Life at Trinita

Epiphany

2012-01-06T13:57:00.002-05:00

This being January 6, I found myself reading the definition of the word Epiphany. Well, I know it's the day we celebrate the arrival of the magi to see the baby Jesus. But what does the word mean?

It's not a bolt of lightning that strikes from a cloudless sky. It's more like the unexpected breaking through of the sun on a cloudy day. No one has an epiphany who sits passively at home. You have to have been working, searching, wondering. The seeker finds. The explorer discovers. The moment, the form, the face of the discovery is what is unexpected.

Last night, we had adoration of the Blessed Sacrament. Although we've put invitations in local parish bulletins before, almost no one ever comes to this. Usually, it's just the four of us MSBT sitting quietly in the meeting room for an hour. But last night, to our surprise, we had five guests join us.

It struck me that our guests came from three different parishes. I visualized a map, the diverse directions that they had come from, the different roads they had traveled. I wondered what had drawn them each here on this particular night. Why now? Why these particular folks? I can't know the spiritual roads they traveled to arrive at Trinita. But I am sure Father Judge would say it was the Holy Spirit who dragged them here by the hairs of their head!

As I sat there pondering these things, I had an epiphany. Father Judge, when he blessed this mission back in 1923, said he wanted Trinita to become a light shining on the hill. Last night, I realized that our guests were really travelers, and Trinita in this moment was more than a light shining on Town Hill, it was the Star in the East, guiding these pilgrims to their own unique encounter with God-with-us.

Fish Crossing

2011-10-13T12:03:00.002-04:00

Every year, as is our custom as Missionary Servants, I make an annual retreat. A week of silence, prayer, and reflection. I generally take long walks every day, and I see many things. Almost always, one or two images from this week of walking makes such an impression that it continues to bob to the surface of my thoughts the rest of the year.

Here is the moment that won't leave me alone this time around. I am standing on a muddy sidewalk in Pennypack Park, wet from the steady mist, my glasses speckled with water. I am looking down into the palm of my hand at three tiny silver fish. I can feel them wiggling in my hand.

I keep remembering that moment: seeing the fish flipping around on the sidewalk and bending over to pick them up, admiring them, and then tossing them into the creek. There had been flooding rain, and the creek had overflowed, stranding many little fish on the wrong side of the sidewalk as the water subsided. They were just trying to get back where they belonged.

Was this the most important thing God had to show me while I was on retreat? I spent several minutes rescuing fish, then I sat on a nearby park bench to rest. A man walked by and took up the same mission soon after I sat down. There was just something irresistible about the tiny fish struggling to go home.

Meanwhile, back at Trinita, we are in full gear for the Fall, plowing away at a number of labor-intensive projects such as confirmation retreats and other programs. I squirm as I realize how little time I have left to finish my readings for the upcoming Women on Wednesday group, the calls I still need to make, and there is that stack of letters I need to take care of that I almost forgot about. My immediate conclusion, when the image of the little fishes pops unexpectedly to the surface, is that God is reminding me to be attentive to the little unexpected encounters of the day despite my absorption in my latest big projects.

But maybe that is not the reason I keep remembering the moment. Maybe, God wants to remind me of something else. That I am a little fish, struggling in the palm of God's hand. And if my life really does depend on accomplishing the impossible task of swimming across a sidewalk, then don't worry. In some crazy, unexpected way, I am going to get where I need to go.

Green Tomato Pie

2011-10-01T18:13:00.002-04:00

Nothing says Fall has arrived like setting up for that first mass in the Lodge for St. George's confirmation retreat. I decided to turn on the heat, which meant closing all the windows. Which meant unblocking them first, since they don't stay open on their own. The Lodge windows, left to their own devices, simply slam shut if you are bold enough (and tall enough) to try to open them. I am sure there's a metaphor there, but I can't be doing all the work here--you can figure it out for yourself, no doubt.

Something else says Fall, at least here at Trinita: stunning fall colors. Yellows and reds and oranges all blowing in the wind, swaying in the breezes. But not this year. This year, we get drab brown instead. Might as well be back home in Louisiana. We have been getting so much rain, the leaves are simply molding and shriveling and dropping despondently to the ground. This is seriously messed up, in my opinion. But there is not a thing we can do about it. Rain, followed by torrential rain, followed by steady drizzle, followed by thundershowers, and so on. The fire pit looks like a pond. We had water coming up out of the ground in our storeroom off the cenacle.

Last week, we had twenty teens here from various Cenacle Family missions. Our annual Be Fire Teen Conference. We hiked into the woods on Saturday night, some of us carrying benches to install at trail's end. It was fascinating. Super humid, so that every breath created fog. Super-saturated, so that depressions became swamps and ditches became babbling brooks. I saw individual droplets of moisture floating in the beam of my headlamp. I saw salamanders tucked in the roots of trees. We clambered over fallen trunks and rocky brooks, finding alternate routes to avoid the worst sections. I laughed to myself, remembering how last year at this time I had packed a fire extinguisher in case our prayer-fire caught the dry leaves on fire.

Yesterday, I surveyed Nancy's garden and realized we could never eat all those tomatoes, even if they do have a chance to get ripe before a freeze finishes them off. I found a recipe and made green tomato pie for supper. Honestly, I did not have much hope for success. I have never made it before. Mama used to make them, but the last time I had any was decades ago. The very concept of green tomato pie is crazy. But when I took my first bite, the flavor flooded my mouth and transported me to my childhood. Success!

Fall is here, wet or dry, colorful or drab, and we just do the work we are given to do, regardless. But now I have a new way to enjoy the fall, no matter what it looks like out there. Green tomatoes have a special, secret beauty all their own.

Monday So Far

2011-07-25T16:41:00.003-04:00

It's pouring rain outside. The first Blanket Time of the week is going to be inside. But it's OK, because it's finally cooler. I think the heat wave is over for the time being.

After morning circle, Christine and I took charge of a screaming toddler who did not want to go to babysitting time in the Lodge. The three of us rode around on the golf cart for awhile, up and down the hill to the pool, making donuts around trees, rode underneath wet laundry hanging behind Cabin 3, picked a green apple from a low branch without even getting out of the golf cart, and so on. Eventually we were able to rejoin the others in the Lodge, who were clearly having a great time.

It's raining less hard. After leaving the boy with the babysitters, I went to BJs to pick up apples, ice cream, peanuts, and more apples. We have been eating tons of apples this summer. Last night, I used an apple slicer to quickly core and slice enough apples for everyone at the Family Gathering to have a slice. It is supposed to represent love and joy. After the meeting, a few moms came up to try out the slicer on the remaining apples. A new toy for the kitchen.

After I got back from BJs it was time for mass in the Lodge. I helped Maria Lauren sing Spanish songs I never heard before. Talk about faking it! But the chorus was about how with love and humility, we can move mountains.

It's only drizzling now. I've rung the bell and the volunteers are hunting down their families and settling down for blanket time. After the service was over in the Lodge, I felt a great weariness. Too many days of not enough sleep, fatigue can come out of nowhere and hit me like a ton of bricks. I took a nap!!! 3o minutes! During lunch. So I ate a peanut butter sandwich when I revived and went up to prepare for movie time.

Blankets on the floor. Lights off. All the sofa cushions scattered around the floor. Finally, I get to sit and watch Toy Story 3. The same toddler who screamed in my arms for the first twenty minutes of peer group was now running around and messing with the guitars after the movie got underway. Fortunately, this time his mom was there to take him in hand. Siena and Christine gave out popcorn and juice boxes to the moviegoers and peace and harmony reigned.

I think it has quit raining. After the movie, I took out crayons and paper to the pavilion for a little extra fun during snack time. At some point I noticed a bad word in very large letters chalked on one of the wood pillars on the pavilion. A souvenir from last week, and how did we fail to notice it sooner? I found a wet rag and cleaned it up.

The volunteers are all well seasoned by now. The kids this week have a lot of parental supervision. It's amazingly calm.

I am thinking about Heidy from Week 1. And Sonia from Week 2. And DiMarco from Week 3. Whether a group is calm or fractious, we take them all here. We try to show them a good time. And we try to reflect God's love, as best we can. I know I have failed in that regard many times. But Monday so far, or the program so far, or my life so far, I think on the whole, all is well.

Week Zero

2011-07-02T20:52:00.002-04:00

A few days ago, Cullen asked me if it was Wednesday of Week One. I did not think this question odd. Time flow during the summer program is different from normal time. One day here is like three regular days out in the real world. We live so much life from morning to afternoon to night that it is easy to lose track. So I replied, "Yes, it's Wednesday, but this is Week Zero. We don't start counting the weeks until the first bus arrives."

Well silly me. He meant which week in Christian Prayer, not in the Summer Program! OK, in that sense, yes, it's Week One!

But we are still living in Week Zero now. It's an odd time. Waiting for the first bus of families to arrive. The bus broke down. We were expecting them at 5 PM, but now we expect them at 10:30. And we are out of mode, out of sync, unsure of where to situate ourselves. I sat at the firepit until the air got too chilly, enjoying the eerie quiet. Everything is perfectly ready. Except there are no families. After weeks of preparation, chaos, and even a little stress, to sit at the fire pit in solitude with nothing to do is ... almost unsettling.

Soon enough, it will be over and Week One will begin. Is it some kind of materialistic American compulsion to be constantly on the journey, engaged in some activity at every moment? Maybe that's why this unexpected time feels like we've sailed the ship off the edge of the earth. We're.... we're... not on a schedule right now! We're lost! Adrift in another dimension!

OK, it's not really that bad. But I can see the wisdom of having healthy portions of Ordinary Time in the liturgical calendar. Every moment does not need to have a theme and a color. Ordinary time, the in-between time, Week Zero. It's actually kind of cool.

Chili and the Doctrine of the Trinity

2011-06-19T15:49:00.004-04:00

Yesterday morning, as I was making pancakes for the eleven girls who spent Friday night with us, people began showing up and unloading amazing amounts of equipment on the Arts and Crafts parking lot. I kept looking out the kitchen window as I flipped pancakes, wishing I could go down and watch them set up booths, decorate them, and start chopping up their meat and veggies.

Our first annual Chili Cook Off was underway! Pretty soon, you could small bacon frying, and other mysterious scents, all the way up the hill at the main house. By noon, all twelve entries were ready for sampling and the public spread out eating, talking, and sipping beer and lemonade. Kids were playing on the playground equipment. Old folks were sitting in the shade enjoying some luscious music. Singer/songwriter John Mayock filled the air with some really great sounds and made the afternoon just perfect. Not to mention blue skies, puffy white clouds, and cool breezes.

Oddly enough, a reporter from the Winsted Journal showed up. He began circulating and asked everyone the same question: "What makes a great chili?" I was advised by Nancy and a few others to be prepared. He was not asking questions about Trinita itself. Soon, he was overcome by the tempting smells and sat down to try some chili, so I parked myself at the same picnic table and introduced myself. Sure enough: "In your opinion, what makes a great chili?"

Ha! "Chili is all about relationship. All the ingredients work together, they have a role to play, but they remain distinct. That's what this whole experience is about. I look around, and I see all these people, many of whom I know, and I think about how we are all connected to each other, we support each other. That's what happens when people come here to Trinita. It's our mission...."

And so on. Today is Trinity Sunday. Across the world, good Church-going Catholics are being actively encouraged by their priests to avoid thinking about the most foundational mystery of Christianity. It is the only mystery, of all the great mysteries of our faith, which is treated like an incomprehensible intellectual puzzle instead of like spiritual food to nourish our souls. The worst homilies of the entire year are given on this Sunday: it's quite a distinctive mark of this great solemnity.

Why? Why can't we savor a delicious mouthful of really good chili and think about the Trinity? Three persons in perfect relationship. No one dominates the other. No hierarchy. No bland homogeneous generic broth. No, the Trinity is spicy and exciting, a food adventure for the soul.

THAT is the image and likeness we are made in! We are made to be in relationship, and we hunger for it when we aren't. If we can own the mystery, we can fill that hunger.

I was not allowed to eat the chili yesterday until after two o'clock. I smelled it, I watched others eating it and listened to the chefs discuss secret ingredients. Finally, I joined with four other judges and, almost ritualistically, we began sampling each of the twelve entries. I savored every mouthful. And I can safely say, I have not had that much fun reflecting on the Trinity in a long time.

Drains to Ocean

2011-06-13T11:40:00.003-04:00

I am in California. And in a way, so is Trinita. I packed up lesson plans and supplies and skit props for a family retreat based on our 2008 summer program, "The Lord is our Shepherd." So here I am, enjoying the hospitality of Josie Morales in not-so-sunny California. (I never heard of "June Gloom" before. Apparently it's the West Coast's pathway to seasonal affect disorder.)

It is always a privilege for me to spend time with MCA in other geographic areas. I am fascinated by the way the Missionary Cenacle charism is expressed differently in different places. I was especially moved when I saw the two huge canvas banners unfurled at the parish hall where we were gathered this weekend. On one side, our three founders smiling down at us. On the other side, a painting of what was clearly the mission cross at Holy Trinity, Alabama. Almost life-size! Perhaps only half a dozen of the 150 attendees have actually been there, but they all know Holy Trinity and want to go there one day.

I went for a walk in Josie's neighborhood, a quiet suburb in the midst of Los Angeles urban sprawl. The trees and ornamental plants are all so different! And the ethnic diversity of the neighborhood is change of pace from the rather homogenous environment around Trinita. Then a street draincover caught my attention. "No dumping. Drains to Ocean." Cool! I never saw that before! I have seen "Drains to River" before. But Drains to Ocean? I guess that's the ultimate!

And suddenly, I felt like a little water drop, circulating around on my long and convoluted journey to the Ocean. So much life has flowed through Trinita, brought by so many folks for so many years. And I packed up a suitcase with some of that Trinita-stuff and carried it here and let it out. At the MCA Pentecost retreat, everyone got a little training in how to run a family-based program Trinita-style. Trinita's style, however, is just one expression of Cenacle Family "style" of carrying out the Church's mission. And whatever I let out of the suitcase has now got mixed in with the California MCA style.

I don't know what will flow from my work here this weekend. The various little drops of water get mixed together, but ultimately we are all flowing to one destination. Drains to Ocean.

A Peaceful Night

2011-05-30T22:39:00.003-04:00

There is something about living where you work. It's hard to get out of work mode when it's all around you.

We've had a lot of activity here in recent weeks. More than usual I mean. To start off, we all went to Philadelphia to meet with the staff of the other two retreat centers. We three centers compared notes and shared stories and took counsel on some issues of common concern. It turned out to be fun, to tell the truth.

Then we gave a retreat for the St. Mary Magdalen youth group. That really was fun. The kids and their chaperones have a good community, and it is pretty stress-free. The weather was nice for a change, and we got to have a campfire. Everyone ended up sitting around the campfire talking and laughing for awhile. It was a good time.

Then..... the tag sale! Wow, what a huge amount of work that was! I have to say, I did not do too much of the prep work, but I can vouch for Patricia and Ellen and Vinnie and squadrons of volunteers tromping around for days in advance. Well, I did bake a lot of pumpkin bread for the Trinita Teen bake sale. We had friends come spend the weekend, both as helpers and for a little social time.

And this past week, we had a special lunch for area priests and DREs. Patricia cooked this great chicken parmesan. We had dessert and coffee in Arts and Crafts and slideshows running in the Lodge on laptops. And again, after weeks of gloom and rain, that one day was gorgeous weather.

This weekend I have devoted to preparing materials for a Pentecost retreat I'll be helping with for the MCA in California. So I have been pretty much slaving away, grinding out lesson plans and outlines and so on.

This month, really, looking back on it, I can say, has been crazy busy. Holy cow. And it did not help that it rained almost every day.

But today... At dusk, I went out and sat on the back steps and just soaked up the peace and quiet. Living where I work can be really hard. But today, it just seems cool. Wow, I get to live here, at Trinita! It could not look more beautiful than it does now. It is a peaceful night.

Word Work Two

2011-03-31T21:23:00.004-04:00

Another Mission Planning Council meeting tonight. Nancy S ran most of it, because we are going to have a chili cook-off in June. I am trying to picture people strolling around the property eating chili, live music playing, the smell of spices in the air.

Before we got to the fun part of the meeting, I did a review of how our Council fits in our five-year plan. We have a new member, and we're half-way through our five years, so a review was in order.

I pulled out our old newsprint and sprinted through a summary, tossing newsprint into a heap behind me as I went along. Half the people there have just heard all this a month or so ago, and half had not really seen this stuff before. So I was torn between Brevity and Clarity.

I'm not sure who won that battle. But the winning visual was the newsprint of all the changes we've had in the last two and a half years. If you look at all the words, it's not brief. And it is clear that we've seen a lot of change in a short time. Not all of it planned or necessarily what we wanted. But the sight of all those words scribbled on the newsprint seemed to catch everyone's attention. So I guess Clarity won.

Maybe it's my interest in history, but I think it's just as important to look back as it is to look ahead as we carry out our mission here. Or anywhere. All those meetings and agendas and minutes and summaries, and even all that newsprint, it all adds up to something. We gain confidence and focus by keeping in mind that the words we spoke last year, and the years before, have born visible fruit. We said these things, then we did these things, and here is where it has taken us. Now what do we say? And where will it lead us?

Who can know? But, at least, I think at least I can count on a chili cook-off happening in June.

Happy Feast Day

2011-03-25T15:18:00.004-04:00

I never thought about it before, but this is a really good time of year to celebrate the Annunciation. I know it's supposed to be nine months before Christmas, but I never thought about the season before. The cusp of Spring.

Spring is always way too late for me since I moved north. Back home, the azaleas and the wisteria are in their last hurrah. Spring weather, flowers, and short sleeves started up weeks ago. Not here. Sometimes, I think I'll never feel the sun on my bare arms again. It's March, April... May??? and still too cold?? What is up with that!

But this year. I never lived through a winter like this one. There is still a pile of snow outside my bedroom window. Much smaller than before, when I literally could not see out my window, but it's the principle of the thing. When are the leaves getting here? I want leaves.

Yesterday, I went to Mercy Center in Madison for spiritual direction. Afterwards, I went and walked on their beach. Wow. The sun was shining, the flowers have started blooming there. I really, really liked it. That's just an hour and a half south of here.

Now I am looking out the window, at the barren lawn and the barren trees and the little piles of snow. And I am thinking.... it is Spring already, believe it or not. Happy Feast Day! Like Mary getting the news from Gabriel, the land is stirring with new life that no can see. Yet.

Hope for Salt

2011-02-06T11:10:00.004-05:00

"If salt has lost its saltiness, how can it be restored? It is good for nothing except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot."

I was sitting in the back row, shivering in wet muddy jeans and a wholly inadequate jacket, wishing I was closer to the fireplace. My back was aching from a previous fall in the ice, and my heavy jacket and gloves were now too soaked and muddy to use. I was very hungry. Father Michael Dolan had braved the icy roads to fill in at the last minute as celebrant for the St. George (Guilford) confirmation retreat mass in our Lodge. Frankly, I was too distracted by my discomfort to pay attention, until he proclaimed these words from the Gospel of Matthew.

Two hours earlier: I had gone to the kitchen to get wine and hosts for mass while supper was being served. I prepared myself a plate to eat after I got back from setting things up in the Lodge. I managed to wolf down the mashed potatoes before I left, thinking I'd be back in a few minutes. But getting to the Lodge was an exciting adventure, and not in a good way. As soon as I finished setting up for mass, instead of going back to eat supper, I set about trying to make the paths to the lodge and cabins safe. My enemy was a freezing mist, and I was in battle mode.

I salted the steps, the walkway, and the basketball court as I had already done twice earlier. But now it was dark, and colder, and slippier, and soon fifty teenagers would be coming through here. Salting doesn't work on a path in the snow, at least not for more than five minutes. Then I remembered the rolls of old carpeting Vinnie had stored in the loft of the big shed. I climbed up there, tossed down several rolls, getting last year's dried mud in my clothes, hair, and mouth in the process. And I was starving. Could I have felt any sorrier for myself?

Yes, I could! Minutes later, I was laying on my back in icy, muddy, salty water. I had slipped trying to lay the first rug down. I learned how to do it better after that. Eventually, I got some of the teen peer ministers to help finish making a carpeted path all the way down the hill. By then, it was almost time for mass. I scrambled for another bucket of salt to re-do the steps and door areas. I had just enough time to change into a dry jacket before mass.

What good is salt that has no flavor? Isn't it interesting that Jesus did not say that tasteless salt is useless! In fact, salt is so useful around here these days, the stores are running out of it, and it has nothing whatsoever to do with the taste. It's precisely so that we can trample it underfoot that we need it so badly. As I sat in the back row, in all my bedraggled glory, I realized that Jesus is not willing to discount any kind of service. Jesus will even use salt with no flavor.

These are words of great consolation to anyone who feels diminished or no longer useful. If aging means I can't do some things I used to do, if I lack the skills or training or power to do the glamorous, exciting, successful things I'd like to do, it's not to say I have nothing to contribute. If I had not thrown out salt to be trampled underfoot, we could not have got to the Lodge for mass last night.

If there is hope for salt, how much more is there hope for us!

Snow Update

2011-01-31T18:00:00.004-05:00

Southerner that I am, I've noticed I remark often about the snow, both in this blog and out there in real life. So I thought I would leave the subject alone this winter. I think most people don't find it as fascinating as I do.

But I mean, come on, we're breaking records here! I can't resist. Here are a few pictures.

The above is the view from my office window. Note the 2 picnic tables to the right of the walkway. To the far left is the mound of snow blocking my bedroom window.

Above is the sign on Town Hill Road. Actually these pictures were taken a week or so ago. The snow is higher now. We're due for another storm this week. We are very grateful for Vinnie and Bully, who work very hard on snow removal after every storm. And by the way, Vinnie loves the new paved parking lot--plowing is much easier and neater now.

I have a feeling I'll be mentioning snow again before the season is over.

Word Work

2011-01-26T20:00:00.005-05:00

We sisters go to a lot of meetings. I mean a lot. Since I became an MSBT, I have probably been to about 21,483 of them, give or take. After that many meetings, some of us might get a little testy about them.

The most dreaded words at any MSBT meeting are: "OK, now we're going to break up into small groups." You just know, the newsprint and the markers are about to come out. And who's going to be the one to record our every remark on the newsprint? And who's going to be the one to get up in front and report what we shared? Not me, I did it last time!

I distinctly remember a two-day gathering where about forty of us were hashing out some new plan for our region. Opinions were many and varied and strongly held. No amount of small-group sharing seemed to help. We probably went through a case of newsprint tablets and a few hundred markers that weekend. It plastered the walls and slumped in corners. The experience made me a believer in whiteboards. Save the trees!

Two years ago, we had one of our brothers, Paul Michalenko ST, come lead us in a two-day meeting to devise a mission plan for Trinita. We were trying to focus on what we needed to work on the most in the next five years. It was actually a great meeting. I saved the newsprint. Really, I did.

We are about half-way through our five years now. We don't even have the same people on staff now that we did then, so it's time to step back and reflect on how we're doing, make some course corrections, etc. I pulled out the newsprint yesterday and spread it around on my office floor as best I could. Wow, look at that. We did some of this stuff! Look--our core mission, neatly in bullet points. All the steps to getting an advisory board started. A list of our dreams, in weighted categories. Seeing the words in their native glory was somehow energizing.

Today I taped it all up on the walls. I am surrounded by words. I even went online to wordle.net and plugged in some parts of the minutes. My favorite is the word cloud created by our closing remarks. Each one of us had to say a sentence that described how we felt after creating our plan.

Is that not cool? It almost makes me re-think my attitude about meetings. Sometimes we can get a little weary of sitting around and talking, writing it down, then more sitting, more talking. But in fact, words work. These words did work. We did some stuff. Not everything we thought we would, maybe not everything we should have, but we got up from talking, and we worked.

Which brings me to this task, today. Here I am, preparing for another meeting. And I've just discovered something. I'm not afraid of newsprint anymore.

Incarnation is Fun

2010-12-24T13:30:00.005-05:00

Years ago, I was home for Christmas and, since my family isn't Catholic, I headed off to the midnight mass alone: Holy Cross Church in Lafayette, LA, which at the time had an aging but wonderful pastor whose homilies were always as nourishing as fresh-baked bread dripping with real butter.

Alas, he was not the celebrant--some visiting priest was helping out, I suppose. It was standing room only, so I stood shoulder to shoulder with a few hundred others, enjoying the prelude of carols and the sight of candles and greenery everywhere. It was warm and comforting and inspired me to reflect on the Incarnation. Here it is, stretching out before me, the Incarnation is here in these folks packed in here waiting for mass to begin on a cold winter night. (Yes, it can get cold in Louisiana.)

The readings and the gospel were proclaimed and I was ready for a fine homily. But the priest... gave no homily. He stood there and laughed, and said, "Well, I know none of you really want to be here, I'm sure everybody just wants to get home so you can open presents, so we'll just move on now." Seriously. That's what he said. And we did. This was a failure to grasp the essence of the feast, to say the least.

One of our recent Gospel readings at daily mass was the genealogy of Jesus from Matthew. As I reflected on it in prayer, for some reason that incident returned to mind, and the subject of Incarnation has stayed with me day in and day out as Christmas approaches. I even re-visited the videoclip of the Simpsons "Catholic vs. Protestant Heaven." (As a former Protestant I must assert that the theology of incarnation is Christian, not just Catholic!)

A solid theology of Incarnation keeps us grounded, literally and figuratively. Holiness is organic, not pure otherworldly spirit. God was born in a weak human body in a barn that smelled of farm animals. Jesus is connected to us, one of us, located in our genealogy. A solid theology of Incarnation means that our starting point is not the sinfulness of the world, but the beauty of creation. It means Advent's Partner is Christmas, and Lent's Partner is Mardi Gras.

Google the Simpsons' clip on Catholic Heaven. I know, the material world is messy and painful and full of grief, but it is also so very beautiful. Incarnation is fun!

Three Candles

2010-12-12T20:49:00.003-05:00

The third candle of Advent was lit in a parish church. We went to Harwinton today. Plain evergreen trees are up in front, and a tree overwhelmed with gifts for the needy is off to one side. A friendly, family parish with a small, nice choir. There were a few hundred of us. Two young parishioners were commissioned to be altar servers today. They stood before the assembly and accepted their new roles, were given albs, and were blessed.

The second candle of Advent was lit in a cathedral. Last Saturday, we took our youth group for a field trip to Manhattan. After a lunch at the Hard Rock Cafe and some sightseeing, we ended up at St. Patrick's for the 5:30 vigil mass. It was fantastic. A visual feast of art and stone and vast space. There were large LCD monitors on the pillars so everyone could see the sanctuary. Skilled lectors, a cantor with a pure clear voice, good hymns. There were numberless thousands of us. Several minutes before mass began, an usher walked down the central aisle and recruited likely-looking assistants to help with the collection. Kevin, one of our teen leaders, must have looked trustworthy, because he was chosen to serve and handed a basket. We think perhaps at the Cathedral, they have to handle such chores creatively.

The first candle of Advent was lit in a barn. That is to say, the Lodge. Floor and ceiling, windows, a fireplace... but the place is still very obviously a made-over barn. We had mass there to end a special celebration of the Missionary Cenacle Family. There were about forty of us. After the homily, six of our friends stood before the assembly and declared their desire to become candidates in the lay branch of the Family, the MCA. They received their copies of the Apostolic Rule of Life as a sign of their commitment.

A simple New England parish church, a cathedral, and a barn. What strikes me about this sequence of locations is not the extreme differences, but what they had in common. A sense of community does not necessarily depend on ever having met the people you're sharing Eucharist with on any given Sunday. A call to service must be answered, or there is no Church.... well, not our Church, anyway. And when you stand up, when you say yes, when you answer the call... you get something! Something you need, like an alb, or a basket, or a book. Maybe even a blessing. But you don't go forth unequipped.

Where will I be for the fourth candle?

Hats and Pins

2010-11-09T21:58:00.003-05:00

Tonight I met with six women who are interested in becoming candidates with our lay brothers and sisters, the Missionary Cenacle Apostolate. Tonight there were many practical questions about what this would involve.

Well, I can answer all those basic questions, but the truth is, you can never really predict where membership in a group like us is going to land you. Just the other night, as I stood singing "Mañanitas" with my buddy Sr. Nancy at this party we crashed, I adjusted my straw hat and serape and said to myself, "How did I end up doing mariache in New England on a cold November night?" Yup, you just cannot know where you'll end up when you get involved with a bunch of missionaries.

We used to be called "The Hat Sisters," and not because we wore sombreros and sang mariache. It's because we never wore a habit and veil in the old days, we wore black dresses and black hats. Mostly, sisters joined our congregation for the charism and the work we do, but every once in awhile, you hear some elderly sister say, "I liked the hats."

Hey, you know, that's OK. Maybe she joined for the hat, but she clearly did not stay for the hat, since now, except for special occasions when a sombrero or Easter bonnet seems to be called for, we do not wear hats.

So, Ms. Strini, if you want to join the MCA because you think their pin is cool, then, for now, that is good enough for me!

Being Fire

2010-11-04T22:18:00.002-04:00

There is a faint scar on the back of my hand. About an inch long. I got it last month during a weekend conference we gave for Catholic teens from several of our missions in the Northeast. The conference was called "Be Fire," and, ironically, the scar is from a burn.

We do all kinds of crazy things here. Someone gets an idea, and the next thing you know, it's on the calendar and we are making fliers and planning the menu. It's amazing how someone's thoughtful remark, if spoken at the right time and place, can grow into a big event, and even escalate into a tradition, a group, a movement. Like a spark which falls onto kindling, and grows into a blazing fire. I am pretty sure that the guy who suggested "some kind of jamboree for our teens," our friend Ed, does not even remember saying it last year at our Christ the King gathering.

So, I look at the scar and remember the teens, from Philadelphia, Parsippany, Hartford, and even New Hartford. I remember greeting them on a cold Friday night after their long drive here, feeding them re-heated pizza (which is how I got the burn). I remember standing with them in the Grotto later that night, watching them toss matches into a fire as a sign of willingness to Be Fire. I remember them laughing and becoming friends while they made posters, role-played hospitality scenarios, painted benches, hiked in the woods. I remember them, and I wonder what from that weekend they remember? What marked them? Did any of it? Do any of them have something like a faint scar to remind them of the fire?

Tonight, we had a prayer service to remember our dear sister Ann Miriam Gallagher. Her funeral was last week in Philadelphia, but so many here needed some way to mark this loss. Tonight, as I looked around the room and listened to the stories, I thought about Annie's gift. Annie was, to so many people, like the spark that would land perfectly on the kindling and become a fire. So small a thing, a request to help with the dishes, with the painting, with the gardens, with walking the dog. Little sparks that blazed up into relationships, into fire that marked us forever.

This is how it works. Father Judge, when he came here in 1923 and talked about what this place could be, he said he could envision Trinita as a light on Town Hill, shining out for others. And somehow, through thick and thin, this mission has hung on to that spark, and the spark has started many fires. Annie, she scattered a lot of sparks. Tonight, when I look at the scar on my hand, I know it's not from a teen conference last month, it's from a fire that has been burning for many years, a fire many people have stoked, many people caught and then passed on. As we stand here tonight and sing, we are following a great tradition. We are being fire.

Paving Day

2010-09-02T23:50:00.004-04:00

They started very early this morning. I woke up smelling asphalt. It got up to 100 degrees this afternoon, but they did not stop til they finished. The picture above, Nancy watering the tomatoes tonight after supper, can hardly convey how different things look now.

Tim Traub is the man we have to thank for this major improvement of our property. He owns and operates Hemlock Construction Company.

I hate to break it to you Missionary Cenacle Volunteers, but we've lost some prime Blanket Time real estate to the handicap access. Sorry.

The playground area is going to look a lot better after the grass grows back. Tim took excess fill from the front and used it to level out the playground area. We can spread out around the campfire a little better now.

And I feel obliged to provide one more video. It might give a better idea of the noise, heat and smell the men endured all day. But then, they are professionals. We are very grateful to our many donors who made this project a reality.

Day of the Steamroller

2010-09-01T19:15:00.011-04:00

Well, it's probably not called a steamroller. I should ask Tim what all these machines are really called. This one showed up on our last day of business post-summer program. No one was around to tell us not to mess with it, and we couldn't resist sitting on it.

This is the parking lot now. It is so quiet. And so very, very flat. Yesterday the front lot looked like it had taken mortar fire. Today, in 90 degree sun, the steamroller guy made all the rough places plain. The house shook most of the day. Things fell off shelves. Really.

Now, it's all very pastoral. The crows are poking around looking for supper.

Tomorrow, the paving will begin, probably around 6 AM. Don't expect any photos of the first pour of asphalt hitting the ground.

Day of the Conduit

2010-08-31T19:16:00.012-04:00

This morning, from the dining room window, I stood watching Tim Traub and his men working two machines in conjunction to delicately extricate a mess of boulders that were in the way of a trench they were digging for the conduit. I reflected on the profound significance of it, the many layers of meaning unfolding before me.

No I didn't! I just stood there enthralled with the spectacle of it. I have no theological insights to offer. Sometimes, a trench is just a trench.

I was away when they prepared the Arts and Crafts parking lot. Probably not as complicated because they did not have to lay conduit. They did dig up some mysterious pipes however. But that was last week. Today, it was all about the front lot.

They dug trenches, laid conduit, and filled the trenches up all day long. As you can see, we had to use caution when using the cenacle door. I am sure there is something profound about that, but I got nothin'.
Nancy had to dig up the carrots prematurely because a conduit had to run right through the bed. We had carrots for supper. Yum!

But the most exciting part came while we were eating those very carrots. The entire house shook with a deep vibration. It's a steamroller, baby!

After Day One: Interlude

2010-08-14T21:18:00.009-04:00

No work on the weekend, so this is a good time to post a few pictures.
This is a view of our current parking lot.
This is a view of the location of our future Arts and Crafts parking lot.

Here he is! Jack has just dumped some old plywood on the ground, and we are ridiculously excited about this.

The real work has begun: Tim is moving the tin shed out of the way of future paving. Vinnie emptied the shed's contents into the Stable Chapel. Sorry, but what else could we do?
I have many more pictures but I am holding back. More later.

Day One: Preparing the Land

2010-08-13T21:17:00.004-04:00

Day Zero consisted of Jack Traub arriving with a load of plywood which he dumped on our parking lot to prepare for the heavy machinery. It was a big deal to us because it was the first visible sign that we are about to have our parking lot paved, at long last.

Yesterday his dad Tim, the boss, came by to talk about plans. And today, the big machines arrived! I don't even know what they are called, actually. But they are big and they make a lot of noise and they beep whenever they back up.

The actual work on the actual parking lot has not yet begun. But the place is a mess anyway. They moved the little shed to the edge of the ravine, sending salamanders and frogs fleeing for their little amphibian lives. And they scraped up a foot or so of topsoil all around the firepit and playground equipment. The plan is to level that area with fill they scrape up from the parking lot, then they'll put the topsoil back over it.

So our world is changing. There is now a huge mound of dirt in front of Cabin 2. The Stable Chapel is now housing our snow removal equipment. The old tree stump on the way to Arts and Crafts is gone. But they rescued the flowers that were planted in it! I walked around and looked at the newly exposed earth, the white lines painted on the grass, the big machines parked randomly around the property. It's like seeing Trinita in its underwear. Awkward and undignified.

It will never be the same. But then, it never is. Except where it counts.

Eating peaches

2010-08-02T21:12:00.004-04:00

I have been far busier this summer than I ever have been, except possibly 2007 when we had no dining room coordinator. I am doing things I never did before: the finances, pool maintenance, and my favorite, stocking the snack koop. The big hit this summer is the fruit chillers, only 50 cents! It's been so hot, eating those things slowly is very soothing. They come in mango and strawberry, but the kids think the mango ones are really peach.

What bugs me is not being able to spend as much time out with the people. Paying bills and vacuuming the pool are solitary activities. So I am working morning noon and night, as I always do in the summer, but it's a little less rewarding this year.

The other day I had to run to the store to buy a new blender, since our antique one finally conked out. I was so exhausted, when I parked, I just couldn't bring myself to get out of the car. I leaned the car seat back and napped for about ten minutes. As I drifted in and out of sleep, I reflected on my early days at Trinita in the 80s. I am running myself ragged now as I did then, out of pure love of the mission. I had never felt that way about any job I had before, which is why in 1984 I knew I needed to quit my job and find something I could be passionate about. I had dithered for years about finding something more engaging, but at Trinita, I finally became ready to let go, plunge in, take a chance on something new.

I woke myself up enough to get out of the car and run my errand. As I walked across the parking lot I found myself grinning, and I realized... I found what I wanted. I could have wimped out. I could have gone home and shook it off and kept my sensible job. I had a choice back then. Things could have turned out very differently, but here I am--totally exhausted and as happy as can be!

When I got back, I tossed the car keys on the countertop and grabbed a peach before heading up to deliver the blender. Suddenly the line from that old T. S. Eliot poem popped in my head. J Alfred Prufrock. Do I dare, do I dare to eat a peach? That was a hard choice for me in 1984. But I chose. Peaches are delicious. So are mangoes.

The smell of bread

2010-07-24T22:54:00.003-04:00

This morning I got up at 7, showered, and hopped in the car for a quick trip to the store. Even before having my first cup of coffee. We forgot to get bread for the closing prayer for the Week 3 people. I came back with some hoagie loaves.

At circle, Nancy and I broke the bread and slowly went to each person, giving them a piece of it and a blessing. This has been a hard week. Some of the folks, I think, did not really want to be here. But enough of them did to make it good. I looked into their eyes, touched them, gave them the bread, blessed them. Warm skin, warm hugs as they finally boarded the bus to return home.

Then, three more volunteers left. It seems I am often too tired or distracted to feel the impact of these goodbyes when they happen, and it's only later I look around and say, where's Megan? Where's Leroy? Where's Marco? But today, I felt the goodbyes. I have to say, it was hard for me to see Jenna, Erika, and Michaela all go. One by one, I just wanted to hang on to them. I hope they know how good it was to share this mission with them for these past few weeks.

And then, before I was really ready, the next bus arrived. So now I get to entertain everyone by hacking my way through announcements and explanations in Spanish. We got them settled in, we fed them, and then we introduced them to the theme for the week. As they entered the meeting room, the smell of bread greeted them. And at the close of the gathering, we fed them bread still almost too hot to touch, pulled from our bread machine before their eyes.

My hand still remembers the warmth of the people of Baltimore as I touched them to bless them this morning. And my hand still remembers the warmth of the bread we fed and distributed to the people of South Philly tonight. It seems odd that of everything this day has held, it is the warmth in my hands that is with me now.

Biting the Onion

2010-07-16T22:38:00.002-04:00

I am supposed to be writing something about the virtue of patience. It's kind of ironic that this virtue was assigned to me to reflect on. I used to think patience was something I was fairly good at. When I worked in a lab, a friend of mine visited me at work one day and ended up watching me prepare a series of reagents. It required precision pipetting, slow and steady. She sat silently, waiting for me to finish so we could go. Afterward she told me she was amazed, seeing how the work required an assent to tedium as well as a steady hand.

I thought patience meant doing that kind of work. Assenting to tedium instead of resisting it or avoiding it. Just sit there, focus, get it done.

Well, that is a kind of patience, it's true, but in my later years, I think I need a different kind of patience. Hanging on my wall right now is an action plan our congregation arrived at at our last chapter, two years ago. It contains many elements we had already agreed to work on at the previous chapter five years earlier. Unfortunately, we did not make enough visible progress the first time around--many people did not even recognize the previous chapter statement when it was read out loud to them. We firmly resolved to do better this time.

And I think we are, in some ways. The rub is, I want more. I have strong feelings about certain things I believe we ought to be doing, and it feels like after two years, we ought to be further along than we are. In other words, I am feeling impatient.

A virtue can be carried too far. Patience must be tempered by zeal or it becomes passivity, even laziness. I think that my impatience for my congregation's progress on our plan is appropriate. Surely we can do more if we try harder! But this works both ways. Zeal must be tempered by patience or it becomes arrogance. So, my challenge, if I want to grow in this virtue (and I really do), is to discern where to draw the line. Where does my passion for progress need to be tempered? I don't want "patience" to let us off the hook to make real, tangible progress on our goals. But I don't want to be obnoxious and arrogant, either!

The theme for our summer program is "Our Daily Bread." Each day, we explore some bible story about bread, and on Tuesday nights, Nancy gives a presentation on "The Bread of Troubled Times." She illustrated a life lesson to the group by preparing a special banquet just for me. She sat me at a little table laden with prunes, parsley, an onion, and Tabasco water. Yum! Sometimes, life does not go so well. Things go wrong. An illness. A failure. A wrong turn. And we have no choice but to go along for the ride.

I sat there in front of the gathering, looking at the unpleasant meal set before me, and reflected while Nancy talked. I can sit here and wait patiently for a better meal to come around.... or I can accept that, like it or not, this is what's for dinner tonight. While Nancy talked, I picked up the onion, peeled it, and took a bite.

Well, it wasn't so bad, really. Patience is not passivity. Patience is not meek acceptance of less than our best. Patience is active. Patience is seizing reality and biting into it, chewing and swallowing. It's eating what is set before you.

Catholic is Catholic, part 2

2010-06-19T10:05:00.004-04:00

As I was driving home from spiritual direction I found myself singing an old tune from my Protestant days, about the Transfiguration. It's to the tune of Agincourt, and our choir director used it to illustrate how polyphony came into use in liturgical music. You know, hundreds of years ago.

I am sketchy on the details, so bear with me. But Liturgical music, according to the story, started out strictly as chant, very smooth and ethereal and without great range. Then a second voice was added as an octave above, sung by the boys. Now you have two layers going. Then someone got very bold and added a third layer, only a fifth above, mirroring the melody precisely. After folks got over the shock of having a true harmony line, polyphony took off. And this happened most easily by hanging onto the melody line, but the second voice just comes in a bit later--like a fugue or a round.

Our choir director, Lucy Hudson Hair of University Presbyterian Church in Baton Rouge, illustrated this little lesson using Agincourt, and what started out as a stately one-voiced melody got slowly transfigured into a beautiful, textured, many-voiced wonder.

And that, my friends, is one more way to make the point that we are fundamentally different in how we understand God and the Universe. Catholic is Catholic. The Triune God is not just our way of talking about the One Universal Consciousness that we ought to want to be absorbed into if we can only just totally empty ourselves of our petty individuality.

You can find this quote here. "When we chant Om, ... we start thinking universally. ...there is no thought. This is the state of trance, where the mind and the intellect are transcended as the individual self merges with the Infinite Self in the pious moment of realization. It is a moment when the petty worldly affairs are lost in the desire for the universal. Such is the immeasurable power of Om."

Could there be anything more different from Om than a good Bach fugue? Could there be anything more different from merging with the Infinite Self than a messy, juicy Trinitarian and Incarnational spirituality? We don't need to transcend the physical world, when our God inhabits the world as flesh and blood Himself. And we certainly don't need to lose our individual selves into the Infinite Self when our God is actually pure relationship, a God of distinct Persons in perfect community. Where is there anything about relationship, otherness, personhood, distinctiveness in a pure spirit of infinite self?

I am not saying Hindus or others are fools or evil for believing as they do. But why, why, why would I ever say "deep down we're all the same, one path is just as good as another"? Catholic is Catholic. We may well find common ground for dialogue in other faiths, but we will never, ever agree that our understandings of God and the Divine are "basically the same." Nope. We are basically different. And we need to claim that truth with pride.

Catholic is Catholic

2010-05-30T12:54:00.004-04:00

Happy Feast Day!

This is the day all of us Missionary Servants of the Most Blessed Trinity celebrate as our biggest feast. And unless we are at a parish where our brother Missionary Servants are preaching, it is the day we cringe at the homily.

This Sunday, our parish priest gave the gentlest and most affirming homily I have ever heard on the Trinity in a diocesan parish. He did not make any of the standard opening comments we have begun to take for granted on this day. We did not hear a joke about Thomas Aquinas or an apology about being unable to explain the mystery. Even more importantly, we were not actively discouraged from trying to understand at least a little about the Trinity. How many times have I sat in the pew, in churches across the U.S, and heard some variation on, "The doctrine of the Trinity is a profound mystery which we cannot possibly understand, so instead I am going to preach about fill-in-the-blank."

I have never heard any one ever say, "The Eucharist is too profound a mystery to understand, so let's not bother about it and talk about something else." Or, at Christmas, "I don't know what to say about the meaning of God being born as a human baby in a stable." Or at Easter, "Well, the Pascal Mystery, ha-ha, I skipped that class in theology school." Man, the Trinity as a fundamental Catholic doctrine really takes a beating!

Our priest said none of those things. He did something I've never heard done from a parish pulpit in all my many travels: he encouraged, begged us to reflect on the Trinity! Preach it, brother! He did not make it seem arcane or boring or beyond our mere mortal grasp. He encouraged us to the simple discipline of daily reflecting on the nearness of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit in our ordinary moments of life.

When he finished, I wanted to applaud, but I also wanted to leap up and shout, "But wait, there's more!" as if I were giving an "as seen on TV" ad. There's so much more to say about the Trinity. But there is one thing more I want to say here, for now, today on this feast day.

It's a simple thing, and on the surface it might seem kind of obvious or insignificant. But the Christian doctrine of the Trinity makes us fundamentally, thoroughly, unarguably different from all the other big world religions. Different, as in to the core dissimilar from Hindus, Buddhists, Muslims, and Jews. The Triune God we worship is not just a different way of talking about God as other non-Christians might. If we pretend that it is, we deny our very essence. If you dig deep enough and get past all the language and culture and rules and clutter.... we still are not all "basically the same!"

I am sure I will write on this topic again at another time, but for now, suffice to say, that is my starting point. We need to quit pretending we are really, deep down, all one global harmonious homogeneous spiritual family. Cuz we ain't.

Off Campus

2010-05-26T21:23:00.003-04:00

I live and work at the same place. Lucky for me, the place happens to be a great place. But still, this presents challenges. On weekends, we can have up to 50 people tramping around. Because it's such a short commute to my office, I often end up here at night working when I could be goofing off. And because we are sort of a public place and half of Litchfield County feels at home here, we have folks drop in even on Mondays when technically we're closed.

Mondays! I have posted about my days off before. Sometimes I get in the car and go exploring, just to get away. I have not done that in awhile, but this Monday, Nancy and I went to New Haven for the perfect day off. We had been given gift cards to Panera's so we had a great lunch. Then we ambled around in a dollar store. (I bought a bunch of cool toys for bingo prizes.) And last but not least, we went to Ikea.

I had never been to Ikea before. I would go back just for fun any time. We admired all the cool stuff, and I wondered what my dream bedroom would look like if I were not a missionary sister living in a subterranean cenacle. I did notice that furniture tended to be very low to the ground. I had to sort of roll over practically on my hands and knees to get out of the couches. But the whole experience was like going to a foreign land. It was just what I needed. I love it here, but it can get pretty intense to stay confined to the property for more than a few weeks.

When I was a novice, one of our sisters told us about her first mission. She was sent to some town in the deep South, I think it was Charlotte. She was from Fall River, MA. Within a week of her arrival, she met a young man at a workshop and proudly introduced herself as a missionary. He replied, "Wow, so am I! I have lived all my life here but in a few weeks my church is sending me to do a year of missionary work in Fall River, Massachusetts."

So there you go. There is just some attraction to go exploring someone else's home town. I am sure that as I write this, there is someone from Connecticut having a great adventure somewhere in Louisiana.

Body and Soul

2010-04-30T22:04:00.003-04:00

This afternoon, as I was dutifully stirring the tapioca pudding, a turkey hen walked by the kitchen window, looked in, and went on about her business.

I often say we live in the basement, but it's only half true. We have normal size windows (though not enough of them.) But the windows, from the outside, are at ground level. These past few months I have been no busier than usual, and no less reflective, but I guess I have not been in a writing mood. But after awhile, all those words build up and they just have to come out. What I've mostly been reflecting on is the house. Not just the house, really--the lodge, the cabins, the grounds--the body of Trinita.

Living in a basement is not my favorite thing. Even though I get to look the occasional turkey in the eye. It's too dark, and it's too low, and it's right next to the boilers and the more intimate guts of the house. When the doctor comes to do a house call--the electrician, the plumber, the exterminator, the furnace repairman, the cable guy, the phone guy--whoever it is, they have to go through our "living room," usually multiple times.

And there have been a whole lot of house calls lately. A few months ago, in some impossible to describe dirt floor low beam black hole which is right next to where we eat supper every night, water began to flow out onto the floor. I climbed back there with a flashlight and a broom, whisking away cobwebs to get a good look. Yup, it's water. Coming up ... uh, out of the ground, I guess. Well, it is raining cats and dogs right now, but still, this never happened before. Later, Vinnie found a valve to an old pipe and shut it off, but where the water was actually coming from remains a mystery, since it did not seem to be connected to anything in active use.

This past month, Joe from the Motherhouse staff spent a week here crawling in dark recesses and prying open old junctions and fixing our wiring. He spoke in admiration of the antique wiring he found in certain place which is still perfectly functional. Some of the more recent work (i.e. done in the last thirty or forty years) was less functional. At the end of the week, Joe, being a man of few words, summed it all up for me. "Well, Sister, we found a number of ... anomalies, but everything is up to code now."

And most recently, we've had some concern about the Lodge. Once upon a time, long long ago, it was an ordinary horse barn. Then we got the property and began adding on, and adding, and adding. Now it's got 3 wings, a raised roof, a fireplace, and an attic. During our annual inspection of the property, someone noticed a certain skew to the Lodge. Hmmm...... Plumb lines and other arcane instruments were soon brought to bear. Is the roof properly tied together, or isn't it? I am happy to say, someone with professional expertise took a good look and said all is well. Yay.

Trinita is old. And I am feeling my age these recent years. My feet hurt. My knees hurt. I think I need stronger bifocals. Dang. But the body is what it is. It can shape my moods, even my attitudes. But even so. It is a good home for my soul.

Trinitarian Soup

2010-01-16T16:06:00.002-05:00

This morning, I rolled out of bed with my mission clearly before me: make two pots of soup ASAP, because we have 15 people for lunch today! My body was really lagging behind my mission, since I was in bed all day sick yesterday and still not up to par today. Nevertheless. Feed the hungry. We'll all be hungry by noon or so, so I need to get on with my mission and maybe the rest of me will catch up later.

I got the black bean soup going first, and Nancy helped chop stuff for the sausage-tortellini soup, saving me some energy. Feeling under the gun and rather zombie-like, now is not the time to be creative. I actually followed the real recipes for a change. And I wisely chose recipes I have made before, so I was not exploring new culinary territory.

Yeah, too bad I even had to make the soup. But our RSVP for this event looked like this: Please RSVP by Monday for our Saturday event. On Tuesday, we have only 3 responses, so we tell our cook Diane she did not need to come in, we can handle 3 guests. Then, of course, we began to get more calls, up until yesterday. Wow, that was a useless RSVP, wasn't it. So here I am making two pots of soup, cause we canceled our cook!

Well, these experiences are what life here is composed of. We go with the flow. Once I had both pots bubbling, it was 10:15. We start at 11:00. I still have to get dressed (a skirt and panty hose day, sadly) and find some yarn and figure out what I am going to use as symbolic flower seeds and make copies and get out the fabric markers and..... A lot of stuff I would have done yesterday had I not been sick in bed.

But all unfolded as it should. We had fun teaching and sharing about the Incarnation, about the Holy Spirit, and about the Trinity. During our sharing about how to take counsel, Becky asked what the next step is in discernment. I found myself reverting to the first analogy that came to mind. "Discerning a decision is not a sequential procedure, it's more like a soup with a lot of ingredients. Prayer, learning, and taking counsel are all important ingredients in the soup." Given my dulled state of mind, I felt lucky I could stray from my script and give an intelligent response.

As our time drew to a close, Nancy emphasized the diversity of the Trinity. God being a relationship of distinct persons means we humans are called to reflect that as God's image: we should be distinct, diverse. Not uniform. Yeah, it dawned on me as I looked at our assembled group. Friends came from Massachusetts, Hartford, upstate New York, and from right down the road. Here we are, a little microcosm of the Church. Nothing uniform about us, we had to split into two language groups for sharing and into two age groups because there are kids here. We are like a nice tortellini sausage soup. How Trinitarian.

Knock Knock!

2010-01-09T20:15:00.002-05:00

OK, I admit freely that I have a child-like sense of humor. My absolute number one favorite joke of all time is one I learned from the five-year-old nephew of Sr. Stephanie when her family visited our cenacle:

Why did the frog cross the road?

?????? OK, why did the frog cross the road?

Cuz he was stapled to the chicken!!!!! (followed by gleeful five year old laughter.)

How can you not adore that joke? Another favorite is, "Hey I know a great Knock-Knock joke! Go ahead, ask me Knock Knock!"

Oblivious victim: " Ok. Knock Knock."

Then you say "Who's there?" and stare at the victim while they slowly realize that this is so very backwards.

If they try a knock-knock joke on you, the appropriate response is, "Come in."

OK, so here is my first post on my blog for 2010. Knock Knock. Who is there? Who the heck reads my blog???? Am I dropping stones down a bottomless well, or is anyone really out there? I just gave you some great jokes you can use in any social setting. Your payment is to post a comment on this entry. Tell me who you are. I just want to know if anyone besides my three friends reads this thing.

Charity

2009-12-31T23:49:00.005-05:00

2009 is just about over. We've been working on the virtue of charity for the past two months as a congregation. I have really worked on it too. And yet, it seems as if I have such a long way to go! Could it be that two months was just not enough time to see real progress? I am not ready to give up. I am not sure what the virtue is we'll be working on for January and February, but I do believe that I could benefit from further work on the first virtue. And we have six more virtues to go! I may never catch up.

It has been a wonderful year. I am looking forward to another one.

Happy New Year!

The Presence of Bears

2009-11-18T10:48:00.006-05:00

I used to work with large animals at the LSU School of Veterinary Medicine. Day in, day out, good weather, horrible weather, weekends, holidays--animals need clean pens, food and water, and some of them need milking twice a day. I would often have the early shift, dragging myself in to tend to the cows before being fully awake, and I grew to appreciate their quiet presence. They have a clean smell. They stand there in the pen, patient and massive, radiating their body heat and stirring the air with their breath.

Years later, I was taking one of my long directionless walks while on retreat at Warnersville. Hiking through a pasture at dusk, I passed near a dozen cows, almost motionless in the warm night air. As it grew rapidly darker, I stood there, once again in the presence of cows. I closed my eyes and could smell them. I could hear the soft, rhythmic whoosh of their breathing. I could feel their massiveness, the way can you sense someone standing next to you even if they are completely silent. Those minutes of calm stillness, surrounded by warmth and life and earth smells, that is all I remember of that retreat.

Yesterday, Nancy called up from Arts and Crafts to tell us there were bears on the basketball court. Siena and I ran out the cenacle and began walking down the parking lot to get a look. But by then, the bears had come up the other side of the pavilion and rounded the corner. We were walking toward each other. I halted in amazement, and even took a few steps back as the bears continued toward me unaware. Then they saw us and halted, just as amazed. We were perhaps ten or fifteen paces apart.

And in that brief moment, I found myself in the presence of bears. A mother and two large cubs, with beautiful black glossy coats. The fur seemed so soft and shiny I wished I could touch it. It riffed in the breeze. They regarded me briefly, then turned and padded quietly away.

When they turned, the spell was broken, and while they crossed under Cabin 1 and into the grotto, I ran for my camera. I got them running across the baseball field and crossing Town Hill Road. Traffic, including a school bus, stopped to admire the sight. I wonder, I wonder, did the bear, in that brief moment, experience the presence of humans? What is the presence we bring to others?

Sunset Alert

2009-11-15T16:59:00.003-05:00

It's the end of a nice, normal weekend at Trinita. We had a group of Catholic college students here from three different area colleges. They spread out and used the place as it was intended to be used: prayer, fellowship, and fun.

Part of the fun was the making of a few hundred jars of "artisan jam" which they plan to sell as a fundraiser. Our huge antique rice pot (aka Big Bertha) was full of strawberries, bubbling away all afternoon. Diane had to work around them to prepare supper, but she clearly enjoyed having them around. The money they raise is for their spring break trip to do construction work in New Orleans, my still-devastated homeland.

It rained virtually all day and all night yesterday, but I had to go slouching around in the dark looking for some switch to throw which would restore electricity to Cabins 3 and 4 and parts of the Lodge. No luck. So I had to call in the power company. A guy named Greg in a fancy huge truck with flashing lights pulled up by the Lodge and figured out one of our switch boxes is going bad and we should replace it soon. Dang. Anyway, it works for now.

So, today is a much nicer day. Sunny, mild, in the 70's, fresh air like spring. I cleaned out another flower bed while a half dozen scouts finished rebuilding our fire pit. Wait til you see it! Almost too fancy for us! While I was clearing out the bed in front of the meeting room, our poor pathetic cat began yowling by the front door. "Francisco, are you crazy??? It's a beautiful afternoon! How can you possibly want to go in?" But he did. He sounded pitiful, but I did not let him in. I did at least scratch his ears.

Now, I am at my desk, preparing to make invitations to our upcoming Centennial celebration. A fun job. I just looked out the window. OOOOoooooooo! We have the world's most beautiful sunsets here. When it looks like this, we get on the loudspeaker and say, "Sunset Alert!" So that is life at Trinita on an ordinary Fall weekend.

The Attic

2009-10-26T22:25:00.007-04:00

One of my first posts to this blog was about a trip into our dungeon--the nether regions under the main house that are accessible through our basement apartment. It is kind of scary back there. A dirt floor, with very large and uneven stones that may have been intended as paving at one time. The stacks of stones and rough-hewn wood that are the foundation of this house. And, of course, I can't stand erect back there, due to varied degrees of low clearance.

This weekend, I cleaned out the attic. This is in its own way just as interesting as the dungeon. I had a young volunteer, Ryan, who had fun with the vacuum and took out most of the several million dead bugs up there. I went through boxes, got rid of some stuff and re-packed everything else far more neatly. I got several bruises on my head from smacking my head so many times on the beams. I found pieces of newspaper dated January 1925. All in all, an unforgettable experience.

Now, suddenly, the Attic seems like a very cool place to be. I found an unopened box with a fake aquarium bubble light sort of thing, and I set it up in there. (Yes, there are working electrical outlets, who knew?) Fake fish now dance in colored lights and bubbles. Nancy hung a ceiling lamp with a multicolored shade. We tossed around a few rugs. It's still an attic, with boxes and trunks lining the ... well, not walls. Eaves? But the windows are now clear, and sunlight makes the space seem so much more livable.

Last October, when I was visiting the cenacle in Ponce, Puerto Rico, Sr. Silvia Arias asked me where I now lived. When I told her, she said, "Trinita! I lived there for five months as a postulant! I loved it there."

I was surprised to hear this. I guess that must have been in the 40s or 50s, and apart from the summer camps, I did not think our sisters spent time there. I asked her where in the house did she stay. "There were five us us who stayed on the third floor."

The third floor? We have no third floor.... "Sister, your bedroom was the attic?!" She serenely affirmed this. I was humbled. And I complain about not having enough space here! So I promised her that one day I would hang a sign in the attic that said, "Sr. Silvia slept here." I think it's about time for that sign.

Numbers

2009-10-15T16:52:00.003-04:00

I have taken on the finances here at Trinita since Joan has moved to the Motherhouse. Well, someone has to do it. I am slowly getting the hang of it. But it is a lot of numbers.
I mean a lot.

Everything is coded. Every receipt is saved. Everything is filed. Many forms to fill out.

This afternoon, I sat at my desk up here on the second floor, the best office at Trinita. Great view. I am all caught up on finances for now, so I pulled out a chore I had put off doing. Making up the family contact list for everyone here. Oh, wow, more numbers. Lots and lots of numbers. This is a situation that is sure to get me into trouble sooner or later. I am going to mess up somewhere, somehow. I just know it. Dang.

But here are a few more numbers before I leave to go to evening prayer. It is the Ides of October , that is, 10/15/09. And guess what? It's snowing outside. I kid you not. And it's sticking. Sticking to the fall leaves and the green grass. Welcome to Trinita.

Rocky Road

2009-09-26T00:35:00.003-04:00

Seriously, it does not get any better than this.

I am eating rocky road ice cream with milk and granola, in a huge coffee mug. Kind of like a Dairy Queen Blizzard of my own invention. I was in bed trying to fall asleep. No good. My mind is full of many thoughts, and at some point I realized... Hey. I'm hungry.

So here I am, happy as can be, despite being tired and achy from being on my feet all afternoon. I made a double-batch of carrot coconut soup, then I made a baked potato bar for our weekend guests. I love cooking, and the soup is one of my favorite recipes, despite how weird it sounds. In fact, it tastes great.

While I was doing this, Siena and Marion were renovating our cenacle. Well, we had Vinnie to do the heavy lifting. Since Sharon moved in yesterday, we really needed to reconfigure to accommodate five people instead of four downstairs. We live underground, sort of. Pretty cramped down there in the basement. But they came up with a new layout, and man, it looks like a new cenacle down there now.

This ice cream is great! Rocky road, there's a metaphor for you. I have certainly traveled on one this past year. But this year is looking like smooth sailing. I wonder what kind of ice cream Smooth Sailing would be? Maybe I will invent it. Despite being a rocky road, it was a great year, as I look back. Granted, I worked too hard. But even so, it was good work, with good people. Many blessings.

I've almost finished my ice cream. I will try going back to bed, and hopefully fall asleep this time. I know it was a little crazy to get up and fix myself ice cream and post on my blog at 1 AM. But this sure beat laying in the dark wide awake. And as I lay there, I remembered Olivia told me to post on my blog tonight. "What, you haven't posted since the summer program???" See how obedient I am? So, good night world. Tomorrow morning, Nancy and I will make pancakes and sausage for our guests, and it will be another beautiful fall day here at Trinita. I plan to have fun.

The Last Cookie.

2009-08-17T16:55:00.002-04:00

Early in the summer program, someone who loves me made me some very special cookies and gave them to me in a decorated plastic container. It says "Merry Christmas!" I have just finished celebrating six Christmases, six Thanksgivings, six Easters.

At about noon today, I dropped off the last Missionary Cenacle Volunteer at the Bradley airport. She says she'll come back next summer. I hope so. I miss them. As badly as I need to rest, I still feel strange and a bit sad. We had a great summer, and now it is completely over.

I just finished cleaning my office. This entails more than dusting and vacuuming. I had to go through files and binders and program supplies. Many trips to the attic, and many to the trash can. Everything is more or less back in order now, and the sun is streaming through my window. I love the feel of the sun's heat on my bare arm. I am happy to sweat. We've had such a cool and wet summer.

I feel such gratitude. At the vigil mass on Saturday, we all sat in our bright red shirts in the front four pews. It was hot as it is now. The church filled with people we've seen all summer, moms who dropped off cookies, the librarian who lent us a box of children's books, Justin our DJ, the folks who made us pancakes or helped with dishes, the teens who did.... pretty much everything. Emmy was the cantor. She sang the psalm, and the response was, "This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad!" That response was our refrain for the summer. We started all our prayer with it. As she sang, I realized that this very day, twenty years ago, I professed my first vows as a Missionary Servant.

This is the day. I am eating the last cookie in my carefully guarded supply of Christmas cookies. Our summer is over. We begin the fall stuff in a few weeks. Happy New Year!

Rice Pot

2009-08-12T19:36:00.002-04:00

It's Wednesday of Week 6. We're in the home stretch for Summer 09. The moms cook supper on Wednesdays because it's Diane's day off. Everything gets used, and everything needs to be washed. All of us are on duty for clean-up. Siena and I usually stay in the kitchen and scrub pots, leaving the less horrific cleaning for the MCVs stationed at the dishwashing sinks.

I got the rice pot again. The volunteers have named it Big Bertha. It is huge, and it is heavy, and it is scary-looking when three or four pounds of rice have carbonized on the bottom. By the time I have scoured out the rice pot, I am usually wringing wet with sweat and my fingernails have been destroyed by brillo.

I think maybe this pot was here since Mother Boniface last visited. It probably cost a month's income, but what a wise investment. How many families have been fed from this pot? How many mothers from how many countries have prepared meals for us with it? How many volunteers have scrubbed it before me? How many of my sisters over the years have hefted it up onto the stove and lit a fire under it?

While we scrubbed, we sang songs, and I reflected on the treasure in my hands, the rice pot. I hope my life is a life of service as much as this rice pot is of service for us at this mission.

Cornucopia

2009-08-02T22:29:00.003-04:00

Tonight for the Family Gathering I sort of threw out my script and provided a mash-up of the introductory gathering and the Thanksgiving gathering. Olivia is here and it is a wonderful thing to work with her again. Maybe that's why I felt comfortable enough to get up there and just go with whatever seemed to work. Even Olivia seemed to be feeling it, she went off on a solo guitar rendition of Clap de Hands! Yeah, even did the vocals!

We played Trinita Concentration, and then we did the Hat of the Night, and I wore the Cornucopia Hat while pacing around telling the story of the Horn of Plenty. The assembled folks gasped as I barely missed getting my hat clipped by the ceiling fan. Low clearance, I keep forgetting. Then chaos reigned when I threw caution to the wind and had a couple of couches full of kids come up and tape fruits and veggies to the cornucopia. I am never doing it that way again, that's for sure.

But I just felt a certain freedom to try it. I guess I am tired. This is hard work. It's more than hard work, it is like being on another planet to live here during these seven weeks. I feel fine, and everything is going fine, but I can get silly when I am tired. More than usual, I mean. This afternoon, I did something even stranger than wear a cornucopia hat. I sat in my office with Angela for two hours, and while the kids were down watching Wall-E (no pool, rainy day again!), I taught her how to use FileMaker Pro. Yes, database class and ordo training, right smack in the middle of the summer program. It does not get much weirder than that.

I ended tonight's mash-up presentation by handing out jelly beans and lecturing people about taking time to be quiet and be present to the beauty of the moment. So, in reflection, I can say that the database class, albeit a very weird interlude, was just one more way we celebrated life at Trinita this summer. It's all good.

Week Three Redux

2009-07-24T13:47:00.002-04:00

Two years ago, I posted briefly about Week 3. It remains one of those classic unrepeatable Trinita experiences, except not in a good way. So, it's only fair to post that we have been having a great week.

Most of the families this week are grandparents bringing their grandkids, infants included. I have been completely charmed by Ricky and his endless patience and nurturing of his baby granddaughter and toddler grandson, both in diapers. The adults are all very at home here and easy to hang with. The kids are "energetic" and we've had to confiscate a few bats, but it's nothing we haven't seen before. The air is not crackling with tension. It's just plain fun going on wherever I look.

Except maybe when I look at a few of our local teen volunteers this week. I give them credit for showing up promptly every day and doing whatever we ask them to do. But if ever I saw someone who did not want to be here (which does not happen often) it would be them. It is a bit jarring to realize not everyone gets the spirit of this place. It's not something we see very much here, because even when a teen is here to fulfill service hours for school, he or she has still chosen to serve at Trinita from a list of many options.

But once in awhile, we get obedient teens who have come for other reasons than the desire to serve. And they don't have fun. What a shame! But there is nothing I can do about it. I did try. But you can't make someone relax and enjoy the moment, I guess.

So, tomorrow our friends from Baltimore will board the bus and return home, and I am sure there will be tears shed at the big goodbye. Maybe even a few from me. This has been a fun week, and I have thoroughly enjoyed celebrating life with our Week Three families.

Babies

2009-07-17T09:51:00.003-04:00

This is Week Two. We are doing a lot bilingually. We were finally able to open the pool on Wednesday. I was finally able to take a day off.

Peer group time, our first activity after breakfast, has required more of my attention than usual. We have only one baby for babysitting! But we have about 6 local teen volunteers. How to keep them engaged in the mission, that's been my challenge for that hour. We put four of them in the other peer groups as helpers, but I have had two very capable young volunteers each morning, asking how they can help. Yesterday, joking about it with a volunteer, I said, "They need to bring more babies next year!" Then we could just send all our teens to the lodge to help with babysitting, problem solved.

My day off was lovely, but I did keep noticing the time and wondering how things were going here. Once I got in the car for the two hour drive back to Trinita, my brain went full gear back into program mode. I realized that despite the fact that there are plenty of folks here who can handle whatever might come up, I still felt like... a mother who has left her child with a babysitter for the first time.

Really? Is this what that feels like? I think it is at least in that ballpark. I know Trinita is in good shape, in good health. I also know that the staff can carry on without me--they have before! Yet, I need to be there. I need to make sure all is well. Perhaps I am being overly-responsible. Or perhaps this is just the natural result of generativity. My very self is invested in this mission and especially in the summer program. It is my baby!

But like real babies, it takes more than one person to make one! We together are raising this child. A lot of people feel personally invested, or we wouldn't be able to pull this off. In 1984, as I scrubbed the men's showers in a spirit of utter contentment, I recognized this truth: you can't pay people to do what we are doing. If they were doing this for the money, it would change everything. You have to want to scrub the showers. You have to want to be a part of this mission and make it happen. Money can't buy a missionary spirit.

Like a mother raises her child for love and not because it pays well, we all need to find something that we feel that invested in, something we do out of love and not to pay bills. I know I am so very blessed to have that gift, the gift of generativity, as a Missionary Servant. And now, excuse me, peer group is over and I have to go scrub the showers. Or something.

White Christmas

2009-07-07T22:22:00.001-04:00

Week One. We started the week with: No Pool. No Cook. A crew of novice volunteers. Happy New Year!

We've been doing fine, actually. But not without some regular doses of drama. We had a camera crew from the Archdiocese here all yesterday morning. As they were filming the final closing remarks, a huge verbal altercation complete with naughty words erupted from Cabin Two. Uh-oh. I spent the next two hours in negotiations and private chats with various individuals. We seem to have got at least a successful cease-fire agreement in place.

As soon as I had sealed the last peace treaty, it was time for pool. No, wait. The pool is out of order. The pool company has come several times and still can't fix it. So I went from intense negotiations to a showing of Shrek in the Meeting Room.

Unfortunately, we showed Aladdin yesterday for the same reason. They were not so interested this time. So after about a third of the kids wandered out, I left too, scrounged around in Arts and Crafts, and opened up a Face Painting business on the pavilion. Soon enough, I had a gang of kids and volunteers surrounding me so I turned it over to them. The day wore on. Every once in awhile I would try to remember what day of the week it was. Only Monday. If it's Thanksgiving, it must be Monday.

Tuesday. Today must be Christmas. We sang Joy to the World at Morning Circle. Siah has reverted to his old ways and would not go to peer group, so he chose to sit alone on the back porch instead. I directed some very helpful teen volunteers to do some mopping and weeding. Wow, they really did well, I must say! I ate part of my lunch. I made arrangements for the afternoon. The Big Plan: open the lodge for games, facepainting, and a showing of Peter Pan on a 9 inch TV.

But just as lunch clean-up ended, the heavens opened. Rain sluiced down. I took off my shoes and socks so I could escort folks to their cabins using a golf umbrella. I was therefore unprepared for the hail.

The hail! Just bits at first, then painful chunks, then a carpet of white stones in the grass. My feet went numb with cold! Just as well, since it hurt like walking on rocks.

I made it back to the front porch and we all stood in amazement, watching the rain and hail sheet down. Pat said, "It's a white Christmas!" And so, that is what we sang.

The Week Before

2009-06-28T22:36:00.004-04:00

What has been going on here this past week as we have prepared for the beginning of Summer 2009?

Lisa came and painted Merry Christmas on our dining room windows. Debbie strung lights on the Snack Koop in the lodge. Michael had to do some service hours so he came and cleaned out our huge food service refrigerator. After weeding the flower bed and laying a coat of primer on a new door to the Menacle.

Speaking of the Menacle, Vinnie repaired the bathroom window. Then crawled under the lodge and fixed the floor boards at the front door. He also mowed. But he did not need to do any weed-whacking, because Lech stopped by on his way home from work this week and borrowed ours and took care of it for us.

Mary and Bernie came to punch holes in stacks of paper, then put together folders for all our volunteers. While they slogged through that tedious job, Annette came by with the New Year hats she made for us to wear when we greet the bus of families each Saturday. She threw in a bunch of funky sunglasses to complete the effect. When we weren't looking, Mary Kent dropped off a huge bag of toy cars for bingo prizes. Likewise, Beth left a stack of boxes of granola bars on the office desk. Robbin left some song sheets.

Speaking of music, our volunteer from Notre Dame has been here for this Week Before, and she's been learning how to play things like Clap De Hands and Leaning on the Everlasting Arms. She has rescued us from a guitar-less summer. She also made a bunch of song posters. And, proving she has truly captured the spirit of this place, she made me a Cornucopia hat, with bunches of grapes dangling over my ears like muffs.

You can't imagine what a day at Trinita looks like this time of year, unless you're here to see it. Folks just come from all directions, cleaning things and setting up things and decorating things and donating things.... Ellen and Pat have somehow orchestrated most of this-- they know who everyone is, and what they are going to do, and when they are going to do it. I spend long hours up here in my office planning prayers or family gatherings or whatever, and somehow, everything else... just gets done somehow.

I wish that the people who come here and admire the place and the program could really understand just how many hands have worked here, how many good souls have walked through our doors and done their own part to build what is here and now before us. There is no better time to experience that reality than The Week Before.

Margaret

2009-06-01T19:17:00.002-04:00

In 1984, after a four-day road trip from Baton Rouge, I pulled into the parking lot of Trinita and sat in the car mustering up the courage to get out and begin my adventure. I was just a reclusive lab tech at LSU back then. Finally, I did get out, and went up the sidewalk into the dining room, where I met Sr. Margaret Fay, MSBT. She immediately felt like family to me, like one of my aunts. Not demonstrative, kind of tough-talking but really very maternal. That was 25 years ago this month. That means, it was her jubilee year when I met her.

We all had great fun tormenting her with the usual camp pranks. Well, probably more creative than the usual ones. She obliged by pretending to be annoyed by us, but in fact was unruffled by anything. I was older than most of the volunteers that summer, so she tended to assign me more of the off-beat jobs, like one-on-one adult peer group with an Iranian mom who spoke almost no English.

She called me the following spring and asked me to be the volunteer coordinator that summer. I was nervous about it but understood they were in a bit of a fix, so I agreed. So for the next two summers, I was mentored by her into the ministry. She was always calm, no matter what was going on, and the phrase I heard the most often from her was, "Don't worry about it, it'll get done!" It was she who first suggested religious life. In fact, she said I would make a good MSBT. I was not interested at the time, but profoundly honored. I do not feel she could have paid me a higher compliment.

She visited me during my year of discernment in Pensacola and told me she had lived and worked in the very cenacle I was in. Once I made it to Formation at the Motherhouse, I participated in a raid with my friends and we decorated her office with spiders and cobwebs for Halloween. She was on the Council at the time, and now I marvel at how bold we were. After I went to the missions, she went to Mexico. My first mission was her former mission, Catholic Charities in Lower East Side Manhattan. Once I was on the Formation Team myself, I enjoyed her hospitality many times over the years. Whenever I was in Buenavista, she would give up her office whenever I needed to interview women who were in discernment with us. Her office was very Trinita-like. Very different from everyone else's. As it was from the day I met her, I always felt so at home with her.

This is her fiftieth jubilee year. I was at the Motherhouse yesterday following a trip to Baltimore to give a Family Overnight at Br. Joe's mission. I went to the infirmary after lunch and sat for a long time with her in the community room there. She did not recognize me, but engaged in a protracted and incomprehensible coversation with me. It felt good just to interact with her, even though her dementia makes true conversation impossible.

Then I went for a walk. It was a beautiful spring afternoon. It was the first day off I've had recently, so I had much on my mind. When I got back, just as I was limping past the Infirmary door, it opened and a nurse's aide was pushing Margaret out in her chair to get some fresh air. Margaret was very agitated and the aide was trying to soothe her to no avail. This is apparently a regular occurence, and they may have brought her out just to give others a break. She feels she is being prevented from doing her work--she remains concerned about ministry even now. She went off in Spanish at one point.

I walked with them. There was nothing to do but agree with her. We got back to the door. I knelt down by the chair and took her hands. I don't know what it is I thought I was going to do. But when I looked into her face, so angry and frustrated, but still Margaret's face, I burst into tears. There, kneeling on the concrete driveway, in the presence of two aides, I said, "Margaret, I love you" and I just sobbed. She said, "Come here," and she pulled me to her, and I wept like a baby on her shoulder. She held me for a minute. When I pulled away and looked at her, there were tears in her eyes. She was calm, not angry any more. I looked at the aides, and they took her back inside.

I went back to Formation. I joined my friends for grilled hamburgers and hot dogs in the breezeway. I did not have much to say. But more than anything in the world, I am glad to be a Missionary Servant of the Most Blessed Trinity.

Chocolate Cake Pudding

2009-05-21T21:36:00.004-04:00

It's pronounced "pudn." I always feel a little funny spelling out pudding because it sure is not how I pronounce it.

Mama's chocolate cake pudding is the answer to everything. She would whip it up without warning at any time. We never really knew when we were going to have a bowl of it, still warm, with evaporated milk poured over it. You can't imagine how good it is.

I used to cook a lot for fun in my young adult years, but somehow I got away from it once I became vocation director and had to travel so much. When I went off to school at University of Dayton, I got back into cooking as recreation. Once I made loaves of pumpkin bread for every one of my twenty or so classmates.

But what became my favorite was Mama's chocolate cake pudding. The ultimate Cottingham comfort food. Even more so than red beans and rice, which of course is very nourishing and comforting but... it's not chocolate. I made it alot while I was in grad school. Shared it with friends, especially with Mom's Ladies, a faith sharing group I belonged to. Iserved it as birthday cake once, still warm from the oven, and the birthday candles sort of melted into it. Live and learn.

I have made it a few times since I got here to Trinita. Because Olivia does not like coffee, I even made it once without coffee, but I will never do that again. Even though the coffee is not a major player, it really is not right without it. Like Tang compared to fresh orange juice.

Tonight, we had our third Mission Planning Council meeting, as we continue preparing a capital campaign for Trinita. I am very aware that our Council members all have jobs and families and they do not need to be hanging out at Trinita on a week night until all hours, so I keep a sharp eye on the clock to make sure we end by 9:00. But tonight, I kept looking at the clock and thinking... at 9:00, we can eat the cake pudding! That was my real motivation for keeping the meeting moving at a brisk pace.

It is all gone now. Dang. Next time, I'm making a double batch.

Peace in the Pine

2009-05-17T00:45:00.005-04:00

Today was the annual work day. Only my second experience of it. We had many teens show up that we were not expecting, so we had to scramble a bit to find suitable work for them.

I quickly realized that a group of four 7th graders who must have shown up just to get in their service hours were going to require special attention. I assigned them to the Dandelion Death Squad, and handed out their implements of destruction-- level four iron spikes. I told them if they killed enough dandelions to level up, they would get steel Spikes of Doom. I have to admit, I found them very entertaining, and I think they forgot I am a middle-aged nun after an hour of banter about World of Warcraft. One of them invited me to join his guild!

Alas, I was faking. I have never played WarCraft online, only Legend of the Green Dragon, which is a text game. I was once Torres, head of a pie-throwing guild. But they did not catch on to me. Alas, also, they did not work very hard, so never leveled up. I really had to babysit them until lunch, after which I invited them to go home. But they were fun despite the 10-second attention spans. One of them kept saying as he swung his rake over his head, "I am at peace with the world!" Hmm... a line from a movie perhaps? Who knows. But it stuck in my head.

We have another retreat center, very different from Trinita in most ways, but similar in its effect on visitors. Blessed Trinity Shrine Retreat is in Holy Trinity Alabama. I lived there for three years and have been there countless times over the years. People talk about how peaceful it is there, how they feel it as soon as they arrive. In fact, they have made that their logo, on t-shirts and coffee mugs: "Peace in the Pines."

Two years ago, I came back from an assembly of our congregation at our Motherhouse in Philadelphia with a bucket full of pine saplings. They were from Holy Trinity. They stayed in the bucket until May, when I finally got around to planting them in back of the Stable Chapel. I will never forget it, because a few days later, after I went home for vacation, I developed my first-ever case of poison ivy. To add insult to injury, the following spring, I was unable to locate a single living pine sapling. Many dead ones though. There really is no justice.

But this afternoon, as I was coming up the hill from the pool, I peered into the brush and behold! A living pine sapling! Bright green fresh growth among the brown pine needles. Wow, is there a message there for me? Bambelela!

Tonight, we are having a slumber party with the Trinita Girls Cenacle. The two youngest are sixth graders, and this is their first real exposure to Trinita apart from attending a meeting recently. After an arts and crafts project, followed by s'mores in the Lodge fireplace, followed by spontaneous fun playing with our huge supply of costumes on the stage, followed by night prayer, followed by snacking and dancing up in the dorm, they came down to hang with Anita, Olivia and me for a bit. We started telling them stories of the old days, and they listened politely. But before they went back up to the dorm, Madison said, "It feels so peaceful here."

Monday, Monday

2009-04-27T22:46:00.003-04:00

This weekend, life at Trinita was typically full. We had our first real spring weather... record breaking summer weather, to be more accurate. It's been in the low nineties here three days in a row now! I love it. In the midst of this lovely weather, we had Vinnie and a volunteer "summerizing" the property all day by putting away the buckets of ice melt and putting out the picnic tables and so on. Hallelujah, you can sit on the front porch again, the wicker chairs are back out.

While that was going on, we had another set of volunteers, Mike and Rita, crawling around in obscure corners of the property to run a new phone line and to extend our wireless internet access.

And while all that was going on, Siena, Marion and I had about 40 of our fellow parishioners here for a First Communion retreat. It was fun! It was so fun, we did it all over again on Sunday afternoon with another 40 folks. I really enjoy that particular program--I wish more parishes would ask us to give it.

But too much fun can wear a person out. It's been over a month since I had a real day off, due to preparing for the Centennial and other things I could barely keep up with. So all week, knowing the weather was going to be great, I've been looking forward to taking today off. Monday, my day off!

I slept late of course. Then I packed a lunch and got in the car and drove west on Route 4. I have never gone past Torrington on 4. Goshen, Cornwall, Kent-- just names on the map to me. I could see there were some state parks along the way, so with no plan at all, I drove off into the beautiful spring day. I listened to music cranked up loud, I sang at the top of my lungs, and I rubbernecked my way through the gorgeous New England countryside.

I drove over two covered bridges! Wow, that was very cool, I never saw one before. I ate my lunch at Mohawk State Park, which I never even knew existed. There was an old-fashioned hand pump there, and I used it to rinse my face before I got back on the road. The water tasted like water out of a garden hose, which has always appealed to me. I saw many things. Even a waterfall.

This day would have been great no matter what, but it was even better because at the end of my journey, I pulled into the parking lot of Trinita, which is as beautful as anything I saw today. The buds are just coming out on the trees. I think we'll have leaves by the end of the week. I sat at the fire pit awhile and wrote a letter to a friend. As I was finishing up the letter, I looked up and saw, high up in the tree by Cabin 1, a hula hoop. Now that is something you could drive all over Connecticut and never see, but we have a hula hoop 30 feet up a tree right here at Trinita.

Maybe I will take next Monday off, too.

Green Shoots

2009-04-24T22:14:00.003-04:00

No leaves yet. Waiting is hard. But there are wonderful things pushing up out of the ground at long last here at Trinita.

This has been a long haul for me. A very long winter. I have served on the Core Committee for the Missionary Cenacle Family Centennial for over three year. Four, by the time we have our final meeting in September. Wow. I was still working on my thesis back at University of Dayton.

We have been working on "The Plan" all this time: devising it, revising it, explaining it, pushing it forward, explaining it..... explaining it. Sigh. I guess it is hard to grasp because we have never done anything like this before.

Our last assembly of the Missionary Cenacle Family was a 4 day conference in 2000. We called it the Jubilee Jubileo. (Going bilingual has made redundancy a way of life for us.) After taking counsel for some time, we finally arrived at a statement with some goals for the MCF Council to work on. They did. They created some committees who produced some materials for us to use. Most folks probably did not even know that stuff was the result of the Jubileo.

But this time, it's different. We arrived at some goals, but the work is not going to the MCF Council. It's going to Area Councils. Which don't hardly even exist right now except as a concept. The work is going right back to us. If we don't do it, it won't get done. This may not sound like a big deal, but it is.

I returned to Trinita this week with my head full of experiences. It's odd, how I feel. I feel like it's the New Year, and I have made resolutions I will really keep. I feel like it's Easter, and the Virtue of Hope has sprung up inside me like a new spring flower. Green shoots everywhere. I have a lot of work to do, but I am right where I should be. I am ready to do it.

One Hundred

2009-04-09T14:38:00.003-04:00

April 1909.

One hundred years later, it is Holy Thursday. It is my feast day. (My religious name is Sister Deborah of the Eucharist.) We took a morning of prayer and reflection, and soon we'll enjoy a supper of lamb and a sort of Seder meal, thanks to Sr. Marion Agnes. Today is a beautiful day, a day of transition between winter and spring, transition in who lives and works here, transition in how we work with the lay missionaries here. A transition between the first hundred years and the next hundred years.

Father Judge said something right to those five women he called to St. John Perboyre Chapel one hundred years ago. Words were seeds that fell on fertile ground and were nourished. Today, we sit in our little chapel, still able to see across the land to the distant hills because the white birch in front of the window has not yet got its leaves. Today, we light a stub of an old altar candle given us by our dear parish church down at the bottom of Town Hill. This is the light we get from our parish, the light we get from our Church, and the light we fan into flame.

Next week, that stub flies to Holy Trinity Alabama in my suitcase. We will all toss our candles together, and the mingled light will melt them and reform them. Soon, in this little chapel, we will not be able to see beyond the beautiful spring leaves of the white birch outside the window. And burning here will be a new candle, for the next one hundred years, made up of all the wax of all the candles of all the missions.

What a wonderful thing to be a missionary.

Seekers

2009-03-24T17:33:00.005-04:00

This weekend we had 23 teens from St. Francis of Assisi for a confirmation retreat. We have given a few confirmation retreats since I've been here, but never an overnight. I spent most of the week inventing a retreat. I did some cut-and-paste from other retreats we've done here, but large sections of it were new. I based it on the RCIA process.

Wow, I learned a lot from the experience. Some parts of the program went well, and some just seemed to fall flat. My number one problem is that I failed to include much time for them to process the experience with each other. They won't talk much when we're all together, but they will talk to each other quite a bit otherwise, and I should have capitalized on that by giving them small group activities. Oh well.

But one experience I hope stays with them is one I had many years ago, when I was still a recent convert to Catholicism. I was on a young adult retreat with the same concept: recreate RCIA. The first night, with very little preparation, they took half of us out into a pasture and left us there, alone in the dark. We were supposed to just wait, not talk or do anything. Time passed. We looked at the stars, we enjoyed the night breezes, we waited.

Then, we started to hear singing in the distance. It grew louder, and we saw a procession of candles approaching. Soon, we could make out our friends coming to get us. Each of them took one of us and guided us back to the church. But before we could enter, the priest stood at the door. Before we could come in, each of us had to come up with some reason why we wanted to join the church.

So, this Friday, I stood among this group of teens outside our Lodge door. Sr. Siena stood at the door, looking quite impressive in her white alb. We clutched our candles and shivered in the frigid breeze while she asked, "What do you seek?"

"Faith!" We had coached them in the proper response as we walked to the Lodge. Faith! We seek faith! That's all. That's what all this is about. Not even understanding or wisdom or strength---just faith. If we get nothing else, faith will still get us through.

What lies beneath?

2009-03-12T22:33:00.003-04:00

Bear with me on this one, I'll get there.

At Christmastime, I dropped off a gift basket of baked goodies at the LeDuc residence in Canton. Terri was home and I visited a few minutes. She was preparing supper, and was searing meatballs in a cast iron skillet. The smell was heavenly and she offered me one. As I munched on a meatball stuck on a fork like a popsicle, she asked me, "Are you sisters sure you just want donations toward new carpeting for Christmas this year? I understand it's a need, but I want to do something more than that for you." I wanted to reply, "oh, don't worry, Terri, you will!" but instead I said, "Dang, this is great, why don't you just invite us over for meatballs one day!"

Yesterday and today, we had new carpeting installed, both in the meeting room and in the larger upstairs office. This morning I was in the empty office, old rug gone but the old padding had not yet been ripped out. I pulled up a corner to look at the floor. Linoleum!

But not just any linoleum. It was THE linoleum, forgotten until now, buried in my memory but now flooding back. I was 25 years younger. In 1984, this was how the floor looked in this very room. My bedroom for seven weeks. There were three sets of narrow metal bunkbeds and two dressers in here, barely room to move, and I shared the space with four other volunteers. I stood on this floor. I could see the marks from the bunkbed I slept in gouged into the linoleum.

Back then, we had not been discovered by the Fire Marshall or the Health Department. We crammed as many folks into these buildings as we could, and there was no such thing as nice new carpeting. Not even normal sized beds. It was all army bunks. I remember the carpeting in the meeting room back in 1984. It was wretched.

How can this place have changed so much, and still be the same? And yet, it is. Tonight, we had our first ever Mission Council Meeting. We've been working toward this for well over a year. This was a big event. Terri LeDuc was one of our five recruits. (She had no idea we were planning this the day she gave me a hot meatball.) One of our other recruits, Jim shared his impressions of Trinita and why he wants to be a part of our planning. "There is something about this place. I don't know what it is. It's like, you step onto the ground, and there is something underneath that reaches up into you..."

Yes, yes. Holy ground. I wanted to laugh. Everyone says that! So it must be true. But I think it is also holy linoleum. What lies beneath. I told you I'd get there.

Poverty

2009-03-09T11:57:00.009-04:00

When I was a kid, I was dimly aware that we were pretty close to the edge financially. We always had enough of the basics, but looking back I can realize how very tightly my folks had to control things to make sure we had enough to eat, and clothes and shoes. Gardening, canning, sewing were not hobbies, they were how my parents kept the budget.

As a member of an apostolic religious community, I will always have plenty to eat, a place to live, and good health care. I even have a good education. I have the essential supplies I need to do my work. I get to make a week retreat every year. That makes me rich, not poor. So what does religious poverty mean?

There are reasons to reflect on poverty at this time. It's Lent, for one thing. The nation's economy is trashed. Also, tonight we're having a meeting to discuss possible improvements to the grounds and structures here at Trinita-our annual planning meeting to prepare the budget.

Now that gets me thinking. When I post here, since it's a public forum, I tend to emphasize the positive. and make the negatives sound like a grand adventure. This is totally sincere, lest I am accused of duplicity. It is a great adventure to live here, and this is a great mission. But to be honest, I do not feel that way like every minute of every day. In fact, there are some things I really whine about.

Claustrophobia probably heads the list. I have to duck to go up and down the stairs and to go in our front door--which was originally a window from what I can tell looking at old photos. (See "Early Trinita" to get a clue.) When I get out of bed every morning and stretch, my hands press against the ceiling.

Then there is mud, dirt, sand, salt, and snow. Inside the house, I mean. Our front parking lot isn't paved, it's dirt. You can never really clean it after a snow fall, so we have to keep it sanded and salted when ice is a danger. If you've been reading my posts you must know how much I love the snow, since I remark on it so frequently. But when the snow melts, as it is doing right now on this dreary rainy afternoon, you step out of our little front door into a mud pit. You step out of the car into it, as well. Then, you track it into the house. There is really no good solution to this problem.

I would like to have decent computer speakers so I could listen to good music while I work. I would like to have a digital projector so we could do powerpoints, slideshows, even movies in our meeting room or in the lodge. I would like to have a digital video camera to take mpeg4 movies of our work here to upload onto YouTube. I would like to have a good networkable color laser printer to replace the not very good one we have now. I would like to have one of them gadgets you can use to make your own spiral bound booklets with. Yeah. I'm on a roll now!

But whether I can have any or all of these things or not can't be what keeps me awake at night. Last week I gave a tour of the place to a youth minister planning to bring a new group here. We slogged through the mud to look at one of our quaint cabins (twelve beds, one toilet and shower!) and the lodge (no running water!) and our meeting room (broken-down mis-matched donated sofas) and he kept repeating over and over, "This is perfect!"

Yes, I can't always get what I want. But despite the poverty, we are wealthy. I was interupted in writing this by a phone call from an MCA member who was asking for prayer as she attempts to teach her youth ministry team the basics of taking counsel. And as I looked out the window and listened to her story, I saw a dozen turkeys milling around by Cabin Two. And the rain turned into snow. Yup. It is coming down really nice now. It's beautiful out there. This is perfect.

Buoyancy

2009-02-25T21:30:00.003-05:00

It's Ash Wednesday. We took the afternoon off for prayerand reflection. I was amused by a reading from Father Judge we use for Ash Wednesday in which he reminds us that God desires to purify and cleanse us.

On the outside I am dripping with an especially generous smear of ashes on my forehead. But on the inside, I am really pretty thoroughly purified and cleansed. I am getting a colonoscopy tomorrow and have fasted all day and I consumed the nasty stuff they make you drink to clean you all out.

The other day, while the snow was drifting down in huge wet flakes, I went for a walk. First I tried making a snowman. Just on general principles. I got the three basic parts but lost interest and wandered off into the woods. The woods were lovely, dark, and deep. During the summer, I would never go off the trail like that because of getting lost or worse, getting poison ivy. But I just slogged on down past the pool and found remnants of the barbwire fence that was needed when Lydia the Pony of unhappy memory dwelt here long ago.

I also found something else quite remarkable. I found a beach ball. I am not sure I can convey what an odd sight it was, a brightly colored, fully inflated beach ball, nestled against a tree trunk, draped in snow. I picked it up and it was tight and light in my hands. I could almost smell the chlorine. I could feel the heat of the sun on my bare arms. I could imagine the kids playing water volleyball, watching in dismay as the ball sailed over the fence into the woods. Where it reposed, forgotten until now.

But still bright. Still light. Still ready for action. I eventually made my way back up the hill and gave the ball to the snowman.

It's a Wonderful Life

2009-02-22T12:50:00.005-05:00

In the movie, things were pretty grim for Jimmy Stewart. An economic crisis. In fact, all kinds of terrible and stupid and tragic things happen every day. I have a tendency to thank God when things are going well, and yell at God when they aren't.

I have had some hard things on my mind lately. My young cousin died a few weeks ago. Also, I am trying to wrap my mind around the fact of the terminal illness of someone I have loved and admired for many years. Somehow, these things seem completely unfair to me. I am on speaking terms with God, but I am less than civil, I have to admit.

I have watched commentary on the nightly news about people's attitudes about mortgage help for those who do not deserve it. I am not sure if it's a cultural thing, or if humans are simply wired to think this way, but we seem convinced despite all evidence to the contrary, that life should be fair. Yes, inevitably, some folks who lived foolish and undeserving lives are going to get some bailout money. The rain falls on the just and the unjust alike.

But having reflected on this often over the years, I am sure that I do not want justice. For one thing, let's start with the fact that justice is impossible. There is no justice in executing a murderer. Justice would be for the murderer to bring his victim back to life. We can never, ever get back what we are owed when we are sinned against. We have to settle for less. So let's take what we reasonably can, and move on.

I don't want justice. I want mercy. I want the rain to fall on all of us, the gentle rain of new life, of resurrection, of spring, of Easter.

There is no justice in Lisa's death. There is no justice in Annie's cancer. I have to take what lies before me and move on. Today's forecast was for rain. Outside my window I am gazing at the trees of Trinita, covered already in the thick, soft whiteness of falling snow. It is God's answer to me, I know. No words, no explanations or theological arguments. Just the snow, the beauty, the peace, the abundance of God's love and mercy, blanketing each and every one of us. No matter what.

Are YOU Trinita material?

2008-12-21T21:57:00.003-05:00

Friday we got 8 inches of snow. Today we got another 5. Icicles over a foot long are hanging over our dining room windows. I can't see out of my bedroom because there is mound of snow blocking the view. Would you enjoy this?

OK, in fairness, the mound of snow is only a few feet high, but my bedroom window is ground level because our home is the basement. Would you like living in a mysterious underground basement?

This morning, Siena went to put on her boots. But her left boot would not go on. She discovered it was full of chex cereal. Fairly fresh, too. Hmm. I thought we got rid of all the mice. But a few linger.

OK, here is the test. If you think it is funny to find chex cereal in your boot then you are (drum roll)------Trinita material! Yes, we have a lot of fun here, but you have to have a certain sense of humor. So. Take the simple test above. Mouse = scream and run; or mouse = oh, how cute! Which is it?

Two Smiles

2008-12-15T09:45:00.005-05:00

This past summer, I had a Sunday off during the program in which I drove to Princeton NJ to visit my friends from Dayton, Maria, Jeff and Maia. I met up with them at mass. In fact, I was a bit late, so after a 3 hour drive and a lengthy quest for parking, I stood in the back of the crowded church and scanned the pews in search of the Morrows. During the responsorial psalm, I spotted them and squeezed my way through in order to sit next to them. Maia of course did not recognize me and was not pleased. But Maria, without speaking, looked up into my face and smiled at me, and it was the most wonderful smile. That smile alone was worth the trip.

As I write this, it is winter once again at Trinita. We just had an ice storm and went without power and water for most of Friday. So it is with some nostalgia that I remember this summer day in July, strolling around campus with Maria and Maia. We went wading in a big fountain, read "Frog and Toad are Friends" and we even took a little nap. As the day drew to an end, we walked to an ice cream place, got huge servings, and sat on a bench outside to enjoy it. As I licked my ice cream, completely at peace with the world, I said, "This is a truly perfect day." And I looked at Maria, and she smiled that same smile at me, without any words. As I drove home I carefully took the two smiles and placed them on a special shelf in my memories.

Two days ago, Maria and Jeff welcomed their second daughter into the world. I am pretty sure that somehow, sooner or later, I will get to meet Eva. Eva and Maia. I hope they inherit their mother's smile.

2008-07-29T21:52:00.002-04:00

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Angela, Sophie, and Rob

Week 5. Folks from Mercy Learning Center in Bridgeport, CT. You may well be asking, "Hey, wait a minute! What happened to Week 4? Week 3? Week 2 and 1? In fact, what happened to May and June?"

Let's see how many lame excuses I can fit into one paragraph. Well, on second thought, let's skip all that and dive right into Week 5 of the Trinita Family Life Development Program, 2009, "The Lord is Our Shepherd."

It is only now, a year later, that I realize how hard last summer was. For me, at least. Maybe because I am just a big whiny baby. But this summer has been amazingly --well, I can't say easy, but maybe I can say un-stressful. We have had the fewest number of Missionary Cenacle Volunteers this summer ever, starting the program with only six MCVs for Week 1, and 5 of them new. Of course it only takes one full week to create a veteran, so by Week 2 all our volunteers were seasoned hands.

So why is this summer easier than last summer? It shouldn't be. I have the job I dreaded ever having. Seriously. All these years, I would come here and do a week here or there for love of the program, and I would always look at Annie, or whoever happened to be the program coordinator, and think, "Man, I never want that job!" How can you keep everything straight? How can you consistently be nice to everyone no matter how tired or stressed or distracted you are, day after day, week after week?

Well, perhaps I have been less than gracious a few times, but I have to say, I am feeling actually pretty good. In fact, I am happy. Not stressed. Confused, tired, intimidated, and so on, yes I am from time to time. But really, I am happy. I am so happy to be here, and I am so happy everyone else is here, and I am so happy we have been given this mission to carry out, because it is a very good one.

Here is the gauge, here is the acid test, here is the ultimate proof that All is Well. I was in charge of Arts and Crafts today. And I enjoyed it. See, I really don't like Arts and Crafts. Back when I was an MCV myself, whenever I got assigned to work in Arts and Crafts, I would find whoever on the duty list had to clean the showers and I would swap with him or her. OK, I did not actually DO any arts and crafts, but I did go in there, set up, and hang around for a full hour. And, beyond all reason, I enjoyed it. In fact, I had one of those out-of-body experiences of feeling so grateful to God for my life and for my vocation and for the gift of this time here at this mission. Go figure.

Angela, Sophie, and Rob are the names the kids gave to the three sheep we had to pin on the right path tonight. Angela had it easy. She could see right where she needed to go, and she got pinned onto the right path without a hitch. Sophie took a little longer. She was blindfolded, and had to listen for a guiding voice. Rob, poor Rob, I thought he wasn't going to make it. Blindfolded, plus the voice of the Good Shepherd was almost totally drowned out by a roomful of people singing at the top of their lungs. And yet, somehow, despite the unknown, despite anxiety and distractions and fears and confusion, that voice got through. And when Facundo pulled off his blindfold, he smiled a beautiful smile, because he pinned Rob on the right path after all. Beyond all reason.

Bear Drool

2008-04-25T23:03:00.005-04:00

Wow, they're here! Families from Hartford, Torrington, and Winsted. I miss my friends Ruth and Luisa from Bridgeport, but this is still a good group. We have a pretty good cultural diversity here once again, and the kids all know each other from previous Family Days, so they all plunge right in to the experience.

I guess I leave stuff out. Or I talk fast? Or don't sing as many songs? But I finished the family gathering too soon and they weren't ready to serve the ice cream yet. So I had to stall. Lucky for me, I had not yet done "I am a Pizza." I was saving it for tomorrow. But I saw that look in Siena'a eyes when she came from checking the dining room. Uh-oh. So I got out the pizza hat and launched into some totally off the wall introduction to the song, and then we sang it. I never wore the hat before. Olivia always wore it. But I guess I finally felt ready.

After ice cream, we invaded the Lodge. I was beat at Candyland by a four-year-old girl. But I drew Mr. Plum twice, so I really did not have a chance. Then little Suzie decided on Uno and beat us at that, too. At which point, her daddy decided it was bedtime and I had to find other entertainment. I watched Xtreme Ping Pong for awhile-- they really should have been wearing helmets for that one. I think the ping-pong ball exceeded mach 5 a few times. No one actually tried to make the ball bounce on the table.

The kids all went out and played in the dark with flashlights, so I went out to sit at a picnic table to watch. They put leaves on their heads and walked around like a group of zombies. I found this hysterically funny, but I am not sure the parents got it. I think they just thought they were walking around with leaves on their heads. Then they came and got me because they found some mysterious substance outside Arts and Crafts. It was excess insulation foam. Essentially solidified shaving cream. I told them it was harmless so they broke it into pieces and played with it.

Connor told me he had thought it was like when a beer drools down the side. I thought he said beer. So I said, Oh, yeah, beer foam, if you pour a beer too fast. Connor is I think age 7. He patiently explained. No, BEAR. Like when a Bear drools down the side of his mouth. Yes, of course. That in fact is a far likelier explanation here at Trinita, now that I think about it. This place is inhabited by all manner of creatures. Including bears. And if one drooled around here, I am sure it would look like just like that foamy stuff they are playing with tonight.

Spring

2008-04-24T22:19:00.003-04:00

Tomorrow is our Family Overnight. We have about 10 families coming to spend some fun time here, so we're in the midst of getting everything ready. This is possibly my most favorite program, the Family Day program. It is so much work, but the work is fun.

For example, on Tuesday I sat in the dining room, which was flooded with the sunshine of a perfect spring morning, and used a gluestick to attach tissue-paper scales to a paper-plate fish. He has a huge smile and tissue streamers stapled to his little foam tail. This was to create the example craft for the Littles activity. I have also had to dream up some offbeat relay-race type games involving foam fish. Of course we also have to plan lessons and discussion questions and so on, but it's all pretty entertaining. We are a bit understaffed, which at this point is my only real concern. I am not sure I can maintain the necessary exuberance for the presentations if I also have to be the master of ceremonies for the outdoor games. Our usual gang of teen volunteers are not able to help out this time. On the other hand, Angel Garcia is coming in from New York to help out, and we could not ask for better. He is a regular summer volunteer as well as a member of the lay branch of our family.

In the midst of these preparations, I am once again convinced that Trinita is a great mission. People love to come here. We are free to invent and adapt programs as we are inspired to do so, because we work for ourselves. Whatever we do, it always boils down to strengthening faith and family life. We do that at other missions of course, but here, it's always at least a little fun. And sometimes, very very fun.

Add to that the fact that the sky is blue, the grass is green, the mayflowers and daffodils are coming out, and it is pleasant enough to sit on the porch at night in short sleeves--it's pretty much perfect here. Imagine what we could do with this place if we had two or three more sisters?

Luggage

2008-04-12T22:31:00.003-04:00

I am back from another trip, this time by car. I went to Riverdale MD, Lower East Side Manhattan, and then to the Motherhouse in Philly. I saw various stages of spring--well, not so much in New York. I walked a lot and the weather was quite pleasant, but it's not like you can see fields of green grass and hedges of blooming forsythia there.

So much to think about. Each visit placed unique demands on my poor brain. The meeting in Riverdale was entirely in Spanish, so after a full day I was stuttering no matter which language I tried to use. New York is... New York. I hate it. Lucky for me, I love our sisters there, so I must admit it was a pleasure to be with them, though I could have done without all the meetings. Philly was the easiest. I was a guest in Blessed Trinity Formation Cenacle, which was my home before I went off to school. Of course, to make up for feeling most at home there, that is the meeting that has produced the most homework for me.

And in between the tri-state sequence of meetings, there was the driving. I listened to a lot of music, and thought many thoughts. I worry too much about things I cannot control, and I have to say, the music does help. When I finally climbed into the Cat Car to return to Trinita, I found a brown bag of snacks waiting for me on the windshield. Amazing. I dug into the orange sections first, and by the third song I was in such high spirits I did something I never have done before-I made a cell phone call while driving. I don't own a cell phone, but I had the cenacle Tracphone we use on road trips. I called Olivia and thanked her for the snacks, and I sang along with the CD while eating oranges. Just for a minute. Driving while eating, singing, and using a phone is not recommended.

But that trip back to Trinita was the hardest. I was just worn out I guess. I had to pull over and take a nap at a convenience store in New Jersey. When I finally got back here, it was a dreary and very un-spring-like afternoon. No flowers, no warmth, just a hint of green in patches of grass. I began to unload the car in a zombie-like state. Then I began unpacking. And unpacking. And unpacking. As I put everything away, I was realizing that I brought back so much more than I left with. Same amount of clothes, but so much more to think about. Each visit was challenging, each one added to what I must plan for, discern about, pray about.

How do you finish unpacking a suitcase full of responsibility?

Happy Feastday

2008-03-31T10:20:00.002-04:00

I have had a busy month touring our three properties. Well, I am sort of kidding.But I did go to our congregation's birthplace, Holy Trinity, and made my annual retreat at our retreat center there for Holy Week.

Wow. Spring has sprung down there in Alabama. It was gorgeous, and by gorgeous I mean, think Indigo Girls singing Southland in the Spring. I spent hours everyday tromping all the trails and just smelling and touching everything. And I gave my blood for many mosquitoes, but nothing is perfect. It was so good to feel the sun on my bare arms, to work up a sweat, to get muddy and scratched by the smilax and blackberry vines just coming out. And it was good to pray at our graveyard. And sing in our chapel. Rejoice, heavenly powers! I sang the Exultet in the darkness, the way God intended, because we held off til well after sundown to start the Vigil.

Then, back at Trinita, I did a weekend by myself for the first time. It is brown and cold there, and we still have the corpses of former snowpiles bleeding away at the edges of our parking lot. Siena and Joan went to the Motherhouse for a meeting, so I was the one and only boss of Trinita. Hard work, but it would be impossible work if we did not have so many volunteers. Squadrons of folks who do missionary work by coming and helping us feed and clean up after 50 teenagers. It went well, except that I had to do breakfast both days. I am not a morning person.

And now, here I am at the Motherhouse. Today we celebrate the Feast of the Annunciation, and also our novice Janet will make her first profession of vows as a Missionary Servant of the Most blessed Trinity. So this is a great day, the best way to end a great month. I have seen all our properties, and it's been great. Tonight, I will go back to life at Trinita.

Rain

2008-03-07T23:06:00.003-05:00

The weather is ordinary now. We are getting rain and the rivers are going to flood. All that snow melting, plus a drenching coming down.

We have a group of teens here this weekend, but I have no actual connection to them. I guess the only thing unusual going on is that we have a new couple coming to make the pancakes for breakfast and I have to get up to teach them how. Which is funny, because I have hardly ever had to do it myself. I am definitely not a morning person.

My work is ordinary, too. I had to work on the ordo, which is quite tedious. Perhaps the most tedious work I have had to do since I worked in a lab and had to do about a million zinc assays, day after weary day. Yeah, the ordo work can be pretty doggone tedious.

I suppose this could be a pretty tedious, ordinary, boring blog entry. I am instant messaging my brother right now so I can't even focus on anything clever to say. But why not. I can't always be clever and interesting!

And see, it's ok. Right now, at 11:15 PM, a bunch of teenagers have gone out onto the front lawn, which in fact is too dark even to see, and they are running around laughing in the rain. This is a fun, happening place! Who would not want to live here?

Lucky Me

2008-02-26T20:19:00.006-05:00

Last week, I took a really good day off. I was pretty worn out from a hectic weekend, which included the first Family Day I ever had to facilitate without Olivia. Everything went great, actually, except somehow we finished an hour early. How did I lose an hour? What did I leave out? What would Olivia do? (WWOD.)

So last Monday, I slept late, and slouched around in sweats for quite awhile. Then I decided to go for a walk. We had had another snow, but it was starting to melt in some intermittent rain. I went tromping around in the woods and had a great time. At one point, strolling across the failing sheet of ice by the volleyball net I noticed something. A five dollar bill frozen in the ice! Cold cash! I smacked the ice with my heel and fished it out. I tucked it in the chest pocket of my denim coat and continued my journey. Lucky me!

I encountered several brooks sluicing loudly through the woods as all the snow up Town Hill melted and made its way through our property down to the creek at the bottom of the hill. In the midst of this idyllic scene, it began to rain. But I mean really rain. Oh well. I was quite soaked by the time I made it out of the woods and back into the main house. But hey, I was five bucks richer!

This weekend I went to our Motherhouse for a pre-chapter meeting. I wore my pink sweater, and many were the compliments I received. Mostly with a tone of surprise. "Wow, I've never seen you in pink before!" Who notices these things? I sure don't. I could not tell you what colors my friends wear or don't wear if my life depended on it. Well. Sarah likes black. Barb likes purple. Maybe I notice a little bit. But it's just as well my life in fact does not depend on it.

Last night was my last night in Philly before returning to Trinita today. First, Christine took me out for pizza at Joseph's, a traditional MSBT haunt with many happy memories. It was so very good to see her in person after two years of webcam contact. She is at our mission in Jamaica. Then, Olivia needed some fresh air so we went to a remote Baskin Robbins for ice cream.

She had a sundae. I had a nice big scoop of Jamoca Almond Fudge. My favorite. I paid for it with the five dollar bill I fished out of the ice last week. It was still in my coat pocket! We sat and talked in the Baskin Robbins for two hours, until the manager apologetically threw us out so he could lock up. It does not get any better than this. That is the best five bucks I ever spent.

Clothes Karma

2008-02-20T23:20:00.003-05:00

When I was a young summer volunteer here in the dim mists of antiquity, we used to talk about clothes karma. Attire here in the summer is necessarily casual given both the summer weather and the kinds of chores that must be done. We wear things during the summer program we might never wear in public ordinarily. Running shoes with the soles coming off, t-shirts from 5K's run ten years ago, jeans with a mere suggestion of fabric over the knees, and of course whatever you wore when you painted the porch three summers ago.

We judged that an item of clothing that told a story of what it had done in the past had karma--e.g. paint or stains. Clothing that was visibly frayed and faded yet retained some kind of dignity had more karma. The highest marks for karma were given for clothes that had a history, signs of wear, plus has once belonged to someone else. This became a running joke all summer, as volunteers began trading clothes in order to increase their karma. I had the most wonderful red cotton shirt. It had belonged to my sister's ex-boyfriend. I wore that thing until the karmic value became so intense that the very fabric disintegrated under the strain of trying to contain it. That is why clothes start to wear out--too much karma.

I find these kinds of games amusing, but what interests me is that underneath the humor is some kind of truth trying to come out. A lot of life has been lived here at Trinita. So many memories for so many people for so many years. We had a meeting of Moms tonight as we continue to plan for the summer program. Little memories of previous summers popped out throughout the brainstorming session. All of the past seems to be a little bit still in the present at times like this. All one big Now. We may be getting older and grayer, but it is only because we are carrying so much life in us, all these memories that are still somehow a little bit in the Now. So much life, we really can't hold it all. It spills out of our hands. It overflows the cup. I think this is what Psalm 23 might be getting at. Goodness and mercy pursue us all our days.

Bad Pie

2008-02-11T16:08:00.000-05:00

I am working very hard these past few weeks to handle several new developments which are challenging my ability to maintain a good attitude. You know, the Happy Me vs. Sad Me volleyball match is still in progress. I have had good role models about how to maintain balance and enjoy life, and so I have been practiced certain disciplines more attentively than usual. I am praying regularly, getting exercise, taking a break during the day instead of staying rooted at my desk, and I am trying to get to bed a little earlier than usual. This only takes me so far, however. So I been listening to more music, writing letters, wearing pink, and cooking for fun.

I wanted to make some special pies. I did everything right I knew to do. I got up at 6:00 AM (and I a night person!) instead of making them the night before, which would have rendered them day-old before they could be delivered. I followed cookbook advice and used three varieties of apples instead of one. I used a storebought crust. I used an oven thermometer. I rotated the pies in the oven half-way through the baking process. They came out looking a nice golden brown color. I was relieved and sent 2 of them on to our Motherhouse in Philadelphia. Then I tried the third one.

Horror. I made bad pie! And they were already halfway to Philly, no calling them back! They were runny, the crust was soggy underneath that deceiving golden brown, and the apples were still a little crunchy! I was sorely distressed. My friends are so polite, they ate some and told me "yes, a little runny but tastes fine!" Uh-huh. So I have been reflecting on bad pie. Those fine fresh apples wasted. Were all those good intentions wasted? All that love? No I guess not. At a minimum, I am determined to try again. Baking keeps me out of trouble. And Happy Me is winning while I am cooking for fun, even if what I am baking turns out to be Bad Pie. It's just pie, after all. I think my mistake with that last batch of pies was that I was trying way too hard.

Ice

2008-01-30T23:21:00.000-05:00

The parking lot of Trinita is an unpaved, sloping patch of ground between the Main House and the highway. We've had snow on the ground for days now, but the parking lot has been clean and safe. This morning it started raining and the weather was practically balmy. So I was pretty amazed when some Moms came in for the meeting and told me the parking lot was iced over. Confused, and perhaps even a little skeptical, I went out to see.

Yes. It was iced over. How?? Why?? I do not want to list all the things that have come up in my life in just a few short days that have blindsided me, but the parking lot being iced over in above-freezing weather is a great metaphor for all those things. Something that is a serious problem that I Need To Take Care Of Right Now. That kind of problem. (We had a little car accident, in fact. A little one.)

I actually wanted to cry. Not because of that, but because of everything, the ice being just, uh, the icing on the... cake. But I didn't cry. Because, in the words of one of my seven-year-old friends, I am one of the bosses of Trinita. And the only boss in town at the moment. I think bosses are not supposed to cry in public. This is a day that did get better. I made a friend. But then it got worse. And then it got a little better. And then it got worse again. If the past three days were a volleyball game between Happy Me and Sad Me, Sad Me would be ahead one point at this moment. But it's been a close match and the game ain't over.

Think I am gonna bake a pie. Not tonight, although I considered it. Tomorrow. And maybe I am gonna buy me another pink shirt.

Pink

2008-01-12T10:40:00.000-05:00

When I worked at our mission of St. Patrick School in Phenix City, Alabama, Christmas time was pretty hectic. I remember lots of special activities, and I was really glad I was only an aide and not a teacher. But being an aide was hard enough. We borrowed a videocamera from someone's dad, and I was assigned to record everything for a few days. Don't picture one of them cute little hand-sized things everybody has now. This was back in the day. The thing weighed a ton, was the size of a breadbox, and my shoulder ached for days.

When I worked at our mission of Catholic Social Services in Fort Walton Beach, Florida, Christmas time was pretty hectic. We had lists, long lists of families we had served during the year who needed gifts for their kids. Because one big donor backed out at the very last minute, we had to do some emergency overtime to cover a few dozen families. I have a very clear memory of winding through the decimated aisles of some department store, stupid with fatigue since it was nearly midnight, looking for women's gloves or something lame like that. Lists and lists.

When I was on the Formation team, I spent a few Christmases at our novitiate in Temascalapa, Mexico. Our sisters were immersed in planning, coordinating, and executing various Christmas activities in the eight or so chapels surrounding the main town, and I helped out a little. Somehow it became my job to prepare a Christmas meal for about 25 Missionary Servants, men and women who gathered to finally relax after a marathon of liturgies and activities.

So the Christmas season here has to rate as perhaps the least stressful December I have had yet. We did a lot of baking and then we got to deliver baskets all over the northwest corner of the state. It was great fun.

Now it's January of a new year. There will be much new this year. In a few days, I am driving Olivia to her new ministry at our Motherhouse in Philadelphia. Then, we all have to adjust to our shifted responsibilities. And we'll be adjusting again whenever a new sister is assigned here.

We'll cope somehow. Perhaps I will develop a new part of myself as I adjust to all these changes. In my vow formula, I included the words from Paul's prayer at the end of chapter 3 of Ephesians. That part about letting your hidden self grow strong, that has always sounded like something I should strive for. I think this year maybe I will really break out and start wearing pink. Yeah, that's it. That will say change like nothing else. I never wear pink. But I got a pink sweater for Christmas, and I bought myself a pink shirt with my Christmas money. And I wear it, too. Yup, this is going to be a very different year for me. The signs are all there.

Home

2007-12-25T11:25:00.000-05:00

My lifestyle makes no sense.

I woke up this morning because the cat was ready for breakfast. When it is below freezing, his little 14-year-old bones are kept warm in my bedroom, but even though we still have several inches of snow on the ground, it is above freezing today, so I kicked his furry little behind outside this morning to feed him. He'll be back in by suppertime.

So after booting Francisco out into the harsh winter of Christmas Morning In Connecticut, I sat and drank my first cup of coffee and looked out my bedroom window, watching the crows ambling around the playground equipment and reflecting on my crazy life.

What is crazy is that I love my life and I am very happy here, happy to be in this congregation and happy to be a part of this particular mission and to live in this particular missionary cenacle ... and, at the very same time, I am so homesick. I want to be drinking coffee right now with Mama, and I want to see my Aunt Mary, and I miss my sisters and my brother and my nieces.... you get the idea. And more. I miss Maria and Maia and Jeff and Nikki and Adam from Dayton, and I miss Denise in Chicago and Sarah in Massachusetts.... And more. I miss christmases in Pensacola and the Lower East Side and Temascalapa.... I think the full moon on the snow on this rural New England landscape put me into this sentimental mode last night as we drove to midnight mass. I usually miss my family at Christmastime, who doesn't? But perhaps it's a bit over the top today.

I am homesick, but for a missionary this is a way of life. I get home when I can, which is never often enough, but it is what I have said Yes to, when I made my vows. But what I think I did not understand when I first said Yes was that I would begin to feel homesick for so many other places besides home. The day will come when I will be looking out of another window drinking my Christmas morning coffee and I will be missing life at Trinita. It is hard to hold so many places loosely, hard to know I can't keep it all, to know I can't (well, I mean I won't) say "I am staying here."

It is hard, but it is also a richness I could never have imagined when I first professed my vows. I carry in my heart like precious treasure the experiences of love and friendship and home of so many other places. It is crazy. This lifestyle makes no sense. People have told me to my face they think it's a crazy way to live. It's hard to argue the point, since I ultimately must concur with that conclusion. And yet, here I am. Looking out my office window on the snow and the mission cross, missing my mama and many others, and I would do this all over again in a flash. I am glad to be alive. I am very homesick, but I am also home.

Family Day

2007-12-12T21:12:00.000-05:00

Some people wonder what goes on here when it's not the summer. We just had our fifth Family day of 2007 this past weekend. Wouldn't you like to know what we did with 65 people of all ages crammed into this old house for an entire afternoon?

The theme was "The Holy Family." We started with a gathering in the Meeting Room, which can comfortably seat about 30 and uncomfortably seat about 50. We sang a few classic Trinita songs to warm the crowd up, including the ever-popular "I am a Pizza." Then Sr. Olivia gave a little presentation on various roles in society and in the family. To practice for her presentation earlier in the week, she handcuffed me to a lamp. But I was relieved that for the actual presentation, she only waved the handcuffs around and talked about policemen.

Then it was time for Peer Group. Sr. Joan took the babies and a few teen volunteers down into the Cenacle for babysitting. The Littles had storytime in one of the dorms upstairs, the middle kids got the dining room (there were about 20 or so of them) and the adults were divided by language. One group got the Meeting room, the other got the middle room. That left me with the smallest group of all (as usual), the teens. We sat on stools around the big steel table in the kitchen. Over the noise of the kids, and the freezer and refrigerator and oven exhaust fan, we practically had to read lips. It's ok, because the teens don't usually have that much to say. Instead, we do stuff. This time, we made muffins for our families. All during the Peer Group time, for over an hour, I am not sure what Sr. Olivia was doing. I think she was in her office drinking diet coke and listening to Linda Ronstadt. Or something.

Snacks. For the first time ever, we asked the families to bring snacks. We supplemented it with cheese and crackers and fresh fruit. That turned out to be more popular than most of what people brought to share. Usually snack time is about 30 minutes and the kids get to go out and blow off some steam on the playground. But it was cold and icy, so no going out. (We did have a few escapees make it to the slide but that did not last long.) Anyway, we were stuck inside this time. All 65 of us.

Games. I learned a valuable lesson. Six year olds do not see the humor of smearing vaseline on your face and sticking on cotton balls to make a santa beard. The other games went well enough. But man did the crowd get rowdy. I guess all that snack food and no running outside, and then the games, it was inevitable.

The family activity was making ornaments by stringing beads and Holy Family charms. We expected people to take their bags and go, since snow was impending, but no. They actually stayed and did the activity right there. We had families scattered all over the place, including offices and the dorms. They had a great time! It is always clear that the people have a great time, you can feel it at the goodbye time as they collect themselves and leave. We have a great time too. It is very very hard work. When they leave, we undertake the extensive clean-up. Then we have the traditional collapse on the couch, eat some easy meal (this time it was hummus, bean dip and taquitos) and watch a DVD. "Chronicles of Narnia."

That is Life at Trinita on a wintry Sunday in December.

Tourist

2007-12-04T17:17:00.000-05:00

I have been here for a year, but I still feel like a new arrival. It snowed a few weeks ago, less than an inch but enough to make everything turn white, enough for me to get excited and continually look out the window. We got some more winter weather this weekend, and I still find it amazing. Ooh, looky, everything is white! Look, there are icicles on the rock faces on the sides of the Interstate! Look, look, there are flakes of snow blowing around in the air even though there are no clouds!

My friend from Massachusetts came for a visit this weekend, because we had a last-minute cancellation of a retreat group so I had unexpected free time. We went for lunch at the Speckled Hen Pub in Norfolk. I spotted this place in October as I was driving to Canaan. I'm not accustomed to popping in to new places, but it looked so cool and has such a cool name, I determined at a glance that I would take my friend there next time she came. That was a glorious fall day, with the best colors you can imagine and a beautiful blue sky. This time the sky was just as blue, but it was 20 degrees and there was snow on the ground.

As we sat by the window and ate our sandwiches I looked out at the shops and the snow (looky, there is ice on the branches!) and realized I am probably never going to get used to living in New England. Or anywhere outside of Louisiana, I suppose. I think part of why being a missionary sister works for me so well has nothing to do with my Catholic faith. Deep down, I have the heart of a tourist. I do enjoy the exotic locales I have been missioned to. People talk funny, and cook interesting foods, and have different ethnic roots, and adapt to their climates in interesting ways. The grass smells different when you mow the lawn up here in the north. If you have a lawn. I do not actually enjoy it all, but I do at least find it all interesting.

Well, I have to go now, I want to go make a snow angel on the front lawn before the Ladies Guild arrives.

Christ The King

2007-11-28T07:57:00.000-05:00

My computer troubles have continued, but after its third trip to a facility in California, I think my Presario is back to normal. In the meantime, fall has come and winter is almost here. We've already had nights in the teens and a dusting of snow. Now when I look out of my office window, I see a nicely raked lawn, grass fading from green to brown, and a forest of bare branches.

The lectionary readings this week are kind of scary. The end times. But so much of my experiences in recent months have provided with me a lens to see signs of hope and new life rather than signs of dying. We had a gathering of Cenacle Family here this Sunday and I was surprised at not only how many, and who, showed up, but at the energy in the group. What a power for good! Someone actually said, "These are exciting times for the MCA!" I think we can't know and act on the signs of hope unless we gather like this and share what energy we have.

Our Christ the King celebration was a practice shot, prepared and executed without any committee meetings or extensive planning. Now that we've done it, it's clear that it is wanted and needed and must be continued. Imagine what it could look like if we did approach the event with a bit more organization and planning. I continue to be haunted by the words from Father Judge's conference which Margaret Flanagan presented to us this Sunday. The fire in us must be communicated, and it will be. "Because the Holy Spirit wants it communicated!" So no more lame excuses.

Stone Age

2007-09-11T22:56:00.000-04:00

I have been catapulted through a time warp into a computerless existence, and only just tonight have I managed to crawl back up into normalcy. My hard drive intersected an interdimensional phase variance and the resulting anomaly sucked all data from the platters. In laymen's terms, my hard drive died. Dang.

This transpired mere days after the summer program ended. I have only just plugged my repaired machine back in and cranked it up. I will try to provide an update on what life at Trinita is like after the summer program is over, but for now, I am just saying hello. I am back from the Stone Age. And I have two pies in the oven, so I have to go.

The Big Draw

2007-08-06T22:05:00.000-04:00

We are in Week 6 now--the last week of the summer program. I've had a chance to read some evaluations from departing volunteers. There have been "issues" this summer, there always are. Personality issues, and space usage issues, and food issues, and so on. This is hard work. We get up for breakfast and eat in a big room full of relative strangers morning after morning, then on to peer group, arts and crafts, lunch set-up, lunch dishes, pool duty, blanket time, supper dishes, evening meeting, lodge duty........ ending by bed in a cabin you share with several others. No privacy, no luxuries, no maids or butlers. No air conditioning. This place is an old farm that has been variously upgraded (or not) over the years. I can't even stand up straight in the volunteer shower room, I hit my head on the fluorescent lights. That made scrubbing it out this Saturday a bit of a challenge.

So, why do so many who come here become so .... captured by this place?

We've had a large retinue of local teen volunteers all summer. On any given week I have had a squad of them for many jobs big and small. We had eleven babies last week, so it was all hands on deck for babysitting during peer group time. This week, the youngest child is four, so I am finding jobs for the teens that are related to closing down the program for this year. Things like scrubbing and storing our baby supplies, or testing all our school scissors to see if they can actually cut anything. (Turns out, a large percentage could not. I think they may be the original school scissors purchased by Mother Boniface in 1924.)

Why do they come? Why would someone leave their comfortable home to sweat all day here, washing dishes and so on, and in the case of the local teens, test a gross of school scissors? It does not make any kind of sense. And the families: granted, they do not have to work the way the full-time and local volunteers do, but they are essentially trapped here for a week, eating food not of their culture, sleeping in dorms with people they may not have met before arriving here, going along with our schedule and our program and our silly songs with motions. What is the big draw?

Even now, when I am tired and frankly ready to shut things down and move on, I am simultaneously sad to realize that next week they will all be gone and it will be very, very quiet here. There is something about this place, even at its most difficult, that pulls us in. We cannot explain it to our friends, we cannot show it in pictures or capture it in video. We come, we live life here, and some of us just keep coming back, ruined forever, captured. It is no real explanation to say this is holy ground, and yet it is the only explanation. All ground is holy, but here.... it is just easier to recognize.

Apples

2007-08-03T08:07:00.000-04:00

What does the expression "easy as pie" really mean? In the text game I play on my brother's website, I have created a character noted for pie-baking, and since coming to Trinita I have begun to take up the art in real life. During Week 3, more as a stress-reliever than as an act of generosity, I baked lemon pies for our volunteers. The hardest part was finding lemons buried deep within the inner recesses of our industrial refrigerator.

But alas, some do not like lemon pie. So last week (Week 4), I was feeling generous and baked chocolate pies. That was somewhat more effort, as I had to stir it over a double boiler and it took a long time to set. But during Week 4 we received a donation of two boxes of almost bad apples. Sister Florence, the Queen of Arts and Crafts at the time, helped me peel and slice enough for six pies, and we froze it. I was eager to bake apples pies for Week 5.

Week 4 was like a dream it was so easy. Sr. Maria Lauren brought Mexican families from her parish in Philadelphia, and we had a great time with them. Lots of babies to hold, little ones to play with, and teens who all went along with everything and enjoyed themselves. In the lodge the teens and adults played a game called Apples to Apples. The title to the game was another sign to me that I must bake apple pies. Apples returned on Friday when our cook Diane was reaching for a gallon container of applesauce in the fridge and it slipped. It was like an explosion of applesauce which covered everything, including Diane. But it seemed only funny rather than distressing--perhaps because the week was so easy.

Easy as pie. Not. This week, Week 5, I baked two apple pies for our dear volunteers. Not to say they aren't worth it, but it was not so easy. Some unexpected things came up and I could not start baking until late. I could not find any lemons anywhere this time--not even a bottle of juice. I made the crust by hand. I did not get them into the oven until almost 11:30. And they took forever to bake! Why? I can't figure out why they took so long. I did not get to bed until 2:00 AM.

They came out good though. The lemon juice we had added to prevent browning was apparently enough. But I've done enough pie for now. I think next week the dear volunteers will get Mama's chocolate cake pudding instead.

Week Three

2007-07-19T23:48:00.000-04:00

Not a very imaginative title for this post. But it can't pass unmentioned. This has been quite a challenging week. If I were going to be a big whiny baby, I would have a lot to say. But of course, I am not! I am a missionary, we can handle a few "issues," right?

On the bright side, the Missionary Cenacle Volunteers have been on deck and quite supportive, not to mention fun to be with. So, despite a lot of rain, the resignation of our groundskeeper, the destruction of some recreational supplies, and ... but I said I was not going to whine! Anyway, we are sustained by the grace of God, and life at Trinita continues full speed ahead. The most we had to handle was yesterday, and things are improving by now. We watched a Jackie Chan movie after we closed the pool due to heavy rain, and many of the kids fell asleep. And tonight, the lodge is closed yet it is fairly quiet out there. I think folks just are worn out at this point. I have had some great games of Candyland this week, and I even had time to hang out some with my friend who is serving here this week. Because she is my friend, I am giving her all the hard jobs.

But not Arts and Crafts. I would not do that to her. That would be just wrong.

No Whining

2007-07-14T23:11:00.000-04:00

I had an interesting birthday. I actually have had a number of birthdays here, but it's been a while, and this one was particularly full. As I mentioned before, Wednesdays are hard because Olivia (the boss at least of the summer program) is off on Wednesdays, and also Diane, the cook. So this Wednesday of Week Two, I rolled out of bed early and set to work cooking scrambled eggs and grits. A local volunteer and two MSBTs were on hand to help so I was not too stressed. The food delivery truck arrived at 7:30 and I had to leave Lucy stirring the eggs while I ran around showing him where to stack the food. And so on. As soon as breakfast was over, morning circle. Mama called while I was in circle so I missed the call.

I spent peer group time running up and down the hill as usual. Four babies this week, and three of them tend to cry, and only one of the babysitters has any real experience with babies, so the teen volunteer helpers need a little minding. The teen volunteers have proven to be very helpful but the new ones need a lot of direction and to complicate things many of them show up almost randomly. We simply never know when they are going to appear, and I can't always drop everything and find them work to do. As soon as peer group was over, I had to start preparing lunch. Grilled cheese. Again, I had plenty of help, but I also had plenty of interruptions. Without Olivia, people tend to come to me with their questions. Well, I do it to Olivia myself, I confess. Mama called me at lunchtime but I missed the call. As soon as lunch was over, the mothers began preparing food for supper. Lucky for me Lucy was there. I had to help them find things for awhile but eventually I moved on to other things. Like pool duty. I was also taking a lot of pictures. No one seems much interested in taking pictures so I have been doing it. We give a slide show on Fridays before supper.

The story lady was late. Patty came and spread her blanket under a tree, and by then I was so tired I went and laid on the blanket for a bit. OK, I admit it. I whined a little. I said I was tired because I had not had a minute of rest and had to cook breakfast and lunch.

After pool duty I came up to be present for afternoon snacks. At this stage I was not feeling very chatty--I just kind of sat there and drank water. Finally the crowd dispersed and I went up to clean the middle room and refresh the volunteer snack table. This week that room has really been hard to keep clean. Why would anyone throw their trash on the floor instead in the trash can? Why am I picking up trash off the floor two and three times a day? I am whining now (because this unexpected problem has persisted) but at the time I just cleaned it all up without much thinking about it. So I did not whine then.

And so things continued. Start to do one thing, get interrupted and end up doing three other things. That interlude on Patty's blanket was the only peace I got. I did the meeting, dragged around a big bag of rocks for everyone's entertainment, and ended up in the lodge playing Candyland. Finally, I got back up here to my office and I got Mama on the phone, who had also called at suppertime but I had missed the call. After we talked, I got to work editing and printing the blanket time pictures of all the families. So, at 11:30, my day was over and I spent the last half hour of my birthday relaxing.

Life is good. But I was really glad when the boss of Trinita was back on deck Thursday morning.

Wet Blanket

2007-07-06T23:15:00.000-04:00

Week One is almost over. This means all of us are now veterans. My big hope is that I can reduce the number of times a day I have to ask Olivia how to do something, if I should do something, or where something is. She has the patience of a saint.

I managed to get attached to some of these kids. It happens. I played Candyland and Sorry in the lodge this week and was thoroughly defeated at both. Well, I have five more weeks to practice my skill at board games.

It has been a great week, but it's really strange how it seems like it's been a month since we started. Someone once made the observation that a day at Trinita is like three normal days, and I often quote that, because it is so true. I wish I could convey how much life happens in between breaking down cardboard boxes and carrying them to the recycling bin out front. You could have three conversations and two trips down the hill to the lodge before getting that cardboard into the bin. Nothing happens directly.

It rained a lot these past few days. We had such poor attendance at one of the nightly gatherings we just sang a bunch of songs instead. We had to have blanket time indoors yesterday, and again today because the ground was too wet to lay a blanket on. The pool was even closed. But we got through it all, and had fun anyway. It is our mission to have fun, and to help others have fun. Our theme this summer is "Be a power for good," but maybe we are also a power for fun. I remember years ago when we were told never to call this place a camp, and it has never comfortably fit into the category of retreat center, some of us began calling it Trinita Fun Center. We can handle wet blankets and parades that have been rained on. Mere rain cannot stop us. Jelitza told Olivia and me the other night, "You are the bosses of Trinita, and the bosses of Trinita never give up!" Wow. I guess after that, we better not cave in just because we ran out of whipped cream.

We Need Bananas

2007-06-30T22:52:00.000-04:00

We completed the week of training for new volunteers this morning. I have been impressed by the general "personality" of this year's group. No cliques. There is remarkable ethnic diversity and quite an age range as well. Yet our dear volunteers are quite inclusive and easy-going. They take things as they come, starting from Day One when our cook did not show up and suddenly we had to prepare supper ourselves. It turned out to be fun instead of stressful.

Another shining moment in adaptability: on Wednesday morning, a teen volunteer entered the meeting room just as Rosa was about to begin her session, which includes a series of interactive games and challenges. I took his paperwork from him and introduced him quickly, then left him with the rest and went on about my business. I learned later he had just wandered into the room looking for someone to give his papers to, and in fact had never had any kind of orientation or preparation for what goes on here. I watched him from my office window as Rosa had the group walk on four-by-fours and scream at balloons and other inexplicable activities. He just went along with it, even started smiling after awhile. Wow. I am pretty sure I would have slipped out at the first bathroom break if that had been my introduction to Trinita.

I have started keeping a little spiral notepad and pen in my pocket. I have to write everything down right when it comes up, because I absolutely cannot remember anything if it leaves my visual field. There is definitely too much coming in. Let's look at a few entries:

get string for messagebook
Claire Xavier died Nov 28 2005
lighter for chapel
clean pear juice
call Mama
poem, 3 stanzas
can we cover the bathroom floor vent in Cabin 4?
announce move garbage in dumpster to back

It goes on like that. I still have not called Mama, though I did try. And I have done most of those things, but I am stuck on coming up with a poem to announce Patty's arrival for story time.Four number 10 cans of pear juice exploded in the pantry, and I had to clean it off at like midnight because the health inspector was due in the next day.

I am keeping an eye on special snacks for the volunteers. It's kind of a fun job, looking for ways to keep people happy. Not too hard with this group either. I just realized, however, that we have not had bananas available in days. Angel loves bananas. This is a simple pleasure and he should not be denied. But I did not write it in my notebook. Maybe someone will spontaneously drop off bananas tomorrow. It's sort of how things seem to work here. You need something, and the next thing you know, someone just shows up with it. So, we need bananas. Let's see what tomorrow brings.

The Night Before

2007-06-23T23:52:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow the summer program begins. I have an airport run in the morning and will bring back the first Missionary Cenacle Volunteer to arrive for the summer program.

Is it any use trying to describe what Trinita is like while the summer program is in progress? You definitely have to be here and experience it to understand. It sort of engages you completely. Well, it's true not everyone who has served here has that experience. But many do.

What I did not know until now was how the time BEFORE the program begins is just as demanding in its own way. There have been uncountable numbers of local friends coming by to help us get ready. Yesterday I discovered Annette hard at work at our copy machine preparing the booklets used for family blanket time. Years ago, she showed up here as a young mother to join a Wednesday morning MOMs group. Now she, and many others like her, are practically members of the staff. They have become missionaries, and Trinita is their mission. I thought about this as I watched her explain what she had put on the pages of the booklet.

She could have come and gone. Some do. But many come and.... they pick up on something. Something about this place. It is on the surface just an old farmhouse with a few rustic outbuildings. But if that were all it was, just a retreat center, why would so many people come and stay, and become part of this place? These people are not simply benefactors or friends of ours, they actually help us run the mission. I wonder if Annette realizes she is a missionary while she stands there cranking out copies of blanket time booklets?

Twigs

2007-06-11T08:12:00.000-04:00

Maybe I should rename this blog. It seems like I have not been at Trinita much lately. Life at Trinita would be nice, insofar as I would be sleeping in my own bed at night. I like my bed.

I have been in this sort of interdimensional time/space vortex for weeks now. The drug I was taking for poison ivy disrupted my sleep and I am still not back in rhythm. The upside of this is that I have been really quite productive lately. The downside is that I have been living life in a kind of fugue state for weeks. It's not all from taking pills of course--I have been traveling and dealing with a number of diverse and demanding situations from Orlando to Louisiana to Philadelphia to Connecticut. Stupid with fatigue, I have been making dumb mistakes, forgetting things, and generally smiling and nodding my way through conversations. But having lost my edge, I find my tolerance for annoyances is higher. I am observing life from a detached, "big picture" point of view instead of being caught up in the details of the moment. This has led to some unexpected spiritual moments which stand out in the wash of weariness I have been living in lately.

I am on a committee with other lay and religious members of my spiritual family who have been charged to prepare us all for our upcoming centennial celebration in 2009 We have been working together for a year already, and this weekend we ran a training for recruits from five geographic areas who will be responsible to plan and execute area celebrations. I've been tech support for this, meaning wires and websites and photo-editing. This weekend was really a lot of listening and sharing and taking counsel on our hopes for the future, and it all went on bilingually. Whenever our faithful recruits took time at their tables for sharing and working, we committee members likewise would continue our work at our own table.

In my detached, bemused state of mind, I was perhaps less than helpful in these sessions, but I was nevertheless strongly engaged on another level. I could not focus well on what we were talking about half the time, but I remained acutely aware of who we are in this moment. Eight men and women, from three different countries, from many cultures, single, married, vowed religious--all of us strongly bound by our consecration to the Holy and Blessed Trinity through our membership in the Missionary Cenacle Family. At one moment I felt almost giddy with an awareness of how in this very moment, this Here and Now, we are fulfilling the charism entrusted to us by the Holy Spirit to be Church in a very incarnational, relational, Trinitarian way.

There was a moment when Gerardo was straining to express himself, and as he shifted back and forth from Spanish to English multiple times in every sentence, I lost his point but I grasped his meaning--I grasped the greater meaning of the moment. We together are straining, with groans too deep for words, to express the Incarnation. We absolutely, positively, cannot do it any other way apart from this grounding as family. No more than a pile of twigs and leaves can be a tree, can I fulfill my vocation as a Missionary Servant without being grounded deeply in the Missionary Cenacle Family.

Home

2007-05-30T22:20:00.000-04:00

Weird month.

I am in Louisiana. I am spending my vacation with my brother, helping my mother pack up her home and move into a small apartment for senior citizens. I was here only weeks ago, when my aunt died. This is a lot of transition in my family. We moved to this house when I was 4. But nevertheless, it's good to be home. Big sky.....

Last weekend, I had to coordinate the annual Work Day at Trinita on Saturday, and on Sunday I had to facilitate two different groups. It all went fine, but it's new territory for me and I was stressed about it. Monday, I took the day off, and I went and planted some pine trees near the Lodge, in what I now know must have been a patch of poison ivy.

So, even though I am home and involved in a rather big family project, I am thinking frequently about a lovely spring day last week in Trinita. Life at Trinita sort of follows me around! I have poison ivy all over, and it reached a peak of itchiness yesterday during the 12 hour road trip from my brother's home in Sanford to Lafayette. Lucky me.

What is home? That's a question I am pondering now, as I sit among stacks of cardboard boxes. As a Missionary Servant, I have lived in many places and thus have a lot of places where I really feel at home. Unfortunately, feeling at home is not quite the same as being at home. When you travel a lot, you need to know there is a place where you are going back to, where your stuff is. When I was a student, I felt kind of homeless for holidays. I was between cenacles. But it was good I had a number of places I could go where I felt at home.

Soon after I got to Trinita, a teenager at a confirmation retreat declared that Trinita was a place where he and his classmates felt at home. That is one of the very special gifts Trinita offers-- so many people can come and feel at home. Now it really is home. My stuff is there and I am going back. But this is home, too. I have been feeling kind of sorry for myself, I admit. But as I sit here and try to keep myself from scratching my skin off, I must admit, against all odds, that I am actually pretty lucky. I can feel at home, I can be at home, in a lot of places. Saying goodbye is hard, but I have a lot to fall back on. I gotta watch out for the poison ivy, however.

Time Warp

2007-05-12T09:08:00.000-04:00

I recently had to do some work at our Archives at the Motherhouse in Philadelphia. While there, I took the opportunity to scan a stack of old pictures of Trinita, We acquired this property in 1923, and I found old photos dating back to 1925, before there was even the wing added to the main house. There is what looks to be a Model T parked in the front yard in one shot. (Someone who knows cars could probably correct me on the make of the car.)

I prepared a slideshow of the pictures after I had enhanced them as best I could, and I've showed them to everyone here. It's fascinating. Like seeing pictures of a friend you thought you knew, doing something unexpected like juggling or hydroponics. It seems Trinita has lived a full and interesting life.

I got so into this, that on my day off I went around with a printout of the contact sheet of photos and tried to get in the exact position to take the same shot. It was a gorgeous spring afternoon, and the leaves were only just beginning to come back (they are mostly out by now) so it was a lot of fun. I realized that Mother Boniface once stood right where the little garden fountain is. Trees have gone and new ones have grown up tall. The whole area must have been clear cut early on, since you can see the horizon in some photos where now you just see the tree line.

But a funny thing started to happen to my mind. I got so immersed, I actually would be startled by reality instead of by the pictures. In my defense, I stared at those pictures a very long and tedious time the night before, doing scratch removal and fade correction and so on, long into the night. At one point, I got in the right spot to reproduce a picture of the cabins, then when I turned to try for the shot of the lodge, I realized that the two shots had almost certainly been taken on the same day from essentially the same spot. I was not simply standing in the spot of the original photographer, I was actually retracing her footsteps. Once I got into the lodge, I realized that she was quite short, or else held the camera at waist level, because the only way I could get the correct angle was from my knees.

The oddest experience was shooting the back porch, which has changed the most over the years. This required repeated glances back and forth from photo to reality, until at one point I gave a start because I had expected to see Sr. Mary Peter when I looked up and she had vanished! Yeah, she teleported 60 years into the future and a few hundred miles south, since she's at the Motherhouse now.

I still have the lingering sense of our sisters from decades past, going about their business out on the grounds. The ministry here has changed over the years, and will no doubt continue to change, but there is a presence here that persists no matter where the trees are growing at any given moment.

Holy Ground

2007-04-30T22:50:00.000-04:00

My Aunt Doris died two weeks ago, and I went home to south Louisiana for almost a week. When Mama called me with the news, it was snowing here. We had had a little intro to spring but the ground was white that morning. I stared at the steady snowfall for a long time after I got off the phone.

When I got off the plane in New Orleans, the warm air wrapped around me to welcome me home. The air smells the way air ought to smell. It feels like it should feel on my skin. The sounds of peoples' voices sound right. The food tastes right. The names of streets and towns are right. I love my life, but when I go home I realize all over again how hard it is to live so far away.

As I drove through my old neighborhood, it was destruction everywhere. And, in places, construction as well. But I don't want to dwell on the Katrina destruction now. We drove through Mama's old neighborhood as well. The home she and my aunts and uncles lived in on Congress Street is actually looking pretty good. Someone lives there and has it fixed up nice. St. Vincent de Paul Cemetary is not too far away. There, many generations of maternal relatives are buried, so to speak, in an above-ground crypt. (In fact, I was about 25 before I ever went to a regular cemetary with graves in the ground.) I read all the names of those buried in the Charbonnet vault. I pronounced the names... Almicar, Louis, Francois D'Assis, Dewett, Lucille, Eugene.... The remains of all these generations are mingled. It troubles me not all, though it troubled some of my family. It is not Aunt Doris going into a box, into a crypt, because she is gone. Our way of burying our dead in fact for me works as a reminder of the communion of saints. We are powerfully connected to all the faithful departed. The cemetary is holy ground.

I have returned to Trinita. While I was gone, the snow melted and the air warmed up--somewhat. There are buds on branches but still no leaves on trees. We had 50 people here this weekend for a Family Day. It was fun and very hard work and it took my mind off things. This is holy ground, too. I knew it the first time I ever set foot on this place, so long ago. So much life has been lived here, it has seeped into the soil. You can smell it. At least I can.

Avast!

2007-04-13T22:48:00.000-04:00

What does that mean, anyway? I have nothing to say tonight, but I thought I should at least mention that I am at this very moment dressed like a pirate. A very tired pirate.

Who would not want to be a pirate? Pirates are free, and they do bad things but they are not evil. And they have parrots. (Well, some do.) And the main thing is, they wear cool clothes. What is not to like?

We all decided to be pirates today. It is very fun. If you are ever bored, come hang out here for awhile, that will cure you. Six pirates, four of them are sisters and two of them are working moms. Arrrrr! Olivia hooked me with her hook. For that she shall pay. And Siena said something about the Yankees to Joan, so now Siena has a pegleg. Arrrrr. Pat's parrot is napping on the rolodex at the moment. Ellen sang a pirate song. I think I chipped a tooth when I clenched my cutlass in my teeth. Arrrr!

If you think I am now going to explain why the entire staff were pirates today, you would be wrong.

Enter if You Dare

2007-04-10T23:18:00.000-04:00

We have these events every so often called Family Day. We can accommodate up to about ten families from nearby parishes for a Sunday afternoon of fun and sharing. There is some kind of activity for the kids, usually a craft of some kind, which relates to the theme of the day.

This past October, our theme was "SHINE" and all our crafts and activities involved pumpkins somehow. Ever heard of Oriental Trader? They sell these cheap but cool-looking kits for kids, lots of seasonal stuff. We found a craft kit that was a door hanger. You know how a kid might put a "Keep Out!" sign on his door--this was a Halloween doorknob hanger with skulls and so on, with the warning "Enter if you dare!" We took them, flipped them over and made something nicer on the reverse side that fit with the pumpkin motif and the "Shine God's love" message.

However, I kept the sample that Ellen made. It has the original scary warning on it. I hung it on the inside of my bedroom door. So before I go out in the morning I often pause and think.... do I dare? But I always do. After all, the coffee is out there.

We had another planning meeting for the summer program this afternoon. It has become apparent that Wednesdays are going to be a bad day for me: I'll have to cook a hot breakfast for 50+ people, help campers get supper ready, and do the evening meeting and the reconciliation service. In addition to my normal everyday tasks. I said I would do it but only if I could whine a lot about how much I have to do. I might need to think about taking down that little sign on my doorknob. Otherwise some Wednesday morning this summer, I might just decide that I do not dare.

Nah.... I think I will just add a sign on the outside of my door: "Caution: Whining Zone."

Virtual Pie

2007-03-28T22:01:00.000-04:00

On my brother's website is a link to a text-based role-playing game. In "Legend of the Green Dragon" I created character and I've had a lot of fun slaying dragons and generally being a smart-aleck with other players of similar sense of humor. Text-based computer games have very limited appeal in this day and age, but all I can say is, folks who insist on graphics are missing out. In this virtual little kingdom, we have snowball fights, pie fights, chocolate fights, and end the day with a few rounds of ale at ye olde inn. And we slay dragons, too.

Last year I finally accumulated enough gold to build a castle. I named the castle Trinita. I gave out keys to those players I considered my allies, and it became a little enclave where we would hang out and plot, plan, scheme, and eat all the virtual food we wanted. Sort of like home. I became renowned for baking all manner of pies, using them as weapons when necessary. (Think Three Stooges.) When I was a student I had more time to check in, but since I have a real job now I have had to cut back on visits to the kingdom.

Art imitates life, they say. But sometimes, art imitates life, and then life goes and imitates art imitating life. I knew Trinita as a place many people from many places have been able to call home over the years, so it was natural for me to name my castle that. And then look what happened--I got missioned here! Last year I created a virtual, medieval Trinita. Now I am at the real one.

But about the pie. I actually have not baked that many pies in real life. But in the game, I am constantly baking pies. And often throwing them. As it happens, in real life I actually did throw a pie at someone once. And where was I when I threw this pie? Here at Trinita, on the stage in the Lodge one night at Fiesta. Poor Blanche never saw it coming. I think she forgave me though. Yesterday, I was preparing an apple pie because we had invited several guests for dinner. In real life, making a pie is not so easy. Making gumbo or red beans and rice is a lot less complicated. Peeling apples takes a lot of time, and I am really not skilled at getting the pie crust onto the pan neatly. It tastes ok, but it looks all cracked and assymetrical.

My virtual pies always come out perfectly. And I can bake as many of them as I want. But until I came to Trinita, I was pretty rusty at baking real pies. But occasions for making a nice dessert have come up several times since I have been here, and because of my great success with virtual pies I have been trying to hone my real-pie-baking skills. They do not come out perfectly. But I have to admit, they are very much more satisfying.

It only takes a spark...

2007-03-20T23:03:00.000-04:00

There's an old song, "It only takes a spark, to get a fire going, and soon all those around can warm up in its glowing; that's how it is with God's love...." and so on.

I am just back from four days at our Motherhouse in Philadelphia, where I attended an assembly of every sister in my congregation. The total congregation does not gather like this very often, only once every few years. It's always a great occasion, and it was livelier than usual this time because the theme was "Be Fire!"

We had a big fire bowl set up which was lit at various times when we gathered for prayer. On one occasion, we began prayer by singing "It only takes a spark..." while one sister solemnly approached the bowl, struck a match dramatically, and lit up the fire... well, she tried to anyway. We kept singing while she struck another match, and another, and another.... finally someone ran up and handed her a bottle of rubbing alcohol which she applied liberally. We finally got a fire going but by then we were not very solemn. Of course afterwards, the big joke was, "It only takes a spark, five matches, and a bottle of alcohol to get a fire going...."

We have this idea that someone will come along with the right solution to our problems, whatever they may be. Just light a match, i.e. some brilliant vision or master plan, and within moments, we'll have a big blazing fire. Not. It actually does take more than a spark. It takes a bunch of matches and some fuel. And persistence. Oh yeah, and cooperation. That may not be how it is with God's love, but it's how it is with most everything else. How did Trinita become... Trinita? The format for the summer program as we know it did not leap fully formed from the brow of Sisters Margaret and Marion Agnes 30 years ago, like Athena leaping from the brow of Zeus with spear in hand. Lots of different folks have thrown logs on this fire over the years, that's for sure. And I would venture to say we are always in need of a few more logs on the bonfire, because there's always demand for s'more s'mores.

How did I become a Missionary Servant of the Most Blessed Trinity? Certainly not all at once. Lots of false starts and questioning and backtracking. But somehow, gradually, I went from thinking about it, to trying it, to resisting it, to hanging in there, and finally to dancing with my sisters at a post-assembly birthday party and thinking that nothing could be better than this. So, all those matches did not die in vain, I guess. Eventually, we do get a fire going.

The Closet

2007-03-11T22:53:00.000-04:00

Last year I was still in school. All I did was read and read and then write and rewrite. I watched a lot of TV too, or at least I had it on a lot. Here at Trinita, not so much.

I learned a new weather condition today. We've had snow on the ground for weeks now, and very cold weather. Now it's been getting above freezing, and last night it rained for a while. Though we had blue skies this morning, when I went out for 8 AM mass, I found a thin sheen of ice on the car, and puddles freezing over. The road looked only wet, as if with dew, but apparently it was ice. Lucky for me, there was a car ahead of me going very slowly, so I was forced to slow. I could feel the car slip a bit, but I have no doubt I would have slid right off the road had I been going at normal speed down that hill to mass. The sun was out and the road merely looked wet. Tricky, very tricky.

I disassembled the old office computer after I got back from the MCA meeting this afternoon, and attempted to store it in the little closet under the stairs in the cenacle. The sisters' cenacle is a remodelled basement under a remodelled farmhouse. Storage space is minimal, yet somehow we keep encountering artifacts from previous eras tucked away in odd places. That closet is even smaller than Harry Potter's original bedroom at the Dursley's. Yet inside were three computer units, a monitor, a box of computer accessories and cables, and.... a cardboard box labelled "Sister Mary Clare, for Camp T."

I do not know who Sr. Mary Clare was, and this place has not been called "Camp" in a really long time, so I sort of figured it would be old stuff in the box. It was. There were about eight large vinyl albums of cassette sets. For example, a 12-cassette series of presentations on religious life. An 8-set by George Maloney SJ for making a private retreat. The entire New Testament on tape, two different versions. One version actually looked well-preserved, so I saved it to donate to the local dump thrift shop. The rest were circa 1972 or thereabouts, and looked it.

I waded out to the dumpster and tossed the stuff in. Have I mentioned the snow is melting? Mud and flowing water everywhere. Then I put the computers back, except that I discovered the monitor from the former office computer was too big to fit through the closet door. Monitor=17.75 inches, door=17.5 inches. I am not kidding, I measured. Ultimately, I had to trudge like a troll into the nether regions of our dungeon until I found space to deposit the monitor. This was complicated by the fact that the monitor weighs a fair amount, the "flooring" is uneven to put it mildly, and I could not stand up straight. Clearance in the dungeon=5 feet 8 inches more or less, Me in bare feet=6 feet 2 inches. I am not kidding, I measured!

Then, Olivia made homemade pizza, and there was great rejoicing. And that, today, was life at Trinita.

Praying the Psalms

2007-03-07T13:48:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, we received some unsettling news. The news itself is not relevant here, but the upshot was that all four of us sisters were surprised and upset. We went on about our business as usual yesterday, and were certainly subdued at evening prayer but carried on normally.

This morning at morning prayer, Joan was leading. She gave us the pages in our Christian Prayer books (the "Office") but before we began said, "Since I couldn't sleep last night, I got up and came here to the chapel and looked for a good reading to use this morning...." but as she said this we all looked at one another and soon we all confessed that we had not slept well and had been up doing various chores in the wee hours. And so we settled into the psalms of the day.

If you have a copy of Christian Prayer, look up Wednesday morning Week II. It starts with Psalm 77. Within two lines we all felt deeply connected to what we were reciting. By the third stanza, we actually had to stop because we had all started laughing at "You withheld sleep from my eyes...." It is good that we could laugh, and I doubt we could have done this except that we were in shared grief, shared distress. We did compose ourselves and carry on, but I knew that here was a clear example of the difference between saying the Psalms and praying the Psalms.

I used to wonder if I would keep up the practice of praying the Office if I ever lived alone, being someone to whom self-discipline is an eternal ideal to strive for. Turns out I did in fact stick to it. I lived alone in a small graduate apartment on the campus of the University of Dayton. In September of 2005 I watched in horror as my ancestral hometown of New Orleans was laid waste by Katrina. The levees had clearly giving way by Tuesday morning and the City was slowly filling up. But life in Dayton went on more or less the same until about Friday, when the national disaster finally breached the national consiousness. I felt so alone, and of course I could not even call my family, many of whom did in fact lose their homes.

On Friday morning of Week III, I found myself praying the Canticle of Jeremiah. I recommend it to your reading, and as you read it, imagine your own home town devastated overnight. But the thing is, I had imagined this before when I had reflected on this Psalm. But that day, I prayed the Canticle, and I wept my way through the lament the same way as did the one who wrote those words in the face of very real disaster, so long ago.

Surreal

2007-03-03T22:36:00.000-05:00

Tonight as I was carrying a box of mass supplies up the hill to the main house I had sort of a flashback. The snow is crunchy, and the air is cold and heavy and humid, and the moon is full. (There actually was a lunar eclipse earlier tonight but we had clouds then.) I had closed up the lodge and was trudging up the hill in plain old gym shoes, not recommended for crunchy snow, ice, and mud.

And suddenly I had this flashback. Years ago, I served here as a Missionary Cenacle Volunteer. My second summer I was drafted to be the volunteer coordinator, and I soon developed a major sleep deficit. I stayed every night until the lodge closed, then I would go up the same path I was going up tonight, only without the snow. One night I was sort of loopy from lack of sleep, and my friends convinced me to actually go to bed before the lodge closed. What a concept. That particular night it was rather chilly, and a fog had come up. The spotlights shining across the grounds created this kind of eerie effect not unlike a horror movie. As my friends escorted me to the main house, from the fog emerged another volunteer, Jackie. Jackie was carrying a rake. She passed us by without a word. A minute later it sank in, and I said, "Did I just see Jackie with a rake? Is she going to rake leaves at eleven o'clock at night, in the fog?" It was, like, totally surreal, man. I started giggling and could not stop. Really, I think I was still laughing ten minutes later. I learned a valuable lesson. Sleep deprivation makes you silly, really silly.

In a few months the summer will be here, and now I will be the volunteer coordinator again. My big plan is to get more sleep. I expect it won't be too hard. We have more help these days than we did back then, plus I have learned to take better care of myself in the intervening years. That's not to say, of course, that I won't ever get silly....

2007-03-02T23:16:00.000-05:00

There is snow and ice on the ground now. It's quite late, and the two busloads of teenagers who arrived for the weekend are beginning to settle down. I'm not sure what they are up to at the moment--something reflective in the Meeting Room, I figure. Another confirmation retreat off to a good start.

By now, two of the other sisters have picked up the Dunkin Donuts donated to us every Friday and have set up for breakfast. I had a migraine today, spent the afternoon in bed, so I wimped out going down the hill in the freezing weather to get the donuts. This is one of the great things about community life--we cover for each other in times like this!

I still don't feel very good, and I am going to go to bed soon. But I have been meaning to start a blog since the day I got here. Life at Trinita is an incredible adventure. I find myself laughing out loud sometimes when I try to imagine what I would say to someone who wants to know what I do for a living! I think every day has some moment that might tell a little part of the story of life here. Today, that moment would be when Father Tim dropped by to visit this morning. We all ended up sitting around one of the tables in the dining room talking about future possibilities, stuff we can do to encourage growth both of the parish down the hill and our mission here at Trinita. It was inspiring--when we get together and believe together, stuff happens. I mean good stuff. It's actually more fun than slaying dragons.