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My vocation story begins when I was a child of about four or five years old, growing up in Lancaster, Ohio. My Aunt Mary Ellen purchased a new reel-to-reel tape recorder and she wanted to test out the recording device. So she invited my twin sister, Joan, and I to come over a number of times and record our voices. In order to get us to start talking, she would ask us various questions: Where do you live? What is your name? What is your mother’s name? What is your daddy’s name? Then she asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Joan would always say, “I want to be a sister.” I would say, “I want to grow up and get married and have lots of children like my mother.” In my mind I knew that would be reversed, but I hesitated in saying that because I did not want to disappoint people if I did not become a sister.
When I was in second grade, I remember during my second confession the priest also asked me, “What do you want to do when you grow up?” This time, I told the truth: “When I grow up, I want to become a sister.” The priest said, “That’s a very good thought. What you need to do is pray and ask God what He is asking of you.” I took that very seriously. When I would go to Holy Mass on Sunday with my family, our missals in the pew had a prayer for vocations. I still did not want to tell anyone what I was thinking, so after communion, when my family members were bowing their heads in prayer, I would open the missal just enough to read that prayer and then close it quickly. This happened throughout my grade school years.
Then in sixth grade, during Lent, my teacher Sister Christopher showed a film strip on the passion and death of Jesus. In one scene, Jesus was shown suffering on the cross. The narrator said, “This is what your Savior has done for you. Now what will you do for your Savior?” It pierced my heart. I felt like I was the only one in the room. That was the key moment when I knew I had a desire to give myself completely to the Lord in some way. My vocation was a response to the cross. I knew then that it probably would be religious life. I did not understand it then but that was my thought.
During high school, I began to date and I got distracted, thinking perhaps I was supposed to get married. But on a retreat during my senior year, I decided to ask God—once and for all—what He wanted me to do. I remember kneeling down in my room, looking directly at a cross on the wall across from me. I heard the Lord say, “I’m calling you to be My own.” Again, my heart was pierced, and I knew then that I had to take action.
The only contact I had with religious sisters was with the Dominican Sisters of Saint Mary of the Springs in Columbus, Ohio, who taught me throughout grade school and high school. Whenever the postulants and novices would visit my school, I was always attentive and would ask questions. So, after my retreat, I told my home room teacher, Sister Sebastian, about my decision to enter religious life. She made an appointment for me to see a sister at the motherhouse in Columbus.
No one at my school knew about my vocation—yet. My father was a HAM radio operator, and he would often speak to other radio operators around the world. But sometimes his radio would interfere with our neighbor’s radio. One day during my last semester of high school, he told someone via radio that one of his twin daughters was going to enter the convent. Well, our neighbors found out and the next day at school there was a rumor that one of the Daugherty twins was going to enter the convent. Everyone knew it was me, and not Joan! Of course, I was upset with my father for spilling the beans.
I did end up visiting the motherhouse and made a decision to enter that fall, on September 8, 1959, at the age of eighteen. I made first vows July 9, 1962 and professed final vows July 9, 1967. During my first year of teaching, 1962-1963, I taught sixth grade in Steubenville, Ohio, to which I would return more than twenty years later. One of my first students was a nephew of Hollywood star Dean Martin! I taught for a total of eighteen years at elementary and Montessori schools in Ohio, New York, Pennsylvania and Michigan. I also served as principal for a total of six years at three schools in Newark, Coshocton and Columbus, Ohio.
It was in Newark that I was first exposed to the charismatic renewal, when families at a local parish there began to pray for me and invited me to go to prayer meetings with them. I eventually went to a Life in the Spirit seminar and received the Baptism of the Holy Spirit.
One summer, I attended a Bible Institute at the College of Steubenville, because I knew it was charismatic. A master’s program in theology was just beginning there at the time. I had been sensing that I was going to work with young adults, so when I heard about the master’s program, my community allowed me to attend. After my first year in Steubenville, 1985-1986, a position opened on campus for a residence director for Trinity Hall. I felt that I was supposed to stay in Steubenville, so I applied for the position and got it. I would serve as the dorm director for four and a half years.
In those years on campus, I was being renewed in my own fervor in living the consecrated life. It was a call to live my religious life in a deeper way—to embrace it in a fuller way. I also was being imbued with Franciscan spirituality, although I did not realize it at first. It was awakening parts of myself that had not been awakened before. At some point, I became aware that God was calling me out of my own community. But I did not know what the next step would be. It was a frightening time in my life, not knowing what was next down the road. But I had all the assurances from the Lord that I would know when it was time.
Also during that time, the Franciscan Sisters, T.O.R. was founded. One of the original members of the community was another dorm director with whom I worked, one was a resident assistant and others were students I knew. I was very close to their founding. I watched the community grow and attract young women. I was the only woman religious on campus at the time, so whenever a young woman discerning religious life would go to the T.O.R. friars, they would send them to me. Often, they expressed a desire to join the new community. I remember thinking, “Gosh, it’s so easy for them.” My attraction to the community grew gradually.
The primary attraction was a call to a deeper contemplative prayer life. I knew that even before I felt called to join the new community, I also was drawn to their strong fraternal life, their focus on simplicity and poverty and the wearing of the habit.
I remained close to the community after it was founded—on August 15, 1988—attending Lord’s Day and dinner with them every Saturday and participating in a share group with the former dorm director, now the Reverend Mother. She and the other sisters invited me to join the community if I felt called. It had not dawned on me that it was possible for a Dominican to become a Franciscan. I spoke to my spiritual director, one of the T.O.R. friars, to help me discern what God was calling me to next. At first, he thought I was being renewed in my Dominican religious life, although I knew that was not the whole truth. There came a point when he invited me to go on a retreat he was directing for the candidates of the new community. On the retreat he asked me, “What do you think God is calling you to as the next step?” I said, “I think it’s to join the T.O.R. sisters,” and he said, “Go for it!” He helped me to take the necessary steps to request entrance into the new community. I moved in with the sisters in January 1991, entering into a time of discernment until I received the habit in July. I made final vows on March 18, 1995.
I am deeply grateful for how the Lord has worked in my life in all of its stages. He has led me down paths I never believed I would travel. My life as a Franciscan sister has been very blessed and fulfilling in so many ways. The following scripture passage is truly a reality in my life: “I will instruct you and show you the way you should walk; I will counsel you, keeping my eye on you.” (Psalm 32:8)
Sister Jean Daugherty, T.O.R.
© Reprinted with permission from www.FranciscanSistersTOR.org.
There comes a time when parents simply want some quiet time to themselves. Handling the rigors of parenthood by meeting the temporal and spiritual needs of our children can take a physical and spiritual toll. This carnal desire is something almost every parent goes through. It is not a sinful desire per se for a parent to seek a retreat or respite of sorts from his or her children. What can lead this desire toward the stages of sinful behavior is the intention of deliberately removing ourselves (isolating) from caring and teaching our children. A subtle but troubling trend I have witnessed over the last several years is the parental desire for some peace and quiet replaced with the act of parents isolating themselves from their children. What I mean here is a gradual separation of the spiritual, emotional, physical and psychological relationship between parent and child. Whether the reason is work, family structure (i.e., singleparent family), working parents or the daily distractions that come from daily living, the intimate relationship between parent and child appears to be gradually eroding for more reasons than the ones just mentioned. By nature, children desire to be near their parents—it is part of the protective nurturing process all children seek. When this parent-child structure is interrupted the alternatives may not always be spiritually healthy and in a worst-case scenario lead to direct isolation which then becomes the norm of parenting. The “Catechism of the Catholic Church” (“CCC”) reminds us that the Christian family is a communion of persons, a sign and image of the communion of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. … The relationships within the family bring an affinity of feelings, affections and interests, arising above all from the members’ respect for one another. The family is a privileged community called to achieve a sharing of thought and common deliberation by the spouses as well as their eager cooperation as parents in the children’s upbringing (“CCC,” 2204-2205). The Sin of Isolation In his letter to the Ephesians, Saint Paul tells us that we are to grow up in every way into Him who is the head, into Christ from whom the whole body, joined and knit together by every joint with which it is supplied, when each part is working properly makes bodily growth and up-builds itself in love (4:15-16). Our identity as parents rests in our understanding and willful intent to place Jesus Christ at the center of everything we do, especially our parenting. every time a parent asks, “What should I do about my son?” I immediately tell him or her to first begin to be genuinely present. It is very important that a child knows that his father and mother are there both spiritually and physically. The ease by which one can fall into what I call the sin of isolation from their children is why the virtue of presence is so important. When isolation begins to occur, the child will, more often than not, direct his attention toward something that will draw his desire away from his family and replace it with another outlet, typically one involving social media. Saint John Paul II reminded us that the family finds in the plan of God the Creator and Redeemer not only its identity, what it is, but also its mission, what it can and should do (Familiaris Consortio, 17). This means that our actions as parents are intimately called to re-echo Christ. One facet of this action is to bring Christ into the home in prayer. When we invite and initiate a relationship with Christ within the home, it strengthens the family unit and provides a spiritual base by which the family can withstand the sin of isolation. Parents must regard their children as children of God and respect them as human persons. Parents have the first responsibility for the education of their children. They bear witness to this responsibility first by creating a home where tenderness, forgiveness, respect, fidelity and disinterested service are the rule (“CCC,” 2222-2223). A recurring theme on the family found in the “Catechism” is the practice of showing respect to our children. This act of love is very important in avoiding the sin of isolation because it reaffirms the Christian anthropology of the family. This means that the parent child relationship was not created to be isolated from one another. Addressing the Sin of Isolation A sound and practical way of avoiding the sin of isolation is by being present to our children, especially in prayer. Children desire reassurances from their parents, which include their physical presence. The process of accompaniment between a parent and child involves the simple act of recognizing the dignity of the child. This act of love dispels any temptation to isolate ourselves from our children because we see them as authentic gifts from God. One of the surest ways to dispel parental isolation is through the practice of intercessory prayer. Simply put, intercede (pray) on behalf of your children and offer them to Christ. At the heart of the act of intercessory prayer is the deliberate act of the will to think of someone other than yourself. You place the intentions of the person before yours and in this case our children before us. The gift of intercessory prayer is that it allows us to always be present with our children and that is exactly what our parental call is all about.
Why did my older children insist that the new baby’s name must be “Joy?” It was the strangest thing: one day when I was still pregnant, my four-year-old son got it into his head that “Joy” was the baby’s name and he has not backed down since. When guests refer to her by her real name, he or my two-year-old will adamantly correct them that she is to be called “Joy.” They have been so insistent that our family has just given up and officially given her that nickname. Meanwhile, her real name is Catherine. It is odd because Catherine was never a name I felt drawn to—it was not even on the list for consideration with my other daughters. Yet as soon as I found out that this baby was a girl, I knew that that was her name. We never seriously discussed any other options. I did not feel like I was choosing a name for her as much as it seemed like I was just articulating the name she already had. I wondered if perhaps there was a reason for this, so I prayed to know if there was any particular saint named Catherine whom she was supposed to be named after. Soon after I said that prayer, a package with a painting of Saint Catherine of Siena arrived in the mail. My uncle had been traveling Italy. He just so happened to be in Siena on the day she was born so he got the picture of the famous saint for the baby. He did not know what day she was going to be born—it was just a “coincidence” that he was in Siena that day. I figured that was probably an indicator that she was meant to be named after Catherine of Siena, but wished I had a little more certainty. Then, while researching something unrelated, I came across the biography of Catherine of Siena. My jaw dropped when I read: her family gave her the pet name of Euphrosyne, which is Greek for Joy. I guess that answers the question.
Many of us who grew up in the Catholic faith were told that confession is good for the soul. However, as children preparing for the Sacrament of Confession, most of us were rather anxious about entering the darkened confessional booth and sharing our deepest, darkest secrets with the parish priest. Once we entered the confessional, despite being nervous about using the correct liturgical wording and format, we quickly discovered that it was fairly simple and straightforward, and we wondered why we had been so fearful. Nevertheless, we were in no hurry to return to the confessional booth. As Catholics, we are only obligated to confess our mortal (serious) sins to a priest once a year. Mortal sin kills our supernatural soul and severs our relationship with God. Although the number of Catholics partaking of the sacrament has steadily decreased over the past four to five decades, there has been a recent trend among Catholics to confess more frequently in order to sacramentally receive God’s sanctifying grace and thus deepen our intimate relationship with God. Unfortunately, there has been great misunderstanding about the Sacrament of Reconciliation (the name to which it is most often referred) which has kept many Catholics from receiving this vital sacrament. Most of the confusion stems from the erroneous belief that Catholics are confessing their sins to a man (the priest). But, the priest acts in Persona Christi, that is in the person of Christ. So we are confessing our sins to Christ. In addition, during the past several decades people have developed a decreased sense of sin. Rather than acknowledging and admitting to sin people rationalize and deny sin. Not only does rationalizing mitigate and eliminate the perception of sin, but it often leads to more serious sin. In Matthew 9:6 (NABRe), Jesus says of himself, “But that you may know that the Son of man has authority on earth to forgive sins.” Then Jesus exercises His authority when He says to the paralyzed man, “your sins are forgiven.” This passage concludes by informing us that the crowds were awestruck and they glorified God, “who had given such authority to human beings.” Jesus was given the authority to forgive sins by His Father. On the night of the resurrection, Christ appeared to the disciples and said, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” And when He had said this, He breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them, and whose sins you retain are retained” (John 20:21-23, NABRe). As we can see in this passage, Christ instituted the Sacrament of Reconciliation for the Church. After the resurrection, Jesus knew that He would no longer remain with the Church in human form as He would be ascending to heaven to sit at the right hand of His Father; therefore, Christ conferred the power to forgive sins to His disciples in order for the Church (which would be the continuation of His presence until the end of time) to offer forgiveness to generations in the future. According to Archbishop Fulton Sheen in “Life of Christ,” “Just as Jesus’ own human nature was the instrument in His divinity in purchasing forgiveness, God would forgive sins through men, who were the appointed ministers of His forgiveness.” Therefore, the power of forgiveness and reconciliation has been acquired by the price of Christ’s blood. Sin not only disrupts our relationship with God, but it damages our relationship with others in the community (the Church). Despite being cleansed of original sin through baptism, Christ knew that human beings by nature were imperfect and would continue to sin. Christ’s plan for rectifying this was to establish a sacramental mechanism for man to repair his relationship with God and with his fellow man (the Church) for sins committed after baptism. In seeking and receiving God’s forgiveness, we sacramentally receive God’s mercy and grace. Grace is a gift of the Spirit that sanctifies us and justifies us. According to the “Catechism of the Catholic Church” (“CCC”), “grace is participation in the life of God” and it “introduces us into the intimacy of Trinitarian life.” When we partake in the Sacrament of Reconciliation, we obtain the following benefits: 1. Through the examination of conscience, we are forced to recognize our shortcomings and faults. By confessing our sins aloud, we overcome pride. We are thus reminded that we are imperfect beings who need to rely on God in order to overcome our sins and to grow spiritually. 2. When we are forgiven, our guilt is erased and the heavy burden of sin is lifted from our shoulders. We are pardoned from eternal punishment incurred by mortal sins. In addition, we are remitted, in part, from temporal punishment for venial sins. Through the healing power of forgiveness and reconciliation with God and the Church, our peace of mind is restored and we experience spiritual consolation. 3. Jesus’ call to conversion is made sacramentally present in the Sacrament of Reconciliation. We regain our baptismal grace and heal our wounded ecclesial communion. This permits us to become more holy, more saintly, and more conformed to the image of Christ. Through sacramentally receiving Gods’ mercy, we are encouraged to be merciful to others. 4. With our conscience purified, we receive the Holy Spirit’s gift of counsel, which enlightens us to resist temptation and evil and to make the right moral choices. When our self-control is tempered, we are more determined to follow God’s Will. This reinforces us spiritually for living the Christian life. 5. By placing ourselves before God and asking for His mercy, we are preparing ourselves for the particular judgment at the conclusion of our lives. According to the “CCC,” it is only through choosing conversion that we may be granted entrance into the Kingdom of God. Christ instituted the Sacrament of Reconciliation as the proper avenue for the forgiveness of sins and to reconcile us with God. Since we were created by God and for God, He wants to have an intimate friendship with us. When we understand that the Sacrament of Reconciliation restores us to God’s grace and full communion with Him, we should fully embrace the free gift that our loving God has bestowed upon us in this sacrament.
I really did not want another cesarean (“C”)-section. I asked everyone I knew (and even those I did not know) to pray, that I would be able to avoid the procedure that had lengthened my recovery period so dramatically after having my twins (only 15 months ago). I enlisted all my favorite saints and assured new saint recruits that they would be listed among my favorites in gratitude for their intercession. Saint Therese sent me a rose to let me know she had my back and my little ones added their powerful intercessory prayer to every family rosary. But in the end, God said no. Every factor that needed to fall into place to allow for an attempted vaginal birth after C-section (VBAC) fell through. I had been given little glimpses of hope, contractions starting the morning I needed them to but stopping instead of intensifying. Every spark of hope became a source of torture, like someone holding an iced cappuccino (my severe prego craving) in front of my face and whisking it away just as I reached out for it. I stared at the rose from Saint Therese and almost wished I could send it back. I was hurt and felt so abandoned by a Heavenly Father who had so often given me more than I deserved. How could He say no to something that would clearly be better for my family and me? Why would He want to increase my suffering? I knew He loved me, so it pained me knowing that the Lord of my heart, the One who could easily move mountains and make paths in the desert, was choosing not to move this baby out in a way that would be less traumatic for my body and would end up laying a heavier burden on my family. "I can't believe He's not answering my prayer," I told my husband. My husband's response was, "He always answers our prayers." My eyes were burning with tears at that point. "But His answer is no, so it doesn't really feel like an 'answered prayer.'" Then God brought me to the garden of Gethsemane, at least mentally. Every time I prayed my mind was filled with the image of Christ begging His Father to save Him from the suffering that lay ahead—praying and weeping with such intensity that His sweat and tears became drops of blood. "Father, if You are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but Yours be done" (Luke 22:42). And so I wanted to joyfully pick up my cross and follow Him, but I could not—because I am weak, because I hate pain, because I liked my plan for how things should go MUCH more than the plan God had for me. I was comforted to see that even Christ could cry out with the voice of humanity and be struggling with the sacrifice He was being called to make, but I realized fully being His follower would mean that I also would have to say, "Thy will be done," and find a way to offer the trial at hand for the good of others. Do not laugh at me, but first I needed to grieve. I had to grieve the loss of MY will. As pathetic as it may seem, I went through the five stages of grief within two days. I experienced denial, fantasizing about secretly giving birth at home or devising some sort of plan to avoid the inevitable. I hit up the anger stage. I was so mad and frustrated that I took it out on ... well, puzzle pieces. Usually, when I would find the kids' stray puzzle pieces I would locate the proper box and put them away but not this time! I took those babies and whipped them into the recycling bin, "HA! Say bye, bye!" (I know pretty lame, but we do have too many incomplete puzzles). I bargained with God (along with all my enlisted saints) and assured Him I would write a very flattering blog about how He always comes through in the end, if He would just make a way for me. Next, I just gave up and entered the depression stage where I cried hard, distanced myself from everyone and generally felt sorry for myself. Finally, I reached the coveted stage of acceptance and here is where I began to ask those around me if there was something that was weighing on their hearts for which I could offer my disappointment and impending recovery period. I offered my pain in hearing no from God and asked if He would in turn say yes to the other women I knew who were hoping for a vaginal birth after cesarean (VBAC), as well as all those women who were praying for safe and healthy deliveries. Because in the end, God's ‘no’ to one thing is often a huge ‘yes’ to something else. A friend of mine who prayed for years that God would fill her womb with a child was met with a firm ‘no’, but elsewhere another woman was bringing several children into the world (in spite of not being able to care for them) and those children are now in my friend's arms. Had God said ‘yes’ to her, in her desire to mother her own biological children, she would never have considered adopting the little ones God had intended for her. I do not fully understand why God said ‘no’ to me. I know there is a ‘yes’ somewhere. Perhaps I would have ruptured if I had attempted the VBAC, which could have caused serious harm to our newest little member, Callista Therese (I obviously got over my disappointment regarding the rose), or me. I may never know the reason, but I do think that in surrendering my will, perhaps I was able to offer more than I otherwise could have. Thanks be to God, Callista arrived safely in May twentieth. Being the month of Mary, I am grateful to have been able to follow the example of Our Lady in her submission to God's will, that I could come to echo her fiat: "Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord; let it be done unto me according to Thy word" (Luke 1:38).
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