As awed as I was concerning the spacious surroundings of my new home, there were some pressing anxieties that kept me from fully appreciating its beauty and peacefulness.
There were scores of new faces and places that would call for many new adjustments. I was feeling very reticent even though I had two familiar companions that would be going through these introductions with me. The three of us who had just come from ND timidly faced the group of probationary nuns who were waiting for us in a large, formal room where all had gathered.
Three of these young ladies had entered at least one year before we had. They were now near the end of their “canonical year”, the year that was meant to fully prepare them to take their first vows. There was also a group of girls who were just beginning their canonical year. So we had a much larger group among whom we needed to interact.
Little by little we became acquainted with these candidates who were seeking to become members of this community. Sister Elizabeth Rose, Sister Rachel Marie, and Sister Mary Ann were three of the older girls who had entered before the three of us. They were to be our models as they were nearly ready to make temporary vows. They were very different from one another. As I observed them as the days went by, I noticed that all three followed the rules very closely but to different degrees.
Elizabeth Rose’s mother had died when she was very young and she had to raise her younger siblings. She was older and very mature in her ways. She seemed to be perfect in everything she did. When she knelt for the “Chapter of Faults” each month, nobody ever accused her of having broken any rules.
Sister Rachel Marie was a comic, a little moody, but generally very easy going, reliable and principled. She took no guff from anyone. She apologized to no one.
Sister Mary Ann, on the other hand, was always on the fence when it came to opinions. I never knew exactly where she stood about anything. She seemed to change her views to match anyone who was in good standing with authority at any given moment. In later years, she would have an important impact on my life.
But all of us really seemed to get along reasonably well. I tried to be a good example for the younger ones but alas, I was still so juvenile. I was relieved they had other models to lead them down the road to maturity.
We went about this large new home, cleaning, serving in the dining hall, helping in the hospital laundry, aiding the cooks in the hospital kitchen, learning how to sew our habits (nun’s dresses) according to the minute specifications of the rule and, of course, praying and studying.
As we interacted with some of the older nuns as we helped out in various parts of the convent and hospital, we had a chance to observe what they contributed to bettering this world, how they showed their dedication, how they responded to everyday difficulties. Among them were several that I would classify as real “characters”.
Sister Loretta was in charge of the hospital laundry. She rarely talked. Her face was always placid and peaceful even when facing the mountains of laundry that needed to be washed, ironed and distributed to many locations in the convent and in the hospital. She worked long hours doing her job perfectly and without looking for any praise. She could be seen pushing her huge cart heaped with freshly laundered linens down the halls and into the elevators. She personally delivered them to each floor and department. Often I was appointed to accompany her to help her unload the linens at each locale. If there were any complaints, she wanted to hear them herself. As far as I remember, nobody every complained about her work. When we worked with her, she taught patiently what needed to be done. She expected nothing but the best from us. We happily followed her unselfish example even when it was very hot and humid in her steamy workplace.
Sister Emma was a tiny, sweet little nun who barely spoke any English. She was a talented seamstress. She was in charge of the large sewing room that kept hospital linens mended. She made all of the white habits that the nursing nuns wore in their healing work, as well as the black habits of the nuns who worked in the offices. She also was in charge of teaching all of us new members how to sew, mend and make our new habits (robes). Almost all of what we wore was made right there in her sewing room. We became quite proficient in following her silent directions, as she would demonstrate how to made a perfect seam, an even hem, or follow the complicated pattern she had made of each garment that needed to be created.
Sister Rose was in charge of the huge kitchen that created the wonderful meals that were served in the hospital for patients, workers, nurses and nuns. We helped here every day and learned how to keep food clean, well cooked and appetizingly prepared for serving. Many other lay people helped right along side of us. Sister Rose insisted that all foods be prepared as if we were going to present them to Jesus at His next meal. She reminded us often that “whatever we do for the least of His brethren, we do unto Him.” We learned how to keep the kitchen spotless so that it would always pass the inspection of the most strict health regulations. Sister Rose was a bit intimidating but she was always ready to forgive our failures to pass her rigid standards for food preparation.
There were older nuns who took turns supervising our evening hour of “recreation”. It was an hour in which we were allowed to speak openly without any restriction about keeping silence. Sometimes we would go outdoors to play softball or volleyball or we would just go for walks…always, though as a group. Other times we sat around a table while we mended our stockings, did hand sewing on a new article of clothing or listened to that older nun tell stories of her life experiences.
One such nun was a very eccentric nurse, Sister Beatrice. She could tell stories that kept us enthralled for the entire hour she spent with us at least once a week. During the war when most of the doctors had been called for service elsewhere, she was in charge of monitoring the mothers who were about to give birth in the hospital. She told how the doctors would chew her out if she called them too soon or too late for the delivery. She missed the mark many time and had to deliver the babies herself. She had a way of telling her stories, amplified with comical facial expressions that kept us laughing and longing for her next turn to be with us.
From all of these nuns, I learned a great deal of knowledge about work ethics. Mostly I learned these nuns were not driven to fulfill their jobs because they were seeking worldly praise or recognition. They did not find their worth or value in their accomplishments. They taught me that God’s view about performance and acceptance came from the love of Jesus, who gave his life for us. Each of these nuns, though of different and far from perfect personalities, lived by a clear principal: “God does not measure our worth based on human standards of acceptance.” By their constant fidelity they witnessed that, besides Jesus, nothing has any lasting significance. He alone mattered to them. Their faithfulness and good deeds came from abiding in Him who strengthened them each day. I have always cherished what I learned from these wonderful nuns.
What about our spiritual life apart from the work we were asked to do? We were introduced to the daily reading of “The Office”. This was a book of prayers, taking mostly from the Book of Psalms. These prayers were divided into “Hours” of the day. Prime was the morning prayer, None, the prayer recited at about noon, Sext, prayer at supper time and Vespers, the evening prayer. We sometimes recited these prayers together in the chapel or we could say them as we walked outside on a lovely, long, circular, shaded path called Rosary Road, that lead to the community cemetery and back.
Gradually the messages of those beautiful psalms began to take root in my heart. This regular routine of prayer throughout the day taught me a great deal about prayer and showed me that I could experience the presence of God in any situation. The Psalms revealed people rejoicing, mourning, asking forgiveness, recalling the past and imagining the future. They taught me how to love God, how to obey Him, and how to be a light to others. Over and over, each day, God impressed upon my mind and heart that no matter how holy or sinful we may feel, each of us is on the same pathway of discipleship. He came to free us from guilt. As I saw things in myself that needed to change, I didn’t become discouraged. I learned that God does not want us to be ashamed of who we are because we have not always been faithful. We just need to repent and turn to Him. I learned to praise God whenever it became apparent that I was not perfect. It meant that He was at work in me, changing me a little bit more into the person He wanted me to be. I kept up praying for strength and wisdom. I learned to banish my anxieties and fears. I always found Him right at my side offering me His love and His peace. Any difficulties I faced, I believed that they would contribute to my growth as a Christian and it would forge my character into a servant of the Lord.
Another welcome addition to life in this place was a weekly class given us by one of the monks from a nearby Benedictine Abbey. These priests came to teach us Scripture and Theology. Again I would sit in those classes, usually conducted in the chapel, and try to absorb every truth they taught. They didn’t stress rules and regulations but emphasized prayer, recognizing our relentless human hunger to communicate with God. They told us about the pitfalls of discouragement and doubt. Their messages were always filled with words of consolation for us. They also seemed to have an endless supply of great jokes to share. These priests were again very different from the parish priests that I had encountered in my youth growing up in Verona. These priests were truly an inspiration.
So thus I made it through my second probation period. I still had some doubts about what God was really asking of me. The night before making my first temporary vows, I was desperately trying to think of a legitimate way to avoid taking those vows. My mother and my sister, Mary, had traveled from ND to be with me as I took my first vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. I was not allowed to visit with them until after I made my vows.
As I was walking alone in an upstairs hallway, I approached a little shrine of the Virgin Mary set up on a table at the end of that hall. I knelt there to beg Mother Mary to send me a sign that would unmistakably tell me whether I should really take up those vows or if I should tell my mother and sister that I wanted to go back home with them. I thought that my mother might be disappointed. She might shed a few tears but I knew, with certainty, that there would be no reproach.
I got no sign except my own misgivings, which I was too afraid to share with anyone. I made those vows the next day, September 15, 1947 knowing full well that I was in this for another five years. I was just one month shy of being 18 years old. Because of my convent training that had taken away much of my responsibility for every day choices, I was more immature than many other teens were at this age.
Very soon after that, I was told what I would be doing in the next months. I was destined to go back to North Dakota to one of the community’s small rural schools to “earn” my high school diploma.