Capítulo Uno: En Mi Principio

Me crié en un pueblo situado en el Lago Michigan, en el hermoso y contrastante estado de Wisconsin. Mi vida sería una de grandes contrastes de luz y oscuridad, como la misma intemperie de Wisconsin: oscuridad inmóvil invernal, y luz que da vida en primavera.

Soy la menor de seis hijos. Fui «uno de siete tumores», como lo explica mi madre. Ella dijo que yo fui un milagro. Esto es porque nací alrededor de dos meses prematura; pesé sólo cuatro libras con doce onzas cuando llegamos a casa del hospital. Mi madre me dio el nombre de Janet, porque significa «regalo de Dios dado por su gracia». Mi padre se alegró de que estuviéramos tan bien. Se alegraron juntos de que su último hijo fuera una niña.

Tengo cuatro hermanos y una hermana. Tuvimos nuestras peleas, dificultades, y ratos felices. Soy agradecida por cada miembro de mi familia por varias razones.

En mi principio, éramos una buena familia católica en tamaño y en obras. Éramos devotos en nuestra religión. Por norma íbamos a la iglesia juntos en familia. Teníamos hasta agua bendita en casa para usar al entrar y salir, y cuadros «sagrados» adornaban las paredes de la casa de mis padres.

Mi padre dijo que él iba al colegio parroquial católico de joven. Esperaba llegar a ser monaguillo, y así fue. El tuvo sus quehaceres semanales y diarios. Dijo que las monjas y los curas eran estrictos en cuanto al comportamiento de los niños y sus responsabilidades. Les hablaban del juicio y el infierno.

Mi padre todavía dice con una sonrisa que «no te atrevías siquiera a pensar en ello (pecar), o serías excomulgado». Contaba que los niños estaban tan asustados y atormentados por su religión que se quedaban con sentimientos negativos en vez de positivos. Debido a esto, a veces la misa dominical caía en oídos sordos de parte de los niños, y sus padres.

Mi madre atendió a un colegio católico hasta entrar al colegio mayor. Quiso ser monja del Convento de Santa Rosa, pero cuando ella conoció a mi padre, su vida tomó otra dirección.

Durante nuestra niñez, recitábamos oraciones memorizadas, rezos católicos como el Padre Nuestro, Ave Maria, Gloria Sea, y Credo Apostólico. Tuvimos medallas que nos llevábamos puestas alrededor del cuello, símbolo a nosotros mismos y a los demás de que éramos católicos. También tuvimos rosarios para rezar en la iglesia y en casa de una forma metódica y memorizada. Me sentí segura y normal en el pueblo donde me crié, porque me vi como todos los demás.

Aprendí la reverencia en la iglesia católica. En casa, colocada en una repisa, hubo una Biblia para toda la familia, la cual siempre tratamos con gran cariño y reverencia. Nunca fue tirada sin cuidado, sino colocada con ternura. La llevábamos siempre con respeto, y con las manos limpias. La triste verdad es que esta Biblia de la familia no se tocaba apenas. En verdad fue un regalo sin abrir.

En este momento de mi vida, durante los años sesenta y setenta, entre familias católicas devotas hubo cierta esperanza, o una regla no escrita, de que uno de los hijos de la familia llegara a hacerse monja o cura. Mi hermano, Edward, entró al seminario para ser cura. Fue allí porque quiso cumplir con el buen ejemplo del hijo mayor. También quiso agradar a nuestros padres. Pensó que al hacerse cura se pondrían orgullosos de él. Yo le admiro porque siempre ha sido sincero y una persona de confianza. Edward hizo muy bien en los estudios de seminario, aunque entiendo que el latín le resultó difícil. Estudió aproximadamente un año y medio. En el pasado hablé con Edward acerca de la razón por qué no se quedó en el seminario. Como puedo recordar, él dijo que sintió que los curas se autojustificaban, juzgándoles a la gente con sus problemas fuera de los muros del seminario. Sin embargo, cuando recién hablé con él, me dijo: «después de mucho pensar y mucha oración, decidí que no era para mi».

Edward, como yo, quiso hacer una diferencia en la vida de los demás, viviendo una vida de servicio. Los dos tuvimos metas altas. El pensó que quería ser cura, pero cambió de opinión y así, el curso de su vida. Sabía que quisiera familia algún día. Hoy, mi hermano, Edward, tiene una esposa maravillosa, llamada Mary. Ellos tienen dos hijos estupendos, ya casados con mujeres notables.

Después de cambiar Edward su manera de pensar acerca de ser cura, mi mente empezó a llenarse de preguntas y de dudas. ¿Tendría yo la capacidad de llegar a ser monja? ¿Podría yo comprometerme a la vida de monja por el resto de mi vida?

Esto fue durante la guerra de Vietnam, cuando confrontábamos como nación la corrupción del gobierno, la discriminación, asuntos raciales, y una falta de moralidad sexual. Y en mi familia existía el temor real de que mis hermanos fueran mandados a la guerra, y quizás matados allí.

Durante este tiempo de gran tumulto dejamos de ir a la iglesia católica. No fue claro a mí por qué. Mi madre me lo explicó después. Ella dijo que la iglesia católica se estaba cambiando demasiado. Estaba añadiendo y quitando todo lo que ellos consideraban verdad e importante. Mi madre lo cuestionó todo. Como resultado de toda esta confusión en la iglesia católica, mi madre dejó de ir. Mi padre continuó asistiendo tanto como le permitía su horario. No obstante, no podía ir muy a menudo.

Pero yo meditaba, ¿cómo podían cambiarse las cosas, si antes eran buenas y verdaderas? No entendí, pero seguí yendo a la iglesia católica para misa, y rezaba por mi cuenta cada semana los rezos memorizados, aún a veces a diario. Quizás fuera yo quien cumpliría. Quizás sería yo como Madre Teresa. Hasta pensé que yo podía llegar a ser una santa. En ese momento yo había oído de que sólo hacían falta tres milagros para hacerse uno santo. Pensé que sería una meta maravillosa y digna. Yo era, en mi principio, muy ingenua e idealista.

Chapter One: In My Beginning

I grew up in a small town that bordered Lake Michigan in the beautiful contrasting state of Wisconsin. My life would be one of great contrasts of light and darkness, like Wisconsin's weather of lifeless darkness of the winter and light giving life of the spring. This would be because of my own choosing and the choices made for me.

I am the youngest of six children. I was "one of seven tumors" as my mother puts it. Unbelievable as it seems, her doctors and nurses were telling her that she wasn't even pregnant. My mother knew otherwise. She says, "I was a miracle." I was born about two months early, weighing only 4 pounds 12 ounces when I came home from the hospital. My mother named me Janet, because it meant God's gracious gift. She almost died giving me life. My father was very relieved that we were both doing as well as we were. They were glad that their last child was a girl.

I have four brothers, and one sister. We had our struggles, hardships, and happy times. I am grateful for each one of my family members for different reasons.

In my beginning, we were a good Catholic family in size and deed. We were "devout" in our religion. We went to church together regularly as a family. We even had holy water in our home to use when entering and leaving, and also "sacred" paintings adorned the walls of my parent's home. My father said that he went to the Catholic parochial school when he was young. It was expected that he would be an "altar boy," and he was. He had weekly and daily responsibilities at home and at his church. He said that the nuns and priests were very strict about the children's behavior and responsibilities. They would talk about damnation and hell. My father says, with a smile, that "you could not even think it or you would get excommunicated." He said that the children at times would be so scared and upset about "their religion" that it left them with negative feelings instead of positive. Because of this, sometimes the sermons preached on Sunday fell upon deaf ears of children and parents alike. My mother went to a Catholic school until high school. She wanted to become a nun at Saint Rose's convent. Her life, however, went in another direction.

While growing up we said our memorized prayers, such as the Catholic prayers "Our Father," "Hail Mary," and "Glory Be," and the Apostles' Creed. We had medals to wear around our necks to remind us and others who we were, Catholics. We also had rosaries to use at church and home in an orderly and memorized fashion. I felt very secure and normal growing up in my small town, because I felt like just everyone else.

I learned reverence in the Catholic Church. We had a family Bible on the shelf in our home which was always handled with great care and reverence. It was never tossed down carelessly, but put down gently. It was handled carefully and always with clean hands. The unfortunate truth though, is that our family Bible was not handled much at all. In fact, I cannot even remember one time that we read it together. It truly was a gift not opened.

At this time in my life, during the l960's and l970's, within devout families there was a hope, or an unwritten rule, that one of the children of the family would become a nun or a priest. My brother, Edward, went into the seminary to become a priest. As I understand it, he went into the seminary because he wanted to be a good example of what the eldest son was supposed to be. He also wanted to please our parents. He thought that becoming a priest would make them proud of him. I look up to him because he is honest and trustworthy.

Edward did very well in his studies in the seminary, although, Latin was understandably difficult. He studied in the seminary for approximately a year and a half.

In the past I talked with Edward about the reason why he didn't stay in the seminary. As I remembered it, he said he felt like the priests were being self-righteous and judgmental of the people and their problems outside the walls of the seminary. However, later when I talked with him he said, "after much thought and prayer I decided it wasn't meant to be."

Edward, like I, had wanted to make a difference in the lives of others by living a life of service. We both had lofty goals. He had wanted to be a priest; nonetheless, he changed his mind and his life course. He also wanted to have a family someday. Today my brother, Edward, has a wonderful wife named Mary, and two fine sons.

After Edward, changed his mind about becoming a priest, my mind began to fill up with questions and doubts. Did I really have the ability to become a nun? Could I truly commit to the nun's lifestyle for my whole life?

There were so many changes going on in our country and in our family in the l960's and l970's. There was the Vietnam War with all of its controversies, corrupt government, "Free Love" with all its complexities, prejudices, and racial concerns to face and overcome. And in my family there was to me the real concern that my brothers might be drafted into, and perhaps even be killed in the war.

At this time of great turmoil we stopped going together as a family to the Catholic Church. It was not clear to me at the time why. However, my mother later explained it to me. She said the Catholic Church was changing too much. It was adding to and taking away from what they said was true and important.

My mother questioned it all. As a result of all the confusion in the Catholic Church my mother stopped attending. My father continued to go as much as his work schedule would allow. However, he was not able to go very often.

How could things be wrong now if they said they were right, and true before? Would not the truth remain the same? I did not understand. And so I continued going to Catholic Church for mass and prayer on my own, weekly, sometimes even daily. Maybe I would be the one to carry on. Maybe I would be like Mother Teresa. I even thought then that maybe I could become a saint. At the time I had heard somewhere that it only took three miracles to become a saint. I thought that would be a wonderful and worthy goal. I was very naive and idealistic in my beginning.

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