To Be or Not To Be

That was the question

Published on October 23, 2004 By oleteach In Religion

To reach Illinois, we boarded the train from Valley City. (The days of nun-driven cars had not yet evolved as an accepted mode of travel.) Since we arrived in the fall of the year, the soggy, humid days of typical Illinois summers were nearly over. Still for me, Illinois was very foreign. I was just a country bumpkin who had rarely left the boundaries of North Dakota.

We were to be housed in a part of a huge building complex (huge--at least to my rural-oriented view) known as St. Margaret’s Hospital, Convent, and Novitiate. St. Margaret's Hospital - Spring Valley, IL
http://www.st-margarets.com/default.asp

I was truly awed by what I was experiencing. St. Margaret's Hospital, itself was founded long before in 1903 by seven nuns from the community that I was about embrace as my family. This group of nuns had been expelled from France by an anti-religious government.

At the turn of the century, Spring Valley was a large coal mining camp with a population of 6,214 people. Laws governing the protection of miners were few, and accidents and deaths were frequent. A Catholic priest asked these nuns to start a hospital. It began with a little two-story house and over the years grew into a large hospital with many nuns helping the poor and sick of this area. Now at this time there was a large convent building and also a new building to house us young girls aspiring to be nuns. The spacious grounds were beautiful and well maintained. There were many, many new nuns who would play a part in my life during the next two and a half years.

One of these was the nun in charge of our training, Sister Mary Edward. She was American-born (of French descent, however), blessed with a good deal of common sense and a great sense of humor. She was a welcome relief from what we had undergone under the foreign-slanted tutelage of Mother Guirec. This lady was just as resolute in her task of turning out good nuns but she did not attempt to pour each of us into a uniform mold by crushing and breaking us. She made allowances for our unique personalities. Though her training was far more gentle and humane, I again began to have serious doubts about my calling. The age-old maxim that youth disappears too quickly is even more painful when you realize, it’s your own youth that is dwindling away.

Out of nowhere came thoughts about what high school would have been like had I stayed home. Popular hit tunes I once listened to at home began playing in the echoes of my mind. Even though they didn't mean much to me before, holding on to them now seemed crucial to my sanity. As we continued to have morning prayers in French, it was even harder to concentrate, when such tunes as “Jeepers Creepers”, “O Johnny, O Johnny,” and the memorable “Flat Foot Floogie” or “I Gonna Dance With the Dolly With the Hole in Her Stocking” kept up their devilish repetitions in competition with my morning meditations.

In this somewhat warmer and more humid climate of Illinois, I often resented the fact that I had to wear such ridiculous clothing and I longed to get back into regular wear. I felt I was smothering in more ways than one. I was convinced that I was being made over into something I wasn't and the process was causing me a slow death. Still I wavered from day to day between my desire to serve God as a nun and my growing awareness that this way might not really be His way.

Finally, I decided that I could not keep waffling back and forth in my resolution to stay or leave. I saw that it was not healthy to keep entertaining daydreams of returning home where I could honestly earn my high school diploma, live in a normal family atmosphere and seek to serve God in some other, simpler way.

I knew that a dissatisfied person is frustrated, hard to get along with and would not be a good witness to the goodness of God. I certainly didn’t want to become a sour, crabby, joy-killing nun. I did not want anyone to look at me and say, “If that’s what it’s like to be a Christian, then I want no part of it.”

I wanted to show by my life that God’s way was the only way to true happiness and peace. I finally realized the source of most of my conflicts. I had been concentrating on all the things that I was not allowed to do. That had become my focus. I realized that a life filled with a long list of “don’ts” kills joy. Christian life is meant to be a life of peace and joy. I then chose to take up a different mindset. I would choose life! I would concentrate on the wonders of God’s love for me and ignore everything negative. I was determined to be happy in Him no matter how much effort the circumstances of each day required. I was again full of zeal. I did not want to be a lamp with a burned out bulb. I began to embrace this life, determined to be the best nun that I could be with the gifts that God had given me. I would stay in this race to the end. I was in it for the long haul. I would do everything with my whole heart. I would not be lukewarm and compromising.

Ah ha! This was easier said than done. There were still plenty of days when my focus on good things wavered, but I learned to “whistle a happy tune” and go on. (Silently, of course!)
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Comments

SSG Geezer

on Oct 23, 2004

Great story!
Now we start to see the things that have gone into forming the person we only know as either GW's mom or oleteach.
Did you keep a diary or is this strictly from the memory banks?

oleteach

on Oct 24, 2004

SSG Geezer,
No, I didn't keep a diary but so far my memory has stayed vivid. I have been working on my family's history for many years. My story is just a small part of that. I better hurry up before my memory really begins to slip. Well, It has sometimes in everyday situations like going into a room and forgetting why I went there.

lifehappens

on Oct 24, 2004

I finally realized the source of most of my conflicts. I had been concentrating on all the things that I was not allowed to do. That had become my focus. I realized that a life filled with a long list of “don’ts” kills joy.

A friend of mine has a t-shirt that reads "I can't....I'm Mormon." That cracks me up, but I realize that focusing solely on the forbidden only serves to make you miserable. Choosing a path, however limited it may appear to others, can actually be liberating and allow you to find joy in what you choose to do.

You are enthralling as ever! I am amazed at the detail of your memory.....

Different Hanja

on Oct 27, 2004

I am truly enjoying your tale, and waiting patiently for the next installment! This has been a very informative read, thoroughly enjoyable!

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