Changing Habits (3 page)

It was at the fourth station, where Jesus met His mother on the road to Calvary, that Angie came upon an older nun sitting on a bench, her head bowed and her hands clasped in prayer. Not wanting to disturb the other woman, Angie decided to leave.

Just as she was about to turn away, the nun glanced up and as she saw Angie, a flash of recognition came into her eyes.

Angie took a second look. No, it couldn't be. “Sister Trinita?” she whispered.

The nun smiled. “Is it really you, Angie?”

“Yes…oh, Sister Trinita, I've thought of you so often over the years.”

“I've thought of you, too. Are you a high school senior already?”

Angie nodded. “St. Mary's School for Girls.”

“The years go past so quickly.” Sister smiled gently. “I can hardly believe you're almost grown-up.” She moved farther down on the bench, silently inviting Angie to join her.

“I was so disappointed when you were transferred,” Angie told her. “I looked forward to fifth grade for two years.” After her mother's death, Sister Trinita's departure had been the second big loss of her life.

“It was difficult for me to accept that I wouldn't be your teacher, but it was for the best. The decisions of the motherhouse always are.”

Angie didn't agree. Sister Trinita's transfer, her disappearance from Angie's life, had seemed so unfair. “You had no choice?”

“No, but that's not the point. When I became a bride of Christ, I promised obedience in all things.”

“I could never do that,” Angie told her. She didn't like admitting to such a weakness, but it was true.

Sister Trinita laughed softly. “Of course you could. When God asks something of us, there's no thought of refusing.”

Sister sounded so calm and certain, as though there was never any question when it came to obeying God, never any doubt. Angie was sure she'd turned God down any number of times.

“You've grown into a fine young woman,” Sister Trinita said, her eyes soft with affection. “I imagine your father is very proud.”

Angie shrugged. “I suppose so.”

After another moment she asked, “You're assigned to the motherhouse?”

Sister Trinita smiled, but she hesitated before she answered. “For now.”

“Oh.”

There was a long silence, or maybe it only seemed long to Angie. Just as she started to speak, Sister Trinita rose slowly to her feet, tucking both hands in the capacious sleeves of her habit.

“It's been good to talk to you,” Sister said.

“You, too.” Angie wasn't ready to leave, and it seemed she was being dismissed. “Sister,” she said, “could I ask you about being a nun?” It was the only question she could think of that would prolong the conversation.

Sister Trinita sank back onto the bench. “What would you like to know?”

Angie clasped her hands and gazed into the distance. It was so peaceful here in these gardens. The sound of traffic was muted by the many trees throughout the property. “When did you first realize you had a vocation?” she asked.

“Not until after I graduated from high school.”

That surprised Angie. “So late?”

Sister smiled. “I was nineteen.”

“But how did you
know?
”

Sister Trinita glanced down at her hands, which she'd removed from her sleeves. “That's not easy to explain. I felt it in my heart.” She brought one hand to the stiff white bib of her habit. “I longed to serve God, to follow Him wherever He led me.”

“Even if that meant not marrying or ever having children?” This was the most difficult aspect of a vocation for Angie to understand.

“It was what God asked of me.”

“I couldn't imagine living without a husband,” Angie confessed. “I'm sure I'd feel incomplete.”

“I'm married to Christ, Angie. He is the one who makes me whole.”

Angie didn't think she could ever feel the same. It wasn't as if Christ was here on earth. She wanted the same things in life that her friends did—a husband, a real flesh-and-blood husband. One who would hold her close and talk with her and…and kiss her. She wanted children of her own, too.

“Has your father remarried?” Sister asked next.

She shook her head. Her father never would. There was no room in his heart for another woman. No room for anyone other than Angie.

“Do you think your father is incomplete?” Sister asked. “He's lived all these years without a wife.”

“Not at all,” Angie said quickly, aghast at the suggestion. Her father was content. He owned a thriving business, had his friends—he bowled one night a week with his cronies—and focused his hopes and dreams on her.

“Neither am I,” Sister said. “You see, with obedience comes joy, and there is no greater joy than serving our Lord.”

No greater joy,
Angie repeated in her mind. It was at that moment that the idea sprang to life.

“Sister,” she whispered, her voice trembling with excitement. “I think God might be speaking to me.” It frightened her to admit it, to actually say the words aloud.

“Do you, Angie?”

“Yes, Sister.” She exhaled sharply. “Oh, no!”

“No?” Sister asked with a gentle smile.

“My father—he won't like this.” God was calling her. Angie felt the desire to serve Him gaining strength in her heart, becoming more real with every minute. When she'd first sat down with Sister Trinita, she'd had no idea where the conversation would take her. God had brought this special nun back into her life at exactly the right moment. It was His way of speaking to Angie and revealing her vocation. As always, God's timing was perfect.

“I have a boyfriend, too,” Angie murmured, thinking of the obstacles she had yet to face. “He works part-time at the restaurant and he's cute, but…”

“Are you and this young man serious?”

“No…we're not going steady or anything.” The truth was, Ken was more of a friend than a
boy
friend. They'd gone to her school prom together and they talked on the phone once or twice a week, but it wasn't anything serious. Ken would probably understand if Angie announced that she wanted to become a nun. But her father never would.

“Might I suggest you keep this matter to yourself for now?” Sister said.

Angie blinked back tears of joy. “I don't know if I can. I feel like my heart's about to burst wide open.” She hurriedly wiped her eyes. “I really think God's calling me to be His bride. What should I do now?”

“Pray,” Sister said. “He will lead you. And if your father objects, God will show you the way.”

Shortly after she returned from Boston, Angie realized how right Sister Trinita was. She should've kept the call to herself. Instead, she'd made the mistake of telling her father she wanted to enter the convent.

“No! Absolutely not,” Tony Marcello bellowed at his only child. “I won't hear of it.”

“God is calling me.”

Her father slapped the kitchen table with such force, the napkin holder, along with the salt and pepper shakers, toppled to the floor. His unprecedented violence shocked them both, and they stared at each other, openmouthed. Her father recovered first. “What did those nuns say to you while you were in Boston?”

“They didn't say anything.”

“You're not entering the convent!” he shouted. “I won't allow it.” His face had gone as red as his famous sauce and he stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

Tears pricked Angie's eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Sister Agnes, Mother Superior of St. Bridget's Sisters of the Assumption, had warned the girls that if any of them had vocations, they might encounter resistance from their families. She'd said it was common for parents to have questions and doubts.

Angie had known her father wouldn't be pleased, but she hadn't expected him to explode. In all her life, her father had never even shouted at her. Not until the day she announced her vocation.

Two weeks after graduation, Angie broached the subject a second time.

Her father was in his restaurant office doing paperwork when Angie walked tentatively into the room. She closed the door, sat in the chair beside his desk and waited.

Her father glanced up and seemed to know intuitively
what she'd come to discuss. “The answer is no, so don't even think about asking.”

“I want you to talk to Mother Superior.”

“Why? So I can get even angrier?”

“God is calling me to serve Him,” she said simply.

Her father glared at her. “Your mother, God rest her soul, asked me to raise you as a good Catholic. I promised her I would—but I never agreed to this.”

Angie's voice trembled. “Please, just talk to Mother Superior.”

“No. Your place is here with me. This restaurant will be yours one day. Why do you think I've worked like a slave all these years? It was for
you.
”

Although her heart was breaking, Angie held her ground. “I don't want the restaurant,” she said, her voice a mere whisper now. “I want God.”

Slowly her father stood, his face contorted with rage. “You don't mean that. If I thought you could truly believe such a thing, I—I don't know what I'd do. Now get out of my sight before I say something I'll regret.”

Angie's sobs came in earnest as she rushed from the office. Nearly blinded by her tears, she stumbled past Mario Deccio, her father's friend and chef. Despite his concern, she couldn't explain what was wrong, couldn't choke out the words.

For two days Tony Marcello didn't speak to his daughter. For two days he pretended she wasn't in the house.

“Daddy, don't be like this,” Angie pleaded on Sunday night. The restaurant was always closed on the traditional day of worship.

Her father ignored her and stared at the television screen while Ed Sullivan announced his lineup of guests.

Disheartened, Angie sat in the chair beside her father's. She started to weep. He'd never been angry with her before
and she couldn't bear it, couldn't bear not having him speak to her. “Tell me what you want me to do,” she pleaded between hiccupping sobs.

“Do?” he asked, looking at her for the first time in two long days. “What we've always planned for you. That's all I want.”

“What
you
always planned for me,” she corrected.

Her father's gaze returned to the television. “God took your mother and my son away from me. I'll be damned if I'll give Him my daughter too.”

“Oh, Daddy.” Her heart ached to hear him utter such terrible words.

“Enough, Angelina. There's nothing more to talk about.”

Defeat settled over her. “All right.”

Frowning, he glanced at her. “All right?”

“I won't go.”

His eyes narrowed, as though he wasn't sure he should trust her. Then he nodded abruptly and said, “Good.” That settled, he returned his attention to the small black-and-white television screen.

She did try to forget God's call. Angie wrote Mother Superior a letter and said it was with deep regret that she had to withdraw her application. Her father would never accept her vocation and she couldn't,
wouldn't,
disappoint him. She was all he had left in the world.

Sister responded with a letter of encouragement and hope, and stated that if God truly wanted her to serve Him, then He would make it possible.

Angie wanted to believe Sister Agnes, but God had His work cut out for Him if He was going to change her father's heart.

To all outward appearances, he was dead set against her joining a religious order.

In July and August, Angie worked at the restaurant every day. At night, mentally and physically exhausted,
she hid in her room and wept bitter tears. She feared that if she was unable to follow her vocation, her life would be a waste. She prayed continually and begged God to make it possible for her, as Mother Superior had said. Every night, on her knees, she said the rosary until her mind was too numb to continue.

The first week of September, just three days before the convent opened its doors to postulants, her father burst into her bedroom.

“Go!” he roared at her like a demon. He loomed in the doorway, his shoulders heaving with anger. “You think God wants you? Then go!”

Angie was too stunned to speak. She looked up from where she knelt, the rosary in her hands.

“I can't stand to hear you crying anymore.”

Slowly Angie came to her feet. Her knees ached, her back hurt, but she stood there shocked, unmoving.

“Go,” he said again, his voice lower. “It won't take you long to realize I was right. You're no nun, Angelina. It isn't God's voice you're hearing… I don't know who put this idea in your head, but they're wrong.”

“Daddy.”

“You won't listen to me. I can see that. If I make you stay, in the end you'll only hate me. This is a lesson you need to learn on your own.”

“I wouldn't do this if I didn't sincerely believe I have a vocation.”

He muttered something in Italian that Angie didn't understand. From his tone, she suspected it was just as well.

She wanted to explain that God had taken hold of her soul and she couldn't refuse Him. But she was afraid that if she gave him the slightest argument, he might reverse his decision.

“Thank you,” she said, lowering her eyes, humbled that he had given in to her.

He didn't say anything for the longest while, and when he spoke, his voice shook with emotion. “I said you can go, but God help me, I refuse to drive you there.”

“I can take the bus.”

“You'll have to.”

Saying goodbye to her father that September morning in 1958 was the most difficult thing Angie had ever done. He dropped her off at the Greyhound bus depot and hugged her tight. Then, with tears glistening in his eyes, he loudly kissed her on both cheeks.