"The White Nuns" Copyright (c) 2015 by Andrea Missianto

As I waited in the Southwest Airlines line to check my bag, I caught a glimpse of a white veil behind me. I turned around. I just had to. Of course, I said “hi” and even correctly guessed her community, a community I know pretty well here in San Antonio. I told her my name, which I hope she remembered, but I also thought “I used to be one of you”.

Sister, I used to be one of you. Like you, I used to have random strangers approach me and strike up conversations, just like I did with her this morning. People would tell me wonderful stories about Sisters they knew in their childhood that changed their lives or they'd talk to me about their struggling faith or we'd try to see if we knew the same people. Now, I've become one of those strangers.

In my last blog entry, I mentioned the Daughters being a missionary itinerant  community. They were also a community that traveled. A lot. Even if we weren't being missioned, we were traveling for retreats, for meetings, for conferences, for everything. I traveled to states I've never lived in and never visited since.

A few minutes later, as I passed through security, I thought of the Sister again. I didn't see her in the security line but her experiences are probably the same that I had for years.

Sister, I used to be one of you. I would rip off my coiffe (veil) and put it in the bin. One airport asked me to, so I always did since. Some TSA officers seemed shocked - “no, Sister, you don't have to take it off! It's religious garb!” “No, it's okay”, I told them. But, almost without fail, no matter the city, I was pulled aside after X-ray and patted down. Once because of the cross but usually because of that long skirt.

Sister, I used to be one of you. Like you, I used to be a silent witness. I know some Sisters were bothered by the extra time we spent in security but the truth is I never minded. Let TSA do what they need to do. But, more than anything, I wanted to wear my habit to the airport. I wanted people to know that young Sisters, “young nuns”, still existed. Even if they never approached me, just a glance of me would hopefully remind them of good things – of faith, of goodness in the world, of service, of love. Hopefully remind them of more than just nuns with rulers...which I unfortunately did hear about time to time.
And it was more than the veil, by the way, lest anyone think I'm starting a debate. Even Sisters without habits have a “nun” look. I can point them out from a mile away and would have done the same this morning with an un-habited Sister too.

Sister, I used to be one of you. But I'm not anymore.

Now I am a random stranger in the airport, traveling to who-knows-and-who-cares-where.

Now, I blend in.

Now, I'm now free to sit and read my book or sleep leaning against the window, two things I missed about traveling when I was a Sister.

Nonetheless, I may be able to finish my book but take off the veil, take off the title of “Sister”, take off the religious community's initials, and being a witness of faith, goodness in the world, service and love becomes a whole lot harder. Not just in the airport but in life. It's no longer obvious, no longer implied by my very lifestyle – but it's not something I'm willing to abandon. It's still something I want to remind the world.

So, Sister, in that way, I'm still just like you.

The Whisper of Calls

As Elijah, the Lord spoke to me in the whispering wind - the unexplainable feelings in prayer, in other people.

At first, He whispered "Serve My poor". And so I did, being with the poor of the cities and the poor of the mountains.

Then, I heard "Be a Sister".
"Certainly, I imagined this," I thought, but the whisper came again and I realized it was God. This time I spoke. I spoke of my unworthiness. Perhaps He made a mistake and meant to call someone with more faith, with more gifts. But God persisted, so I asked "When? Where? How? Show me a sign!"

I searched and searched, never finding a definite sign. I remained faithful to serving His poor, but this call was more troubling, more impossible.

While serving His poor in Itocta (Bolivia), I saw the sign - a community I laughed with, a community I loved. I followed His call and joined them, but I soon realized it was no sign at all. Instead of increasing in holiness, I was increasing in unhappiness. A Sister begged me to plead for a sign from the Lord - surely, He would tell me to stay. I was tired of signs. I didn't understand them. But out of holy obedience, I asked. No sign came and I left, pretending I had never heard that first whisper.

But soon He returned with that same whisper: "Be a Sister..."
"Don't You see? Look what happened! No, Lord, You're mistaken" I replied and began to ignore His voice.

But the whisper became louder and louder. I then wrote the Daughters of Charity, an old address from years ago. "If they don't respond, I'll take it as a sign," I thought. They responded but still I wasn't convinced.

I was cautious until one night, in prayer before His presence, I heard Him say 'Give Your heart to me and to the poor'.

And so I did, finding my sign - the two calls intertwining in beauty.

And now I hear a different whisper: "Love. Always Love.", adding "See, they were all signs because I used it all to form who you are. Your story, already written, is being played out and, in it, I hope you see My love for You...and pass that Love to all the world."

                                                                                                                 - October 2013

One of my favorite things is to discover poems and prayers that I've written that I have long since forgotten about. This essay, titled "From the Book of Amanda", was one of them, written just ten months after entering Seminary. It was a homework assignment - "write a Scripture account of your call" for one of our classes on "calling".

It amazes me how much it all, especially the last paragraph, still sticks. Finding the Daughters wasn't the end of my call or the end of my story. My 2013 self knew that, even if I couldn't quite express it further. I had no idea that, in a few years, God would be leading me somewhere else.

Now, four years later, I have to take a deep breath and remind myself that:
    All those paths have made me who I am.
    My story is still being played out.
    And my mission is still Love.

My Own Mission Statement

The Daughters of Charity have a mission - "given to God in community for the service of the poor" - which I try to follow every day. Yet, I think, at my deepest core, I have a different one. It's not one in contrast with that of the Daughters; in fact, I think they go together. I live this mission through theirs.

My own personal mission - my own personal dream - is to spread God's love everywhere. I want others to be so totally immersed in the awareness that God loves them that they couldn't imagine living life any other way. Anyone that knows me - that really knows me - probably just let out a "ha!" because they know I have to remind myself of God's love all the time (I'm a not-so-closeted perfectionist). But perhaps it is for that very reason that I feel compelled. Just as the Daughters of Charity (myself included) remind ourselves of their mission, I too have to remind myself of mine because it is so easy, and so human, to lose focus.

I've always wanted to write on God's love in this blog but I have never found the words. And perhaps the words will never quite be there because, in fact, God's love is so beyond description, so beyond reasoning, so beyond understanding. I just know that it's there and it's amazing. I believe that as Christians, that is where our unique joy stems from - God's love. And if our faith could ever be truly explained, God's love would be the explanation - the explanation for the nativity, the cross, the resurrection, the mystery.

But just me writing about God's love here in this blog won't make you aware of it. Reading about it won't change your life, just as seeing a picture of Jesus won't change your life. Our true experience of God's love isn't anything that is felt with the senses. It's supernatural, as if a mystical blanket has placed over you and warmed your your soul at its deepest and at its most intimate. It's a consuming flame that engulfs us in a most beautiful way. 

It is indeed overwhelming - to know that you are loved beyond all understanding. You're loved not because of your talents and gifts but with your talents and gifts. Not despite your faults but with your faults. It's overwhelming to know that this love is not earned nor does it end.

You were born because God loves you. He loves you so much that He chose you to be born, He wanted you here on this earth.

You live because God loves you. You're still alive because God wants you to have those positive moments (even the negative ones too), He wants you to spend time with loved ones, He wants you to smile and laugh.

We are created for love. By love.

As for my mission - to spread God's love everywhere - whether that awareness comes through me personally or not isn't the issue, just as long as others reach that milestone in faith. Thinking it can only come through me would be egotistical, not to mention far-reaching. I'm also not as unique as I make myself sound, for millions out there probably have the same mission and I'm just not aware of it. Yet, for some reason, I still cling to it as it were personal....because, really, it is. Just as God's love is personal, yet universal.