Besides to be with my mom, one more thing I would like to do in Korea was to visit the Benedictine sisters where Sr. Paul was buried. Now I am writing this reflection by the grave of Sr. Paul.
Both Sr. Paul and I love the poem called “Starry Night.” It ends with this:
“When seasons pass and spring comes to my star, like green grass growing above a grave, the hill that buried my name would be filled with grasses like pride.”
Caressing the proud grasses above Sr. Paul’s grave, I feel proud of her. She has finished the race; she has fought the good fight; she has kept the faith like St. Paul the Apostle. God is everything to her. She disregards everything but Jesus because he is the icon of God’s love. I recognize her presence among the sisters who dearly loved her to the end. When they share their pond memories of her, their faces are shining and their eyes are glowing. How blessed to live in unity and love!
By the grave of Sr. Paul, I am journaling and reading it before the grave as if a boy reads a love letter to his lover. I believe she is here with me like she was with me before. One thing she strives to live is to “praise God in joy.” I take this my way to God, promising that I will see the world Sr. Paul saw; I will dream the dream Sr. Paul dreamed; I will do the work Sr. Paul did; I will follow the way Sr. Paul walked.
A sister invites me to place a flower before the altar for Sr. Paul when they decorate the sanctuary for the feast of the Sacred Heart. I meditate to be in the garden of God where Jesus is a gardener who takes care of flowers. I imagine Sr. Paul as a red rose and I a yellow. I see them bloom before the cross. After the meditation, I walk to the altar and pick red and yellow roses and place them before the tabernacle. Its fragrance spreads the church. We are together.