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Making Space For God
Jul. 3rd, 2013 12:11 pmMake a space in your life for God.
If you can’t fill it now…
God will fill it in time.
Be open!
(Mrs. Nick, Louisville High School)
On a Tuesday evening, Louisville High School is a ghost town of dim lights, ominous shadows, and sad echoes of fading laughter drifting through deserted corridors. It is so different at night that I always think I’m in the wrong place. “This must be the convent down the hill”, I say to myself, “It can’t be the school”. Louisville is such a vibrant source of energy and light during the day, that I don’t recognize it at night. The only evidence of the lively girls who attend the school are the splashes of colorful posters and banners that festoon the walls and decorate the lockers. The night belongs to the sober adults and custodians who are here this evening, trooping down the semi-lit hallways, looking for the classroom of Mrs. Kathleen Nicholas. Kathy and I were there for an orientation about the Kairos Senior Retreat that my daughter Prisa would attend in three weeks.
We were part of the first parent cohort to receive this briefing. Prisa had purposely signed up for the earliest retreat date. She did not want a conflict with the basketball season that began in late November. I’d been surprised to discover that Prisa would not be joining us this evening. It was for adults only, and neither she nor her mother could explain why. Most Louisville activities promoted family unity and parent-daughter bonding, so it was odd that girls were not present. The somber mood of the evening was brightened when a medium sized lady with short, blonde hair met us at the door and introduced herself as Mrs. Nicholas, Prisa’s religion teacher and Director of Campus Ministries. Prisa had mentioned her name often, always calling her “Mrs. Nick”, and I was curious to meet the coordinator of school-wide liturgies, prayer services, and social service projects. I recognized her as a parishioner of a neighboring church we occasionally attended (Prisa was an avid fan of their youth choir and mass). She had a gentle, kindly face that inspired trust and confidence. Kathy had met her before, so as we walked into the brightly lit classroom, she engaged Mrs. Nick in immediate conversation. Standing next to them, I gazed out at the neat rows of glossy topped, student desks that were filling up with mothers and fathers. The men looked just as misplaced as I felt. I did not know what to expect tonight. I could tell Prisa was excited about this particular retreat, but I wasn’t sure why. I could not lose the nagging feeling that I was missing something. I even developed a mild paranoia that the term Kairos was feminine code for an initiation rite that women kept secret. I voiced this insecurity to Prisa once, as I was driving her home from basketball practice. Her amused laughter disarmed and assured me that this was not some Daughters of Eve conspiracy, promulgated at single sex, Catholic high schools.
In my recollections of that evening in 1997, Mrs. Nick’s talk went something like this (SPOILER ALERT! Stop reading if you are a high school student who has yet to experience your Senior Kairos retreat. Save the essay for a graduation treat.):
“Good evening, ladies and gentleman” she began. “Welcome to the parent orientation to Kairos. Some of you may have heard about it, and your daughters may have shared their speculations. I need to tell you that seniors who go through the experience are specifically directed to NOT TALK ABOUT IT with their fellow seniors or underclassmen. This may seem secretive, but it is vital. Kairos is a three day journey that must be experienced first hand. Talk or speculation only diminishes the power of Kairos. So, I would ask you to put aside the things you may have heard. What I tell you tonight is the essential information that you need to know”.
Mrs. Nick had my full attention. Her quiet introduction had hushed the room, cutting right through my paranoia, and heightening my awareness. I did not want to miss a word.
“Kairos is the culmination of the retreat ministry at Louisville. The freshman, sophomore, and junior retreats laid the groundwork for this moment. Kairos is an ancient Greek word meaning the “right or opportune moment”. It signifies “a time in between”, a moment of undetermined length in which “something special happens”. At Louisville, we believe that this senior retreat is special. It takes place at a pivotal moment in the lives of your daughters. Just as they are planning to graduate, leave high school, and move on to college, we want them to pause, clarify, and deepen their relationship with God, family, and friends. The retreat provides the place and the time for a spark to ignite something special between your daughters and God. Kairos is an awakening event in their Christian life. Prayer and Sacraments are an essential part of the retreat, as well as the retreatants involvement in discussions and group exercises. We believe that Kairos is especially powerful because it operates on a peer-to-peer ministry model, with last year’s graduates and current student body officers leading the interactions and explorations. They hear girls they recognize and know talk about faith, prayer, Kairos, and college. This retreat is a 3 day journey, and it is held at Mater Dolorosa Retreat Center in Sierra Madre. The girls may not leave the retreat with all of life’s answers, but they will have a greater awareness of who they are and where they are going. It is a powerful, powerful, experience”.
No questions interrupted Mrs. Nick’s elaborate description of the itinerary and events of the three days. She was doing a good job of impressing us with the uniqueness of the occasion, and its impact on our daughters. Then she brought us into the picture.
“The reason you are here tonight, without your daughters, is because each of you play a major role in the retreat. After dinner, on the second night of Kairos, we gather to discuss God’s Love and Grace as manifested through the support we give and get from school, family and friends. At the conclusion of the sharing exercise, some handpicked parent letters are read aloud, as illustrations, and then the girls are directed to go to their rooms. There, they will be surprised to discover a packet of personal letters from parents, relatives, and friends, awaiting them. It is the climactic moment of the retreat, when they are overwhelmed by our interconnectedness and God’s Love. These letters are the key to the Kairos experience. I will need one from each family member; as many relatives as you wish, but the letters must be positive, supportive, and finished by the time we leave for Sierra Madre. The letters must be previewed and bundled before the second night”.
Now the flood gates of surprise and concern were opened and the questions poured forth. Mrs. Nick patiently listened, restated, and explained; clarifying the writing assignment, reviewing the details of the three days, and stressing the emotional and spiritual power of the retreat. I sat stunned and intrigued. The letter was such a challenge, and yet, such an unbelievable opportunity: to describe my love for my daughter; to memorialize my feelings for Prisa in writing at a crucial point in time. I was very aware of the ephemeral nature of this, her senior year. Prisa was about to change from a 17 year old high school girl into a young college woman, and I was afraid it would happen in a blink, if I took my eyes off her. I wanted time to slow down, so I could share every moment of the year before she went away to college. I’d had a preview of this transitory state, and how quickly childhood ends, when Prisa was in the 8th grade, on the eve of her graduation from elementary school. It hit me when I saw her in the May Crowning procession. Seeing her so tall, elegant, and beautiful, it finally struck me that she was no longer a child; she wasn’t “Daddy’s little girl” anymore. I wasn’t prepared. All I could do was look at her gorgeous, glowing face, and, wiping the tears from my eyes, realize that the years had gone by too quickly. I had only glanced away for a second, and my little “chula girl” was gone. No longer would my arrival home be greeted by a beaming pixie who screamed in delight, jumping into my arms, and embracing me with all her might. I felt as though I had never adequately confirmed how much I loved her. I’m confident that I showed it, and said it, but I never WROTE it. Now here we were again, at another transitional moment. Only this time, my awakening was occurring in October, not May; and I still had the entire senior year to absorb every interaction I had with Prisa; to breathe her in, see her, talk to her, listen to her, be with her. Plus, I now had two weeks to compose a letter telling her how important she was to me, and how much I loved her.
I avoided that intimidating task for a week, because it seemed so impossible. How do you encapsulate Prisa’s 17 years of growth, learning, and development in one letter? How do you reduce your feelings of wonder, pride, and love to fit one sheet of paper? I’d also doubled the pressure on myself by deciding that the letter had to be good enough to be chosen and read aloud on the second night of Kairos. The letter had to be sincere, humorous, and exemplary. Ultimately, I used two guiding principles to get started: Write the truth, and keep it simple. I tried to stay apart from the jumbled mix of emotions I was feeling, and concentrate on a few key ideas and images that came to mind. In a few days, these ideas and images became my Kairos letter to Prisa. Kathy and I submitted our separate letters, on time, to Mrs. Nick. Prisa would be leaving for Kairos on Tuesday, November 12, 1997. We would not see her again until the following Friday night, when the parents surprised their daughters in the assembly hall upon their return to school.
Memories of that Kairos Orientation, and the letter I wrote to Prisa, came back to me last week when I read a June 26th Facebook posting from my daughter relating the news of Mrs. Nicholas’ death. In it she shared a copy of Mrs. Nick’s Christian Lifestyles Final Exam Letter and Recommendation. Those documents, and the sentiments they expressed about the girls she taught, and who in turn taught her, were illuminating. They explained why I had been so moved by her explanation of the Kairos experience, and its importance to the faith formation of the student under her care. That is the picture I will always retain of Mrs. Nick: her gentle and loving description of Kairos, and the central importance of a Catholic education that stressed Christian love and spirituality in the lives of the girls she taught.
In writing this piece, I took the liberty of reprising a portion of an essay I wrote in 2008 (see Upstream Memories). That Kairos evening clarified why I was so pleased with the education Prisa received at Louisville, and the quality of Mrs. Nick's spiritual guidance. In the years that followed, I would occasionally catch glimpses of Mrs. Nick at her parish church and at the Religious Ed. Congress in Anaheim – but I will always associate her with that magical night in 1997 when she explained the wonders of Kairos, and encouraged me to write a letter of love to my daughter. Rest In Peace, Mrs. Nick. You will be greatly loved and long remembered.
Postscript: Kairos letter, November 5, 1997
Dear Prisa Girl:
It amazes me how difficult it is to describe how much I love you, and how important you are in my life. Ever since the Kairos experience was explained to your mother and I, I have been overwhelmed with nostalgic memories and emotions about you. How can I say everything I feel? How can I convey even a portion of your importance to me in this letter? The clearest picture I have is of us talking in the car while driving home from a practice or a game. Those are moments of eternal bliss for me: Listening to you discuss school, friends, sports, college, and the future. I wish we could drive on forever.
I have a confession to make. You were not adopted from gypsies. You were actually the only child that was planned. I remember the day your mom informed me that it was time to have a girl. “A boy was nice”, she told me, “but a girl is vital” (How wise your mother was!). I was prepared for you. I was present in the delivery room when you were born. I would sit in the old rocking chair, holding you in my arms and feeling so comfortable and satisfied – that I wished time would stop. I taught you how to play catch on the front lawn while discussing the questions of life. I took you for your first driving lesson in the Volkswagen.
My greatest joy has been watching you experience life. You are a wonder! I should also admit that I’m a little envious of your abilities. I wish I had your SAT scores and grade point average. I wish I could catch fly balls like you. I wish I could hit like you. I wish I could dribble and shoot a basketball like you. I wish I had your compassion and empathy for others. But since I can’t BE you; I’d rather be your father.
Here we are, at a major crossroads in your life. I wish I could teach you how to avoid the hurts and disappointments that come to everyone’s life. I can’t (actually I could, but I don’t think you would listen). Life will continue to be your own experience. You have a wondrous capacity for joy and happiness. I trust you, and have every confidence in you.
Dearest Prisa, there is only one thing I want you to know, and believe. You are truly Loved. There is nothing you can ever do, choose, or say, that will ever jeopardize that Love.
I love you,
Dad
If you can’t fill it now…
God will fill it in time.
Be open!
(Mrs. Nick, Louisville High School)
On a Tuesday evening, Louisville High School is a ghost town of dim lights, ominous shadows, and sad echoes of fading laughter drifting through deserted corridors. It is so different at night that I always think I’m in the wrong place. “This must be the convent down the hill”, I say to myself, “It can’t be the school”. Louisville is such a vibrant source of energy and light during the day, that I don’t recognize it at night. The only evidence of the lively girls who attend the school are the splashes of colorful posters and banners that festoon the walls and decorate the lockers. The night belongs to the sober adults and custodians who are here this evening, trooping down the semi-lit hallways, looking for the classroom of Mrs. Kathleen Nicholas. Kathy and I were there for an orientation about the Kairos Senior Retreat that my daughter Prisa would attend in three weeks.
We were part of the first parent cohort to receive this briefing. Prisa had purposely signed up for the earliest retreat date. She did not want a conflict with the basketball season that began in late November. I’d been surprised to discover that Prisa would not be joining us this evening. It was for adults only, and neither she nor her mother could explain why. Most Louisville activities promoted family unity and parent-daughter bonding, so it was odd that girls were not present. The somber mood of the evening was brightened when a medium sized lady with short, blonde hair met us at the door and introduced herself as Mrs. Nicholas, Prisa’s religion teacher and Director of Campus Ministries. Prisa had mentioned her name often, always calling her “Mrs. Nick”, and I was curious to meet the coordinator of school-wide liturgies, prayer services, and social service projects. I recognized her as a parishioner of a neighboring church we occasionally attended (Prisa was an avid fan of their youth choir and mass). She had a gentle, kindly face that inspired trust and confidence. Kathy had met her before, so as we walked into the brightly lit classroom, she engaged Mrs. Nick in immediate conversation. Standing next to them, I gazed out at the neat rows of glossy topped, student desks that were filling up with mothers and fathers. The men looked just as misplaced as I felt. I did not know what to expect tonight. I could tell Prisa was excited about this particular retreat, but I wasn’t sure why. I could not lose the nagging feeling that I was missing something. I even developed a mild paranoia that the term Kairos was feminine code for an initiation rite that women kept secret. I voiced this insecurity to Prisa once, as I was driving her home from basketball practice. Her amused laughter disarmed and assured me that this was not some Daughters of Eve conspiracy, promulgated at single sex, Catholic high schools.
In my recollections of that evening in 1997, Mrs. Nick’s talk went something like this (SPOILER ALERT! Stop reading if you are a high school student who has yet to experience your Senior Kairos retreat. Save the essay for a graduation treat.):
“Good evening, ladies and gentleman” she began. “Welcome to the parent orientation to Kairos. Some of you may have heard about it, and your daughters may have shared their speculations. I need to tell you that seniors who go through the experience are specifically directed to NOT TALK ABOUT IT with their fellow seniors or underclassmen. This may seem secretive, but it is vital. Kairos is a three day journey that must be experienced first hand. Talk or speculation only diminishes the power of Kairos. So, I would ask you to put aside the things you may have heard. What I tell you tonight is the essential information that you need to know”.
Mrs. Nick had my full attention. Her quiet introduction had hushed the room, cutting right through my paranoia, and heightening my awareness. I did not want to miss a word.
“Kairos is the culmination of the retreat ministry at Louisville. The freshman, sophomore, and junior retreats laid the groundwork for this moment. Kairos is an ancient Greek word meaning the “right or opportune moment”. It signifies “a time in between”, a moment of undetermined length in which “something special happens”. At Louisville, we believe that this senior retreat is special. It takes place at a pivotal moment in the lives of your daughters. Just as they are planning to graduate, leave high school, and move on to college, we want them to pause, clarify, and deepen their relationship with God, family, and friends. The retreat provides the place and the time for a spark to ignite something special between your daughters and God. Kairos is an awakening event in their Christian life. Prayer and Sacraments are an essential part of the retreat, as well as the retreatants involvement in discussions and group exercises. We believe that Kairos is especially powerful because it operates on a peer-to-peer ministry model, with last year’s graduates and current student body officers leading the interactions and explorations. They hear girls they recognize and know talk about faith, prayer, Kairos, and college. This retreat is a 3 day journey, and it is held at Mater Dolorosa Retreat Center in Sierra Madre. The girls may not leave the retreat with all of life’s answers, but they will have a greater awareness of who they are and where they are going. It is a powerful, powerful, experience”.
No questions interrupted Mrs. Nick’s elaborate description of the itinerary and events of the three days. She was doing a good job of impressing us with the uniqueness of the occasion, and its impact on our daughters. Then she brought us into the picture.
“The reason you are here tonight, without your daughters, is because each of you play a major role in the retreat. After dinner, on the second night of Kairos, we gather to discuss God’s Love and Grace as manifested through the support we give and get from school, family and friends. At the conclusion of the sharing exercise, some handpicked parent letters are read aloud, as illustrations, and then the girls are directed to go to their rooms. There, they will be surprised to discover a packet of personal letters from parents, relatives, and friends, awaiting them. It is the climactic moment of the retreat, when they are overwhelmed by our interconnectedness and God’s Love. These letters are the key to the Kairos experience. I will need one from each family member; as many relatives as you wish, but the letters must be positive, supportive, and finished by the time we leave for Sierra Madre. The letters must be previewed and bundled before the second night”.
Now the flood gates of surprise and concern were opened and the questions poured forth. Mrs. Nick patiently listened, restated, and explained; clarifying the writing assignment, reviewing the details of the three days, and stressing the emotional and spiritual power of the retreat. I sat stunned and intrigued. The letter was such a challenge, and yet, such an unbelievable opportunity: to describe my love for my daughter; to memorialize my feelings for Prisa in writing at a crucial point in time. I was very aware of the ephemeral nature of this, her senior year. Prisa was about to change from a 17 year old high school girl into a young college woman, and I was afraid it would happen in a blink, if I took my eyes off her. I wanted time to slow down, so I could share every moment of the year before she went away to college. I’d had a preview of this transitory state, and how quickly childhood ends, when Prisa was in the 8th grade, on the eve of her graduation from elementary school. It hit me when I saw her in the May Crowning procession. Seeing her so tall, elegant, and beautiful, it finally struck me that she was no longer a child; she wasn’t “Daddy’s little girl” anymore. I wasn’t prepared. All I could do was look at her gorgeous, glowing face, and, wiping the tears from my eyes, realize that the years had gone by too quickly. I had only glanced away for a second, and my little “chula girl” was gone. No longer would my arrival home be greeted by a beaming pixie who screamed in delight, jumping into my arms, and embracing me with all her might. I felt as though I had never adequately confirmed how much I loved her. I’m confident that I showed it, and said it, but I never WROTE it. Now here we were again, at another transitional moment. Only this time, my awakening was occurring in October, not May; and I still had the entire senior year to absorb every interaction I had with Prisa; to breathe her in, see her, talk to her, listen to her, be with her. Plus, I now had two weeks to compose a letter telling her how important she was to me, and how much I loved her.
I avoided that intimidating task for a week, because it seemed so impossible. How do you encapsulate Prisa’s 17 years of growth, learning, and development in one letter? How do you reduce your feelings of wonder, pride, and love to fit one sheet of paper? I’d also doubled the pressure on myself by deciding that the letter had to be good enough to be chosen and read aloud on the second night of Kairos. The letter had to be sincere, humorous, and exemplary. Ultimately, I used two guiding principles to get started: Write the truth, and keep it simple. I tried to stay apart from the jumbled mix of emotions I was feeling, and concentrate on a few key ideas and images that came to mind. In a few days, these ideas and images became my Kairos letter to Prisa. Kathy and I submitted our separate letters, on time, to Mrs. Nick. Prisa would be leaving for Kairos on Tuesday, November 12, 1997. We would not see her again until the following Friday night, when the parents surprised their daughters in the assembly hall upon their return to school.
Memories of that Kairos Orientation, and the letter I wrote to Prisa, came back to me last week when I read a June 26th Facebook posting from my daughter relating the news of Mrs. Nicholas’ death. In it she shared a copy of Mrs. Nick’s Christian Lifestyles Final Exam Letter and Recommendation. Those documents, and the sentiments they expressed about the girls she taught, and who in turn taught her, were illuminating. They explained why I had been so moved by her explanation of the Kairos experience, and its importance to the faith formation of the student under her care. That is the picture I will always retain of Mrs. Nick: her gentle and loving description of Kairos, and the central importance of a Catholic education that stressed Christian love and spirituality in the lives of the girls she taught.
In writing this piece, I took the liberty of reprising a portion of an essay I wrote in 2008 (see Upstream Memories). That Kairos evening clarified why I was so pleased with the education Prisa received at Louisville, and the quality of Mrs. Nick's spiritual guidance. In the years that followed, I would occasionally catch glimpses of Mrs. Nick at her parish church and at the Religious Ed. Congress in Anaheim – but I will always associate her with that magical night in 1997 when she explained the wonders of Kairos, and encouraged me to write a letter of love to my daughter. Rest In Peace, Mrs. Nick. You will be greatly loved and long remembered.
Postscript: Kairos letter, November 5, 1997
Dear Prisa Girl:
It amazes me how difficult it is to describe how much I love you, and how important you are in my life. Ever since the Kairos experience was explained to your mother and I, I have been overwhelmed with nostalgic memories and emotions about you. How can I say everything I feel? How can I convey even a portion of your importance to me in this letter? The clearest picture I have is of us talking in the car while driving home from a practice or a game. Those are moments of eternal bliss for me: Listening to you discuss school, friends, sports, college, and the future. I wish we could drive on forever.
I have a confession to make. You were not adopted from gypsies. You were actually the only child that was planned. I remember the day your mom informed me that it was time to have a girl. “A boy was nice”, she told me, “but a girl is vital” (How wise your mother was!). I was prepared for you. I was present in the delivery room when you were born. I would sit in the old rocking chair, holding you in my arms and feeling so comfortable and satisfied – that I wished time would stop. I taught you how to play catch on the front lawn while discussing the questions of life. I took you for your first driving lesson in the Volkswagen.
My greatest joy has been watching you experience life. You are a wonder! I should also admit that I’m a little envious of your abilities. I wish I had your SAT scores and grade point average. I wish I could catch fly balls like you. I wish I could hit like you. I wish I could dribble and shoot a basketball like you. I wish I had your compassion and empathy for others. But since I can’t BE you; I’d rather be your father.
Here we are, at a major crossroads in your life. I wish I could teach you how to avoid the hurts and disappointments that come to everyone’s life. I can’t (actually I could, but I don’t think you would listen). Life will continue to be your own experience. You have a wondrous capacity for joy and happiness. I trust you, and have every confidence in you.
Dearest Prisa, there is only one thing I want you to know, and believe. You are truly Loved. There is nothing you can ever do, choose, or say, that will ever jeopardize that Love.
I love you,
Dad
