Young nuns: Two diverse paths to a rare life of faith

NEW ORLEANS (AP) - Less than 1% of Catholic nuns in the United States today are 30 or younger. Seyram Adzokpa and Zoey Stapleton are two of the young women who have made the rare decision to join a religious community and begin the long process to become nuns. Here are their stories.

The first time Sister Seyram Mary Adzokpa felt pulled toward religious life was walking in a Texas Walmart, at the age of 25, with her mother.

Born in Ghana, Adzokpa had never encountered a nun. Her family attended the Catholic church faithfully, but she knew nothing of the religious life and always thought marriage would be her path.

"I wanted a husband like my dad. With three kids. I had the names of my two girls picked out," she said.

Eleven years after moving to the United States she was introduced to this new possibility as she watched two Dominican sisters enter the store.

"I still cannot describe the feeling," she said remembering how perfectly pressed their habits were. "My heart just - I can't explain what it felt like - but it was a pull."

But it wasn't until the COVID-19 pandemic broke out, about a year later, that she fully embraced the call.

"There was fear. Absolutely," said Adzokpa, who at the time was working on the front lines as a nurse.

"However, there was also a desire to cling, or reach out for someone who knew what was going on. And that person would be God."

Her spiritual director at church encouraged her to explore the call and "date" Jesus. "I guess you can say sort of like an imaginary friend," she said.

She cooked with Jesus, cleaned with Jesus, even had date nights with Jesus, setting the table for two at dinner and selecting movies to watch together.

It was on one of these date nights when Adzokpa came across a film about the Venerable Henriette DeLille, one of three founders of the Sisters of the Holy Family in New Orleans, the community which she would officially join in late September 2021 at 27-years-old.

But before she could join, she had to tell her family. And as a child of immigrants, she feared disappointing them.

"They made this trip for us," she said. "Came to the United States for better education, better life, a career, the American dream, right? And then here I am telling them that I'm throwing it all away to go be poor and obedient and chaste."

To her surprise, their support was overwhelming.

"I thank God for that," she said.

Three years later, Adzokpa has said her temporary vows with the order and is using her nursing experience to help care for the elderly sisters in the community whose average age is about 80.

She's found a balance between medicine and spirituality that she'd been craving but was missing out in the world.

"Despite having a career and a life that I enjoyed, still being able to respond to this call is God's persistence," she said. "I truly believe that when he calls you, he will hunt you down. He will not stop fighting."

Similarly to Adzokpa, it was a challenge for Zoey Stapleton, 24, to fathom being apart from her family so permanently. But if she were to pursue the persistent call to religious life, this would be the reality.

"We have a very, very tight bond," said Stapleton, who grew up an only child just outside of Hershey, Pennsylvania. "So obviously, entering into this new arena, this new adventure, means that we're going to be separated."

After receiving an undergraduate degree in clinical psychology and a masters in mental health counseling from Franciscan University in Ohio, she found herself back home in Palmyra, enjoying time with family and friends before entering her pivotal next chapter.

Steam rose around her cheeks as she sautéed vegetables while cooking dinner with her mother, Peggy, on an evening in July. Her father, Tom, occasionally walked into the kitchen, reminiscing over old family photos and discussing their upcoming annual trip to the New Jersey coast.

This would be their last family vacation before Stapleton entered the religious community, the Franciscan Sisters, T.O.R. of Penance of the Sorrowful Mother, in Toronto, Ohio.

They set the kitchen table for dinner and as the sun faded out the back windows, they sat to bow their heads in prayer before enjoying the home-cooked meal.

Although the news of both her decision and acceptance into the religious institute didn't come as a complete surprise to her parents, their own acceptance wasn't always easy.

Choking back tears after dinner, Peggy remembered asking her fellow parishioners at St. Joan of Arc Catholic Church to pray for them.

"This is a change of life," Peggy said to her daughter as they sat together in the living room. "You're giving up so many worldly things."

Zoey, who still enjoys painting, used to draw pictures of the house she hoped to have in Hershey, said Peggy. "It was like it just came crashing down."

But after weeks of processing, she found peace. "What can be better than Jesus, God asking your daughter to be so close to him?"

The conversation ended in laughter as Peggy asked her daughter when the community's chapel was open to the public, hinting at her future visits.

In early August, Zoey joined the order as a postulant. She waved from the steps of the motherhouse as her parents drove down the winding driveway, her mother waving back from the sunroof of their car.

And just months later, as the sisters' voices rang out into the vaulted wood ceilings of the chapel during Mass, her parents could be found in the pews just a few rows behind her.

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