Vocation Story #1: A decade into religious life
Prelude to the story of a sister who never thought it would go this far.
A decade ago when I entered the convent, I had no intention of actually becoming a nun. It’s a helluva way to kick-off 2025 having committed the rest of my life to the Dominican Order. At my final vows last November the Prioress, Sister Tina, opened the ceremony by asking the attendees… “If you haven’t heard Quincy’s vocation story, ask her about it”. Sister Christin’s preaching at my profession offered a beautiful reflection on that journey (highlights below).
I’ve decided to share the longer version here (in parts) for posterity’s sake. In religious life it’s known as “The Call”—when someone is lured to a vocation by the Holy Spirit. When I look back at the roller-coaster of the past 10 years, though, it seems more like a bizarre celibate rom-com.
Me, Pre-Call
For 8 years before joining the convent, I lived a secular and frivolous life as a successful disaster-recovery consultant in New Orleans. I worked in my field (urban planning) contributing to Hurricane Katrina recovery efforts. Compared to my prior work with the Peace Corps, I considered myself rich. I was inadvertently climbing the career ladder in a “growth industry”—helping to stand up recovery programs in Galveston after Ike and Long Island after Sandy. I was doing good and doing well.
A fellowship of intimate friends was at the core of an extensive social network of creative people who liked to have fun. I relished the rich culture and cuisine of my favorite city in the world and had several local friends to show me the lesser-known delights of New Orleans. I was Living the Dream!
My awesome Lower Garden District home was located across the street from an historic German Catholic Shrine and a beautiful Irish Catholic Church. I hadn’t practiced Catholicism since I was about 12 years old but I LOVED their imposing and beautiful contribution to the neighborhood. The bells were integrated into the rhythm of my day. I held a tender nostalgia for the smells and bells of Catholicism.
The photo below offers a glimpse into my world: it’s me and my krewe—The Pony Girls—in one of many parades in New Orleans. This particular group of darlings included a medical doctor, soil scientist, horticulturalist and an EMT: a herd of over-achieving professionals who worked hard and played hard.
This was at Krewe de Vieux to kick off Mardi Gras in 2013. There was an apocalypse theme that year so we marched as the “Ponies of the Apocalypse”—I was one of the red War Ponies (in front). Yes, those are severed fingers around my neck.
The Holy Spirit is a fast-moving trickster, though. Less than a year later, I would be shutting down my life in New Orleans and furiously visiting a bucket list of places and people as if I were diagnosed with a terminal illness. I was joining the convent. The fact that I allowed myself to take this step still baffles me and I can only explain it as a miracle.
Incredible journey.
Quincy, remember me? Did we meet at krystals wedding in southern Italy or already before that? Anyway, very intrigued by your story. Love to read more. Take care sis ❤️ love from Holland, Renie