Author: ChrisAnn Alvarez

Back at the Eastern True North Conference (ETNC) in Waterloo a few years back, I was asked to do a share about growth in service and taking the next step. On the stage, I shared tearfully about how I was going to finally step down as Area Head of Ottawa and how it would be difficult, since for the most part, my counterpart and I were the only leaders that our members had ever known. As I did my share, there was a spotlight on me, and I stood there and said how I loved where I was, I could dance at the thought of how much joy I experienced being there, in this proverbial light. “But how much more was out there?” I asked, motioning towards the darkness around me. And I made a declaration, right then and there, that I knew God was calling me out into the unknown. It was then when I motioned towards the rest of the stage… Mind you, all this was completely off script, absent from the notes I had written and never mentioned in the screenings. This was the moment, in front of hundreds, that I declared that I was willing to step out into the unknown where God waited for me. And up there in Heaven, my Father knowingly smiled and whispered, “My dear, you have no idea.”

Grazing briefly over my mission as Area Head of Hamilton – St. Catharines (HSC) won’t do my time there the justice it deserves, so please allow me to pause for a bit and to run my fingers through that time in my life which I owe so much to. This small place I hadn’t even heard of until I was called. (Goodness, this is going to be one long post, so please bear with me.) Okay, so without going too into how HSC and I got acquainted, let’s go to right now, over 2 years from when I first became theirs.

Brothers and sisters, if I were to ever doubt God’s love for me, even for a second, all I would have to do is think about this area. From my Couple Coordinators (CCs) who took me in as their own, to my counterpart who was the source of much laughter and affirmation, to my household who teased each other endlessly but whose presence I found great comfort and strength in, to the members who had endless amounts of hugs and laughter waiting to greet me after every long commute from the city (note: I lived in Toronto). I said yes to the unknown and God never ceased in showering me with love. It wasn’t long until I started calling them my home, and truly I was.

All this, of course, was said in hindsight. To date one of the most difficult moments for me was when, after a weekend of my parents helping me move while spending the nights sleeping on a mattress on the floor of my new Toronto apartment, we stood together by the car saying our final goodbyes. It was here by the curb where my tears seeped into their shirts as they both held me goodbye. Through muffled voices, they tried to comfort me, telling me to come home often, and I told them I would, because in that moment, I didn’t know how I would survive if I didn’t. Back then, I thought this was all God would be calling me to do. I know now that it was this initial move that He asked me to dip my toe into the water, to see how cold it was, to prepare myself.

This is not a post to tell you about how difficult change was for me, nor is it meant to depict the growing pains I experienced through my yes, etc. etc. This is a post to tell you that God’s faithfulness to me was even greater than any instances of faithfulness I had shown.

But, as you know, God didn’t stop with bringing me to HSC. Just when I was about to dig deeper and set roots, he told me I had to move. This will be its own post too, because, much as my calling to HSC, my call to Malta was just as specifically His, and just as specifically mine. I had no idea, that fateful day when I told God I was ready to put out into the deep…. That He would bring me to The Deep. That’s right, capital T. Capital D. So deep, in fact, that I’d have to cross the Atlantic Ocean to get there.

Before I had left for Malta, Patrick had told me, “You know… You’re going to cry when you leave Malta, dear.” I laughed, because I knew he was right. There I was, in Pearson airport, crying over HSC, an area I had grown to love so deeply – one that was once just darkness to me.

Fast forward months later and I am here in Malta. Earlier today, as I stood with YFC Xghajra (pronounced: Shy-ra) during worship, I looked around at their faces and I felt overwhelming love. In my heart I knew that what was once a group of youths whose Wednesday meetings I meekly joined, had now become a small family, and I know deep down I will miss them with great fierceness when my term comes to a close.

When I had come here, I felt similar to how you might have, up there as you first read “Xghajra” and you had no idea how to pronounce it. But it was saying yes despite this feeling of confusion and uncertainty, that I had opened myself up to love that I couldn’t even imagine had I tried. After each area, I’m left with a feeling that I had fit as much as I could into my heart. And with each yes, God had made my heart a little more like His, showing me that there is no ceiling to how much He can love.

There is no doubt about it, the darkness of the unknown is scary. It is much more comfortable staying (and dancing) in the light. None of my yesses were given with resounding confidence. Each yes, I offered with shaking hands. There will be many instances in our lives when we will feel inclined to say no, because why go where comfort is absent? Hands lifted towards Him, shaking as they may be, will still be used for His glory. I have been here in Malta for over 5 months, and my hands have yet to be steadied, but I can rest assured that they are held.

I once wondered why there were no (or very sparse, if any) teachings in Youth for Christ (YFC) about romantic love, relationships, Theology of the Body, etc. The answer at the time didn’t do it for me: young people are not supposed to prioritize a relationship. Through my many one-on-ones and just simply seeing how the youth of today are, it was evident that whether we supported relationships or not, they were bound to happen, and why not better equip them as they face the inevitable?

But now, just having passed my mid-twenties, I can truly say that being single was the best gift I could have given myself. Wait no, it was one of the best gifts God could have given me, and it was a blessing that I was able to recognize this when I did. To be completely content on your own, you are more able to grow in love. Period. In love for yourself, in love for others, in love with new hobbies, in love for service, and most of all, in love with God. It sounds incredibly cliché, I know… But the period of being single gives your heart a different sort of freedom, and you are more able to stretch towards the sun and grow. You will build a foundation for yourself so that when you do find that person, at the right time, you can honestly say that your happiness will never depend on them. That your happiness had never depended on a blank space next to your name, filled in by whoever gave you butterflies in that moment.

The time you are single is a gift, and this isn’t coming from someone who is disillusioned and never felt the pangs of young love. Of course I did, but I also know that when I did, I was unprepared and in the end, spent much more time licking my wounds. When you’re in that state, it’s really hard to honestly say that you’re looking outwards at the world with a heart full of love.

Being in a relationship now, I am more able to say (to my – I really don’t want to say “boyfriend” because really, he’s so much more than that, and God’s gift sounds too cheesy for me, but yeah, him) that I spent my time, living fully, loving God, accepting myself… and that when he had asked to court me, I knew deep inside, that there were no wounds that needed healing, no fragments of my heart that he would be helping glue back together. And this. This is the state you need to be in in order to grow. There were no roots still in the soil that needed uprooting; I had tended and weeded and made sure to layer compost… you get it. Our hearts were in the state they needed to be.

It is because of this that I can call him my other whole. I told him a few weeks back that I will never need him to complete me; that’s God’s job. I came to him a complete person. And how much more romantic is it to be able to tell someone that, in our wholeness we love them? Not out of dependence, or as a needed distraction, or because of momentary happiness, attraction or excitement. It is my prayer that we can all continue to ask our Beloved Mother to guide our hearts so that we may seek to be filled with His love alone. It is in this way that we can truly magnify He who loves us best.

God bless you!

 

 

I have been here in Malta for a month now, and the road to getting here was certainly not easy.

I had travelled alone before and I’ve always been quite comfortable doing so. In fact, my last trip alone was to South Korea, and I remember taking it as some time away just for me and Jesus. I would walk the streets, take a table for one, and it was only He and I; just us two. It was a point when I knew I would be leaving home and moving to Toronto, so I took the time away as a form of retreat. Retreat, in the sense of pulling back and reconvening with the One I answered to.

There was a moment before leaving for Malta where I was praying to Him. Preparing myself once more for a departure, and again this time for mission, but on a whole different scope. And in that moment of prayer, I saw myself sitting on a large, flat rock, looking at my phone and sighing, feeling that small tinge of loneliness, and as I sat there, I felt a hand cover my own. I looked to my side and there He was smiling warmly at me. In a way, I knew He was telling me, “You won’t be alone.”

Here in Malta, on Wednesday evenings, I’m usually on the other end of the island in a place called Xghajra (pronounced Shy-ra) for youth meetings. This was my first time commuting there, as usually I’m able to catch a ride there and back with our Missions Head, Deb and her father. This night, however, Deb was busy working on her thesis and I made the trek alone. Although it took about an hour and a half, it was relatively easy and I felt encouraged by finding my way there without a hitch. After the meeting, I agreed to grab dinner with the X-Youth leaders in hopes of getting to know them better, as I know we were still in this awkward phase of pleasantries. The dinner came a little late and I had to excuse myself early, realizing with a start, that I had missed my bus and had to run 10 minutes to another area in order to catch my next, and according to Google Maps, the last bus of the evening. Mind you, it was only nearing 10 o’clock so this was new for me.

I ran next to the sea; brisk, cold and pitch black, using my phone’s flashlight to make sure I wasn’t stepping on anything. I arrived at the small complex of buildings and with 3 minutes to spare, but I was confused as the spot I was standing was supposedly where the bus stop was, yet there was no sign of it in sight. With a panic, I picked up pace and circled to the other side of the building and made it back onto the main road. With a sigh of relief I saw the bus approaching, and although I realized I wasn’t standing at the bus stop, the bus was going at a slow enough pace and with no other cars in the vicinity, I knew it could easily stop and scoop me up. I waved and signaled to the driver that I wasn’t sure where the stop was, he looked at me and shrugged and just kept driving. I stood there at a loss, confused and feeling dejected. I walked to these large stone steps and sunk down and without even meaning to, I began to sob. I knew how simple it would have been for him to stop, how there was no one in the area – no car he would have been blocking… and I wondered if the driver knew that he would be my last bus home. It was dark, it was cold, and I looked at my phone and didn’t know what to do. Everyone just felt so far away.

And with that cold stone under my hand, this feeling of defeat, I felt a hand cover mine…

Friday June 17, 2016.

This morning, I had woken promptly at 6:30am, just before my alarm which was set to go off in ten minutes. It was at this moment that I could have sworn my bed had turned into quicksand and although I knew it would take some time for me to get back to sleep, I just did not want to get up. I closed my eyes and told myself I would wait for my alarm, and of course by the time it had gone off, I had sunk even deeper.

I had let another 5 minutes pass by before I told myself that it was “now or never” and trudged to the bathroom. After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I realized that Mass was starting in 6 minutes and in the back of my mind I heard a voice say “you’ll be late, don’t bother going.” I was so close to conceding, but instead I pulled myself away and slid into my sandals, buckled down and thought, “If I leave now and walk quickly, I can make it.”

Even when I was halfway to the church, I heard it again, “Why are you going?” and I felt this pull, honestly, it was like an actual internal pull telling me not to go. I felt it twice, the second being stronger than the first, and I replied and told the voice, “You must be scared today. There must be something waiting for me at Mass. Unfortunately for you, God is always with me.” And I walked on. After I said this, I felt a shudder, and then it disappeared.

I got to Mass only a few lines late, and I took a seat just at the back. This Mass happens twice a week, on Tuesdays and Fridays, with the Franciscan Missionaries of Mary. What a joy it had been to receive the Eucharist so early in the morning! Then when it was done, I decided to sit in my seat and wait…

One of the sisters I had been introduced to about a month and a half ago approached me and asked if I wanted to have breakfast with them. As we walked the corridors, she introduced me to each sister we passed, and each and every time they greeted me with this bright, welcoming smile, like they already knew me and were so glad to see me again. Their face lit up hearing I was a missionary, and somehow, in that moment, our souls seemed to acknowledge each other, kindred spirits, a nod between fellow labourers in the same vineyard.

Sister Rita was the sister who first approached, and she touted over me in a way only a mother could. Carrying my bowl to my seat although I insisted I was alright, and it was in the simplicity of her kindness that I was left… not feeling unworthy or embarrassed, but feeling in awe that someone her age could never tire of service to others, even with the simplest of things.

I had sat with her and Sister Carolina (I’m horrible with names, so expect an edit once I go back next Tuesday and meet them once more), and when I took my seat in front of a bowl of cereal, Sr. Rita smiled and said, “Tell us anything. About the mission, about your life in Canada, anything you like!” I laughed and delved into simple conversation. What I was more interested in was hearing their stories. How did you come to be here? What is it that you do?

My heart was unprepared for the stories and answers they would shortly share. This was mission. They asked whether I was done school, and I replied yes, and Sr. Rita asked from which university I had graduated from. “Oh, uhm.. Carleton..”, I replied, unsure if she had ever heard of it. It surprised me then when she smiled and nodded in acknowledgement, “Ah yes, I lived in Canada for 15 years, most was in Ottawa. I went to University of Ottawa and St. Paul’s College.” Amazing, I thought. But it didn’t stop there. She had studied Psychology and was sent on mission allover the world, the latest place was only last year, where she worked with people with addictions here in Malta. Wow, I thought to myself; I too finished in Psychology and worked with women with addictions who were involved in prostitution. The other Sister also shared a little bit about what she was doing. As Malta is a small island in the Mediterranean, it was receiving an influx of refugees from all different sides, and these were the people whom she worked with. I prodded on further about this and she shared that many lived in different housing units, in fact, a large one was just down the street. In my heart, I was amazed again, because just before moving to Malta, I had worked for an organization that served refugees so for 6 months, I learned so much about refugee mental health and other issues pertaining to them. I will always have a heart for those who were displaced and who, despite escaping from a horrible situation, still felt like they didn’t belong or were unwanted in their new home.

They had only grazed over the different missions they were assigned to: working with lepers in the Philippines, with broken families in Canada, with youth in a fancy private school in Ottawa… And as they spoke, each letter of each word was covered in equal parts of humility and love. I’m not exaggerating when I say that as the Lord had gifted me with meeting the hearts of fellow missionaries, my eyes began to well with tears (an overflowing from the joy my heart was experiencing, I know it). What I’m doing is nothing exceptional; one year in Malta pales to a lifetime spent in this kind of missionary service. The Lord was reminding me that if I continue to burn with the right kind of oil, I will not burn out.

The three of us stayed talking well after everyone had cleared the tables and left. As we said goodbye, I told them that I was thankful because the Lord knew I really needed this, as my circle of friends here in Malta is very small and at times being on mission could get lonely.

 

Oh, what I would have missed if I had chosen to stay in bed. 

This past weekend, my mum and brother had come down to visit me. Since I’m still working full time and filling my weekends with service (often out of town in my area), my beautiful mother thought it best to come to Toronto for a few days to kick-start my packing. I don’t think my decision to move had fully sunk in until yesterday, when I looked at my room filled with clothes and boxes… but I’m getting ahead of myself.

On Monday, their final day here, I had left work early. I swung around Eaton Centre to meet them and we took a taxi back to my apartment. Andy went to Subway to pick up a sandwich for the 5 hour drive back to Ottawa, and my mum and I headed upstairs to grab their luggage. While in the elevator she opened her arms and asked for a hug. I obliged and when I stepped back, her eyes were filled with tears. Ever supportive and always joyful, this was the first time I fully allowed myself to realize how much this move was hurting her.

Later that night I told Patrick about the small incident and he replied, “Yeah, she was crying at Mass on Sunday too..”

When I had first told my parents, my mum was laughing and joking about the move, exclaiming that my boyfriend was fired for failing at his job in keeping me here. Then she began asking other questions (where was I going to stay? Can we see it before I move?) and pitching possible months for her to fly down and be with me. The conversation moved fast, but there wasn’t any (serious) flicker of doubt in the things she said. It has been a month since then, and when she checked in, her questions were about work and whether I’ve told my boss, the apartment and if I’ve found someone to take over the lease, and whether I made appointments to see my dentist or doctor before I leave; typical mom questions.

There was, however, a time when she texted me that after Ottawa’s Evangelization Rally she had let her heart cry as it sank in that I was moving to another continent. She told me that she knows the Lord had been preparing her for this.. *I scrolled back down through my messages to find it because I don’t remember what it had said. To be completely honest, I think I never allowed myself to process these things, not fully letting myself feel what it meant that I was moving. Her messages went like this: “Yesterday it sank in. I was at the Evangelization Rally and I cried so hard in my heart. // God has really put us in CFC to prepare us for this. To better understand His works [within] us. I’m still numb and so is dad, lol.”

This. This is why I serve. His faithfulness to me has been so abundant, and has become so blindingly real through the way my parents responded to the call. Never in a million years would I have thought that they would give in with such surrender. That their yes would be as resounding as my own. Years ago, when the very first inkling of becoming an MV had trickled into my consciousness, I quickly pulled away. “My parents would kill me,” I quietly whispered to a fellow sister who found herself in a similar position.

My parents opening their hearts to His great love…their struggle in doing so, but their persistence in stepping forward. That is what I hold on to. God has loved me through my family, which was at one point in time a place of resentment, for there were many Sundays I stood in a pew alone. This is Our God. A God of kept promises. A God who has remained so faithful despite our floundering ways.

I dropped my mom and Andy off and when I left, I would be lying to say my heart was not heavy. My heart felt like a boulder. As I went up the escalator I played “Ever Be – Kalley Heilgenthal” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BhasSpSBdEE)

Your love is devoted
like a ring of solid gold
Like a vow that is tested
like a covenant of old
Your love is enduring
through the winter rain
And beyond the horizon
with mercy for today

and as the chorus began, I walked onto the train and took a seat,

Faithful You have been
and faithful you will be
You pledge yourself to me
and it’s why I sing

I closed my eyes and in that moment my soul sang

Your praise will ever be on my lips,
ever be on my lips
Your praise will ever be on my lips,

Tears streamed down as I sat in that near-empty subway car. This was my prayer, in the most raw and vulnerable form, my heart so filled with love and thanksgiving…

ever be on my lips

Earlier this year, I made the serious decision to discern for my Vocation. Yes, Vocation with a capital V. Rather than just sliding it into my long list of intentions, I decided to take active steps in my discernment. I’ve spoken to different Sisters about their love story and how they came about in giving their yes to the Lord in this way. What surprised me was how their stories varied so greatly from one another’s. There was no bright light or dream that told them definitively that they were supposed to be there (and yes, it’s very naive of me to think that He would only speak to them in that way). I’ve had one tell me that when she decided to join the Sisters of the Cross, she had only just gone back to the Church and had a boyfriend. My own spiritual director, a Salesian sister, had known since she was very young that she wanted to serve Him in this way. It amazed me how they were called despite where they were; there didn’t seem to be a trend or an age.

However, as I was sitting with one of my sisters earlier last week, it had dawned on me… Although I’m taking active steps in my discernment for consecrated life, am I really open to the vocation of marriage? Yes, I have always longed for children and a family and the very idea of raising future saints is one that easily brings a smile to my face (as I type this, I’m beaming at the very thought). But if I were truthful with myself, have I really been open to it? Am I taking the easy way out by closing this route off to well-intentioned brothers? During my one-on-one with my Couple Coordinator (my Hamilton – St. Catharines mom), she had been very blunt with me on this. “ChrisAnn, maybe you give off that vibe that you’re okay being alone, because you’re too independent to need anyone [in that capacity],” and so on and so forth…

It’s not even the fact that I’ve been hurt beyond repair and have built walls up out of distrust. I wasn’t closing myself off to love because I felt myself unworthy or fearful. I just, simply put, didn’t feel much need for romantic love. I’ve fallen so deeply in love with Him, and I took this as my cue that maybe I’m meant to spend the rest of my life just like this, me and Him.

Over Skype, I spoke to another sister about this and she asked if I had done the Novena to St. Joseph yet. I decided to start that very evening, and on the ninth and final day, I lifted it up once more and I sat there in silence during Adoration, wondering if He would respond. This is the answer I got:

I know that no matter the vocation I am called to, I am called to marry the Cross. His Cross. Uniting my cross to His as I grow in obedience, faith and love.

Whether my cross will be that of marriage, blessed singleness, or religious life… I will carry the cross of my love for Him as I walk towards Heaven.

 

I, and we, are called to love.

My little brother is growing up, and although still younger than me, he’s hardly “little” any longer. Physically he towers over me, but more than that, he’s living a more adult life – he’s graduated and works full time, has a group of friends that I don’t know, and more and more I’m losing my influence in his life. When I’m in town, instead of going to mass as a complete family, he’s oftentimes at work and honestly, I don’t know where he is anymore spiritually.

I was looking at him the other day, pointing out that although we’re away at a campsite, he continues to look cool, in non-camping attire. It made me smile, however, that whether he fully realized it or not, he was wearing a small gold necklace with Mama Mary holding the child Jesus on the pendant.

Yesterday, we were at the beach and while swimming, he had lost the necklace and we all began to comb the bottom of the water in search of it. Because of the current, I had thought that maybe it went further away, closer to shore, and I would dive down continuously, in hopes that I would find it there. Twenty minutes later and out of breath, I realized how metaphorical this was. My brother, who I’ve felt has slowly been losing his faith, and me, far away trying to see if I can somehow help him find it again, blindly diving down and coming up empty. I noticed also that some of us were unaware that he had lost anything at all, and continued to swim or play, and others just didn’t see it as much of a cause, but there was a good core of us who continued to search. After coming up for air once more, I looked around and saw the expanse of the beach and felt that maybe we wouldn’t find it, and maybe that would be okay… maybe he’ll find his faith on his own, in His time. But just as I was thinking this, I heard cheering and turned back and saw that someone was holding up the necklace. And by no coincidence, this person also happens to be Ottawa’s Area Head, Nelson… who is also technically Edward’s pastoral head, if he ever chose to come back. It doesn’t take one person, it takes a group of people, who don’t give up, who search together.

And maybe an older sister, who in a feeling of hopelessness and loss, lifted up a quiet prayer. You might be praying for a loved one’s conversion…. Know that it is not an easy process and you might feel that time and time again, you’re coming up empty. But the Lord will use who He needs, it won’t always be you, just continue to be unceasing in your prayers for them and loving in your actions.

St. Monica, pray for us.