Image from BreneBrown.com,
quote from "Rising Strong" by Brene Brown

William Bridges, who I read numerous times as a Sister, calls it the "neutral zone". Brene Brown calls it "the middle", "the rumble", "act two".
Either way, it's messy.
And it's been a messy two (almost three) years.

I traveled to St Louis and was able to re-connect and heal in a way I wouldn't have otherwise (see previous entry). I entered and subsequently exited my first romantic relationship last summer. I am one year closer towards completing my Master's of Social Work (many more semesters to go) and made new friends because of it.

It's been messy because I've doubted myself in so many different ways, because I've been afraid to tell my story...and because, as I found out most recently, I'm still discovering who I am.

This past semester was a hard one. I was crazy stressed because I was promoted into a much more demanding job. One of my classes had piles of readings, podcasts, or videos every week. And well, just in general, there's a reason that my program is ranked nationally and is #5 in Texas. I've never worked so hard academically in my life.

So, because the semester was so stressful, I needed to give myself a reward to look forward to. So, I booked a surprise vacation through Pack Up + Go. I'd go the weekend after the semester ended and two weeks before the summer semester started.

I booked it and then forgot about it. I was too wrapped up in work and all the papers I had to do. When everything was said and done and my vacation approached, I began to share with my friends. Their reaction was surprising:

"By yourself? I never imagined you'd be the type of person to do that, but good for you!"

"I never thought you'd do that but I guess I should have figured it out based on you living in Bolivia and all"

It surprised me because adventures (by myself) is a huge part of who I am.
Or at least, I thought it was.
But then I realized so much of my solo adventuring was in the past - choosing to attend schools where I knew no one, traveling to foreign countries by myself, making daring choices. All before I joined the Sisters.

That's the thing with the messy middle. You're still figuring it out. What's changed, what's stayed the same. What your vocation may be. Taking steps towards vulnerability, that those little steps of courage lead to even bigger leaps.

I struggled with shame for not working hard enough or good enough in my new promotion and pushed myself to work through the stress.
I struggled with shame over feeling pressured to be in a romantic relationship.
I even struggled with shame over my own story and felt compelled to hide it at all costs.

But something happened.

I started to let go.

I stepped down from my promotion. I now work in a lower position, both in terms of the totem pole and in stress. But I'm more peaceful.
I stopped listening to other people and realized I am much more than a potential girlfriend or wife.
I started sharing my story. In fact, most of my classmates know that I was a Sister and it's led to beautiful conversations and connections.

And I started solo-adventuring again. My first solo adventure since I joined the Sisters back in 2011 and/or left in 2016. (Pack Up + Go sent me to Denver, by the way.) Solo-adventuring was just as amazing as I remembered it being.
And I re-discovered that part of me that loves new adventures; I returned energized and refreshed as if I had woken up from a long sleep.

The middle is messy, but it pays to let go.
It pays to be courageous.

As Margaret (Molly) Brown, a great woman I learned about on my trip to Denver, said "I am a daughter of adventure. This means I never experience a dull moment and must be prepared for any eventuality . . . That's my arc. It's a good one, too, for a person who had rather make a snap-out than a fade-out of life."

Be brave. Don't be afraid of the middle.

A Public Apology

If you're a Sister I ever lived or worked with or got close to, a former co-worker in a state far away, maybe a Sister or priest from another community who knew me through mutual friends or by sitting in the same pew at church, this blog entry is for you.
If you're not any of those people, well, feel free to read anyway and please learn from me.

Someone recently asked me "If you could go back in time to right before you left and tell yourself one thing, what would it be?"

I had never thought about that question before, really. But, to my surprise, the answer easily slipped off my tongue - "I would tell myself to share with more people that I was struggling, to share with more people that I was leaving."

I had been with the community for five years, both in initial formation and as a Sister. I had thought about leaving various times during those years but shared that struggle with less than a handful of people. The truth was, although I had seen some Sisters come and go in the community, I felt ashamed for even thinking about leaving. So, I kept it a secret.

When I finally decided to leave, I was at peace with my decision, but telling all those Sisters I had grown close to - I had lived in five different houses, lived or worked with over 30 different Sisters, and had grown to love even more - was daunting.

...so, I didn't.
Besides my local community and the Council, I called maybe two or three and talked face-to-face with about that same number.

And then I just stopped...even though so many more people were on the list.
Maybe you never received that call. Maybe you never got that face-to-face conversation. But your name was probably on my list.
The list I abandoned because I let fear win.

It wasn't that the Sisters I told reacted with anger or distress. In fact, almost all of them reacted with love and compassion, despite the sadness they felt. It was that, even though I knew I was making the right decision and I felt peace in that, I was ashamed that I was letting you and all those Sisters - my family - down.

So, instead of trusting in God, instead of trusting in you, Sister that I loved and loved me, I gave into shame.

You, Sister I loved, found out I was leaving not through me, but through a letter sent out the day I left. Because I now live in my small corner of San Antonio, because I no longer work with and next door to the Sisters, because my visits home are often quick, I probably haven't seen you since.

I had to grieve when I left the Daughters. But the biggest difference is that I knew the grief was coming. I knew this decision was made; I knew I was moving out on October 1st, 2016 and had started to make preparations beforehand.
Unless you were one of the lucky ones that got that phone call before I gave up on my list, it hit you like an unexpected death on October 1st, 2016.

Maybe you gasped when you saw the letter but were able to shrug it off in a few days, thinking "Well, that's how it goes. That's discernment for you."
Maybe you looked in shock, a million scenarios running through your head, wondering what happened.
Maybe you aren't a Daughter of Charity at all and found out through my Facebook update.

Maybe you wrote or called right after I left and I didn't answer. That time, it was grief I let win. In the beginning, if I received emails or letters from Daughters or others, I left them unopened because I just couldn't bear to see what was inside, much less your name. I thought I didn't have the strength.
Maybe you didn't write, you didn't call because you didn't know what to say.
Maybe now, a year and a half later, you still don't know what you would say.

And maybe I left you with a broken heart.

I'm not so egotistical that I believe you must be crying over me still, thinking about me every minute. Maybe you don't even think about me anymore. Life has moved on. So much has happened since that October day - maybe you've moved, maybe you've changed ministries, maybe you've had some big life events that I've missed.

Nevertheless, I do know I hurt people. I hurt people I love, probably including you.

And for that, I'm sorry. Words cannot express how sorry I am for the pain I've caused. It's heartbreaking for me to know that I've hurt you, but I know it was even more hurtful for you to read that letter or that Facebook status and to feel tossed aside and unimportant when you thought you were such an important part of my life (and no, you didn't imagine that, you were an important part).

I don't regret leaving the Sisters, but I do regret hurting you. More than anything in the world, I regret hurting you.

Despite not seeing or hearing from you for so long, you still are such an important part of my life. The memories we've created together, the conversations we've had, have shaped who I am, even as a laywoman. They have shaped my faith; they have shaped my work with the poor, and they will shape my future.

I wish I could find every single one of you, people that I loved - Sisters or otherwise - and apologize to you face-to-face but you're spread out all over the country. So, until I get the chance, this will have to do. It's only a beginning, but I hope it means something.

Love,
Amanda

The Haunting of an Awkward Question

The conversation shouldn't have been an awkward one. That is, if I were normal, if I were like any 32 year old.
But I'm not, so instead, it turned awkward and I wanted to crawl under a rock.

How I felt during this conversation

I'm new to my work and we were all sharing details of our lives in the office, so an intern innocently asked: "So, Amanda, do you have any kids?"
"Nope."
"You married?"
"Nope."
"But you're 32...do you just not want to get married?"

Oh, God.
I will admit that I brushed this off as the intern being a young college student and not having learned the prudence I learned was taught in religious life.

"It's not that." Pause. All right, I need to give more details here or they're just going to fill in the blanks. "Okay, so I was a nun and left just a year ago."

After the initial "WHAT?!?!" and "WHOA!", she paused and said "But it's been a year already. You're not married or anything. What have you been doing with your life?"

I know she asked this innocently (once again, young college student), but I was taken back. I mumbled something about things don't happen that fast and I changed the subject. But I couldn't get the question out of mind:

"But it's been a year already. What have you been doing with your life?"

What have I been doing with my life? Have I been doing anything with my life?
I feared the answer was "nothing".

I am no closer to finding out my vocation in life, no closer to marrying anyone (or even going out with anyone), certainly no closer to having kids.
I am closer to starting graduate school for my MSW...and by closer, I mean I've filled out most of the application. So really, not that close.
I am no closer to any kind of promotion or salary increase. I switched jobs twice this year and I'm now in a job I like, but one that won't be my permanent career.
Everything has remained the same since the day I left - same apartment, same car, even the same friends.

Maybe it's true, maybe I haven't done anything in a year.

I won't deny it; I sulked around with those truths for a few weeks, even through Christmas. I had a year and I did nothing. I felt as if I had failed myself, failed God who had this great plan for me, and, in a way, even failed those who supported me leaving the community. I wallowed in shame.

Life with the Daughters was so packed with ministry, prayer, meetings, conferences, etc. Every moment was filled with purpose. Now that I was by myself...was I just wasting my life because I didn't have a "purpose" of being a wife or mother?

But, as I let myself reflect on it, I realized that while I may not have done the logical "next steps" or what the world would expect of me, there were some accomplishments this past year:

I am no closer to finding out my vocation in life, but I started writing again and am deeply in love with its pains and joys.
I am no closer to finding out my vocation in life, but I've gained some self-confidence, which can only aid in the search.
I am no closer to my MSW as of right now, but I have learned many lessons in ethics, motivational interviewing, etc by experience.
I am no closer to any kind of promotion or salary increase, but I'm happy in my job and isn't that what counts?
Everything has remained the same since the day I left, but I have gained some great friends from church that I didn't have a year ago that I wouldn't trade for anything.
Everything has remained the same since the day I left, but I've grieved my past and kept walking ahead.

I pray that, if that question comes up again, I can say with confidence: "Actually, I did a lot."

Can I Royally Screw Up God's Plan?

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.)

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 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.

Bloom Where You Are Planted

"You do not need to know precisely what is happening, or exactly where it is all going. What you need is to recognize the possibilities and challenges offered by the present moment, and to embrace them with courage, faith and hope." - Thomas Merton

When you lose traditions, you have to create new ones. 

One of my newest traditions is buying a cheap bouquet of colorful flowers when I go to the grocery store. I bring the flowers back to my apartment, cut the stems down, put them in a pink plastic cup and place them on my dining room table. 

Some days, the flowers are as simple as something to cheer me up when I get home.

Other days, the flowers remind me of life. Of blooming.

I've heard the saying "bloom where you are planted" plenty times, but I've never given it much thought. I've never really planted myself anywhere, moving from place to place even before I ever joined the Daughters, never staying anywhere more than two years. I prided myself on being a Vincentian nomad.

But now...now life is different. When I left the Daughters, I decided to stay in San Antonio, where I was already missioned. Part of it was because I love my ministry here. Yet, another reason I stayed was to actually plant myself somewhere. To my surprise, I was getting tired of the nomad life.

And now that I'm actually planted, it's time to bloom. Just my flowers in the water.

But blooming isn't instantaneous. Or easy.

Sometimes blooming feels like you're just running in place.

Sometimes blooming feels like a jump of joy.

Sometimes blooming feels like a Rubik's Cube of frustration, either with yourself or others.

Yet, either way, it's happening. I know it's happening. 

Four years later...

Four years have passed and now many of my friends have no idea this blog even existed. It wasn't until yesterday when a national publication contacted me about one of the blog entries that I started sharing its existence.

One friend asked "Why don't you write in it again?"
I hesitated, sighing.

She continued "Well, why not? Why not share the rest of your story?"

All the way home, I thought about it, wrestling with the thought. But she was right - this was my story...although it might change my blog audience.

So, here's the rest of the story.  

In October 2016, three months ago, I left the Daughters of Charity. I realized that it just wasn't "me" anymore and that I couldn't imagine myself living this way for the rest of my life.

I had been on mission in San Antonio for almost two years.

I had been with the Daughters for over five years in total.
"Sister Amanda" became just "Amanda" again.

This blog is no longer a woman in discernment with a religious community.

This blog is now a woman who's going after adventures, seeking courage and climbing mountains.

Stay tuned.

But How Do You Feel About It?

Among other things that St Joseph's holds, including the Basilica and National Shrine of St Elizabeth Ann Seton, is the Villa, one of our retirement facilities. Over the past two years, there has been one particular Sister that I've visited many times, in fact every time I went to Emmitsburg. She is quite a whip for being in her 90s. We'd sit for hours and have conversations about the Baltimore Orioles, joke about new souvenirs for the shrine (including a St Elizabeth Ann Seton bobblehead), share our stories and, of course, she would share her wisdom about vocation. She even met my family when we once traveled to Emmitsburg together.

And two days ago, when I knocked on her door, she answered with a great smile. "You sent me a Christmas card, didn't you?" I beamed - "yes, I did". "Oh, I've been meaning to write you back". I sort of chuckled to myself because I know what a bad corespondent she was. As I entered her room and got closer to her, she clasped my hand and said "Now we've met before, right?" I didn't show it but my heart sank. Instead, I squeezed her hand and said "Yes, Sister, many times"

A stained glass in the Basilica
depicting Srs performing the
Corporal Acts of Mercy

The question is.....why would a healthy 20-something join a community like this, a community where the average age is in the 70s, a community where she may soon see Sisters she knows and loves forget who she is?
Why not join a community where the average age is in their 30s or even maybe 40s?

It's a question many Catholics still ask about new vocations to so-called "dying communities".
To clear up things, first, the Daughters of Charity are not a "dying community". New vocations have been in smaller groups, but they've remained consistent and ongoing. For the past decades, our Seminary (novitiate) has never remained empty for more than a few months.
Second, even for other communities...using the phrase "dying community" (in my opinion) is insulting to these women who have dedicated their lives to God.

I've already talked about how God is still calling to all types of communities. That's the big picture.

Yet, discerners and others alike have asked me "well, yeah,....but how do you feel about it?"

Is it hard living with Sisters that are generations older? Well, yeah....sometimes. Cultures are different, likes/dislikes are different, experiences are different, etc. But most of the time - and this is the truth - I don't even notice the age gap anymore.

Yet, even beyond that, I believe there is a great advantage we have, compared to communities with younger average ages (though they are obviously wonderful too)

What possible advantage could be that, you ask? What possible good thing could come from having more Sisters that are older instead of younger?
For me, it's been an advantage that's carried me through the rough times and an advantage that has led me to smile as I travel on this journey.
It's been the wisdom of our older Sisters.

I've heard wisdom from our Villa Sisters (and those still active) that come from their own experience. Most of the Daughters of Charity who recently celebrated 50 years as a Sister are still in ministry, including one I live with. Another Sister I lived with in Macon celebrated 60 years last year. And believe it or not, but we actually have some who have been a Daughter of Charity for 80 years. They've lived through the changes of Vatican II (and maybe even got frustrated over how fast or how slow the changes were moving). They lived through times of crisis in the country. And, more personally, they've lived through periods of spiritual darkness, periods of incredible joy and maybe even crises of vocation.

They have wisdom that those of us who are younger - whether that be much younger or just a few decades younger - are still figuring out. While there is something to say about learning things ourselves, there is something deeply reassuring about receiving that wisdom, even if we may not quite fully "get it" at the time.

One Sister in the Villa had recently moved to Emmitsburg from St Louis, so I met her for the first time. When she heard I was soon to be a Seminary Sister, she clasped my hand and said with a smile "There are tough times, but it's all worth it - every moment"

Could a Sister in their 40s or 50s have told me the same thing? Sure. Yet, it meant something different coming from a woman who had dedicated the majority of her life to God and lived through so much as a Sister.

So, how do I feel about being a 20-something in an older community?

Blessed.

Blessed to have great inspiration surrounding me, to have the opportunity to meet and know amazing servants of the poor, to have my name on the lips of those Sisters as they pray for these younger Sisters, and to hear wisdom that will carry me through the joys and trials of religious life.

Will I continue to pray and work to encourage new vocations so the average age gets younger? Absolutely. But meanwhile, I will thank God for those Sisters who served before me and paved the way...even those who no longer recognize me.

(This post is dedicated to Sister Regina, a Sister that passed away while I was staying in Emmitsburg a few days ago. I didn't know her personally but she was in her 90s and active until the very last day. This is for her and all the wisdom she surely passed on through the years....)

Seminary: Accepting the Seemingly Unbelievable

Almost a year ago to the day, I was accepted for postulancy.
About six months before that, I was accepted for pre-postulancy.

Those were all pretty big steps, or at least in my eyes.

My road of discernment in 2003 as a senior in high school. And now the moment I fantasied about during those good times of discernment and the moment I thought was inconceivable during the rough times is here.

I've been accepted to Seminary. Since we are a Society of Apostolic Life, we actually become a Daughter of Charity at a ceremony called Incorporation as we enter the Seminary, instead of at first vows like many other religious communities. Our vows, which we renew every year, are taken for the first time many years later.

Soon I will be joining the history of the Daughters of Charity that has spanned for almost four centuries (so beautifully illustrated by the image to the right)

In January, I will stop being "Amanda the postulant" and start being "Sister Amanda, DC"

In January, I will become a Daughter of Charity.

In January, the tagline of this blog will turn into "a journey of a Daughter of Charity Seminary Sister".

After nine years of searching, nine years of journeying over two continents, I'm here.

While it was a great joy to know I was accepted, I'm still left in a state of disbelief.

It still hasn't hit me yet that, in a month exactly, I will be a Daughter of Charity.

It's just......God is crazy, but very very good.

My Incorporation will be January 20th. Please pray for me and my fellow postulant Whitney as we become Daughters of Charity and begin our 18 months of study and prayer at the Seminary!

Five years ago today....: Divine Providence Alone at Work

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 Love of Jesus Sees into the Future: Mother Theresa and Me

On a large spiral staircase made of slate, between the third and fourth floors, sits a larger-than-life painting of a nun. She stares straight ahead into the eyes of the viewer. Two school girls stand at either side of her, looking up in apparent admiration.

When I first saw this painting at the Institute of Notre Dame, I had no idea who she was. She was just a two-dimensional woman I passed on my way on my way to religion class. A meek freshman coming from public school, I had only recently met a Sister. And I certainly hadn't seen a painting of one quite so large before.

Turns out I was walking not so far from where this nun herself walked. Somewhere, underneath of the building next door, where the original school sat, was evidence of her footsteps.

Her name was Mother Theresa Gerhardinger. And those were probably some tired footsteps.

She was then in her fifties, the hair under her wimple and veil probably fading into gray. Her life journey hadn't been an easy one and perhaps her body already reflected that. During her childhood, the Napoleonic Wars had unfolded before her. Her beloved Catholicism faded away from Bavarian society - monasteries, convents and even schools (including her own) closed, property and possessions stolen from churches. She saw people formerly friends begin to hate each other. This led her, with the help of a friend priest, found the School Sisters of Notre Dame some years later. It wasn't an easy task - her friend priest died, the local people resisted her and she didn't have any money. But somehow, by the grace of God, she did it. And now she had gone along to bring the Sisters to the United States, leaving behind comfortable Germany and stepping into a new culture, a new language and a new need. After some other failed projects, the Institute of Notre Dame was founded as a boarding school for German immigrant girls.

Mother Theresa didn't stay for long, leaving for the German motherhouse soon after. It's more likely that a majority of those footsteps around the original school were her Sisters, bustling around to teach all different grades, to wake up the girls and feed them, to be there for emotional and spiritual comfort.

Although Mother Theresa physically may have left the school, her legacy never did. In those first years and years to come, American vocations from the school would pour into her new community. But then, more recently, as with most Catholic schools in the United States, the number of vocations from the school, either to the SSNDs or any other religious community, dwindled away to almost nothing. But yet, decade after decade, Mother Theresa was still there all the same, smiling over those girls who grew from timid freshmen to seniors ready to go out and change the world. She watched them come and go, and then watched as their daughters, and then granddaughters and even great granddaughters walked those same steps. I was one of them.

Students and alumnae agree that there is some sort of spirit in that school. God knows there's enough ghost stories set in the 160 year old building, but it's something deeper than that. It's a spirit of love and understanding motivated by deep faith in Jesus Christ. A spirit that I believe stems from the spirit of Mother Theresa Gerhardinger. Something occurred to me in high school, something I now attribute to the spirit of the school and her - a religious awakening, a metanoia, I don't know what to call it - but one day, in junior year, the idea popped in my head "maybe I'll become a nun". The thought terrified me. But every day, walking those slate steps to and from classes, I passed a painted nun with a tender face that told me "Look, this is what your life could be..." I mostly tried to ignore it, but other times it led me to deep interior reflection.

Now, I know that Mother Theresa was there, watching over and praying for me during those discernment years in high school. In her day, she was one passionate about religious vocations, often quoting the parable about the workers in the vineyard in her letters. Although I never knew much more about her in high school than a few of her words and brief biographical facts, she taught me that, if you have a burning desire in your heart, even if it means much sacrifice, even if that means giving up marriage, being misunderstood, or traveling to a different country, you can change the world.

She essentially said this same message to her Sisters before she left for the United States, telling them "Dear Sisters, why do we submit to religious obedience and not let our own will prevail? Why do we renounce property and love of earthly goods and voluntarily live poverty? Why do we remain celibate and separated from the world? Why should we unceasingly try to sanctify ourselves? Is it not that, being free from the cares of this life, we can better meet the needs of the dear children as spiritual mothers who meet our Savior in them?" 

A few weeks ago, I returned to the Institute of Notre Dame, my old high school, and talked to juniors about immigration and also about my own calling. I had an absolutely wonderful time and it took me back to my own days in high school. I once again passed by that painting of Mother Theresa Gerhardinger and reflected on everything she meant to me. And although she may be a bit disappointed I didn't join the School Sisters of Notre Dame and went to the Daughters of Charity instead, I really don't think she minds. She told her Sisters, also before her trip to the United States, "the reign of God will be extended when many virtuous, devout, obedient, and diligent young women go forth from our schools and to their families. This is our daily prayer" And I pray that I may be one of those young women from her schools that extends the reign of God.

And just as Mother Theresa Gerhardinger has done for more than a century, from her permanent place in heaven and from the wall on the slate stairs, she continues to watch over and pray for all those girls that pass through the halls of the Institute of Notre Dame....and I like to think perhaps most especially those girls silently discerning religious life in their hearts as I was. And it is by her prayers and spirit that, 133 years after her death, she continues to change the world.

(This next Saturday, Blessed Mother Theresa Gerhardinger will celebrate 27 years of being beatified in the Catholic Church. Let us pray for her canonization!)

Letter Writing: A Long Lost Ministry of Words

Nobody uses snail mail anymore. That's a generally accepted fact here in the United States and probably around the world. USPS is declining in business, we get more than a handful of emails a day but all the snail mail we get is junk mail, and we're more likely to send birthday cards with just a signature and some cash rather than a letter of more than two sentences.

It's true for almost everybody. That is, except me.

Here I sit, in south Texas, writing letter after letter. I've must have sent out more than twenty letters since I've gotten here. Is it a desperate attempt to keep in touch with others, now that I'm thousands of miles away but still in the same country? Maybe. Is it because I love to write? Maybe.

Dorothy Day wrote “Writing is an act of community...
 It is part of our human association with each other.
It is an expression of our love and concern for each other.”

But there's something else about it. When I pick out the perfect card to write in for this specific friend (it's a process - I don't pick just any card), when I put the pen (black, never blue) in my hand to begin to write, something happens. It's more than just me asking how they've been, giving updates on myself, etc. With each sentence I write, I think more about the person and subsequently pray for them. It makes me feel a spiritual connection with them despite the distance, and in some cases, despite the fact we haven't seen each other in a year or more. My letter actually becomes a form of prayer.

I don't write anything profound in the letters - they're really fluff compared to the letters of St Paul, St Therese, Dorothy Day, Henri Nouwen or Ita Ford (all of which I've read and loved) - yet I find it an extension of my prayer life. It makes me think outside of me and my own little world, outside of my local community, outside of my ministry in Brownsville, outside Texas and even outside the country. It increases my gratitude for all that I've experienced and all the people I've encountered in my life.

Outside of the benefits to my own life, it's also my own way of showing love (and such, showing God's love). When I send a letter, I send it with the hope that it brings a smile to someone's face and lets them know that someone cares. Someone cares enough to console them, to congratulate them, to encourage them or even to simply say hello from miles away. And when someone cares, it's a sign that God cares. Letter writing allows me to a be a daughter of charity from miles away, states away, even countries away.

It's a long lost ministry. Not many even think of it any more. But slowly, I've realized that writing is part of my vocation, its own separate type of ministry. And the wonderful thing about that (and also maybe the demanding) is that it comes in many different forms - journal entries, blog posting, letter writing. And as long as I continue to listen to this voice compelling me to write, the long lost ministry of letter writing won't die (and USPS and greeting card companies will continue to love me because of my business)

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.

The Contradiction of Vocation: Choosing to Stay

Tomorrow, a young woman is about to step into a plane, heading back to Bolivia. She'll return to the orphaned, abused, or abandoned girls she loves, to the little town of cows and cobblestone streets, to a language of indigenous vocabulary, to a city of snow-capped mountains, and to a climate of sweatshirts and scarves in mid-August.

Amber with some of the girls of
Hogar Maria Auxiliadora, July 2010

Her name is Amber (here is her blog). She arrived in Bolivia soon after I left and she's returning to spend yet another year there - her fourth year, to be exact. I don't know Amber extremely well. As I said before, we just missed each other when it comes to arrivals and departures. I met her when I came to visit a year after I left and we've communicated occasionally through Facebook, letters and Skype. But I know her well enough to admire her. Recently, during her time helping out with the orientation of the Salesian Lay Missioners this summer, we were able to have a conversation over Skype.


She said something that I immediately wrote down and knew that I had to write a blog entry about it.

"It's definitely a hard thing for people to understand. Mission work or religious life. We have extremely low and challenging moments, but it's something we freely choose anyway and then have the audacity to claim it's our source of joy and fulfillment. That's something that only God's wisdom can explain."

Mission life is not without its difficulties, and neither is religious life. Ask any missioner, ask any Sister, ask any priest or brother.

The mystery is that we stay. Not only that we stay, but that we choose to stay.
We, in religious life, stay despite the fact that the majority are older than us.
They, in mission life, stay despite the stress of new language, of new culture, and sometimes the stress of more work than can possibly be handled.

As everything within us begins to run away, it is God pulling our sleeve, and pulling us back to stay. And every time we encounter a difficulty - whether it be loneliness or overwork - if it is His will, He pulls us back even more.

The mystery is that as the pull becomes stronger, somehow we become happier. We find that He is not actually pulling us to stay, rather He is pulling us closer to Him. We find that it is in the life we live, frustrations and all, that we are most fulfilled. It is contradictory to those that don't understand. It may even seem contradictory to ourselves, yet we know this is what makes our soul come alive, this is what sets our hearts on fire and, most importantly, this is where we most experience God...despite the times we feel lonely, despite the times we yearn for a little time to ourselves, despite the times we are frustrated with our work, despite the misunderstandings, despite the times we look at our suitcases and wonder.

Amber is right. Only God's wisdom can explain it. But it is vocation - it is that same pull that led Moses to keep going on the way to the Promised Land, that led Joseph to stay with Mary despite her pregnancy, that led Simon Peter to not run away during Jesus' trial (despite the denials), that led Paul to continue his work despite the persecutions. It is a pull that has spanned the centuries...yet also a pull that is unique to each and every one of us.

A Cheat-Sheet for Discerners of Religious Life

I don't know about you but I loved that time in junior/senior year of high school when colleges began to "recruit". Why? Because that meant lots of mail from different colleges, which meant, for me, lots of anticipation and excitement for the future. As I flipped through the pages of their brochures and magazines, I tried to imagine myself there. And there were so many choices, so many places to imagine. But the number of choices were also overwhelming at times. So overwhelming that, in fact, I applied to five different colleges - not making a final decision until shortly before graduation.

Discerning religious life can be a lot like that. Sometimes it seems that there are just as many religious communities as there are colleges. Each one has its special quality, each one has something that makes it different than the others, each one attracts someone in its own way. And just like a college, not every single religious community is for you. And unless you live in Catholictown, USA (hint: it doesn't exist), there is no way for you to encounter every single community out there. And sometimes you have no idea what you're even looking for.

Because of that, when you're discerning, the Internet can be your best friend. 

And so can something called Vision Vocation Guide, who just came out with their new 2013 issue. (no, they didn't pay me to say that) Because, unlike those mailings by individual colleges, Vision sends you a "catalog" of all religious communities in the United States - both mens and womens (there are also some great articles in there, like one called Why Catholics Care About People Living in Poverty from a fellow Sister blogger (Musings of a Discerning Woman). If you're afraid to get it sent to your house (...and I totally get that), there's also a digital version available. And be not afraid - you won't be contacted by any religious community unless you contact them first.

Each listing of a religious community includes a small description of their mission, ministry, etc and contact information in case you do decide to take the leap (...and yes, I do know it is a leap!) Afraid to take the leap and contact the vocations director, yet there's still something gnawing at you about that community? Investigate. Go to their website. See if they have a blog or two. (Shameless plug: some Daughter of Charity/Vincentian blogs are on the sidebar of this blog, as is the website) Check out their Facebook page or Twitter account.

So, don't feel overwhelmed. Breathe. 

Think about what it is that attracts you in a community - do I want to live in a monastery? do I want to teach? do I want to serve the poor? do I want a small community or a large one? do I want a habit? etc (and there are many more!) - and go from there. If religious life truly is your calling, you'll find the religious community where God wills you to be. But it's up to you to take the first step. 

You may even realize that the answers to those initial attractions may change with time, as they did with me. After all, at first, I wanted a non-habited American community with a focus on foreign mission. And now here I am, in a habited French community with a mission on serving the poor wherever they may be found. The journey changed but it was taking those first steps that led me here.

Be curious. Investigate. Create that first footprint. Be not afraid!

(On another note, speaking of "catalogs", the Response Directory, created by Catholic Volunteer Network, is a great way to find Catholic volunteer service opportunities. I used it to find VIDES+USA, which led me to Bolivia!)

Our Treasure: What Sets Our Hearts on Fire

This morning, Jesus tells us "where your treasure is, there also will your heart be". I smiled as I stood in the pew at Mass because, in these past few days, I've completely understood exactly what Jesus was saying.

Sunday, I arrived to Harlingen, Texas to my new mission. Sister Elizabeth, a Sister I lived with in Macon, and I drove twenty hours, with a stop in New Orleans, to get here. I now work at Proyecto Juan Diego in the nearby city of Brownsville. It's hard to describe what exactly PJD is - a community center would be the best description. There are summer camps, exercise programs, citizenship and ESL classes, health education, tutoring, etc.

As Daughters of Charity, our treasure here on earth is the poor. Our heart is where the poor are. Saint Vincent de Paul and Saint Louise didn't found a religious community simply to start one - it had nothing to do with different Bible verses as charisms, a different spirituality...although those things did have a part. They founded the Daughters of Charity (and Saint Vincent - the Congregation of the Mission, our brother community) to serve the poor in a world where religious were cloistered. Nothing more, nothing less. They didn't found the community to start a revolution within the Catholic world, although other communities would soon follow their example, slowly changing the face of religious life in the Church.

It is Christ in the poor
that sets our hearts on fire
(This is the logo of the DCs)

No, it was all to serve the poor. They are our treasure. They are our reason for being. Without them, we would be nothing. They are where we find Christ - Blessed Rosalie Rendu wrote "never have I found God so much as I have in the streets". Without the poor, there would be no reason for the Daughters of Charity to exist.

Yet I also believe there is a vocation within the vocation of a Daughter of Charity. Serving the poor makes our heart come alive. My own vocation as a Daughter of Charity means that treasure that holds my heart is the poor, yes, but there is another "treasure within a treasure" that is special to me - serving the Hispanic poor. It seems like my whole life pointed me to the Hispanic poor - (now here we go with some much-deserved promotion) with my Spanish teacher at the Institute of Notre Dame who inspired me, volunteering and then later working at Education Based Latino Outreach, and then my time in Bolivia with VIDES (Salesians). God pointed my whole life so I would fall in love with them.

While I liked living in Macon, my service to Hispanics was limited. As Sr Irma drove me around the "colonia" (neighborhood) surrounding Proyecto Juan Diego, I was overcome with emotions. I felt an intense sense of belonging. I felt my heart growing in joy.

I don't mean to speak for all Daughters of Charity but, based on what I know and experienced, every one of them would say that there is some group of the poor that makes their heart come alive. It may be working with Hispanics or even other immigrants, may be the homeless, may be working with the rural poor, may be working with abandoned children, may be working with single-parent moms struggling to make ends meet, it may be the sick. While the poor are our treasure, a special piece of our heart is held by a people.

Sister Elizabeth was with us in Texas for a few days before going back home. She was able to see me at I first met the ministry of Proyecto Juan Diego. As we drove back to the house in Harlingen, we had this exact conversation. A comment she made made me laugh but only because it made so much sense. She said "I want to learn Spanish but mainly because there are Hispanics at St Peter Claver Church [the church we attend in Macon] and I want to connect with them. I don't necessarily feel a calling to be in Hispanic ministry. But give me a guy that lives under a bridge that smells of cigarettes and beer, and I'm there!"

Jesus was right (but of course He was) - if our treasure is the poor, then our heart is there as well. But only that, but later, He tells his disciples "And if the light in you is darkness, how great will the darkness be." (Matthew 6:23) If we are with our treasure, if we are where our hearts live, there will be not great darkness and the light in us will shine and shine its brightest.

(As I write this blog post, I feel more and more that this is one of the poorest posts I have ever written but only because it's so hard to put into words the passion that I feel for the Hispanic poor, it's so hard to do justice to Sr Elizabeth's love of the homeless or to any other Daughter of Charity and their love of the sick, of children, of parents, etc, yet it is something I feel compelled to share...or rather, borrowing from the Daughters of Charity motto, Christ urges me to do so.)

Let's Face the Truth

Let's just admit something straight up - Sisters are getting older. The average age of the majority of religious communities is increasing, rather than decreasing. Convents are closing, schools and hospitals are being turned over to lay leadership - there's simply not enough Sisters to go around anymore.

Recently, there's been a lot of discussion about this very topic in our Province and, while it can be distressing for someone younger, it has been very healthy to talk about it and admit to the truth.

Taken at a discernment retreat a few years ago
Meg (now Sr Meg, who just finished Seminary), Sister Liz
and Whitney, my fellow postulant

Yet I'm still here.

Yet my fellow postulant, also a twenty-something, is still here.

Yet our Seminary Sisters (novices) are still here.
Yet our younger Sisters are still here.

There's something bigger than us that's calling us, no matter the average age of the Sisters in the community. Our groups aren't as big as they were in the 1950s or 1960s but we're still coming. God is still calling.

But why? For me, a postulant still trying to figure things out, the answer is a bit complicated. The average age of the members of the first community I joined was decades younger than the Daughters of Charity. There, most of the professed Sisters were twenty-somethings, yet I didn't stay.

I was drawn to the Daughters by their Vincentian spirituality, their love for the poor, their down-to-earthness (is that a word?) and the Sisters themselves. I felt the Daughters of Charity exemplified all I wanted to be and all I already am. So I dived in and joined and I've never thought of leaving because the Sisters are older than me.

Discerners - don't be afraid to just dive in. Worry more about God's calling than the average age of a community. In the end, it doesn't matter. What matters is your joy and peace with them and their spirituality. Just follow God's call, don't worry about the rest.

Sisters - don't be ashamed of your average age. If you and your religious community are living the Gospel, young people will come. There may be less than before, but God is still calling us. And we're willing to listen to you and soak in your wisdom. Some of the best discernment advice has been from our Sisters in the retirement Villa.

Others - don't believe for a second that just because a community gets lots of young vocations, it's better. Don't get me wrong - there's nothing wrong with those communities. You can praise those communities who get lots of young vocations...but also praise those that don't. (By the way, did you know, the retention rate of postulants/novices is the same for both?) You want to encourage vocations, but by bad-mouthing the ones getting older, you're discouraging what you would actually love to see - young women following God's call.

That isn't to say that religious communities shouldn't plan accordingly (close missions, spread out Sisters, etc) because of the smaller groups of new vocations. In fact, it is very important that they do. But rather this blog post is to say don't lose hope, there are still some of us out there, maybe even more than we know.

(As a sidenote, then again, I am also speaking as a postulant of a very very large religious community all over the world. Counting the whole world, not just the US, our average age is in the 30s. Yet I know others - other twenty-somethings or thirty-somethings - that aren't part of a community like that but joined anyway.)

"What is Vocation?": A Postulant's Personal Answer....

Back in July, on the day before I was to move to Macon and become a prepostulant, I headed to a church in Baltimore to listen to a famous Catholic author speak. And I did something totally uncharacteristic of me - after he was done, I raised my hand, stood up and asked a question...in front of a very crowded church.

That author was Father James Martin SJ and the question was "what advice do you have for those entering religious life?" It was an egotistical question since I'm pretty sure no one else was joining the convent the very next day and as I asked the question, I even added that I was joining religious life the next day. A selfish decision on my part (and one that later embarrassed me) since I knew that in an audience of faithful Catholics, I'd get applause and maybe even the admiration of Fr. Jim.

Fr Jim, in his wisdom, gave me three snippets of advice. I put them in the back of my mind but soon forgot them. Since then, I've lived out eight months in the convent - six as a prepostulant, two as a postulant - and have learned so much about myself, about others, and religious life than I ever did in my six months in my former community. And today, as I was driving down the highway back to the convent, my mind was taken back to that Baltimore church and his voice told me once again those three pieces of advice.

See, in these past few months, what has been challenged is my definition of the word "vocation". I used to think of "vocation" as categories, as if God was sorting us in piles like laundry. My mom when she did our laundry always sorted them into rows and piles so maybe that's where the image comes from. I imagined "religious" in one pile, "married" in another, "single" in another, etc. And then there were piles for occupations too - teachers, nurses, social workers, etc. For the past few months, I've been trying to figure out which pile I belong to.

But eventually, I've learned vocation is a lot deeper than that and that God knows nothing of categories (in fact, He's not a big fan of them) Vocation is not linear, it's more like a tangled piece of string. Vocation is more than your marital status, vocation is more than your occupation. Vocation is a calling to be who you truly are. That means each person's vocation is different - doesn't matter if they're both Sisters or if they're both teachers. God is calling them to be different people and truly live out who they are - their faults, their gifts, their personality, what makes them laugh, what makes them cry. I know I've mentioned "everyone has their own personal vocation" on this blog before, but only recently have I "gotten it".

A lot of people have said that vocation is becoming who God wants you to be. I don't think it's becoming anything. I think vocation is a deeper awareness of who you already are. I think that's our vocation. If you become a priest, if you become a Sister, if you get married, it's because there's something in who you are that comes alive. But it's not simply that. Our vocation is not just a category - if it were, we'd be stretched out in a million different categories. Our vocation is realizing that we are a unique gift of God and those things that set our heart afire, those things that make us feel more alive are parts of that vocation. It's more than a martial status, it's more than a career, it's everything. It's not only accepting who I am, it's wanting to be who I am because I am made in His image.

So what was Fr Jim's advice? 1) Be joyful, 2) remember no one's perfect (including those Sisters you live with) and 3) don't forget to live your own personal vocation.
Thank you, Fr Jim. I finally got it....eight months later.

The Vows: A Church's Rebellion Against Our Culture

It's quiet in the house. Then again, it's almost always quiet here - a result of living with all introverts. But today it's especially quiet - not a footstep is heard, not any snippet of a conversation, not a creaking of the stairs.

Today, the four Sisters I live with are in retreat in preparation for renewing their vows next Monday. Usually these retreats, since they are universal for everyone in the house, are made in the house rather than a retreat center. Not a word is spoken out of respect for the contemplative nature of the retreat, which explains why our little house on Ward Street is so still today.

If you were observant, you noticed I said something that is not typical of other religious communities - "...for renewing their vows next Monday" Religious orders only renew their vows in the juniorate -otherwise, there are first vows and final/perpetual vows. The Daughters of Charity are not a religious order. Rather, we're a Society of Apostolic Life, one of St Vincent de Paul's genius inventions for us. Unlike the description on Wikipedia, the Daughters do take vows of poverty, chastity and obedience, just like any other religious order.  The difference is they renew them every year (with the intent of forever) instead of making one perpetual vow.

This retreat allows the Sisters to mentally, emotionally and spiritually prepare themselves for their renewal of the commitment to poverty, chastity, obedience and service to the poor (that being the fourth vow). The silence allows myself, not technically on retreat, to reflect on the vows that I hope to one day make.
I believe that my generation longs to rebel against our current culture. We're sick of the materialism, sick of the sex and violence blared at us 24/7, sick of the judgment. I believe that that's why Catholicism has seen a burst of vocations to the contemplative and cloistered life, indeed a beautiful thing. The 20-somethings, such as myself, maybe not even just those in the Catholic world, are aching for something different.

Each of the four vows the Daughters of Charity take - poverty, chastity, obedience, and service of the poor - screams against our modern culture. Poverty is at odds with the materialism of the world, chastity at odds with our sex-centered culture, obedience at odds with individualism and egoism, and service of the poor contrary to our society's need to materialism and comfort. I am, in no way, rejecting the world. There are positive things in our culture, such as our need to keep learning, a need for every voice to be heard and a continuous effort to be tolerant of all races and religions. There are good people in the world and I believe there are more counter-cultural people (against the negative aspects) out there than we realize, maybe even more counter-cultural people than "cultural". Taking these four vows is something truly radical and not easy. It never has been, not even back in the 1600s when the community started. I have a real admiration for those who make these vows, Daughters of Charity and other religious orders alike. The vows are a way the Church rebels against our current culture. In that way, we try to follow in the footsteps of Jesus, who is counter-cultural both in His time and ours.

When I think of the Sisters I live with as 'rebels', it makes me chuckle because these are women who (seemingly) quietly live out their lives as school principals, pastoral associates, homeless shelter directors, etc. Yet the truth is they are rebels. Our culture tells them they shouldn't be working for free, tells them they shouldn't be living on a simple monthly "allowance", tells them they should be with husbands or boyfriends. But these four Sisters - ranging from ages 79 to 51 - say "no, thanks", make a yearly promise to go the opposite direction and, by doing so, rebel against what our culture is constantly telling them to do. It truly is an audacious thing to do.

Not all of us are being called to make these radical vows - poverty, chastity, obedience and service to the poor - but each of us is called to rebel against our culture in Christ's name. We are called to rebel against the negative things of our culture, even if it's simply showing the world our rebellion by something like the vows all religious take. The question is - how do you rebel? How do you embrace the positive things in our culture and reject the negative? How do you follow in the footsteps of the counter-cultural Jesus?

(Picture from the Vincentian image gallery, believed to be a French vow day card)