All You Holy Women

“God comes to us as we are and allows our abilities to express Divine Truth.” I heard one of my sisters say this a few weeks ago. An obviously powerful line, it stuck with me.

I heard another one of my sisters say to me the other day, “I feel like admitting that you are a perfectionist is half the battle, like, ‘Hi, I’m Val, and I am a perfectionist.’”

This past week the community has slowed down to take in our annual retreat. As mentioned in my last post, our sister, Joan, directed us through these days. She told stories of sisters about whom she had journaled during her time as prioress, sisters who came in at the top of the list in community rank back in the 80’s. These elder sisters had lots to teach her about the wisdom it takes to live life well, and she used this week to share that wisdom with us. She partnered each highlighted sister with a quality of the spiritual life, reflected on its different facets, and offered questions for our own growth. These conferences were loaded with wonderfully insightful material, even though at times it felt overwhelming—the amount of self-reflection possible with such meaty, developed reflections.

Compassion combined with selfishness; serenity combined with anxiety...and so on...Joan examined both sides of ten qualities. On our desert day, Joan combined vitality with perfectionism.

Oh no.

Just what this perfectionist needed to enter a day of silence and solitude...the aspect of myself that makes the most noise in my head and that tries to partner up with me most often to try and pull me away from my Divine Truth.

I have to admit; it wasn’t easy. Nope.

Because then I had an entire day to reflect on what I heard: “Perfection is bad for you the way smoking is bad for you.” “Perfectionism is an illusion.”

Perfectionism is this vicious cycle for me. The vulnerability that it takes to inch away from perfectionism by admitting your humanity—your incompleteness in order to grow into your true self, that vulnerability is often so difficult to muster up in the first place because of said perfectionism. And I know that I am not the only one with the challenge because I heard and saw others resonating, but perfectionism is often lonely because it’s hard to talk about.

I am so grateful for the retreat that Joan gifted to us; it reminded me of the history behind me, supporting me, upholding me. These women who compose our Benedictine family still offer us gifts, too—they remind me that I am on a journey, not only my own, but communally, too. They remind me to laugh about my daily foibles and general humanity that usually cause me to beat up on myself. They remind me to seek and live from my Divine Truth. They remind me to keep running on the path of love.

All you holy women, come and be with us.

Let us walk in the holy presence.

Communal Retreat

This week our community, along with friends/oblates, will enter into retreat together.

Pray for us (as we will for you) while we hear our own Joan Chittister speak on women and holiness--an opportunity for reflection and growth.

Until we meet again...

Mary Oliver gives us her wisdom.

First Happenings
A morning-glory morning with its usual glory,
dawn particularly startling with citrons and
mauves, petunias in the garden flashing their
tender signals of gratitude. The sunflowers
creak in their grass-colored dresses. Cosmos,
the four o'clocks, the sweet alyssum nod to
the roses who so very politely nod back.

And now it is time to go to work. At my desk
I look out over the fluttering petals, little
fires. Each one fresh and almost but not quite
replicable.

Consider wearing such a satisfying body!
Consider being, with your entire self, such
a quiet prayer!

Let us walk in the holy presence.

(Planting our own quiet prayers--four rows of corn--to be greeted in a couple of months!)

Goslings, Double the Fun!

This weekend I went for a run. As I headed back toward the monastery, I noticed a family of geese crossing the road. The goslings grow so fast!

Which got me thinking: goslings. It’s June! Teachers are in the homestretch! I remember those days when I was teaching fourth grade, just waiting for that last day, totally exhausted. We would be at the point in the year where we would have kids balance ice cubes on their heads in contests. Yes, there was no air conditioning!

I thought about the Ryan Gosling “Hey girl” memes. Here are a few for those teachers in the homestretch looking for a laugh. (All from Google Images.)

Stay strong, teachers! We’re with you!

Summer is coming!

Let us walk in the holy presence.

The Joy and The Challenge of Solitude

I spent the long weekend enjoying some down time over at Glinodo. Although I crave regular doses of solitude, I am usually more than uninterested in dealing with the personal “stuff” that solitude allows to arise. Oh well—it’s a trade-off, I presume. I do love solitude, though, because while all that “stuff” is arising, I sense deep peace, too. Solitude reminds me that I can—and must—find peace amidst the complexity and challenge of being human.

And when that doesn’t work, just go to nature! Here’s a few scenes from Friday’s sunset.

Just as the Calendar Began to Say Summer

Mary Oliver

I went out of the schoolhouse fast

and through the gardens and to the woods,

and spent all summer forgetting what I’d been taught—

two times two, and diligence, and so forth,

how to be modest and useful, and how to succeed and so forth,

machines and oil and plastic and money and so forth.

By fall I had healed somewhat, but was summoned back

to the chalky rooms and the desks, to sit and remember

the way the river kept rolling its pebbles,

the way the wild wrens sang though they hadn’t a penny in the bank,

the way the flowers were dressed in nothing but light.

Let us walk in the holy presence.

Continued Communal, Culinary Creations!

In the kitchen I played again, this time attempting to create something playful for a 6-year old going on 7. My friend’s daughter celebrated her birthday this past week, and I offered to make the treats. My friend showed me a picture of unicorn cupcakes, unicorns being “all the rage” these days for the kiddos. Although I hadn’t attempted anything like it, I said, “Sure, I can do that!”

Away we went.

Of course, I must say “we” because I did not pull this off on my own...community coming to the rescue yet again. I had to make fondant for the first time to shape the unicorn horns and ears, as well as tie-dye frosting for the first time, too. After some internet research, I had a plan. Here’s how these edible, sweet unicorns came to life.

This was the creation of fondant. Although the recipe claimed that it would be a messy experience, I should have trusted the words a bit more. Melting marshmallows, adding heaps of confectioner’s sugar, and kneading it all together left us gooey and full of laughs. Thanks to all who cut open bags of sugar, scraped the mess off our hands, and a special “Thank you!” to the saint who cleaned up the sticky remnants when we only had 6 minutes left to get to our new class on the Gospel of John!

The next afternoon, I ventured to create tie-dye frosting in bright colors. This involved making icing, dividing it up and coloring it vibrantly, then placing it in a piping bag in thirds. Finally, squeeze away!

Lastly, the belles of the ball, the unicorns! Fondant was much harder to work with and much more unwieldy than expected. You can see how the “slimy substance” became more solid overnight and with—yes!—more sugar. This got rolled out and shaped into horns and ears. Jackie was an inspired co-decorator!

What fun it was to create these little mythical, magical monsters. And when I saw the recipient’s reaction, “Oh wow! These are beautiful!” the effort was well worth it!

Let us walk in the holy presence.

P.S. Bonus! Spring-time-flowers-and-unfurling-ferns edition!

Liminality & Becoming

I am not sure how many posts I’ve written about liminality since I began writing this blog, but I know it’s at least a handful.

It’s impossible to not write about it yet again as we have reached a unique time nestled within the season of spring, the time in which trees become a home for both flowers and leaves in the same moment. I took notice this morning while running, and then again while looking at the gorgeous tree outside our library window with another sister later in the day. I thought about how the trees know they must transform those lovely blooms in favor of the leaves that will sustain them in the summer and into the fall—less showy, for sure, but outstanding nonetheless.

I thought about how full of life and color we are in our youth and how things might mask themselves as sameness in our lives as we get older, but the green on those leaves certainly changes throughout the months they live on branches.

I thought about my friend who entered the monastery one week ago, who is definitely lingering in liminal space. I thought about myself, who feels settled at times, but who is still most definitely living liminality in discerning her vocation. (I think about this each Sunday as we pray for those discerning a vocation in our Prayers of the Faithful; although some might think of those people as the women who are considering entering the community, that prayer spans a larger group—in my opinion.)

I thought about my sisters who have lived this life for a decade, or maybe many decades. They must discern to stay and live this life each day; anyone living life authentically must do it each day with whatever path they have chosen.

Liminality is an uncomfortable reality of being human; there is no certainty. And that uncertainty and liminality—they’re constant, though some experiences of them are more pronounced than others. Besides experiencing liminality in nature, I think I might be pondering this because I just finished reading Michelle Obama’s memoir, Becoming. In the epilogue, she writes:

For me, becoming isn’t about arriving somewhere or achieving a certain aim. I see it instead as a forward motion, a means of evolving, a way to reach continuously toward a better self. The journey doesn’t end...It’s all a process, steps along a path. Becoming requires equal parts patience and rigor. Becoming is never giving up on the idea that there’s more growing to be done.

I want to be patient with my liminality, as much as it makes me feel weird inside. I want to be patient with others’ liminality, recognizing the call to compassion when being present to others in their evolving. I want to be rigorous about attempting to live authentically. I want to learn from the trees.

Let us walk in the holy presence.

All that fog: unable to see what came next on the morning’s run

Living in-between: Our lovely tree outside the library

Another teacher

Welcome! Welcome! Welcome!

Although she has been helping out on dish teams, reading at prayer regularly, and working at a community ministry for more than a year, yesterday was a special day, indeed. The Erie Benedictine community welcomed Jackie Small as a postulant, the first part of the journey toward discerning a monastic vocation with our community.

The ceremony, which involves knocking on the door to the welcome and blessing of the women who create the community, is simple, yet touching. I still remember looking at the group of people in front of me when I knocked three and a half years ago and seeing those women who would teach, guide, listen, and accompany; it was a bit overwhelming and so full of gratitude

Whatever Jackie ends up discerning for herself, we are graced with her presence in the here and now, and we offer our prayers of support to her. Of course, I might be a bit biased, but I hope her journey with the community lasts and lasts and joy and more of it.

Jackie is a wise woman, a passionate voice, and a true seeker. Yay for us all!

This was the minute no one speaks of,
when she could still refuse.
A breath unbreathed,
Spirit,
suspended,
waiting.
She did not cry, “I cannot, I am not worthy,”
nor, “I have not the strength.”
She did not submit with gritted teeth,
raging, coerced.
Bravest of all humans,
consent illumined her.
The room filled with its light,
the lily glowed in it,
and the iridescent wings.
Consent,
courage unparalleled,
opened her utterly.

(Consent, by Denise Levertov)

Let us walk in the holy presence.