Speak to Me Sunday: A Nun's Rebellion

[I have learned many faith lessons from Sr. Gaudiosa, a sister to me in every way but blood. This is still one of my favorites ...]

Several years ago, I was curled up on the couch the day after Christmas watching The Sound of Music with Sr. Gaudiosa, a nun from Tanzania who has stayed with our family many times throughout the years. We were alone, it was snowing outside, and there was a crackling fire in the fireplace. 

This was Sister's all-time favorite movie; she has seen it half a dozen times and can sing the songs and even recite some of the dialogue. Her favorite part is when Mother Superior challenges Maria to consider that maybe she is being called to a vocation outside the religious life.

It was interesting watching this movie with a nun, especially when Maria decides to leave the Abbey. While Sister and I have had many heart-to-heart conversations, this scene in the movie made me wonder if she ever questioned her decision to join a religious order or if she ever had any doubts about God's call.

So, I asked her.

And curled up on the couch in front of the roaring fire, she told me a story ...

She was in her third year at the convent—a  year before taking her final vows—when she and 18 other postulants decided to leave. They made no announcement and gave no notice. They were tired of working, tired of studying, and so they just walked away.

"Just like that? You walked away?" I asked.

"Just like that," she said. "We got up in the morning and walked away. We told no one."

All 18 returned to their separate villages. All 18 had no more contact with one another.

Once she returned home, Sister told her parents the convent was on break. She didn’t tell them what happened, and she even hid any correspondence that arrived from her Mother Superior.

Days went by.

Then weeks.

"Did you talk to any of the others who left?" I wanted to know.

"No one," she said. "But, oh, how I struggled. I didn't know what to do."

Finally, after days and days of praying, at the end of the month she packed her bags, said goodbye to her family, and returned to the convent.

And a miracle happened.

Amazingly, on the very same day she returned, slowly, and all throughout the day, the other 17 returned, too. One at a time, from different villages, they all came back.

I looked at Sister, astounded.

"We all came back on the same day," she said, smiling and nodding. "All 18 of us. We had been very foolish, but God showed us—each in a different way—that we needed to come back."

Today, Sister continues her work both here and in Tanzania. When she is here, she works with African immigrants and refugees; when she returns to Tanzania, she takes what she has learned here and adapts that knowledge to address the needs of her community, all while facing ignorance, prejudice and, inevitably, bouts of malaria.

But on that day after Christmas with the snow gently falling outside, I knew Sister's story was just as hopeful and happy as the movie we were watching. She had her rebellion, but in time realized that she could still hear God's voice calling her to Him. 

And so she went. 

Saturday, Chore Day

1- Early morning yard sale hunt with Joe. Purchased a couch and a slip-covered chair for Jonathan's apartment this May. Yes, he has a job lined up and, yes, he will be moving to Atlanta after graduating from grad school and, no, other than a television he doesn't have any furniture. (Here is a post on how we helped Nicholas furnish his apartment when he moved to Little Rock: Getting Ready: How to furnish your apartment.)

Bonus: The couch was purchased from our lovely neighbors who were raising money for another family who is adopting a child. Hurray for adoptions!

2- Joe is doing his annual pressure washing of the driveway. Better him than me.

3- I am painting baseboards in the upstairs hallway. On second thought, maybe I'd rather pressure wash the driveway. It's easier on the knees. Then again, it's cold and I don't want to get wet, so never mind.

4- We're one week into March and I have yet to even begin Masters cleaning. I have lists, but NOTHING is checked off as done. Except the driveway, but that's all Joe. But since I'm feeling tendrils of panic starting to creep in, I will start today with the guest bedroom.

5- And what about Timothy? He's still sleeping, but the minute he wakes up I have a list for him too. Poor thing.

A Mother and Son Day

After two years, countless appointments, a gazillion rubber bands, and a much-depleted bank account today was THE DAY.

Timothy's orthodontic treatment finally came to an end.  

And because he had a mid-morning appointment, we decided to make a day of it. Just me, the bambino (all 6 ft. 3 inches of him), and a whole lot of rain. Here's what we did:

1- Slept in. It was dark; it was raining.

2- Went to Dr. Trotter for braces removal. The office gave Timothy a celebratory gift bag.

3- Came home and assembled canvas panels of a Nissan GTR. Timothy received this panel series for Christmas, my dad made the frames a few weeks ago, and today Timothy and I stretched and stapled the canvas panels onto the frames.

4- Watched an episode of Lego Masters. 

5- Had lunch. Not one, not two, but THREE Taco Bell Crunch Wraps with a large Baja Blast Mountain Dew for Timothy. Organic Greek yogurt for me.  

6- Took a post braces photo. When the bambino started to protest, I was sweetly snarky: "Look, we just spent thousands of dollars on your teeth, you owe me a photo."

7- He smiled. Sorta.

And now we're going to share a dessert of popcorn, Nerds, Starburst, and Swedish Fish because that's what you do when you get your braces off. 

clockwise from bottom:

Timothy checking out his older brother's braces

Eighth grade with braces

Tenth grade ... braces no more!

Celebratory gift bag

The Open Window

sitting by an open window

words written in raindrops

and poetry whispered in the wind

outside, a river of books

of quixotic quests

crumbling castles

loves lost and friendships found

the exotic 

and exceedingly ordinary

Once Upon a Time and The End

sitting by an open window

wishing I were a raindrop

yearning to be the wind

*from the files of very bad poetry by bia

Speak to Me Sunday: Take Our Bread

Once Upon a Time I was traveling with a medical team to Haiti when we stopped in a small village for a quick break. As I was wandering around, I came across a woman removing a loaf of bread from an open campfire. She saw me, broke off a chunk, and with a smile offered it to me. 

And I hesitated to take it.  

In the months leading up to our departure we had attended training sessions to prepare us for traveling in a third world country. We were given immunizations, a bottle of anti-malarial medication, and a list of do's and don'ts that were whittled down to this: Do NOT drink the water and Do NOT eat food that isn't cooked by a member of the staff. 

So when the woman offered me a chunk of bread, all those training sessions, the bitter-tasting anti-malarial pills, and the warnings of dirty tap water and contaminated food converged in that moment and... 

I reached out and took what she offered. Because it was all she had.

And so we broke bread together. 

That memory resurfaced while reading the Gospel of John's Bread of Life Discourse. Christ, the Living Bread, who died for us. 

A sacrifice in which he gave us everything he had. His body, blood, soul, and divinity.

The act of giving from a place of nothing, the love that comes from a complete emptying out of everything, takes on greater meaning when we step forward to take what is offered. And during Mass, when I go forward to receive what was given to each and every one of us, as I accept the precious gift that comes from a wellspring of sacrifice and love, I will remember that woman.

And I will feel grateful that Once Upon a Time in a remote village somewhere in Haiti, God's grace showed me how to be fully present in the moment so I could reach out to take what was offered.

Texts from Texas

My husband has to travel for work, usually to Kansas City (MO), Oakland (CA), or Albuquerque (NM). This week, however, he's in Amarillo (TX) and we've been enjoying his texts ...

"Landed in Dallas and waiting for my flight to Amarillo. It's a good thing I wore my corduroy blazer and jeans. I totally fit in. Except I need a big belt buckle."

"Dallas Airport ... for bored people. Show Timothy. A gaming center." (To which Timothy texted back: "I love Dallas.")

"Landed in Amarillo. My rental car is a pickup truck."

"Lunch at Tyler's Barbeque. I'm eating big today since tomorrow is Ash Wednesday."

"They don't mess around in Texas."

A Conversation with My Son that Totally Makes Sense

On the way home from school, I learn something about my son.

"You're probably going to be surprised about this, but I think Dr. Zhivago is one of my favorite movies," Timothy announces.

And then, all the way home we talk about the movie. We discuss the themes of class, war, love, power, fate, and betrayal. When Timothy asks if I thought Dr. Zhivago was a bad person, we discuss how good people can have tragic flaws or weaknesses. We talk for a long time on that point. Then he points out how Tanya, Dr. Zhivago's wife, is the only purely innocent person.

When we are almost home there is a sudden, dramatic shift in the conversation which takes us from Dr. Zhivago and Lara to this ...

"What does a fish say when it hits a wall?" Timothy asks.

"Damn."

That folks, is what a conversation looks like in our family. Just when you think it is headed in one direction, it takes a sharp turn. And there's no telling where it will take you.