In the fall of 1953 when I was a newly arrived postulant, an impressive sending ceremony took place in the Church of Loretto at Saint Mary's. Two beautiful young sisters, dressed in crisp white habits, were leaving for East Pakistan (now Bangladesh), literally half a world away. When would we see these "American Beauties," as they were nicknamed, again? Surely not for years and years! As I formed a part of that double line of sisters waving good-bye, I prayed – not for them but for myself! "Please God, don't ever even give me the DESIRE to go to the missions; I don't ever want to leave the U.S.A.!"

Segue to Aldefta, Chalatenango, El Salvador, in 1983. I was hanging my wet laundry on the flat roof of our two-story house (the only two-story house in our one-street town) when I noticed a big puff of white smoke followed a few seconds later by a huge "Boom!" It wasn't until it happened a second time that I realized that it was mortar fire! "Hmm," I thought, "two seconds; that means two miles away," and I continued hanging my clothes.

Sister Maryanne takes a parish census in war-torn El Salvador to determine the number of refugees who had settled in that part of the parish and ascertain their greatest needs, 1983.

What had happened in those 30 years to change that fearful 18-year-old into a woman who could do her laundry on a rooftop in the very midst of a bloody civil war? It was, of course, not one thing, but rather, every single thing about being a member of the Congregation of the Sisters of the Holy Cross that led to that change.

Over the years I've been asked many times, "Why did you become a Sister of the Holy Cross?" That's one of the many delightful mysteries of my life. The Sisters of the Precious Blood were my adored teachers from kindergarten through sixth grade. The magnificent teachers I had in seventh grade and all through high school were Dominicans. My mother's sister was a Sister of Charity. A cousin had entered the Sisters of Mercy just a few years earlier.

But in the eighth grade I was a student at Most Holy Redeemer School in Evergreen Park, Illinois, and Sister Mary Jane Reiter, CSC, was my teacher. Years later I learned she had been a very tough taskmaster, but my memories of her as my eighth-grade teacher and school principal are of kindness and hospitality. She always made it clear that any former pupils were always welcome to visit her anytime they wished. We often had a high school student sitting in the back of the classroom waiting until dismissal so that he or she could chat with Sister Mary Jane. I did that too, several times, during the next four years.

My parents were delighted when I told them that I wanted to be a sister; it was something I had thought about off and on all throughout my girlhood. My mother startled me, though, when she said that she and my father had always prayed that one of their children would enter the religious life. They had never told the four of us that!

And so, for some reason still unclear to me then, I entered Holy Cross to become a high school sociology teacher (I thought!) having been inspired by my wonderfully creative high school sociology teacher. During the course of my studies for my bachelor's degree in sociology, my Spanish teacher told the provincial I was a very good Spanish student and had the potential to be a good language teacher; perhaps I should major in Spanish. (I was studying Spanish only for my B.A. language requirement. I'd chosen that particular language because I'd had a year of Spanish as a senior in high school, having had a huge crush on Raúl Miranda from Costa Rica who worked for my dad and who frequently spent weekends at our house.) So, when the prefect of studies asked me about changing my major to Spanish, I thought, "Well, if that's what's needed and someone thinks I can do it, I'll do it." A life-altering decision indeed!

Like so many other sisters at that time in history, I had completed only about two and a half years of my undergraduate studies before being sent to teach elementary school. I studied on Saturdays, after school and during the summers at our motherhouse at Saint Mary's. Toward the end of my studies, having only about a semester to go, I had to leave a beloved fifth and sixth grade class of gifted students to return to Saint Mary's College to finish my course work.

When I finished my degree my provincial said, "Before you go off to teach in high school I think you should spend a summer in a country where Spanish is spoken." So that summer I went off to Monterrey, Mexico – my first time away from the Congregation, my first time out of my religious habit, and my first time out of the United States! The first three days confirmed my decision about the "missions abroad"; I knew no one and was so miserably homesick I caught myself plotting ways to get home. But fortunately, I thought, "Whoa! The Congregation has given me a marvelous opportunity! I'm not going to waste it and I'm going to make an adventure of this."  And that's exactly what it turned out to be! So much so that the following summer I took nine of my Spanish students back there with me. Perhaps that was the beginning of a different me.

Sister Maryanne (seated, left) dines with students from St. Joseph High School, South Bend, Indiana, at the Instituto Tecnológico de Estudios Superiores in Monterrey, Mexico, 1969.

For 18 years I was first an elementary school teacher and then a high school Spanish teacher. Then all of a sudden I found myself in congregational administration – first at the regional level and then at the general level.

While I was serving on the General Council, our courageous and visionary superior general called for sisters to form an emergency relief team to go to trouble spots around the world in order to alleviate the suffering of war refugees. It was a time when waves of refugees from Cambodia were fleeing the Pol Pot regime and hundreds were pouring into Thailand on a daily basis. The sisters who would make up this emergency team were to be able to leave their present assignments at the drop of a hat. One sister served as coordinator of the team and made initial assessments when our sisters were requested. And one of those "American Beauties" from my youth held orientations for the volunteers on how to survive under adverse conditions.

Why did I ask to participate in one of those orientation programs? To this day I don't know. It had to have been a movement of the Spirit!

"You certainly may take the orientation program," our superior general said, "but, of course, you could never serve on the emergency team until you finish your term on the General Council."

That was fine with me since I wasn't at all sure of what service I could be in a war zone anyway, nor was I too sure I wanted to find out. However, two months later a call for help came from Catholic Relief Services in El Salvador. "But whoever you send must speak Spanish," insisted the CRS coordinator. Our team coordinator did not speak Spanish at the time so the superior general sent me along with her. We were to be gone from two weeks to three months. For me it turned out to be four months – 16 weeks that changed my life completely!

I saw things in El Salvador the likes of which I hope never to see again, and felt others' pain so intensely it was like my own. But when I finally came back to the United States to finish my term on the General Council, all I could think about was returning as fast as I could. I had never been anywhere near war before and had no idea about its real ugliness, pain or fear. What was it that gave people hope to go on? How could they carry on "normal lives" of falling in love, marrying, having babies and sending their children off to school each day in the midst of so much fear and turmoil and death?

And so back I went as fast as I could to where this story almost begins. In El Salvador I learned so many lessons – what it really means to have faith in a compassionate, loving God; what fidelity is; what courage, perseverance and simplicity of life really mean; and the basic goodness of people. And in the midst of all the frustration and inconvenience, there was so much laughter with companions who shared life in all its dimensions!

Those lessons helped me through a licensed practical nursing course at age 50, a year with my dying mother and 12 years in a pueblo joven in Peru, where, once again, we were trying to find God's plan for all of us in the midst of staying out of harm's way, this time with the Sendero Luminoso.
	With his daughter on his shoulders, Charlie Kenney, a graduate of the Indiana high school where Sister Maryanne taught, joins her in the streets of Canto Grande, Peru, 1990.

What would my life have been if I had chosen to write CPPS or OP or SC after my name instead of CSC? I will never know. It's a moot question because it has all been so richly graced. My life has obviously been designed by God, touched by God and filled with God's love so present in all who have been a part of my life, and, to my dying day, I will be profoundly grateful!

Sister Maryanne talks with Rodimiro Baca at the Brother André Outreach Center in Los Angeles, California, 2003.