific mission in mind, etc. The only real connection is that Don Bosco founded it based on the spirituality of St. Francis de Sales, who was actually a buddy of St. Vincent de Paul and someone St. Louise de Marillac deeply admired. Other than that, I got nada.

St Mary Mazzarello, founder
of the FMAs

So why am I writing about this? Well, after college, I was a volunteer in Bolivia with the VIDES program, a long-term volunteer program with the Daughters of Mary Help of Christians and I worked alongside members of the Salesian Lay Missioners (both are programs I would HIGHLY recommend) as well as the Salesian congregation I would end up joining. The Salesians play a huge part in my vocation story. Like, probably more than I give them credit for.

Because of them, I was able to see the beauty of religious life. During my orientation with VIDES in New Jersey, hanging out with the FMAs "woke me up" again to the idea of being called to religious life. I've had many "wake up calls" throughout my vocation story and another one is when I was spending time with my old community (Salesian, but not the FMAs) this past summer.

Because of the Salesians, I saw the joy there is in serving others, particularly children and youth. It can be a frustrating job but all the Salesian Sisters and priests I've met take it all in stride - they keep on smiling and keep being joyful, despite it all. They love children and youth and have a dedication to them that I had never seen before. Despite how exhausted they may be, you'll find them jump-roping or playing baseball right along with the kids. They are one of the many people in my life that showed me the definition of service.

And of course, there's always divine intervention. When Don Bosco's relics were making their world-wide tour almost a year ago, I went to visit them in New York. In front of him, in St. Patrick's cathedral, I prayed "St. John Bosco, I know I'm not called to be a Salesian...yeah, sorry about that, but hey, that's God's fault, not mine. But please help me find my vocation. Pray that I may find the way." And well, you know the rest of the story.

If you're interested particularly in serving children and youth, either as a lay person or a religious, I suggest checking them out. I wasn't called to be a religious with them for many different reasons but they really are great people and I don't regret for a minute being a Salesian long-term lay volunteer.

If you're already a religious (Sister, priest, or brother!), is there a religious community besides your own that influenced you in your vocation story?   

Vincentians in Bolivia

One of the blogs I follow is "Voces Vicentinas" written by Fr. Aidan Rooney, an American Vincentian priest, who lives in the Altiplano in Bolivia. I read his entries with nostalgia, although I lived in a different city hours away. Today, he posted an entry on schools in Bolivia that I have to share because it almost completely echoes my own experience in Cochabamba:

His blog entry: Having What You Need

If you'd like to donate to Fr. Aidan's many ministries, click here. Although I've never met him personally (though I've heard great things about him from Sisters!), I have no problem saying that he's a great example of the whole Vincentian mission. The Vincentians were founded by St. Vincent de Paul and are the "brother community" of the Daughters of Charity. The two have always been intertwined, sharing a common history and supporting each other - their Superior General is also the Superior General of the Sisters, for example.

On a lighter note, check out this video of the Superior General of the Vincentians, Fr Gregory Gay (a Baltimorean!), during his visit to Bolivia. The hilarity starts around 3:00. (By the way, I'm really impressed with Fr. Gregory's Spanish!)

Never Give Up on Your Vocation

Two nights ago, I had a dream about a Bolivian friend of mine, Claudia. Yesterday was her 25th birthday so she was on my mind. We've always been close and now, I believe, closer still (at least spiritually) now that we both left the same congregation and joined/joining another.

Three years ago, Claudia and I were both in the same group of aspirants in that Salesian congregation. We grew close, partially due to our age (we were the oldest in the group) and also, I think, because we complemented each other in personality. When I decided to leave after six months, Claudia confided in me that she was having doubts too, that a part of her wanted to join the Daughters of Mary Help of Christians (FMAs). (She did, six months ago) Another aspirant of our group of five also confided in me that she was having doubts too, that she was wondering if she had a contemplative, maybe even cloistered, vocation. All three of us would end up leaving, though be it years apart from each other.

"You are my sister, no matter the distance, you are my sister;
even though little we may see each other, my heart will always be united to yours
since my prayer will always remember you"

In my dream, I was visiting the motherhouse of the FMAs in the United States for some reason but years in the future - I was a Daughter of Charity (hopefully, in this sense, I'm predicting the future!). I was walking down the sidewalk outside of their chapel when I spotted a group of Salesian Sisters (FMAs) in their white habits further down the sidewalk. They were stopped talking to someone. I caught up to them, curious because I knew a few from my VIDES formation days with those same Sisters. One looked especially familiar to me though, though I couldn't pinpoint from where. Then, it dawned on me: "CLAUDIA?" I said after I tapped her on the shoulder. She looked confused for a second and then recognized me "AMANDA?" We hugged and I started crying out of joy because I thought I would never see her again. Then, the two of us started blabbering on in Spanish.

This dream is of no importance to you, I know. And it's most likely simply that - a dream.
But I swear there is a reason I'm sharing this with you.
What struck me was that, in the dream, there we were - me in a dark blue buttoned habit and a coiffe (head covering), her in a white habit and veil, a daughter of St Vincent and a daughter of Don Bosco - when, years ago, we were wearing the same aspirant jumper of a different congregation.

I think people tend to think that, once you join a religious congregation and leave, you must be done with religious life, that you can't "try again", that you're "damaged goods" so to speak.
But I think Claudia and I are examples of the opposite.

Please, never give up on your vocation. God never stops calling you. A step in the "wrong" direction may, in a special way, actually a step in the "right" direction.Whatever you do, don't stop searching, as discouraging as it might be to "make a mistake", until you find God's call..."where your greatest joy and world's greatest need meet".

Coincidence? I think not.

I read somewhere “a coincidence is just God's way of performing a miracle anonymously” I then posted it on my FB because it just seemed to fit perfectly in my discernment journey.

For the record, this has always bothered me
about alien movies...
(And no, this isn't the same type of coincidence
I'm talking about)

June Council, where the Daughters decide on my case, is only 18 days away. And I can't help but reflect on what's led me to here because, a year ago, I would have never imagined myself here.

So what has led me here? 

Coincidences.

I'm completely serious. I've known the Daughters since 2004, but since I went to college in the same town as their Provincial House, that's really no coincidence. The coincidences would happen much later. A year after finishing college, I entered a Salesian community (I won't say their name so they keep their privacy but they were a member of the Salesian family) About a month in, I started to feel as if maybe I had made a mistake. I started having major doubts. As I scribbled these feelings down furiously in my journal, I wrote once “Maybe this isn't for me. Maybe this aspirancy is actually preparation for another. Maybe I should join the Daughters of Charity. I've always liked them” But I stayed and continued to deal with these rough feelings of doubt and confusion.

A few months after writing that sentence in my journal, I met a Daughter of Charity...almost completely by accident. Us aspirants mainly stayed in the convent and the only other Sisters outside of our community that we would meet would be other Sisters in the Salesian family. But Sr. Mary Elko, a Daughter of Charity, just showed up at the door of the convent one day to drop off two girls for the orphanage but also visit with the Sisters. At first, I wondered what community she was from - her beige (missionary) habit threw me off because all Daughters I knew wore blue. But soon, once she told me she was a Daughter of Charity, we had long enthusiastic conversations about Emmitsburg and Sisters we maybe both knew.

Looking back, it just seems like a coincidence that Sr Mary Elko would show up at our door, precisely at the rough time of my vocation crisis, as I had fleeting thoughts about joining her community.

The other coincidence would be years later. After leaving the aspirancy, thoughts of being a religious came and went again and again. As I lived in Bolivia for another year, thoughts of being a religious would come back every now and then, never quite leaving me alone. I never saw Sr Mary Elko again simply because life was too busy to do so. I moved back to the United States after two years of living in Bolivia. It wasn't until I visited Bolivia a year later after the move, this past summer, that the second big coincidence happened.

After coming back from my visit, I felt an immense tug to start investigating religious life again. I knew I couldn't ignore it anymore. And, even though I hadn't talked to them in years, I knew I had to get in contact with the Daughters of Charity. I had no desire to contact any other community. I'm not ashamed to admit that I was scared to because I had no idea how they would react to me formerly being an aspirant of another community. Problem is so many years had passed that I had no idea who the vocation director was. So I, who throws nothing away, searched my Gmail and found an email from Sr. Denise, introducing herself as the new vocation director. An email from 2007. And this was July 2010. But I thought “well, why not?” so I replied to it.

Not only was Sr. Denise shocked that I had replied to an email from 2007 but she shared with me that I had perfect timing...because, for the past year, she had been in Chicago studying...and she had literally just now returned to vocation work. (On another note, we later found out that Sr Denise was actually one of the first Daughters I ever met...she was one of the Sisters on my first discernment retreat) And that is where the story that led me to applying for pre-postulancy begins - visits to different houses, retreats,  etc. 

I often wonder that if Sr. Denise were no longer the vocation director, would I have had the guts to "try again" and email whoever was the current vocations director? 

If I hadn't met Sr Mary Elko in Bolivia, would I still have been haunted by the thought of being a Daughter of Charity or would I have eventually forgotten about it?

I like to think that these "coincidences" were actually God working "anonymously", showing His immense love by trying to lead me to find His will for me, find my ultimate joy and where I'm free to be myself, where I'm meant to be. 

Obviously, some coincidences are just unimportant coincidences, but I invite to look back in your life and reflect..."which coincidences were actually God working anonymously for me?" And I'm sure you'll find more than a few.