A Mother's Letter

So my daughter is a nun!

By Felicia Villotti 

Unlike the many women who spring such a decision upon their parents, my daughter had decided to become a nun at the ripe old age of eight.  She had just read the life of Rose of Lima and was thus inspired.  To be perfectly truthful, her decision never really bothered me.  I appreciated the advance notice, as it influenced many judgments concerning her upbringing.  I know religious who counsel aspirants to tell no one – especially their parents – because they will attempt to discourage them.  I guess I can see their point, as I know of parents who have tried to bribe their children with cars and other expensive gifts.  I hope the only negative thing I ever did was tease her because she couldn’t carry a tune if it had a handle, and who ever heard of a nun who couldn’t sing?

But our children are (often temporary) gifts from God.  Our sole job is to teach them to know, love and serve Him.

I have a picture over the couch in our living room.  It has been the object of my contemplation on many sleepless nights, although it’s not even an extraordinarily beautiful rendition.  But it is entitled “The Death of St. Joseph”, and I think it sums up our entire goal in life:  to die in the presence of Christ and His Blessed Mother.

Yes, the ways to attain that goal are countless, but what better way than by leading a consecrated life?

Now because I accept all this intellectually, I welcomed my daughter’s entrance with great enthusiasm, right? HAH!!!

When Sarah came home from her discernment with this particular community, she was on cloud nine.  This was it!  She would spend the next year winding up her commitments, then enter.  I could deal with that.

One month later, on the feast of the Immaculate Conception, she handed me a letter.  Be here on January 13.  One month!  I was floored.  (I have since come to the conclusion that once a girl thinks this is her calling, they would prefer having her enter as soon as possible, rather than risking further entanglement in worldly cares.)

Oh my!  She was the first to leave home.  I had only had her for a short twenty-one years.  I would never be able to just pick up the phone and chat.  She could receive one letter a month from me, and no mail during Lent and Advent.  I could visit three times a year – a 1250 mile drive one way – so three visits might not even be possible and some family member would have to stay home to take care of the farm.

I cried every day.  My other kids would walk into the room, take one look at me, and stroll right out again.

Everyone wanted to see her, and our days were filled with “lasts”: the last time she would see this friend or that relative, our last Christmas together, etc.  I know how to throw a pity party!

I remember being in labor with my fifth child, when I decided I finally wanted something for the pain. “I’m sorry, Ma’am” was the reply, “but you’re too close to delivery to give you anything now.”  My beloved partner in life, my rock, my “coach”, looked at me sweetly and said, “Just offer it up!”  O knew he was right but I still wanted to punch him in the jaw.

My point?  This is yet another opportunity to gain heaven, another sacrifice I shouldn’t waste it.  Few people understood the pain or at least the degree of sorrow I felt, but to use a popular saying, it was time to “suck it up and deal with it.”  Any drawback to my daughter entering the monastery revolved around my own selfishness.

A young friend entered the strictest Carmelite order that I personally know.  Unfortunately, her mother isn’t Catholic.  She cried so often, her doctor prescribed something for her depression.  Rats!  I hadn’t even considered drugs!  Chocolate has always been my opiate of choice.  All kidding aside, my “burden” is now quite light by comparison, thanks to my Catholic faith.  I keep reminding myself of the millions of heroic parents through the ages whose children left for other countries and never had the chance to see them again.  My life is cush.

Sarah had countless interests.  She dropped them and never looked back.  Many people have considered it a shame that someone with so many talents should be in a convent.  I wonder why we would want to give God less than the best.

Her responsibilities were divided among the rest of the family members.  On some days when things seem completely out of control, we exchange a look with an understanding that no longer needs to be voiced . . . “Yes, Martha, Mary has chosen the better part.”

Her growth has been immeasurable.  She has had all kinds of opportunities that we couldn’t have provided.  Why, Sister Cecilia, who played in the philharmonic (there’s that talent thing again) even taught her to sing!

Her siblings had to take on more, and have grown by leaps and bounds.

Finally, our family has expanded immensely.  A wise priest once told me, “You’re not losing a daughter; you’re gaining an entire congregation.”  And so it is.  More joy-filled women could never be found.  They refer to us parents as “Mom and Dad ______”.  This is the closest we’ll ever come to hand-picking our relatives!

Even the families of the sisters become close.  It seems the standard line for consoling parents is: “You can’t get a better son-in-law.”  So we laughingly try to scare one another by referring to each other as in-laws.

Everyone bemoans the dearth of vocations, but as in so many other circumstances they expect someone else to do something about it.  It’s too late for me to become a nun, but I can certainly encourage others.  I can’t remember anyone even suggesting the possibility in my youth.

Every Sunday, for the last 12 years, I have joined our congregation in saying this prayer at Mass.  Now I have to “walk the walk”.

I know I’m windy, but if you still have time for an anecdote. . .

We took scads of pictures during that month of “lasts”, but they weren’t developed in the time promised and we had to take Sarah to the monastery without seeing the results.  Upon our return, we found that not a single picture turned out.  The camera was broken.  That also meant that not a single picture of her entrance or the monastery was any good.

It’s standard policy that the new postulant cannot write for the first month, and Lent was fast approaching as well.  I was getting pretty dejected by now, but just in the nick of time an envelope arrived addressed in her handwriting!  I tore it open.  It was a note from Mother.  “This picture was developed too late to be included with Sister Sarah’s letter.”  Letter?  What letter?!?  We hadn’t received any letter!!!!  No matter.  We had at least received   a   picture   of ……THE WRONG GIRL!!!

Walked into the living room and dropped into the lazy-boy.  No one dared speak.  What could be said?  My husband finally rose, went back to our room and returning, and dropped the box of chocolate covered nuts in my lap that he was saving as a St. Valentine’s gift two days later.  Nothing else could be done.

We did receive that letter two days later.  I felt sorry for the mother who received my daughter’s picture, so I sent the other back as quickly as possible with a brief note.  “I know you nuns all look alike, but your mother can still tell the difference!” 

On the first “family day”, we compared notes with that nun’s mother and sisters.  This girl had never even hinted that she was considering a vocation.  Her discernment was only a week before Sarah’s, and she simply went home and declared that she was entering the convent.  Talk about surprised!  Her family couldn’t come to her entrance, so she flew in.  Her now-giggling sisters said the picture mix-up paled in comparison to their receiving a box from her.  It seems she had shipped her traveling – “street” clothes back to them without so much as a note inside – just her Starbuck’s card and her dirty socks!  They said it was like receiving her remains.

After all this, our dear Bishop Finn invited our sisters to this very diocese; they will live only a few hours away.  How about that prayer?  As my husband says, “I gave my daughter to God, and He gave her back with fifteen more.”

Boy, do I feel silly.  You know I would have just blubbered over those dumb pictures anyway.  I often envision our good God looking down on me and just slowly shaking His head.

Sheesh … I need a tissue.

                                                                                                                        Sincerely,                                                                                                                        Mom Villotti