We went to visit the parochial school. The principal assured us that thirty percent of the students were non-Catholic and that our children were welcome. I tried to be ecumenical as we passed through the halls and peeked into classrooms.
“And this would be Jody’s class,” said the principal. Grade One. Sister Jane. Down at six-year-old kiddie level I saw a holy water thingy.
“You still have nuns?” I asked, trying not to squeak.
“Just one,” said the principal. “Sister has been teaching for over forty years.”
“What’s a nun?” asked Jody. I shushed her and we walked into the classroom. There were statues. There was a wall rosary. There was a big crucifix. There were sappy posters of haloed folks. All my fundamentalist panic alarms were going off. Maybe I wasn’t ready for this much ecumenism.
When we were back out in the parking lot Jody said, “Mommy, I love this school. I want Sister Jane for my teacher.” Kelly, my fifth-grader, thought her class looked cool. So we signed on the dotted line.
The first thing Sister Jane sent home was the Guardian Angel prayer. I was feeling ecumenical again and memorized it with Jody. Next came the baby food jar full of holy water. “Let me bless you, Mommy,” said Jody, and so she did, tracing a cross on my head. “Sister blesses us every morning and every afternoon,” she explained.
Jody earned her first rosary by memorizing all the prayers and mysteries of the Rosary. It was handmade by Sister, a string of pink plastic beads. Jody wore it around her neck for days. After a while it didn’t bug me, and I asked Jody to teach me the prayers too. Might as well educate myself.
By late September, Marty and I became convicted about the fact that Jody had never been baptized. Still too wary to speak with a Catholic priest, we sought out the Episcopalian minister and on October 9, 1994, Jody was brought into the family of God. Sister Jane sent us a beautiful card. The same month we began to feel compelled to give Catholicism a serious look. In April of 1995 we were received into the Church.
That year, whenever we went to a school concert or gathering, there Sister would be, watching the goings-on and praying her rosary. At the Bike-a-Thon she walked the route, praying her rosary. At the Knowledge Bowl tournament she managed to keep score in her head and pray the rosary at the same time. Her witness was truly unforgettable to this fundie-turned-RC.
Jody is now twelve and has begun to wonder if she might have a vocation to religious life. “How will I know for sure, Mom?” she asked one day.
“Write to Sister,” I said, and so she did. Sister Jane now lives in a distant city, busy as usual even in her retirement, yet Jody received an answer within a week. It was a beautiful letter, full of hope, encouragement, catechesis and downright good advice, glowing with a contagious sense of joy that only a lifetime of undistracted love for Christ can impart.
“Remember,” she wrote at the end, “I pray every day for all of my students and their families. I will pray that you find God’s perfect will for your life.”
Only God knows the future, but I won’t be surprised if Sister ends up praying more than one girl right into the convent, my own included.
(This article can also be found at envoymagazine.com)
