Three years ago, in NYC for a couple of weeks, I attended Sunday Mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral. Before dismissing us, the priest announced that the Sisters of Life had set up a little booth there that day. In the twenty-plus years that I had carried my secret and my shame, it was the first I'd heard of any group that actually addressed the wound of the mother; that treated the woman who'd aborted neither as a pariah, nor as a potential poster child for the pro-life movement. I hung around the fringes for awhile and I can't describe the light these nuns threw off: anything but hokey, anything but contrived, anything but patronizing, anything but with an ulterior motive, anything but weird.
Finally I worked up the courage to approach one of them, a beautiful woman in her late twenties with a solid, welcoming face that seemed to invite in the whole world. "Thank you for the work you do," I said. "I've had three"...and started weeping. "I'm sure there's help for you there," the sister said when I explained that I lived in L.A.
I didn't seek help for many more months. But it was the face of that young nun--healthy, wholesome, sane, compassionate, joyful--I really have to thank here. Love is how you treat those who have nothing to give. I had nothing to give her. And she gave me back my life.
|photo found at the black cordelias: more about the SOL there|
|Sister Maria Kateri (L) and Sister Catherine Marie from Sisters of Life ride their bikes in Toronto, February 2010.photo: Holy Post, from an article by Charles Lewis, April 10, 2011|