For my birthday, a friend gifted me a charm - it was the shape of Texas with a heart carved out in the

middle.

It made me smile because, after leaving the Sisters a year ago, I decided to stay here in Texas, where I had been sent on mission. The fact that I didn't move back home to Maryland was a hard decision for some Sisters to understand, but the truth is this city had started to feel like home. And it has ever since.
And I've noticed that in the little ways I never expected to assimilate - when I pulled out my boots when the temperatures dropped below 75, when I told my afterschoolers it was too cold to go outside when it was only in the 50s, etc.

I never expected, though, to be a "beyond-winter Texan" through so many tragedies.

The human smuggling tragedy here in San Antonio.
Hurricane Harvey.
Sutherland Springs.

And, with each tragedy, I saw the heart of San Antonio ache, even if the last two didn't affect the city itself. I was in Maryland visiting during the human trafficking tragedy, so I can't speak to the response, but I was in Texas for the last two.
After the fear of Harvey hitting San Antonio passed, I saw the city burst into action to help its victims - nonprofits of all kinds used their resources to help the refugees, churches and schools opened their doors, groups rushed to cities to help rebuild, etc. Even the news spoke of "our brothers and sisters in Port Aransas/Houston/fill-in-the-blank".
As we spoke of Sutherland Springs today in church, I heard sniffles in the church as people held back their tears (or didn't). (Granted, Sutherland Springs does hit a little closer to home. Someone in my Bible study does know someone in the town.)

The truth is Texas has been through a lot this past year. And let's call it what is - trauma and suffering.

For Catholics, November is a time to remember the souls of the departed. And Texas certainly has plenty of those from this past year. All Souls Day is a Catholic tradition, yes, but why not make it a tradition for everyone of the Christian faith?

In a sweep of tragedies, it is so tempting to believe that our God is one of vengeance or even one of apathy. It's part of being human. We're wounded and vulnerable...and where is God? But if we reflect on who we believe our God to be, we know He didn't send the tragedy out of something we did or didn't do nor does He sit back in apathy. Rather, He sits and cries with us.

"The Lord said....‘My eyes pour out tears. Day and night, the tears never quit. My dear, dear people are battered and bruised, hopelessly and cruelly wounded."

- Jeremiah 14:17 (The Message)

He is here. 
He is here in every victim.

When I was in Seminary (novitiate), I had several health problems. Because I'm human, I attributed it to God punishing me for my sinful behavior. Once I finally let go of that erroneous belief, I then wondered why He would let this happen in the first place. Those health problems cost me so much. I lost the little independence I had. I felt like I was the center of attention...and in a very bad way. I was very angry with God. I stopped talking to Him at one point, even. (See, even Sisters got spiritual issues.) But, one day, in the chapel alone, I started talking to Him. Angrily, but still. And suddenly, like a flash, I could feel His presence. Not just in that moment, but I could see it in little moments from the very beginning of my health problems. I could feel Him on the floor with me when I fell, stroking my hair, making sure I was okay. I could feel Him next to me all those times afterwards I whimpered alone in my room, thinking of all that had to be taken away, of all the doctor's visits, of all the unwanted attention. And I could feel Him embracing me in that moment in the chapel, saying "I'm here. I feel your pain".

He is here in every tear shed.

For the past ten years or so, in different parts of the world, I've worked with people who live in poverty - whether it be as a caregiver, teacher, or caseworker. In each instance, I've found 'helpers' in those I'm supposed to be 'helping'. It's taken different forms.
It's been the girls from the orphanage in Bolivia, having gone through incredible poverty, child abuse/neglect, malnutrition and occasionally homelessness, longing to do something for starving children in Africa.
It's been my Girl Scouts here in San Antonio, whose families can barely afford childcare much less anything else, who wanted to use money from their cookie sales for NICU babies.
It's been parents who have turned down my help for the childcare tuition assistance fund for families in crisis because "please, save the money for another family. I'll figure out a way. There may be someone else who won't be able to"
It's been my afterschooler at my current job in section 8 housing who wants to sell chocolate bars and "give the money away to those who really need it".

He is here in every person lending out a shoulder to cry on or a helping hand.

So, this month, whether we're Catholic or not, let us remember each one of the departed, even the unnamed. And while we do so, let us remember God's presence next to them in their suffering...and next to us in our sorrow and path to healing.

That charm now, for me, symbolizes more than just Texas, my second home.
It is a constant reminder that God is here...in tragedy, in transition, in sorrow, in healing.

"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." 

- Psalm 34:18

"And Sarah Laughed": Losing Sr. Mary William

Sarah, Abraham's wife, knew who she was.
She knew she was old and more so than most, certainly not old enough to have a child.
She also knew the ridiculous when she heard it.
So, when angels came to their tent to say she was going to have a son, Sarah laughed to herself, thinking the ancient version of "yeah, right".

Deep in my Google Drive is a voice recording of Sr. Mary William Sullivan, who passed away last week at the age of 91. Her voice is raspy, yet you can still hear the energy as she shares her thoughts at the local community's house meeting. Before the tape ends, she adds her opinion to a discussion about contemplation and the very last thing she says on the recording is this:

"What I laugh about with God! And I do! I have this picture that I was given years ago....and I use it to center my prayer. And [God and I] laugh, you know....nobody ever taught us that. [speaking to the other Sisters] Our old Seminary Directress never said 'laugh with God', did she?"

Sr. Mary William on her 70th Jubilee
as a Daughter of Charity, 2013

When I met Sr. Mary William in the hallway of the retirement home, with a mischievous smile on her face, the very first sentence out of her mouth was "Did anyone ever tell you I was Sister Servant when the Sisters got arrested in Chicago?" No, no one had. And I had no idea this Daughter of Charity knew Martin Luther King Jr. and was known for her activity during the civil rights movement.
[But interestingly enough, despite the initial question, Sr. Mary William never brought up the Sisters in Chicago again despite our many visits. It was I who had to ask for the story.]

I don't remember Mary William as the one who taught me to be a voice for the voiceless, although she certainly was.
I don't remember her as the one who taught me the importance of community life, although she cherished it.
I don't remember her as the one who taught me how to be a good social worker, although she certainly had telling stories about it.

I remember Mary William as the one who taught me to be authentic with a humble heart.

She knew who she was.
She knew she was fiery and more so than most - at times where others may shrink and shrivel under the pressure of what others may think or say, Mary William stood tall.

But she also knew who she was.
She knew that fiery personality sometimes went too far.
So, she spoke up with a humble heart - she apologized for her shortcomings and spoke openly about the issues she had that still affected her, even in the retirement home, even in her old age.

She did the same with God, arguing with Him, apologizing to Him, crying to and with Him, laughing with Him. While God knows each of us through and through anyway, I truly believe He knew every part of Mary William because she opened up to Him about everything.

I already mentioned that Sarah knew who she was - old, not easily fooled, etc. But I didn't share the rest of the story. Like Mary William, Sarah also understood the rest of who she was.
Unlike Mary William's relationship with God, Sarah feared Him, which led to some mishaps. When God asked if she laughed, she immediately answered "No". Yet, with a humble heart just like Mary William, she admits it in the most unexpected way possible:

Abraham gave the name Isaac [meaning "He laughs"] to his son whom Sarah bore him....Now Sarah said, “God has brought laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh with me.” - Genesis 21: 3,6

There is a story Sr. Mary William used to tell me about her friend Sr. Catherine Sullivan [no relation] that best describes both Mary William's and Sarah's authenticity with a humble heart. It ended with Sr. Catherine saying: "at my funeral, tell them all my friendships were particular and all my sins were original!" 

[If you'd like to read more about Sr. Mary William Sullivan, her obituary is located here on the Daughters of Charity website.]

What to Do After Newtown

On Friday, a devastating tragedy happened when 26 people were killed in an elementary school, twenty of them being children between the ages of 6 and 7.

I was an elementary/middle school teacher for three years before I moved here to Texas. And as I heard more and more about the tragedy, I kept imagining my own students from those years being shot down and left to die on the classroom floor. It sent more than one chill up my spine and that afternoon, as I was running errands, I listened to the newscast on my radio and gasped tears.

I'm truly left without words. So, instead I will point you to other great articles by people who do have words and wise ones at that:

• "Where was God Yesterday?" - Susan Stabile's blog
• Where Were You, God? A Prayer for Newtown - Fr James Martin, SJ
• Gaudete Sunday: How Can You Feel Joy After Newtown Shooting? - Rev Emily Heath
• Praying a Deep Sigh - Rev Jacqueline Lewis
• The Mystery of Pain, the Solace of Faith - Fr James Martin SJ
• In Wake of Newtown Tragedy, Love More Important than Explanations - Brad Hirschfield
• Newton Tragedy - A Vincentian Prays - Fr Bob Stone, CM
• Tragedy at Newtown, CT - Sr Denise, DC

The real reason I'm writing is not to point you to spiritual and theological articles/blogs about yesterday (though that is nice), but rather to suggest what you can do next.

• Donate: A Trappist abbey is donating handmade caskets for all those affected in the tragedy (see this article) The abbey frequently donates or discounts child caskets to families, especially in times of tragedy. However, to make up for the cost of the materials, the abbey has set up a Child Casket Fund so that more families don't have to face the burden of buying caskets for their children.
• Speak out: Has this tragedy affected your views on gun control? Don't keep it to yourself. Write your elected officials. Demand change. Do what you can to prevent this from ever happening again.
  On a perhaps more difficult note, talk out your feelings. Talk to your children about what happened (see this article on how to do it) so that they can do the same.
• Pray: Pray for the souls of the victims. Pray for their families. Pray for the family of the shooter. Pray for those left behind - the children and teachers who have lost their friends and co-workers, for whom life will never be the same. And pray for our world.
• Love: Just love.

(Have you read any other faith-related articles about the tragedy? Or know of any other related organizations to donate to? Leave it in the comments!)

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.

Oh, My God: A Birthday Reflection

As we sat outside the Starbucks drinking coffee, we started talking about death. Were we afraid? What did we think was going to happen? And strangely enough, it was that conversation that led me to reflect on my 26th birthday on Saturday.

I thought back to my near-death experience, one I'll never forget. I'm sure I've had other near-death experiences that I wasn't aware of.....maybe the bus to La Paz going through the Andes almost got too close to the cliff, maybe I narrowly missed being in a car accident one day, maybe...well, I'll never know. But the one I do know and do remember occurred as I was swimming in the ocean one summer afternoon. With no one around me, with the lifeguards looking the other way, I got stuck in a rip current. I had never been in one before and had no idea what to do. I fought, swimming with all my might but I kept drifting away and away from the shore. My throat muscles tightened and I couldn't scream. My muscles grew exhausted and no one was there to witness. I was terrified but at one point, I thought "well, if this is how I have to die...." and resigned myself to it and the pure exhaustion led me to sink. Less than a few seconds later, a stranger pulled me out of the water and onto the shore.

It seems strange to reflect on death, upon turning 26, such a young age. But I've seen too much to not reflect on it. I have no idea when I will die. None of us do, really. But I can truly say that if I were to die tomorrow, I would die happy. Grateful to God for the life I've led.

It overwhelms me...the plans God had for me from the beginning, before I could even write my name, before I could even slightly imagine where God would take me. I never would have imagined that I would became fluent in Spanish and become a missionary, that I would join a religious community, that I would be living in Georgia. I never would have imagined seeing the things that I've seen - families living without running water both here and abroad, families torn apart because of deportation, an abused girl without a finger, a 50 year old man aged to 80 because of work in the mines, kids on the brink of suicide, kids having kids, etc. Or the people I would meet - unlikely people that would turn into wonderful friends, life teachers, children that would become like little siblings, Sisters with a capital "S" that would become like sisters with a lowercase "s".

When we think of life as a journey rather than the here-and-now, life becomes something amazing, something truly marvelous. We can turn back and then think “Where has God led me? What has He allowed me to see, to experience, to meet?”

That isn't to say that life is perfect or that I am perfect, because neither is true. I know that sometimes I have not lived up to what God wanted of me - I turned the other way from doing the right thing or going the right way. But to Him, as I grow another year older, I couldn't say anything less than "Oh, my God....thank you". Thank you for these 26 years. I'm not sure how many more I have left to live, but know that I am grateful and hope always to live for You, serving You in the person of the poor.