A few keepsakes that Donna Henriques Ellis has saved from her days at St. Francis Academy. “These small mementos remind me of the remarkable women who helped shape the course of my life,” she says.

A Safe Space

donna henriques ellis | ST. FRANCIS ACADEMY (BETHLEHEM) 1985

In our Then & Now features, alumnae honor members of the School Sisters of St. Francis who touched their lives back then and who they consider to have been especially influential in who they are now. Here, Donna Henriques Ellis, a 1985 graduate of St. Francis Academy in Bethlehem, Pa., shares her special Sister Story.

Originally Published March 6, 2026

THE WAY IT WAS FOR DONNA THEN

I attended St. Francis Academy for four years, graduating with the Class of 1985. Like other alumnae, I remember the Sisters who taught us with deep gratitude. Yet four of them hold a particularly special place in my memory. During my teenage years, I was navigating painful and unstable circumstances at home — far more than the adults at school could have realized. In that difficult season, these Sisters did more than educate me. Their kindness quite literally helped sustain me.

One of those Sisters was Sister Carol Ann (Papp), who taught art. The artwork included in the photo above is not especially impressive — and I say that as someone who made it and has had 40 years to make peace with that fact. But impressiveness was never the point. Art class was the one place in my stressful teenage life where I could truly breathe.

Sister Carol Ann is an extraordinary artist in her own right, but what mattered most to us girls was how she encouraged our creativity. She even allowed us to play our preferred radio station while we worked — a decision that, given the era, required either great open-mindedness or a very high tolerance for Adam and the Ants. She made the classroom a space where self-expression was welcomed. For a young person carrying anxiety and turmoil she did not yet have words to describe, that gentle freedom to create provided a necessary outlet.

Another unforgettable figure was Sister Xavier (Bomberger), our principal, and, one year, my math teacher. Among the students, we affectionately called her “the Big X.” She had a no-nonsense demeanor and a commanding presence that made it abundantly clear she was in charge — a fact that no student, to my knowledge, ever seriously disputed. Twice.

One afternoon during a math test, I experienced what I now recognize as a severe panic attack. Overwhelmed, I did something completely out of character: I crumpled my test into a ball, threw it, and ran out of the classroom and straight down the hill outside. Of course, Sister immediately ran after me — because apparently “running down hills after fleeing students” was simply part of the job description, and she was fully committed to the role.

This was the 1980s, long before anxiety and panic attacks were widely understood, especially in teenagers. But Sister Xavier knew something was wrong. Instead of scolding me, she calmly talked me down and gently coaxed me back to the classroom. The next day she gave me a beautiful handwritten note that I still keep today — a small act of grace that meant more than she probably ever realized.

And then there was Sister Anita (Kuchera), whose compassion left perhaps the deepest mark of all. During my high school years, I often found myself sitting in her office, pouring out my heart. She listened with extraordinary patience at a time when mental health struggles in young people were rarely recognized or discussed. She saw that I was deeply hurting, even when I did not fully understand it myself.

At one point she told me that she would leave her convent bedroom door open a crack at night so she could hear the community phone ring in the hallway if I ever needed to call, even in the wee hours. She knew I was struggling with suicidal thoughts, and she offered me a lifeline. Having a grownup care for me like that … Sister made me feel like I mattered, like I truly mattered. Looking back, I believe Sister Anita quite literally helped keep me alive.

“Within the protective walls of St. Francis Academy,
these remarkable women created moments
of dignity, encouragement, and hope.”

— Donna Henriques Ellis (SFA-B 1985)

What these Sisters may never have fully understood was that their kindness was reaching a teenager carrying far more pain than anyone at school knew. At home I was not receiving the love and stability, let alone the minimum safety, that every child deserves. Yet within the protective walls of St. Francis Academy, these remarkable women created moments of dignity, encouragement, and hope.

Over the years, these Sisters — along with Sister Barbara (DeStefano), in whose religion class I was, I fear, quite the handful — have also patiently witnessed the many phases of my spiritual journey. And I do mean many.

First came my “rebellious teen” stage, which culminated in my arriving at graduation sporting a mohawk. A mohawk. I watched Sister Xavier’s expression cycle through what I can only describe as the five stages of grief before she squared her shoulders, produced a fistful of bobby pins seemingly from nowhere, and attempted — with heroic determination — to affix my graduation cap to whatever scraggly strands remained. She did not succeed, exactly. But she tried, bless her, she tried.

Then came my mid-20s “born-again Christian” phase. Now, I want to be clear: This was a sincere and meaningful chapter of my spiritual life. It was also a chapter during which I became absolutely convinced it was my sacred duty to introduce the Sisters to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. These women — who had taken vows, who attended daily Mass, who had dedicated their entire lives to God — listened to me with what I can only describe as supernatural patience. Which, come to think of it, tracks.

They then survived my “more Catholic than the Pope” phase, which followed some years later with equal enthusiasm and, I suspect, caused equal amounts of gentle eye-rolling behind closed doors. I am happy to report that, today, the pendulum rests comfortably somewhere in the middle. I’m just your normal, everyday Catholic — which, I imagine, came as a considerable relief to everyone involved.

After raising our children, I’ve returned to college, pursuing a degree in Disability Services, a path inspired in large part by the attentiveness those Sisters showed me as a struggling teenager. In some ways, I am picking up right where they left off. In the 1980s, no one would have recognized that I was living with what we now understand as the effects of complex trauma. Yet Sister Anita — and the others who guided me — instinctively responded with patience, dignity and love.

The memorabilia photo at the top of this page includes a few of the keepsakes I have carried with me ever since — my artwork from Sister Carol Ann’s class, Sister Xavier’s encouraging note, and a black-and-white photo of Sister Anita that, I must confess, I quietly “borrowed indefinitely” from the yearbook office one day when a few backs happened to be turned.

My teenage reasoning was airtight. I absolutely needed that photo, and asking for it openly in front of other students would have been catastrophically uncool. These were the only two relevant facts. Looking back, I am fairly certain Sister Anita would have happily given me one had I simply asked her privately. But that would have required both forethought and dignity, and I was 16, so …

Her photo has lived in my wallet ever since. I am convinced it kept me out of considerable trouble over the years — partly as a reminder of her care, and partly because nothing discourages questionable decision-making quite like the serene gaze of a kindly Franciscan Sister looking up at you from your wallet.

These small mementos remind me of the remarkable women who helped shape the course of my life. I will always be grateful to the Sisters of St. Francis Academy.

Thanks for raising me, Sisters. You know what? You did a good job.

THE WAY IT IS FOR DONNA Now

Donna and her husband of 35 years, Tim, raised four children and live in the foothills of the San Emigdio Mountains, just north of Los Angeles, where they’ve had not one, but two, run-ins with mountain lions! She is currently studying Disability Services and can be reached at donna.ellis@myyahoo.com (not yahoo.com).