tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5590271480157205192024-03-21T06:58:52.750-04:00LiterallyLibbyLibby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.comBlogger290125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-50270627254843658792020-02-27T07:35:00.000-05:002020-02-27T07:52:23.529-05:00Halfway across the bridge - Feb 27, 2020<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Sitting inside one of the thin, nylon tents in the camp, I could hear the wind whipping by, coursing through the rows of tents, causing the metal poles holding the outer circus-like tent shade above to shake and shiver, emitting metallic clangs, and spooky resonance. The occasional metal clasp raps against the metal pole, thrown about by the wind, and making me wonder how sturdy the massive outer structure is. </span></div>
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<span style="caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It's the middle of the day and I've gone into our supply tent, camouflaged in a sea of other bright green Colman camping tents. We are running out of masa (corn flour), so I came into the supply tent where we mostly store the tables we use each day to see if we had left any masa behind on another day. As I was searching through supplies, fear began to creep in and surround me in the tent. The noise of the crowd was amplified, from what I <i>knew</i> was a quiet murmur between companions, transformed into a mythically loud, scary, raucous roar of an uncontrolled riot. </span><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxZlRZYsVFrzpvLIKPEOuG7VPz5AcKz-fku8gV5SQpjaMw82-OKY8OpGtjOZCv0Ku7mJY1xHdZzkUUQjv50aQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"><br /></span>Though I was only 20 ft from my team, I realized I was all alone and vulnerable. Someone easily could have come into the tent, and my voice would have been silent, muffled by the wind. I started to feel the many scary things that must creep into the tents as darkness falls, scary realities, amplified by the imagination. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />Each day we've been to the camp has been dramatically different from the next. The first day was dusty and dry, the next was cold and windy. Then we had rain for a day or two, then blindingly got sun. Today was windy and cool, bullying it’s way through the camp, sending the empty cups waiting to be filled with chocolate milk onto the ground, still empty and now dirty. During these two weeks of February, I’ve worn sweaters and coats and sweated through short sleeve shirts. It’s been so hard to keep up with, I can’t imagine how volatile the seasons are for people in tents. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />Today was also filled with uncertainty about reentry. Through a series of circumstances (Ash Wednesday mass and running an errand for a team member), my sister and I got to the center later than usual. The team for Mexico left only fifteen minutes before and they needed more cart-pullers. So were high-tailed it back to the car and tried to catch up, arriving just as the carts were full and ready to depart. Happy to have two young “pullers” join the ranks, we joined the cheering group and headed off to pay our dollar to cross the bridge. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Halfway across the bridge to Mexico, while relaying my exciting adventure to another participant, I realized I left my passport in the car! I was stuck between two countries with a car full of food for Mexico! Luckily the bridge guard had seen me each day and kindly bent the rules, allowing me to return (definitely not allowed on the one-way bridge). I sprinted to the car, sprinted back, prepared to pay my dollar again but was welcomed in instead, and caught up with the team. My ashes were now bathed in sweat from running, but the coolness of the air was gone. I can’t say that i was scared at any point, but looking back, I should have been. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />On the return journey, halfway across the other bridge, one of our Canadian teammates was stopped and forced to wait in the very long line of non-US passport holders. Last week, there was the threat that this might happen, and today it did. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />I must confess. I have neglected to tell you something, friends. Every day, when we return to the US, there is a long line, going at least halfway across the bridge, sometimes as long as the whole bridge, filled with Mexican citizens waiting to enter the US. You see, there are two lines. One for US passport holders and registered SENTRI card holders (a line that never had more than 2 people in it), and a line with hundreds of people that can take 4 or 5 hours to get through. Every day, our team walks by hundreds of people to the front of the line, with our empty carts in tow. It must be so frustrating for the people to watch this, and I feel so filled with the opposite of patriotism. I feel shamed and privileged. I rationalize that we probably wouldn’t be able to go across each day if there were a 4 hour wait, but it’s one of the hardest parts of the day. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />Today, our teammate, who didn’t have a US passport but instead a Canadian one was forced to experience the “long line”, while her driver and carmates waited patiently in the US “witnessing” on the street corner. Luckily, she speaks Spanish and was able to learn what the others stood in line so long. They went to the US to shop for a few hours. And they did this a few times a week! Can you imagine the patience or necessity to do this so often! Our teammates made friends in line and once out of the eyesight of the one bully agent, she was able to move through faster, to exercise her privilege because of the kindness of strangers. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It was a strange day, needless to say, and with the trip ending in a few short days, my emotions are getting heavy. It’s so hard to leave when there’s work to be done, and harder to leave such a dedicated team of friends and family. Tonight, as I lay in bed writing this, I imagine myself inside the tent and the fear that I felt, that I knew wasn’t real at the time, but it is very real tonight for many <span style="color: white;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size: 14px;">. </span></span></span><br />
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Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-89799482738449836032020-02-24T08:55:00.000-05:002020-02-27T06:24:19.385-05:00Seeing deeper and sleeping at night - Feb 24, 2020<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstylebody"; font-size: 14px;">A week has passed, a few people have joined our group, and a few have already left. We have settled into a routine, leaving the house around 8am to head to the center where some of our team will </span><span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstylebody"; font-size: 14px;">drive an hour to the border to distribute food and toiletries and some of our team </span><span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstylebody"; font-size: 14px;">will stay at the center with the people who were welcomed into the country, preparing and serving meals for them, helping them find a change of clothes, organizing the closet of clothes so it’s ready in case a big rush comes, preparing bags of food to distribute at the border, and cleaning the center. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black;">The center has a very empowering approach to volunteering. </span>The pace is very self-guided, and if you don’t know what needs to be done, you might think there’s no work to do. As veterans, with a whole week behind us, we’ve learned not to wait to be asked to do something, just to jump right in. Often, the people livingu at the center can be seen helping as well: sweeping the huge shared living area and preparing bags of food to send over (perhaps having experienced how helpful those supplies are). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In the camps, we have been able to bring chocolate milk a few times and see the grins on the kids faces as they come back for a second or third cup. Meanwhile, the parents wait patiently in a line by the food while diapers and toiletries are distributed next. The calm about the place is incredible. In a camp that has over 2,500 people, you’d expect a table with only 60 bags of food to be pilfered and overrun, but no one touched the food, or even tried, day after day, patiently waiting for the distribution. People walk right by getting their milk and toiletries, and not one person attempts to take a bag, instilling so much confidence that none of the volunteers are even watching the food. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I read one article that described the Tents in the camp like “barnacles” on the tip of Matamoros. Another article helped me realize what I find so confounding about the camp - the quiet. It described: For a group of people who love music so much, all you hear is quiet chatter in tents. I think I find the calm exhibited in the line similarly perplexing. Articles have reported gang activity in the nights, many cases of rape, kidnapping, trafficking, and “disappearings”, but that seems like a different place than the calm of the day, or perhaps it explains it. For families who are on the run for their lives to escape this kind of violence, it seems unconscionable that the government is making this situation worse. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But we leave each day after the food is distributed and look the government officials in the eye as we return to the US, hoping there will be no problems. We drive back to the center to prepare for tomorrow’s run so it can all begin again. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">At the end of the day, some days as early as 3pm, some days as late as 5pm, we drive the 10 min from the center back to the AirBnB that we rented in a ranch-style house in the middle of suburbia. We all stay together in one house, to enjoy community time in the evenings, a shared meal and prayer. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Our team is comprised of five sisters of the Congregation of Notre Dame (from Toronto, NY, Montreal, and PEI), two people from North Carolina, one from PEI, and three from nearby San Antonio (my mom, sister, and 8-year old niece). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My mom joined us the first week, and graciously prepared a dozen meals ahead of time, so our evening meal preparation is simple. She spoiled us with enchiladas, lasagna, rice casseroles, and a special seafood extravaganza, culminating in a homemade cheesecake for the shared birthday celebration! She left, but we continue to enjoy her hospitality. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A week into our trip, my sister and niece drove down from San Antonio to join us, and a day later my mom and niece left. During the 21 hours she was here, my sweet 8-year old niece played pool (billiards) with some of the sisters in the lounge part of the house, volunteered at the center, spending hours bagging food and practicing her writing skills labeling bags, and took a break to go dress shopping for her upcoming first communion. We really maximized our day together, spending our last hour at a local skee-ball, pizza party locale to celebrate my upcoming birthday. As mom and Layla waited for the bus to San Antonio, part of our team came bustling in for one last hug. The bus departed and those of us left returned to work after a very busy 24 hours. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In the evenings at the house, you might see one of us occupying the ongoing scrabble game that started when I was at the novitiate and never seems to end, someone playing the guitar or ukuleles, someone taking advantage of the washing machine and doing laundry, or a happy soul enjoying a bowl of ice cream. We are pretty tired when we get home, but there is chatter for hours until the grand silence when people head to bed around 9pm, preparing for the noise to start again the next morning around 6am. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sharing a house has been a wonderful experience, especially participating in prayer each night, led by a different person each with their own style if giving thanks for the joys of the day, and centering ya in our purpose for being here. We’ve also discovered our rendition of Dona Nobis Pacem in parts and rounds could put us on the map if thus volunteering thing doesn’t wasn’t work out. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As comfortable and grateful as we all are to have a lovely, safe place to sleep each night, the people we serve are never far from our thoughts, sleeping in tents on the ground, scared for their security amid the “disappearings” and gang activity not seen during the day. It is unsettling to think about the hardships they are experiencing, hoping for a better life, especially while we go about our evenings together. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We are here for the anniversary of MPP - the policy that made it legal to keeping people from specific countries out of the USA. 60,000 people have been excluded this way, in the hopes that they return to their country rather than live in the camps. Many families have left the camps, and more still have been deported after an unsuccessful asylum hearing. It has been reported that many of the people who return (voluntarily or not) are killed by the gangs they were fleeing. Bringing 60 families meals each day in a camp that has at least a thousand people is not enough. We as a people need to do more. </span><br />
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Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-66994299115834377402020-02-23T21:39:00.000-05:002020-02-23T21:39:01.302-05:00Making a Better Life - Feb 23 2020<div style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">
<span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">From guest contributer Sister Maco Cassetta</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">“</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">Be doers of the</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> word and not bearers only... T</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">hose who peer into the perfe</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">ct law of freedom and persevere</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">, and are not hearers who forget but doers who act, such as they shall be blessed in what they do…</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> C</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">are for orphans and widows in their affliction and keep oneself unstained by the world.” Saint James 1:19-27 </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">Since our arrival a few days ago, </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">I was pleasantly su</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">r</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">prised </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">by</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> this reading that came up in pra</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">yer on one of my</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> days </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">in McAllen, TX</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">. Yet, as one of the doers, the blessing received is the realization of my place of privilege since my situati</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">on is far from what I witnessed</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">. For one full day, eleven of us including a child in our midst (Lindsey's daughter</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> and Libby’s niece, </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">Layla</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">) gathered at the Respite C</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">enter </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">in McAllen </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">as our completed </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">team</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">to be doers of action. Some of us made our way to cross the border </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">to support the families who are waiting in tents before b</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">eing processed to cross over, w</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">hile the remaining of us </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">have </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">helped feed and clothe the migrants</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">who arrived at</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> the center </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">for support. We </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">have </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">sorted clothes, packaged food and supplies, and made meals. </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">Most importantly, we have been taking some time to be a presence, to play with the children and rock babies to sleep.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">Many of the</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> families </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">that I have met </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">to date </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">come </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">from Central America, the Congo, Brazil, and Haiti. I was even able to put my French to use to communicate with </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">some of the families. While all of us have come from different parts of North America, the “doers” and “blessed” are the men, women and children who </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">have </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">risked</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> their lives</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> to leave their homeland </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">so they can</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> begin anew. </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">I am reminded of my parents who left Venezuela, via Italy, with two babies, </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">myself and my sister, to make our way to Canada for a better life</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">. In those days, migrants’ actions</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> and desires were </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">no different than what I witness today except it is more difficult to be accepted and encouraged to start anew. Like then, it took courage to leave one’s homeland behind and risk disp</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">lacement </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">fo</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">r the sake of many blessings. As a nation of privilege, my hope is that we become more welcoming and encouraging without blocking migrants from their deep desires to act and make a better life for themselves… </span></div>
Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-5961671491508499722020-02-17T21:38:00.000-05:002020-02-27T06:23:53.357-05:00Return to the Border - Feb 17, 2020<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: xx-small;">This blog begins our next epic journey. This particular camino is to the southern tip of Texas, to meet the people who live in tents between the US and Mexico. Their temporary home is a make-shift camp, as they await their court date to see if they will be granted asylum. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Last year, a group of us went to El Paso, at a time when 1000 people were being released from US government custody each day. Our aim to help the travelers find their way to their sponsoring family members across the country. We spent the two weeks organizing which guests will stay in which room, (as the turnover was constant), who is headed to the airport at which time (and showing them the ins and outs of the airport terminals), and trying to meet the needs of the people who are waiting for their bus ride or flight (it could be days or even weeks). Last year was spent helping huge volumes of refugees and asylum seekers. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This year, a 15 hour drive further south in Texas, the political landscape has changed, requiring asylum seekers to wait outside of the US for their court hearing. A team goes across the border into Mexico each day with basic food supplies in zip lock bags filled with: corn meal, beans, sugar, coffee, salt, oatmeal, and a water bottle refilled with cooking oil. </span></span><br />
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The journey to the people begins an hour away, where the bags are prepared (filled from larger volumes of supplies). Then there is an hour's drive, parking near the border, filling 8 beach carts with 60 portions of each item, and then we wal. First we pass through a toll booth that requires exactly 4 quarters. Then we cross over a wall, the Rio Grande River, and a checkpoint into Mexico. After they inspect our goods, we cross a street that feels like a parking lot, filled with cars waiting to get into the US. </div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Immediately you can see the tents in the distance. The tents are all covered with plastic bags, because the dust is constant. (I have a false tan, composed of dust). The outside temperature is in the 80's (in February), so I can only imagine how hot it is inside the tent and plastic covering. </span></div>
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We walk then length of the camp to the opening, whose mouth seems to be a few city blocks away, then back that same distance to a known gathering space. Through all of the up and down slopes, we pull the hefty carts, filled with precious cargo. </div>
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Children appear once we enter to encampment and help push the loads from the back, hoping we have chocolate milk with us (which sadly we didn’t). We pass latrines and clothes washing stations, clean water supplies and tents turned churches. There is a barber and a hair-dresser busy at work, their salon open to the sky, sitting on the concrete steps. There are tents everywhere. If you didn’t know better, you’d think this could be camp for the summer. Clothes hang on the line. Adobe stoves are made out of mud. There are piles of sticks nearby, fuel to the cook the food. And there are children - everywhere there are smiling faces, giggles, and eyes filled with curiosity. It seems the surprise of what might be in the carts is too exciting to miss. </div>
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The camp has 4 distinct sides: concrete Mexican streets, the parking lot of cars headed to the US and on two sides the Rio Grande, with the wall and the US beyond. </div>
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I have no more impressions to share as I was so overwhelmed by the familiarity of what could be a summer camp and yet the surreal-ness that this isn’t a fun vacation, it’s a semi-permanent home, where many people have been living in for over four months. </div>
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I never felt unsafe, and wondered where these supposed ruffians (according to one side of the political spectrum) that we keep hearing about must be. I saw a very calm group of people, patiently waiting, trying to survive for their day in court. </div>
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After distributing the food, one sweet six-year old girl launched herself into my arms, gave me a bear hug, removed my sunglasses to inspect the color of my eyes, and delicately replaced the glasses with precision. She smiled and ran off, leaving me filled with a fantastic fuel for the walk back to the car and hour’s drive home. </div>
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Today our team was 6 people, and tomorrow we grow by 3. We hope to bring you different impressions of our journey over the next two weeks. Via con Dios!</div>
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<br />Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-31909723739859055102019-02-04T18:39:00.001-05:002019-02-04T18:51:28.910-05:00Final moments from the border<div style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">During our last hours in El Paso, we visited the border that so many people struggled to make their way across. It was hard to smile, but definitely an important moment. The juxtaposition of the American flag that normally brings a patriotic swell in my heart with the barbed wire and chains was truly haunting. We hunted for a spot to get to really see the existing wall, and at one point, there were charming houses on the US side, then a highway, train tracks, the Rio Grande, and finally Mexico. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We continued to hunt to find the part of the wall that we are used to seeing, with slats, and when we eventually found it, we all had an unsettling feeling that we were too close. It was menacing and scary, even to me with all my paperwork, clearly on American soil, very legally in the country. I can't imagine the unease that the undocumented people live with daily, if this border could effect me so hugely. Also - I want to clearly distinguish that the people we worked with are not undocumented, they are part of the "system", many self-surrendering. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The process, as I understand it, is that people take a bus or flight across Mexico, then either cross at an official border crossing (more rare) or walk through the desert (again, many looking for someone to surrender to). Then they remain in border control detention centers, only because border patrol isn't equipped with an appropriate place to house them until they can go through the official asylum process with ICE (Immigration Control and Enforcement). The people we spoke with called the border patrol holding centers "Ice Boxes" because of the menacing conditions, and almost everyone told us they stayed at 3 different sites until they were delivered to us. That is likely because the border is very big, so it takes a few centers to get them over to where ICE can process them, but we really aren't sure. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Because ICE cannot continue to house so many people, the families are released, 300-500 a day in the El Paso sector alone. The single men stay in holding until their court case, some for years. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The ICE processing is when</span></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12pt;"> they get the ankle monitoring bracelets (we think), all of their information is taken down, passports and birth certificates confiscated, their sponsor is called once to confirm they are in fact the person's sponsor (often in the middle of the night and they only have one chance to answer), and the asylum seekers are given an appointment at an ICE center to report to closer to their sponsor's home (most appointments are within a week). </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then they (300-500 people each day) come to us and stay at an Annunciation House site until their family can buy them a ticket, and we can get them to the airport or bus station. Then when they reach their families, with their ankle bracelet, they report to the ICE center on the assigned day, and may have their ankle monitor removed (though we are not sure). They are put into the court system which usually takes between 1 and 3 years for their case to come to court, where they provide proof of a need for asylum. Unfortunately the rate of successfully proving their life is in danger is small - maybe 10%, but until then, they may be able to find work to send money home before they are deported. Some people arrive at our sites with a deportation warrant already attached to their documentation, but it's unclear when that is implemented. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">This is a dry, fairly pedantic account, but I wanted to record it as it's taken two weeks to figure it out. A bit about my last day has more "feeling" words though:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica";">My last day as shift coordinator (for the 7am-10pm shift) was tough, both emotionally and physically as I am very near "too tired", but I was glad to be able to help train the people who will be replacing me. It was a "final push" of exertion, fueled by the knowledge that the other volunteers were staying on and I was leaving. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica";">After receiving 45 more guests, Maco Cathy and I </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica";">were able to escape for a quick supper together, a community moment, before I went back to work and they went off to pack. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica";">This morning, we filled in here and there, trying not to get ducked into the problems, happy to train the 3 replacements who came from Vermont, and brought a family with us to the airport for one last transfer. After we went to the border and saw El Paso from a high overlook, Maco took us through the airport that she probably spent more time in than the first hotel. We connected with many volunteers and families we knew who were in the airport, and spotted an additional woman with a baby, clearly a refugee too. She boarded the plane with us and we said goodbye to this exhausting, wonderful, important experience. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica";">I learned a few things. First - no matter how many urgent tasks there are to be done, none are more important than the people you are doing them for. While I already forget the dozens of phone calls, hundreds of room assignments, and infinite infitessimal tasks, I do remember dropping to my knees to play peek-a-boo with a little kid in the hallway, a silly, unexpected act that made the dozen people waiting in line smile and relax a little, too. Getting to hold a baby while the mama was on the phone with her loved one. Being recognized in the airport as a familiar face. Laughing through a strained conversation about "belts or maybe they meant a diaper, oh wait they just want more toilet paper!" I noticed this in Kenya, and was able to really put it into practice here: not to let the people see me rush and instead smile, play, and comfort. Our actions and manner in carrying out those actions truly say more than our words or intentions possibly can. Our community has a name for this - "visitation moments" as when Mary and Elizabeth met together, sharing the excitement of their pregnancies. (I am nearly certain peek-a-boo was around in 3 BC Isreal.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica";">Next - my body is 10 years older than it was when I went to Kenya, and realistically, I could not maintain the same energy level as I did ten years ago. I have so much more respect for my "elders" who kept nearly the same schedule and were decades older than me!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica";">Finally - I realized my interactions with some people were different, purely because I am a Sister, a monjita. For some people, that gave comfort. For others, (mostly the volunteers) they cleaned up their language and were shocked if a harsh word or mocking statement escaped my lips. Moreso, I saw how the other sisters had 'nearly' the same schedule, but they took breaks, naps, and ended early or started late. It's not to say they did less, but they definitely went "gentler" than I did. I find I am an "all-in" kind of person, and I think that last year, I was supposed to shed much of that manic commitment and find a better balance, but clearly I need this second year to put that into practice. It's hard!! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica";">When the need is there, I want to respond, especially because the other volunteers were so much fun to be around, but looking back, a better balance could have been beneficial. I am not sure it would have happened though, because I did spend more time "hanging" and trouble shooting in the office than I did "chilling" with Maco and Cathy in our room. As it was, I slept with the pb&j and medicines so my crazy hours wouldn't disturb them (at my insistence, not theirs). I found friends in the office, and had a lot of fun trouble-shooting with them. Realistically, if they were boring, I probably would have taken more breaks and worked shorter shifts. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica";">Perhaps this will be a life-long struggle to find balance between my enneagram 3-ness and need for contemplation. (Though come on, how much contemplation can there be when 3 of us shared a room???). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica";">I leave El Paso with many new friends, a better understanding the motivations of people, a bit more Spanish, and areas for personal growth. I am touched by the number of you who reached out and prayed with us, journeyed with us through these blogs, and sent messages of your presence. Hopefully we can all continue to make this world a bit better, one interaction & "visitation" at a time. </span></div>
Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-90668860062990912702019-02-03T03:12:00.001-05:002019-02-04T00:50:30.967-05:00Operation: ready, go Moving into the operations side of refugee hotel hospitality has been energizing, and yet exhausting in a way that my brain is tired, but my body less so. Since coming to the hotel, my shift has been at least 16 hours long each day, and I find it invigorating in a way that I want to be the first one in and the last to leave, walking 3 doors down to my room at night and crashing into bed - a room that doubles as the medical unit and contains the PB&J sandwiches, so my nose is filled with peanut butter and each breath with the air shared by all the sick people in the hotel. And the funny part is that both of those things just make me smile, as I am surrounded by two aspects of hospitality we can offer to a very tired, hungry, and ill people.<br />
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There has been a necessity for adaptions, being in a new city. For example, the local bus station, only a 15 min drive, is staffed between the hours of 7am-1pm and 6pm-10pm, unless the system is down or they can't find someone to work the shift, in which case the office is closed. It resides in a gas station... "Chuckies" to be precise. Our guests need tickets to ride the bus - seems like an obvious thing, but because of the way their sponsors buy the tickets, the multiple last names of people and character limitation on the ticket, e-tickets are nearly impossible, so we rely on a printed ticket, which we cannot obtain between the hours of 1pm and 6pm, when our most popular bus goes by. It makes it tricky to say the least, and we didn't know how good we had it last week, just having to deal with getting people to the station. It has worked out only because of the amazing support of the Las Cruces community and drivers who drop everything to go to the bus terminal in Las Cruces, or an hour away in El Paso. One volunteer even drove all the way to Deming to try to catch up to a bus that departed and wouldn't let our client on because she did not have a printed ticket. Oh - and the closest airport is an hour away. That's fun!!</div>
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So needless to say, adaptations and ingenuity have been essential. What makes this so fun is the staff. </div>
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This year's marks 10 years since I started going to Kenya, and being here with a familiar tired feeling in every cell of my body and yet complete satisfaction and joy, it all just seems like an appropriate way to mark my 10 year life changing moment. Ten years ago, I decided to quit my job as a systems engineer working on satellites and move to Canada, to take a break for a year and devote time to helping the people of Mikinduri Kenya, somehow, and take a breathe to find myself. It was the start of my journey, my first experience of 'community', mission, and complete joyful purpose. I remember crying so hard on the way home, devastsd to leave the group. </div>
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While these 2 weeks weren't as intense as Kenya, there has been a familiar communal sense of purpose, drive, and love to serve the people who come to us, true visitation moments. I am grateful for my experiences with operations of satellites in space, medical clinics in Kenya, and hotel refugee hospitality in the southwest US, and I have to smile at the similarities, mostly the love and drive of the people that serve together. </div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We have welcomed 200 people into the 26 rooms over the last 4 days, and that means also getting 200 people to an airport or a bus station, feeding them, providing toiletry welcome bags, travel bags with food, meals in between, and the whole process of registration. It has been all-encompassing. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I won't get into too many stories, but here are some updates we learned about the treatment of the people before they come to us. One day, a woman and her 7 month old infant arrived from the bus and was immediately whisked away to the ER by one of our drivers because her baby had a fever - 103.6 according to the hospital, and he has been admitted for the last few days. (And the guards knew the baby was ill but did nothing for him on the 1 hour drive here). A child came with a burn on his face from the cold of the air conditioning in the holding centers - actually burned like frost nip you'd see way up north. We are told that the cold undercooked burritos were provided for adults, and children are given animal crackers and juice 3 times a day. They describe the feeling of longterm starvation, and being taunted as in one instance, an obese guard sat in front of the children eating a hamburger "at them" - the children! I could go on but don't need to. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Some fun stories to leave you with, as it seems to be a constant paradox here - the interplay of suffering and laughter. One day, Sister Cathy asked if there was an extra person to help her in clothing. As much as we wanted to give her support, there was no one available. The next thing I know, there is a bilingual woman in Cathy's room - a friend of a friend that she made here in Las Cruces! Only Cathy could be so resourceful! </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">A second story - as the people were getting off the bus (and we were quickly responding to the sick baby), one of the women asked about my cross and I could her them whispering something about "religioso hermana" and I confirmed it. Later on, one of the volunteers heard someone tell their family member on the phone that they were in a lovely place with the "little sisters" - "monjita". </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It has been an emotion time, with lumps in my throat and an emptiness in my chest, to see some people so overwhelmed with finally talking to their family member, hearing about the cruel conditions before they came to us, and hugs goodbye as they head off for their new lives. It will be hard to leave in just 36 hours and I dread my last day - tomorrow, hoping the shift will never end. Luckily, it begins in 5.5 hours so I should rest before the fun begins again and hopefully we welcome a new crew of people on a rest stop to their new home. </span></div>
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Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-88132188909958245012019-02-01T01:21:00.001-05:002019-02-01T01:44:53.998-05:00The nature of our border experience<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
I am excited to offer you another perspective from the border. Tonight, our guest blogger (and my novitiate director) Sister Maco, CND reflects on the nature of our experience:</div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Today, here at the border, I was invited by Libby to be a guest blogger. To be perfectly honest, Libby's reflections of the many experiences at the border have given you all a great overview of what has been happening and there is no need for me to add more or really to repeat. The truth is, my heart is filled with much gratitude which I know will take a while for me to unpack. However, today, I agreed to share some highlights that came to mind and will remain with me. (I'm actually following Libby's orders to be a guest blogger today. After all, she is the shift coordinator! So, I better do what I'm told!) Anyhow, Cathy and I were able to sneak out and visit a retreat center in the area. Our couple of hours' respite and a walk along a labyrinth after several very long days gave me the opportunity to pause and tap into the many graces I was gifted with. I was grateful simply for the opportunity to reflect on the walk along the side of our migrants</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Since we arrived, I have had several tasks. I have been one of the designated drivers. I oversaw the toiletries department, and I have given out medicines. And, yes, I too made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches! I helped set up a new hosting location and went out to purchase needed supplies. However, what's been most impressive to me are the many visitation moments with the families. While I speak some Spanish, I've been able to understand and get by with simple terms thanks to my Italian and French. The truth is, too, the migrants are very forgiving of my broken Spanish and for whatever reason, we have been able to communicate and understand each other. The deep eyes of a child, an adolescent, a mom or a dad spoke to me of resiliency, courage and strength. The many hugs and sign languages have humanized compassion. </span></div>
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There have been moments when I was moved to tears and my empathic side kicked in! I heard stories of their long and horrific journeys or how they have been treated at the border or seeing their monitors tightly placed around their ankles where they couldn't remove their pants unless we helped them cut the ankle cuff of their only pair of pants. In addition, their shoelaces were confiscated (really, not sure why, even from shoes of young children!) Many trips we made to get new shoelaces so they could continue the journey. I guided each family through security and offered explicit instructions on what would happen once I left them to wait to board a bus or plane. And let me tell you, there was a lot to explain and a lot that they went through just at the airport or bus terminal. As I would hug each one of them on their way, I remember most of their strong grip of not wanting to let go. With tears in my eyes and my parting words of "Buena suerta" and "Que Dios te bendiga", I have been aware of the need to let go of the outcome because what's most important is the recognition that each short visitation moment held the seed of love and this seed of love is God deeply rooted in each person. Yes, it will take awhile for me to unpack the many gifts. But gratefully, having made the journey with Cathy and Libby, we will have many opportunities to make meaning of our shared experiences in the future. <br />
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The sheer beauty of the area on this winter day, the song of birds, the mountains and desert trails with cacti plants offer a paradox of the lived reality of our migrants' journey as thy continue to walk North. May our passionate God of love guide our migrants to the promise land. May it be so...<br />
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Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-68836895006361982512019-01-30T23:17:00.001-05:002019-01-30T23:27:58.175-05:00Interrupted by a busA few days have passed and since I received a prodding email, it must be time to blog again. Monday was the first day our site didn't receive any new refugees and on Tuesday, we shut down the site there, moved everything to one room for storage, and an hour later found out we were popping up a new site in New Mexico, not far away.<br />
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So after a lovely Texas BBQ style meal with our new best friends from NY, a final meal of sorts as we were sent to different sites, at 9pm we pulled into our new hotel and started setting up first thing Wednesday morning. I read somewhere that instictually, you don't sleep well the first night in a new place because you are on alert for predators. No predators here, but I am on my 5th new room in 8 days....<br />
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Monday and Tuesday were fun as I got to operate as a shift coordinator. That means being the go-to person with problems, arranging the rides, ensuring the meals are served, and a thousand small tasks, one of which was activating a burner cell phone for a man who purchased it a phone and minutes but needed the internet to activate it all. So after only 30 min of effort, including getting him an email account so he could open a cell account so he could register a new phone number at his new address, only then did we realize there were no places nearby that sold international phone cards. So he called his sponsor to call his wife in Guatemala to give her the phone number so she could call him! Phew!! I'm exhausted just describing how much work it took!! So rewarding to connect the two of them. </div>
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Also, without the background worry of a bus coming and the constant turnover of people, it was actually quiet enough to have a coloring club. While I finished my bus poster, a few little ones came in and colored with me. I learned the Spanish word for some colors, and they the English words. We counted a bit and giggled a lot. It was adorable!!<br />
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Meanwhile, Cathy and Maco spent the daytime enjoying a quaint nearby town and taking a short break. Little did they know we would end up in that town before the night was over!</div>
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So, it's been a good few days. I only now have time to write because we are waiting for the bus to....</div>
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Update 5 hours later.... </div>
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So the bus arrived as I was typing that, we welcomed 90 people to a brand new site, and now at 9pm are waiting as their families call to tell us about the tickets they bought. Crazy day!! </div>
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Tonight I go to bed, hearing the sounds of my two roommates just a bit ahead of me asleep, so grateful for their patience, knowledge and amazing work ethic, going for 13 hours straight! I have a lot to learn. </div>
Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-6609559041968549592019-01-27T22:53:00.001-05:002019-01-27T23:01:15.604-05:00A bell hop artistToday feels like the longest day yet - do I keep saying that?? It was full of rewarding, fun moments and the ache of my calves is evidence of the many people and visitation moments that were shared.<br />
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I spent the night in the on-call emergency room, not sleeping too well for fear I wouldn't wake up, and hoping I wouldn't be called on with a rush of Spanish words in the middle of the night. Luckily, the only knock was at 6:50 from a man needing some supplies before his 7am transfer. Phew!! I jumped into making sandwiches and by 10am, while Cathy put the bags together, I went through 13 loaves of bread, 4 jumbo jars of peanut butter and 5 jars of jam. 158 sandwiches were ready to go on the road!<br />
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A doctor came to check on two patients we were concerned about, one who it turns out has strep and was leaving a few hours later. The kind doc called the prescription in and we had the boy medicated before he left, drugs in hand! To add some hope about their treatment in the ICE facility, one 2-year-old girl came with influenza, and the expensive drugs to treat it, having been seen at the ER while she was in custody. That quick follow-up confirmed she is doing well and it was lovely to see her up and running around today, after sleeping all day yesterday. </div>
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I had to say goodbye to my sweet wee one who followed me around, patted my back, and chartered constantly like I had any idea what she said. That is hard - you are happy the people are going to meet their families, but they are so sweet and some touch your heart so much, you don't want to see them go (until you do!!)<br />
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Today I helped serve lunch for the first time, as the people came off the bus at 1pm just as we were cleaning up, we brought it all back out and we're able to serve them! We are told by one teenager that the only thing he was served during the 10 days (where ever he was) was tortillas with nearly raw meat. He got so sick after the first day, he didn't eat the next 9. So, when the people came off the bus, it was emotionally exhausting and infinitely rewarding to look each person in the hand, pass them a big plate of food, smile and say "Bienvenido", and to the kids "Hola!! Cuantos Anos??", and no matter the answer, reply with "muy grande"!!</div>
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I find myself being stretched in all kinds of ways while volunteering. While the organization and chaotic pace comes naturally, today I was asked to pray before the lunch meal. They always begin meals with a grace, and today I led it, namely because one of the focuses of my congregation is interculturality. I learned the "Our Father" in all 4 languages where are sisters are (Japanese, Spanish, French, and English). Learning it in Spanish was one of the first things I did at the novitiate, and since we often say it during evening prayer it has become wrote. However, I have never said it alone and to a group of 60 native Spanish speakers. By the end of the prayer, I was the pinker than pink and prayed (while praying) that I wouldn't skip a line or repeat one. I was encouraged when I heard a few people saying it under their breath, and thanked God that it went well, and this first moment was able to put some peace in their hearts. </div>
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Immediately after lunch, I was the bell hop (one of the many "runners"), directing people from the office through the supply rooms to their rooms, and dealing with any "wrong" assignments or dirty rooms. While waiting to go in, people look at a colorful placemat of a map of the US that I found at Target at Cathy's request. We labeled a "you are here" and spend a few moments with people showing them on the map where they will love, and including anecdotes like "muy Frio" or "es bueno!!" and estimating the time on a bus or plane to that destination. This is the second time I get to see the adults all smile and relax. (The first is when they see the food). The new friends elbow each other and wonder at how far away they will be living from each other. It is a rare moment when you see a sparkle in their eyes, brimming with hope in a good future. </div>
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They also read the signs I got to make explaining what to expect in the airport, stealing the idea and nearly every aspect of the poster from a different Annunciation House annex. I am working on a bus one now, but have to get help with the translation of the nuanced differences (tonight's activity).<br />
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In the gospel today, we were encouraged to share our talents. It's so neat to get to put my scrapbooking experience to good use. Realize - we have no computer and no printer, but with today's technology, my phone and the walgreens website was all I needed! The people stood around commenting on the pictures, and I'd love to know what they were saying. There was some fear and trepidation on their faces, and I am so glad we can accompany them through security to the gate. I am told that many of the people are quite scared about the connections and it's hard not to jump on a plane and help them the whole way. (I haven't been through security yet). </div>
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Afterwards, (now 6:40pm) Maco and I brought two people from the capital of Honduras to an obscure bus company (that took some effort to find), and when we returned we decided to take the night off and let someone else make the bags for tomorrow! I was in my room by 8pm, for a nice early night, sitting down to enjoy lunch... And supper.... And dessert. </div>
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Before you worry too much about me, worry and Maco and Cathy more, as they are keeping nearly the same schedule and have a few years on me.... (Ha). A hot bath relieved my achy muscles and I am excited for what tomorrow will bring! I am on shift at 7am, so I leave you for tonight with the memory of the little girl in my arms tossing my hair back and forth, the laughter of the people hearing how cold Minnesota is, and how hot my face felt when I led my first Spanish prayer. </div>
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Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-62091013749893080102019-01-27T01:53:00.001-05:002019-01-27T02:09:06.166-05:00Two coins and shoelaces <br />
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The latest in the seemingly trivial but hugely inconveniencing and dehumanizing treatment of the people we see is that they are coming without shoelaces. The laces are removed before going into the holding centers and never returned. Children, adults, infants... they don't discriminate.<br />
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Luckily, since we are in the middle of a city, we could do a quick run to the local Target and Dollar General to buy all of their laces, and hand them out, through the need is definitely greater than the supply. </div>
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In relation to this, I got to thinking about the characters you meet in a motel, from the Tesla owner to the woman with two pennies. In the parking lot yesterday there was a Tesla, probably the only one in all of El Paso, here in the La Quinta parking lot. It belongs to one of the people who provide meals regularly for our 100+ guests (amazing volunteers bring in the food for lunch and supper to keep our guests fed, generally local churches or kind families). </div>
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After Instagraming the Tesla, I passed a woman who appeared to have lived a hard life, exhibiting the signs of a drug addict, very irritable and likely in between "doses". She was complaining about the kids and the noise - well let me tell you - these kids don't peep. Librarians are louder than these little ones. I was told she is probably "working" out of her hotel room, and judging by her much happier mood today, I assume things went well for her last night. Before my high horse gets too mighty though, (I am about to be knocked off), she reached out to us and donated a bag of new kids socks she mistakenly bought and then gave us 3 bags of her own clothes to hand out. I can't imagine she has too much extra, since she is living out of the motel, and I think I understand why Jesus just watched as people put money in the Temple funds. </div>
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This woman and her two coins (or three bags of clothes) gave what she had, and it probably meant a lot to her. While I am grateful for the meals from the Tesla owner, he definitely gave from his abundance, and this woman, who's name I don't even know, gave so much more, even if we can't use it all. </div>
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Tonight I am musing that I saw a Bible story played out in real life completely unscripted, and am reminded to not judge or assume so much. I am eager to see what other lessons life in a hotel will bring. </div>
Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-74419614669421672712019-01-26T00:30:00.001-05:002019-01-26T00:38:46.168-05:00Tetris - hotel editionToo tired to really write tonight, worked alongside Sisters Maco, Cathy, and the whole team until 10pm. The bus arrival time is unpredictable, and today that meant a late arrival of 5pm. It took 5 hours to process 70 families, with two amazing Spanish speakers on the phones to get them registered. When the people come in, we take their information down, call their family, and explain to the family to "buy them a bus or plane ticket from El Paso Texas... no...Houston isn't close....(A 12 hour drive)". Then the people get to talk to their family member for the first time. While we don't try to rush them, it's hard when there are 68 people waiting outside in the cold desert night to be registered too. It is great to see their face instantly change when they take the phone and say hello to their family, for the first time from the same side of the border.<br />
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Then they are assigned a room, and that's where I worked today. I felt like I was playing tetris, trying to maximize the rooms and putting appropriate people together in a room. Since almost all of the people that come are a parent with a child, two families share the rooms with 2 double beds. Part of the strategery (SNL reference circa 2000 Bush election Will Farrell golden era) is to ensure there are two women in a room together or two men, with similarly aged children. Sometimes matching the gender of the children matters too, especially with the teenagers, but less so for the 5 year olds (so long as they are both 5). Using a system of sticky notes and poster boards, we try to determine if a name is masculine or feminine and match the people up one at a time. It is fun but tiresome. </div>
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Then they proceed to the clothing room where Cathy worked and the toiletries room where Maco was. Then they are shown to their rooms where they meet their roommates. I dropped one group off towards the end of the night and his roommate was already stripped to his underwear, stood there smiling, apparently unaware of his lack of clothing. I giggled, waved, and said "Buenos niches" on my way by.<br />
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One neat story: a man was one of the first to be registered, and while the rest of the people were going through registration, his family bought him a ticket, called back, and he was off to the airport hours before registration was finished! That never happens. Even more interesting, I noticed he was going to the same town as where one of our volunteers lives. She's a religious sister as well, and during the car ride to the airport, she was able to offer the man a job to work on the congregation grounds! How great is that!?</div>
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Okay too tired to tell more. But I am quite excited to say: I go to bed tonight with the memory of a two-year-old reaching up for me to hold her and cuddling right in While she patted my back, and hearing a little one, maybe 7 years old, from the day before call me 'Tia' (auntie) as we had so many interactions in such a short time! My legs are tired, eyelids heavy, but my heart is very full!</div>
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Here is a photo of Sister Karen, her niece Kaleigh, and Sister Maco with the bus behind. There are 100 souls laying their heads on pillows here in the hotel tonight! What a great feeling!<br />
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Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-30174097843914575022019-01-24T23:33:00.001-05:002019-01-24T23:33:16.713-05:00Resiliency Today (Thursday) the word that rings truest is resiliency. It's the word of the day. Maco witnessed one of the women who was being aggressively patted down as the image of strength and resilience. <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">T</span>he woman walked up to TSA, and rather than merely acquiescing to the TSA's demands, she stood there practically in superman's power pose, not defiant, but simply strong, ready to take on whatever challenge is brought to her. <div><br></div><div>Another woman was brought to the hospital (by Maco.... perhaps she should be doing this blog....). The woman came in yesterday complaining about her shoulder, and though she took Tylenol, the pain didn't go away and she could barely move her arm. We thought perhaps her arm was dislocated from sleeping on the concrete floor for two weeks (her suggestion) so she went to the hospital. It wasn't dislocated, but she does have a "frozen shoulder", with basic pain meds as the answer and a loose sling. When I saw her after returning from the hospital, she was so grateful to Maco, and bravely faced the pain as if it was nothing. She wasn't bitter or mad about the injury, just relieved to begin treating it. </div><div><br></div><div>A third example, just from today, is a woman who walked into the supplies room, asked for Vaseline, (which I handed to her), then she began to pull her pants down (with the hotel door wide open) and showed me a huge bruise on her butt. I had no idea what I was supposed to do to help her, or even why she was showing me. She tried to explain in Spanish as I smiled dumbly, repeating for the millionth time "lo siento, no comprende". Then I handed her my phone with the Google translate app up, she typed in Spanish and I read in English that the penicillin shot she was given apparently caused the bruise. I finally realized she wanted icy-hot, and luckily we had some. It's unclear as to whether she got the vaccination at the border or in Mexico before crossing over, but she made me think of resiliency immediately, not letting a simple shot slow her down, nor modesty stand in her way of getting what she needed. That woman will do just fine in America to get what she and her family need. </div><div><br></div><div>The final example I have makes me sad and I hesitate to include it. One of the other volunteers, a religious sister coincidentally from NY as well, explained how she saw TSA inspecting a young baby. Normally, the children are given to the volunteer while the parent is being patted down. This time, apparently TSA took the baby and inspected all of the blankets and clothing laying the infant on a table and opening layers of blankets and clothing then actually patting them down. I asked if the baby was crying but apparently not. This resilient little one sat there taking an extreme level of inequity I've never even heard of - and didn't fuss or complain. I can only imagine what's she's experienced already to be okay with a stranger removing her from her mom, putting her on a table, and touching her, but then again what an amazingly strong character that she is starting life with - this little one has a big future ahead. </div><div><br></div><div>Tonight I go to bed in awe of the people in the rooms around around me, and with the prayer that this is the beginning of a new and different life for them, with the hardships they experienced firmly in the past. To them I say, "bienvenidos"!</div>Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-66827083545125214412019-01-23T23:44:00.001-05:002019-01-24T10:00:50.515-05:00Sandwiches Sandwiches Sandwiches<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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What day is it? What month is it? What country am I in? Life in a hotel can be disorienting. Our offices are bedrooms with the bed merely a soft table. Our storeroom and workspaces are also bedrooms with boxes flowing throughout the room, sometimes on a bed, leaning next to a bed, or on top of the dresser with the TV pushed aside. Even the microwave becomes a storage rack!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9LrqWoTpfHKkmtYh_c8KV-_qBttXg-MkipWuKvEL7Q0lNMC2Xiw_O_WT4J-Lt6QgnT4ZWsrxTUJYN812_UjXoVmORPxpxhZGQhMnYYIvSJTuve2tA6fn-e3mmi6VyPYEntotz0Nk7y8w/s1600/IMG_4431.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9LrqWoTpfHKkmtYh_c8KV-_qBttXg-MkipWuKvEL7Q0lNMC2Xiw_O_WT4J-Lt6QgnT4ZWsrxTUJYN812_UjXoVmORPxpxhZGQhMnYYIvSJTuve2tA6fn-e3mmi6VyPYEntotz0Nk7y8w/s200/IMG_4431.JPG" width="150" /></a>What that doesn't leave is workspace.... So when your task is to make hundreds of sandwiches, you have to make a spot. Cathy chose to stand by the bathroom sink. As a good novice, I chose the kneeling position by the bedside table.<br />
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What that doesn't leave is workspace.... So when your task is to make hundreds of sandwiches, you have to make a spot. Cathy chose to stand by the bathroom sink. As a good novice, I chose the kneeling position by the bedside table, praying to the God who made peanut butter.<br />
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Why do we need so many sandwiches? Well the people who travel by bus travel for up to 2 days and need food for the journey. The people who travel by airplane need sustainable too, but no liquids and less because it tends to be faster. So for a two-day bus journey, we supply each person with 6 pb&j sandwiches (one per meal), a few pieces of fruit, some snacks (chips and a granola bar, maybe a few cookies), and some combination of water, juice and Gatorade. People traveling with babies also get a blanket. These packages are typically made the night before for morning trips and that morning for the evening trips. </div>
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This means I stayed for 12 hours again today, despite being relieved of my duties after a more reasonably-lengthed day. It's not just because I have trouble leaving an unfinished job (yes it mostly is). Well, after making hundreds of sandwiches with Cathy, I decided to reorganize the entire room so we could sit at the table to create our next culinary masterpieces. </div>
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Within minutes of christening the newly organized room to resume sandwich making, we were given an extra room and I got to reorganize the sandwich fixings and newly streamlined care package creation station in the new room, leaving behind all the medicines and toiletries (but not before reorganizing all of those in the more spacious room once all the food was out). </div>
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So, after a day of organizing 2 rooms (three times), I made the packages the for the next day. It was a good day with many interactions as I met the new refugees right off the bus with snacks and drinks. It was so cool to see the worry melt away and their faces relax once they realized that we were friendly and they would soon see their families. Also, shortly after they arrived, since I was primarily in the room with the medicine and toiletries, so many people came through excited to get to shave now that they had a razor, brush their teeth and wash their hair. It was a pretty cool room to be working in. It will certainly be quieter when I move to the sequestered pb&j room, but we might have to install a coloring station near the extra bed....</div>
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Also, Maco and I served lunch today: leftover (but amazing) costco <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">pizza. It had been in the fridge and with no way to heat dozens of pizzas, Maco explained over and over how to use the microwave in their rooms. With a few practiced words, I tried to explain too "Caliente pizza....micro....cuarto" but then just pointed them to Maco to explain with sentences. </span><br />
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I initially thought I would have nothing to write about, but today really was full. Also - I am happy to report that my sick mama from yesterday is doing fine today, her sons were happy to show me that they were bringing her pizza (and she was well enough to eat it though not yet out of bed). </div>
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Tonight I go to bed with heavy eyelids, smelling of peanut butter, but feeling so relieved that the rooms are organized! All my type-A's say heeeyyyyyy!!! (Heeeyyy!)<br />
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Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-65685751033886614882019-01-22T22:39:00.001-05:002019-01-28T17:19:10.273-05:00Uber to the rescue!On our first full day (Tuesday Week 1), we may as well have been Uber drivers! Maco and I ran a group of 6 people to the bus station at 5:40 in the morning, sending half the group off in an Uber and having the privilege to accompany a young mom and her four month old boy in our car (There was an extra cat seat available, phew!! Although the boy was wrapped in so many layers of fleece and blankets, he would have been cushioned during any sort of accident!)<br />
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We walked into the bus station with the travelers and made sure they understood why they had an accordian full of tickets for their multiple-day journeys to Baltimore, Chicago, and Florida. Each received a bag of food with enough sandwiches for 2 days, and some drinks, snacks, and fruit (Cathy's domain and organizational haven). We parted with warm hugs from the boys and their dads, and a brave smile from the girl.<br />
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Arriving back at hotel headquarters, still not yet 7am, we turned around and headed to the airport. Maco went through security with the mom and beaming four-year-old girl, who was handy a fancy airline wings pin at check-in. We were surprised and saddened my the amount of extra security and attention the woman was put through, including a pat down and complete unpacking and repacking of her small backpack, while Maco and the other passengers walked right through. </div>
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Our local CND (Congregation of Notre- Dame) community (Maco Cathy and I) shared a fancy breakfast together before going separate ways for the day. Cathy prepared the food packs,unloaded the many supplies we brought from generous donations, and organized the supplies room. Maco spent the rest of the day in cars with Uber drivers and travellers going to the bus station and airport, because I had the car and a special group of travellers. </div>
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A mom wasn't feeling well, an underscored description to save you from hearing about the details of weeks of dehydration, malnourishment, and extreme temperatures experienced during her travels. We are told from the refugees that the detention facility is kept at freezing temperatures, air conditioned to be colder than outside. They are given aluminum blankets, sleep on the floor and were recently given access to ice-cold showers, if they want to clean up. A hard hello to the USA. It's no wonder this woman was weak. </div>
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This mama, her two sons (15 and 13 years old), and I went to a different Annunciation center annex to see a nurse, who advised us to go to ER. I got to see how another center operates and while some things are the same, such as the kind of food that goes into the bags, the policies and amenities are completely different. This center had toys (we don't), but only one big room for sleeping (instead of hotel rooms), and a smaller number of guests, at most 50 compared to our bus loads of over 100 people. </div>
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I had my first moment of shock at this center, too. I asked if we had time to go back to our hotel before the ER to get her papers, as their passports, birth certificates and really all forms of identification are confiscated at the border and they are given a 5-page document in English with their picture and told this is their only identification. We would of course need this at the hospital. </div>
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That's not what shocked me. The nurse agreed we needed the papers also asked if they had their chargers. I was surprised that she would be so involved with their phones, but then the mama lifted her jeans to reveal a tracking device bolted to her ankle. It seems Maco learned this same harsh reality when one of the teenage boys asked if they had to tell security about their device. Fighting back tears, she nodded her "yes". These ankle bracelets need the battery changed/charged every 3 hours, effectively anchoring the people to a wall plug until they go to court. How they handle the 2-day greyhound trip, I can only wonder. </div>
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So by noon, mama, sons, the chargers, papers, bag lunches, and I headed to the ER, where we were attended to immediately and couldn't have met nicer staff. Everyone I've encountered in El Paso so far has been over the top kind to the people we are with, even though they see many through their day, each requiring extra time and attention. </div>
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We were at ER for at least 5 hours, given great care, and for the last hour when the mama was finally able to smile and interact, we shared broken sentences and learned a bit about each other, smiling that we were the same age, she had two kids and yet I had none. The youngest boy and I counted a bit in English and he helped me with some Spanish words, including "do you have games on your phone?", a not-so-subtle hint to pass my phone over. The joke was on him though, as all my games are puzzles or word teasers. </div>
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After returning the tired but grateful family to the hotel, Maco, Cathy and I finished the day in community, sharing a meal together at 6pm, brought by a local community group. I suspect both of my companions are asleep by now, and I'm not far from it. For what is turning into my daily check-in, I confess to you that tonight I go to bed with the memory of a mama finally relieved of her pain, the sweet cheekiness of the boy and tender care he gave his mom while she was ill, and the warmth of the 4-month old headed off to a new life. God is good. </div>
Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-65961335794328903352019-01-22T01:53:00.001-05:002019-01-22T07:23:37.023-05:00Not quite day 1I started the day by reminiscing my years spent in the Southwest, with an early morning roadtrip from Phoenix to El Paso, watching the sun rise with the brilliant pinks and oranges cresting over the jagged craggy mountains that only Arizona can offer.<br />
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My sweet serenity was occasionally punctuated with the memory of a political opinion that was thrust upon me forcefully the previous evening, completely unprovoked, while this person and I were witnessing the eclipse.<br />
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To this little non-confrontational doe of a girl (me, just to clarify), I sat in stunned silence while I was told how this country could be fixed, eclipsing what was a lovely evening with the shadow of righteous elitism. "Feelings shouldn't come into it" was the concluding statement, though I am still confounded as to what the person was advocating for, only being sure of what they are against (answer: refugees). </div>
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It was good fodder for thought as I arrived at my destination: a motel/emergency annex, where I was greeted by dozens of smiling faces, people so relieved to be out of the icy government facility and into the warm environment Annunciation house provided (even in their annexed location). It seemed almost comical that these friendly, smiling refugees were the same people that were perceived as criminals, sneaks, and lazy vagabonds (according to my friend from the previous night), and yet I do hold with me my friend's expression of fear, wanting to preserve a country they love. As nonconfrontational and noncommital as I was with my friend, I need to acknowledge that coming to El Paso is a choice and statement in itself, to not leave feelings out of it and see the people behind the wall of fear. </div>
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I picked up two fellow sisters from the airport and we went through orientation together at the motel, now more knowledgeable about the processes and duties we will have here. Jumping right in (around 10pm), we escorted a woman and her daughter (who were released today from an ICE facility) to a different annex location, where her husband and second daughter were staying. The family traveled all the way from El Salvador separately, and all 4 just happened to be released at a similar time. They were reunited tonight for the first time since October! This is the story I will take to bed with me, dreaming of a new life for this hopeful, determined family and the good fortune that brought them together. </div>
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Our next run to the bus station starts early tomorrow at 5:40am, helping 6 people get on their way to their families across the country, so I better catch some Z's myself. One thing I am sure of - these next two weeks will not be monotonous!</div>
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Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-24747365865160034792019-01-20T09:25:00.001-05:002019-01-20T09:26:17.822-05:00Just North of the borderTime for an update! The second year of the novitiate has focused on ministry and mission, with me spending the fall months in Toronto working with people who are homeless, and the spring months will be spent in North Carolina working with the people of Appalachia. <div><br></div><div>In between, (tomorrow!!) two sisters and I will go to the US/Mexico border in El Paso, where 500 people are being released from ICE (Immigration Control and Enforcement) facilities each day. A nonprofit organization called Annunciation House helps these newly landed Americans get on a bus or plane to where their family is, and provides shelter, food, and a change of clothes until their scheduled trip begins. (I'm told that's how they get out of the detention center - their sponsoring family member buys them a ticket and guarantees a place for them to stay). </div><div><br></div><div>Because of the recent influx of people crossing the border seeking asylum (following the appropriate US legal processes), Annunciation House asked for volunteers, making a specific request to the religious communities. So, two sisters and I are fortunate enough to have the time and resources to get to El Paso to respond to the call and help out. </div><div><br></div><div>For the next two weeks, we will be living in an annex of Annunciation house in a motel (possibly sharing a single room) with an ever-changing population of people who will be passing through, destined for their families in different parts of the US, where they will wait for their court date at their new home. </div><div><br></div><div>Not speaking Spanish will certainly be a limitation, but I expect to change a lot of beds, hand out tons of clothes, make a bunch of meals, and as one person explained to me, "you just need to be a loving presence. You can imagine the hard looks they received while in detention. Your expression of love is all the communication you'll need". </div><div><br></div><div>Smiling? Now that I can do! Keep us in your prayers and we'll keep you updated on one town in the US of A with a lot of happenings. </div><div><br></div><div>Here's the link our community posted about our adventure with some photos:</div><div><a href="http://www.cnd-m.org/en/news/article.php?id=1547223919">http://www.cnd-m.org/en/news/article.php?id=1547223919</a></div>Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-42424739956139071082018-08-11T09:59:00.001-04:002018-08-11T10:04:43.146-04:00Building up to my first year<p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;">I</span><font face="Georgia"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> am often asked "what do you <i>do</i> in the novitiate" and some days - I get to build! We needed a stand for gifts from our Japanese sisters and a platform to make a table </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">in the chapel more stable on the very thick carpet.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">So... saw'ing on the roof I go with scrap material from around the house. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">(The table is actually our sacristy table that holds the Blessed Sacrament, the very real presence of Jesus, a table my Uncle Ted and I made from birch wood from our cottage) </span></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><img id="id_c02b_61bc_edc6_e248" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-0PNiXbxsEGw/W27r1VbXcfI/AAAAAAAAPxc/mpuFRmodbrk1cOXiFgFFlRKdXbmQ78IeQCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><font face="Georgia">My question: What would you expect we do in the novitiate? Our foundress Marguerite Bourgeoys asked that we be able to do all kinds of things...being versatile and responsive to the needs around us. For me that means creating! </font></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><font face="Georgia"><br></font></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><font face="Georgia">I have never heard someone say "I'm not that kind of nun" and am so glad I am a part of something where we are encouraged to grow everyday, in all kinds of expected and unexpected ways. As you might expect, we spend a lot of time in prayer and going to church. As well as building yesterday, I helped at a funeral with 3 minutes notice after just coming in from mass up the hill. I jumped in my black dress and ran to the church. I have been reading, drawing, talking, cooking, baking, singing, volunteering, visiting, and learning to play a few instruments. Life has been busy and in two weeks, while I am on retreat, I will have been here for a year. </font></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><font face="Georgia"><br></font></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_6b24_9a77_600a_1f62" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-BvuKBWlH5wk/W27r1VQmLtI/AAAAAAAAPxg/Eq6gS0nsmDk_sOrAGs2-imgkNrspDUphgCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 339px; height: auto;"></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><font face="Georgia"><br></font></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><font face="Georgia">I think this picture summarizes the year well. I am still me - with all the building creating and cutting, but what is new is that my hair has been coiffed by our sisters from Cameroon, my cross hangs seemingly between two city buildings, and now I am working with the awareness of God all around me, through me, and in what I am doing. It hasn't been an easy year, but it has been filled with grace, beautiful people, and a lot of learning. I am excited for my year of ministry to begin, to get back out into the world and visit with people where they are (to put this sister thing into practice). Hello Toronto!! See you in October (for a few months anyway). </font></span></p>Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-20396778303900322002018-04-27T22:00:00.000-04:002018-04-28T19:02:09.443-04:00A week of “yes”<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As I wake up this morning with the waves crashing on the
rocks, I ponder where saying “yes” all week has led me. Emotionally drained,
physically fine, and wonderfully, spiritually filled, I smile at the complexity
of my current state of being.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDSKFoR801DCTxhNd1X8kHXs0ipEHtfHu94uf3y9JNDRpx9pGvYfQ8QU3wYwiLzkmTRXO4lw4i17jfKOsPJnTcag2zKsV5UlwYVg6Nug-AG2by83okSGCQJjBUemUjSatI1mJT5201Fzk/s1600/IMG_1803.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDSKFoR801DCTxhNd1X8kHXs0ipEHtfHu94uf3y9JNDRpx9pGvYfQ8QU3wYwiLzkmTRXO4lw4i17jfKOsPJnTcag2zKsV5UlwYVg6Nug-AG2by83okSGCQJjBUemUjSatI1mJT5201Fzk/s200/IMG_1803.JPG" width="150" /></a>It all started on Monday. There was no conscious choice to
say “yes” to everything, it just seemed to be where the spirit was calling, so
I followed. Bingo happens every Monday night at the church my novitiate is
attached to, and though they often need help, I have never felt I had the
energy by the time Monday night came around. Spiritually fuelled and
surprisingly full of energy from putting the finishing touches on a 15-page
paper on Teilhard de Chardin, this particular Monday I felt great – so I went. </div>
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I met a community of people who told me all about the parish
they love so much, where their kids received their sacraments, where their
grandparents were married, and where so many memories lie for them. Having
moved every few years, I can’t fathom this, though I can relate to loving the
church where my parents were wed, as that’s the church I attended most on PEI. I
never expected to serve in the church by peddling lotto tickets, but I can see
that for $10 you could have a night of entertainment, the possibility of
winning prizes, and being surrounded by friends. <br />
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On Tuesday there was a memorial for one of our sisters. I
don’t remember her, just as I don’t really remember meeting the last few
sisters who passed away and who’s services I attended, but I’m not sure
memorials are for this. When asked to go, I said “yes” to be around a community
of sisters who were grieving through their own pain and celebrating the joy of
her life. I said “yes” to learning more about who she was and how she lived her
vocation. I said “yes” to being in a room filled with love. </div>
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Wednesday held a “novitiate training” activity (that I was
expected to go to and only learned about it when it appeared on my calendar.)
So rather than answering a question, this was an internally motivated “yes,” to
go with a willing heart, an open mind, and a smile. It was a panel discussion
about a new book written by young sisters “In Our Own Words.” A nice read on
many aspects of being a sister, including a hopeful and well-written chapter by
CND’s own Debbie Warner. </div>
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Being regularly told from lots of different sources how so
few sisters are joining religious life, I am always surprised to go to a
gathering and see so many young sisters, especially ones I didn’t even know
existed. In a room of 100 sisters, I knew only 3 people. There were at least 40
sisters there my age (or there about), confronting the notion that I know in my
heart is false – that religious life is dying. I met vibrant, joyful, and
hope-filled sisters who knew what I did – there is a reason we are being called
and we need to meet occasionally to remind each other. As you can tell – it was
easy to say an internal “yes” to this. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJlHnJv3MCaFFvFW5_tJpLnEPID-YKfzXJ3SN6MnxzLvfwpCSijJnPt0ee50Ifb3RqbThfLe664IW691bqIDPmGuRmKUmaLzZ85Mh2jwHy63dODrvur4GtngEOoDJeMYlLy2L-5gaUsBY/s1600/FullSizeRender+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1599" data-original-width="1600" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJlHnJv3MCaFFvFW5_tJpLnEPID-YKfzXJ3SN6MnxzLvfwpCSijJnPt0ee50Ifb3RqbThfLe664IW691bqIDPmGuRmKUmaLzZ85Mh2jwHy63dODrvur4GtngEOoDJeMYlLy2L-5gaUsBY/s200/FullSizeRender+3.jpg" width="200" /></a>Thursday morning started with the usual greeting of friends
at the local food bank and putting together bags of food for the local
community, before running off to mass and an all-day novitiate class. On Thursday
afternoon, I learned they needed people to sit in an adoration chapel at the
local convention center because there was going to be a gathering of 2100 young’uns.
When I say local – I mean walking distance, less than a mile away. It’s amazing
what happens right under your nose and you don’t even know about it. I went to
the early shift, prayed for an hour, and kept Jesus company until the next
companion came along. Later in the evening, a few of us went back to the rally
to see the charismatic event in action. Filled with impassioned speeches and witness
talks, I was surrounded by an army of priests administering confession for eager
teens. A second “yes” to go back, I learned that in the NY area, the future of
the church is ts Hispanic youth. It felt nice, like I was back in Texas, the
only blonde in the crowd. </div>
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Friday involved a four-hour roadtrip (twice as long as it
should have been due to traffic), a slight bribe getting to stop at Chick-fila
along the way (my favorite place for sweet tea and waffle fries), and a weary
arrival at shore. In Quonnie, Rhode Island, we were greeted by the sound of the
ocean and a towering 3-story inn. When sisters tell me about this place on the shore,
their eyes always brighten, their smiles come easily, and their minds drift to happy
memories. Arriving in the fog and cold under the veil of night enhanced the
feeling of magic. Like Hogwarts or a false wall in the wardrobe to Narnia, this
seems to be the setting for a number of mystical tales. My “yes” today really
means helping tomorrow morning to prepare the rooms, so all summer long, guests
can enter into their own tales and stories n this mystical setting. Even though
this is my first visit, the feeling of “opening the cottage” is familiar. Each
year on PEI, our family comes together on a cold, wet day, laughing through the
mundane tasks to wash dishes and make the beds, enjoying each other’s company
and expecting a summer of adventure. Among the PEI trees, the silence of the
forest is as deafening as the waves I now hear on the Rhode Island coast. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDj8Bo9faH7SpRz2ntMZFom-XmQ7mWcLGyGFM6wAuhEir3bYunOVO1U3YMX0f6qT8Sa9C-DyuS6pekTTsNqJg-vNdymtqlp3qSMuWJ_JjNArI81MBVj0jUKkNjbqc9UmmqeTspedv4qXY/s1600/FullSizeRender+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1410" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDj8Bo9faH7SpRz2ntMZFom-XmQ7mWcLGyGFM6wAuhEir3bYunOVO1U3YMX0f6qT8Sa9C-DyuS6pekTTsNqJg-vNdymtqlp3qSMuWJ_JjNArI81MBVj0jUKkNjbqc9UmmqeTspedv4qXY/s320/FullSizeRender+2.jpg" title="" width="281" /></a>During this week of “yes,” I have encountered so many
people, my little introvert inside is crying for quiet time. Though not
physically tired, I am emotionally drained and mentally wiped. With everything
else, this week held meetings, a term paper, reading 3 books and a few additional
chapters, and 2.5 intense hours learning from Elizabeth Johnson. And that’s
since Monday. Spiritually, I am so gratefully full, in part for the awareness
of the many “yes’s” that just as easily could have been “no’s,” for the people
I met this week, and for the many places where I saw love weaving its way
through the tapestry of life. I leave you with this quote that has accompanied
from the noisy bingo halls, through the conference room-turned temporary
chapel, to a wood paneled room on the Atlantic coast:<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">"God is the tip of my pen, my spade, my brush, my needle –
of my heart and of my thought"</span></i> - Teilhard de Chardin, a paleontologist and author.
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</style>Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-19689502010248894102018-04-15T23:12:00.000-04:002018-04-21T13:18:18.736-04:00A time before: Adopting an Endlessly Renewed Openness, Starting with Sustainability<style>
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I am part of the Xenial generation, a bridging group that
spans only a few years, too old to be a Millennial and too young to be a GenXer.
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Technologically, we remember a time before cell phones and before
the digital explosion, but we were young enough to whole-heartedly embrace it. We
never lived without a remote for the TV. We were the first to embrace
Blockbuster online, and then Netflix. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
were the first generation to be quietly occupied during long car trips, plugged
into our Game Boys and Walkmans, able to play a video game on the go and zone
out from the chaos around us. In grade school, we had penpals, and in college,
we were the first to try facebook (or the less popular myspace). We had gmail
accounts when you had to be invited to get one. We have always done our taxes
using computer programs, never on paper. We lived long enough without
technology that we know to appreciate it, and young enough not to be scared by
it, perhaps even addicted to it as our phones are never far from our reach.</div>
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Culturally, we remember the time before TSA: when you went
to the airport to pick someone up, you could wait at the gate, staring out the
window, excitedly watching the plane pull up and all the people get off. We are
a generation of fire drills, not actual fires, so a fire alarm is rarely cause
for alarm. We have different “moments when”. The GenXers talk about where they
were during the Challenger Explosion, the Boomers before them talk about the
assassination of JFK, MLK, and the moon landing. The Millennials talk about 9/11.
For us, the Columbine massacre was the first to change everything. </div>
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<a href="https://public-media.smithsonianmag.com/filer/d9/8e/d98e94c6-d4be-42ae-982d-92f423c7aa8f/135918main_bm1_high.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="799" height="400" src="https://public-media.smithsonianmag.com/filer/d9/8e/d98e94c6-d4be-42ae-982d-92f423c7aa8f/135918main_bm1_high.jpg" width="399" /></a>In class this week, a picture of the earth was displayed,
and I smiled at the familiar image of the swirly blue oceans and white clouds
set against a striking black background of nothingness. Our teacher (Elizabeth
Johnson, CSJ) talked about how this picture, entitled the<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Blue Marble,</i> changed everything and was named the most influential
picture of the 20<sup>th</sup> century. For the Boomers and the Greatest Generation
before them, this image showed one united world, the first chance for the globe
to see itself in the mirror. Teilhard de Chardin (part of the Greatest
Generation) had been buried for decades by the time this photo emerged in 1972,
but he would see this as the incredible evolution of the universe – true global
consciousness – the thinking layer of the earth (the noosphere) seeing its own
reflection, and the ability to know that it knows. Wow.</div>
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To me – I didn’t understand the significance of this photo.
I had never considered that this picture even had a name. It was as familiar to
me as my baby photos were, and so, I had never known a time <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">before </i>this photo, that there could even
been a shift in consciousness because of a single photo<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">. </i>I knew there was a time <i>before </i>people landed on the moon or sent something to space, but there was never a moment when my fellow Xenials and I didn’t know
what the earth looked like. By the time we appeared, the impact of this photo
has settled and the wave of ecological reform was well underway. We grew up
with Sesame Street telling us to conserve water when we brushed our teeth, and we
were reminded in school to turn off our lights for an hour each year on Earth Day.
As adults, many of us embraced hybrids about a third of us go meatless to
reduce the impact on the earth. For us, there was never a time that our economy
and culture wasn’t global…after all, I had a pen pal on another continent. We never knew a time when we weren't worried about saving the world. </div>
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But really – who cares? Why does this photo and my personal
awakening matter enough to warrant a blog? Well, I was reminded of my
post-modern existence. That the lens with which I view the world is so very different
from everyone else’s, and by extension how much that flavors how each of us
thinks and acts. In the Congregation of Notre Dame, one of our current
priorities is towards ecological sustainability to: ‘honor and respect our “common
home”, take concrete action, resist the forces of destruction and promote life
in all its forms’. Practically, what does that look like? From what I have seen,
we meet to find ways to advocate for more ecologically-centered practices and
have discussions within our houses to reduce consumption (of water, energy,
paper, ink, gas…the list goes on). For example, the sisters in our house met to
talk about whether it takes more energy to turn on a light rather than leave it
on (with today’s bulbs, turn it off every time!), and whether to use the
dishwasher or wash dishes by hand to save water (a full dishwasher conserves
resources more than washing dishes by hand). </div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
What surprises me is that the sisters engage in
conversations that could seem confrontational and evoke defensiveness about how
we do things and why, but instead they are open to constantly changing
practices to do what is better for the earth. Wow. That’s not what the
literature says about Boomers…(that they are stuck in their ways and unwilling
to change). Maybe I need to realign my assumptions and worry less about the
label of my generation and what <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">we </i>do
(after all, that’s not very post-modern of me and instead labels me as a
modernist, ack!). </div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Learning how to learn about sustainability is not something
I expected to learn in the novitiate. Ever in the process of transformation, I recognize
that to be a sister means to have an endlessly renewed openness to the cries of the
world. Today, that is ecological sustainability. Tomorrow… we’ll have to wait
and see (and hopefully be open to whatever challenge comes). </div>
<br />Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com2White Plains, NY 10606, USA41.0233153 -73.77426159999998840.9753933 -73.854942599999987 41.0712373 -73.69358059999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-23417222626149896272018-02-14T18:15:00.000-05:002018-02-14T19:22:07.998-05:00A tale of AdventureI almost died this week. Well, not really, but I could have. On my camino day this week, the day when I venture out into the world to paradoxically retreat inward to connect more with god, I found myself on an exhilarating adventure where I easily could have broken a bone and yes, died (though that was not the intent). I thought I was going for a hike on one of the many gorgeous, well maintained trails in New England. This time venturing to Stone Church in Dover Plains NY, a short trail that winds alongside a babbling brook and meets a cave who's opening looks like a church, with a waterfall and large stone pulpit inside. Sounds lovely, yes? All my research said so (<a href="http://hikethehudsonvalley.com/dover-stone-church/" target="_blank">as evidenced by this site</a>). It turns out the church doesn't have many visitors in winter, and fewer visitor still when winter is becoming spring.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMqQl2lpXiRIiFo69MvEYJxsYKKk783I-wUSHKEcuG6GwPyP1EFpvRZybNbDBgq_zei6GH57i21ix27G_CkJc51tIcpwuHgWh93s2WM8LILejR6FSCVTGXyfAJwniLDf3nHJND1DAl8eU/s1600/IMG_1201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMqQl2lpXiRIiFo69MvEYJxsYKKk783I-wUSHKEcuG6GwPyP1EFpvRZybNbDBgq_zei6GH57i21ix27G_CkJc51tIcpwuHgWh93s2WM8LILejR6FSCVTGXyfAJwniLDf3nHJND1DAl8eU/s200/IMG_1201.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
After walking down a set of icy stone stairs, the trail welcomed me with a gorgeous view of the mountains with a runway of grass in between, lined with manicured trees. I am sure in fall this view is even more breathtaking than the dead grass and bare trees offered, but fall could not offer the lake of ice that was recently melted into water, reflecting the sky, trees and plains all around. Realizing I would get wet and too excited for adventure to be put off so early, I rationalized, "my shoes are waterproof and that doesn't look deep. It's cold anyway - 0 deg C and 35 deg F, and it would be a shame to turn around at the first trial, so let's go!"<br />
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The crystal clear ice water was colder and deeper than I expected as my shoes filled up with water and I skated on the ice at the bottom while wading through the water (with a giant grin on my face). By the time I even considered turning around I was already half way, so preceded on with two blocks of ice for feet (the grin now more like a grimace).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPSqVaijG2CmgDT67pRbQ3gClvoAjojNjFUVqaixonH5nhE5WQBeYTQmT46_g7zF48HLS64U3Gg_E6O9zdZtG1BZhnomkyA03TRVE5M6Jskji1TxEynR5fnCIg7LzK6shl2kOKy2thRtg/s1600/IMG_1213.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPSqVaijG2CmgDT67pRbQ3gClvoAjojNjFUVqaixonH5nhE5WQBeYTQmT46_g7zF48HLS64U3Gg_E6O9zdZtG1BZhnomkyA03TRVE5M6Jskji1TxEynR5fnCIg7LzK6shl2kOKy2thRtg/s320/IMG_1213.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
The second part of the trail was a sheet of ice, staccatoed with dirt clumps from below, so I used my awesome Ahnu boots to ice skate. The slight inclines required maneuvering on the snow on the edges for traction, but on I went accompanied by the babbling brook. Finally, I came to the trailhead (the beginning as most would see it), went over the stream on a new footbridge, and looked in the direction of the stone church.<br />
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Though not yet in view, what was visible was magnificent. The path was about 2-3 feet wide, pure ice, with a natural wall of snow covered rocks and sharp hills on the left, and a small cliff into a more forceful brook on the right, with the water rushing around rocks big and small. The sound of the brook was louder, with the waterfall close by. With very little to grab onto, I sauntered ahead, shuffling one foot at a time, grabbing a branch when available, and leaning left so as not to fall into the river.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE2PLfEsdyOHGGlln52R4WHJ5lsyjqUFOBrhHvlKvX02Dgh-5CU9HyTNBjvmIgD-eo8S5J7pevNL68yh_LAx4KHCwJJFufzWi5dPfL0q9ykUlPf5ZBGfqavjbz9Y9igu5fal6yPrZ4duY/s1600/IMG_1222.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE2PLfEsdyOHGGlln52R4WHJ5lsyjqUFOBrhHvlKvX02Dgh-5CU9HyTNBjvmIgD-eo8S5J7pevNL68yh_LAx4KHCwJJFufzWi5dPfL0q9ykUlPf5ZBGfqavjbz9Y9igu5fal6yPrZ4duY/s200/IMG_1222.JPG" width="200" /></a>It was such fun! Trying to go up what I couldn't even see was a hill, failing, trying a different way. Marveling at the melting ice and frozen waterfalls along the way, somehow poised next to the rushing water. As some point I realized other people would probably find this dangerous and wouldn't have come this far, especially wearing only a hoodie and yoga pants, with a thin rain jacket in case it rained. Definitely under-dressed for the cold temperature, I reflected how unprepared I was for this journey, similar to how unprepared I have felt for the journey I've been on the last 6 months at the novitiate, yet that has been bumpy and I have survived, so I could certainly handle this short trail of a journey.<br />
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Some of the branches I grabbed were covered in thorns or not attached to anything, and I jerked back before remembering the rapid water rushing behind me and twisted back again towards the hill. Many years of ballet, yoga, and general clumsiness trained me to catch myself over and over. I mused how these deceptive branches looked like help but weren't what I was looking for, like the many people who we reach out to in times of need that whether they want to or not, cannot help us. That strength and guidance needs to come from within, emanating from a source of truth, experience, and training for this moment. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZw43RgaDt1oO6sVuc9W3USPx7wNFKKiVpefgHTW07kpeYPUxXfUDyGMXFV1yqfiLb_z9sSYXPURubHHONE_8hlm-TArnKqCwB2v5nZrg3Gq9ugvVXIVjA8jIAPlCF8WPiYmF2xWfyYgc/s1600/IMG_1309.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibq_p54qoaZB_izfXEiFqVtHYAM1IKsGx4lvi6INPpw2qj1o4ERoAiudjiPe8eFOPCsOEK1ZKmjXVIzU2GRYydUNSz28CA_jd1gWQ3Z0_IiwRUy6NzuPnj3XzojzL6VhR-9lUu_VixF2A/s320/IMG_1250.JPG" width="320" /></a> Closer to the cave, I had to stretch between rocks submerged in the water to enter the cave, tried a few different footings, and with the grace of a T-Rex playing hopscotch, eventually made it inside the cave to a rock a few inches higher than the surrounding water. I perched on the rock to begin to absorb a scene so mysterious, it must have been contrived by C S Lewis and Salvador Dali. I was consumed by the mist rising from the water, the powerful waterfall at the back juxtaposed with the frozen waterfall right next to it, a crack of blue sky in the ceiling, and the deafening noise as the water crashed by, escaping from the cave and headed down the valley. I was in another world - Jim Henson's Fraggle Rock creatures were sure to spring out of a hole in the side.<br />
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I stayed and meditated, becoming so relaxed at one point that my foot slipped into the water
and I caught myself from going downstream just in time. Adjusting a
little, and pleased at the level of physical relaxation I was able to attain, I was compelled to continue to contemplate the magnificence of a sight that existed as a gift for me from the creator of the cosmos. This site, evolving for millenia, hallowing out from what started as a trickle in a rock to become a waterfall in a cave, waiting for the perfect wintery conditions to combine flowing water, ice, and mist, to invite me into a mystical experience of the all encompassing love god shows through nature. I know this was a gift for me, in the words of Rainer Maria Rilke, "<i>If this is arrogant, God, forgive me, but this is what I need to say."</i> No one else would have been fool hearty enough to go past all of those elements, to not feel a twinge of fear and rather excitement and anticipation of what was waiting ahead, as if being propelled by an all-knowing spirit. This moment, this place, this experience was waiting for me from the dawn of time in order to be fulfilled. Of this I am sure. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVf6Pam5sPzHb9lSRMRg8MHHPBDMuAmjYfxiUzPEnMYkQmg4HJwfKl8snH6NdxZduqyV2f-ykTWsDmMdX_Dg7K2nucKaAYVZe3ZfxzyD295Ob4IpjKYM47vyIRdtY3lP7K7bHw198DPkw/s1600/IMG_1207.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVf6Pam5sPzHb9lSRMRg8MHHPBDMuAmjYfxiUzPEnMYkQmg4HJwfKl8snH6NdxZduqyV2f-ykTWsDmMdX_Dg7K2nucKaAYVZe3ZfxzyD295Ob4IpjKYM47vyIRdtY3lP7K7bHw198DPkw/s320/IMG_1207.JPG" width="240" /></a>While in this transcendent state, I pondered how Lent gives us a chance to pause for a moment and reflect on our spiritual journey to reset our course. Are we doing enough for others? How regularly and intentionally are we communicating with our god? Do we show enough compassion and love for ourselves, the amount god showers on us? These three elements of almsgiving, prayer, and fasting are ways we can reset our course towards spiritual wholeness this season. We get 40 days to try and try again, being kind to ourselves when we fail and feeling renewed to try again. Jesus spent 40 days in the desert to get ready for his public mission, to grapple with god and who he was, to shed all of the things that weren't really him or necessary for his journey. Perhaps this lent, that's what we can do too. Shed the things that aren't us and are hindering us from our becoming our potential. With each act of kindness, each turning away from temptation, and each prayer to the creator for the miraculous life we all have, we can shape this world into the way the world should be, a new heaven, a new earth.<br />
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After a prayer of thanksgiving for such a fantastic experience (and realizing if I stayed too long, I might fall in completely), I left. The way back was downhill, faster, and messier. I sprawled around like a giraffe learning to walk, slid down a hill of ice at one point, unintentionally twirled on the ice numerous times, and splashed through the icy water. If something had happened, such as tripping on a rock, something that could have happened anywhere, no one would have known and I probably could have died, but that sense of knowing in that deep place where you <i>know </i>things, from the first steps in the water, I knew that experience was brewing from my first 'yes' to god. I knew that trip was destined from the dawn of time, from the first explosions of hydrogen. With my angels by my side and a smile big enough to release the joy spilling out, I was being safely escorted along my path in, out, and beyond.<br />
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Oh, and I must thank Rainer Maria Rilke, who was kind enough to write a poem about my experience in his <i>Book of Hours</i> back in 1905. He really captured the awe and hope I felt in the cave, and the journey along the way. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvZwsz8t6hCql11eqfYKjeVAtDQhirREy_nVQsEhjwePY4oOnVokecB7TOqFtrS-9tsth-pRsPYfn31sji2DMXwCNvxQQKzodTEu1x2fYpa7QTWSDqOQ-oQYlo1ntKwPLFlUjf5amVzCY/s1600/IMG_1308.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvZwsz8t6hCql11eqfYKjeVAtDQhirREy_nVQsEhjwePY4oOnVokecB7TOqFtrS-9tsth-pRsPYfn31sji2DMXwCNvxQQKzodTEu1x2fYpa7QTWSDqOQ-oQYlo1ntKwPLFlUjf5amVzCY/s320/IMG_1308.JPG" width="240" /></a><i>I believe in all that has never yet been spoken.</i><br />
<i>
I want to free what waits within me</i><br />
<i><br />
so that what no one has dared to wish for</i><i> </i><br />
<i>may for once spring clear<br />
without my contriving.</i><br />
<i>If this is arrogant, God, forgive me,<br />
but this is what I need to say.</i><br />
<i>May what I do flow from me like a river,<br />
no forcing and no holding back,<br />
the way it is with children.</i><br />
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<i><i>Then in these swelling and ebbing currents,<br />
these deepening tides moving out, returning,<br />
I will sing you as no one ever has,<br />
</i><i>streaming through widening channels<br />
into the open sea.</i> </i><br />
<i>- </i><i>Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours</i><br />
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<i></i>Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-18836379034981562322018-01-24T17:55:00.001-05:002018-01-24T17:55:52.282-05:00Fight, Flight or FreezeAs I was headed into Home Depot, on an errand to fix a leaky toilet, (as most novices are tasked to do), I realized I forgot to lock the car door. Without pausing to fix this error, I reached into my pocket, felt for the keys, pushed the lock button, heard the satisfying 'beep beep', and removed my hand from my pocket, relieved having rectifying the situation. The bored security guard watching on the security cam (or perhaps a drone overhead) would only have seen a girl slide her hand in her pocket then take it out. I mused at how this correction didn't slow me down and how the ability to correct my faux paux was a commonplace occurrence that bordered on mundane. Instead of having to go back to the car and lock the door, I was able to move on with my day so easily. <br />
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Now you're wondering if I am so bored that the only thing to blog about is to boast my ability to lock my car door. Not the point, I assure you. Being in the novitiate, I find I am becoming so introspective and newly aware of everything around me, from my emotions to my inner spiritual shifts, that everything turns into a reflection. I wonder if I am becoming overly reflective, as the simple act of locking my car door mentally catapulted me into a reflection on the contemplative nature of society and our delayed ability to act. (Then I wondered how much I wonder about and started to worry that I might be worrying about this). <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgynAs4r5T4P0xjr0ClwoYwcrFNynj3SYOkELyMZBSrZLDMJwilR-GSHOgEI8UU0DpC8z12Wv_esV7k91fWVFjw9pan_IV0qPO3vRqwCrbELmIj6wWIlksxAvHhov_xP1w2UQ6tzD6hFJk/s1600/main-qimg-259677d49ac935820828f41879345dc1-c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="381" data-original-width="240" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgynAs4r5T4P0xjr0ClwoYwcrFNynj3SYOkELyMZBSrZLDMJwilR-GSHOgEI8UU0DpC8z12Wv_esV7k91fWVFjw9pan_IV0qPO3vRqwCrbELmIj6wWIlksxAvHhov_xP1w2UQ6tzD6hFJk/s200/main-qimg-259677d49ac935820828f41879345dc1-c.jpg" title="https://qph.ec.quoracdn.net/main-qimg-259677d49ac935820828f41879345dc1-c" width="125" /></a><br />
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The punchline - whereas our society used to respond to threats with <b>'fight or flight</b>', so many of us now just <b>freeze</b>. They call this phenomenon <i>tonic immobility </i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apparent_death#Tonic_immobility" target="_blank">(wiki link</a><i>). </i>Some animals respond to tense situations by intensely not moving, like a deer in headlights or how they tell you to play dead with black bears. (Or is it brown bears you play dead with and black bears you run??).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGqg9qYp5mqlTEiwLA-HeNLoRQMHDb3ruYhYMuPj3rdyt1nh5EFBVdKeT7Kx5dRaoDtzTR5Fe37qgweilzarN70r0QhIoDBXfUcD-D6Jl7oiTfBT6F2U0i-dJyGXHjmWsRXINnEn1xts0/s1600/Scared_Girl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10465998" border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGqg9qYp5mqlTEiwLA-HeNLoRQMHDb3ruYhYMuPj3rdyt1nh5EFBVdKeT7Kx5dRaoDtzTR5Fe37qgweilzarN70r0QhIoDBXfUcD-D6Jl7oiTfBT6F2U0i-dJyGXHjmWsRXINnEn1xts0/s200/Scared_Girl.jpg" title="" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">By <a class="external text" href="https://www.flickr.com/people/21745851@N00" rel="nofollow">Victor Bezrukov</a> - <a class="external text" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/21745851@N00/382031318/" rel="nofollow">Port-42</a>, <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0" title="Creative Commons Attribution 2.0">CC BY 2.0</a>, <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10465998">Link</a></td></tr>
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Like my millennial compatriots, I find I stare in fear when the phone
rings, angry at the intrusive invader disturbing the peace of my day, wishing it were a text that I could attend to in my own time, analyze
the message and contemplatively craft the perfect response. On a phone
call - what if I say something wrong? I have to respond immediately!! What if I don't know what to say? It's hard to convey tonic immobility over the phone but I am sure it will happen. <br />
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Or, when I am in a weird situation, when someone has a big outburst around me or I find myself in some sort of confrontation, I stand there dumbfounded, unable to move, mumbling something incoherent and stew about it later. Afterwards, I find the conversation replays in my head, over and over, my brain transfixed on crafting the perfect response to have ready for next time. I continue to over-analyze the situation until I realize that the outburst might have triggered something deeper than the event itself. There might be some underlying root cause from the past or a real reason I am still upset. The funny part is that this awareness always surprises me, like I haven't had same profound thought many times before!<br />
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Deepening into new levels of over-analysis, I think how it doesn't surprise me that we are a paralyzed society. We have lost our caveman and cavewoman instinct to
react, in part from expectations that we have to say the right thing
and in part because having to be nice to each other eliminates all confrontation from
our society. Fr Mike Schmitz has focused a number of his recent homilies on how toxic the Minnesotan (and I would say American and Canadian) <i>need to be nice</i> is. Don't make trouble. Don't disturb the peace. Oh please don't raise your voice! Now that wasn't very nice, was it?<br />
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I am coming to learn that confrontation might be good. While I have heard this in many leadership classes including workshops on 'healthy confrontation' (both professionally as an engineer and personally as a novice), I am only now starting to see the wisdom in it. In moving to New York and encountering cultures that yell at each other as a way of communicating, coming from my near-puritanical background as a sweet southern belle, it has been jarring. I regularly hear arguments on the train
resulting from someone being shushed for talking too loudly or in line in a store where people are screaming
at each other for all sorts of reasons (cutting, getting too close, talking on their phone, not moving ahead fast enough, etc). I have even been asked my opinion about their argument. To which I reply - "I ... uhhh... ummm.. were you arguing? I didn't notice" What is amazing is that at the end, both parties
seem happier to have said their piece and life returns to normal. They often conclude with a form of apology, reconciling what happened, (sadly, transferring all of their tension to me). Perhaps they are not afraid of being wrong or showing their passion. If we regularly get into confrontations and address the obvious issues in front of us, we might be more willing to see and admit when we are wrong. <br />
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The meandering, seemingly disparate thoughts listed here reinforce for me the importance of contemplation. Perhaps taking the time to meditate each day not only allows you to be more mindful in the moment of the confrontation, but to also process the situation afterwards to discover the true root cause. Contemplation, then, creates an alternative to 'fight, flight or freeze', leaving the argumentative New Yorkers and my dumbfounded immobility behind. Perhaps someone with a contemplative approach can respond thoughtfully, instead of reactively or no reaction at all!<br />
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As a novice in a religious congregation, I am signing myself up to spend an hour in personal prayer each day to strengthen my relationship with the divine. As an engineer, I look for evidence and results to evaluate the effectivity of a process. It is assuring, then, to see that this time of contemplative prayer might already be positively influencing my ruminations and perhaps even my actions. My name is Libby, and I am a recovering tonic immobilizer.<br />
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<br />Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-594279748365863202017-11-16T14:40:00.000-05:002018-01-24T12:48:13.454-05:00¿Qué dirías tú que hacemos aquí?<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-outline-level: 3;">
<i><span lang="es-419" style="color: #333333; font-family: "arvo" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">Translated from English by Congregation of Notre Dame Translators </span></i><br />
<i><span lang="es-419" style="color: #333333; font-family: "arvo" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;"><span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";">(Click here to read this article in </span></span></i><i><span lang="es-419" style="color: #333333; font-family: "arvo" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;"><span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";"><span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";"><a href="https://literallylibby.blogspot.com/2017/11/what-would-you-say-you-do-here.html" target="_blank">English</a></span> or in <a href="https://literallylibby.blogspot.com/2018/01/quest-ce-que-vous-diriez-que-vous.html" target="_blank">French</a>)</span></span></i><br />
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<span lang="ES" style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Cuando comencé este blog, prometí
compartir cómo es la vida de una novicia. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ahora que he estado en el noviciado durante
algunos meses, me he acomodado en un patrón cómodo que puede ser descrito mejor
como ‘un día en la vida’. Cabe señalar que cada orden religiosa tiene su propia
manera de formar a las novicias y aun dentro de la CND (mi orden – Congregación
de Notre Dame), cada experiencia del noviciado fue diferente para cada hermana
que ha compartido su historia conmigo, así que esta es solo mi experiencia, hasta
ahora.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDlvdYgFa3mpF0U1zFBSN5QRzRnUIHV0C-v-DlTGX_GRWN3P6LP-_wdjnyDF4uNTXdnkLnnMZzYKGhsCOX5FHsXhKqDlLfLxo3cs5mW9eo2izd9uYU-cKC0U60uJnzTGHrrlRUiJH_Nq8/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDlvdYgFa3mpF0U1zFBSN5QRzRnUIHV0C-v-DlTGX_GRWN3P6LP-_wdjnyDF4uNTXdnkLnnMZzYKGhsCOX5FHsXhKqDlLfLxo3cs5mW9eo2izd9uYU-cKC0U60uJnzTGHrrlRUiJH_Nq8/s200/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="200" /></a><span lang="ES" style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span><span lang="ES" style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt;"></span></div>
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<span lang="ES" style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt;"></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="ES" style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Para aclarar el lenguaje de monjas: ‘formación’ – esta es otra palabra para
estudio, preparación, entrenamiento, pero es usada específicamente en el
contexto de la vida religiosa y aunque se aplica especialmente a este tiempo
como novicia (campo de entrenamiento para monjas), la formación es continua a
través de los votos temporales y en la vida profesa. En mi vida anterior, yo me
referiría a esto como <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘aprendizaje
permanente’ o ‘desarrollo profesional’, con temas más amplios a desarrollar
personal y espiritualmente. </span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span lang="ES" style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Yo comienzo el día con una hora de oración
personal, para orientarme a mí misma hacia lo divino y fijar un curso deseado
de paz y presencia. Esto generalmente incluye la escritura diaria, el oficio
divino de la mañana y la meditación/ contemplación. Mi mantra favorito hasta
ahora es la oración de Jesús – Señor Jesucristo ten piedad de mí. Luego tengo
que acordarme de colocarme la cruz. La mayoría de los días ya estoy fuera de mi
habitación antes de acordarme.</span></div>
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<span lang="ES" style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Nuestro altar para el Día de los Muertos</span><span lang="ES" style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: ES;"></span></div>
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<span lang="ES" style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt;">El desayuno y el almuerzo se toman cuando conviene
y nos reunimos juntas como casa de 5 para compartir la cena y después para la
oración comunitaria. Cada una cocina una vez por semana y ha sido divertido
estirar mis músculos culinarios los cuales habían sido grandemente atrofiados
durante los últimos 6 años en que viví sola. De igual manera, yo dirijo la
oración una noche a la semana. La oración comunitaria casi siempre incluye un
canto y el oficio divino de la tarde, aunque la última semana tuvimos un
servicio especial para el Día de los Muertos y colocamos un altar para los
seres amados que han muerto. La persona que dirige la oración programa la
agenda y cada noche es diferente pero especial. Los domingos, participamos
compartiendo la fe y en conocernos mejor a un nivel más profundo. Lo que encuentro
más poderoso cuando oramos juntas es que cada noche, hay tiempo para el
silencio contemplativo y la energía del silencio de 5 personas es poderosa y
cargada de energía. Yo soy una persona nocturna, pero después de esta subida de
energía, me siento recargada, quedo despierta durante horas. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="ES" style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAvGiki8qDODsU2j-QQyOb6YqLiLYjwrRvgyl4mUTdLPHwzIvqXYVFEsCOvyWaUzJdLr_ovjaSlvp9yJCYJxuqRg47XnckY96oQ50kRaC9nl5SldAWFphgPAzWynf-jRbXXOqwmBcKVrI/s1600/E000E5CB-278E-4A59-A8DA-CF9FCFD482D2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="876" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAvGiki8qDODsU2j-QQyOb6YqLiLYjwrRvgyl4mUTdLPHwzIvqXYVFEsCOvyWaUzJdLr_ovjaSlvp9yJCYJxuqRg47XnckY96oQ50kRaC9nl5SldAWFphgPAzWynf-jRbXXOqwmBcKVrI/s200/E000E5CB-278E-4A59-A8DA-CF9FCFD482D2.JPG" width="109" /></a><span lang="ES" style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Yo voy a misa todos los días, algo con lo
que pensé que tendría que luchar. Sin embargo, he descubierto que la misa
diaria es maravillosa – más corta, al grano y ofrece un recordatorio regular de
llevar a Cristo al mundo. Además, yo voy a diferentes iglesias cada día para
darme la oportunidad de explorar la iglesia, el vecindario y las personas.
Generalmente camino durante el día, ya que hay 6 iglesias a unos 45 minutos
andando.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span lang="ES" style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Los lunes y los miércoles me encuentro con
mi directora de noviciado y aprendo sobre la vida religiosa, la formación CND,
información específica del noviciado y oportunidades de crecimiento personal. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Las semanas tienen un tema (lo que me gusta)
generalmente incluye leer artículos y libros (lo que me gusta más) y tengo
«tarea» en forma de reflexión corta de cada uno (yo creo que a mi directora de
noviciado le gustaría que yo escribiera menos…pero una vez le dije que me toma
dos párrafos para estornudar, de manera que está atrapada con escritos largos).</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span lang="ES" style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Con
la Hna. Kathleen Deignan</span></div>
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<span lang="ES" style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Los martes y miércoles por la tarde voy a
clases. Una es un curso de postgrado en la Universidad Fordham sobre el Antiguo
Testamento. Esto es maravilloso y ha cambiado la manera que escucho las
lecturas en la misa, le da contexto, cultura e historia a los relatos. El otro
es un curso de pregrado en el Iona College sobre la Cosmología del Universo y la
manera en que las estrellas y la espiritualidad están entrelazadas (obviamente
maravilloso). Esta clase la da una de las hermanas – Kathleen Deignan, y ha
sido inspirador escuchar su misticismo y sabiduría. El próximo semestre será el
Nuevo Testamento y <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Teilhard (*¡¡Espero!!).
</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Amigas
en Formación</span></div>
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<span lang="ES" style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Los jueves me encuentro con un grupo de
novicias y sus formadoras (directoras de novicias, formadoras, etc.) y
aprendemos todas juntas. Viajamos a diferentes casas para conocer el espacio
personal de las demás, viajamos tan lejos como Connecticut, Pensilvania y Nueva
Jersey. Los temas han incluido: enseñanza social católica, oración, reflexión
teológica y desarrollo psicosocial. Una variedad por decir algo. Este grupo de
novicias es parte de un grupo más grande que se reúne durante 6 semanas al año,
para todas las personas en formación – candidatas (como yo el año pasado),
novicias, recién profesas (en el ministerio con trabajo y la promesa de
quedarse otro año o dos hasta que están listas para los votos finales) y
nuestras formadoras. El año pasado, tuve la oportunidad de viajar siete veces
de PEI a NY para reunirme con este grupo, de manera que ya tenía un círculo de
amigas cuando llegue.</span></div>
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<span lang="ES" style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcII9Fl3cCdz9HLKcZ9L43GfaKE4DqQ7m8M5WUqkYmX7VqGnbJLBIYexZXjcO8MPtONrVwdxGI4xjIMnRWMx1yfm1e8b5k-EEjXwcBQI_NLwPtYKQzf0R5qtIXEWRqf_Mb3k5R88vfjoQ/s1600/E32A3575-0C3F-4B8C-A478-224F6AFF83CD.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcII9Fl3cCdz9HLKcZ9L43GfaKE4DqQ7m8M5WUqkYmX7VqGnbJLBIYexZXjcO8MPtONrVwdxGI4xjIMnRWMx1yfm1e8b5k-EEjXwcBQI_NLwPtYKQzf0R5qtIXEWRqf_Mb3k5R88vfjoQ/s200/E32A3575-0C3F-4B8C-A478-224F6AFF83CD.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span lang="ES" style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Los viernes son ‘Día de Camino’ o ‘Día de
Desierto’, donde trato de integrar lo que aprendí durante la semana de manera
intencional, en silencio, lo más posible. Este es casi como un día de retiro a la
semana y un recordatorio de no estar muy ocupada. Puedo leer, hacer mi blog,
caminar durante 8 horas o realmente cualquier cosa que el espíritu me mueve
hacer, pero con el fin de hacerlo de manera intencional.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzrQeL_mO0o-M7CwFtyChqfwvHEp3fVVULWJxKrTGfExR-oiMauySLhOGOeM1ohgTj0k3-hpy0kJ6MdQ5XHY9IGFWbTUxeNiBp_R3ex0hq91Ydj5tss-Z97_4PgVLwFqkorIWjk6G7bq8/s1600/5576A63D-FDEF-4356-ABDD-D63EB74BF830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzrQeL_mO0o-M7CwFtyChqfwvHEp3fVVULWJxKrTGfExR-oiMauySLhOGOeM1ohgTj0k3-hpy0kJ6MdQ5XHY9IGFWbTUxeNiBp_R3ex0hq91Ydj5tss-Z97_4PgVLwFqkorIWjk6G7bq8/s200/5576A63D-FDEF-4356-ABDD-D63EB74BF830.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Mis </span><span style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 10.0pt;">amigas</span><span style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt;">
en Broadway</span></div>
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<span lang="ES" style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Como comunidad – tenemos una noche de juegos
y jugamos cartas (a solicitud mía), algunas noches vemos juntas la televisión (actualmente
obsesionada con Good Place y Project Runway), otras me escabullo en medio de la
noche a la iglesia oscura para rezar (ssshhhhh ¡no se lo digan a nadie!), cocinamos
juntas, salimos a caminar e incluso fuimos a una obra de Broadway (¡¡teníamos 5
boletos!!). Esta fue una experiencia bastante especial. </span><span lang="ES" style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 10.0pt;">UPEI
impresionados en NY</span></div>
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<span lang="ES" style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Logro tener 7 horas
completas de sueño</span><span lang="ES" style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt;"> – más
de las que tenía antes. Contribuyo con la limpieza aunque la mayor parte de mis
esfuerzos son en el mantenimiento de la casa – arreglar el lavatrastos,
instalar cosas, armar libreros, etc. Tengo la oportunidad de aprender unos
cuantos instrumentos, disfruto de la soledad de mi habitación cuando mi ser
introvertido está abrumado de «compañerismo». Hay muchas cosas que estoy
dejando fuera – como los viajes a la ciudad para visitar un museo, visitas de
los amigas que llegan a la ciudad, reuniones comunitarias provinciales,
reuniones con las Personas Asociadas CND, charlas sobre la pobreza o el
activismo ecológico y celebraciones por la vida de las hermanas en sus
funerales (unos cuantos hasta la fecha).</span></div>
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<span lang="ES" style="font-family: "arial narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Yo creo que estos han sido los
acontecimientos más importantes. Un horario muy ocupado, por supuesto, y yo me
pregunto cómo han pasado los días, ¡cómo es posible que ya hayan pasado 11
semanas! Me siento agradecida por las personas con quien vivo, atesoro las
lecciones que he aprendido y siento temor cuando haya terminado los dos años. </span></div>
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Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-83854958729116798322017-11-06T14:40:00.000-05:002018-01-24T12:47:13.705-05:00What Would You Say You Do Here?<span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";">(Click here to read this article in <a href="https://literallylibby.blogspot.com/2017/11/que-dirias-tu-que-hacemos-aqui.html" target="_blank">Spanish</a> or in <a href="https://literallylibby.blogspot.com/2018/01/quest-ce-que-vous-diriez-que-vous.html" target="_blank">French</a>)</span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsJZYTwl0kX7Bb2OuTfoc8PxKVyWG8GruEDKYqdRntierYTwB0x_wC03tqa-c2M5bQcjgwxtYoBDQBEpCwUpbuL0NJmZ-FJzkl8iFpuv58kRQlgFAPol9q9FvBwHTgW3it-hB6U88VwxI/s1600/200w_d.gif" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="108" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsJZYTwl0kX7Bb2OuTfoc8PxKVyWG8GruEDKYqdRntierYTwB0x_wC03tqa-c2M5bQcjgwxtYoBDQBEpCwUpbuL0NJmZ-FJzkl8iFpuv58kRQlgFAPol9q9FvBwHTgW3it-hB6U88VwxI/s200/200w_d.gif" width="200" /></a>When I started this blog, I promised to share what life as a novice<br />
was like. Now that I have been at the novitiate for a few months, I have settled into a comfortable pattern and can better describe ‘a day in the life’. It should be noted that each religious order has their own way of forming novices, and even within the CNDs (my order: Congregation of Notre Dame), I have come to realize that each experience of the novitiate was different for each sister, so this is my experience, as of now. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid8kk2F5ikrueyPKtZ7J-mD5jYKmj6SVhPRAgVTwDUo1g8C9D0IC7L4eEICIR34FIdhaXxktx92SycKJa1KqTlSArkkhEH9-_sqZRqLQKdG3znEpgfcoBm-qu9nysPhNzhxH7YoLetC2o/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid8kk2F5ikrueyPKtZ7J-mD5jYKmj6SVhPRAgVTwDUo1g8C9D0IC7L4eEICIR34FIdhaXxktx92SycKJa1KqTlSArkkhEH9-_sqZRqLQKdG3znEpgfcoBm-qu9nysPhNzhxH7YoLetC2o/s200/FullSizeRender.jpg" /></a><i>Nun lingo clarification: ‘formation’ – this is another word for study, preparation, training, but is specifically used in the religious life context and though it applies especially to this time as a novice (nun boot camp), formation is ongoing through temporary vows and into professed life. In my former life, I would refer to it as ‘lifelong learning’ or ‘professional development’, with much broader topics to develop personally and spiritually.</i><br />
<br />
I start the day with an hour of personal prayer, to orient myself towards the divine and set a desired course of peace and presence. This often includes the daily scripture, morning divine office, and meditation/contemplation. My favorite mantra as of late is the Jesus prayer – Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on me. Then I have to remember to put on my cross. Most days I am almost out of the room before I remember.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Dia de los Muertos Alter</td></tr>
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Breakfast and lunch are eaten whenever it is convenient, and we come together as a house of 5 to share supper and afterwards, communal prayer. We each cook one night a week, and it’s been fun to stretch my culinary muscle when it had atrophied so greatly over my last 6 years living alone. Similarly, I lead prayer about one night a week. Communal prayer almost always includes a song and the evening divine office, though last week we had a special service for Dia De Los Muertos and set an alter for our loved ones who have passed. The person leading prayer sets the agenda and each night is different but special. On Sundays, we engage in faith sharing and come to know each other on a deeper level. What I find most powerful when we pray together is that each night, there is some time for quiet contemplation, and the energy of the silence of 5 people is potent and charged. I am already a night person, but after this surge of energy, I am recharged and up for hours.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSXUKD16NguNqxpzljMDWYDjlGjQ5YNzPJAi55mP7Mcr4xBUwitfk0x9W9KxFtMmCh7U9OG6CJ6Jil6Ce0NDJWbT-iFcz3B_u1wO0t9fUeT6J8vYjSFbv_lcoFKt7BS94Xlnl2_KDp6pc/s1600/E000E5CB-278E-4A59-A8DA-CF9FCFD482D2.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSXUKD16NguNqxpzljMDWYDjlGjQ5YNzPJAi55mP7Mcr4xBUwitfk0x9W9KxFtMmCh7U9OG6CJ6Jil6Ce0NDJWbT-iFcz3B_u1wO0t9fUeT6J8vYjSFbv_lcoFKt7BS94Xlnl2_KDp6pc/s200/E000E5CB-278E-4A59-A8DA-CF9FCFD482D2.JPG" width="109" /></a><br />
I go to mass each day, something I thought I would struggle with. However, I have found the daily mass is wonderful – shorter, to the point, and provides a regular reminder to bring Christ out into the world. Plus, I go to a different church each day giving me the chance to explore: the church, neighborhoods, and people. Often I will walk as there are 6 churches within a 45-minute walk throughout the day. <br />
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Mondays and Wednesdays I meet with my novitiate director and I learn about religious life, CND training, novitiate-specific information, and opportunities for personal growth. The weeks are themed (which I love), often involve reading articles and books (which I love more), and I have ‘homework’ in the form of a short reflection for each one (I think my novitiate director would love it if I wrote less…but I once told her it takes me two paragraphs to sneeze, so she’s stuck with long essays).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Sr Kathleen Deignan</td></tr>
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Tuesday and Wednesday evenings I attend class. One is a graduate course at Fordham University in the Old Testament. This is amazing and has shifted the way I hear the readings at mass, providing context, culture, and history to the stories. The other is an undergraduate course at Iona College on the Cosmology of the Universe and how the stars and spirituality are intertwined (obviously amazing). This class is taught by one of the sisters – Kathleen Deignan, and it has been inspirational to hear her mysticism and wisdom. Next semester is New Testament and Teilhard (*I hope!!). <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEittHSsSgga8IM4hyphenhyphen2CtKRw7WPQPgTXcJdbaajSK__Qid68PJ0hLnODMVn5J5hRCUTAxsq7y8aeaq4ffYnj0eR0bkfWjs1QbUEpPOshLf1sfdMAISMdSRlOXsLrtSyTn9zYAuMyGOikg4Y/s1600/F7503C06-8CD1-470A-8A5A-22C70B92E66C.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEittHSsSgga8IM4hyphenhyphen2CtKRw7WPQPgTXcJdbaajSK__Qid68PJ0hLnODMVn5J5hRCUTAxsq7y8aeaq4ffYnj0eR0bkfWjs1QbUEpPOshLf1sfdMAISMdSRlOXsLrtSyTn9zYAuMyGOikg4Y/s200/F7503C06-8CD1-470A-8A5A-22C70B92E66C.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Friends in formation </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
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On Thursdays I meet with a group of novices and their formators (novitiate director, handler, etc) and we all learn together. We travel to the different houses so we get to see each others’ personal space, traveling as far as Connecticut, Pennsylvania and New Jersey. Topics have included: Catholic social teachings, prayer, theological reflection, and psycho-social development. An array to say the least. This group of novices is part of a larger group that meets six weekends a year of people in formation – candidates (like I was last year), novices, newly professed (in ministry with jobs and promise to stay for another year or two until there are ready for final vows), and our formators. Last year, I got to fly from PEI to NY to meet with this group seven different times, so I already had a circle of friends when I arrived. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFzgSZegHvgVS39t2r3Mr05oboKzip-sYvi2j3xlKur5VUuUxwIRt7B5rlZPhtUxE1IsvtVEanhP9PFJ8pDg-X5szzlfaqA7vWEh6T1kqr6f3rXmeO1mA_EQmEd9TBhWF-LZsu9bKgZ-w/s1600/E32A3575-0C3F-4B8C-A478-224F6AFF83CD.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFzgSZegHvgVS39t2r3Mr05oboKzip-sYvi2j3xlKur5VUuUxwIRt7B5rlZPhtUxE1IsvtVEanhP9PFJ8pDg-X5szzlfaqA7vWEh6T1kqr6f3rXmeO1mA_EQmEd9TBhWF-LZsu9bKgZ-w/s200/E32A3575-0C3F-4B8C-A478-224F6AFF83CD.JPG" /></a><br />
Fridays are a ‘Camino Day’ or ‘Desert Day’, where I try to integrate the week’s learning very intentionally, in silence as much as possible. This is almost a retreat day each week and reminder to not be too busy. I get to read, blog, go on 8 hour walks, or really anything that the spirit moves, but with the goal of doing so intentionally. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My roomies at a Broadway show</td></tr>
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As a community – we have game night once a week and play cards (at my request), watch TV together some evenings (currently obsessed with the Good Place and Project Runway), sneak over to the dark church in the middle of the night to pray (ssshhhhh don’t tell!), cook together, go on walks, and even a broadway show (we had 5 free tickets!!). It’s a pretty special experience. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvUFBG-mG0jH5PlloXGuQxYKLbX_rPguiBSZK9IqoNt_u0kkLr-CdCKJhXCsmT4I32oRtwv_tMScuBMoD3jdC-ictar60-WlTaW1PpP8NKFI19P5_MRQ_dhmiy2bBbeh7HAMgyjKLUMvs/s1600/ADACB059-6C2B-4201-AC7D-D3ED0858318E.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvUFBG-mG0jH5PlloXGuQxYKLbX_rPguiBSZK9IqoNt_u0kkLr-CdCKJhXCsmT4I32oRtwv_tMScuBMoD3jdC-ictar60-WlTaW1PpP8NKFI19P5_MRQ_dhmiy2bBbeh7HAMgyjKLUMvs/s200/ADACB059-6C2B-4201-AC7D-D3ED0858318E.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">UPEI Awesomeness in NY</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I get a solid 7 hours of sleep – more than I used to get. I contribute to cleaning though most of my efforts are in the upkeep of the house – fixing sinks, installing things, building shelves, etc. I get time to learn a few instruments, enjoy the solitude of my room when my inner introvert is overwhelmed by the ‘together-ness’. There are many things I am leaving out – such as trips into the city to check out a museum, visits with friends who are in town, provincial community meetings, CND Associate gatherings, lectures on poverty or ecological activism, and celebrating sisters' lives at funerals (a few so far).<br />
<br />
I think those are the highlights. A busy schedule for sure, and I wonder where the days have gone, how 11 weeks could possibly have passed already! I am filled with gratitude for the people I live with, treasure the lessons I have already learned, and already dread when the two years will be over.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmdZ3yO5HauAZX9d70rUz5iwZbGszz6GTQgdf0Opxp9PWJFeFdIlrqiTQhPJzrmy9eYAh7cvPyqu2hTgi7pbtZFaUV44bgxHte1e2k993SoRrXn5Zz48cjITt0PXpRZp_PKof5zWUPJc8/s1600/IMG_0001.JPG"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmdZ3yO5HauAZX9d70rUz5iwZbGszz6GTQgdf0Opxp9PWJFeFdIlrqiTQhPJzrmy9eYAh7cvPyqu2hTgi7pbtZFaUV44bgxHte1e2k993SoRrXn5Zz48cjITt0PXpRZp_PKof5zWUPJc8/s640/IMG_0001.JPG" /></a><br />
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<br />Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com0White Plains, NY, USA41.033986200000008 -73.76290970000002340.938153700000008 -73.924271200000021 41.129818700000008 -73.601548200000025tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-36836111551285901982017-11-06T12:46:00.000-05:002018-01-24T12:54:35.600-05:00Qu’est-ce que vous diriez que vous faites ici?
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<i><span lang="es-419" style="color: #333333; font-family: "arvo" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">Translated from English by Congregation of Notre Dame Translators </span></i><br />
<span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";"></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";">(Click here to read this article in <a href="https://literallylibby.blogspot.com/2017/11/que-dirias-tu-que-hacemos-aqui.html" target="_blank">Spanish</a> or in<a href="https://literallylibby.blogspot.com/2017/11/what-would-you-say-you-do-here.html" target="_blank"> English</a>)</span></div>
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<span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";"> </span></div>
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<span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";">Lorsque j’ai commencé ce blog, j’ai
promis de décrire comment se passe une vie de novice. Maintenant que j’ai passé
quelques mois au noviciat, je me suis installée dans des habitudes confortables
et je peux mieux décrire « une journée typique ». Il convient de
noter que chaque ordre religieux a sa propre façon de former des novices, et
même à l’intérieur de la CND (ma communauté – Congrégation de Notre-Dame), l’expérience
du noviciat a été différente pour chacune des sœurs qui ont partagé leur
histoire avec moi, je relate donc ici mon expérience jusqu’à maintenant.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDlvdYgFa3mpF0U1zFBSN5QRzRnUIHV0C-v-DlTGX_GRWN3P6LP-_wdjnyDF4uNTXdnkLnnMZzYKGhsCOX5FHsXhKqDlLfLxo3cs5mW9eo2izd9uYU-cKC0U60uJnzTGHrrlRUiJH_Nq8/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDlvdYgFa3mpF0U1zFBSN5QRzRnUIHV0C-v-DlTGX_GRWN3P6LP-_wdjnyDF4uNTXdnkLnnMZzYKGhsCOX5FHsXhKqDlLfLxo3cs5mW9eo2izd9uYU-cKC0U60uJnzTGHrrlRUiJH_Nq8/s200/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="200" /></a><span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";"> </span></div>
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<span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";">Clarification du jargon de sœur : « formation » est un synonyme
d’étude, de préparation, d’instruction, mais il est utilisé</span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";"></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";">tout spécialement
dans le contexte de vie religieuse, et même s’il s’applique en particulier à
cette étape en tant que novice (« camp d’entraînement pour sœurs »),
la formation est continue jusque dans la vie de professe, en passant par les vœux
temporaires. Dans mon ancienne vie, je l’aurais appelée « formation
permanente » ou « développement professionnel », avec des sujets
bien plus larges à développer sur les plans personnel et spirituel.</span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";"></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";"></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";"></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";"></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";"></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";"></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";"></span></span><br />
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<span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";">Je commence ma journée par une heure de
prière personnelle, afin de m’orienter vers le divin et de définir une
trajectoire souhaitée de paix et de présence. Elle inclut souvent la lecture
quotidienne des Écritures, l’office divin du matin, et de la
méditation/contemplation. Mon mantra préféré depuis quelques temps est la
prière de Jésus – Jésus Christ, Fils de Dieu, aie pitié de moi pécheur. Puis je
dois me souvenir de mettre ma croix. La plupart du temps je m’en souviens juste
avant de quitter la pièce. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5jvFfSHV3JZXryKbXgcV02vTnoZZ9_3undkDsdKC-yIsXcZLkztG59FWN9DUSEpQFWd610f3lpHKTmnVoM00QOgpkuGxuL6TK0i4-5tE7sd1_N11aGQspe0tcuxVNlmoZE5Wo3roR-m0/s1600/23032640_10155171908925172_2489766369089156647_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5jvFfSHV3JZXryKbXgcV02vTnoZZ9_3undkDsdKC-yIsXcZLkztG59FWN9DUSEpQFWd610f3lpHKTmnVoM00QOgpkuGxuL6TK0i4-5tE7sd1_N11aGQspe0tcuxVNlmoZE5Wo3roR-m0/s200/23032640_10155171908925172_2489766369089156647_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
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<span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";">Notre autel du </span><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: ES-TRAD; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";">Día de los Muertos</span><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";"> </span><span lang="FR-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: FR-CA;"></span></div>
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<span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";">On prend le déjeuner et le dîner à
l’heure qui convient à chacune, et on se retrouve à cinq à la maison pour le
souper, puis ensuite pour la prière communautaire. Chacune cuisine un soir par
semaine, et ça a été amusant d’étirer mes muscles culinaires qui s’étaient bien
atrophiés pendant ces 6 dernières années à vivre seule. De la même façon,
j’anime la prière environ un soir par semaine. La prière communautaire inclut
presque toujours un chant et l’office divin du soir, cependant nous avons eu un
service spécial la semaine dernière pour le </span><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: ES-TRAD; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";">Día De Los Muertos</span><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";"> </span><span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";">et nous avons dressé un autel pour nos chers disparus. Le contenu de la
prière varie selon la personne qui anime la prière et chaque soir est différent
mais spécial. Le dimanche, nous participons à un partage de la foi et apprenons
à nous connaître à un niveau plus approfondi. Ce qui m’impressionne le plus
quand nous prions ensemble est que chaque soir, lorsque le temps de la
contemplation en silence arrive, l’énergie du silence de 5 personnes est
puissante et palpable. Je suis déjà une personne du soir, mais après cette
poussée d’énergie, je suis rechargée, éveillée pendant longtemps.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAvGiki8qDODsU2j-QQyOb6YqLiLYjwrRvgyl4mUTdLPHwzIvqXYVFEsCOvyWaUzJdLr_ovjaSlvp9yJCYJxuqRg47XnckY96oQ50kRaC9nl5SldAWFphgPAzWynf-jRbXXOqwmBcKVrI/s1600/E000E5CB-278E-4A59-A8DA-CF9FCFD482D2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="876" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAvGiki8qDODsU2j-QQyOb6YqLiLYjwrRvgyl4mUTdLPHwzIvqXYVFEsCOvyWaUzJdLr_ovjaSlvp9yJCYJxuqRg47XnckY96oQ50kRaC9nl5SldAWFphgPAzWynf-jRbXXOqwmBcKVrI/s200/E000E5CB-278E-4A59-A8DA-CF9FCFD482D2.JPG" width="109" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";">Je vais à la messe tous les jours, ce
qui est une chose avec laquelle je pensais avoir des difficultés. Cependant,
j’ai trouvé que la messe quotidienne est merveilleuse – elle est courte, va à
l’essentiel, et offre un rappel régulier d’apporter le Christ dans le monde. De
plus, je vais dans une église différente tous les jours ce qui me permet
d’explorer les églises, les quartiers, et d’observer les gens. J’y vais souvent
à pied puisqu’il y a 6 églises à moins de 45 minutes de marche.</span></div>
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<span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";">Le lundi et le mercredi, je rencontre
ma responsable du noviciat et je découvre la vie religieuse, la formation à la
CND, des informations spécifiques au noviciat, et les possibilités de croissance
personnelle. Les semaines suivent des thèmes (j’adore), ce qui implique des
lectures d’articles et de livres (j’adore encore plus), et j’ai des
« devoirs » sous la forme d’une courte réflexion pour chaque thème
(je pense que ma responsable préfèrerait que j’écrive moins... mais je lui ai
expliqué une fois que ça me prend deux paragraphes rien que pour éternuer,
alors elle est coincée avec de longues dissertations). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Avec
soeur Kathleen Deignan</span></div>
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<span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";">Le mardi et le mercredi soir, j’assiste
à des cours. L’un d’eux est un cours de second cycle à l’université Fordham sur
l’Ancien Testament. C’est un cours incroyable qui a changé ma façon d’écouter
les lectures pendant la messe car il fournit le contexte, la culture et
l’histoire des récits. L’autre est un cours de premier cycle au Iona College
sur la cosmologie de l’univers et comment les étoiles et la spiritualité sont
inextricablement liées (extraordinaire bien sûr). Ce cours est enseigné par une
de nos sœurs – Kathleen Deignan, et cela a été une source d’inspiration
d’entendre son mysticisme et sa sagesse. Au prochain semestre, je passerai au
Nouveau Testament et à Teilhard de Chardin (J’espère!)</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";">Le jeudi je
rencontre un groupe de novices et leurs formatrices (responsable de noviciat,
responsable, etc.) et nous <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE0Ej3k1xYGovxFjJ4qto2OamtPloSmnc6YDqjo8IeFWAO0rVzv22lOMZgawSCmtM04m2IhB2_sSJa0br4Tzpyl0SsJj1jz3sofcjqKuvZbvLEudGFSohXa60hfRcKsu9tNvFvacbOFeE/s1600/F7503C06-8CD1-470A-8A5A-22C70B92E66C.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE0Ej3k1xYGovxFjJ4qto2OamtPloSmnc6YDqjo8IeFWAO0rVzv22lOMZgawSCmtM04m2IhB2_sSJa0br4Tzpyl0SsJj1jz3sofcjqKuvZbvLEudGFSohXa60hfRcKsu9tNvFvacbOFeE/s200/F7503C06-8CD1-470A-8A5A-22C70B92E66C.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Amies
en formation</span></div>
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apprenons ensemble. Nous nous rendons dans les
différentes maisons afin de voir l’espace personnel les unes des autres, voyageant
jusqu’au Connecticut, la Pennsylvanie et le New Jersey. Parmi les sujets
abordés : la doctrine sociale catholique, la prière, la réflexion
théologique, et le développement psychosocial. Toute une gamme, c’est le moins
que l’on puisse dire. Ce groupe de novices fait partie d’un plus grand groupe
qui se réunit six fins de semaine par an, pour toutes les personnes en
formation – les candidates (comme moi l’année dernière), les novices, les
nouvelles professes (en ministère avec des emplois et qui ont fait la promesse
de rester un an ou deux de plus jusqu’à ce qu’elles soient prêtes pour leurs
vœux perpétuels), et nos formatrices. L’année dernière, j’ai pris l’avion de
l'Île-du-Prince-Édouard à New York à sept reprises pour rencontrer ce groupe,
j’avais donc déjà un cercle d’amies lorsque je suis arrivée.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcII9Fl3cCdz9HLKcZ9L43GfaKE4DqQ7m8M5WUqkYmX7VqGnbJLBIYexZXjcO8MPtONrVwdxGI4xjIMnRWMx1yfm1e8b5k-EEjXwcBQI_NLwPtYKQzf0R5qtIXEWRqf_Mb3k5R88vfjoQ/s1600/E32A3575-0C3F-4B8C-A478-224F6AFF83CD.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcII9Fl3cCdz9HLKcZ9L43GfaKE4DqQ7m8M5WUqkYmX7VqGnbJLBIYexZXjcO8MPtONrVwdxGI4xjIMnRWMx1yfm1e8b5k-EEjXwcBQI_NLwPtYKQzf0R5qtIXEWRqf_Mb3k5R88vfjoQ/s200/E32A3575-0C3F-4B8C-A478-224F6AFF83CD.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";">Le vendredi est la « journée du
Camino » ou « journée du désert », pendant laquelle j’essaye d’assimiler
les notions acquises durant la semaine de manière intentionnelle, en silence
autant que possible. C’est presque une journée de retraite à chaque semaine et
ça me rappelle de ne pas en faire trop. J’ai l’occasion de lire, de bloguer,
d’aller marcher pendant 8 heures, ou de faire vraiment ce que l’Esprit
m’inspire, mais avec pour objectif de le faire intentionnellement.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzrQeL_mO0o-M7CwFtyChqfwvHEp3fVVULWJxKrTGfExR-oiMauySLhOGOeM1ohgTj0k3-hpy0kJ6MdQ5XHY9IGFWbTUxeNiBp_R3ex0hq91Ydj5tss-Z97_4PgVLwFqkorIWjk6G7bq8/s1600/5576A63D-FDEF-4356-ABDD-D63EB74BF830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzrQeL_mO0o-M7CwFtyChqfwvHEp3fVVULWJxKrTGfExR-oiMauySLhOGOeM1ohgTj0k3-hpy0kJ6MdQ5XHY9IGFWbTUxeNiBp_R3ex0hq91Ydj5tss-Z97_4PgVLwFqkorIWjk6G7bq8/s200/5576A63D-FDEF-4356-ABDD-D63EB74BF830.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";">Mes colocs à Broadway</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";">En tant que communauté – nous organisons
une soirée de jeux de société par semaine et nous jouons aux cartes (à ma
demande), nous regardons la télévision ensemble certains soirs (en ce moment, je
suis obsédée par les programmes « Good Place » et « Project
Runway »), nous nous glissons dans l’église sans lumière au milieu de la
nuit pour prier (chut, gardez ça pour vous!), nous cuisinons ensemble, nous allons
nous promener, et nous sommes même allées à un spectacle de Broadway (nous
avions 5 billets gratuits!!). C’est une expérience plutôt extraordinaire. </span><span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQFIxtlNkE5390GuwKpGWv291p6Ga1w1ypr4lJ9-OM2jf9wwhTz1kE94ReEUJooGwcRhlb_xu_nwnXpLdmi4jZDOaZDaz4JXs2wMmflKM1hROuPVvcqbeNjz960HzKMxHAyABgtFG5nqU/s1600/ADACB059-6C2B-4201-AC7D-D3ED0858318E.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQFIxtlNkE5390GuwKpGWv291p6Ga1w1ypr4lJ9-OM2jf9wwhTz1kE94ReEUJooGwcRhlb_xu_nwnXpLdmi4jZDOaZDaz4JXs2wMmflKM1hROuPVvcqbeNjz960HzKMxHAyABgtFG5nqU/s200/ADACB059-6C2B-4201-AC7D-D3ED0858318E.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
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<span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Super visite de UPEI
à NY</span></div>
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<span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";">Je dors un bon 7 heures par nuit – plus
que ce que j’avais l’habitude d’avoir. Je participe au nettoyage même si mes </span><span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";">efforts se concentrent surtout sur
l’entretien de la maison – réparer les éviers, installer des choses, construire
des étagères, etc. J’ai le temps d’apprendre à jouer de quelques instruments,
de profiter de la solitude de ma chambre lorsque l’introvertie en moi est
saturée de « l’être-ensemble ». Il y a beaucoup de choses que je ne
mentionne pas – comme des trajets en ville pour visiter un musée, les visites
d’amis qui passent dans le coin, les rencontres communautaires de la province,
les rassemblements des personnes associées à la CND, les conférences sur la
pauvreté ou l’activisme écologique, et la célébration de la vie des sœurs lors
d’obsèques (quelques-unes jusqu’à présent).</span></div>
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<span lang="FR-CA" style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Narrow";">Je pense que ce sont les points forts. C’est
un horaire chargé, c’est certain; je me demande où sont passées les journées et
comment 11 semaines se sont déjà écoulées! Je suis pleine de reconnaissance
pour les personnes avec qui je vis, je chéris les leçons que j’ai apprises, et
je redoute le jour où ces deux années tireront à leur fin. (Libby Osgood, novice
de la CND)</span></div>
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Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-559027148015720519.post-77027221878557957032017-10-20T17:25:00.001-04:002017-10-20T19:09:36.745-04:00Collision, Social Media & TeachingsThere were two unexpected surprises from social media that captured my consciousness this week, and it seems I am not the only one: the collision of two amazingly dense stars and a swelling of solidarity of women bravely saying #metoo. Interestingly, both of these topics aligned with the theme at the novitiate this week on Catholic Social Teachings. Just by writing those three words you probably had a flash of one or two controversial topics flash in your brain, and if you're like me, your stomach tightens at the thought of the conflict that often arises or dense air that suddenly enters the room when these are brought up. But wait! There is neat, non-controversial and very loving, cool stuff I learned. <div><div><br></div><div>First learning for this week was about Catholic Relief Services, a big charitable organization. They spent almost a billion dollars last year in emergency relief, health, and agriculture with an efficiency of 94% of funding going to programs. That means very low administrative and fundraising expenses compared to the less effocient 75% for March of Dimes or 50% for the American Breast Cancer Association</div>(<a href="https://www.charitynavigator.org/index.cfm?bay=search.summary&orgid=5934" id="id_2dee_cc0_e0a3_3edc" target="_blank">Charity Navigator</a>) They respond in crises like the hurricanes and Rwanda crisis. Turns out - they also do advocacy and awareness. <div><br></div><div>Catholic Family Relief services put together a new website and 3 min videos based on the US Conference of Catholic Bishops documents. The videos are easy to digest, small, and surprisingly watchable. Notably missing is that cheese factor you come to expect from Christian movies (i.e. anything Kirk Cameron produced, though the corny factor has lessened in newer movies) as the videos are really well-filmed, with cameos from Fr Jim Martin, and you get to see Br Mickey O'Neill McGrath make art during the clips. <a href="https://www.crs.org/resource-center/CST-101" id="id_e810_4d2d_e534_70a7" target="_blank">https://www.crs.org/resource-center/CST-101</a></div><div><br></div><div><img id="id_249d_b561_dc2a_7f7d" src="https://www.crs.org/sites/default/files/usops-resources/17us495_cst_poster-adult_en-digital.pdf" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; display: block; height: auto;"><br></div><div><div>To my more liberal-leaning friends (who are quick to post every Bernie article): you might be surprised to see how much you have in common with these 7 themes such as options for the poor and rights of the workers. And to my more conservative friends: catholic social teaching is 6 themes more than the big topic of right to life. Oh and there is so much language about compassion and love, balanced with the suggestions for action that my analytical side was begging for. </div></div></div><div><br></div><div>Okay - A lot of preamble to get to this point, but I was kept up until 2am on Tuesday night when I saw that FERMI, the lil ole satellite I got to work on, had helped measure and confirm gravitational waves, for the first time from two nuetron stars!! I got to join in (along with the 5,000 others involved with production of the satellite) to be a part of scientific history! These two neturon stars who were each in the process of dying, were very, very dense. So dense that it would be like compressing our sun into an object the size of Chicago. What!?! There are two of them! </div><div><br></div><img id="id_6077_7202_762f_69af" src="https://assets.cdn.astronomynow.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/10/16161137/eso1733k.jpg" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; margin: 4px; float: right; display: block; height: auto;"><br><div>They had been circling each other for 11 billion years, and 130 million years they finally collided. They are so very far away, that it took that long (130 million years) for the photons (and gamma rays) to reach us! Wow! LIGO, a detector on earth, and FERMI, a satellite in space alerted their scientists of the event where they could triangulate the event to a portion of space, so astronomers took to the sky and started searching. They found the object! Sadly, to a layperson it doesn't look all that exciting, but scientists were near ecstacy. </div><div><br></div><div><img id="id_1381_fafe_b1e3_a2eb" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-fMjcordfcow/Wepfg_fwgVI/AAAAAAAAPM8/ks8KZTUYgNE5SUdXESNcjrUja5L60QDdgCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="https://www.sciencenews.org/article/gravitational-waves-explained" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"><br>(<a href="https://www.sciencenews.org/article/gravitational-waves-explained" id="id_4f3f_3a7b_d490_981b">Science News</a>)<br></div><div><br></div><div>Why though? Why did the scientists care? Well in addition to confirming more about gravitational waves (great video <a href="https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=4GbWfNHtHRg" id="id_8189_4832_f8be_33ef" target="_blank">here</a>) that Einstein proposed back in 1916 (yes 100 years ago!!), they confirmed suspicions that heavy element like gold and platinum are formed in the nuclei of these kilanova collisions. So - kiss your gold ring and thank the neutron stars (not just any type of star but specifically a neutron star) that had to crash into another neutron star for you to wear that. </div><div><br></div><div>This is where I start to feel the Catholic Social Teaching on Care for Common Home. Drawing from Laudato Si, Papa Francis' document about care for the earth, our earth - a mere 4.5 billion years old has fossil fuels and ores which we know are non-renewable. When we run out of coal or oil, there's no more. It's gone. But this - do you realize how hard God had to work to provide these different elements for us? No wonder that churches are lined with gold or that the Isrealites made a golden calf to worship! Gold comes from the death of so many stars over billions of years. Everything we see and touch on this earth is part of a majestic unfolding love God has for us. In Genesis in both creation stories, we are called to be stewards of the earth and care for it. Party lines and personal views aside, the same science that predicted the second when the eclipse would occur a month ago, the same science that confirmed Einsteins's theories 100 years ago - that same science is telling us our future is short and grim unless we do something. Flat earthers, climate change deniers, and Phoebe on Friends who tells Ross she doesn't believe in gravity (<a href="https://youtu.be/NP__YZbTq6E" id="id_9857_378c_fef7_3bed">clip here</a><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">), take a second look. We can change the future, but only if we are aware of what's happening around us. </span></div><div><br></div><div>A second big event this week (and probably more visible for most people) was the <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/the-intersect/wp/2017/10/19/the-woman-behind-me-too-knew-the-power-of-the-phrase-when-she-created-it-10-years-ago/?utm_term=.b2d7e9bdef1a" id="id_41ba_a6e8_20c8_26c4" target="_blank">#metoo event</a><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> . For those of you less techie, hashtags (#) are used almost like a hyperlink. If you search for a specific hashtag, you get responses from people all over the world who are all writing about that topic. #throwbackthursday is an example where people post old photos of themselves (on Thursday). #metoo is a movement for women who have experienced sexual harassment and assault to let others know - no details needed, just a show of solidarity that the domination and power-craved behavior of too many men has affected women everywhere. The power of #metoo is it is inclusive of the different levels of struggle - from terrible violent assaults to the barrage of daily violations of personal and emotional space. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I had no intention of participating, despite knowing so many of my friends who have been subject to the violent events so rarely spoken about. When they started posting and sharing their stories of recovery and bravery, I knew I had to post as well, in solidarity of them, and because I had a ridiculous moment when a man violated my personal and emotional space just last week. What I find ridiculous is that I didn't connect that this was included in #metoo because it was so common place, and in public. I started to identify with the posts from others, that they (and I) seemed to think of the event every day since. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I must say I was surprised at the outrage people felt for me. Really? You can't say youtoo? I hope that's true but wonder if, like me, you are unaware because of how regularly it happens. Here are some examples: my smaller friends complain about being picked up, physically lifted, by their male friends. They are too small physically to fight and found it easier just to let it happen. Hearing stories from elders who were flashed many times over the years, with a slight laugh because it was so common. I still get whistled at walking down the street, even recently while walking into a church. That is a kind of subjugation - making me feel like an object to be evaluated rather than a human with my own dignity. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Last summer, at a meeting with many women and only a few men, where I was supposed to feel welcome and safe, while I was eating lunch, a man walked by, grabbed my ponytail and while laughing, moved my head around. With his wife standing right beside him, he said he does this to his grandaughters and calls their ponytails handlebars. Though at the time I thought this was small and not a big deal, uncomfortably laughing it off until he stopped and walked away, later that day when I couldn't stop thinking about how powerless I felt in that moment, I became aware. Really aware. It wasn't small. It wasn't nothing. It was reasonable to be upset. This man - whom I didn't even know his name, felt like he was empowered to enter my space and direct where my head should be, without a warning to me, or any remorse. This was a kind, godly man, as so many of them are, and was completely unaware of how belittling that was: subjegating me to a toy for him as he walked by. And he did this to his granddaughters! Never would I ever consider grabbing his ears as I walk by and turning his head around - that's a fantastic wild notion, so how was this any different? Recognizing that I had a responsibility to his granddaughters and to defend myself, I got the courage and confronted him the next day, apologizing the whole time for the uncomfortable situation (which I am now disappointed in my lack of confidence), but really confronted him. He and his wife apologized and thanked me, totally unaware. I don't know that he's thought of it since, but I have. I don't think about what he did but rather how strong and capable I feel for having told him and maybe changed something. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Aligned with the Catholic Social Teaching for Solidarity, recognizing that every human is valued and when we stand together we make a difference, I am glad to be a part of something that brings hope. #metoo has been used by guys who are dawning awareness in the magnitude of how many of the women in their lives have joined in. Publicly posting that they are willing to do better, try harder, and teach their sons to be different, the best part of this campaign is the hope and dialogue it has started. Perhaps then, the 'regular, small' harrassment will be seen for what it is - unwanted harrassment and not acceptable. Hopefully, too, on the other side of the spectrum, the men who perform the terrible violent acts can see the outrage from society and change their ways. Every person should be respected, regardless of race, gender, or creed, and we can all learn to love each other like God loves each one of us - going back to the golden rule. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">In this very long post of three seemingly unlinked topics, I appreciate the wealth of lessons I learned this week, of the awe and wonder of God's creation, dignity for every person, and desire to reach out and do good in the world, informed by a framework that's part of my faith. As month two of formation comes to a close, I am so grateful for where I am and the many hands that are 'forming' me. </span></div><img id="id_7d8f_ebaa_fb9a_9a75" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ya5T1XWAdp0/Weppx3VCm9I/AAAAAAAAPNQ/sjA-V80O0MkWJgdIeKFpQ-HrZ-nGAe9_QCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto; margin: 4px; float: right; display: block;">Libby Osgoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14552312449762635990noreply@blogger.com0