All that Settles is I Love You.

A Poem in the midst of Novitiate

I love you.
The words echo.
Not because the space is empty
because it is ready to be filled.

Among all else that could be said
the words repeat
resound
as they have my entire life.

My life
it is my hope
has responded
crying out love in so many ways

From the depths
the deep
the depression

Love comes forth
New day, new time
New space, new place
carved out

I love you.
Over and over
before my ears could hear
my lips knew not how to speak,
still Love.

To hear those words volleyed
from another's mouth,
the soul.
How do you return that serve?

Let it ricochet
in a space opened
to the sound of love.
The echo rings louder then,

beyond the bounds

that Love knows not.

Darting and dashing
it steals home.
You stole home
when I wasn't looking.

So now my heart rests
in You alone.
every other love an echo of the first.

My first.
My last.
My everything.

Never full but filling;
Captivatingly Closed;
Endlessly Open;

a terminal for the world.

a platform solid in arrival
and departure,
beginning and end.

a respite
where echo stirs
and all that settles is
I love you.

A Year's Time

Ultimately... consecration is God's doing. 

I surrender, God blesses.
I admit that letting go is hard, God blesses.
I take longer than I want to ease into it or let go or realize that the moment is here, God still blesses. 
And as God consecrates this time, it becomes something that I can't explain, something that I need to live and love- a blessing and a mystery that I cannot control but can simply ease into... recognizing the moment, no matter the time or place, praising God and letting it all be blessed.

from "Consecrating Time", 9/26/12

Let it all be blessed. Those are the words I spoke nearly a year ago as I reflected on what had been my first week in the novitiate.  Today marks my one year anniversary of entrance into the Sisters of Saint Joseph. A year ago, I became "sister"; a year ago, I left everything and started out on this journey of faith. 

Today, a year's time has passed and I can't possibly recount all that has happened in the last 365 days. Rest assured, though, that it all has been blessed. Some moments have been sanctified by tears, others have been christened by laughter, and still others have become embedded deep within me, moments of grace known and not soon forgotten.

Consecration is the work of God, but it is work carried out at our own hands.  God blesses this time but it takes my acknowledgement to see it as blessed. The Divine mingles among the day to day, I need to be aware enough to know what is in my midst.  Sometimes I'm good at this, other times not so much, but God doesn't stop. All is blessed.

If the last year has taught me anything it is this: when you open yourself up to the work of God, there is no telling what will happen, there is no boundary to the ways God will work in your life. A year ago, I opened myself up to the work of the Spirit, I invited God into my life in a new and very intentional way and I have not been disappointed.  Surprised, yes; Disappointed, no.

A year's time has taught me things about myself I never knew. It has given me perspective on what I desire and has taught me what breaks my heart.  This year has allowed me to experience the person and the diety of Jesus Christ in a completely new way.  My love for God has grown ever deeper. The One I called companion and friend is now also lover, creator, sustainer, and so much more.

In the midst of heartbreak, he held me; in the throws of struggle, he brought me peace; in the absurd and the average, he charmed me and enticed my heart.  In this time, I have learned to love God more and in so doing, I've learned to love myself and my dear neighbor all the more too.  I've come to realize that the more deeply and honestly you come to know God, the more deeply and honestly you come to know yourself.  There is no way around that. This is a journey where you must go through.

That journey is on-going and as I look forward to what the next year holds, I hold my breath.  I can't possibly imagine what it will mean for me or what will be revealed.  I trust that the God who has led me thus far will continue to lead me still.  I know that I will be asked to give more in the service of the growth that I am undergoing. Deep down, I know this will not be easy.  God continues the work of blessing, not only, this time but this place and this person (me!) as we continue.  I sense that new space is being carved out within me. That space will be sanctified and, I pray, I can let it be filled with Goodness. 

As with the year that's passed, only time will tell what the future holds. No matter what, though, I know that I am held in that time by the God who is so much more.  I trust. (even though I resist.) I feel. I surrender. I learn. I grow. I am blessed.

I can't ask for much else. The time that has been has been a blessing. A year's time is abundant. 365 days.  8,760 hours. 525, 600 minutes. Yet in it all there is only one focus, one prayer, one Love.  That's what a year's time holds and I have been blessed to be able to hold gently to that- here's to the year to come.

As I continue into this next year of my novitiate, I carry with me the prayer that I began this sacred time with. It holds true for me as much today as the day I first wrote it. I pray it might hold whatever you need it to right now... 

God of my heart, your love has the power to transform. 

Set my heart on fire, let your loving flames consume all that I am and transfigure me from the inside out. 

Quench my thirst for You alone.

Give me the grace to surrender to your work in me, that everything else that occupies me might be taken away and who I am may be set in Christ. 

Ignite your fire deep within me and let it burn in me and through me each new day. 

Amen.

The Tears That Bind

The novitiate is about letting go.

In some ways, the letting go is very tangible: I've left my friends and family behind on the East Coast to be here in Chicago; I relinquished access to my bank account when I entered the Novitiate last September; I had to leave my job, and with it the people I had accompanied, to engage in this process.

In other ways, the letting go necessitated by the novitiate is far less evident.  It requires letting go of expectations of what this life might be like, letting go of the need to be "productive", as society might see it, in exchange for prayer and study.  It means letting go of things you didn't even know you were attached to: independence, the need to have a 'plan', the pursuit of falling in love with a single person, and others' opinions of you... and that's just the tip of the iceberg.

Yet, we (and by we, I mean novices and essentially "I") lay it all aside so that we might pursue God's call to us, delving deeper and deeper into relationship with the One who calls us, listening attentively and discerning if this life path is truly ours to take.

That discernment is no easy journey.  It is full of bumps and bruises. It requires being open to taking an honest look at yourself (over and over again), and sharing what you find with the God who already knows and will point things - unknown and/or previously avoided- out to you over and over again. All of this is done in Love, no matter if that love comes through in joy, sorrow, or any other emotion imaginable.  It is a journey with God and of God that ultimately culminates in growth.

This week another layer of that growth through letting go was revealed to me.

Part of what I gave up in coming to Chicago was the freedom to travel. I am in canonical time and so I can only be away for 15 days (pretty much Christmas vacation and, heaven forbid, any emergency that might call me back to Philadelphia.) Now you might say, "So what? That's not that big of a letting go...you can't travel- get over it. You're in a new city, with new people, taking part in a wonderful program, there is no need for you to go anywhere, sister!" and you would be right. There is no need. This time is focused and intentional and nothing should get in the way of that. I sincerely believe that and that's what has made the last few days so difficult.

On Tuesday, I received news that my good friend Barbara's father passed away after battling lung cancer for over a year.  Barbara called around noon and so I knew something was wrong; School teachers don't call in the middle of the day just to chat. I was in class and so missed her call, but when we did connect the news wasn't any easier.

My friendship with Barbara is something that's hard to put into words. It is deep, unique, and I wouldn't trade it for the world. We both know that if we met on the street, we probably wouldn't be friends. She is So-Cal through and through and I am an East Coast girl (sarcastic with rough edges et al.) Lucky for us, we didn't meet on the street...we were forced to live together.

Forced may be a strong word for it, but let's just say that in August 2010 we both found ourselves in the same living room in a row home in inner city Philadelphia.  We, along with one other young woman, had left everything behind to give a year of our lives in service as volunteers with the SSJ Mission Corps. Our first night together as a community was awkward to say the least, but as the year went on, Barbara and I developed the type of relationship that can weather life's storms, meet community challenges, and take on anything with a healthy dose of honesty and laughter.

Since those first days in 2010, our friendship has grown. We have helped one another grow as individuals and we have given support and challenge to one another where ever and whenever it is needed.  So, last August when Barbara got word that her father was being given 12 months to live, we mourned together and I watched as my good friend left Philadelphia to go be with her Dad in his final year of life.

Luckily, the ties that bind are not loosed by distance, they are just adapted.  Instead of meeting face to face over coffee, we talked over the phone. We shared stories, shared life, and made sure to continue on this journey together. So, Tuesday when I saw the message on my voicemail at mid-day, 13 months since that shift in our journeys, I knew what had happened.

I knew this day would come. It was and is a sad day... and it has continued throughout the week.

It is a great loss to a great friend, and so, it is a loss to me as well.  In that loss, too, there is a new lesson in letting go for me.  I knew there was no way, save a miracle, that Barbara's Dad wouldn't pass while I was at the Federation Novitiate AND I knew that when that day came, I would not be able to be by my friend's side. Not at the viewing, not at the funeral, not anywhere near her side, instead I will be thousands of miles away in Chicago.

Yet, the ties that bind us together are strong.

As we talked Tuesday night, Barbara filled me in on the details of her father's passing.  We shared. We laughed. There were tears.

Barbara had spent her day crying. "I don't have anything left in me right now" she said into the phone. I expressed my condolences and we shared more. I expressed my deepest desire to be there and to do whatever was needed. "He's gone" she quietly stated with great pain and stunned sorrow.  Silence fell over the line... a moment of recognition of something irreversible.

Suddenly, it washed over me.

"Are you crying?" she asked. Her voice quiet, truly wondering what it was she heard on the other end of the line.

"I am." I confirmed through my tears. I hadn't expected the tears to wash over me, but how could they not. The pain was real.

"Maybe, this is my form of a hug." I sobbingly mused. With thousands of miles between us, this was all I could offer.  I would have given anything in the world to be there, but I couldn't be and so I cried with her then and hold her close these days.  The emotion comes from a deep place- the tears offer what is let go of- a movement of connection. Without words, they came and all that remained when they were gone was love.

That is the love that life is about. It is a love that comes through in joy, sorrow, or every other emotion imaginable. The tears I cry with Barbara are tears that bind; they come when I think of Syria, they rise as I give thanks to God for all that is good in the world, they flow when I pray with and for my sisters here at the novitate and back home in Philadelphia. They unite us in peace, grace, and growth to one another.   And when all is said and done, they are the tears that bind us to God- to a love that will never let us go.

Skipping Days

Tuesday was not a day I was looking forward to.  First off, I knew it would be hard, how could it not be? Secondly, in the midst of transition and the whirlwind of moving, I hadn't realized that Tuesday would be the day.  The day, that is, when I would need to say goodbye to my home novice director.

Somewhere in my mind, I had thought that the time to say goodbye would come on Wednesday. So you can imagine my surprise when Monday I learned that we would indeed be saying our farewells on Tuesday night. Well, you actually might not be able to imagine my surprise and all the emotions that came with it. 

You see, my home director is the woman who has been accompanying me for the last two years. In the olden days, she would have been referred to as the Directress or Mistress of Novices. Today, her title is Formation/ Novice Director. Either option is pretty sterile; one evokes the image of a larger than life figure charged with the task of "making nuns" (I imagine the towering figures who formed groups of nearly a hundred novices at a time), the other image is nondescript- (formation director? bleh. What the heck does that mean?) 

Until two years ago, my director and I didn't even know each other; Over the ensuing time, we have spent countless hours together. She has taught my classes, lived in community with me, been my guide in the congregation, and listened to the state of my heart with deep compassion.  Her charge is simply (ha!) to direct me. That is, to craft my formation as a Sister of Saint Joseph, track my growth, and discern with me the compatibility of this congregation and myself.  For, as I look at the SSJs, they also look at me and it is her job to aid that looking (from both sides). 

Without a doubt, she has earned the title Director. Through ups and downs, she has stood by my side, advocating for my needs and making sure that they were never lost in the shuffle. She is the one I have turned to in the midst of chaos and confusion. When my grandfather lay in a coma this winter, she was the one on the phone offering to bring sandwiches to my family as we sat at his bedside. She is the person, who just months before I began my novitiate, I calmly called to inform that I'd been hit by a car while riding my bicycle. She is the one I, literally, have shared my life with.  Day or night her door is open, her phone is on, and her heart is receptive to whatever might arise.  She has taken everything in stride and I couldn't be more grateful. What she does is not a job, it is a ministry and it is so much more.

So, when I awoke Tuesday morning recognizing that within twelve hours we would be "apart" for the next eight months, all I could do was text her: Can we just skip today?

Because, really, that's all I wanted to do. Skip the day.  Leaving Philadelphia had been hard enough; now I was being asked to say goodbye to the person who'd traveled this road with me. To, in a way, tell her it was alright to go...to leave me in this new city... with these new people... all alone.

The answer, of course, was no. No skipping. She was more clever about it but nonetheless the sentiment was there. This is a transition that will be fruitful. This experience is worth it. You are ready. I will never leave you and, even more than that, God will never ever leave you.

I knew it. God is here. Jesus has led me to this point and there is no way he's going to just leave me empty handed in Chicago. The God I've grown so deeply in love with in Philadelphia stands with open arms to welcome me to this next stage of my formation. Without a doubt, God is the director.

And the words of a Jesuit friend of mine echo in my ears: Transitions suck. God is awesome.

As I embark on this next leg of the journey, I must remember that. God is awesome. You can't control change, you can only manage transition. No matter all that is new in this time- the One who has led me here is constant. In the midst of the whirlwind of emotions and experiences that this first week has been, I know that God's grace and love abound even as I feel a physical absence in my heart of someone who has meant and means so much to me.  The space that is being and has been carved out in me is a place for God to more deeply reside. And as I hold tight in trust to these loving promises from God, I know I can't skip these days. They are important. They are given freely and lovingly without reservation from God. Just as a wonderful stranger turned director turned friend was given to me. And nothing in the world would ever make me want to give that up.

In The Atlantic; Off to Chicago

I leave for Chicago in less than eight hours to begin my time at the Sisters of Saint Joseph Federation Novitiate for the next nine months. And while I haven't updated the blog regularly this summer, I have some updates before I head out to the Midwest.

First off, it has been a wonderful summer. As my last post in June showed, I spent the first part of my summer shadowing various SSJs in the ministry, taking the opportunity to see my sisters in action and to see the many ways that our mission is lived out daily. I was truly blessed by these experiences- from hospital and hospice chaplaincy to drug treatment counseling and development consultation- and even more than the work that I got to see done, I was blessed by being able to witness the women who live out our mission with grace and poise, finding God in all things and embracing the dear neighbor, whoever that might be at a given moment. Here is an excerpt from my reflections on my time out in the field:

The paths that lie ahead of me are many. To be honest, shadowing didn't give me much more clarity about what exactly it is that I’d like to do when my novitiate is done. It has, however, shown me how I want to do whatever I do- with passion, zeal, and faith.  It showed me that being a Sister of Saint Joseph is about trusting in God and letting that relationship dictate everything else. Ultimately, this experience wasn't about finding a ministry, it was about seeing the many ministries our sisters serve in and the way our mission is alive in and through them. We are not strictly teachers and I am not being asked to serve in any way other than that which will use my gifts, help the world, praise God, and continually meet my passions/desires.

In the end, I find myself back where this all started, a little wiser and with eight “new” companions on the journey.  I walk with Helen, Diane, Mary, Kaye, Liz, Maureen, Madeline, and Mary. I share in their story as they share in mine and, ultimately, we are united in what is our story as Sisters of Saint Joseph- an apostolic life marked by docility to the Spirit, humility and zeal, expressed in a spirit of gentleness, joy, and peace… directed to this single end: the union of ourselves and all people with God and with one another, in and through Jesus Christ. 

The summer also gave me the opportunity to go on retreat and to take some vacation time with my family. Both were wonderful and, hopefully, I will soon be posting pictures that capture the beauty of both experiences.

Finally, as I packed my bags today, I got the pleasant surprise of seeing some of my comments on religious life published in The Atlantic. The article can be found here.  The piece focuses on Millenials who are chosing to enter religious life/ the whole idea of why, and more so how, individuals today approach religious life. It is a balanced article, though not the most well written. Still, it has an important point to make- this life isn't something that is in conflict with my generation, but rather it has value and appeal. As I myself said, "I am a millennial, through and through. There's a hunger within people (in this generation) for intentional living and intentional community... that crosses bounds." 

Ultimately, whatever our vocation, we need to share our faith by living it out. That is what I and so many others (both in and outside of religious life) are trying to do.

And so with that I prepare to make the move to Chicago, where I will join three other novices with the Sister of Saint Joseph in a time of intensive prayer and study. I have mixed emotions as I approach this transition.  On the one hand, I'm excited to have a time so focused on developing my relationship with God, time to be away, time to evaluate and discern, time to give myself completely to the One I am growing more and more in love with and who is helping me grow more and more within myself each day.  On the other hand, I face the anxiety of leaving a city that has meant so much to me over the last three years. It is a city full of people and experiences that I will miss dearly and that I will, nonetheless, carry with me as I move to the Midwest for this time.  This move also means transition and the adjustment to living with women I don't know.  While we are all in the same stage of formation together, we are for all intents and purposes strangers and so I am trying to remain open to all they have to offer me as I hope they will  do for me as well.  Yet, all I can do for now is hold them in my prayer as we prepare to share life together.  

As I get ready to make this move, I ask for your prayers too- for our community, for myself, for our directors, and for all that this experience will hold.  With more of a regular schedule, I can (fingers crossed) promise more frequent posts to come as I delve into the second year fo my novitiate.  Many thanks for your prayers and support.

Becoming Sister

Becoming a sister is not a quick process by any stretch of the imagination.  From Candidacy to Novitiate to Temporary Profession to, at last, Final Profession is a process that can take anywhere from 6 to 9 years. I myself have officially been in the process for over 2 years now. (Unofficially, I've been connected to the Sister of St. Joseph for four years.)

When I became a novice in September, I took the next step in this process, entering into two years of intensive prayer, study, and reflection.  For that reason, blog posts have been less frequent and I have had to make conscious choices about how I communicate.  Becoming a novice also marked another big change: I became "Sister".

That is to say that in taking this step I entered into the congregation that I had been in touch with for close to four years.  I am now our youngest member. I am Sister Colleen.

There are a lot of transitions to be made when entering into the novitiate. I imagined and prepared myself for some in the months leading up to my initiation.  Leaving my job, getting rid of possessions, moving into a new community, getting used to a new routine- I knew all of these things would impact me.  Other transitions and struggles I never could of imagined and have done my best to navigate them with grace (sometimes successfully, sometimes not, and in the case of some other times, the outcome waits to be seen.)

One transition, though, that I don't think I ever thought to consider seriously was the jump into becoming "Sister".  My friends like to joke that they can now call me Sister Colleen much to my chagrin, my brother likes to call me "Sister Sister", and I've come to affectionately (and somewhat flippantly) sign some notes to my parents "Love, Sister Daughter".

The truth is, though, that I never could imagine myself being called Sister.  I had never met a Sister Colleen and when I turned the name over and over in my head it didn't seem to roll off the tongue. I blame the inexplicable jumbling of syllables between the two words when pronounced in conjunction. To my ears, the name didn't quite fit.  Even once I "had" the title, it wasn't how I introduced myself. Those I had known before September wouldn't use it to introduce me to people and so, while it made random appearances, there was no regularity of usage for it to stick with.

As I began doing some work in classrooms at our elementary and high schools here in Philadelphia this semester, the name took on more regular usage, but in many cases those I was teaching with bounced back and forth between the formal and informal within the course of a day.  As I worked with fourth graders, teaching them our SSJ history, I found I would refer to myself in the third person, as if this "Sister Colleen" was a separate entity, someone just as easily discussed aside from myself, created through an out-of-body commentary.

These past few weeks, I have begun shadowing sisters who serve in various ministries up and down the East Coast. As I spend time with these wonderful women, the question inevitably comes up: What do you want to be called?

More often than not, that question comes after the awkward moment where I must be introduced to someone. Hesitation is the key characteristic of these situations. Either there is an ascending, somewhat questioning tone (as in This is my friend, Colleen.?.) or a moment of pause and/or mumbling (as in This is... Sister Colleen...umm, she'll be spending the day with me.).  Either way it's an awkward, less than comfortable moment.

When I first encountered that question of what I wanted to be called- my response was just as strained and uncomfortable as that initial introduction. You can call me Sister Colleen or Colleen, yeah, really whatever you think works best.   In reality, I felt bad pointing out that Sister had a rightful place in front of my name. I thought it was common knowledge, after all each sister had gone through this transition just as I had, but over time memory and details become clouded. I would rather have not had to have been the one to point this out. And, even more, my own ill-at-ease with the name/title didn't lend itself to a confident assertion of what exactly I should be called.

"Sister" carries with it a lot of power and a lot of responsibility.  It comes with its own connotation and, inevitably, it comes with a raised eye brow (or two) when a person sees that the one bearing the name is a whole lot younger than whoever they were expecting to see.  I get that. I don't blame anyone for it. It's a fact I completely understand and a responsibility that I am becoming more and more comfortable with as I take on the title and all that comes with it.

It means I need to behave but it also means I need to be myself.

Part of that self is now Sister Colleen.

Today, as I stood in front of a group of eighth grade students in North Carolina, leading a retreat with a fellow sister, something about that part finally clicked.  Without need of qualification, I was Sister Colleen... just as my co-leader, with 29 years in this life, was also Sister.  The teacher who introduced us to the class didn't stumble or stammer when she named us, her voice remained steady and my ears remained undisturbed. And perhaps for the first time, I firmly believed that I was Sister.  That's what my name tag read, it's what the students before me accepted as truth, and, without internal objection or rejection, it's what/who I was and am.

And that, I can honestly say, on this long journey, is a step in the right direction.

An Annunciation Delayed

From time to time, poetry makes its way up onto the blog.  This is a poem that I wrote in mid-April around the official celebration of the Feast of Annunciation, which was delayed because March 25th fell during Holy Week this year.  The poem speaks to a lot more than the Annunciation- it is rooted in my own journey and call, the connection to the Holy Spirit deep within each one of us and the way in which we come to know the One who loves us so dearly in the midst of all else in our lives.

Where were you, Mary, when you heard that voice?
When Gabriel, in all God's glory, stood before you?
I always imagined it in the dark of night
in stillness
undisturbed yet utterly chaotic
No one else to feel it or to hear it.
A disruption by the Divine
A moment so dear, so deep
with no one
with the division of millenia
Yet, I can feel it myself.

Like buds bursting
The fuchsia flame of magnolia
across my soul.
The Spirit come to roost.

But perhaps, you weren't in the dark
dear Mary.
Maybe it was as you opened your eyes
on a new day
or it was in the middle of dashing from place to place
An interruption unplanned.
Some thing just as easily pushed aside by innocent bystanders.

Did it stop you in your tracks that day?
Or did it take until mid-April to sink in
and then you awoke one morning
to the not so sudden realization
An annunciation delayed.

And when it crossed your mind
each and every time
it stirred something deep within
even after the promised baby boy
was outside of you.

Like a match dragged across emery,
igniting time and space.
There was love.
From toe tips to split ends.
Wherever you were, that space was inside you.

Where were you when it happened?
Unplanned.
Non-negotiable.
Digging out its own space,
Taking up residence,
Returning home.
So that you might never be lost or late
but simply delayed in grace.