I stormed over to my cousin' house where I often stayed. I was demanding the truth. I was ready to use force if necessary to get her to reveal what I needed to know about myself.
With a nervous glance, she finally spoke the words I had been dreading to hear. As soon as the truth left her lips, I felt the ground beneath me crumble.
I ran from her, feeling utterly broken. I drove for hours that night, my mind racing as I tried to clear the chaos within me. Why hadn’t they told me? Deep down, I didn’t want it to be true. The weight of the revelation pressed heavily on my chest, and I was consumed by a whirlwind of emotions.
Sadness washed over me like a tidal wave, mingling with anger that bubbled just beneath the surface. Fear gripped my heart, and a sense of rebellion surged within me. It was a tornado of emotions, swirling and crashing as I wrestled with the reality I had just uncovered.
Each thought felt like a jolt, leaving me reeling. How could I process this? How could I move forward when everything I thought I knew was now in question?
As I drove through the night, tears streamed down my face, blurring the road ahead. I was lost, both in my surroundings and within myself, grappling with the truth that had shattered my world.
I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I didn’t want to think about it. The weight of everything that had happened felt unbearable, pressing down on me like a heavy fog. Why is this happening? What does it mean?
Frustration swirled within me, and I found myself retreating into silence, shutting out the world around me. I needed space, a moment to breathe, to process the chaos that had invaded my mind. It felt like I was caught in a storm, and every thought was a wave crashing over me, pulling me under.
In my solitude, I cried out, “God, help me understand!” I felt so lost, so overwhelmed by the uncertainty of it all. The questions loomed large, and I battled with my emotions—fear, confusion, and a deep sense of vulnerability.
I longed for clarity, for a sign that would guide me through this tumultuous time. But all I felt was the weight of the unknown, and it was suffocating.
As I sat with my thoughts, I realized that I needed to confront what I was feeling, to acknowledge the pain instead of running from it. I didn’t have all the answers, and maybe that was okay. For now, I would try and give myself permission to sit in the discomfort, to seek solace in the quiet, and to trust that understanding would come in time.
A week passed, and just when I thought I was finding some semblance of normalcy, I received an unexpected email from Fr. John. Out of the blue, he checked in on me, letting me know he’d be coming back to visit in two weeks. He mentioned wanting to have a meeting upon his arrival, but I couldn’t bring myself to respond.
The thought of engaging with him felt overwhelming. I didn’t want to think about everything I was grappling with, and I certainly didn’t want to talk about it. The weight of my emotions was still heavy on my shoulders, and I wasn’t ready to share my struggles with anyone, even someone as compassionate as Fr. John.
So, I made the decision to avoid it all. I threw myself into schoolwork and sports, trying to bury the turmoil inside me beneath assignments and practices. Focusing on basketball became my refuge, a way to escape the chaos swirling in my heart.
Each day was a battle to keep my mind occupied, to push away the nagging questions and fears that threatened to resurface. I thought if I could just keep busy enough, I might outrun the reality of what I was facing. But deep down, I knew that avoiding the truth wouldn’t make it go away.
As the days passed, I wrestled with the tension between wanting to confront my feelings and the instinct to hide from them. I was caught in a limbo, unsure of what to do next.
Before I knew it, two weeks had flown by. Fr. John had arrived, and I received an outreach invitation from the LIHM sisters. On a whim, I decided to say yes and made my way to their mission house in South Sioux. As I entered, the mother superior greeted me warmly and directed me to the chapel in the basement.
As I knelt before the tabernacle, I noticed one of the sisters quietly playing the keyboard in worship. The soothing sound filled the room, and I felt an unexpected sense of peace wash over me. Her voice was gentle and beautiful, creating an atmosphere that calmed my racing thoughts.
Suddenly, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. It was the mother superior, letting me know that Fr. John was waiting for me upstairs. My heart raced as I made my way up, anxiety bubbling inside me. When I finally greeted him, I was struck by his meek yet mighty presence. His smile stretched from ear to ear as he softly took my hand and guided me to sit across from him.
“How are you?” he asked, and I felt the weight of his gaze penetrating the walls I had built around myself. I was closed off, unsure of where to begin. It felt as though he could see into the depths of my soul. “Share with me what’s on your heart,” he urged.
I hesitated, but slowly, I began to open up. It was as if he already knew the turmoil brewing inside me, and I found myself speaking without needing to articulate every thought. Tears streamed down my face, conveying the emotions I struggled to voice.
Long story short, after an hour of heartfelt conversation, Fr. John guided me to a realization. This was the sign he had mentioned in Poland—God was calling me to follow my vocation to the religious life. He encouraged me to pray for my family, whom I loved dearly, and to consider giving up the life I had always known to pursue this calling. He advised me to discern this path by spending more time with the sisters, participating in activities outside of school, and truly reflecting on what God wanted from me over the next 60 days.
He encouraged me to keep a journal of my thoughts and emotions, assuring me he would be returning from Dover, DE, to support me. He mentioned that I wouldn’t be alone; there would be others also discerning their vocations.
As he spoke about joining the order and experiencing Postulancy—a year in Dover, DE, where their headquarters were located—I felt a wave of fear wash over me. How could I do this? The thought of giving up everything that mattered—my family, friends, softball, and the life I had always known—sent a shiver down my spine.
I was 17 at the time and I was torn, grappling with the emotions of this newfound discovery. Part of me wanted to rebel, to make those I loved feel the same pain I was experiencing. I was a broken and vulnerable teenager, caught between two worlds.
Yet, despite my fear, I agreed to Fr. John’s suggestion. I would spend the next 60 days joining the sisters in their activities outside of school. My world was about to change forever, and a part of me wanted to run, to escape what lay ahead and what decision I would be faced to make.
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Wow, interesting!