tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12492632474043206502024-03-05T04:57:31.308-08:00Nuns in the MakingOne sister's journey to becoming...SND Novitiatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13839857447373616767noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1249263247404320650.post-66471287865816501062018-03-25T06:23:00.000-07:002018-03-25T06:23:00.757-07:00Humility Check<br />
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I am NOT the best thing since sliced bread.</div>
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My childhood was filled with building up my ego – and this
is healthy development. I learned how I was different from others. I learned
that I did not need my parents to survive. I developed my own interests,
passions, and the ability to make my own decisions. I learned what I was good
at, and stayed away from what I didn’t excel in. I learned to love my body and
what it could do as my self esteem grew into early adulthood.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But it seems to me that the experience of my adulthood,
and especially my experience in formation, has been to breakdown the ego I
spent the first part of my life building. Although each person is unique, God
has been teaching me about our commonality and unity as being beloved of God. I
have realized that while I can survive without asking others for help, in order
to thrive, I must rely on the experience and wisdom of others. I am learning
that while I am good at many things, I don’t know everything and still have a
lot to learn. I recognize that being pushed out of my comfort zone into the
realm of things I don’t excel at is necessary to further growth as a person.
And this new phase of temporary profession and ministry is no exception.<o:p></o:p></div>
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God has placed within me a passion to accompany others on
the journey. He especially has placed on my heart journeying with the poor and
all that comes with it. My other passions, science, research, building and
creating things, had built in skills developments within my schooling. And now,
in pursuing these other passions that God has placed on my heart I am realizing
that I don’t know anything. There is no school to teach me what poverty is like
for those who live it. No class is going to be able to teach me how to make all
the right decisions when walking with a person in a crisis situation. Only
experience and listening to the advice and wisdom of those who have done this
before me is going to teach me what I need to know. And for now, when I’m still
learning, when I’m still experiencing, I need to remember to swallow my ego and
ask for help.<o:p></o:p></div>
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After experiencing a situation in my new ministry where I
felt over my head and like I couldn’t make the right decisions in the moment because
of lack of experience or training, I asked God “how am I supposed to do this? I’m
not cut out for this job. I just don’t know how.” I thought, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I am broken, so how can I fix anything else?</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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Exactly, brokenness loves brokenness. Fixing is not the
goal, love is. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I have spent so much of my life learning how to fix
things, invent new solutions, discover the next best cure. But with ministry,
with people, the goal is not to fix it, the goal is love and empowerment. And I
need to remember that even when I am looking at outcome measures, even when I
am evaluating the attendance patterns of my students, and especially when I am listening
to a student’s story. I don’t need to fix you or the situation, I just need to
love.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1249263247404320650.post-17667081393909974722018-03-10T07:00:00.000-08:002018-03-10T07:00:16.902-08:00Bonded: A Reflection on First Profession<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I get it now.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My best friend looked at me with a
wry smile on her face and love in her eyes. We were sharing about my first
profession as a Sister of Notre Dame just days before.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“At a wedding you’re saying your
vows to each other, and the priest is right there, but it was just you, facing
the altar, saying your vows to God. I get it now.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My best friend had walked through
all the steps with me. She was one of the first people I told about my desire
to be a sister, and I had even practiced my vows in front of her just a week
before my profession. She had heard all my doubts and all my joys along the way.
She was the one who helped me realize that I couldn’t picture any other future
for myself except one dedicated to God through the vows of chastity, poverty,
and obedience. But it took her witnessing me vow my life to God to fully
understand.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11.5pt;">So what does it mean to me to profess vows? The
experience was surreal. At the same time </span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11.5pt;">nothing</b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11.5pt;"> and </span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11.5pt;">everything</b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11.5pt;"> changed.
I cherish the moment of surrender as I spoke the desires of my heart in
profession. I remember with love the act of abandoning myself to God as I flung
my arms out in </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orans" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11.5pt;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">orans </span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11.5pt;">posture and each
of my sisters joined me in singing the </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suscipe" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11.5pt;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Suscipe</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11.5pt;">. I found joy in watching each of my
family members involved in the special ceremony. But most of all, I cherish
that the ceremony and celebration had such an impact on each person who
witnessed my profession. Countless persons commented on how different parts of
the ceremony moved them. Guests talked about crying. Live stream participants
felt connected and present. My sisters remarked at the spiritual renewal my
profession was for all. As the focus of the day, I couldn't pin down my
emotions long enough to have a connection to what was happening. For me, the
meaning of profession has come after the ceremony in living it out. At the
same time </span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11.5pt;">nothing</b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11.5pt;"> and </span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11.5pt;">everything</b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11.5pt;"> changed.</span><span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"> </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The "Suscipe" in which my sisters join me in abandoning our lives to God.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Nothing has changed because I have
been living into the vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience and
preparing for this day for three and a half years. But something is
different. Everything is different. I feel a physical difference in how I am,
how I relate to God, and how I interact with others. After publicly committing
my life to God, I feel more bonded to Him in some mystical way.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">About two months before my
profession I met with our provincial superior for an interview before I was
accepted for first vows. Toward the end of our time together she asked, “will
your identity change after professing vows?” As I answered I explained that I
have been living as if I were vowed during novitiate. And in fact, following my
vocation to become a Sister of Notre Dame is helping me to become more the
person God created me to be. The vows, the charism, it was all a part of me
from the very beginning. She looked at me with a quiet smile and said “Well, I
think you’re ready then.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11.5pt;">So no, after professing
vows my identity did not change, but it sure did get stronger and more bonded
to the one who calls me into being the best version of myself.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 107%;">I get it now.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready to profess!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Sr. Margaret, our provincial, and Fr. Oleksiak.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My friends and fellow young sisters came to support me as we have for each other over the years.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My family flew in from all over to be a part of my profession.</td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1249263247404320650.post-51260277712259053702017-12-07T12:43:00.001-08:002017-12-07T12:43:26.821-08:00The Tree is Weeping<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last weekend I had the opportunity to travel back to the US-Mexico border with a group from Xavier University and Bellarmine Parish in Cincinnati, Ohio. When the immersion trip presented itself I was excited to revisit the space that was so special to me and instrumental to my growth in the past year. This time however I visited the other end of the border - the one between Arizona and Sonora, Mexico. We were only there for three days, but I experienced and learned more about the immigration crisis in three days than I thought possible.<br />
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But those stories are for another time. Today I want to tell you about a tree I encountered in the desert. On Sunday our group took a hike on some migrant trails. We were walking in the footsteps of those who are fleeing to freedom in the US. These migrant bands are often led by a guide from the Mexican Mafia. Our guide was Fr. Pete, who had spent the last 9 years exploring these paths and seeking to understand the migrant journey. Our group of 8 struggled to keep up with him as we passed through thorny bushes, overgrown grasses, and sandy riverbeds.<br />
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We finally arrived at a space that looked like it was once an overnight camp for a band of migrants. There were backpacks, sweaters, tin cans, and other debris all around us. As we took in the scene, we imagined what could have happened here and who could have been here. What were their stories? Why were they crossing? Did they make it? I noticed a little girl's pink sweater by the tree and thought, someone brought their daughter. The rusty cans told us they ate here, and the black bottles were a sign they had water with them. But why did they leave their things here? Did they get caught? Did they need to lighten their load to continue the journey? How would I decide what to leave and what to take with me?<br />
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As I played these scenarios in my mind and continued to take it all in, Fr. Pete also commented on what could have happened in this space. "We will never know what really happened here, but I do know that this was an overnight camp because when I first found this place there were women's panties and bras hanging on that tree." I looked where he pointed and found a tall-for-the-desert tree, about twice my height. It was gnarled and had some low hanging branches parallel to the ground. Its bark was dark and textured and all of the leaves were gone from its branches. Fr. Pete continued, "that is probably what we call a rape tree." The name "rape tree" tore through the sacredness of the space and I closed my eyes to brace myself for the next words. I guessed what would come next, but I didn't want it to be true. "The guides lead bands through, and when they stop, they rape the women and put their undergarments on a tree as a kind of trophy."<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The "rape tree"</td></tr>
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A wash of sadness, anger, and horror overtook my being and I couldn't listen anymore. I wanted to cry, to scream, to curl up in a ball. How could I live in a world where this happens, where I let this happen? When given time for reflection I started walking toward the tree. I had to get closer. As the trunk came into view I noticed a patch running up and down the tree that was darker than the rest. It glistened in the sun as if it were wet. Was it sap? Water? Char from a fire?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The tree is weeping.</td></tr>
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I had no way of knowing, but what I do know is: the tree is weeping. Weeping for the violation it witnessed, weeping for the women who had no choice but to submit themselves, weeping for the guide's need to exert power over another. The tree is weeping, and I wept with the tree.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1249263247404320650.post-17780942863869877082017-08-22T13:01:00.002-07:002017-08-22T13:01:28.003-07:00Total Eclipse of the HeartOk, so of course I wasn't going to miss the solar eclipse! And I had a pretty neat reflection afterwards.Watch below as I reflect on my experience witnessing the solar eclipse on Monday.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/S0nluPmf-lM" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
This is the dance I reference in my reflection. Enjoy!<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/LEqtgujqbcI" width="560"></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1249263247404320650.post-37930979847957637532017-06-07T19:50:00.000-07:002017-06-07T19:50:46.032-07:00Eyes to Listen and Hearts to RespondThe activity I did the most while in Texas was listen. This may seem odd, since I didn't know much Spanish when I arrived and most of what I listened to was in Spanish. But I learned other ways to listen. When words don't make sense, when there is a language barrier, a deeper sort of listening sets in. I learned to listen with my eyes.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yxAMLuSm598/WTiu8wjcInI/AAAAAAAAAoA/9c7VEScevO4jgXK7v5HUIeGtEkjg9e7DACLcB/s1600/20170302_140308.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yxAMLuSm598/WTiu8wjcInI/AAAAAAAAAoA/9c7VEScevO4jgXK7v5HUIeGtEkjg9e7DACLcB/s400/20170302_140308.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The showers at the respite center.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
About 3 weeks before I left Texas we went back to the Sacred Heart Humanitarian Respite Center for the last time (not sure what that is? <a href="http://nunsinthemaking.blogspot.com/2017/03/a-community-of-divisions.html" target="_blank">Click here</a> to see my blog post on it). I was helping with the showers when a woman emerged and sat down to put on her shoes. I don't know what prompted her, but she launched into her story immediately after sitting down. I couldn't understand most of what she said, but I could understand her gestures, her emotions, and the pain in her eyes. She had a heavy burden she needed to unload, and she chose me. I didn't need to know what her words meant to know what she said, what she was feeling, and what she needed. And even though I couldn't say much more than a few sentences to her, she didn't need me to give her a lecture or to babble on. She needed me to listen intently with my eyes trained on hers, touch her arm gently, and reassure her of her safety. And that much I could do without knowing much Spanish. We are a part of the human family and we have a universal language of love.<br />
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That same night, I met a brother and sister who crossed a river in their journey to arrive to the US. Their clothes were still wet and they wanted desperately to take a shower. They couldn't stay apart from each other very long because the boy couldn't hear or speak and his sister communicated with him using gestures in some kind of home-grown sign language. She said he never went to school and just learned this at home. Despite all of this hardship, he had a constant smile on his face. And even though we could not communicate with words, or even gestures, his eyes spoke. He could not stop looking at me. And I didn't want to look away because he made me uncomfortable. I didn't want him to feel shame. So I looked back, with love. His eyes spoke of curiosity, of kindness, and of loneliness. I hope that my eyes spoke too, and that they spoke of love.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OSE5ce5g4qg/WTiwP0nj-TI/AAAAAAAAAoI/s2vAWylg1wE0FqzYMKoV7RBT79w5O8IjACLcB/s1600/20170524_130753%2B%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1181" height="243" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OSE5ce5g4qg/WTiwP0nj-TI/AAAAAAAAAoI/s2vAWylg1wE0FqzYMKoV7RBT79w5O8IjACLcB/s400/20170524_130753%2B%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maria's son tried to take a picture of us on my last day in Texas.<br />L to R: Sr. Nicole, Sr. Marla, Sr. Maxine</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Listening was also an important part of visiting the Colonias (neighborhoods in Spanish). One of the women we accompanied was Maria (<a href="https://nunsinthemaking.blogspot.com/2017/04/courageous-in-face-of-fear.html" target="_blank">click here</a> for another story about Maria). Maria has internalized much of what her abusive husband has told her over the years. Each time we met, we listened to Maria and her needs, her fears, her evident love for her children. We comforted her in her sorrow and pain and we laughed with her in her joys. On the last day I visited her, she told us about each of her children and what they are like. Light danced in her eyes as she thought about each one and how she loved them. She described with great detail how each child is with her, how they care for each other, and what their passions are. I could see a reflection of God's unconditional love in her as she thought about her most precious possessions, her children. Listening to her was not about the stories she told, it was about being present to her, taking an interest in her life, and showing her the unconditional love she showed her children. Since she doesn't get much in the way of unconditional love from her husband, she is unable to visit her parents, and limited in who she can talk with, we were her only source of friendship and love. Upon parting and reassuring her that we would always be with each other, I told her that I loved her. She paused and said, "Te quiero mucho porque me quieres sin conocerme." or in English, "I love you very much because you loved me without knowing me."<br />
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Her pain, her fear, her inadequacies were evident in that one sentence. And the power of God's love allowed me to be a conduit and show Maria what is possible with God. Unconditional love has not been a part of her reality and I am humbled to have been able to show her a first glimpse of it. I could not have done that without listening to Maria and slowly building a relationship with her over time.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1249263247404320650.post-34772142929428767972017-05-23T09:06:00.000-07:002017-05-23T09:30:46.626-07:00Saying Goodbye<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I have now been in Texas
for almost three months and will be leaving this adventure for another in the next
few days. I just felt like I have hit my stride. I am comfortable with where I
am and what I do. I’ve figured out my living situation and who my friends are.
And now, I have to say goodbye. Leaving is never easy, but after
moving around job and living locations a few times, I’ve learned some things
that make it easier.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Remember Ritual<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Ritual is a way for me and
those I am leaving to get closure to the relationship. Realistically, I am not
able to keep in touch with each person I leave. For many, this will be the last
time we see or talk to each other. For others, the nature of the relationship
will change. I find that without some ritual of goodbye, a card, a dinner, or a
personal conversation, feelings can be hurt and people can feel cast aside. The
nature of being a sister means I will move around a lot. Moving for me does not
mean I am unhappy with where I am, like it does for most people. Moving for me
just means going to the next thing. I will always keep those I have met in my
heart, and they need to know that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">A simple ritual of goodbye
can be giving cards or a meaningful trinket. The children I teach in Mexico
will each get a handmade friendship bracelet and I will tell them how much they
mean to me. I will remember them by a matching bracelet. We will continue to be
connected. With my adult students and friends we might go out to dinner to
celebrate and exchange phone numbers. Regardless of the specific ritual, the
important part is that they will know what impact their life had on mine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Share My Experiences<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Sharing my experiences not
only helps others to learn what I am doing and possibly find a replacement, but
also helps me to put words to my experience. Finding words to describe my love
of a place and for a people helps me to remember and let go. Part of this
letting go happens here in my articles and my ability to share my experiences
with you. Other times it is in conversations with family and friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6RxbLUUZq04/WRdkeRH1WrI/AAAAAAAAAnM/BYL0PN4ywDcHuRC4L0p64bCdnWcYw3RmgCEw/s1600/teresa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6RxbLUUZq04/WRdkeRH1WrI/AAAAAAAAAnM/BYL0PN4ywDcHuRC4L0p64bCdnWcYw3RmgCEw/s400/teresa.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teresa and I enjoying ministry in Texas.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">But sharing my experiences
in person with others who might take my place is the most life-giving for me. I
love sharing my joy with others. I love introducing others to the people and
places who mean so much to me. I love seeing the light in their eyes when they
experience something for the first time. I love seeing the wheels turning when
something new comes along. This week I have had the privilege to share my
experiences with a young woman named Teresa. It has been a joy to get to know
her and I enjoy hearing her reflections on things that I experienced for the
first time only a couple months ago. Sharing my experience with her has been a
wonderful way for me to say goodbye to all that I treasure here.</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-clYcB_GELII/WRdleIsz9TI/AAAAAAAAAng/RXQm_H6-r5k_dDs7maPmpJyyX48VzJ3MwCLcB/s1600/art2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-clYcB_GELII/WRdleIsz9TI/AAAAAAAAAng/RXQm_H6-r5k_dDs7maPmpJyyX48VzJ3MwCLcB/s400/art2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">My Lenten reflection based on my experiences here in Texas.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Another important outlet
for sharing my experiences is in journaling and painting. I keep a journal so I
can remember what I experienced. I can go back to it and remember how I felt in
this new place and how I felt leaving. My paintings express my feelings in a
more visual way and allow me to process my experience beyond words.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Planning for the Next</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I know it can be dangerous
to plan ahead before it is time, but I find that planning for the goodbye,
psyching myself up for it, makes the goodbye much easier. Instead of just
leaving, I think about how I want to leave. So how do I want to leave the Rio
Grande Valley? I would love to be able to leave promising a return, but I
cannot. So I have to say goodbye like it is the last time. I want to leave the
valley with love. I want the people I have met to know that “because I knew you
I have been changed for good” as a song from the musical <u>Wicked</u> says. I
want to leave blessing the land and promising my prayers. I want to leave with
all the lessons I have learned intact and engraved on my heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">And after leaving, there
is always a new beginning. So how do I want to begin at my next location? It’s
never fun to be one place physically and another place mentally. People don’t
want to hear you pining for where you wish you could be, but want to hear your
stories. Being mentally absent will only hurt me. I want to be fully present
where I am, but still remembering how I have changed through the lessons I have
learned in the valley. I want to remember where I was and integrate this
experience into who I am, but still enter fully into where I will be. Will this
be hard? Yes. But with the help of God and my friends, I hope to make it a
reality.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1249263247404320650.post-32287877371572725782017-05-13T12:51:00.002-07:002017-05-13T12:51:44.512-07:00The Meaning of Ritual<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Being a religious sister,
ritual is very important in my life. And, I would suspect, that ritual is
important in many lives. I don’t only mean religious ritual, but also the
ritual of what I do each day, the self-care rituals I engage in, and the social
rituals that keep me grounded. I have learned that having certain rituals
enhance my experience of life and keep me sane. This year, Holy Week and Easter
were full of new (and old) experiences of ritual.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I have always enjoyed learning
about and experiencing other cultures. My parents raised me on tum yum goon,
Indian curry, and tabbouleh – none of which are a part of my heritage. They
enjoy trying new things and teaching my sisters and me to do the same. Of course
we love our Italian comfort food too, but the value of respectfully learning
from other cultures was instilled in me from a young age. My father taught me
how to observe before participating and my mother taught me how to throw my
whole self into the experience. So you can imagine how thrilled I am to be
immersed in the sub-culture of the Rio Grande Valley.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZThdEe0weCM/WRdif_avvhI/AAAAAAAAAm8/XVHQbFxVBQYO3DAmzKVIY0GcTJnbUFrmQCEw/s1600/viacrucis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZThdEe0weCM/WRdif_avvhI/AAAAAAAAAm8/XVHQbFxVBQYO3DAmzKVIY0GcTJnbUFrmQCEw/s400/viacrucis.jpg" width="246" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walking the viacrucis on our pilgrimage to the church.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The highlight for me was
Santa Viernes, Good Friday. I have always loved the somber atmosphere of Good
Friday which gives me a chance to reflect on God’s love for me. This year, a
new ritual allowed me to walk with Jesus in a whole new way. At 2pm, a small
crowd gathered at a park near the church. Leading the pack was a wooden cross
carried by a teenage boy dressed as Jesus. A girl dressed as veronica, complete
with a veil bearing the face of Jesus, walked beside him. We processed through
the streets, singing and praying el viacrucis, the Way of the Cross. I felt
like the women of Jerusalem, following Jesus in the streets as he showed us how
much he would suffer in the name of the justice he stood for. As we arrived at
the church we prayed the last station and entered the church in silence. The
culture here is an expressive culture, and I appreciated the ability to express
my sorrow for the suffering of the world and to physically see God’s love for
us in his actions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Later that day, after the
passion play put on by the children of the parish, I participated in yet
another new-to-me ritual. We gave our condolences to Mary. The idea is to give
condolences to Mary on the occasion of her son’s death, just as you would with
a friend. We said a special rosary that led us to meditate on times Mary had to
let go of her son and watch him do God’s work. It was touching to watch
mothers, who have to let go of their own children, meditate on what it must
have been like for Mary to do the same.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8aeKlew-zfA/WRdieP1VP5I/AAAAAAAAAmw/zAy4EV4rIZUSXI723lAfoSwxxzXhCKaaQCEw/s1600/20170414_185745.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8aeKlew-zfA/WRdieP1VP5I/AAAAAAAAAmw/zAy4EV4rIZUSXI723lAfoSwxxzXhCKaaQCEw/s400/20170414_185745.jpg" width="392" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We were greeted with this beautiful altar as we prayed our condolences to Mary.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">About a week after Easter,
I had the opportunity to participate in a Mayan cleansing ritual called a
temazcal. Unlike the other rituals, this one did not have a familiar basis for
me. I had no idea what to expect and I was not given much description ahead of
time. The ritual cleanses body and spirit, inside and out. One participant
described it as going into the womb of the earth. The whole ritual reverences
nature and thanks the elements and mother earth for the gifts of healing.
Before the ritual, a small hut with a tiny door flap is built and a fire is lit
to heat the stones at the bottom of the wood. I loved the reverent preparation.
Each person was blessed with a type of incense before entering and I was asked
to pray “for my relationships” with my forehead to the earth at the entrance of
the temazcal. Once all were inside, “hombre fuego” dug some rocks out of the
fire and delivered them to a hole in the ground at the center of the hut. We
welcomed each rock with “Bienvenido abuelita!” (welcome grandma in English).
Once the door was closed, water with different herbs were poured on the rocks
to create steam and an incredibly hot room. The door was opened four times and
each time, more rocks were added and a different herb was infused in the water.
The first two doors felt like being enveloped by a car on a hot day. The heat
was comforting and cleansing. The third door was so hot that I had to lay down.
I left with the fourth door because I had reached my limit. After the ritual I
was doused by cold hose water to close my pores and shock me back to normal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">After the ritual I felt
energized and at peace. Inside I was disoriented, but once I emerged and was
doused with water, I was somehow more present. Even though I hardly knew the
names of most of the 19 people participating in the temazcal, I somehow felt
bonded to them after our mutual experience. There is wisdom to rituals, no
matter what tradition they come from. And opening myself to these new
experiences has been invaluable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tek0luLx9bg/WRdifye5mGI/AAAAAAAAAnA/qE1I9tQrzecC4O7Ow8GNYzfmHYdMRRcJgCEw/s1600/20170412_161716.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tek0luLx9bg/WRdifye5mGI/AAAAAAAAAnA/qE1I9tQrzecC4O7Ow8GNYzfmHYdMRRcJgCEw/s640/20170412_161716.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy toes in the Gulf of Mexico.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The final ritual I engaged
in this Easter is one I am quite familiar with. I have a ritual of taking a
quiet day once a week if possible. This time I spent the day at a local retreat
center near the Gulf of Mexico. A blanket of quiet covered the place as I
encountered wildlife and the tangible presence of peace. At the end of the day
I drove the five miles out to the retreat center’s private beach on the gulf.
How exhilarating it was to be consumed by water!</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">No matter what ritual it
was, each one helped me to live in the present moment and get a taste of this
new-to-me culture. What a blessing to be able to learn from others!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">*Note* I apologize for the long absence of posts this last month. I have a back-log of stories, so you should be getting one a week for a while!</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1249263247404320650.post-44500965459523407902017-04-09T20:27:00.002-07:002017-04-09T20:50:53.228-07:00Courageous in the Face of Fear<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Fear is powerful.<br />
Perhaps that is why people in power capitalize on fear to get what they want. Any president in power during a war used fear to manipulate peace. And traffickers and abusers use fear to control their captives. Fear of the "other" was a strong theme during our election season. Candidates capitalized on fear to get what they wanted, election. And our current president is using fear of deportation to maintain the facade of order. But what most do not know is that fear of deportation and hyper-militarization has been a reality on the border for decades. Presidents with immigration policies on both sides of the aisle militarized the border and has "kept peace" on the border using fear.<br />
I would say that fear does anything but bring peace.<br />
<br />
As a result of the tangible culture of fear in the Rio Grande Valley, the people are strong. They may still be scared, but they have to continue living through the fear. And many have learned that they have their own kind of power. It is not the power of the oppressor, but the power of the oppressed.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Many of "the oppressed" who have found their power are women. </span><span style="font-size: 16px;">Oppression has not crushed women, oppression has made them subtly stronger so they can help create stronger future generations of women. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Women keep the culture going. Women teach, women learn, women immigrate, women advocate,
and women make change. </span><span style="font-size: 16px;">These women have plenty to fear: abusive husbands, deportation, and border patrol. But these women have the courage to stand up to their husbands who just arrived home from the bar and protect their children. Women have the courage to face our government and demand change. Women have the courage to do what has never been done before. They may put their own lives on the line, but it is worth helping others and creating a more just world. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As an African proverb wisely states, "If you educate a man you educate an individual, but if you educate a woman you educate a nation." I am finding this to be true. Empowered women create empowered children and bring about an empowered generation. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I
want to introduce you to three of these inspiring women. All names have been
changed for privacy.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Maria:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Maria is a woman in her mid-thirties. She is
your average woman and often pulls back her dark curls into a pony tail. Maria
has seven children, ranging in age from 1 year to about 14. Maria’s husband is
verbally abusive and spends most of the day with other men who have drug and
gang affiliations. Maria spends the day in a tiny pop-up trailer cooking,
cleaning, and finding work where she can. She lives for her children and will
do anything to protect them. She brings them all to mass on Sunday without
their father. She recently expressed her fear of her husband and what he might
do to her and her children. When we brought her some information on domestic
violence abuse she bravely stated, if it gets any worse I am telling my husband
that I will leave him and I will call this number. I can’t imagine what
strength it will take for her to leave and start new, but her children are too
precious.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6j3x6dMFFvI/WOr6lLHer3I/AAAAAAAAAmI/Ay_fZxWSXZssszHbvrt2W_eioQRdMfUCACLcB/s1600/20170330_173012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="291" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6j3x6dMFFvI/WOr6lLHer3I/AAAAAAAAAmI/Ay_fZxWSXZssszHbvrt2W_eioQRdMfUCACLcB/s320/20170330_173012.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ramona and I after an inspirational week with ARISE.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Ramona:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Ramona is a community leader. Her goal is to
empower other women to make change. She lives by the motto “we do not do for
the people what the people can do for themselves.” The organization Ramona
works for, <a href="http://www.arisesotex.org/" target="_blank">ARISE</a>, is led by all women. She believes that if we invest in women,
teach them to read and speak English, use herbal medicines and other valuable
information, then we will create a chain reaction. The women will teach their
children what they have learned, and the community becomes a better place. Ramona
is making these courageous women into leaders. But she is not doing it alone,
what wisdom!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OOdFUnNQRGI/WOr7QT1Yp5I/AAAAAAAAAmQ/_YNHPqEISLEXI0pA31F3XLdbzTEECV-oQCLcB/s1600/south%2Btower%2Bpower2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OOdFUnNQRGI/WOr7QT1Yp5I/AAAAAAAAAmQ/_YNHPqEISLEXI0pA31F3XLdbzTEECV-oQCLcB/s640/south%2Btower%2Bpower2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Members of South Tower Power speaking to City of Alamo officials.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Lisa
and Carmen:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Lisa and Carmen are 18 and 16 years old
respectively. They work with Ramona at ARISE. They are a part of the
organization’s youth advocacy program. These women, immigrants who live in a
poor colonia, are lobbying the government for change to the environmental
racism they are experiencing. The water treatment plant for a city north of
their community has been filling their streets with a foul sewage smell for
over 50 years. The smell can create health problems and often gives headaches
to the residents because of its strength. It is only in the past two years that
anyone has been able to make a difference. This effort is entirely led by the
youth and they have succeeded in the city promising to build an up-to-date
water treatment plant which will solve the smell. Lisa and Carmen speak
eloquently and passionately about the issue saying that they learned the
invaluable skill of leadership through their involvement. To read more about
their effort you can check out #southtowerpower and #stopthesmell on social
media or read <a href="https://texashousers.net/tag/south-tower-power/" target="_blank">this article</a>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Each of these courageous women inspire me.
They make me want to be courageous too. But the most inspiring part? They don’t
realize they are being brave. They just keep living and doing what is in their
heart. Their lives may be full of fear. They may fear their husband. They may
fear leaving the house because of the increased presence of border patrol. They
may fear being deported and separated from their family and lifeline. They may
fear the conditions in which they are forced to live. But they continue to
live. What other choice do they have?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br />
This year as holy week begins, I find myself reflecting on the fears present in the scriptures. We hear often from Jesus, "do not be afraid." There must have been a lot of fear if he had to say it so often. Now that I think of it, it seems as if fear is a human quality. Fear arises when the illusion of control is dismantled in our lives. Ironically, our fear often ends up controlling us.<br />
<br />
I am fearful when I move or change jobs. Jesus was fearful in the garden of Gethsemane before his capture. The scribes and pharisees feared Jesus because he brought into question all that controlled their lives. Peter feared being mocked which led him to deny knowing Jesus. The women of Jerusalem feared what might become of their children. For this holy week, why not reflect on what I fear? What do I fear most? Why am I scared? What can and do I do to continue living in the face of my fear? What consolation does Jesus have for my fears? How do I hear his "be not afraid"?<br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We need to not let our fear control us. We need to be courageous like Maria,
Ramona, Lisa, and Carmen. What other choice do we have? Being constantly fearful
is no way to live. Causing constant fear is no way to live.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1249263247404320650.post-10182425188550482782017-03-26T17:03:00.000-07:002017-03-26T17:03:05.597-07:00God is Funny<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">God is funny.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">God never works in the way
you expect. But He gets it done. God is funny.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">God spoke to me this week
in impeccable timing. Just when I give up, something happens. Just when I least
expect it, God is there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3iroLADTbJ0/WNgVWfrzNeI/AAAAAAAAAls/cpke0oZ30ngM-kwIA11k-5Y_gRbeB2_OACLcB/s1600/cacti.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="496" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3iroLADTbJ0/WNgVWfrzNeI/AAAAAAAAAls/cpke0oZ30ngM-kwIA11k-5Y_gRbeB2_OACLcB/s640/cacti.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beauty in the desert.<br />"We are being asked to give less than we are prepared to give, and that will require more of us than we expect."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">This week, spring is alive
in the Rio Grande Valley. While there have been flowers here ever since I
arrived, what seemed dormant now teems with life! Most of the time, cacti look
dormant, uninviting, and dangerous. Their needles threaten the herbivore, and
their thick skin looks dead or dormant at best. But something has begun to
happen. Buds of light green flesh appeared on top of the old cacti lobes, and
pretty soon flecks of yellow peeked out. Now, the flowers are in full bloom! Who
knew a plant that looks so menacing could be so beautiful! Out of the dry desert
and the menacing cacti, come the beauty of God’s creation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Transition has never been
my favorite thing. Even as a child, I did not like change. But, because I live
the itinerant life and I have chosen to follow God’s call into the desert, I
have learned to deal with constant transition. So this time, when I arrived in
Texas and had a smooth first two weeks, I thought <i>hey! I’ve got this transition thing down! This is a piece of cake!</i>
What I did not anticipate is a belated transition.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">When I am in a transition
I doubt everything I know to be true. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">God is always with me. <i>But is he really? I don’t feel him…</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I can do all things God
places before me. <i>But I’ve never done
this before. How can I possibly succeed?</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I am called to be a Sister
of Notre Dame. <i>But how can I be a sister
when I can’t handle even moving to a new place?</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Over time, I have learned
to cling to my spiritual practices as a lifeline. During this transition to
Texas, even the practices that used to fill me with joy and love, left me empty
and unfulfilled. My prayers just feel like motions, my reflections feel
superficial, and I feel fake. <i>How can I
be a sister if I’m just faking it?</i> But the most extraordinary thing
happened this week. God is funny.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">My dry desert of a
spiritual life and menacing cacti of transition, bloomed. What was dead has
come to life again! Big, beautiful, cheerful blossoms of yellow greeted me in
the form of a woman and a conversation. Just as I was asking God, <i>why aren’t you here? Why don’t I feel you?
And where should I go? </i>He answered me in the flesh, the flesh of a woman
with seven children, who is feeling alone. God is funny.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">After a long week of
ministry after ministry being cancelled, we decided to bring some information to
a woman we had met several weeks ago. We hesitated going alone because she does not speak English. But we had the time, and she
needed the information. So I wrote down a few sentences I would need, made sure
my phone was charged with google translate at the ready, and headed out to her
trailer with Sr. Maxine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I expected an awkward,
halting conversation between people who do not speak or understand each other’s
language. What we got was a graced moment, a visit where our hearts met. Even
though we do not speak the same words, we have a common language of love. God
is funny. If we had gone another time, or visited another family, or focused
more on traditional teaching ministry, we would not have had this graced
moment. A new relationship has been formed and a new purpose has been
discovered. God is funny. As Sr. Pam says, “We are being asked to give far less
than we are prepared to give, and that will require far more of us than we
expect.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Here in the valley, we are
being led to receive rather than to give, to be rather than to do, and to form
relationships rather than to accomplish something. But that is just it, Jesus
always entered into relationship <i>before</i>
healing, <i>before</i> teaching, and <i>before</i> giving his life. Maybe, we will
only be present in the valley for the “before” phase and will never see the
after. God is funny like that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1249263247404320650.post-58431212053353276392017-03-13T06:51:00.002-07:002017-03-13T06:51:35.452-07:00Confronting my Privilege<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I can’t get their faces
out of my mind. The children we teach in Mexico are so happy, so joyful, so
eager. I see their happy, smiling faces in spite of all they lack and I wonder,
</span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">how?</i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7jmBI2VvLRc/WMaisovi3RI/AAAAAAAAAlQ/sdftJ1yB8Uch-KxXAkay90MWUiiYIR51ACLcB/s1600/20170306_134038.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7jmBI2VvLRc/WMaisovi3RI/AAAAAAAAAlQ/sdftJ1yB8Uch-KxXAkay90MWUiiYIR51ACLcB/s640/20170306_134038.jpg" width="401" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Despite needing work, the cheerful color of the one-room schoolhouse greets us each week.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I grew up in a warm home
with plenty of toys at my disposal. I never wanted for food or wondered where
my next meal would come from. I had easy access to clean water for drinking and
bathing and I always had new clothes. I had the opportunity for a top notch
education, which satiated my eagerness to learn. I had parents who encouraged
me and always wanted the best for me. And I knew I was loved. I had a happy
childhood. Because my childhood included both love and material wealth, I have
a hard time separating my happiness as a child from either of these things.
That is a part of my privilege.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">During my time here on the
border, I have the privilege of teaching English to some children in Mexico.
These children are all extended family and live in a colonia. A colonia, a
Spanish word meaning neighborhood, is established on land outside of the
boundaries of the city and may or may not have water or sewage, since the city
is not required to provide them. The owners of this land sell small plots to
families who then build whatever they can afford. Sometimes, it is a proper
house, others it is a trailer, and other times the dwelling is only a shack.
The children I teach live in one-room cinderblock dwellings with tin roofs.
They run around in the dirt road and play with their grandparents’ chickens.
Their parents have to buy 5 gallon jugs of water because the water at the
colonia is not safe to drink. And, the children know they are loved. Their
parents sacrifice for them, even taking time out of their day to teach them so
they do not have to go so far to the government school. These children have a
happy childhood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sRM5ovtxyAY/WMaiu4qkWMI/AAAAAAAAAlU/Sa6jc0ZcYPE0UxlLOr6V-49W9NyFttjDwCEw/s1600/20170306_134022.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="386" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sRM5ovtxyAY/WMaiu4qkWMI/AAAAAAAAAlU/Sa6jc0ZcYPE0UxlLOr6V-49W9NyFttjDwCEw/s640/20170306_134022.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Setting up the classroom so we can teach two different sets of children. The classroom walls are bright and full of learning tools, the alphabet, numbers, and behavior charts.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Somehow I cannot wrap my
mind around the fact that these children lack so much that I had, some that I
even deem as essentials, and yet, they are still so happy. “They don’t know any
better.” is a phrase I often hear and say about children like this. But after
seeing their joy I think, <i>do they even
need to know better? Actually, is all that I had as a child better than what
these children have?</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">My initial reaction was
one that you probably had after reading about the lives of these children,
pity. I wanted to fix everything. I thought they should have everything I did,
toys, candy, cookies, formal education, new clothes, running water, houses with
doors and air conditioning, in order to be happy. If I had these things and was
happy, then they must be necessary, right? After my initial reaction, I took
the time to really observe the children and their families. They are … happy.
Despite all their poverty, despite the challenges, they are happy. So, there
has to be something wrong with my preconception a happy childhood. They know
better than I do what they need. I NEED to listen to them. What really stands
out to me is, these children are loved. And they know it! Their parents want
the best for them, and which is why we were asked to teach English.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Confronting poverty
head-on in Texas and Mexico has had an unintended consequence of confronting my
privilege. I have the privilege of being born a US Citizen. I have the
privilege of a good education. I have the privilege of being born into an
upper-middle class family who loves me and cares for me. My idea of a good
childhood looks very different than the reality of the majority of childhoods
in the world. My preconception of poverty is that it is bad. While it is
important to make sure all people have what they need to live, maybe there is
some wisdom in poverty. A wisdom of simplicity, a wisdom of love. And we, as people
privileged to walk alongside the poor, need to listen to this wisdom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1249263247404320650.post-56535908655177690142017-03-05T15:09:00.003-08:002017-03-05T15:22:22.487-08:00A Community of DivisionsI was bubbling with anticipation as we pulled up to the Humanitarian Respite Center. I had heard so much about it and was waiting to experience their ministry to immigrants just released from the detention center. I expected to see a bustling place, filled with life and love. But as we walked up to the door, the tents outside were empty and once inside, only a handful of volunteers populated the place. I was puzzled. What happened to the hundreds of immigrants I saw in pictures and videos of the Humanitarian Respite Center? They were gone.<div>
<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SXya7N90GoY/WLyLhDBEzeI/AAAAAAAAAkY/8WS6hWvnkA8Mhld0I3jO-X-7r8jpxembwCLcB/s1600/tents.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SXya7N90GoY/WLyLhDBEzeI/AAAAAAAAAkY/8WS6hWvnkA8Mhld0I3jO-X-7r8jpxembwCLcB/s400/tents.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Empty tents at the Humanitarian Respite Center.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Life here in “the valley” has truly been affected by the various executive orders signed by our president in the past month. What was once hundreds of immigrants being released from detention each day, is now no more than 30 each day. If a wall is built, it will be harder for companies who employ people on both sides of the border to do business. There will be fewer jobs and legal immigrants will not be able to see family as often. In addition to less new immigrants, the threat of deportation is always looming for families in the valley, but the people still have an immense amount of hope. The threat is real, and deportation is pulling families apart. One woman was just deported a few weeks before her daughter, a US citizen, was to get married. Now she is stranded in a Mexican city she does not know, and a country she has not lived in for at least three decades. And, she will not be able to witness the marriage of her daughter. But still, the people have hope. I wonder, where does this hope come from? Christianity is a part of their Latino culture, and that gives them hope. For many, they have experienced much harder realities, and since God saw them though those tough times, why would God abandon them now? God never abandons us.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hoAVBp7OHjU/WLyXJ62lJOI/AAAAAAAAAk0/volNtzwLzYw9uylFa8RDm_lIrho385WHACLcB/s1600/IMG_1330.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hoAVBp7OHjU/WLyXJ62lJOI/AAAAAAAAAk0/volNtzwLzYw9uylFa8RDm_lIrho385WHACLcB/s400/IMG_1330.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Sr. Maxine and a volunteer from the Humanitarian Respite Center. After having been born in the US, but living in Mexico most of his childhood he said, "We have something in common. We both left our countries fleeing violence." He hopes that his experience with immigration helps him to relate with and show compassion to those we serve.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />As lent began this week, I have been using Lenten reflections on connectedness from Judy Cannato's book "Quantum Grace". Two lines have stuck with me all week, "We are called to bare our hearts, to stand naked and vulnerable before God. This is the prerequisite for restoring unity." I can't help but think that what our country needs, what our border needs, is a healthy dose of vulnerability. There are visible divisions here and around our country. How can we, as Christians called to "rend your hearts, not your garments, and return to the Lord, your God" (Joel 2:3) show our vulnerability and work toward unity with our brothers and sisters - no matter where they are or who they are.<br /><br />We are indeed all connected by the very dust that we came from and return to. We all certainly house the divine and are made to bring that image to each other. How can I be more aware of others' vulnerabilities this lent? How can I make myself vulnerable before God and before my fellow humans? How can my actions work toward unity and not toward division?<br /><br />Join me as I try to make myself more vulnerable before those I encounter and play one small part in healing divisions in our country and on our border.<br /><br />Ok, one last story. Last week, Sr. Maxine and I convened a group of people in the parish who would be interested in a grief support group. Because Sr. Maxine cannot speak spanish, the group was to be in english only. When we arrived at the meeting, it became apparent that people of all language abilities were interested. How could we turn them away? So here we were, some who speak only english, others only spanish, others bilingual, and everything in between. But there was no problem. Everyone made sure everyone else could understand. As the meeting went on, because everything was being translated by multiple people, it was as if the community were speaking rather than individuals. Communication is a community event. In order for a community to speak, the members must be vulnerable with each other. Unity in the midst of things that should divide us. I am learning a lot about community from my brothers and sisters on the border.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1249263247404320650.post-58161654909510013692017-02-26T18:10:00.000-08:002017-02-26T18:10:27.368-08:00Flexibility<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kiwyCtwPn4g/WLGHNdOEQOI/AAAAAAAAAj0/B7GZTzgUVtQJC17xuC7Aq64GICQ-tokZACLcB/s1600/20170223_072136.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kiwyCtwPn4g/WLGHNdOEQOI/AAAAAAAAAj0/B7GZTzgUVtQJC17xuC7Aq64GICQ-tokZACLcB/s400/20170223_072136.jpg" width="297" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eating Texas-shaped waffles at our hotel in northern Texas.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">As we got closer to our destination, my excitement intensified. The pines of northern Texas gave way to scrub, cactus, and eventually, palm trees. The temperature on the car thermometer steadily climbed from 57 degrees to 100 degrees. We were getting closer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Here in “the valley” flexibility is the rule of life. Very
little is certain here, except that your plans will certainly be interrupted
and changed. That was the case for me as soon as I arrived. I thought I would
have a few days to settle in and begin ministry on Monday. Well, I had to be
flexible and start right away. Because the valley is by nature bilingual, there
is a patience among the people. No one rushes me when I struggle to communicate
or find the right word to use. No one brushes me off as being incompetent because
I do not know Spanish well. And everyone has welcomed me with open arms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Just one night’s rest after arriving in Weslaco, I
accompanied Sr. Constance to teach English. This was new territory. I was
afraid of not knowing enough Spanish. I was afraid of not being able to teach
well. But the women welcomed me with open arms and big smiles. As we learned
language about family (mother, father, son, daughter, brother, sister), I
realized that I have something in common with the people of the valley. We have
all left our families behind to pursue a life. The “winter Texans” (like
snowbirds, but in Texas) leave families behind for a warm retirement. The
immigrants of the valley left family behind, sometimes not seeing them for
years, to pursue a better life for their children. And I left my family behind
to follow God’s call for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">With all of these transplanted families in the
valley, a new extended family is created between parishioners, neighbors, and
friends. I have found common ground with the people of the valley. We all stand
on common, holy ground.</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1249263247404320650.post-60595540236413791002017-02-22T11:15:00.001-08:002017-02-22T11:36:51.867-08:00Day One to Texas: Spring in Fast-Forward<p dir="ltr">Amazingly, I was wide awake this morning when we began our journey to Texas at 6am. So I drove the early morning shift. The quiet was tangible, and as the city lights faded behind us, they were replaced by pillowy clouds of fog cradled in the Kentucky valleys, wrapped in a blanket of night. The scenery invited a peaceful contemplation. </p>
<p dir="ltr">As we ventured further south, little signs of spring began to pop out at me. Trees were flowing and small new-green buds populated branches on the side of the road. (Pictures 1-2)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-p5cKSbQcfeI/WK3klIzxXvI/AAAAAAAAAi4/l56WYUlYK_s/s1600/20170222_125235%2525280%252529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-p5cKSbQcfeI/WK3klIzxXvI/AAAAAAAAAi4/l56WYUlYK_s/s640/20170222_125235%2525280%252529.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-qkV-f-yephE/WK3klqt8rjI/AAAAAAAAAi8/YUm0l-LaRCY/s1600/20170222_125234%2525280%252529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-qkV-f-yephE/WK3klqt8rjI/AAAAAAAAAi8/YUm0l-LaRCY/s640/20170222_125234%2525280%252529.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">As we crossed the Mississippi River into Arkansas, the scenery moved from hilly to as flat as a pancake. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-kZtpSx1FSYA/WK3kl_PVYBI/AAAAAAAAAjA/TR2HWHk4v3A/s1600/20170222_125340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-kZtpSx1FSYA/WK3kl_PVYBI/AAAAAAAAAjA/TR2HWHk4v3A/s640/20170222_125340.jpg"></a><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-PIYdbermJEs/WK3kmI8iiHI/AAAAAAAAAjE/DsFiJG-Xhzs/s1600/20170222_125408.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-PIYdbermJEs/WK3kmI8iiHI/AAAAAAAAAjE/DsFiJG-Xhzs/s640/20170222_125408.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Coming from Connecticut originally and having lived in Kentucky for the past year and a half, the flat terrain is jarring to me. Below is a picture of the Tennessee scenery and then the Arkansas scenery. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-rx0xjWlbUPY/WK3lD2vGGTI/AAAAAAAAAjI/S6LOJTC24vI/s1600/20170222_103347.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-rx0xjWlbUPY/WK3lD2vGGTI/AAAAAAAAAjI/S6LOJTC24vI/s640/20170222_103347.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Ug1jCn3_jk0/WK3lEY0wzLI/AAAAAAAAAjM/_SvrRVd2YG0/s1600/1487791343563.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Ug1jCn3_jk0/WK3lEY0wzLI/AAAAAAAAAjM/_SvrRVd2YG0/s640/1487791343563.jpg"> </a> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1249263247404320650.post-54361235338879202902017-02-10T12:26:00.001-08:002017-02-10T12:26:16.477-08:00A New AdventureI have a bit of news to tell you...In approximately 1 week, 4 days, 14 hours, 33 minutes, and 48 seconds from the time this was posted, I will be starting the 21 hour drive to Weslaco, TX where I will spend the next 3 months. I will be making an effort to document my journey on this blog, including the prep time remaining and the road trip down. This adventure brings so many firsts for me: my first time living outside the eastern time-zone, my first time driving across the plains of the mid-west, my first time in Texas, my first visit to Mexico, my first time working with immigrants, you get the picture.<br />
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While I am a healthy dose of nervous (who wouldn't be with that much change?), I am also very excited and joy-filled. God had a big part to play in the fact that I am even going to Texas. I never thought I would be asking to minister on the border. But back in October when I was discerning about possible placements for my second year of novitiate, I reflected on some of Pope Francis' words, urging us to discern where the margins are in our world today and to go there. At the time, as there still is today, there was much hateful rhetoric about immigrants. And I thought, <i>where else are the margins in our country today if not at the physical border?</i> I felt this spirit pulling me to the border in a very real way.<br />
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But where was this feeling coming from? I was never the one to harp around immigration issues. Sure I agreed with those who did, but it just wasn't my passion. But here I am feeling pulled, called, to the Rio Grande Valley to stand at the margins with my immigrant brothers and sisters. As I went to my novice director and described this call I was feeling to her, I soon found out that she had felt the very same call for me and had already started investigating how I might spend some time on the US-Mexico border. How good God is to work in that way!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--fOGV73kfWo/WJ4hNQm2eLI/AAAAAAAAAh8/FNSZZNj9HbkWQbl1WQyaK8Qs7v1puNaWACLcB/s1600/migrants.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="621" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--fOGV73kfWo/WJ4hNQm2eLI/AAAAAAAAAh8/FNSZZNj9HbkWQbl1WQyaK8Qs7v1puNaWACLcB/s640/migrants.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teaching migrant children last summer opened my eyes to the hardship of an immigrant's life and the joy they bring to the world.</td></tr>
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As I sit here, reflecting on my last year and a half in Kentucky, I am struck by how much the people I have met here mean to me. When I moved here, I quickly realized that I need to be rooted in my community, involved in city events, and making friends in all walks of life. And I have done that. I knew that I would have to say goodbye eventually, and most likely sooner rather than later. But what I didn't anticipate was how much my leaving would affect them.<br />
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I'm used to leaving, picking up the roots I so carefully laid out and transplanting them in another place. It doesn't make it any easier each time, but at least I know what to expect. But the people I have met here are not always used to my itinerant lifestyle. Sometimes wires can get crossed and misunderstandings happen. It can feel like a rejection.<br />
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But I am not rejecting Kentucky. I am not rejecting Cincinnati. And I am not rejecting the people I have met and so lovingly formed relationships with. In fact, it is just the opposite. I am taking each person with me. I have learned a unique lesson from each relationship and these lessons will help me in my next adventure.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1249263247404320650.post-20850272831079479302016-08-29T06:43:00.000-07:002016-08-29T06:45:43.252-07:00Learning from Leaving<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Bep8-trJsCs/V8Q6LhaGyfI/AAAAAAAAAf0/hb7GpAnz9a8n-R4E6L0FYI8I9UykyytvwCLcB/s1600/migrant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="372" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Bep8-trJsCs/V8Q6LhaGyfI/AAAAAAAAAf0/hb7GpAnz9a8n-R4E6L0FYI8I9UykyytvwCLcB/s640/migrant.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(left) A prayer one of our oldest students wrote for the first day of class. (right) My co-teacher and two of our students read a book before class begins.</td></tr>
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"You're never coming back are you?"<br />
The little disappointed face familiar with the act of leaving and smeared with the peaches we just shared pleaded me to contradict her. It broke my heart, knowing that I probably would never again see these children, who I had grown so fond of during the last week.<br />
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"I don't know if I'll be back." I responded honestly but full of regret, "I want to come back next summer, but I can't make that decision for myself." The disappointment stayed on the little girl's face and now I was surrounded by the other children peppering me with all kinds of questions and responses.<br />
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"So we'll never see you again?"<br />
"I'm going to miss you!"<br />
"Will you play on the slide with me one last time?"<br />
But it was the unspoken sentiments I could see in their eyes that tugged on my heart the most. "Its ok. We're used to people leaving us and never coming back anyways. Just more of the same."<br />
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In June, the Novitiate Community had the opportunity and pleasure to teach catechism classes to children living with their families in migrant camps on the vast farmland outside of Toledo, OH. We were there only for a week, but other groups would continue teaching the children throughout the summer. Before embarking on this adventure, I had never heard of a migrant worker. I didn't know what that meant for their way of life or what needs we could minister to. The week ended up being an education for both the children and myself.<br />
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Migrant workers travel the country following the crops. They travel with their whole family and any belongings that fit in the car. The children have very little. The housing at the migrant camps is not much better than a camping cabin. And because the families travel so frequently to different states, the children are familiar with leaving and being left. Uprooting and leaving everything, friends, teachers, home, several times a year can be challenging. But there is some beauty to the simplicity of a migrant child.<br />
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These children had wild imaginations that could be sparked by the littlest thing. During our break, I watched my nine-year-old student pick up an empty popsicle tube and fill it with clover and grass blades saying "this is poison and I'm finding the remedy." When we had a lull in the lesson and our class got a little antsy, my co-teacher and I would declare it was time to play a game. Immediately the children yelled out at least a half-dozen games that could be played with just our persons. Their enthusiasm, energy, and ideas were endless. Their simplicity challenged me in how I am living the vow of poverty and the virtue of simplicity. Do I need a shelf full of books to keep me busy or stacks of pictures and nick knacks to remind me of connections I have made and people I have left? Can my memory and imagination be sufficient? What am I attached to? If I had to fit all of my belongings in a car could I, and are the items that cannot fit necessary?<br />
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The migrant children I taught were also incredibly flexible and resilient. When we lost our inside teaching space they immediately accepted the outdoor classroom we set up on two sheets. When their families leave for the season, they will pick up all they have and move to the next place, easily making friends and learning to live someplace else. I was amazed at how much the children seemed to be at home with their temporary surroundings and how settled they seemed to be. They haven't been at the camp long this year and were already used to life. From my own experience, I know that it takes me months, even a whole year to feel at home and settled in a new place. For me, the frequent moving and flexibility that comes with the vow of obedience is a challenge. But these children, who have been living a vow of obedience to their parents for their whole lives, are practiced at the art of flexibility. I complain about moving every year and being in constant transition during formation. How can I be more flexible and open to my circumstances?<br />
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Seeing the value of simplicity that brings on imagination and flexibility that brings resilience in these little ones, inspires me. I strive for simplicity and flexibility because of their value. I live the vows poverty and obedience because of their value and not because it is required of me.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1249263247404320650.post-21921123163109811782016-07-15T14:00:00.000-07:002016-07-15T20:29:49.558-07:00Tears for Others<i>All I want to do is cry.</i><br />
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That was my first thought after attending a Panel Discussion on Police and the Black Community last night. Panelists included the Mayor, two Police Chiefs, and leaders from Black Lives Matter Cincinnati, Cincinnati Children's Law Center, and New Prospect Baptist Church. Being in that room, I felt like an outsider looking in. I am not black. I do not have any ties to the police. But I see the injustice, and I want to do something about it. I feel helpless. Last night I experienced not only my own helplessness, but the helplessness of the black community, and the helplessness of the government and law enforcement.<br />
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We are all helpless.<br />
We are all hurt.<br />
We are all angry.<br />
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With every passing comment, question from the community, and statement from the panelists, I was more aware of the intensity and depth of the hurt on all sides. Even though I could never feel this specific hurt, the intensity of the hurt in the room was palpable. I felt like I was on a boat in a storm, taking on more water each time a new wave of hurt hit my ears. I could drown in all this water. I could drown in all these tears.<br />
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<i>All I want to do is cry.</i><br />
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While the panel discussion was challenging, I am ultimately glad I went. Seeing the hurt in the eyes and the voices of the attendees keeps me emotionally connected to the unjust racial situation in our country. I cannot personally feel the emotions of discrimination, but I can empathize and remember times when I have been hurt in other ways. I could do nothing amid the storm and constant waves of hurt last night - except bring it to prayer. High emotions may be uncomfortable, but they keep me connected to others and running to God. In running to God and staying connected to those who hurt, I hope to find a role to play in righting this injustice in our country.<br />
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<i>All I want to do is cry.</i><br />
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I do not cry for myself.<br />
I cry for Alton Sterling, Philando Castile, Sam DuBose, and all other black men murdered at the hands of the police.<br />
I cry for Tamir Rice, Michael Brown, and all black children who are growing up in our violent world.<br />
I cry for the police and their families who have been thrust into sadness by a mistake.<br />
I cry for Brent Thompson, Patrick Zamarripa, Michael Krol, Michael Smith, Lorne Ahrens and all police officers killed in the line of duty.<br />
I cry for the unjust system that is our government and criminal justice system.<br />
I cry for the unending violence in our world.<br />
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At the end of the night, after hearing of another act of violence I thought:<br />
<i>I don't think I can handle any more hurt. But God can.</i><br />
<i>All I want to do is cry. All I can do right now is pray.</i><br />
<i>God, never let me feel disconnected from my brothers and sisters who hurt.</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1249263247404320650.post-85960765232592214332016-06-26T17:50:00.000-07:002016-06-26T17:50:24.457-07:00God is an 101 Year-Old Nun<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sometimes, I get so caught up in what I am doing day-to-day that I forget the reasons I am living like this. Somehow, this un-ordinary life of living in community with adult women, praying and going to mass every day, and dedicating my time to serving others and serving God has become my new normal. I have a routine I am used to and I am not in a state of transition anymore. What seemed like an odd way to live at first became exciting once I started living the life with passion, and has now moved to a more stable existence. If I were talking about a dating relationship I would say that we've left the honeymoon phase.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Novitiate life is not new anymore. I am not adjusting to living a new life or in a new place or with new people. There is less </span>spontaneity<span style="font-family: inherit;"> and more routine. And this is not necessarily a bad thing, because stability and routine can strengthen and deepen a relationship. It is in this place that I am most called to remember why I am here and tend to that "why" in a deeper way. But most of the time it's hard to think back to when I first started "dating" this life and remember my reasons. The "whys" of my life have become hidden by "musts". I "must" learn this to get through formation. I "must" deepen my relationship with God during formation. I "must" move here, live there, serve this role to make the most of formation. My "why" had become "formation". Which is a TERRIBLE "why" for a drastic life change. But just like in a dating relationship when the reasons you love a person become obscured, taking a moment to remember how you felt at the beginning puts it all in perspective.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I had some help in finding my perspective. </span>Recently, the Covington province welcomed 10 women and 6 SND vocation directors from around the country. Mayra and I got to join them for an SND Spirituality Retreat. During the course of the weekend where we explored both our own spirituality and SND spirituality, I realized that for me, the two match because I have a piece of SND spirituality within. Having to witness to these women what it is like to be a novice and recounting my vocation story over and over forced me to remember how I felt at the beginning. I remembered the passion, the love, and the joy that has come with answering God's question with my whole self. And I got to see this same passion, love, and joy in the women on the retreat and in my sisters as they interacted with the women.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SwMmvZvedR8/V2itBggIeXI/AAAAAAAAAeg/Ms8atPNxW4sP5wcLWbNBRLzSrRRjNTOrgCLcB/s1600/retreat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SwMmvZvedR8/V2itBggIeXI/AAAAAAAAAeg/Ms8atPNxW4sP5wcLWbNBRLzSrRRjNTOrgCLcB/s640/retreat.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Retreat Team (left) and Retreatants (right)</td></tr>
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My favorite moment of the weekend was taking some of the women to visit our older sisters in Lourdes Hall. We started with our oldest sister and never got much farther because she kept us talking for about an hour. I will never forget the all-consuming smile that dominated her face the whole visit. You could see the joy of service radiating from her. And that day she did the greatest service, encouraging women on their spiritual journey and fostering hope. I met God that day.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9BkIddRYz-o/V2itqs70rAI/AAAAAAAAAes/0HukJ8bzrKoKU9On0POc5Bb2wML26328QCLcB/s1600/srpaul.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9BkIddRYz-o/V2itqs70rAI/AAAAAAAAAes/0HukJ8bzrKoKU9On0POc5Bb2wML26328QCLcB/s640/srpaul.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sr. Kelley and I took some retreatants to visit Sr. Paul, our oldest sister.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px;">I am here because of the joy it brings me to serve and walk with people. I am here because I see that same joy in my sisters. I am here because this life helps me to be my most true self. </span>I asked God to remind me of my "why" and I never thought the answer would come from 10 discerning women and our 101 year-old sister. God speaks in the most unexpected places.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1249263247404320650.post-24196687555055807792016-05-31T06:16:00.000-07:002016-05-31T06:16:57.201-07:00Cultivating LifeGrowing up, gardening was always a chore. My mom loves to garden and has always taken special care with her flowers. Our entire backyard doesn't even have grass. Piece by piece, my mom has transformed it into her little oasis. She tried to get my sisters and I involved at different times in our lives, to pass on the gardening gene and get some help with weeding. But I always saw it as an unpleasant task. I never quite understood how my mom could enjoy working in her garden for hours on a hot, sunny Saturday when she could be enjoying the pool or a good book. To me, gardening was sweaty labor that never amounted to anything because the weeds always grew back. Plus, I was never very good at gardening, I often forget to water and I liked to say I kill anything I touch.<br />
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Well, I am proud to report that finally, I have successfully grown things. And I kind of like it. I now understand what my mother was getting from the soil, sun, and flowers. She got to cultivate life.<br />
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Cultivating life has been important to me recently. Prior to this year of prayer, I always had some kind of project to direct my energy towards. Whether it was my research, a school project, or even planning an event for my sorority, each project usually involved some kind of problem solving (let's face it, I'm an engineer, so <b>every </b>project had to solve a problem). But now, my environment has changed. I'm not in school, I'm not a leader in any organizations, and I'm not working. My usual sources of projects and cultivating life are purposely not a part of this stage of my life. So I've turned to other creative endeavors like painting, dancing, and ukulele playing. But none of these physically <b>create life</b>. I've found that growing plants and tending flowers is filling that void for me.<br />
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I'm also at an age where friends are marrying and having babies. And there is a desire inside of me to create life too. Since I can't create human life, I am creating plant life and bringing beauty to our yard and home. The flowers give me something to nurture, something to be proud of. I have never spent so much time marveling at the amount of buds on a plant or how fast a shoot has grown. I'm proud and excited to show off the beauty of the flowers or the uniqueness of a new growth to the sisters. In fact, I spent most of memorial day just staring at our hydrangea which were beginning to flower. In the course of the afternoon, I memorized which buds were most open and which part of the plant flowered blue or pink. Spending time with the flowers has become a prayer. Their beauty draws me to quiet and their growth draws me to wonder.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D0UcQLK84rI/V00SIjugWhI/AAAAAAAAAd4/mTB8HM8v8zIPGHuc7yzx57bHo2ggnxhBwCLcB/s1600/blog5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="393" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D0UcQLK84rI/V00SIjugWhI/AAAAAAAAAd4/mTB8HM8v8zIPGHuc7yzx57bHo2ggnxhBwCLcB/s640/blog5.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(a) A taste of my Mom's garden - where it all began, (b/c) the first hydrangea blooms from our backyard - watching life emerge is captivating, (d) Easter flowers in chapel bring beauty to our home.</td></tr>
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Now that I have time to putter in the garden, weeding and watering have become less chores and more loving care for new life. Gardening takes time, more than what it takes to water and weed. Plants speak by how they grow. We, as gardeners, need to listen. A good gardener takes the time to notice the messages flowers send through their petals and leaves. I should know, I watched my mom putter in the garden for 18 years.<br />
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Gardening is a chance to <b>cultivate life</b>.<br />
Gardening is a way to <b>care </b>for the earth and for others.<br />
Gardening brings <b>color </b>to our world.<br />
Gardening teaches me to <b>listen and pray</b>.<br />
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What desires are stirring in you? How can you cultivate life? What new life is begging to be watered? What are the flowers in your life telling you, through their petals and leaves?<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1249263247404320650.post-53726525651227306772016-05-06T13:20:00.000-07:002016-05-06T13:20:49.846-07:00Musings While HikingI've been hiking a lot recently, it helps me to clear my mind and pray. I've learned that being in silence with God does not have to be motionless.<br />
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Below are some pictures and poems from my hikes in the past couple weeks.<br />
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"A weed is simply a flower that someone decides is in the wrong place...It deserves an efficacious spot in which to flourish!" Sister Monica Joan from Call the Midwife<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0RLO66gov0U/Vyz7fRk8xJI/AAAAAAAAAdA/PQ3btDiPW6Mq6l-UWeio4f35adlDwSFoQCLcB/s1600/20160506_123229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0RLO66gov0U/Vyz7fRk8xJI/AAAAAAAAAdA/PQ3btDiPW6Mq6l-UWeio4f35adlDwSFoQCLcB/s640/20160506_123229.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I find myself on a path<o:p></o:p></div>
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with cobwebs on my ankles<o:p></o:p></div>
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waiting for a glimpse<o:p></o:p></div>
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of why I am here<o:p></o:p></div>
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for who could have gone before me<o:p></o:p></div>
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if cobwebs cover the path<o:p></o:p></div>
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yet, who could come after me<o:p></o:p></div>
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if they are already broken<o:p></o:p></div>
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for the cobwebs, they lead<o:p></o:p></div>
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and yet they obscure<o:p></o:p></div>
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the cobwebs make us think of loneliness<o:p></o:p></div>
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and yet speak of something left behind<o:p></o:p></div>
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what could have gone before me?</div>
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Some-One had to lay the path.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1249263247404320650.post-67430003795002510342016-04-20T18:12:00.001-07:002016-04-20T21:06:32.732-07:00Nesting Gods<span style="font-family: inherit;">As a child, my family would go to our Nana and Papa's house every summer for a whole week. They lived on a lake with a small beach, so there was plenty to keep us busy outside. But on rainy days, we had to make do with our imaginations and what handful of toys our grandparents had. My sister and I spent hours pretending the basement stairs were in fact bunks in an orphanage that made us scrub the floors like the one in the movie Annie. The springy mattresses in our bedroom made perfect boats. And the built-in bar and bar stools in the basement provided endless opportunities for imaginations to run wild. But sometimes we didn't want to pretend. Sometimes we just played with toys that 20 grandchildren had played with.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sister and I enjoying time with Nana and Papa on their deck in New Hampshire.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Nana and Papa's toy stash included 5 things.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">1) Two big boxes of legos, every future engineer's dream (no wonder several of their children and grandchildren became engineers)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">2) Various spatial puzzles given to my Papa over the years including an eagle that balanced its beak on your fingertip (again, with the engineering. You'd think they were brain washing us or something!)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">3) A crocodile game that forced game players to put their fingertips at risk of a plastic crocodile bite if the wrong tooth was chosen</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">4) Various old and forgotten board games like a dusty Monopoly board and Trivial Pursuit 80's edition</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">5) Russian nesting dolls brought back from one of my grandparents' many travels</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">By far our favorite was the crocodile (until we hacked the game and found out how to tell which tooth was the culprit). But the Russian nesting dolls brought the kind of fun that tickles your imagination. Sometimes we made them into a family and played house. Sometimes we stacked them into different configurations to see what they would look like. And sometimes we just opened and closed them over and over. The first time I figured out what they did, I was amazed. At first it looks like you have only one doll about 5 inches tall. But when you take it apart, there is another, smaller doll. Then that one comes apart to reveal yet another! The process keeps going until you get to the tiniest doll which does not open up. I just loved finding the smallest doll and marveling at how its small features exactly matched the ones on the big doll.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Nesting dolls remind me of the mystery of our in-dwelling God. This is a mystery that has been especially present in my life this year. I am acutely aware of the fact that Jesus dwells in each and every one of us. When I interact with someone, it is not Nicole speaking to her neighbor, but God communing with Godself through humans. This in-dwelling is our home; the dwelling that each of us is called to live in (see my post about dwellings last week <a href="http://nunsinthemaking.blogspot.com/2016/04/we-are-all-homeless.html" target="_blank">here</a>). If we live from this in-dwelling, we will necessarily be called and sent to form community with others and the God-within them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">At first, this can seem to be contrary to Augustine's popular saying, "Our hearts are restless until they rest in You." But I don't think it is. I imagine a divine nesting doll. The smallest doll, which retains the same intricate features as the largest doll is the in-dwelling God. The small God is placed inside us and we in turn place ourselves in God. Why can't God be everywhere at once? And even then, maybe "resting in God" is more of a metaphor for recognizing the God within and realizing that I am not apart from God - that in fact, God and I are one.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I<span style="font-family: inherit;"> have been reading Teresa of Avila's <u>The Interior Castle</u> and she talks about prayer leading us to a relational union with God. She describes a transformation that happens in our relationship with God. What was once two entities, me and God, now forms a whole new be-ing, unique from what I was before and unique from any other human-divine relationship. This transformation creates a me-and-God relational energy. God and I are one. I am no longer myself, God helps me to transcend humanity in relational union with Him.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I envision this union as a dance with God as my partner. I do not know the whole dance, in fact I do not even know the next step!</span><span style="line-height: 107%;"> All I need to know is how to
communicate with my partner wordlessly and gracefully; taking His cues and
returning my own, but always working as one. The experience of dancing is much
more beautiful when I'm not sure what is coming next.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">An image I created that reflects the dance of unity.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1249263247404320650.post-33972294369641317292016-04-13T11:38:00.003-07:002016-04-13T11:38:33.488-07:00We are all Homeless...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some sights I've discovered on my outdoor explorations.</td></tr>
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I love to explore the outdoors. I bike, hike, meander in fields, and do whatever I can to be with God's creation. Since I moved to a new city in August, I am still exploring what nature has to offer in Northern Kentucky and Cincinnati. On one exploration, I found a roughly maintained nature trail which followed the bank of the river close to my house. I pushed my bike as far as it would go, sure that the trail would lead somewhere interesting. But soon enough I found myself in the middle of a bank of grass which dead ended into the side of a bridge overpass. I wondered why the path just abruptly stopped and soon realized the answer. I smelled campfire. And if I looked closely at the brush by the river I could see well worn paths and tops of tents... <br />
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I had stumbled upon a camp of people experiencing homelessness! Knowing that strange visitors are often unwelcome in these places, I turned right around and high-tailed it out of there. I promised myself that the next time I went back I would knew the people living in those dwellings. I have not yet been back.<br />
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In retelling that story, I stopped at the use of the word "dwellings". Even though these people have shelter to live under (usually a tent or a shack), why do we still call them homeless? And what is the difference between a house, a home, and a dwelling?<br />
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I have often heard that "home is where the heart is" and that a home is about the love experienced inside the structure. If this is true, then many people labelled as "homeless" are not truly homeless. I have known people without traditional homes who form much stronger, more loving communities around their shacks and tents than most people who are housed.<br />
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Well then, what is the difference between a house and a dwelling? A house is individualistic. It stands alone and is self-sufficient. All you need for life is contained inside, water, food, etc. A dwelling makes me think of a village or a campsite where people rely on community to survive. A dwelling is usually a little more temporary, movable. But a dwelling can certainly be a home and necessarily creates and relies on community.<br />
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As I was reflecting on the significance of home, house, and dwelling, I found myself accidentally attending a funeral mass for a man I did not know. Now, I bet you're wondering <i>how do you accidentally attend a funeral?</i> Well, I went to mass one day and instead of the normal daily mass crowd, I was greeted by a hearse and pews full of people dressed in black. I decided to stay and see what message God had for me in the midst of a weird situation. The gospel that day was from John and included the following verses:<br />
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"In my father's house there are many dwelling places. If there were not, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back again and take you to myself, so that where I am you also may be." Jn 14:2-3<br />
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When I heard those sentences, something clicked in my mind. <b>We are all homeless. We are all destined to live in dwellings.</b> Our houses, homes, and dwellings here on earth are just temporary until we reach our true home with God. But why does Jesus prepare a dwelling place for us rather than a house? Because our God is a relational God grounded in community. Could you imagine if in heaven each person had their own individual house? Houses create separation from each other and from God. Dwelling places invite community. I imagine my dwelling place being nestled among the dwelling places of my friends, family, and sisters. Each of us being a unique puzzle piece to complete the wider community of dwelling places. Living in a dwelling place invites me outside of myself to gather the necessities of life from the community and from God. God does not want us holed up in our houses in heaven. God wants us dwelling among people and most importantly, dwelling with and in Him.</div>
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God invites us to this same community while living here on earth. So I have been taking time to reflect: do I spend my time living in a house or a dwelling place? How is God calling me, here and now, to dwell among people and with and in God?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1249263247404320650.post-50709768528905766832016-03-22T13:09:00.000-07:002016-04-04T11:06:03.300-07:00Identity Crisis<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">On Saturday February 20, 2016 I became a sister for the fourth time. The first time, I was 2 years old and proudly held my newly born sister on my mom’s hospital bed. She would grow to first be my biggest annoyance and then my closest confidant. The second time, I was a sophomore in high school and cheerfully welcomed my adopted sister-to-be who would become for me a continual lesson in diversity, inclusion, and love. The third time, I was a freshman in college waiting with excited anticipation to be initiated into the engineering sorority with women who would become some of my closest friends to support me through the rigors and joys of college. And this fourth and probably last time, I nervously waited to process into the chapel of the Sisters of Notre Dame with Mayra as we prepared to become religious sisters. My identity was about to transform. Again.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiREqQSUbRghG-ZGq4FRkq71m8OBmVBnu4HeqZVcN4jMUm6aBppscyKzF_tAi8Ty6jvMCSbB8gtiMjiDPI72-lz9f_l_8vta_bKJaERHAq9njJFe3ka4KN3TabRghtKUiH45UZHwj4-GvU/s1600/composite+picture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiREqQSUbRghG-ZGq4FRkq71m8OBmVBnu4HeqZVcN4jMUm6aBppscyKzF_tAi8Ty6jvMCSbB8gtiMjiDPI72-lz9f_l_8vta_bKJaERHAq9njJFe3ka4KN3TabRghtKUiH45UZHwj4-GvU/s640/composite+picture.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clockwise from top left: Me and my newborn sister; my adopted and biological sisters at my graduation; with my good friend and sorority sister; Mayra and I waiting to become novices</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I once heard that in our society, we focus our identity on what we do rather than who we are at our core – which is a beloved child of God. So I challenged myself to turn my perspective around and ask, “who am I, undefined by what I do?” My response included how I act, what I value, and what I live for and toward.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I am a young woman…</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">who is kind, loving, and trusting.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> value setting examples and being a role model.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I am dedicated and passionate.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I am flawed, but created to be perfectly me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I am a perfectionist learning to love imperfection.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I am an influencer of lives.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">A year later, I went back and reflected on who I was at that moment. Since we are constantly growing, the expression of who we are changes, but the essence remains the same. Between these two reflections, I grew internally, but I also changed in outward identity. I went from student to career woman. From discerning to deciding.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I am a young woman…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">who loves God more than anything.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">who expresses that love by loving all people.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I love everyone and will fight for others to love everyone regardless of color, orientation, or situation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I value laughter and joy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I value compassion and kindness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I am motivated by love to create and show love in this world.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I am His hands and feet.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">And now where does that leave me? I find myself with a new outward identity as “Sister”, but what does that mean for me? Gone are the days of conformity in the convent, but I am often approached that way by lay people. They expect a holy little nun who teaches and spends the rest of her day in prayer. Well, all you get is me, with all of my humanness and my flaws. You get my joy and bubbling laughter at a good pun. You get my nerdy need to spout off facts I picked up from God-knows-where. And you get my youthful enthusiasm and desire to dress comfortably and with flair. People may not look at me and think “Oh, she’s a sister”, but that does not take away the fact that it is now a part of my identity. So how do I live into this new identity while still retaining the essence of who I am and who God created me to be, yet still make my new identity a part of my being? Who am I now, undefined by what I do?</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2