Remembering a Nun-Dad
As a community, we treasure our relationships with each of our sisters’ parents, who become part of our extended Passionist family. They are our greatest benefactors, having given their daughters to the Lord in this monastery, and it is a joy and a grace to get to know each one. Tim Wynn, the father of our Sr. Cecilia Maria, passed away recently, and we want to offer this tribute to his remarkable fatherhood.
Eulogy for a Soldier
Col. (Ret.) Donald Timothy Wynn
12 October 1948 – 13 December 2020
written by his daughter Sr. Cecilia Maria Wynn, CP
How does one capture the essence of a man with words, how distill his character into a biography of any length? How can I hope to do justice to the memory of a soldier who was so many noble things to so many people, who lived so fully what the ancient Romans called pietas – that robust virtue by which a man steadfastly and lovingly serves his family, his country, and his God? Memories and eulogies are pouring in from those who knew him, and among the family we have spent time reviewing his “official” biography and accomplishments. All of these are true, all of them together begin to give a glimpse of who Donald Timothy Wynn was in life. I won’t pretend to give a synthesis. But I do want to turn to him as his daughter and offer my best attempt at a tribute:
Daddy, there are many stories I could choose to exemplify what you have been to me, so many memories tucked away in my heart’s treasure chest. I have always been proud to be a soldier’s daughter, from the early days of my infancy when you would march me to sleep, back and forth, back and forth in the basement of our townhouse, to the “take your daughter to work days” when you would show me around the Corps of Engineers offices, to getting picked up from school or orchestra or soccer by a uniformed Army officer, to every time you answered the phone: “Colonel Wynn.” From stargazing and skipping stones, through snow forts and Legos, to rock collecting and woodworking, I have loved to learn about physics and the natural world at your side. You showed remarkable resilience as a Daddy of little girls, bearing with (mostly) good humor my applications of hairclips and bows to your military cut, dolls and dress up to your game repertoire, and pet hamsters to your pant legs. Reading together and listening to your stories instilled in me your own love of literature, of fantasy, of lifelong learning. You taught me chivalry by treating me like a lady, and by challenging me to act like one. On my thirteenth birthday you presented me with a dozen roses, because you wanted to be the first man to buy me flowers. On my sixteenth birthday you bought me jewelry, because you wanted to be the first man to give me a diamond. At my high school graduation, you gave me one of your silver eagles. But my favorite memory is none of these.
My favorite memory of you, Daddy, comes from what was, perhaps, the most difficult season of our relationship. It was late 2009, and I was preparing to enter St. Joseph Monastery and begin formation as a Passionist Nun. The integrity, courage, and perseverance that you had nurtured in me by example and encouragement was now backfiring on you, as I set my feet on a path that was foreign to anything you had imagined for me. We both knew that, as long as I was convinced that the Lord was calling me to such a life, I would not turn aside, even though the pain of not understanding and the tension of opposing wills was like to break our hearts in the process. I could hardly bear the stress of those days, knowing that I was causing such anguish to one I loved so dear, to whom I owed so much. Yet God summoned me forward, and I had to respond.
“You showed me that day how to love selflessly, sacrificially, to give out of a poverty that nevertheless must give, because it loves. You reached deep into your heart and found something to give your daughter on her journey into an unknown world.”
On one of those terrible days, I was (as I was often) sitting in my room on the floor, surrounded by the items I was sorting through, packing up, getting ready for my departure. I was feeling utterly overwhelmed by the magnitude of the whole situation, at a loss and very much alone. You knocked, and when you came in, you sat on my bed and had the same look on your face that I was feeling inside. And then you started speaking:
I’ve been trying to think of what I can give you from my experience that could be of any help to you as you join the convent. And I thought that I could share my knowledge of small organizations. The monastery is a small organization, which is by nature a close-knit structure, with members usually staying a long time. All small organizations have set behaviors as a part of how they operate on a day-to-day basis. These set behaviors are neither good nor bad; they are simply chosen and become a part of the fabric of how the organization gets things done. Newcomers to the organization have to learn those behaviors and, often, have to set aside their own behaviors and habits in favor of those already in place. You will encounter this. For example, they might have their way of cooking spaghetti, and you may never get to make it the way you like it again. It doesn’t mean that one is better or worse than the other; it’s just the way this organization has chosen to do things. As you join them, it is up to you to take on their behaviors and their habits. At some point, the organization may decide to change one or the other behavior, and you’ll get to be a part of that. But in a small organization, it is important that the group makes that decision together.
I don’t remember how you ended your words of wisdom that day. I don’t really remember how I responded, either. But Daddy, as you sat on my bed that day, you gave me so much more than advice about spaghetti preferences. You showed me that day how to love selflessly, sacrificially, to give out of a poverty that nevertheless must give, because it loves. You reached deep into your heart and found something to give your daughter on her journey into an unknown world, something you knew would be of value to her, no matter how small it seemed at the time. I want you to know that I have remembered your words, which have rung true through these years.
“The character that makes a good soldier is, in fact, not that much different than that which makes a good nun. You taught me that talent and intellect, fired by love and harnessed by discipline, can accomplish amazing things, can truly change the world for the better.”
Even more than that, I want you to know that you gave me far, far more than those five minutes of good advice, far, far more that I have put to use and nourished in my life here at the monastery. All those virtues and interests I mentioned at the beginning – they are still alive and well in me. Still more, you taught me to live and to love by your own life. Your example and nurture laid the groundwork of everything I am and everything I do. The character that makes a good soldier is, in fact, not that much different than that which makes a good nun. You taught me that talent and intellect, fired by love and harnessed by discipline, can accomplish amazing things, can truly change the world for the better. Anyone who attempts monastic life for a significant period of time discovers that this life is impossible without love and discipline. You are the one who gave me those two essential elements for my vocation. You are the one who pointed me toward the stars.
In the eleven years since those days in 2009, much has happened. I think you were able to recognize my happiness and my real flourishing in this Passionist life that I have chosen. You were able to discover some of its beauty and value in the world for yourself, and it was such a joy for us to draw closer together again, even across the miles. You embraced the Nuns here as beloved members of our extended family, and you in turn were deeply loved and cherished by all the monastic community.
They say that a girl often chooses her husband according to the model of her father. Well, Daddy, perhaps the greatest tribute I could offer you is the fact that you walked me down the aisle at my perpetual profession and gave me freely to the Lord God Almighty as His bride. How overwhelmed by gratitude I am for a father who imaged so well the steadfast, faithful love of God Himself. And how my heart thrills to know that God can never be outdone in generosity! The reward you will receive for your selfless love – not just for me, but for every one of us whom you loved – will be greater than anything we can ask or imagine.
Thank you, Daddy. Thank you for everything.
I’ll see you on the other side.
Love, Kirstine