Fiat Mihi

AnnunciationBy Lucia.

“Fiat Mihi” -These words have always rung in my heart when thinking about religious life. Ever since I first thought about becoming a sister in fifth grade when hearing about Mother Teresa, the idea of giving everything God asked for appealed to me. When I was going through the application process with the Dominican Sisters nine years later, the vocation director wrote often to us, “Thank you for your continual ‘yes’ to God”. During the entrance weekend retreat, Mother Prioress encouraged us to give our “yes” to God, even when it was painful to leave family. On the feast of the Annunciation, our novice mistress’ feast day, one of the postulants asked what would be a wonderful thing to meditate on, and Sister told us, “Mary’s ‘yes’ to God”. Every day living the life of a sister, I woke up at 5 AM saying “yes” to the sacrifices that the day brought me in the convent. Looking back on these moments when I said “yes” over the past year and a half, while sometimes it was painful, there was joy, especially when I think of my application process. And yet, when it comes to saying “yes” to coming home from the convent, somehow it is not as easy as the other times.

God has truly blessed me with a family that has been supportive of my religious discernment. During the few days that my family visited and in their weekly letters, my mom would tell me to give my “yes” as Mary did at the foot of the cross. Little did she know that while I did love my life in the convent, there was an inner anguish I was going through as I struggled a lot interiorly while living the life of a sister. When I finally discerned that God was asking me to leave after nine beautiful months in the convent, my novice mistress talked to my parents in a parlor with a huge image of the crucifixion. That image has stuck with me during these past few months.

When you look at an image of Mary at the foot of the cross, you can somewhat understand what she felt at the Crucifixion. Mary, with hands touching the bloody feet of her own Son, who was being killed for our sins, did not fully understand. It must have been so utterly painful for her to look up at her Son suffering in agony, and yet not be able to do anything. And yet, she gave the same “fiat” that she did at the Annunciation, knowing it was all a part of God’s perfect plan. She never doubted, she just trusted in God. She may have seemed totally helpless, and yet her confidence in God gave her more freedom than if she struggled against Him and said no. It is by Mary’s fiat at the foot of the Cross that Jesus was able to show forth His glory, defeating sin and death on the cross.

When coming home, there are many things that one can worry about, such as finishing school, finding a job, or finding a place to live. It can be so easy to become depressed and ask, “Who am I supposed to be?” While it is so easy to get caught up in all these worries and questions, it is a perfect time that God gives to strengthen your faith and really give you freedom. Just like Mary at the foot of the cross, we may not understand, but we can have full confidence and trust that God will provide like He always has. A lot of times, the anxiety and fears that we feel during this time are the enslavements we put on ourselves, thinking that the world needs to be on our shoulders.

Entering the convent, you hope to live there forever in chastity, obedience, and of course poverty. The physical poverty that you experience gives you the freedom to rely completely on God. When coming home, I have found the poverty actually more intense. In the convent, while I was poor in the standards of the world, I at least had the security of my community, knowing where formation would take me. But now, God has taken that away from me. Now, I am even poorer than in the convent, for I do not know at this point which step God wants me to take next or even who God has created me to be in regards to my vocation. There is much uncertainty, and this can make one uneasy.

This is a great opportunity that Our Lord gives us, though, to strengthen our trust in Him. When feeling completely lost on what I am to do next, or who I am supposed to be, I have found that I am truly free when I put all my worries behind me, and just move forward with complete abandon, trusting in God. While I may feel as though I am walking in darkness, I trust that He is leading me by His Light. This is very hard to do, and yet, it brings the most freedom, taking the burdens of planning out your life off your shoulders. God creates each person for a particular purpose, and He is leading you on the path to that joy that only He can give. He is leading you through His own way to being the person He has created you to be. You only need to trust Him.

I cannot say I am perfect at abandonment, but God is giving all of us who have left the convent or seminary an opportunity to experience true freedom, a freedom that you may not have even had while living religious life. This freedom is abandonment amidst the uncertainties, the chance to live completely trusting in God’s providence, even though you do not know your vocation at this point. During this time of uncertainty, a wonderful opportunity given by God to grow in faith and trust, just look at the cross, and place yourself at Mary’s side, praying,

“Mary, you never doubted, you just trusted, please help me to do the same.”

Lucia is a young artist passionate about anything creative. She loves to do portraits, paint with oils, and do charcoal drawings. When not working on canvas, she also expresses her creativity through cake decorating. Family, the Catholic Faith, and the Eucharist are central to her life, and she has a special devotion to Sts. Therese and Philomena.

I Thirst

Soup Kitchen Van GoghAt Mass one morning, it dawned on me that I had forgotten a service opportunity downtown. Forgetting the miracle taking place before me, all I could think about was how lazy I was for spending a Saturday lounging and catching up on my own life while there are people suffering and in need.

But then I thought about it for a minute. Ok, do I even remember the first reading? No, good thing it was mentioned in the homily! At least one of the letters of St. Paul was mentioned, so I assume that is what was read. Am I being present to the Lord who is deserving of all my love? Am I grateful that He has brought me to receive His Love in this beautiful old Dominican Chapel? Well, I was then!

I started thinking about charity, and how sometimes I feel motivated towards works of charity not because of love, but because of a need to feel good about myself. As I continue my spiritual and psychological healing and readjusting to “the world,” I notice that I am sometimes motivated to serve others because interiorly I feel a certain emptiness. And this emptiness always seems to return until I busy myself more with work, helping someone, or being “useful” in some way, shape, or form.

This little light is another part of what God has been trying to tell me about the concept of identity, especially after such a life-changing transition. I was reminded that my identity is not based upon how productive I am, what I “am” to others, how helpful or useful I have been, etc. etc. I am not necessarily “better” because I have done “more”, or “worse” because I have done “less”.

During the walk home from Mass, I was thinking about how charity/love is first given by the Lord, who is the only One who can fill that emptiness, and then, after His love permeates our whole being, we can be love for all. The Lord also provides us with MANY opportunities to practice charity. It doesn’t have to be a set day or time or number of hours or even a scheduled service opportunity (as good as those things are, and as much as I should try and take advantage of them!). He, however, is present in every soul we encounter, and therefore we can reverence Him in everyone we encounter and everyone we keep in prayers. I thought of Mother Teresa, and contemplated what she might say. The image that comes to mind is that of light. To everyone entrusted to our prayers we can keep vigil, lighting a candle in the sanctuary of our hearts, and on the altar we can sacrifice our prayers, works, time, etc.When I was a block away from my house I saw two figures standing just outside my house, clothed in white with a tint of blue. It couldn’t be… yes, it was. Two Missionaries of Charity walking the opposite way down the same street. This circumstance isn’t extremely out of the ordinary, given that there is a Missionaries of Charity Convent about a mile away. However, I knew that God’s Providence was stirring something within my soul, urging me to take this concept to prayer… and to Leonie’s Longing.

Both in and out of the Convent it can be easy to become so busy with giving that there is no room to receive the other or the charity of others. I remember feeling so worthless as a Postulant, when my responsibilities were reduced to making my bed, vacuuming the parlor, and occasionally pouring water for breakfast! And after leaving the Convent I had a hard time accepting myself without possessing some sort of work or project or service to another. My identity was still rooted in what I did.

I have learned from Blessed Mother Teresa, whose Feast we celebrate today, that charity will naturally flow out of a heart given to God. May you receive the Love of Christ today so that you may be Christ to the world!

I pray that you will understand the words of Jesus, “Love one another as I have loved you.” Ask yourself “How has he loved me? Do I really love others in the same way?” Unless this love is among us, we can kill ourselves with work and it will only be work, not love. Work without love is slavery.

“Little things are indeed little, but to be faithful in little things is a great thing.”


I was once told that leaving during postulancy is the equivalent of ending a relationship after a couple of dates: it was only a trial, a getting-to-know you period, and no commitment had been made on either side. Unfortunately, that’s not what it feels like. When I hear people describing what it was like to pack their bags and move out of an apartment shared with someone they’d eventually hoped to marry, I now feel a strange kind of empathy: that’s what it feels like. (Did you sometimes look around at the other postulants and novices and imagine what you’d all be like together as a group of old nuns one day? Yep, me too.)

If not yet formally committed to the religious life, a postulant is at least invested in it, and it won’t go quietly from the heart or mind afterward. Insignificant things suddenly remind you that you’re not on the path to being a nun anymore. It hits like an actual punch to the ribs, and all you can do is brace yourself and think: Ouch.

A few weeks after I left the convent, I looked around my new bedroom for somewhere to flop down and read, and realised with a shock that I was no longer subject to the custom that forbade sitting on the bed, because I was no longer part of the community which held that custom. Ouch.

At Mass six months afterward, I stood for the Our Father and tucked my hands under the long cotton scarf I was wearing. I had left well before receiving the habit, but suddenly realised what a scapular would feel like draped over my hands, and that I would have been wearing one by then if I had stayed. Right on cue: Ouch.

A couple of months after that, we had the story of the rich young man as the Sunday Gospel. To describe the result, I will need bold text, Caps Lock, and a minimum of three exclamation marks: OUCH!!! The story is far too familiar to need repeating here. Have you ever read a vocations guide that didn’t include it? For balance, I wish there were resources for discerners that included this story:

And the whole crowd of people from the district surrounding the Gerasenes’ country begged Jesus to go away from them, for they were thoroughly frightened. Then He re-embarked on the boat and turned back. 

The man who had the evil spirits kept begging to go with Jesus, but He sent him away with the words, :Go back home and tell them all what wonderful things God has done for you.” So the man went away and told the marvellous story of what Jesus had done for him, all over the town.

Luke 8:37-39

Why had I never noticed it before? This one lonely everyman, overwhelmed by the love shown him by Jesus, begged to follow Him, and was gently told to go back to his family instead.

When I read that story during Lent, it was like letting out a breath that I’d been holding for the best part of a year. I was not the rich young man who had turned away sorrowfully out of love for the world. I was not the foolish bridesmaid who had brought a lamp but neglected the oil. Most of all, I was not the worker who put my hand to the plough and looked back. I was the one who knelt at His feet and said, “Lord, let me come with You!” and received instead the loving instruction to go home.

Naturally, there are still things that catch me off-guard: During the morning Mass on Easter Sunday, I felt a rush of emotion as the familiar opening notes of Haec Dies flowed through the church. If your Sisters sang it every morning throughout Easter week, as mine did, you could probably chant the first two words in your sleep. Ouch. Forget nostalgia: this felt like hunger.

God’s gift to me is the grace to be able to say now when that happens, “Lord, thank you for this pain – please turn it into something productive.” It took ten months for me to reach this level of acceptance, and I have a long way to go yet, but I’m grateful to be here.

By Spiritu

At the age of seventeen, Spiritu watched some elderly nuns laughing together after Mass and decided instantly that this was what she wanted to do with her life. After six years of intense study about the Catholic faith and the religious vocation, she entered a beautiful community in her own country, Australia. Seven months later, she returned to the world, saddened that her discernment hadn’t worked out as she’d hoped. She is now exploring other possible options for the future, and owes an enormous debt of gratitude to her family for their love and help.

In Repair

After leaving the convent in July 2013, one of the most valuable things I did was get myself some new music. Almost every song on my MP3 player from before I entered had a different meaning after I left: this was the song I had been listening to seven months earlier as my train pulled out of the station, heading for the convent; this was the tune I had taught myself to strum on the community’s old guitar, sitting down the bottom of the garden on Sunday afternoons; this was what I hummed to cheer myself up when I realised that cracks were starting to appear in my vocation; I still enjoy those songs, but there’s a certain bittersweetness about them that wasn’t there before.

So, while I was visiting op-shops to re-stock my wardrobe with clothing, I started picking up CDs for a dollar each as well, by bands I knew nothing about, except that their cover art was nice. I discovered some wonderful music that way, but one song has stood out for me so strongly that I wanted to share it with others who are grieving the loss of the religious life as I was (and in some ways still am).

The song is “In Repair” by John Mayer. I admit, I find Mayer confusing: his hedonistic public persona is completely at odds with the soft, deeply expressive songs about loss and yearning on his albums. Well before I knew anything about the artist, though, I knew that this secular song expressed precisely what I felt, and didn’t yet have the language to describe: 

Too many shadows in my room
Too many hours in this midnight
Too many corners in my mind
So much to do to set my heart right

Oh, it’s taking so long
I could be wrong, I could be ready
Oh, but if I take my heart’s advice
I should assume it’s still unsteady

I am in repair

I am in repair

Although I don’t regret actually leaving the convent (it was clearly what had to be done) what I do regret, sincerely, is having let things escalate to the point where leaving became the only option. What went wrong? With 20/20 hindsight, I’ve realised that over the course of a couple of months after I entered, I gradually stopped being a postulant and became instead an actress playing the part of a postulant. (I was good at it, too: I managed to fool even myself for months.) The trouble was that I then unconsciously began to see the Sisters not as my community, but as the audience I needed to impress if I wanted to stay.

Finally, half-way into my postulancy, the inevitable happened: while standing outside the back door of the convent receiving a correction in private for something I’d done wrong earlier in the day, I suddenly realised that, however hard I tried, I wasn’t going to be capable of staying. You will know for yourself what that moment feels like: it’s as if life quietly fades from full-colour to black and white. I stayed on for another month after that in the hope that the Lord would intervene and help me. And He did: when I finally admitted to the prioress that I couldn’t cope, she came in to bat for me magnificently. But in the end, I had to recognise that I’d simply run out of internal resources.

You may know, too, what I mean when I say that much of what’s happened since I left feels as if it’s happened in black and white after the vividness of life in the convent: whatever my vocation is, I’ve clearly not found it yet. I can only understand and trust that eventually, I will start to uncover the real calling that God has prepared for me, and the colour will come back.

And now I’m walking in the park
And all of the birds, they dance below me
Maybe when things turn green again
It will be good to say you know me

I’m in repair
I’m not together but I’m getting there.

I’m in repair
I’m not together but I’m getting there.

By Spiritu

At the age of seventeen, Spiritu watched some elderly nuns laughing together after Mass and decided instantly that this was what she wanted to do with her life. After six years of intense study about the Catholic faith and the religious vocation, she entered a beautiful community in her own country, Australia. Seven months later, she returned to the world, saddened that her discernment hadn’t worked out as she’d hoped. She is now exploring other possible options for the future, and owes an enormous debt of gratitude to her family for their love and help.