I find a thrill in public speaking, even if I'm not the best at it. Don't get me wrong, I still get nervous. I still wonder if I'm going to trip over words - as I often do in real life - and embarrass myself. My heart beats a little faster with worry. But, if I'm prepared with material, even if I usually go off-script, it's exhilarating. I know that, more often than not, I'll get swept away with passion by what I'm presenting and lose my worry in words.

This past week, a co-worker and I were asked to present in front of a Pastoral Council at a Catholic church. Per my job, I was presenting about the programs at the non-profit where I work as well as our group and individual volunteer opportunities. My co-worker is the manager of one of our lesser-known programs so she would present on that.

I was prepared.

That is until the pastor passed around the opening prayer to the meeting and I saw the word "Night

For anyone not familiar, Night Prayer is part of Liturgy of the
Hours. It consists of a number of Scripture readings,
mainly from the Psalms and a Gospel canticle (Night Prayer's
Gospel canticle is the Canticle of Simeon, Luke 2:29-32)

Prayer". I froze. Oh crap.

As we started Night Prayer, I was back.

Back in that chapel in that old convent in St. Louis.
I saw one of the Sisters, a Sister who passed away shortly after I was missioned to San Antonio, light a candle before we began and I heard the candle crackle.
I had that small green book in my hands.
I remembered exactly where I sat in that chapel.

In you, O Lord, I take refuge...

I remember admiring how intently one of the Sisters prayed, staring ahead.
I remembered the quiet of our convent, no sounds to heard on our city streets.
In hard times, I remember craving the Grand Silence required afterward.

Recently, I heard a divorced friend ask another, "so, what did you do with your wedding ring?"
I remembered my secret return to St. Louis, this time to the Provincial House to sign the official departure papers. Secret because only my house and the Provincial Council knew the purpose of my trip.
I remembered signing the official departure paper and even saying out loud, with pen in hand, "this is just surreal". It was surreal, yes, but I won't deny that there was also peace.

So many things had to be returned. I left some in St. Louis. I left my cross and my Constitutions sitting on the nightstand of the guest room there. The rest - my habit, my coiffe, my Vincentian history books, my prayer books - I left in my house in San Antonio. It grew all too real when I stared at photos on websites or social media, quizzically remembering myself there and then realizing painfully I had been Photo-shopped out of the picture. Apart from the memory of the Sisters and my own photos, all trace of me being a Daughter of Charity was gone.

My identity was gone, but God wasn't. And throughout my entire discernment, He was never gone. No longer being able to take refuge in my identity as "Sister Amanda", I counted on Him. With that signature, He set me free and I knew He'd have to be my strength.

Out of the depths, I cry to you, Lord...

Back at this Pastoral Council meeting, my co-worker struggled as we alternated sides and flipped pages.
Meanwhile, I surprised myself by saying almost all the words without even looking down. I haven't prayed Night Prayer for over three years, yet still, I remembered.

Yesterday, January 20th, was the fifth anniversary of my Incorporation - that is, the day a Daughter of Charity becomes a Daughter of Charity. They receive the cross, the Constitutions, the title "Sister" in front of their name. I couldn't help but reminiscence. I remembered everything that eventually became second-nature through the years: struggling to get on the coiffe correctly, forgetting to smooth my skirt when I sat down so it wouldn't get wrinkled, and acclimating to a title in front of my name. I remembered the pre-Mass jitters. I remembered feeling so loved that day as I was barraged with hugs and cards.

But now, it seems like a dream. The woman I am now seems so different than the woman that walked down that Provincial House chapel in a freshly-ironed and custom-made habit dress. Many of those Sisters that gave me huge hugs and cards with long loving notes haven't seen or spoken to me since I left, some just because of distance and life, some purposefully. The woman I was then could have never imagined everything that was to happen, good and bad. In a way, it's hard to believe that it even was me.

Into your hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit...

That line of the Responsory was always my favorite part.
The New Testament Scripture (Luke 23:46), of course, came from a moment of intense pain for Jesus, shortly before He died on the cross.
Yet, it's also a Psalm (Psalm 31) - the Psalm we pray earlier in Night Prayer. God, a rock of refuge, a stronghold, please hold and guide me. In you, O Lord, I take refuge...
It was comforting to me. It was the one part of Night Prayer that I still had memorized from my time in Bolivia - "En tus manos, Señor, encomiendo mi espíritu..."

As I've written before, I have no idea where God is leading me now. I gave my life to Him as a Sister, but that didn't stop because I left. I still put my life in His hands.

Lord, now you let your servant go in peace...

Despite the grief, despite the anger, it was the right decision to leave. I'm more at peace with myself, more at peace with life, and that tells me it was God's decision, not just a whim of mine.

In the 477 days since I left the Daughters, there was only one day when I doubted. One day in which I wondered "maybe I was just being a coward because I didn't stay to work it all out. Maybe I was just being weak." Luckily, my self-confidence has grown enough that the next day, I talked myself out of that.
No, God called me out and I'm a stronger person because of it. I have stories to prove it.

May the all-powerful Lord grant us a restful night and a peaceful death. Amen.

Amen.
Yes, please don't have my mind so in a tizzy because of this that I can't sleep.
You're a funny God.

"And now we have a special guest with us...Amanda, do you want to share more about the nonprofit you work for?"

The pastor's question snapped me back into San Antonio, back into a Pastoral Council meeting, back into work.

"Oh! Yes, umm, yeah, so we have lots of different programs. So, umm..."

So much for being prepared.

Quote of the Week: Mary Doria Russell and Creation

“There are times...when we are in the midst of life - moments of confrontation with birth or death, or moments of beauty when nature or love is fully revealed, or moments of terrible loneliness - times when a holy and awesome awareness comes upon us. 

It may come as deep inner stillness or as a rush of overflowing emotion.It may seem to come from beyond us, without any provocation, or from within us, evoked by music or by a sleeping child. 

If we open our hearts at such moments, creation reveals itself to us in all it's unity and fullness. And when we return from such a moment of awareness, our hearts long to find some way to capture it in words forever, so that we can remain faithful to it's higher truth.

...when my people search for a name to give to the truth we feel at those moments, we call it God, and when we capture that understanding in timeless poetry, we call it praying.”

                                                               - Mary Doria Russell, The Sparrow

Read The Sparrow. Now. The plot may sound crazy, but it was the best book recommendation anyone gave me.

(Sidenote: Way back when, I had Vincentian Quotes of the Week. I certainly still count myself as Vincentian, but I felt it was time to revive the tradition with quotes I find meaningful from all around the spectrum.)

I Can't. You Must. I'm Yours.

To me, the most powerful scene in "Romero" is not his martyrdom. It's not the assassination of his friend, Fr. Rutilio Grande. It's not even when Romero travels through the slums, those families living in the trash heaps or when he's in jail.

It's long after Fr. Rutilio Grande's death. It's when Romero feels abandoned by those who had previously supported him. It's at the height of Romero's personal change, but also the height of his fear and confusion.

Romero goes to visit the graves of Fr. Grande and the two others murdered with him. After walking away from the graves, he falls to the ground, kneeling and says:
"I can't...You Must...I'm Yours...Show Me the Way."

I've prayed this a few times in my life and most notably and recently, the day I waited for news of my sending on mission from the Seminary to San Antonio.

I thought about it again today as I listened to a group sing "Oceans" and "Holy Spirit" and tears filled my eyes.

Now that I've been a lay woman for five months (wow), there are a few things that are hitting me.

I've noticed that my support system has shrunk exponentially. While I do understand that to a point because I've left the family (so to speak), it is still painful.
I feel stuck in the present, living one day at a time. I used to know what my future held, always wearing the Vincentian cross, always surrounded by the same women, praying the same prayers and following the same traditions. Now, the future is a question mark, a scary question mark.
I know that I have to discover who I really am because my identity is no longer determined by my outfit, by the living of the vows, and by the initials after my name.

The truth is this prayer of Romero's is for me right now. This short, profound prayer.

Because I can't. I can't do this by myself. My life is not up to me anyway.

Because, You, God, must. No one else. Not only are You all-powerful and all-knowing but You love me more than I could ever imagine. (You know, considering Romero's mission and ultimate death, I used to think the "You Must" was God speaking back - "no, Romero, you HAVE to do this. You CAN do this." but, as the years past and experiences shaped me, I saw it differently. It's Romero telling God: "You, God, must. It must be You leading, not myself. It must be You I rely on.")

Because I'm Yours. I'm still Yours. I didn't abandon You when I took off the habit. I didn't abandon You when I took off that beautiful cross. I still choose to follow You wherever You lead me.

Please show me the way. I trust in You.


(As a short sidenote, I can thank my friend Nicole - who is one of the writers of Messy Jesus Business - for first introducing me to the depth of this scene. She spoke about it at our VIDES orientation ten years ago and it never left me!)

Greater Than One: A Guest Post by Sr. Meg Kymes

Sisters represent so much more than just themselves. It is both a big responsibility but also one that invites lots of reflective and joyful experiences. Speaking about one of those experiences, here is a guest post from Sister Meg Kymes, a Daughter of Charity. She currently lives in Emmitsburg, Maryland where she works at Mother Seton School and the Seton Center.

Thursday I was awaiting a package from Fed-Ex while I was at school. I felt my phone ring in my pocket (luckily during snack time) and stepped outside to receive the call. I answered and the gentleman on the other side said, “Ms. Kymes? This is Bill from Fed-Ex. I’m looking for your house, but I can’t seem to find it. I’ve passed the antique store.” 

It’s a common problem in Emmitsburg. My own father missed the house twice when he came to visit. “You’ve gone just a little too far.” I replied. “Turn around at the next street and come back about a block. At the first stop sign turn right.” 

He arrived a few minutes later and asked, “What is this place? I’ve delivered to the school, but never here.”
“This is the Daughters of Charity convent.” I replied.
“Oh, so you’re a Sister?” 
“Yes, about two years now.” 
“Tough life. My daughter went to Mount St. Mary’s. A friend of hers became a Sister after college.” 
“Really? What community?” He thought for a moment, but could not remember. I signed for the package told him good-bye and God Bless then returned to class.

Later that evening I checked my phone and saw a voicemail. It was from Bill. “Sister? I wanted to ask you to pray for my daughter. Her name is Megan. She has been having some really bad headaches lately. I know God listens to your prayers, so I thought I would ask. Could you mention it to your Sisters too? Thanks and God Bless you Sister.” 

I was shocked this man would ask me this after a less than a 10 minute conversation. I reflected on this encounter that evening and mentioned it to some of the Sisters I live with. They reminded me that it is not what you do or say, but the fact you represent something much larger than yourself. I later found this quote from Paul to the Thessalonians. “The Lord’s message rang out from you not only in Macedonia and Achaia— your faith in God has become known everywhere. Therefore we do not need to say anything about it…” (1 Thessalonians 1:8)

When I began considering religious life, one of the thoughts that kept coming back to me was I wanted to be part of something larger than me. I am always amazed and proud at community gatherings and when we receive letters from our superiors in Paris and Rome when I hear about all the great work that is being done for our brothers and sisters living in poverty all around the world. It’s beautiful to know that somewhere in the world there are women who like me are given to God, living in community, and serving those living in poverty.

(Sr Meg also wrote a post on Sr Denise's blog about why she wanted to be a Daughter of Charity - check it out here!)

O God, Send Us Fools: A Prayer for Vocations

Just yesterday I re-discovered this prayer as I searched for vocation-related material to put in the church bulletin. I believe it speaks to religious vocations - I find it especially great for the Daughters of Charity who dedicate themselves to the poor. A prayer we Catholics need to pray, that more young people may hear the call to religious life or priesthood. But also for, in general, disciples of Jesus, a prayer that can be used by any Christian, irregardless of denomination.

O God, send us fools,

who offer themselves wholly,

who let go,

who love without words,

who give themselves truly and to the end.

We need fools, 

the unreasonable,

the passionate,

who can leap into insecurity,

into the ever yawning gulf of poverty.

We need fools for now,

enchanted by the simple life,

loving peace,

cleansed of compromise,

firm against betrayal,

heedless of their own lives,

ready to undertake anything,

or go anywhere:

at the same time obedient,

spontaneous and decided,

gentle and strong.

O God, send us fools. 

- Father Louis Joseph Lebret

Vincentian Quote of the Week: St Vincent & Prayer

Prayer rejuvenates the soul far more truly than the fountains of youth the philosophers speak of rejuvenate the body. . . . In prayer your soul grows quite vigorous; in prayer, it recovers the vision it lost; ears formerly deaf to the voice of God are open to holy inspirations, and the heart receives new strength, is animated with a courage it never felt before. . . . it is a fountain of youth. (St. Vincent de Paul)

Community Living: A Wonderful Mess

While on the beach recently, I read a book called "New Monasticism" by Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove. It was an easy and quick read, yet it seemed like almost every page led me to reflect. "New Monasticism" is essentially a ecumenical movement to revive monasticism in a modern context - that is, without deserting the world, without vows, and without habits. It's an interesting and really, wonderful, concept. And to me, it's especially exciting to see Protestants rediscover the wonderfulness that is community life. I feel like it's something us Catholics have known and used for centuries, although it's constantly been reformed to fit with the times (and to fix issues), through women and men religious communities. Thousands of Catholic religious communities exist, with different charisms, for men and women who have the wish to live a religious life with others. And some, like the Daughters, have existed for hundreds of years. But, to many Protestants, the concept is something new, or rather better fitting: "so old it seems new". Now, ecumenical communities such as Rutba House and A Simple Way exist in large cities, where Christians of all denominations live together, pray together and live a modern monastic life together.

Unlike some entering religious life, I've already lived in community. I, more or less, have been for the past 8 years. Not in a "new monastic" community but in different ways. From living with suitemates in college to living with ten Sisters in the convent to living with fifty elementary to high school girls (sixteen of which in the same room). I've had the lucky chance of experiencing community life.

But community life isn't all "smiles and sunshine", just as religious life isn't "daisies and Jesus". You live with people you don't necessarily get along with (we are human, after all) or maybe you live with people you do like but don't like to live with, for one reason or another. Community life isn't easy. Sometimes it can be downright frustrating. It's a tug-and-pull of having patience through prayer, learning more about yourself and helping others and yourself become better people.

But that sounds incredibly secular. And religious community life is anything but. Living in community challenges you to become a better Christian, as you learn to let go of yourself, your wants, and your needs and put your Christian community above all else. It's certainly not an easy thing, but we can all agree it's worth it. Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote "The more genuine and deeper our community becomes, the more will everything else between us recede, the more clearly and purely will Jesus Christ and his work become the one and only thing that is vital between us." (Life Together, 26). We must remember the real reason we're together in the first place - for Jesus. And from my personal experience, simply by being together in prayer, our community life deepens. With the Sisters in the convent and with the girls in the orphanage, both in Bolivia, we prayed together. I've done the same with the Daughters, the many times I lived with them during short visits. Many times, I looked around and saw my fellow community members in prayer. I mean, really saw them. I saw their brokenness by living with them (and I saw mine too, by the way) but by watching them pray, I saw their faith and their trust in a loving God. By saying the same words along with them, I felt more united with them in prayer than I would simply by living with them.

Community life isn't for everyone. But I can say, from experience, it is for me. During those eight years, for a short time, I lived by myself. I originally thought it would be great to be on my own, to do what I wanted instead of worrying about the common good for the community. I hated it. I missed the support of those same people that drove me crazy sometimes. I missed constantly learning about faith and about myself from them. I missed the accountability of doing the right thing - outside community, I could do what I wanted without someone there to be affected by my actions, whether they were right or wrong. I missed the connection I felt with others in prayer. My sadness over lacking community life is one of the things that led me back to religious life.

For those already living in community life, what do you love about it? What in community life challenges you?

Be Still and Know...

I just came back from an amazing week-long visit in Macon, GA, which will be my new community for the next year. I couldn't have picked a more perfect place for me to start formation with the Daughters of Charity. It was if the Sisters on the Council looked into my soul and knew exactly what I was looking for - a chance to live completely among with the poor, a mix of different ministries, and a house with a rich history (St. Katherine Drexel stayed in my house!)

At one point during the week, my Sister Servant (that is, the superior of the house) and I were talking. I'll be a very busy pre-postulant, working four days in the school and one day in Hispanic ministry and probably doing odd things on the weekends. But my Sister Servant emphasized having time at the house to relax outside of my jobs. I agreed, saying that "yeah, I would need time to do lesson plans and grade".

And she said "and you need that time to reflect and discern"

Oh yeah.

Personally, I'm a person that loves being busy. I love it when my calendar is full. And between thinking about teaching Spanish and religion and working in Hispanic ministry, I had forgotten that I needed time to just sit still. Just time to sit with God and put my whole life before Him. Just time to listen to what He has to say.

(Drawing from
St. Vincent de Paul Image Archive)

The Daughters of Charity are obviously all about the apostolic works - hence the name and all. But St. Vincent emphasized that just as much as we are daughters of Charity, we must be daughters of prayer. While the Daughters were the first successful religious community to live and work outside the cloister (others tried but either eventually grew cloistered or disbanded), they were founded with a very strict prayer schedule set by our two founders, St Vincent de Paul and St. Louise de Marillac. Today, the Daughters have morning meditation, Lauds, Vespers, evening meditation as well as the Rosary privately. And of course, while other religious communities have a specific devotion, the Daughters of Charity have the (daily) Mass - the most important part of their day.

St. Vincent de Paul gave a numerous amount of Conferences to the first Sisters, which amazingly has been preserved to this day. In those Conferences, he says "always do what you can so that, prayer being your first occupation, your mind may be filled with God for the rest of the day." (v.1, p28-29) And Mother Suzanne Guillemin, Superioress General during Vatican II, wrote "work and prayer, that is our unique spirituality, the spirituality of full life."

All I can hope, as I start prepostulancy, is to follow in the steps of the founders and Sisters - learning how to be a daughter of Charity, but foremost being a daughter of prayer...a daughter that knows how to be still every one in awhile.