April is National Poetry Month
Enjoy a collection of poems from some of our member communities.
Contributed by Sisters of St. Francis, Clinton
- Psalm by Sister Paschal Hocum
- Breathing Life, It Calls Me by Sister Ruth E. Westmoreland
- My House I by Sister Ruth E. Westmoreland
Contributed by Benedictine Sisters, Our Lady of Grace Monastery
- Ode to Covid by Sister Meg Funk
- Morning Meditation by Antoinette Purcell, OSB
- At the Cross by Antoinette Purcell, OSB
- Transformation by Antoinette Purcell, OSB
- Dusty Road by Sister Mary Sue Freiberger
- Mother Sleep by Sister Mary Sue Freiberger
- Time, Don’t Run Away by Sister Mary Sue Freiberger
- Away by Sister Mary Sue Freiberger
- Waiting by Sister Mary Sue Freiberger
- A Single Road by Sr. Susan Marie Lindstrom, OSB
- Reflections on the Paralytic (Gospel of Mark) by Sr. Susan Marie Lindstrom, OSB
- The Presence of God by Sr. Susan Marie Lindstrom, OSB
- Butterfly by Sr. Norma Gettelfinger, OSB
- Gray Winter Sky by Sr. Norma Gettelfinger, OSB
- Purple and Gold by Sr. Norma Gettelfinger, OSB
Contributed by Benedictine Sisters, St. Mary Monastery
- STARtling by Sister Margaret Murphy, OSB
- Listening—The Ear by Sister Margaret Murphy, OSB
Contributed by Sisters of the Precious Blood
- Then and Now by Sr. M. Leonitia Walter
Psalm
by Sister Paschal Hocum
Easter 1977
The dawn is breaking! Today is a new song to praise the Lord. My heart is ready!
Wake up my soul! Let us join creation in praising the Lord.
The rising sun is playing the theme across the sky,
Marking notes on the blue horizon
and on clouds in morning’s reds and oranges.
The birds are picking up the melody as they leave their nests for the sky;
The percussion of the fluttering and
flapping of their wings is waking all creation.
The staccato rat-a-tatting of the woodpecker,
Knocks for all, human and beast to join in praising the Lord.
The sun, having set the theme, keeps a steady background beat,
while all creation accompanies the song through the day.
The wind, whistling and rustling through the leaved trees, plays the reeds,
whispering and sighing through the needled trees, plays the winds.
The waters of the earth are the strings:
The rhythmic surf is the string bass,
The steady flowing rivers, the cellos.
The water lapping at the lake shores, the violas,
Brooks and streams tumbling over rocks, the violins.
The flute of my heart sings in unison with all praising hearts,
Each animal’s breathing is a pattern of harmony in the song of praise.
The theme is reprised as the setting sun plays it across the sky,
now marking notes in evening’s reds and purples,
the birds return to their nests.
The wind in quiet in the trees, the waters continue to flow – but softly –
with only the deep boom of the breakers of the sea keeping the cadence.
All is still, as creatures and creation rest,
in preparation for tomorrow’s new song.
Only the music of the stars goes on as they come out plucking harp strings,
some deep sounds, some high sounds.
The stars sustain an arpeggio of sweet sound
as they continue to twinkle and shine through the night.
Praise the Lord, as each day presents its new song to sing.
Praise the Lord, my soul, day and night, in harmony with all creation.
Contributed by Sisters of St. Francis, Clinton
Breathing Life, It Calls Me
By Sister Ruth E. Westmoreland
January 1977
The wind calls me
Whistling and howling it beckons me to come
And search with it for quiet;
Lonely hollows to settle in
Soft snow to jostle about
Dead leaves to whisper through
The wind calls me.
I answer “yes” and go searching happily
I marvel at the unceasing sound –
The call which riddles my silence
Sweeps through my spirit and opens me.
The wind is an untiring spirit
It urges me to explore under its protective wings
I look –
I smell –
I feel –
I live…
All the world is wonder!!
Contributed by Sisters of St. Francis, Clinton
My House I
By Sister Ruth E. Westmoreland
July 1976
Tall and stately and well cared for,
my outside house presents an appearance of a stalwart edifice
capable of bearing any force of weathering
or onslaught of nature.
Clearly a reflection of much knowledge, forethought and experience
it stands proud and eager to welcome any stranger.
But my inside house is different and the transition
as one enters the door is startling and difficult to accept.
My inside house is not a shambles, but could soon become that.
It is as though the original decorator was a crook,
presenting a pleasant facade for cheap and shoddy work.
The walls are beginning to show wear, and if one looks closely
they can see in spots where the last layer of paint
has chipped off… revealing wallpaper hastily put on.
Some cracks have appeared and through them one can see not one,
but many layers of wallpaper
each covering over a time and its events passed by
and buried in a glaze of paste and paper.
Even the furnishings of my inside house present a startling paradox
to what might be expected from my outside house.
Everything is overdone – too much – too cluttered –
as if it were necessary to fill every nook and cranny
with some trifling object.
Some of the furniture is old and in need of replacement,
or at least repair.
And in the corner there on the floor –
is that a shattered vase and yet noticed and removed?
One almost wonders if my inside house is lived in,
to allow it to fall into such a state,
while my outside house is so carefully preserved.
But I do live there, though not all the time.
I only go there for interim visits;
Perhaps to find a place for some new object I stumble upon
and wish to store amid all the rest,
Or perhaps to do some plastering of cracks,
before they break open too deeply.
Now and then I even look around closely at my array of objects
and covered walls –
But then I always remove myself, because to try and clean house,
would be very burdensome and exhausting –
and besides nobody else ever comes into my inside house.
My gatepost sign “Private Keep Out”, usually assures me of that.
And any acquaintances can always catch me at work,
or we might sit and drink iced tea
on my very comfortable front porch.
So my inside house exposes me to no threats from others,
and when its oppressiveness becomes too much for me, I just leave,
and feel only a slight twinge of anxiety
For as I look back from my gatepost I feel proud and self-assured
as I gaze upon the security of my outside house.
Contributed by Sisters of St. Francis, Clinton
Ode to Covid
by Sister Meg Funk
So, Covid
You are so sly
To pause a planet
Cause a panic
You swept through
Again and again
Not baffled by Pain and sin.
Covid you are so sly
To empty schools
Gyms and juries
Could mask
The symptoms
And cause
Chaos and Off-set civility
To endstage
Disability.
Covid you are so sly
Four years now
Has gone bye
And we dread
Long long Symptoms read.
Covid, you are so sly
To penetrate
Punctuate
Accentuate
The joy and terror
Of being All together.
Covid, you are so sly
There’s malice
Not nice
That restricts
Even melted ice.
Covid, you are so sly
We weren’t prepared
Nor have we Recovered
Was it toxic or ontic
That left the stench.
Covid, you are so sly
You shift and groan
In plain sight
Common cold
That’s in the fight
To dare recovery
Take its flight.
Covid, you are so sly
How did you start
And where do you
Adapt even part
With fragile folks
Who need more
Than a shot.
Covid, you are so sly
We forget that
Small breath
Sings or flings
Into another’s
Heart.
Covid, you are so sly
Dangerous and I Respect your genius
Witness your meanness
And wink a prayer
That you leave now
As you’ve done your Business…..we know
Your fierceness.
Sly, but I
Bid you good-bye!
Contributed by Benedictine Sisters, Our Lady of Grace Monastery
Morning Meditation
by Antoinette Purcell, OSB
Trees waving in light breeze make shadowy leaves
dance across the wall as sun begins its daily climb
and I begin a new day.
I will see shadowy dances again just before night fall.
In between I am the dancer moving about from this to that
and thought to thought, all the time cherishing
each sacred moment for the surprise it brings while
also letting go of thoughts and images.
Letting them disappear like soap bubbles in the air
to form an empty space where nothingness births Truth
like the darkness of night which holds a new day and
new dances in the shadow of its womb.
Mystical Time of Day by Antoinette Purcell, OSB
When shadows grow long across the lawn
and the heat of a summer day hangs heavy
I know the evening soon will bring
a cooler time to rest as daylight fades.
When shadows grow long across the lawn
and a winter day turns quickly to nightI look back on the hours of day now past
sensing the sadness of unmet hopes and tasks.
When shadows grow long across the lawn
and the uniqueness of today stands out
I give thanks and praise to Creator God
for a holy day filled with people and events.
When shadows grow long across the lawn
with review of risks met, taken or left behind
I know the wisdom of shared prayer and table
and of reconciliation before the sun goes down.
When shadows grow long across the lawn
and the Vesper chimes clearly sound the hour
I’m awed by the mystery of today and know
I’ve been visited and touched by God
Contributed by Benedictine Sisters, Our Lady of Grace Monastery
At the Cross
by Antoinette Purcell, OSB
Mary and holy women at the cross
with hearts overcome by tears and grief.
Racked with shock, shaken by the inhumanity
seeping up from fear and hatred like a swollen river
turning fields of green into swamps of mud and mire.
What kind of human participates so willingly in
such torture and abuse were it not spilling over from
the depths of darkness within?
Mercy for those whose eyes have been blinded
by the scales of fear, hatred, and jealousy.
Mercy for those whose hearts have been hardened
by the stones of pride, greed, and self-righteousness.
Consolation for those feeling grief and sorrow,
for those who know the Source of life.
They find strength to trust, to wait with endurance.
Blessed is she who believes that
the Lord’s word will be fulfilled.
What words of consolation while waiting.
Hearts are consoled by shared love and faith,
remembering together the promise, the stories
of seeds and yeast and lost coins,
of mended hearts and bodies and spirits,
of wine, bread and fish more than enough for all,
of love and mercy and compassion,
of a kingdom not of this world,
of life beyond death.
Contributed by Benedictine Sisters, Our Lady of Grace Monastery
Transformation
by Antoinette Purcell, OSB
How does a leaf feel
as it sees itself change color
as it feels itself fall to the ground
as it turns brown and withers
as it is raked away into a pile and thrown into the trash or fire
or is stepped on and crushed into the ground
or falls into a gutter to be carried away with the wastewater
or is stuck forlornly in the branches of a cedar tree?
How does a leaf feel when it knows it is changing
and that the change leads to death?
The tree it leaves behind will know new life and new growth as a tree, but
the leaf will never be a leaf again.
The only new life it will know is if it becomes part of something else
that is enriched by the life the leaf gives in its dying—
such as mulch for garden, forest or lawn or
as a pile for children to jump in and laugh life into growing bones.
How does a leaf feel knowing that its life is so short,
here today and gone tomorrow?
How does a leaf feel knowing that its transformation requires
a total change beyond recognition of what it is?
How does a leaf feel?
Maybe it feels like me when I feel helpless and out of control with inevitable changes of life.
Maybe it feels like me when I’m afraid of change, the unknown, of death.
Maybe it feels like me when I muster up faith, courage, and trust.
Maybe it feels like me when I become resigned to my own transformation
that comes about only when I let go of what I know and
embrace daily deaths that come in ever so many ways.
Maybe then I know how a leaf feels when it knows it is changing and
the change leads to transformation.
Contributed by Benedictine Sisters, Our Lady of Grace Monastery
Dusty Road
by Sister Mary Sue Freiberger
Upon the road, I placed my foot
Dusty road, forgotten, old
Winding on through ancient trees
Figment of remembering dreams that I once knew.
Dusty road, forgotten, old,
Will you accept my weary steps
Or must I turn anew to foreign paths
As I once did when I was young?
Dusty road, upon your breast, I grew and grew
Until that day I walked away
Down your sloping back
to unknown lands
In search of fresher worlds,
When all along you knew
the best lay here
Unfound.
Now the sun sets gently down
I see no longer with my eyes
But with my soul, I seek the road
I walked upon as a child.
For to walk again up on its breast
will mean
the one so long wandering
-lost-
Is found.
Contributed by Benedictine Sisters, Our Lady of Grace Monastery
Mother Sleep
by Sister Mary Sue Freiberger
I was lulled in the arms of Mother Sleep.
She nestled me close
Till I felt warm.
She held me close
And whispered words
Never remembered
But always there,
A lullaby to say
“ Forget a while
And come with me.”
She blanketed all my fears
Till I felt not at all,
No pain, no care.
She filled my head with beautiful
Dreams
Of those I love
And they smiled on me
And spoke my name
And I was content to be.
But I awoke,
Nothing changed,
Welcome, Mother Pain!
Contributed by Benedictine Sisters, Our Lady of Grace Monastery
Time, Don’t Run Away
by Sister Mary Sue Freiberger
Time, don’t run away from my fingertips.
Stay, keep me young, just one more day.
Faces, dear to me
You take before we’ve grown.
Friends who thought
They never part.
Time, don’t run away from my fingertips.
Stay, keep me warm, just one more day.
Precious moments
Slip from my grasp.
Treasured memories
Of the past.
Time, don’t run away from my fingertips.
Stay, keep me, loving, just one more day.
Years bring us closer.
Years take us apart.
Life’s mysteries
Ours from the start.
Time still runs away from my fingertips.
Taking all that’s dear to me.
But time will never take my love away,
Never take my love away,
Never take my love,
Never.
Contributed by Benedictine Sisters, Our Lady of Grace Monastery
Away
by Sister Mary Sue Freiberger
‘’Away, away to the mountains!
Away, away to the hills!”
The voice was persistent
Constantly insisting
Drawing me near.
Why must I stay—-longing
To see the dawning
Over the hill
Away?
My heart runs through forests— singing,
But my body only hears the ringing
Of the bells of duty
Not understood.
How can I keep living,
Expected to be giving
Life and love to the city,
When I pledged long ago
Life and love to country lore?
And the voice still murmurs
“Away, away to the hills”
And I must answer——-“Be Still!”
Contributed by Benedictine Sisters, Our Lady of Grace Monastery
Waiting
by Sister Mary Sue Freiberger
The evening sky has darkened
The Earth prepares to sleep,
But I alone light a lamp
And to my vigil keep.
I wait.
I longingly wonder
If
Tonight, the waiting be over.
For I believe you’re coming
Will one day be reality,
Though all the world from dawn to dusk
Expresses incredulity.
I wait.
In longingly wonder
If
Tonight, the waiting be over.
My eyes grow dim from searching.
My hair turns gray.
I silently tremble before the fact
You could still be far away.
I wait
I longingly wonder
Ah,
The waiting is over!
Contributed by Benedictine Sisters, Our Lady of Grace Monastery
A Single Road
by Sr. Susan Marie Lindstrom, OSB
A single road on which we journey…
separate, yet intimately joined
in the movement toward eternity…
a road formed by
weaknesses accepted,
strengths recognized.
neediness acknowledged.
Rough and uneven in its creation,
worn smooth and connected
by the pressure and presence
of billions of footsteps, millions of people,
all pilgrims on the way
toward Truth,
toward Constancy,
toward Love.
And now we add our stones to the pathway,
obstacles unearthed,
examined in the light of day,
fitted into the soil that is the ground of all being,
the earth from which the first human
and every one thereafter
has been fashioned.
Our shared movement
polishes the jagged rocks…
side by side we wear down each other’s roughness
and become a single entity,
distinctly individual…
decidedly communal.
No backward movement on the road
but rest when fatigued,
support when floundering,
encouragement when we lose our focus.
There is but a single road all travel…
into the heart of God.
Pondering the Potter by Sr. Susan Marie Lindstrom
Long before I was aware of my existence,
God knew me…
placed the clay that was my essence
on the potter’s wheel
and began to give it form…
kneaded and worked with me
until I became pliable in God’s hands,
smoothed my roughness with the touch of a hand…
sometimes gentle, sometimes forceful,
always offering a boundary
within which I might discover
both freedom and limitation…
watered me to make me moldable
spun the wheel slowly… quickly
to give me definition,
stature,
beauty and grace.
Yes, God is the Potter…
rethrowing the clay that it my life.
reworking the design
as God offers me opportunities
for conversion and reconciliation.
I lose nothing of who I am
or who I have become in the process
for God places the clay that is my essence
on the potter’s wheel
and gives it form
day
after day
after day.
Contributed by Benedictine Sisters, Our Lady of Grace Monastery
Reflections on the Paralytic (Gospel of Mark)
by Sr. Susan Marie Lindstrom, OSB
Paralyzed
by doubts and sins,
comparisons and sensed inadequacies.
Frozen, like the wintry earth,
sometimes unable to reach the depths
at which life still flows.
Frozen, too, in faith,
not daring to ask for the healing I seek.
Who will break through the iciness?
Who will bring ME to Jesus?
Whose faith will sustain me
in moments of darkness, despair, doubt, or confusion?
Forgiveness offered…
will I be open to receive it?
Can I let go of guilt, shame, and all that burdens me?
My heart thinks…
my spirit ponders…
I sense an inner yielding,
courage… vulnerability…
a longing for Jesus’ touch.
Ann in a moment of faith, however fleeting,
I am able to get up from the bed of self-pity and judgment,
to pick up the mat that now represents a piece of life
no longer holding me back
or weighing me down.
No longer paralyzed, my spirit dances!
I am free to go home… to BE at home
with myself,
my world,
my God.
Contributed by Benedictine Sisters, Our Lady of Grace Monastery
The Presence of God
by Sr. Susan Marie Lindstrom, OSB
Gentle the touch, quiet the heart
awakening in me wonder,
stirring in me awe,
drawing me to beauty, enveloping me in love.
Urgent the call, persistent the voice
inviting me to risk,
challenging me to grow,
compelling me to seek,
beckoning me to stillness.
Loving the words, tender the embrace
wrapping me in silence,
lifting me to freedom,
moving me in grace,
kindling in me passion.
Strong the hands, constant the gaze
unsettling me from complacency,
uprooting me from stagnation,
transplanting me ‘midst life,
nurturing me into wholeness.
Contributed by Benedictine Sisters, Our Lady of Grace Monastery
Butterfly
by Sr. Norma Gettelfinger, OSB
Whirligig of mystery
Dappling the meadow
Restless to fill your life’s moment
With fleeting fragile glow
Rest a while your weary wings
Perhaps upon my shoulder
Pursue you I may not
You must be the bolder.
Contributed by Benedictine Sisters, Our Lady of Grace Monastery
Gray Winter Sky
by Sr. Norma Gettelfinger, OSB
Soupy thick clouds hovering all day
Earth wins out – remembering
That behind those clouds
There is a bright
SUN SHINING!
No matter how difficult life becomes
The SON is always present
To hear
Our prayer for HELP!
Contributed by Benedictine Sisters, Our Lady of Grace Monastery
Purple and Gold
by Sr. Norma Gettelfinger, OSB
Purple and Gold
Purple and Gold,
Violets dancing with dandelions
Sunny harbingers of spring
Sprinkling our livse with laughter
“Blessed are the lowly”
Whose hearts are always lifted to God
Depending only on the Creator
Just being who they are!
Contributed by Benedictine Sisters, Our Lady of Grace Monastery
STARtling
by Sister Margaret Murphy, OSB
In cold crisp air I look for mountain darkness,
Instead I’m drawn upward
To a sky filled with light
Of a multitude of large luminous
Stars begging to be picked
Like daisies or maybe lilies.
Nothing to do but hang with the stars,
Do they hold memories of lovers
Holding hands, campers pitching tents
Or toddlers reaching for them,
Trying to touch?
Something about these stars makes me
Want to burst forth,
They plunge me inward and outward.
Were these stars tossed into space
Swirling like Van Gogh’s “Starry Night,”
Or are they instead children of the sun
Playing in the deep indigo sky?
How can I leave this soul stirring
That draws me
Ever deeper into my center?
Do these stars lead or follow me,
Or simply light my way?
Contributed by Benedictine Sisters, St. Mary Monastery
Listening—The Ear
by Sister Margaret Murphy, OSB
Saint Benedict says
“Listen with the ear of your heart.”
I hear the wailing of the child
Wounded or wishes.
I need to help.
I hear the sobbing of lost love.
A tug at my heart, what can I do?
My heart hugs in loving embrace.
The hungry person looks with longing.
What I have I give, I share.
I hear the heavy grateful sigh.
I hear the lonely person,
Footsteps restless stumbling,
I join walking with caring love.
Tiny unique flakes of snow cover miles,
Giving themselves to bring new life
Is this not what my way should be?
I see the longing in the eyes, longing
For a deeper relationship with God.
I ask the question that may open the way.
I sit with The Presence,
Listening to the Silent Voice,
Knowing it will echo throughout my day.
Contributed by Benedictine Sisters, St. Mary Monastery
Then and Now
by Sr. M. Leonitia Walter
I was a little German girl
With Mother Ludovica and Sr. Margaret
From Germany I came
But the ship that brought us over
Always rocked and tumbled so
That I called, “O Captain, stop here
Then back home again I’ll go.”
But he laughed and said, “I’ll tell you
You might walk across the sea.”
Then all laughed and said, “Just try it
And the wiser soon you’ll be.”
But I said that I would try it
And perhaps I could get through,
But I’d hardly left the Dock-yard
Till again to my boat I flew.
Oh, how nice then on firm footing
With kind comrades all around
Instead of walking on the water
At the risk of being drowned.
Then on leaving New York Harbour
We went further on by land.
Till we reached the town of Minster
Where we received a welcome grand.
To Maria Stein they then took us
In a hay-wagon high and dry.
Where all stayed except one girlie
And that one was poor, little I.
For I was destined to go to Minster
To stay with the Sisters good
Till in 1905 I joined them
As A Sister of the Precious Blood.
Then from Maria Stein after 4 years
To New Riegel I was sent
As a teacher of the little ones
And where happy days I spent.
Then 9 years I taught in Celina,
And in Miamisburg 3 years more.
Then 2 years at St. Mary’s, Dayton,
Where our Sisters taught before.
When I saw that my health was failing
I then joined the Burses Band
And for 7 years in the Infirmary
To Maria Stein I now went baking
And prepared Altar Breads
To be Heaven’s Food for Christians
When to them as Communion It’s fed.
26 years I spent in baking, packing & shipping Altar Breads.
Then in 1961 I retired to my dear Maria Stein,
Where I stayed till 72.
And now I am in Emma Hall
Where I will be so God’s Will
Until He calls me to His Heavenly Home
To be with Him for all eternity.
Contributed by Sisters of the Precious Blood
Author Biographies
Sr. Mary Margaret Funk, OSB came to Our Lady of Grace as a postulant in 1961. Meg spent some years in education and many years in Religious Education in the archdioceses of Indianapolis, IN and Louisville, KY. Her post-graduate studies were at Catholic University. She has authored several books and articles notably Thoughts Matter. After her term as prioress her services have been utilized by many communities including Glencairn Abby and Kylemore Abby both in Ireland. Meg worked with the Dalii Lama on the Monastic Interreligious Dialogue. One of her present projects is holding the 100-day virtual retreat titles St. Enda.
Sister Antoinette Purcell, O.S.B. made monastic profession in the Benedictine community of Our Lady of Grace Monastery, Beech Grove, IN on June 3, 1964. She has served in Catholic schools as teacher and principal, held positions in parish and diocesan catechetical ministries, served on a national board for catechetics and as a consultant on a national level, been engaged in spiritual direction and retreat ministry, served on boards of and held leadership positions in two national organizations, while also serving as director of oblates of her community for 31 years. She is currently semi-retired but continues to serve on the monastic council and as a spiritual director. For fun she enjoys spending time with others, nature, jigsaw puzzles and movies.
Sister Mary Sue Frieberger, OSB entered Our Lady of Grace Monastery in 1966. She is originally from Floyds Knobs, IN. Mary Sue attended college at what is now Indianapolis University and Butler University. Her areas of expertise are math, Spanish and music. She is a prolific writer of music and has produced 5 recordings along with other sisters in the community. Much of the music recorded are her original songs. Many of her years were spent teaching high school algebra and calculus. In retirement she discovered a passion for painting. Her pictures grace the walls of our house. Mary Sue adds so much to our liturgies with her guitar and voice. She is a member of the community Schola.
Sister Susan Marie Lindstrom joined the sisters at Our Lady of Grace Monastery in 2000. For many years she taught religion at Chatard High School. She also spent 6 years on staff at St. Paul Hermitage until its closing. Susan Marie has many talents but excels at being a word crafter. She is also excellent at Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune. Each month she posts the community calendar with her many creative illustrations. Her talents are many and varied. She also has a great love for music and is a member of our community Schola. She adds great richness to her community family.
Sister Norma Gettelfinger, OSB is one of the founding members of Our Lady of Grace Monastery. She began her vocation at Immaculate Conception Monastery, Ferdinand. Norma was a master teacher at many schools in Indiana. She is also a master seamstress and a great chocolate chip cookie baker. Norma has a great love for all of nature and spends much time enjoying our grounds and planting many flower beds. She brings to the community many blessings.
Sister Margaret Murphy was a member of the Sisters of St. Benedict, St. Mary Monastery, Rock Island, Illinois, for nearly 70 years until her peaceful passing on March 6, 2023. During her 55 years of teaching children, she recognized that each child is filled with creativity of some kind, even if they don’t recognize it. She made it her life’s work to bring out that creativity in all of them. This book is a part of the fruits of her own love for life.
Sister Leontia Walker immigrated from Sinzheim, Germany, as a child. She entered the Sisters of the Precious Blood in 1905 in Maria Stein, Ohio. She worked as a teacher, nurse, and baker in the Altar Bread Department. She died in 1978 at age 90 in Dayton, Ohio.
