Jul 26, 2023 |
by Katita Luisa
Today was a little off, and I wasn’t sure why…until a memory on social media popped up, and I realized why. Yes, today is six (!) years since I entered the convent.
At first, each day seemed to drag by, a painful reminder that I wasn’t where I thought I’d be. And then it got better. Not magically, nor overnight. But today, looking at the picture and remembering entrance day, I am happy I was brave enough to enter, and I am happy God had other plans. I don’t even know who that girl is in the picture, but here are six things I wish she had known:
1. Jesus loves your gift of self and the desire He placed on your heart to belong to Him alone. Don’t doubt that He has called you to Himself, even if He asks you to leave these walls.
2. You are loved, good, and chosen, just as you are. Your vocation is not something to be earned.
3. Jesus isn’t only the Just Judge. He is a Lover. Trust the Good Shepherd’s voice, and don’t confuse it with someone else’s.
4. There is sanctification, and then there is something else.* If something feels off, it probably is. The convent is a place to be perfected, but it’s not a perfect place.
5. You’re not a burden.
6. Starting over post-convent doesn’t mean you failed. In fact, it may be one of the best gifts.
*I found this podcast episode very helpful in beginning to learn about spiritual abuse.
Photo by Jonatan Pie on Unsplash
Jun 15, 2023 |
Leonie Martin is the patroness of our apostolate because she is one of us. She was, like those we serve, a woman who wanted to follow the Lord in religious life but encountered many struggles in finding her state-of-life vocation.
Leonie eventually found her permanent vocation as a religious. She has been named a Servant of God, the first step in the process of canonization (the process of being declared a saint of the Roman Catholic Church). Her feast is June 16.
Here are five interesting things about our patroness.
#1 – Leonie was the third child in a family of future saints
Leonie was the third daughter born to Louis and Zelie Martin. The Martins would go on to have nine children in all—four who died in infancy or early childhood and five daughters who would all eventually enter religious life.
Leonie’s sister Therese (of Lisieux) was canonized in 1925, and her parents, Louis and Zelie, in 2015.
#2 – Leonie had a difficult childhood
From a very young age, Leonie dealt with illness and behavioral struggles. As an infant and toddler, she suffered from eczema, which covered her body, and she nearly died at 18 months due to other illnesses. She was a constant source of worry for her mother, Zelie.
She was kicked out of a convent school due to her behavior and suffered abuse from a maidservant. Leonie was perceived as less talented and less beautiful than her sisters—being sickly and mentally underdeveloped. One can imagine the suffering this would have caused in her young heart.
#3 – Leonie left religious life three times
Though she was the first of her sisters to embrace a religious vocation in her heart, her path to final vows was lengthy and painful.
At age 23, Leonie entered the convent of the Poor Clares. The austere way of life was too difficult for her, and she left after six weeks. She later joined the Monastery of the Visitation at Caen, staying only six months the first time and two years the second time.
Her third attempt to enter the Visitation Monastery (and her fourth attempt at religious life) was successful. And that probably had something to do with the encouragement and intercession of her sister. Keep reading!
# 4 – Leonie was inspired by Therese’s autobiography
Two years after Leonie left the Visitation sisters the second time, her own sister Therese died of tuberculosis. The following year, Therese’s autobiography, A Story of a Soul, was published. Reading her sister’s autobiography gave Leonie new hope, and she decided to attempt religious life once again. In 1899, she re-entered the Monastery of the Visitation, where she made vows and remained until her death in 1941. She took the religious name Françoise-Thérèse.
Fr. Antonio Sangalli, postulator of Leonie’s cause for canonization, said, “[Leonie’s] vocation is the result of her being close to her sister Therese. She helped her sister to embrace her vocation as a sister in the Order….[Leonie] took her sister’s words very seriously, especially the phrase about the little path. She put this into practice with incredible loyalty.”
#5 – Leonie lived to see Therese’s canonization
Leonie’s sister Therese of Lisieux was canonized in 1925, sixteen years before Leonie’s death. What joy it must have given Leonie to see her little sister—whose life and writings influenced her so deeply—raised to the altars and declared a saint of the Catholic Church.
—
Though Leonie’s path to religious life was fraught with suffering and obstacles, she found joy in her vocation at last and lived four decades in the monastery. There she found peace and joy, as evidenced by this quote:
“I am very happy–as happy as it is possible to be on this earth. When I look back on my past, as far back as my earliest childhood, and compare that time with this, I am overwhelmed with gratitude to the Heart of Jesus, who has enveloped me in so much love, and who has placed me in this loveliest anteroom of heaven, where I shall live and die.”
Servant of God Françoise-Thérèse, pray for us!
—
Sources:
http://leoniemartin.org
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/L%C3%A9onie_Martin
https://aleteia.org/2017/01/26/leonie-martin-st-thereses-difficult-sister-continues-on-the-road-to-canonization/
http://www.sttheresechurchalhambra.org/?DivisionID=10357&DepartmentID=22314
https://www.romereports.com/en/2015/01/29/four-saints-in-one-family-beatification-process-of-st-therese-of-lisieux-s-sister-opens/
Apr 7, 2023 |
by Andrea
Staring at the Crucifix, I cannot help but notice that there is an empty space on each side, as if for another person. I remember when I first entered the novitiate it was customary to set a small crucifix on top of your bed after making it every morning.
One time, I got really sick and had to lie down after breakfast. A sister kindly accompanied me to our common bedroom to help me out. As she was getting the bed ready, she said, “Jesus, it’s Your time to rest; make room for her because being in bed is her biggest cross. So it is now her turn.” (I really did hate being in bed!) As she set the crucifix aside, I looked at her and said, “Please don’t tell Him to leave me alone in the cross. There is an empty side just for me; we can share it. We become one through the cross. As Saint Paul said, ‘I want to complete in my flesh what is lacking in His passion.’”
I don’t know where that thought came from. At that, we both just looked at each other and smiled. The sister helped me get in bed and then left. As time went on, we would remind each other of that day, and whenever we would make our beds, we would kiss both sides of the crucifix, hoping to become worthy of sharing the cross with Jesus. It became our thing. A few years later, I heard a priest say in a homily, “There is no life without crosses, and there are no crosses without Christ.” And it reminded me of that day in the novitiate’s dorm.
Now, whenever the burden seems overwhelming and the cross too heavy to carry, these thoughts come back to my mind. It is comforting to know that we are not alone; Jesus is there with us and for us. Even though the pain (moral, spiritual, or physical) does not necessarily go away, it is through the cross that we unite ourselves to Him. In whatever state of life He has called us to, we belong to Him, and He is our ultimate end. And If the cross still feels too painful, we can remember that at the foot of the cross was Mary, the Mother of Jesus—and our Mother.
Feb 20, 2023 |
By Drucilla Coghill
I have a colorful scar from a serious illness. When I first got sick, I delayed going to the doctor for treatment because, at the time, I didn’t recognize the meaning of the symptoms I experienced in my body. However, my doctor now says there is a 50% chance of having this problem again, so I’ve been on high alert for symptoms ever since. Going to the doctor as soon as I notice something will (hopefully) keep it from becoming so acute.
Periodically I notice a slight ache or pain. When this happens, I immediately pay attention to every symptom and try to assess if the illness is coming back. But I’ve noticed that the scar area will hurt for a little while and then go away. Now that I’ve realized moderate discomfort doesn’t signal impending doom, it’s become a source of amusement. (I guess that’s been my way of keeping myself from being overly anxious).
I’ve chosen to look at it as though it were Frodo’s stab wound from Weathertop in The Lord of the Rings. Because the injury profoundly affected Frodo, it occasionally bothers him on anniversaries and other significant days. In this spirit, I’ve chosen to view this sporadic pain as a reminder of what I’ve been through and an invitation to prayer and gratitude.
As I pondered this phenomenon, I realized it might be helpful for me to view other parts of my life in a similar fashion. After returning from the convent, I was extremely distraught and in a great deal of misery. Fortunately, as time has gone on, this has slackened. But on occasion, I am still confronted with a dull pang of sadness or some other emotion.
This used to make me fearful because I wondered if I was about to spiral back into the crying, mourning, and active grief. But now I recognize that it’s simply a reminder of a very significant event in my life.
I need these reminders because I have a tendency to want to rush forward to the next thing, especially if the previous time was difficult. For example, I say: “Being sick was awful, but I feel better now, so I’d prefer to forget about it.” Or, “My time in religious life radically changed the course of my life, but can I please just move on?”
But then that twinge of sorrow, longing, or ache hits me. Sometimes it’s more subtle than others. But I need to give heed to these feelings. If you ignore a small child tugging on your clothing and wanting to be noticed, he or she will either start screaming or tragically give up.
I don’t want my important life experiences to suffer from either extreme. Instead, I need to let that gentle nudge be enough to help me remember what I’ve been through and show reverence, love, and respect to my experience. I now see that it’s an invitation to pray for deeper healing and grieve this time more fully.
Let us all pray for each other during these times, especially when memories unexpectedly pop up. When you are confronted with old pain, how do you respond? I would love to hear about it.
Dec 29, 2022 |
by Therese Martin
Like many people, I suddenly started to work from home in March 2020 because of the government lockdowns. I was at home and in my neighborhood all day long. When the weather was nice, I would sit in the backyard during my lunch break. I intended to read or pray, but instead, I often found myself just looking around.
During that time, I began to notice the patterns of the animals. I saw squirrels, chipmunks, and various birds like woodpeckers going about their day. But for some reason, I was intrigued by the cardinals, and I began to notice them everywhere. When I saw one, I felt like God was saying “hi,” and they became a little ray of light in my life.
How did it come to this? I’m not entirely sure. I do know that I was initially resistant. However, I slowly became more open to noticing this little “hello” during this time of anxiety and loneliness.
Over that year, I became more aware and alert. As a result, I began to notice cardinals all over the place. I would see a cardinal mug in a shop window or a decorative cardinal in someone’s yard while out for a walk. Though these were not live birds, I still felt that God was saying “hello.” I needed to be open to a new way of communicating. If I had been stuck in the mindset of “live birds only,” I would have missed these cardinals.
In my life, I know I have a tendency to be very black and white, and I am extremely disappointed and hurt when I feel that others aren’t showing me love in the “right way.” But the Lord showed me and taught me other variations of the same message.
I also learned the songs of the cardinal, which helped me notice their presence even more often. The sound of a cardinal told me that it was nearby. I got into the habit of stopping my walk when I’d hear the cardinal and try to find it. But there were many times when I could not locate the bird itself even though I could hear it. This helped illustrate a spiritual truth I have heard in various ways: just because you can’t “see” God doesn’t mean He’s not there. What other senses can you use?
I also noticed something funny about myself while trying to find cardinals. I would hear the song but couldn’t get a clear sense of where it was coming from. When trying to find the bird, I would always look up into the tall trees. But after straining to find the bird, I would often see it perched in a low bush. A great reminder of humility! Look down!
I have found all of this to be a beautiful analogy of the spiritual life. I have struggled with the idea that God has a particular love for me, and I have wondered if He pays me any attention. This has been even more pronounced after returning to lay life.
Because of this, I have been trying to become more aware of God’s presence, and I’ve prayed specifically to vibrate at the Spirit’s touch (Novo millennio ineunte, Pope John Paul II). My experience with cardinals has helped me a great deal in this regard.
I once heard a story about a woman who was returning to her faith. She would find dimes (small American coins) and felt they were a way that God was expressing his love to her. With some amount of bitterness and resentment I thought, “well isn’t that nice? Good for you. God doesn’t show His love to me.” I also found it strange that she took such a meaning from something so simple. But now I can begin to understand that story because I’ve been experiencing something similar.
St. Therese speaks about the bird trusting that the sun exists behind the clouds, even though the bird cannot see it. Now that we know about UV rays, etc., we have other ways to demonstrate the presence of the sun even when one cannot see it. I feel that way with the cardinals. I don’t need to see them to know they are there once I know their song. And now that I know they live nearby, I don’t even need to see or hear them to know they are present.
During that spring and summer, I noticed the cardinals were everywhere. But then, sometime in the fall, it seemed as though they disappeared. These birds do not migrate. Yet, I did not hear them or see them anymore. Did God no longer care?
As I struggled with my own faith and various wounds, the lack of this sign became more difficult. After all of the gentle reminders of His presence, the absence became harder and harder as time passed. I tried to remind myself of His presence and the truths I had learned, but it was incredibly difficult.
After what seemed like forever, they began to return! I hadn’t noticed before how much Christmas decor features the cardinal. There they were, saying hello to me on a Christmas card from a friend or on the ornaments on my parents’ Christmas tree.
Now I suddenly see and hear the birds again! It’s bitterly cold, and the snow just keeps piling up. And yet they are here. Spring seems impossible, but the birds tell me that it is coming.
Throughout that year, I learned much about the Lord through the cardinals. Have you experienced anything similar? Please share your comments below!
Isaiah’s prophecy is fulfilled in them, which says:
“You shall indeed hear but not understand,
you shall indeed look but never see.
Gross is the heart of this people,
they will hardly hear with their ears, they have closed their eyes,
lest they see with their eyes
and hear with their ears
and understand with their heart and be converted,
and I heal them.”
But blessed are your eyes, because they see, and your ears, because they hear.
Amen, I say to you, many prophets and righteous people longed to see what you see but did not see it, and to hear what you hear but did not hear it.
(Mt 13:14-17)
Dec 21, 2022 |
by Emma
One of my favorite things is praying in the church when the only light is the gentle glow of the sanctuary lamp. It reminds me that no matter how dark things get, as long as Jesus is with me there will be light. And He is always with me. I need only turn my gaze to Him. As St. Elizabeth of the Trinity prays, “O my beloved Star, so fascinate me that I may not withdraw from Your radiance.”
“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5).
This verse at the beginning of John has always intrigued me. The tense “has not” seems to allude to my own human uncertainty and the necessity of remembrance. When I am in darkness, I can wonder if we will ever see the light again. I can wonder if we will ever find happiness. I can wonder if God is love. But the darkness has not overcome the light. I can remember how God has come through, not just for His people but also in my own life. He who said, “let there be light” (Genesis 1) wants to speak those words into the dark corners of my heart and re-kindle Christ’s life within me.
“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light” (Isaiah 9:2).
There may be times when it seems like light has vanished, but somehow in some way, it returns. In Fire of Mercy, Heart of the Word, Erasmo Leiva-Merikakis reflects on how “the star is as much a character in this drama as are the Magi, Herod, and the Child. It appears and disappears at will; and it moves with total certainty and obedience toward the place that draws it toward itself.”
Just like the Magi, there may be moments when I cannot see the Great Light. But that doesn’t mean He isn’t there, continuing to guide me home. Even in the darkness.
“Even the darkness is not dark to you, the night is as bright as the day; for darkness is as light with you” (Psalm 139).
When I am in darkness, when I want light, I sometimes think I find myself asking for the wrong thing. This light isn’t consolation. It isn’t knowing what is going on or where to go. This light is the light of a God who is with me. A God who reveals Himself as Emmanuel. This is the light that isn’t overcome.
That is why “they will need no light from a lamp or the sun…” and “awake o sleeper arise from death and Christ will give you light” (Ephesians 5:14). That is, Christ will give me Himself. When I ask for light, I need to remember that I am asking for someone and not something.
As St. Bernard writes, “It is good for me to be sad, O Lord, as long as you are with me, rather than to be a king apart from you, to feast without you, to boast without you. It is better for me to embrace you in tribulation, to have you with me in the furnace, than to be without you in heaven” (Office of Readings for St. Pancras, Martyr).
The light is a person. The light is Jesus. The light is Emmanuel, God-with-us.
“I am the light of the world; he who follows me will have the light of life” (John 8:12).
Light, and our interaction with it, is fascinating. Our eyes do not see the objects themselves, but rather the light that is reflected by the objects. If there is no light, I cannot see. And this is very true for the spiritual life. I cannot truly see other people, situations, or things apart from Him.
When I cry out, “Master, I want to see!” it is the same as saying, “Master, Jesus, I want You!” I want You to be near me. I need You in order to see, because without you—without the light of the world—I am merely grasping at shadows. I want to see things as they really are. I want to see them in Your light.
“The Light of Christ. Thanks be to God.”
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