Here I Am
Sister Mary David was a nun, a monastic nun to be very clear. And while it is unusual to become friends with a monastic nun, we did.
We had just moved to Virginia and, seeking a Catholic church offering more interesting homilies, we learned from a friend about a wonderful preacher who offered mass in the chapel at the monastery on the hill where monastic nuns live and make cheese. We like cheese, and since it felt efficient to check out a place to hear mass and pick up cheese, we went.
Of course we got lost getting there, and by the time we arrive, the mass had begun. The chapel was quite small, and as we awkwardly dared enter, feeling the gaze of everyone – especially the dear nuns, one of them beckoned with her finger to come in. Childhood memories of obedience to nuns’ instructions set me in auto-pilot and I walked in to wherever she was beckoning me. The Lord did not strike me, the sermon was amazing, the nuns were adorable, and the cheese was heavenly. We were in.
The story goes that in 1987, a small group of the monastic nuns, set out to find a new place in Virginia to establish a new community. One of these pioneering nuns was Sister Mary David. She’d later tell me that she was born and raised in Boston, the only girl with seven (or eight?) brothers, and was trained as a nurse. She was actually engaged to be married before she entered the nunnery, and with a dismissive laugh, she said “the Lord was a much better option”. I don’t know what moved me to call the monastery one day to ask if they offered spiritual counseling. Mother Superior Marion referred me to Sister Mary David, I suppose because she’s a nurse, I don’t know. But that’s how I met Sister Mary David ten years ago.
The truth is, over those ten years, I can probably count on my fingers how often we met. And yet, with every encounter, no matter how infrequent, she touched me to my core, and gave me an increasingly deeper connection with my soul. I’d tease her and say since she’s got connections, to please pray for me. She taught me how to pray, in so doing, to speak from my heart, to trust a higher being and believe that everything happens for a reason. That, in time, the reason will be revealed, or not. She was a master in empathy, always mindful of the limits of my responsibility for others. From her I learned that if I feel my ability to help has reached its limit, it is perfectly okay to simply ask God to look after those we feel responsible for – as they, too, are His.
I told her about how I marveled at how complete her life seemed to be, while so simple. She’d smile and say it is her calling and blessing to live this way. That all of us have a purpose, and this is hers. And when I revealed to her that – despite the fact that I feel I am grateful for the blessings of a good life – a successful career, a loving family, supporting friends, I continue to struggle to understand what my purpose is – she responded by teaching me a prayer: “Here I am”. And so I pray this every morning when I wake up, and when the day is going so bad I feel I’m losing my way. And when I utter “Here I am”, I feel oxygen flowing, my heart opens up, and my mind feels free.
I saw Sister Mary David a couple of weeks before she died. She had been ill with pancreatic cancer, and since by now I was living in Chicago, our visits became more infrequent. I heard she was not up for guests, but she welcomed me. She was wearing a denim skirt, a scarf around her head, and a blue sweater. I complimented her on the way she looked and she said, “I look a lot yellower in my habit”. It was a few days before my birthday, and she remembered it with a package of cheese, apologizing that she did not get a chance to wrap it nicely. We sat and visited for over half an hour. She asked about Chicago and my family; spoke about the sunflowers that she asked her doctor’s husband to plant for her. I shared how I worried about what I will do after I retire, and she reminded me how many people just need to be listened to – and if I had the time, what a gift that could be. She spoke about death – and how everyone tells her she’ll be fine, while she knows for sure she’ll die. She talked very light-heartedly about how they (monastic nuns) go – they are not embalmed, but simply wrapped in a cloth (after changing to their habit of course), then put in a “biodegradable box from Wisconsin” (as she joked that she is also biodegradable) then buried under the ground. She half-joked about how she can’t believe she’d be the first to go in this congregation, and I complimented her on always being a pioneer.
Finally, I had to go, she was tired, and I asked for her blessing before I left, knowing that I will probably not see her again. Her blessing was simple and precise, that she has known me to be a caring person, and she prayed that I would be blessed with opportunities to share my caring with others. Two weeks later, I got a voice mail message from one of the other nuns… Sister Mary David had slipped away from our world in peace, and had left instructions to call me and let me know when it happened.
I will travel tomorrow to say goodbye to my unlikely friend, a simple, wise and holy woman who taught me so much, and will be my angel in heaven.
