Pearls of wisdom

Working on a few longer posts, but here are a couple tidbits from the last few days:

* Yesterday was my last event as the official photographer for the Redemptorists. It was the annual Mass to celebrate all the priests and brothers who are marking significant anniversaries of religious profession or ordination to the priesthood. At the end of Mass, the provincial mentioned to the entire chapel that I was leaving soon to enter the convent. There was an audible gasp from the half of the small chapel that didn't know that already (the other half being Redemptorists). Applause ensued and it was over all a very nice moment. In thinking about it later, I was struck by that gasp from the congregation. When you're the one in the middle of preparations to enter the convent, you have days when all you can see is the trees (or the boxes at the moment). At least I have those days. It's easy in the middle of all the details to forget the breathtaking part of all this. I hope and pray that I don't forget that gasp. Because it's what produced that gasp that's important -- the witness.

* A wise Redemptorist friend told me something yesterday that I found very hopeful. He's close to 80 years old and has probably spent close to 60 of those years as a religious. He thinks the world will eventually come to the realization that secularism has left a gaping hole in the very heart of society. When that happens, he said the church, and God, will be there to help heal that hole. This friend of mine said the religious life, and commitment to belief, isn't very popular now, but those who persevere in it now, who make that countercultural choice today, will be the ones who end up as the leaders when the church will really need leaders. I found that to be a very hopeful, and exciting, statement. I hope and pray that he's right.

* Packing has begun in earnest around here. Have I mentioned the boxes yet? The years immediately following my graduation from college saw me move four times in three years thanks to grad school and my first few jobs. Even though I haven't moved in seven years, I'm finding that I still don't like the process much. In the past, I remember thinking at some point along the way, that a vow of poverty really looked good in the face of all that work. Well, I found myself thinking that today, and chuckled because I've finally gotten my wish :)

Sisterhood 101: Can I call/write/Facebook/email? Can you do the same?

This is the first in a series of posts you’ll see on some of the more practical matters. Several family and friends have asked how we can communicate after I enter.

First off, I will NOT have a cell phone. Period. The first three years of formation are an intense time of spiritual, human, and intellectual growth. It works better when there aren’t a lot of distractions. So, no, you can’t call me directly.

But letters are more than welcome! You remember those things, right? The paper folded up and sealed in an envelope that you have to close by licking that nasty adhesive, and then you write on the front of the envelope and stick a stamp on it and drop it in the mailbox?

Email is also acceptable. But, as I said, I won’t have a cell phone. Which means neither will I have a smartphone. Which means I actually have to sit down at a computer to check my email. So in those scattered moments when I do have time to check my email, I would be more than happy to find some personal notes in among the spam!

Facebook is also an option, though, see the previous paragraph about the lack of a smartphone and scattered moments to check in.

(And, sorry, but this blog will probably go on hiatus again, too.)

Why the religious life?

Some may wonder, “Why religious life? Can’t you do in the course of your current daily life what you’ll be doing with the sisters?”

It’s a good question, and one that’s worth answering, especially in a world that places a lot of emphasis on what a person does, that values people based on their ability to contribute to society.

The short answer is I chose the religious life because it was the answer to the restlessness, and no, some sort of volunteerism or social activism added with a regular personal prayer life all maintained in the course of my existing life wouldn’t have equaled an answer to the restlessness.

But, of course, there’s more to it.

I’m choosing the religious life because part of answering the restlessness was making a commitment. A life commitment. Sure, I could do that by getting married and taking seriously the vow to love and cherish my spouse till death do us part. But for me, the idea of marriage and a family was a restricting one.

I have been blessed to have beautiful and real examples of what makes a good and lasting marriage – in my parents and in many friends I’ve watched build their families over the last decade. Those couples and their families inspire me. The way they support each other, the way they’re raising their children, the way they witness to and live out their beliefs. I am in awe of them.

But every time I sit in a room full of young families and watch them in action and listen to their stories, I’m haunted by the thought, “But I want more.” A family of my own just isn’t enough for me! I know individual families that have done incredible things, and made huge impacts in the lives of those around them. But in my heart I knew I’d never be satisfied with that narrow sphere of influence.

I’ve spent the last four years working for a religious order, and have seen up-close the impact these men have in the lives of those they serve. Many of them have connections with people that go back 40 years. They are members of dozens of families, and they’ve impacted thousands of lives. Those in religious life will likely never know the extent of the impact they have until we all, God-willing, get to heaven. But that’s one of the things that attracted me to this life – the ability to impact the world, albeit in a quiet way. The ability to touch the world and leave behind an eternal fingerprint.

In a world with so much noise and opinions and information overload, I’m choosing religious life because I happen to believe strongly in something Pope Paul VI said in 1975. Addressing members of the Vatican’s Council for Laity, he said, “Modern man listens more willingly to witnesses than to teachers, and if he does listen to teachers, it is because they are witnesses.” Yes, it’s totally possible to be a witness as a lay person. But as a member of a religious community, especially one that wears distinctive clothing, I hope to be one of those witnesses the pope talked about. In a world where images are so powerful (have you noticed the amount of photos in your Facebook feed lately?), the sight of a woman in a habit, standing out in a crowd, speaks louder than anything that might come out of her mouth.

Those are only two of the underlying reasons for this choice, for my saying “yes” to this invitation. And that’s really what it is in the end. This isn’t about a career move. I’m not entering the convent because I got tired of my job or my line of work or because I was lonely because I wasn’t married or because I was somehow tired of my life.

No. This is an invitation to a radically different life, and it’s not for everyone. But it’s a life that spoke to my heart at its deepest level. That small whisper that said, “come and see.” A vocation isn’t something you decide you’re going to have and then make it happen. It’s a gift. And, like any gift, you’re free to accept it or not. But there’s no re-gifting allowed here. So this gift is really special, in fact it’s tailor-made for those to whom it’s presented. There’s zero chance that you’re NOT going to like it, a lot. And there’s also no way that you won’t ultimately find your deepest happiness in accepting it.

I’m still at the beginning of this journey, but I can already attest to the truth of that last line.

The restlessness answered...my story part 2

The restless feeling I was coping with wasn’t new. It had cropped up periodically throughout my life. Most of the time, I’d find some way to satisfy it and it would disappear. But not this time. Nope. It was time to deal with it once and for all.

The question was one that had haunted me since I was very young – do I have a vocation to the religious life? Dozens of different people had asked me a million times over the years whether I’d ever considered it. And the truth was that I had, but I had also always found a reason why I didn’t – or rather couldn’t – feel called to that life. I’d also never felt strongly attracted to a particular community or ministry.

Until one day about three years ago. One of the priests for whom I worked pulled me aside and said he had a personal question to ask me. He’d been watching me work that day – taking photos at the diaconate ordination of one of the members of the order – and a question struck him. He asked me whether I’d ever considered a religious vocation. He continued by naming two communities in which he thought I might fit well.

For those few moments, time stood still. I knew this was more than just a casual question because there was no way this priest could have known about my wrestling match with that question.

Later that week, I received a brochure in the mail about the IHMs; the sender was an IHM who was friends with this priest. He had asked her to send me some information.

The rest, as they say, is history. I looked up the IHMs online and perused their website. I liked the fact that much of their spirituality is rooted in the example of St. Alphonsus Liguori, who founded the Redemptorist order in 1732. Having worked for that order for the last four years, I’d come to know a lot about St. Alphonsus.

I visited the sisters for the first time for a discernment retreat at their motherhouse in March 2011. I was immediately struck by their hospitality, but most of all by their joy and their “realness.” These were real people who were dedicating their lives to proclaiming the Gospel, and not just to those they served but to each other. There was a tremendous respect for each and every person as an individual, and for the gifts and talents they brought with them to the community. They laughed and joked around. They prayed and ate together as a community. And they genuinely enjoyed the time spent together.

I visited on and off for much of the next year, and finally in April 2012, asked if I could apply to join. I had wrestled with that decision for months, but finally, and very simply, came to the conclusion that I had found the answer to the restlessness.

Applying is a long process that involves a lot of paperwork and evaluation on several levels. In addition to getting checked out by all your doctors, you need an autobiographical statement, school transcripts going back to high school, background checks, more than half a dozen character references, a financial statement, and intensive clinical psychological evaluation.

I began the application process on September 15, 2012, and was accepted into postulancy on April 18, 2013. And I’m happy to report that the restlessness is still gone….

Wrestling with "the why"...my vocation story, part 1

So, as promised, here’s my story in a nutshell.

I’ve spent the last 10 years of my life as a journalist and communications professional. I spent about five years as a reporter and editor for daily and weekly publications in South Carolina, Maryland and Virginia. I was living the life I’d dreamed of growing up, but discovered much to my dismay that the industry I had so admired was no longer. Budget cuts, smaller staff, and increasing pressure to break even led me to the painful conclusion that it was time to move on.

Sometimes the best things in life come to us when we’re not even looking. That’s what happened when my current job literally fell into my lap. I applied, thinking I had nothing to lose, and next thing I knew I was beginning a new phase of my career as communications manager for an order of Catholic priests, the Redemptorists.

I was nervous and excited all at once. I’d never held a job outside of a newsroom in my life. But from Day One I know that I’d made the right choice. And, to my surprise, I realized I didn’t miss the newsroom half as much as I thought I would. Life was going swimmingly until about a year later.

I still loved my job, loved my apartment, loved being close to family and friends, loved my church and other activities. But something was missing. I was restless and didn’t know why. Well, I knew why. The question was whether I was willing to finally wrestle with that “why.”

Watcher of the morn…sentinels waiting for dawn

Well, after a four-year hiatus, welcome back!

Returning readers who remember the beginnings of this blog will recall that it started as an outlet for me to share the adventures and musings created by my three-hour-round-trip commute. When the commute ended, the blog went on hiatus because a) a 40-minute (now an 8-minute) commute in the car just doesn’t generate the same volume of material as a 90-minute one-way via car, subway, and shuttle van, and b) the new job was a lot more demanding in the writing department.

But, I’m happy to say that the blog is back, at least for the time being, with a new purpose! Since the last time I maintained this blog, I have had four wonderful years at the aforementioned new job, and in the process have fallen in love with the love of my life! In the coming days and weeks, I’ll share the story and get into some of the details. But for now, what you’ll find in these pages is the story of my journey from my life as I know it to entering the doors of a convent as a postulant with the Sisters, Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary in Immaculata, PA. (From here on out, we’ll call them the “IHMs” since that’s their familiar nickname…and it’s less to type!)

The title of my blog “Watcher of the Morn,” came directly from the lyrics of the theme song for the 2002 World Youth Day in Toronto, which in turn took its inspiration from Scripture. I’ve always loved the idea of watching for the dawn, and the hope that it implies. When I really discovered Psalm 130, I was enamored by the fact that it, too, talks of waiting for the dawn – “My soul waits for the Lord more than sentinels wait for the dawn/More than sentinels wait for the dawn, let Israel wait for the Lord,” and it continues “for with the Lord there is mercy, and with him is plenteous redemption.”

Hopeful words, no?


PS -- The posts here will be a mix of the philosophical and the practical. And the aim is to help friends and family navigate through this strange new world of "a family member/friend is entering the convent! Ahhhh! What do I do now?" So, if there's a burning question you want to ask, feel free to do so in the comments or via other means, and I'll see about answering it!

Under reconstruction

Stay tuned for a revival of this blog!

Sometimes I need a reminder...

Long-time readers of this oft-neglected blog might remember the stories I used to tell about my Sunday school class. I'm still teaching the same class. I'm in the middle of my third year, and boy have the record snows around here messed up the schedule! We'll be able to make up the time, so that's good, but Lent's going to be a long one, I'm afraid.

This is the time of year when getting motivated to teach class is always hardest. I don't know why. But between Christmas and that special "light-bulb week" somewhere before the last class in April, it's a slog. It's the time of year when I tell myself "this is it, I'm not doing this again next year."

But then inevitably I have moments like the one this morning.

After a pretty good class this morning, I had to run across the parking lot to read at the 10:30 Mass. I was a little harried, and the church was packed...at least three deep in the back. Probably the busiest it's been in weeks. At the end of Mass, I gathered up all my stuff, stepped out of the pew, genuflected and as I stood up, was greeted by the smiling face of a former student. But not just any former student.

Long-time readers will also remember my stories about my student, Alex, who battled a brain tumor toward the end of his first year in class. The tumor meant that his sacraments had to be administered from a hospital bed prior to surgery. But he returned last year to be confirmed. He was still undergoing chemo treatments, and wore his trusty knit cap for his confirmation.

This was the smiling face I was greeted by this morning -- minus the knit cap and his braces. He's doing great, and apparently saw me reading and wanted to come up to say hello.

The Lord knows I need little reminders of what it's all about to keep me motivated this time of year. This morning, my reminder came in the form of Alex. :)

A wonderfully unexpected journey

It's been more than a month since I last posted, so I guess it's time for an update!

Like I wrote in my last entry, my Metro commuting days have come to a merciful end, and I have embarked on a new and entirely unexpected journey. Looking back I really couldn't tell you how this all happened. It just did. I mark my one-month anniversary this Thursday, and I still pinch myself on a regular basis.

I don't really have the words to articulate how much I love my new job. Aside from the surface things -- the money, the location, the greater responsibility -- this opportunity is really turning out to be something special. I haven't felt so "at home" in a situation since I was a college student.

When I was in high school and was first bitten by the journalism bug, I dreamed of doing such noble things -- giving voice to the voiceless and righting wrongs. With my pen and paper and keyboard, my writing could have an impact, my work had a purpose for the greater good. Well, I did write a few stories that fit that description and I will be forever proud of those efforts. But not everyone in the business strives for or considers such lofty ideas.

For the first time since I realized the power of the pen, I'm waking up in the morning filled with that same sense of purpose. My byline isn't on the front page of the paper or online every morning anymore. And I'm not chasing after the governor or some other high-profile state official.

No, instead, I'm traveling up and down the Northeast coast meeting and getting to know a group of men who've given their lives to the service of the Church, specifically the poorest and most abandoned of her members. My abilities are now at their service. My words -- written and spoken -- and my photos are the tools that will help them support themselves in the future, and, God willing, draw more to their ranks.

I really don't know how I got here, and I don't know how or why these men have so quickly found their way into my heart, but I know my priority every day is to do my best for them. They are and have been a gift to so many. My prayer is that they continue to be such a gift for years to come.

The end of my Metro days

Yes, yes, I know, I fell off the face of the earth there for awhile. But Easter, interviewing for a new job, accepting said new job, preparing 26 kids to become Catholic, and resigning from my existing job have all kept me kinda busy.

At the moment I'm enjoying some long-awaited downtime before I start this new chapter in my life. Last week was my last one as a commuter on the D.C. Metro, and true to form the nation's capital's public transit system just couldn't let me go without a little drama on my last afternoon ride home.

I had a seat in the middle of the first car on the train. We were stopped at the last station in the District. The doors opened, people got off the train and there was the usual few second lag before the driver closed the doors again. In that lag of a few seconds, a black kid, probably 18 or 19, comes running on the train through the first door in the car. He was pursued by a police officer -- short black guy wearing a navy blue vest that said police on it. The kid exited the train through the car's middle door, still pursued by the officer who was yelling into his radio that the kid was coming back toward what we all assumed was more police officers.

There was zero reaction among the train passengers, by the way, through all this -- no screams, no talking. Everyone simply looked up from what they were reading or watching on their iPods and watched the cop chasing this kid.

When the cop and the kid exited the train, we all started craning our necks to see behind us where it seemed the kid had been caught and the chase was over. But then, a few seconds after the kid and the cop left, another police officer boarded the train through the door the previous two had just exited. This was a short white guy, again same blue police vest...this guy had his gun drawn and just stood there looking around the car.

At this point, a number of passengers spoke up and told the cop, "they went that way!," pointing in the opposite direction. The cop looked bewildered and hurriedly left the train. How he got on the train without seeing the swarm of his colleagues around this kid, I'll never know. But he left us all on the train in stitches. Everyone got a good chuckle out of it.

Once the second cop had left the train, the doors closed and we proceeded on our way. There wasn't really any delay...all of this happened in the space of maybe two minutes.

But I guess I simply couldn't end my days as a Metro commuter without a little drama.

Hope for us works in progress

I especially enjoyed this reflection at this point in Lent. Here's an excerpt (courtesy of the National Catholic Register's commentary section):

God is an artist who has given his works the tremendous gift of being able to participate in their own creation. In his Letter to Artists, John Paul II tells us, “All men and women are entrusted with the task of crafting their own life: In a certain sense, they are to make of it a work of art, a masterpiece.”
But becoming a masterpiece is not easy. It requires courage. The man who gambles his entire life for pennies will never win big. Or, as Kierkegaard puts it, “To dare is to lose one’s footing momentarily. Not to dare is to lose oneself.”
Imagine if St. Joan of Arc had decided that it would be better to just stay in Rouen and be a nice, pious, good little girl? Or if St. Peter had decided that it was irresponsible to leave his fishing nets untended? If St. John the Baptist had tried to find a way of calling Herod to repentance without offending anyone? If St. George had been too modern and sensible to believe in dragons?
The courage required to become ourselves is, more often than not, the courage to be taken for a fool. “We are fools for Christ’s sake” (1 Corinthians 4:10). The respectable Christianity that is so often mocked and abused by atheist writers deserves every ounce of venom that it receives; Christ never called anyone to be respectable.
Why? Because heroes are never respectable.
They are very often respected (though generally not until after they have completed their quests), but, nonetheless, they are always a little odd. There is a kind of glamour that hangs around a Bilbo Baggins after he returns from the Misty Mountains, but the upright, ordinary folk will continue to warn their children that people who go in search of treasure are liable to become a dragon’s dinner.
Now, not everyone is called to be a public hero.
. . . . .
The soul that risks little cannot accomplish its own being. ...

Yet, it is frightening, because we do not know what we are called to become. Our identity is a mystery, hidden in the mind of God. It cannot be penetrated by our attempts at knowledge, “for no science can say who man is, where he comes from or where he is going” (to quote Benedict XVI’s address to a conference on “The Changing Human Identity”).
It cannot be discovered through navel-gazing and self-realization workshops. It can only be discovered in the process of living. ...

Read the whole thing here.

And that has made all the difference...

It's Wednesday. Two more days till Friday. Can't wait for the rain they're calling for tomorrow so it washes the pollen out of the air.

The economy still stinks. Obama's still apparently on track to deliver the commencement address at Notre Dame. And we've got 18 more days till Easter.


But the good news is that a little more than 2,000 years ago, a poor young Jewish girl said "yes."

And that has made all the difference in the world!

Happy Solemnity of the Annunciation, the commemoration of the Word made flesh and dwelling among us!

The Muse: Morning colors

This is the first of what I hope will become a regular feature on this blog. A little bit of writing about whatever happens to strike my fancy that particular day. This morning it was the sunrise. When you live near the water like I do it can be spectacular!



The horizon warms to a pale golden glow, lightening the water from black to a deep royal blue and edging the blue-gray clouds with pale pink. Rays of light cast sheathes of mauve and deep rose on the tips of the tallest trees and on certain patches of forest -- but not all -- leaving most in an indistinct steel-gray shadow, as if the light were filtered through a pock-marked concrete wall.

Advent songbird

I was on the Metro this morning, on a running-late train, minding my own business with my nose in my Washington Post. We were stopped at a station. The doors closed and a man's voice behind me said, "Good morning. Excuse me, please." And he began to sing.

A lovely tenor with a foreign accent, Middle Eastern or Indian maybe, but I never saw his face so I don't really know. He sang three verses of "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel." He was on key and he did a wonderful job. If you've ever tried to sing that song in public, believe me it's not easy. That song is a serious exercise in breath control!

He finished his song to some scattered applause, wished everyone in the car a blessed day, and left.

I never know quite what to think when something like that happens on the train. Sometimes it's a person who's a little unbalanced and it becomes an annoyance. And I always wonder what's going through other passengers' heads in this politically correct, relativistic world.

But sitting there listening to that song this morning, it made me grateful that I live in a place where that man could do that. For all the rhetoric in the world, he still has a right to do what he did, and there is still enough of a Christian bedrock in our society that no one booed him or told him to be quiet or otherwise prevented him from reminding us the true reason for the season.

Happy Advent!