Jane Marie Bradish

It's not just the changing seasons that bring transitions. All of us face transitions on a regular basis. Growth requires change. It's those in-between times, transition times, growth times, that are bothering me right now.

During my personal feast celebrations, I take some extra time to pray and reflect and see where the feast leads me; it's never the same. 

Whether Communion, confirmation, ordination, graduation or even coronation, how much do I understand about the rituals I encounter? Why do we do what we do and how could we help people (and maybe ourselves) understand?

Although unspoken, all of us in religious life live an "extra vow" of care. Look around — there are so many needs, and we've done well meeting them. That led me to this question: How do I take care of myself?

God isn't going to just show up and "fix us." That's not how it works. We need to put time and effort into first identifying and then softening our stony hearts.

My experiences and images of God change. Sometimes I need a listening ear, sometimes a kick in the butt to get me moving, sometimes reassurance, and sometimes I have no clue what I need.

I'm ministering in a school where my community has served for about 100 years. When I started, there were a dozen members of my community. In August, when another school year started, I was suddenly "the only one" left.

When you hear Christmas, what comes to mind? Parties and presents? Travel and short-staffed offices? Concerts and pageants? Hymns and all-too-familiar Scripture readings? In my experience, Christmas is too romanticized.

When people die, they leave behind complex legacies likely to include good and bad impressions. We all leave behind hard truths.

Let's be honest, the world is kind of a scary place right now. So much is unknown and so many are struggling. There is usually a sense of safety in a hug, whether it's "I'm so happy to see you" or "I'm scared, hold me."

Three times in one week I encountered things from the "You're not supposed to be here" category, such as bunnies in a window well. I started to wonder about other experiences of "What are you doing here?"

High school students brainstormed what a world lived with a beatitude focus would look like. Among their proposed additions to the Beatitudes: "Blessed are the moody teens" and "Blessed are those who are toxic."

I was adamant — I was in no way like Judas! But when I decided to be completely honest with myself, I realized I am more like him than I care to admit.

How can we follow Jesus' example to highlight and change practices and structures for the good of all, knowing that in the process we will likely be as misunderstood as Jesus was?

Life is not all about me. It never has been and it never should be. God was very much present in the ways I needed; I simply wasn't liking it.

At the mere two inches of snow, I burst into tears and wondered, What the heck was I crying for? My tears had nothing to do with the broken promise of a snowstorm. Instead, for the first time, I cried for COVID-19.

Sisters don't have a direct line to God. But prayer requests highlight people trust me and find comfort in my actions when they need additional support.

I'm making a conscious effort to look for connection and unity instead of division. The School Sisters of Notre Dame and School Sisters of St. Francis may have been rivals once, but neither community started that way, and we aren't that way now.

Making changes to embrace conscious living is a struggle. Guidance comes from the story of Jesus overturning tables in the temple. Among other things he was disrupting the status quo of the times. Maybe that's what I could do in my own small way.

The thought of retirement has not even entered my consciousness yet. I've got a lot of life left in me – God willing. But I am getting older. For those who come after me: I have done what I can, I'm sharing what I can, and I'm letting you run with things now.