Coins In The Mouth Of A Fish

From l to r top, Dad & Mom (Frank & Joan)

bottom, me & Deb

One of my earliest memories is of being in a Catholic convent in Jersey City. My parents were working (dad a drummer and mom a bookkeeper) during the day, so the baby - me, had to go somewhere. My sister Debbie was old enough for school so off she went.

At 5 years old I went to nursery school at the convent. I went there for several years. A dozen or so devoted, Catholic nuns took care of all of the children. There were babies upstairs and bigger kids downstairs. I wish I could remember the name of it. My mom can't either and it is since long gone. But the memories of that place, I realize left an indelible impression on me. The convent experience was life path altering.

The Chapel was a very Holy place obviously, but to me, it became my second home. A sacred place that I went to everyday. I would stare at the stained glass windows depicting these larger than life people that I would come to know and love (or did I always know and love them?). I was there every day listening to the nuns sing and pray in Latin and English and eventually, I would recite along with them. They were diligent in their daily devotions and I gravitated, naturally, more and more toward their God and their meditations. I believe God inhabits the praise of His people...and surely He was in our midst.

The Holy Host was another matter entirely. During that precious dedication and offering of Christ's Body and Blood, I watched them, day after day, receive this round wafer. I waited in anticipation of receiving one myself. I waited. And I waited. They never gave it to me. Why was I excluded? I was at the Chapel everyday. I was well behaved. I was quiet (in Church). What was happening?

Of course, unbeknownst to me, I was too young to receive Holy Communion so I did the next best thing. I wanted to be included in their ritual. I wanted to share in their Communion. So, when no one was looking I would take small pieces of tissue paper from boxes of kleenex that were placed randomly throughout the convent, and I would eat them. I remember it like it was yesterday. I did this for a long while. What was I thinking?

Looking back, I realize I was thinking I wanted more of all of it. I smelled the incense. I saw the candles flickering. I heard and listened to the living Word of God. More importantly, I felt the presence of God. He was speaking to my heart at such a young and tender age. How could I possibly understand the magnitude of what I was being exposed to?

At the end of the day, one of my parents would pick me up and bring me back home. After dinner, my mom would get me ready for bed and some nights, I would take down the crucifix I had on the wall next to my bed, and take out the nails that were piercing My Saviors Hands and Feet. I would put them aside and take His Body and put it, ever so gently on my pillow. He suffered enough today, I would think to myself. I just want Him to rest.

In the morning, and I hated doing this, I would put the nails back in His Hands and Feet and put the cross back on the wall. I did this for some time as well. I had to put Him back. I always put everything 'back where I found it' when I was a child, as I was taught.

I still have that feeling. All these many years later, I am still that little girl waiting in anticipation for more of what God has to offer. It's all very mysterious to me. Mysterious and fascinating. I am a child of the Most High God. Always was, always will be and I am ever so thankful to God for giving me parents with such busy schedules.