I was playing a magazine scavenger hunt with my after-schoolers when my cell phone began to ring. I was using it as a timer for the competition, so the cell phone was right there in my hand.
And it was  LOUD.

I muted the phone quickly and looked down – it was the organization that just a few days earlier had offered me a job (and I eagerly accepted). Why were they calling? Did something go wrong? There was no way I could answer – not with four loud elementary schoolers alone in a classroom – so I cringed as I watched the organization leave a voicemail.

My voice of anxiety went in a million different directions:

- did I eat or drink something that made my drug test come up as a false positive?

- was there some mistake in my background check?

- were they rescinding the offer because they found someone better?

Once the kids left and in the small window of time I had before my adult education class came in, I called the organization's office. The woman who called was already gone and her voicemail stated that she wouldn't be free until the afternoon tomorrow. My heart sank as I thought of all the waiting.

The next morning, as I drove to work, I kept thinking about the phone call the day before (because, of course, I am who I am. Anxiety is probably one of my most annoying attributes). I was excited about this job. The job was with a very reputable non-profit that does great work and the position would be interesting and challenging. And to think that all that excitement might be gone in the blink of an eye...

As I agonized over it, I started thinking about God's plan. If God's plan for me was to work for this organization, He would make it happen, right? But yet, I seem to subconsciously believe I have the power to royally screw it up somehow.

God is writing a story in me. I like to imagine He's at a typewriter in a study surrounded by leather books, maybe with a comfortable red chair. I imagine some kind of wonderful mix of Belle's library in Beauty and the Beast, the Hogwarts library, and Sherlock's office.

Maybe those leather books are other people's stories that He pulls out so our stories can intertwine. Maybe the books are there just because He knows I love the smell of books and the sound of a typewriter.

Why is it I think that I can rush into the study like a little child who doesn’t know any better and scribble with crayon over all those future chapters God has already written, causing Him to be frazzled and re-write those chapters, never as good as the first time? (Interestingly enough, that’s exactly what I had to do with this blog post because Blogger lost it the first time. God has a sense of humor.)

But faith tells me that the truth is, even if I do scribble over those pages, God has some magical crayon eraser. And the chapters are fine with no need for a re-write or even editing. (Because, as you know, God has perfect spelling and grammar.)

And it may turn out that the chapters don't go the way I predict anyway, for the best or worst. After all, that's what makes a good story, right? Who would have predicted that Harry Potter was being protected and cared for all that time by...oh wait, maybe some people haven't read the books/seen the movies? All right, I won't give it away, but you get the point.

It may turn out that there was a "yes" to one of those anxious questions I asked myself when I received that call. But that doesn't mean I went over God's head and screwed up some marvelous future for myself. It means I dust off my feet, find out and fix what went wrong for next time (if necessary), and move on. Because God has something else in store. 

So, I waited to make that phone call. And repeated to myself that the God has already typed out those pages, whatever they are, and there was nothing I could do personally to screw it up.Instead of scribbling or even worrying about my scribbles, maybe I should just lean back in the red chair, listen to the keystrokes, and enjoy the book smell.

Yup, that sounds good to me.

(Update: As I tried to relax in that red chair some two weeks ago, my phone rang again...before 12pm even. Everything was fine. They were officially offering me the job. I start on Monday. 
Hearing about the job - and even getting it - is another example of God writing my story. If you were part of that story, regardless of your role, I hope you know how grateful I am.)

Ode to a Girl Scout

I tried many things as a kid - dance, soccer, Girl Scouts, flute, altar-serving, just to name those I can remember. Most didn't last for long, probably because there wasn't anything I enjoyed quite as much as reading books.

So, it's very ironic that now I'm the leader of a little Girl Scout troop. The Girl Scouts have a terrific program for fellow non-profits so they can have their own special closed troops. I connected with them about doing activities with our after-school girls and then it evolved into a troop. And then somehow I became the troop leader. An advice often given to women who have left religious life is "Take up something new and different after you leave community". I just wasn't expecting this one.

Not my troop. But you get the point.

As much as I fumble through it with the help of another troop leader, this really is the perfect group of girls for me. Our girls aren't your stereotypical middle-class vanilla troop. Out of the stories I know, three girls are cases with Child Protective Services, two girls are former foster-kids that were adopted last year, one girl has a father in jail, and almost all of the girls live in poverty, their afterschool care paid for by childcare subsidies. Their transition and raggedness mirrors my own.

But it's Tatiana (not her real name), who I specifically want to focus on.

We have only a few girls that are not Daisies (the littlest of the Girl Scouts) and Tatiana is one of them. And if I had to pick one of my favorites, Tatiana would be one of them. It's not because she's one of the most well-behaved...because she's not. In fact, the teachers are frustrated with her, searching endlessly for what might actually make Tatiana happy.

At first, I thought this attachment to Tatiana was because she reminded me so much of another girl I knew about ten years ago - a girl that was in my dorm in the hogar in Bolivia, a girl whose hard shell I wish I could have cracked, a girl I wish I would have treated better.

But as time passed, I realized that it wasn't just that. It was because I saw myself in Tatiana. I saw the anger. I saw the unhappiness. I saw the brokenness. I saw that it's still not okay.

See, Tatiana's mom is also my client, so I knew her story perhaps better than the teachers did. Tatiana's mom struggles to pay the bills and when her boyfriend, the only dad Tatiana knew, was arrested and put in jail, it was devastating both financially and emotionally for the family. Tatiana was already a rebellious girl but that was the tipping point.

While Tatiana's little brother was a bit more of a blabbermouth, Tatiana herself was tight-lipped. And if you asked her about her situation, she probably would have said "Why would I care about that?"

In Tatiana, I saw everything I was feeling - but kept hidden - played out in front of me. Every time she disrespected authority (which was often), I thought of the times I wanted to do the same when I disagreed with a decision but didn't. Every time I caught of a glimpse of her brokenness, I thought of my own.

Maybe you're reading this and thinking "um, I don't think her behavior is the way a Girl Scout should act". And you're right. But, at the same time, I see qualities in Tatiana that were exactly what a Girl Scout should be. I've seen her open doors for others without being prompted. I've seen her smile. I've seen her cry when the same things that she's complained about are taken away. I've seen her progress, each step as slow as a snail, but still. Seeing that little progress in her gives me hope for mine.

Tatiana is the type of girl I see that would make the world a better place, truly living out the Girl Scout Law I'm slowly memorizing. Because Tatiana is strong. Because Tatiana is honest (maybe too much) with herself and her feelings. Because I truly believe that one day, Tatiana will heal and use that healing to help others.

Through the Tunnel

"The future belongs to God, not to us. Man does not have the imagination of God, so when we think of the future, we think of it being like the past... 

The future is like a tunnel. You can’t see anything inside, and only a fool would expect it to look the same upon exiting as upon entering it." 

- Brother Christian de Cherge

(from "The Monks of Tibhirine: Faith, Love, and Terror in Algeria")

When I left the Daughters eight and a half months ago, I had no idea what the future held. I had some resemblance of a practical plan - I had a residence, a job, and a bank account - but there was no predicting what would happen next. What I couldn't predict was the loss of some friendships, the growth of others, general awkwardness, and a spiritual and emotional transition.

It would be nice if I could have easily slid back into being the person I was five-plus years ago. After all, I was happy with a good job, good friends, and on my way to getting a Master's degree. And I had a plan for my life. I left it for the Daughters because I felt that religious life was the "missing piece" I was looking for - that culmination of my desires to serve God and serve the poor. I felt that God was calling me.

But the future is not like the past. I can't be that person from five years ago. I can't be the same exiting the tunnel as I did entering it. There was so much I had yet to learn and so much yet to experience, both good and bad.

I had yet to experience the best and worst of community life, yet to experience the deaths of a number of my friends (including a housemate) and sing "Salve Regina" at their burials, yet to meet several people that are the most Christ-like people I know, yet to know the joys and perils of intergenerational living.

I had yet to see modern-day segregation firsthand or listen to an immigrant working in inhumane conditions in a shrimp factory, yet to be kissed on the hand by an elderly Eastern European refugee, yet to deliver milk cartons to kids in housing projects, yet to hear the words "we didn't eat dinner last night; we're saving the food for the kids".

I believe there's a misconception (one that even I fall into sometimes) that because one leaves religious life, they must have misheard God's call. Perhaps it was the result of poor discernment. Perhaps because they didn't pray enough before entering. Perhaps they rushed into it. In a way, all of these misconceptions imply that their time with their community was somehow a mistake. As if they entered a tunnel that wasn't meant for them after all.
I would challenge that.

I believe God did call me to be a Daughter (and called me to leave too). I believe that those experiences and lessons from the past five years were within God's crazy imagination for my life, each piece somehow fitting in the big puzzle that is me.

And, if that's the truth, then I have to believe and trust that there's so much more wonderment to discover as I journey through this tunnel into the unknown.

My Vincentian Prayer

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.

Daybreak: Hope for the Homeless in Macon, Georgia

One of the most popular images lately is that of a New York police officer giving new boots to a homeless man. It reminded me that I had never written in this blog about a wonderful event that happened a few weeks ago in Macon, Georgia.

When I was in Macon as a prepostulant and postulant, one of the wonderful Sisters I lived with, Sr Elizabeth Greim, was in the process of opening a day shelter for the homeless, named Daybreak, as part of the organization DePaul USA, which helps homeless all over the country. While there is no lack of meals/soup kitchens for the homeless in Macon, Daybreak is to serve as a place where they could go during the day. There were to be washing machines, offices for case workers, showers, classrooms, computer rooms, and simply "a place to hang out" with books, magazines, and games.

I watched as Sr Elizabeth worked so hard to convert the old warehouse they bought into a workable shelter, as she raised funds, and as she got to know the homeless through an already-existing program called Come to the Fountain. Here is a video from their capital campaign, actually created by local high school students.

In less than a year, Daybreak not only exceeded their capital campaign goal, they actually doubled it.

I miss Macon a lot but one of the things I miss the most is when Daybreak officially opened on November 15th (that wonderful event I mentioned in the beginning of the blog). The Macon Telegraph, the local newspaper, did a wonderful video on the opening - it's worth checking out here. Sr Elizabeth, as well as the rest of the Macon community (especially local churches of all different denominations), has done and continues to do an amazing job in their dedication to the homeless in Macon. When Saint Vincent de Paul founded the Daughters of Charity in the 1600s, he told them that one of the most important ministries was simply being with the poor. Daybreak is doing that same thing over 300 years later, following the Vincentian charism in seeing Christ in the poor.

If you're interested in donating to Daybreak, you can either donate directly to Daybreak and mail your contribution to P.O. Box 204, Macon, GA 31202 or donate to DePaul USA through their website (or call them directly at 215 438 1955 to see what other donation options are available).

Thank you to Sr Elizabeth, the Daybreak staff and volunteers and all who help Daybreak keep going with their contributions! Many blessings!