Dancing With God
By Sister Lou Ella Hickman, IWBS
Sister of the Incarnate Word and Blessed Sacrament

      When I speak about my vocation, sometimes I get a funny look and a “Oh, so you’re a convert?” response.  Either the conversation changes or I get the “What made you become a Catholic?” question.  Even after thirty plus years in religious life, my heart still dances when I get to share my journey of faith.

      I entered the Church a few months after the closing of Vatican II.  I was all of sixteen.  Up to that time, I had been a Methodist—complete with youth group, choir, and Sunday School involvement.  Yet something was missing.  This something took me five long years to discover. 

      The journey began when I stumbled upon, of all things, THE BALTIMORE CATECHISM when I was in grade school.  For a beginner and a child, this was just what I needed.  Suddenly a new world opened up as this book led to another and still another.  It awakened in me a hunger I never knew I had.  This hunger would eventually lead me to religious life and a master’s degree in theology as an adult.  However, I am a little ahead of myself.

      During the second semester of my junior year in high school, I moved one step closer to a decision I was finding more difficult to make.  I went to CCD sponsored by the parish that was within walking distance of home.  I also decided to attend Sunday Mass there.  I found myself “deciding” many times so each day often bordered on agony.  That, of course, was no choice at all until one special Sunday at Mass.  The only way I can explain the experience was as if I woke up.  Suddenly I became aware that this action I was observing, the Mass, was Jesus. The only other part of the experience I remember was standing in the church parking lot thinking, “Well, if this (insight) is true, then how can I stay a Methodist?” After going through a few months of private instruction with the associate pastor, I was received into the Church.  At last I felt at home.

      What did my family think of all this?  If my mother had any ideas, she kept them to herself.  Both she and my sister weren’t involved in any church activities; my father was living elsewhere because he and my mother were divorced.  My grandmother would make a remark every so often.  But it wasn’t something I couldn’t handle. So I was pretty much on my own.  However, my mother had been wise enough to slow me down early on, as I had wanted to convert while in junior high.  This gave me the time I needed to struggle through my decision.

      With my senior year I was back to CCD.  My teacher was a Sister of Mercy.  At one point during the year, she made what would turn out to be a dangerous announcement—her community was sponsoring a weekend retreat for girls.  Needless to say I went.  I met one of the younger sisters whose openness helped to foster our friendship.  She made caring easy, and I wanted to do the same.  I wanted to be for others what she had been to me.  As a result I found myself asking my CCD teacher how could I be a sister.  (Oddly enough I never thought of entering the Mercy Order.)  Sister loaned me her copy of GUIDE TO RELIGIOUS COMMUNITIES FOR WOMEN.  I researched the possibilities.  Later I applied to two different communities.  Almost every response I received including those to my applications—“Get your education first.”  So I did. 

Looking back I can see what had been missing on my part -- I didn’t know about discernment.  I never thought of asking God about my desire and I certainly never thought of talking to someone who could help me.  Of course I prayed but I never made the connection between prayer and my desire for religious life.  Yet, I believe God used even my ignorance to help me on my journey.

      Some three years into college I found a notice on the bulletin board of the church where I was attending Mass. It was a poster announcing a vocation retreat in a city about an hour’s drive from the college.  I had picked this college to finish my degree in education and was away from home.  The idea of a religious vocation came flooding back.  When I read the phone number of the sister vocation director, I realized she was just across town.  A day or two later I called. “I’d be happy to pick you up if you want to attend the retreat,” she responded. What a surprise the retreat turned out to be—we actually had fun! 

The next weeks turned into another inner battleground.  I sensed this choice would not go over well with my family.  However, I finally gave in.  To quiet the voice inside, I phoned the vocation director.  “Send me an application,” I requested.  By May I had been accepted.   Then the battle with my family began.  It would last until my final profession.  Sad to say, my mother’s acceptance came only a few months before she died.  Had she visited my community, she would have discovered the love of many daughters.