How the Religious Life Prepared me for Marriage

Edmund Blair-Leighton's Painting: Maternity

Discerning the Religious Life

Before discerning my vocation was to the married state, I was set on the religious life. It was, after all, the more perfect way and I knew God ultimately deserved the first say. In fact, I was set on being a religious from the moment I decided to convert to Catholicism as sixteen. I even contacted the Franciscan Sisters in Kansas City, told them I wanted to be a “nun”. The Sister I was speaking to scurried along and got Mother Superior for me. She began discussing the process with me when I blurted out, “I’m not Catholic yet”. I wouldn’t be surprised if she mentally did a back-flip. They ended up sending me a Catechism in the mail and the location of a Latin Mass for me to attend. I may have been a bit flippant those early teenage years about it, noticing cute boys every so often and all, but I would always end up right back where I started: pondering the religious life.

Years went by. I was looking at Carmel for a while since St. Therese was one of the first saints I ever was introduced to and I had quickly fallen in love with her and wished to imitate her way down to the tiniest detail, I suppose. The Mother Superior at Carmel, though, told me, due to my lack of foundation as a convert, I needed to immerse myself in a good Catholic environment before they'd even consider me. I chose St. Mary's where there was a lovely Catholic school where I worked as a teacher assistant. I was there for a couple years and I loved it. While there, I met an order of Sisters who were visiting. I would join them not a year from then, but a month. Yeah, you heard me right, I went across the world and managed to do that in about a month. I had never flown internationally before, didn’t have a passport, didn’t have a visa, didn’t have much money, but I was determined. I wanted this. I was about 22 at this time. I felt like I had been waiting long enough and Mother was willing for me to come for the new school year. I prayed to St. Therese, I bugged her to shorten my wait and make it possible. Everything fell into place. I got my passport, my visa, a benefactor to pay for my flight all in a few weeks time.

I left for the convent on the feast of the Purification of Mary. I didn’t even plan it that way, but I had been praying to her to light my candle so that I could come and meet my bridegroom, comparing myself to the foolish virgins. It dawned on me then, during Mass, that that prayer was answered; I felt, symbolically, she lit my candle, gave me the wax foolish me had forgotten, and sent me on my way.

My faith was still very sentimental and immature at this point. I took full advantage living at St. Marys, going to daily Mass and participating in the Divine liturgy as far as possible, but I was still lacking that foundation many cradle Catholics get from their family, their Catholic upbringing. I didn’t have that. I came from a broken home. I had gone to public school my whole life. I was just learning at St. Marys how to truly be feminine.

My faith grew in the convent. It was purified. All of me was purified. Two weeks in, and a terrible dryness hit that only left for very short periods of time for those two and a half years. For about six straight months in my canonical year, my faith was tested unimaginably. With my will, I hope I did not consent, but thoughts came to my head that heaven didn’t exist, that there was just nothingness, that I was giving up a family of my own, a child of my own, for nothing. These thoughts had come before in my life, of course, but never so strongly. There were times I was worried I believed them. I felt a repulsion during prayer, literally.

Before, probably, escape would’ve been the route I would’ve taken. I didn’t take that route though, not during this dark time. I waited. I told God I loved Him even though I felt the complete opposite. I continued to get up at 5am, go to Office, go to Mass, obey my superiors. I was very open with my superiors about my crosses. A part of me wanted them or my confessor to just tell me to leave, but they didn’t. And I couldn’t leave. Not then. I was scared and confused and I loved God and did not want to turn my back on Him. I did not want to refuse His call. And I was in the dark. With St. Ignatius ringing in my head, with my confessor’s advice as well, I knew I could not make a decision when I was in the midst of a storm. I had to wait for the calm.

Around this time I wrote a poem I would like to share with you that conveys in some way my struggles:

I breathe the wind

Into swollen lungs

Red eyes blink

And all is gone.

It disappears

At least for a moment

Standing at the crossroads

Nervous and trembling

Do I even want anything?

There is no silent conviction

There is no conviction at all

There is nothing

My heart is torn

It is broken

It cannot decide

To be loved

In a special way

By a person I can see

And hear and touch

It seems much more real

Even if it’s not

Even if it’s in fact false

A fickle thing

This love of humans

Changes like the wind

God is eternal

His love infinite

And He gives me Himself

He gives me everything

Where is my gratitude?

The ground beneath my feet

Is hard

The grass cannot be seen

Under this dirt

What do I want?

Nothing

And everything

At once

The world’s vanities

Make me shrink

But so does the cross

Of my Jesus

Covered in blood

And I want to be brave

I want to give Him everything

All of me

Not counting the cost

But I’m a coward

And I stand here

At the crossroads

Wavering

“Dear God”

He seems far away

Gone

I once felt His peace

Such a wonderful calm

There is nothing now

I am numb

The little children huddle around me

But do they really care?

In the end, they go home

And I’m not ever there.

My Sisters laugh and joke

But still a barrier I hold

My heart can’t get attached

Not to a human soul

I want a shoulder to cry on

A friend to wipe my tears

I want to be loved by someone

But I am here

Before a silent God

Who I know is before me

But who I cannot see

And cannot hear

And cannot feel

At all.

The romance of the cross

Should be enough

It should be all

But the crucifix

On the wall

Is motionless

He beckoned me

And I responded

I said, “Yes,

I’d follow His call”

Now here He is

Silent

I’ve crossed the ocean

I’ve left behind my home

I let myself be forgotten

Erased from memories of loved ones

Affections have gone cold

They have changed, gone old

But I am here, frozen

I still care…too much

And they don’t know.

I cannot tell them.

And will I be happy

In the world?

I cannot see over this picket fence

And do not know

If there is any grass there at all.

And can I give up the treasure

Of a baby I can call my own

Tiny hands and soft feet

Eyes that look like my own?

For God. For God. For God.

How dry and tasteless

I feel

Shattered in a silent way

No tears

No pain

I’m just not happy

Waves aren’t crashing

All about me

I cannot even cry.

“Dear, God,

I want Your will

Not mine”

My peace did come when I was in the chapel, making my evening meditation. At this point, there were five months left before my vows. The pressure to make a decision was almost overwhelming some days. I was completely torn. Canonical year was over, I was now teaching a little, which helped a lot, because it gave me an outlet, but I still felt the strong desire for a child of my own and it was that that I just couldn’t seem to let go. Of course, it was natural and I knew that. My confessor told me if I did not want this desire, he’d think something were wrong with me, that it’s not going to just not exist because I chose the life of celibacy. The other sisters of course had it too, but they did not seem as restless as me about it.

But peace came suddenly, while I was praying. It wasn’t anything too amazing, no consoling feelings or anything, just a calm I hadn’t felt in a long time. My first thought, once it hit, was that I could keep going, that I could do this, it wasn’t so bad. But then I stopped myself, “No, Sister, this is your time to make a decision.” So, I prayed and I reflected on what God’s will was for me. I knew God alone could fully satisfy me, that no creature could ever do that, however, there was some sort of inner conviction that God wanted me to move on elsewhere. I wasn't certain of it. I even left with the pretext that I might be back. Mother said the doors were always open if I decided to return.

I called my parents and let them know my decision. To my amazement, they gave better advice than even some “Catholic parents” of some of the other women who had tried their vocation there. Over skype, my mom said to me, “Okay, I’m going to try not to be selfish.” and then began to list things she knew I’d miss such as the prayer life I wouldn’t get to such a degree in the married state. My dad, likewise, also brought up how I was happiest when I wanted to be a Sister. When I told him before that I was having doubts, he told me the wise words that my confessor had been telling me: not to make a decision when in the dark, but to wait. They both desperately wanted me home, especially since at this point I hadn’t seen them since my clothing ceremony, which they came to and were deeply touched by, but they put their wants aside because more than me home, they wanted me truly happy and, I like to think, they also wanted to do God’s will at least in this area and I pray that this sacrifice they made of me to Him will merit their conversion and, ultimately, heavenly bliss.

How the Religious Life Prepared me

Now that I've recounted a little bit of my story, I'd like to dive into how living the religious life prepared me as wife and mother. I come from a broken home and because of that had many insecurities about marriage given the married couple I should've looked up to I couldn't in that way at least. My parents didn't teach me perseverance in marriage; they didn't teach me that kind of sacrificial spirit in their marriage, even if it was shown by them in other ways. I was therefore at a disadvantage compared to those who had come from a home that was entirely intact. I felt the fear of repeating the cycle, something that is very common in children who come from divorced homes, and they usually do repeat the cycle so the odds weren't in my favor. While single I was quite independent and at peace, but throw me in a relationship and add an emotional attachment and I was hardly myself; I was an anxious mess, clingy, constantly looking for reassurance the man who I had come to love wouldn't leave me, and I would basically unwittingly self-sabotage the relationship that way.

The convent helped with many things, but it did not cure the insecurities. The insecurities actually never left until those vows were said and that ring was on my finger. My husband was wonderful and was the only man "man enough", as I would later tell him, to deal with me, to take on my baggage, and intelligent enough to see that all I needed was some security, that these bouts of insecurity weren't really me. He actually went a bit quicker in the courtship than originally planned to keep up with my "needs" as he saw them, and after proposing a week and a half after knowing each other in person (five months of talking over skype), he asked if he was doing a good job keeping up. And sure enough, after marriage, he was probably quite relieved when those insecurities left and I came to believe him when he said he wasn't going anywhere.

Enduring Love

But, while the convent life may not have helped me in that area, it did help me in others and did fix some damage done by coming from a broken home. I may not have seen the perfect marriage between my parents, but I did see the perfect marriage between Christ and His Church and because of the prayer-life of the convent, the recollective environment, likewise because of my struggles I endured there, I learned that love was ultimately in the will; it was not about how we felt. It was enduring and sacrificial. Of course, most know this just from reading the bible, but to live it in a way really made it hit home. To persevere for two and a half years of dryness, constant temptations, and even depression, anxiety, sleep deprivation, and all that goes with it taught me that I could love and persevere for the sake of love even in the worst of times if I just relied on God. I can't count how many times I told God that, while my emotions rebelled, while I at times felt a literal repulsion at the thought of Him, that I forced my will toward Him, that I forced my will to love Him. Marriage is not easy. People disappoint, even some of the best, most well-intentioned people you may know, and sometimes you need to force your will to love them, to stay faithful, to not leave just because it's hard and you're no longer happy. Of course, I'm not advocating you stay in an abusive relationship, that's a bit different, but so many people walk away from marriage for entirely selfish reasons and usually because they suddenly lack happy-feely emotions for that person. They basically have this teenage, superficial, and selfish notion of love that they just won't let go of, and in the end they will not be happy because they are going against their conscience and embracing that which doesn't last.

Sacrifice

The community life in the convent taught me a lot about sacrifice. It was an imperfection to take the last piece of cake, for instance, which is why so often after dinner with the Sisters you would find the tiniest sliver of cake left on that plate; nobody wanted to be the one to take the last piece because we were taught to always think of the good of the community, of the other Sister. It was a little thing to make such a sacrifice and such sacrifices were made all of the time in the convent. People were placed where they were needed; they didn't usually complain if Mother gave them a duty they didn't prefer even though Mother encouraged us to be quite open with her about such things. Putting your family's needs before your own, whether it's your husband's or children's, is a very good quality to have, and having gotten into the habit of constantly thinking of others in the convent, I'm more prone to think of others in my current duty of state now, those others being my husband and child.

Embracing Poverty and the Notion of "Ours"

Poverty in marriage, (and we are facing quite a cross financially at the moment), is more or less taken with stride by me now. People keep worrying about us, and me in particular, but I just kind of laugh about it. Going without is something I learned in the convent. Poverty isn't so hard in marriage for me because I was preparing for a vow of poverty, I didn't own anything as a Sister, nothing was mine, everything was "ours", and we lived off of donations basically. In fact, that was a hard notion to get rid of after leaving. Once, when out with friends, I asked for them to pass "our drink". Only the priest, who was there as well, likely really understood where I was coming and didn't think I was likely insane. But that idea of "ours", that also carries through to marriage, even without poverty as a factor. Asking my husband permission to buy things isn't a cross at all for me because I did it for nearly three years of my life in the convent, so why not now? Some women might find it unbearable to give up independence or having to share everything with someone else, but the convent life got me used to such a way of life, so now in marriage it's no issue at all.

Submissiveness

Another thing the convent helped me with was submissiveness. Never in my life have I encountered so many opportunities to be submissive as in the convent. From Chapter of Faults where you publicly announce imperfections and get accused from fellow Sisters and lectured by the Superior, to publicly making venias after mistakes committed, to simply being lectured in private, there are so many occasions to practice humility and submission. This is important because as a wife there will be times you will need to submit to your husband even though you deem his idea really stupid. I can't tell you how many times I thought just that about some demands given by my superiors: stupid, pointless, inefficient, but I always had to obey unless it was perchance sinful, which it wasn't in the convent. Likewise, a good marriage usually involves some level of submission so long as what is asked is not sinful or beneath one's dignity. If you're constantly fighting your husband's wishes, you're likely setting yourself up for an unhappy marriage. Being stubborn as I am, while I'm not yet perfect, I do feel I owe the convent a lot of thanks for helping me to at least be more submissive than I may have been if I hadn't formed such a good habit in the convent.

Being a Mother

The religious life taught me how to be a mother. As a religious Sister, for whatever reason I found my love was nearly overflowing for just strangers on the street, much more than it has been while living in the world. I embraced the concept of "spiritual mother" and I made countless sacrifices for the souls at all entrusted to me. For one little boy in my class who was a bit of a troublemaker, I ended up saying over 100 rosaries. For a child who suffered severe anxiety, I offered up my occasional bouts of anxiety and depression. I took that title: Spiritual Mother very seriously for those around me, as well as those I would never know. When I was tempted to doubt my faith, I offered up that struggle for those who were in the darkness to be brought to the light because how people could become Atheist when under such a cloud was incredibly understandable to me then.

Fostering Vocations

It is likely too soon for me to apply this last point to my life, but I also feel that convent life has better prepared me to foster religious vocations in my own children. Having experienced the beauty of the religious life and given God the first say, I can pass down those stories to my children, and that desire as well. Even now that I'm married, I will admit that I still miss it at times and get a bit nostalgic when thinking of it. There is a special joy when I attend Vespers or Compline at the church and it always brings me back to the convent days. Despite the hardships I endured, I also endured great happiness and peace, and I saw the value of such a life. It may not have been for me, hence all the signs (poor health, depression, severe insomnia, restlessness, etc.) but I did love it very much to a great extent and I do hope that that love for such a life will carry over to my children if not to inspire a vocation, to at least foster in them an appreciation for the religious and priests.

An image of me during convent days