On a warm feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe feast day, I walked into the Divino Niño convent, dragging a large suitcase, now an aspirant. Soon after Christmas, I would don the blue pleated jumper, white blouse and navy vest/sweater. Six months later, I would walk out of the Divino Niño convent, dragging that same suitcase but in the opposite direction, now dressed back in my T-shirt and sweatpants. Following me were Sisters and my companions in formation, who loved me so much, despite my decision to leave, to send me off at the airport.

Hermana Paula, me and Sr Mary Elko, an
American Daughter of Charity I met during
aspirancy

It's been four years since that Guadalupe feast day when I entered that community. After waking up this Sunday after a very late Mañanitas dedicated to the Virgin of Guadalupe, I thought of those Sisters, that community.

It gave me an immense joy for two possibly contradicting reasons. It gave me joy to think of them, Sisters I love very much, some of whom I regard as my closest friends. That morning, I was also able to coincidentally talk with Hermana Delia, one of those close friends. Just a year older than me, we've had many adventures, laughed a lot, cried together and now she is in El Salvador, preparing for her perpetual vows.

But it also gave me great joy to reflect on how I've truly found a home with the Daughters of Charity. While these Sisters aren't as young as I am, they are an amazing group of wonderful women. I've fallen in love with their spirituality, the Founders speak to me, their service and ministry is inspiring and I have the complete freedom to be myself.

God gives us joy in different ways. As someone 'in waiting' so to speak, it was wonderful to wake up with this joy sent by Him and to rejoice at His presence in my life. It was Gaudete Sunday, after all.

Prepostulancy and Nuestra Señora: A Story Of Unlikeliness

In case you didn't already know, I'm serving my prepostulancy in perhaps the most unlikely place - Macon, Georgia. A small Southern city in the heart of Georgia. A city with a few hundred churches (no joke), thick Southern accents, musician pride, a humid climate, and a cherry blossom festival. But also a poor city, with the average salary being not even $27,500 and a city where not even half of the young people graduate from high school.

The Sisters here live among boarded-up abandoned houses in the African-American neighborhood. Our church was historically "the black Catholic church" and more or less remains so today. Yet there is another minority group that has emerged here at St Peter Claver....the Hispanics. As a prepostulant, I work part-time in the Hispanic ministry office. I teach Confirmation to Hispanic youth and attend the Spanish Mass. The Spanish Mass is always full and with lots of kids.

Sunday, we celebrated Our Lady of Guadalupe. Sure, we used the Third Sunday of Advent readings but you know the whole thing revolved around the next day's feast.....Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe. Both kids and adults showed up in typical Mexican clothing, with some boys dressed as St Juan Diego (so cute!). There was a procession around the street, most of which I missed because I was trying to get on my traditional Bolivian dress (after all, she's patroness of the Americas, right?)

 The Mass, which was packed, was absolutely beautiful, celebrated by Father Chris Ortega, a young priest serving in Savannah (check out his blog here!) and it was followed by a large reception in the school gym, complete with traditional Mexican food and dance.

Even though I lived in Latin America for two years, I never witnessed a Guadalupe celebration like this before. (Bolivians tend to go for Our Lady of Copacabana over Guadalupe.) It was beautiful.

As the celebration went on, I reflected on the devotion Mexicans have to this image, this story of the Virgin Mary. The real connection comes from Our Lady of Guadalupe being theirs. While the tapestry was certainly a miracle, the real miracle in my opinion was that Our Lady appeared where no one expected and to someone no one expected. She appeared to Juan Diego, a poor Indian, and the words out of her mouth were not Spanish, the language of the priests of the day, but rather Nahuatl, the indigenous language.

The Virgin Mary appeared in the most unlikely place....and that is why we celebrate.
In a way, it fits that Our Lady of Guadalupe's feast happens a few weeks before Christmas because it is then, during Christmas, that we celebrate God coming to us in the most unlikely way.

I certainly didn't expect to be sent to Georgia for prepostulancy and I'm in perhaps the most unlikely place...(after all, who expects to do their formation in a city where Catholics are a very small minority?)....but isn't that where we find faith the most? Just go ask Juan Diego.

Advent's True Meaning: Oh, the Waiting

"Madonna of the Streets" by Roberto Ferruzzi
has always been my absolute favorite
depiction of the Virgin Mary, the Blessed Mother.

Recently, as I grow more to appreciate the true meaning of Advent, I've been thinking a lot about the Virgin Mary.

We sing the songs ("O Come, O Come Emmanuel..."), we say the antiphons, we light the Advent wreath, but really, there's no one else who truly experienced the true meaning of Advent besides the Virgin Mary.

Here she was, a young girl, barely a teenager, entrusted to the big task of bringing the Son of God into the world. She had said "yes" to the angel Gabriel....but can you imagine what she would have felt the rest of those nine months? Perhaps watching family members or friends disowning her for being pregnant and still unmarried, initially worrying over the reaction of Joseph, watching her belly get larger and larger, maybe anxiously wondering what giving birth or being a mother might be like.

And then, at nine months pregnant, belly swollen, tired and weary, her young body aching, she and Joseph left for Bethlehem and, even if that was the transportation of the day, bouncing up and down on a donkey while pregnant couldn't have been fun....

Advent is all about waiting for the Savior to be born.....and certainly the Virgin Mary experienced that waiting more than most.

Catholics in particular tend to portray the Blessed Mother as perfect, sometimes unpurposely giving off the fallacy that she is divine and even emotionless. But I imagine that the Virgin Mary was certainly not devoid of emotion those nine months....

Did she ever ask "why me, God"?
Did she ever wonder if the birth was ever going to come?
Did she cry over the pain, both physical and emotional?
Was she worried as they looked all over Bethlehem for a place to stay?
Was she scared?

I turn to her this Advent as I grow to appreciate the season more on an emotional level, one that goes deeper than just singing "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" or knowing what the Church teaches about Advent. Without going into too many details, God decided that this Advent would be different for me, that I'd be waiting for God in my own way. I've slowly come to realize that Advent isn't about simply preparing for Christmas, it's also about living in the anticipation, knowing that something is about to happen, yet also living in the moment...breathing in the moments of anticipation, of worry, of joy but breathing them in with peace, which is much easier said than done. Peace over knowing that this big thing that's going to happen, whatever you're anticipating for, is all in God's hands and that He is with you all the way, just as the young Virgin Mary, in all of her emotions, knew that God was with her during her pregnancy, both figuratively and literally.

Have a very blessed Advent....

Vincentian Quote of the Week: St Elizabeth Ann Seton & Living in the Moment

Take every day as a ring which you must engrave, adorn, and embellish with your actions, to be offered up in the evening at the altar of God. (Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton)

An Open Letter to St. Catherine Laboure

Dear Sister Laboure,
I'm pretty sure you know who I am. Did St. Vincent, that same old man that appeared in your dreams so long ago, tell you? I'm sure he did (or the He with a capital "H" did), but in case you don't know, I'm a prepostulant with your own community, the one you loved, the Daughters of Charity. Things have changed a bit here but not as much as you might think for 135 years after your death. We don't wear the cornette anymore but we remain 110% dedicated to the mission of serving Christ in the poor and to a life of prayer and service.

How blessed the Daughters of Charity are as a community to count you among their ranks. How great is it to be part of a community that so easily combines the audacious (like Bl Rosalie Rendu) with the quiet (like you) and has saints to prove it! You were blessed enough to even hear the Virgin Mary say that she loved our community!


Your dear Miraculous Medal has reached all around the world. I'm sorry you couldn't keep your identity hidden like you wanted. Someone blabbed (as we humans tend to do) I don't know how you feel about it now, but I think that's truly for the better. How then would we know that the Blessed Mother appeared to a simple Sister, who had done nothing extraordinary in this world? How then would we know who to pray for help in creating a deeper devotion to the Blessed Mother?


On that same line, I'm sorry too that the work you did to serve the poor is rarely recognized. You were an example of the balance of prayer and contemplation with simple apostolic work - exactly what a Daughter of Charity should be. After all, you were only a novice when you had the visions - not even close to taking your vows! You dedicated the rest of the life to spread the Miraculous Medal around the world. But sadly, your work with the poor becomes forgotten in the grandeur that is your visions of the Blessed Mother. In that, I ask your help. Pray for me that I may create a balance between prayer and work, that I may never forget one in lieu of the other. Was this hard for you to do or is it just me?


What advice would you have to give for someone just entering the community? I know I asked St Vincent the same thing but we should all ask for help sometimes, right? What's the trick.......is it all about balance? joy? hope? devotion? Or am I right in thinking that it's all of those things combined, along with the realization that it's not actually a recipe for perfection but to be a good Daughter of Charity? (Now there's something I really need to work on.)

Please pray for me (most especially tomorrow, though) that I may learn to become the best Daughter of Charity I could possibly be. I'm not you...and I mean that in the best possible way....you are amazing but please pray for me that I may realize that I just need to be who I am and reach for sanctity that way, just as you did. Be there with me and guide me if you can as I discover who I am.

In love of the Blessed Virgin,
Amanda

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)

What Makes a Missionary?

I always connected the word "missionary" (or "missioner", if you want to avoid the stigma of the past) to the foreign missions - to Latin America, to Africa, to Asia. The dream of becoming a missionary, of serving the poor in a foreign land, is what first led me to thoughts of entering religious life. And that same dream is what led me to Bolivia, the poorest country in South America, and fueled my two years spent there. 

(Now before I continue, let me clarify - by "missionary", I do not mean "thump them over the head with the Bible and make them convert", I mean "following Jesus' mission in serving the poor")

However, last weekend, I experienced something that led me to change that mindset. I ventured back home to Maryland to attend a (most amazing) discernment retreat - "winter-coat" cold, Friday-purple-wearing, accentless (well, sort of), "why aren't people saying 'good morning' to me as I pass them on the sidewalk?" Maryland

The weekend passed by too quickly and Sunday evening, I was off on my way back to Georgia by way of the Atlanta airport. The trip was not too awesome, since I didn't feel well anyway. Luckily, God was watching over me and allowed me to sleep once my butt hit the seat on the plane and not wake up until an hour into the flight. Anyway, I arrived in Atlanta safe and sound and waited outside for the shuttle to Macon. When the shuttle pulled up, the driver put my bag in the back and I took a seat. As I waited, I listened to the conversations around me. I heard the driver friendly talking with a passenger, both speaking in very thick Georgia accents. I smiled and thought "Yup, I'm home".

The thought made me laugh but shocked me at the same time. I hadn't had that feeling in years, not since my various returns to Bolivia after trips home for funerals, visits, etc. And I realized that I had become a missionary here in my little city of Macon, Georgia.

My thought of "missionary" being connected to foreign missions shattered, as I realized that - just like in Bolivia - I had grown to love Macon so much that everything about it becomes "home", while still knowing and understanding I'm an outsider. In Bolivia, that meant understanding that my white skin, my non-native Spanish, and my hazel eyes made me stand out and an outsider. In Macon, that means understanding that my white skin and my bland accent make me stand out and an outsider. 

I think that's what makes a missionary - being at home in a place that isn't truly your home. What's especially amazing is that God gives us missionaries so many different homes throughout our lives. Especially if you're a Daughter of Charity, whose whole mission is to be constantly on the move and go where the poor need you the most. While that, in some light, may seem like God is just moving missionaries about like pieces on a chess board, it's really like God is giving us the opportunity to be at home with the whole world, not just our tiny piece of it. And that is truly a blessing.

Not to mention, it is also amazing for me to think that I've already found some part of permanent home in the Company of the Daughters of Charity. Becoming at home in a place isn't instantaneous and isn't always easy, yet I know that, no matter where I'm sent on mission, as long as I'm with the Daughters, I'm home - whether that be Emmitsburg, California, Taiwan or France, whether or not I've known my housemates before. I'll be at home with the spirituality, home with the traditions, home with St. Vincent, St Louise and St Elizabeth Ann.

And for that, I thank God for the Daughters of Charity and I thank Him for making me a missionary. It's not what I expected when I first had that dream but it's more amazing than I thought.