Her birth name was Wilhelmina Amelia Beerman.

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Autobiography

In gratitude to God and the Blessed Virgin Mary; in loving memory of my dearly loved parents who are now with our Savior and His Blessed Mother Mary, whom they loved and served so faithfully, during their earthly career; also, in loving obedience to my superiors, Reverend Mother M. Ludovica, Rev. Mother Antonia -- who certainly asked her dear Sisters to now also pray for the living members (while they were purchasing ground and material for building this beautiful St. Rose Convent) the time when I was so wonderfully lead there---to all those to whom I am indebted, the following:

I was born in Cincinnati, Ohio, July 13, 1851, the second of eight children; and was baptized the same day. When I was five years of age, my parents --believing that it was more healthful for their children in the West (two of my sisters had died, and my brother aid I were both sickly) --moved to Prairie La Port, now Guttenberg, Iowa. There I received my First Holy Communion on June 5, Pentecost Sunday, 1865 in St. Mary's Church. I do not know the date of my confirmation. The Rt. Rev. John Hennessy, Bishop of Dubuque, confirmed me. My saintly mother died August 15, Feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin, 1865. That was a severe blow for four of the children (four had died in infancy and had preceded Mother's death).

As soon as I realized that I had no mother, I went into an adjoining room, knelt before a picture of the Blessed Virgin Mary and asked her to be my mother. The grace of my vocation I must ascribe in the first place to God and the Blessed Virgin Mary, and then to the prayers of my saintly father and his aunt who was my God-mother.

A year after mother's death my father remarried and we were given a good mother. But my aunt took special interest in me. She had had a great desire to become a nun, but could not pay the amount of dowry that was required in those days. She was never married, and I believe that her vocation was given to me. One day my father said to me, "Maechtest du nicht gerne eine Braut Christi werden?"
I answered, "O, ja, wie kann ich das werded?"

"Du musz Schwester werden. Die Schwestern das sind irdische Engel."

Those words made me think seriously of my future. One day when I was much perplexed about it, I went to Church to pray. "Jesus, do you really want me to be your Spouse?"

I distinctly heard the answer within me, "Yes, It is my will." I quickly answered to the voice, "Then send me to that Convent that is most dear to Thy Heart and give me the grace of perseverance." Etc.

When I was 16 years of age I saw a sister for the first time in my life. She was a Domincan of Sinsinawa, Wisconsin. I had no opportunity to speak to her. I was told that they teach their boarders how to dance. That settled by query. No! That was not the convent I would enter.

For some time I was staying in Dubuque and there I often met with the B. V. M. Sisters visiting the sick in their homes. No! They frequented the streets too much -- that is not the convent I should enter.
I heard about the Notre Dame sisters in Milwaukee, Wisconsin; but found out that they had both Lay and Choir Sisters. This did not appeal to me. No! It was not the convent I wished to enter.

At this time the Redemptorist Fathers gave a mission, and during the course of it I went to confession to the missionary Father. After the confession, the Father (a perfect stranger to me) asked whether I had ever thought of becoming a sister. That question did not suit me at all, but I answered, "Oh, yes, but I do not think it is my vocation."

"And I think it is," was his answer. It was now late. He continued, "I would like to speak to you about it; will you come to me in the morning?"

Next morning after breakfast I went to him. He asked me several questions, and then said, "We are going to give a mission in Elcador. I will remember you daily in the Holy Mass and you pray the Memorare every day that we may know the Will of God."

After one week's time, in the evening there was a rap at our door (we lived near the church, only a few steps distance). It was the good missionary Father. He said to me, "Come to me in the morning." With the assurance that I would, he left.

Next morning he again asked me some questions and then said quite emphatically, "It is your vocation: if you do not go to a convent you will not be saved."

"But where shall I go?"

First he spoke of Philadelphia; then said, "Oh, but that is so far away. We are going to Milwaukee. While there I will speak to Mother Caroline and either she or I will write."

He gave me a picture of St. Teresa and an Agnus Dei which I am still wearing, and to which I ascribe --at least to some extent-- my spiritual and bodily well-being.

I received no letter from the Father nor from Mother Caroline. Meanwhile the people of our place (my father especially) urged our good pastor, the Reverend F. Massjost, to get sisters for the school of the place. He wrote to Mother Caroline for sisters, and at the same time mentioned my entry into the order. But no answer was received.

At about this time Father Souter acquainted Father Mais and our priest, Father Massjost, with the sisters at Jefferson, Wisconsin. The two Fathers made a trip to Jefferson, and sisters were promised them.

One day my father called to me, "Come quickly, see who is coming." Four sisters, all in a row (Sisters M. Regina, Raymunda, Josepha and Clementia) veiled so heavily that we could not tell whether they were coming or going along the river bank (there was no side walk) were before me. Reverend Father Massjost was with them, and he was coming toward us. When I saw the sisters, I exclaimed in a transport of joy "That is the place where God wants me to go."

At the age of nineteen I entered the convent at Jefferson and received the veil on August 15, 1871, at La Crosse, Wisconsin. The motherhouse had been transferred to La Crosse a short time previously. The first year in the convent was a hard time of trial. All were strangers to me, life was different, silence all around. The younger members were often heard to whisper, "She will not stay, she is too fine." I was so forgetful that they could not depend upon me. My Superiors began to doubt my vocation. Our novice mistress at the time was Sister M. Michaels, and one day I said to her, "If an angel from heaven would tell me that I was in the wrong place, I would not believe him."

During my novitiate I was music teacher and was stationed in Dubuque, Iowa. While there I received a letter from Reverend Mother Antonia telling me that I had a little sister, that my good mother had died (she was my stepmother) and that my father wished me to leave the convent, come home, and oversee the household, thus caring for the seven motherless children. (His letter was not given to me--it was sent to Mother Antonia.) Her advice was, "My dear daughter, do not leave the convent. It is a trial. Write your father a consoling letter and tell him that God will take care of him and his children. If you go home it may cause your father a double death." That I could not understand, but I did as I was advised. My obedience was rewarded by receiving the following letter from my dear father, "Recht so, meine liebe Tochter; bleibe deinem Jesu getreu. Es freut micht das du so standhaft bist. Der liebe Gott hat geholfen. Die Verwandten haben die Kinder angenommen. Jetzt ist der Grosvater krank. Solbald ich abkommen kann ich dich besuchen."

For some time I had pains in all my limbs. My Superior, Sister M. Rose told me to take a fottbath and go to bed. The next morning, the 19th of March and the feast of St. Joseph, my wrists, ankles and knees were inflamed and swollen. The doctor called it inflammatory rheumatism. His medicine however, brought me no relief. I made a novena to the Blessed Virgin Mary and to St. Joseph. I think they brought me relief by sending me the good Mrs. Romberg. At any rate she called and when she saw me, she said, "Oh that is water under the skin. I will bring some salve that will draw it out." (It was the last salve that she had. Her father in Germany had given it to her, but had not mentioned the recipe as to how it could be made.) It brought relief, and proved as she said, to be "water under the skin." The bandages were continuously wet and moist, and gradually the skin pealed off.

Daily I looked forward with intense eagerness for my father's promised visit. It was, however, not to be. Instead Rev. Luersmann dispatched to Father Johannes requesting him to send me home at once, that my father was dying and that he wished to see me once more before his death. The same day a letter came from Reverend Mother Antonia (she had not yet been informed concerning my condition) telling me that my grandfather had died, and that my father was at the point of death. I should go home at once to see him. The Lenten fast, which he always kept so conscientiously, mother's death, the worry concerning the children, and the death of his dearly loved father, proved too much for him. Dear Sister M. Boniface who was at my bedside wrote the letter as I dictated it. He heard only a part of it, when he exclaimed, "Wen Gott nicht will das ich sie wieder sehen soll, denn will ich as auch nicht. Ich wollte sie segnen." He made the sign of the cross in the direction of Dubuque and died on the 25th of March, the feast of the Annunciation. Then I realized Mother Antonia's prediction of my father's double death; the doctor did not help me-- in Guttenberg we would not have met Mrs. Romberg nor known of her salve which cured me, for she lived in Dubuque. How it would have affected my dearly beloved father at this most critical moment of life to see me in that sad condition without any hope of recovery I can not imagine. He certainly would have blamed himself for having called me out of the convent and oh, what would have become of me: father, mother, grandfather were all in the grave; sisters and brothers were scattered among the relatives. Within five weeks our happy, peaceful home was broken up. Had our community a hospital at the time, the Sisters would have certainly taken us in as charity. But we had none.

At this writing (1934) three of the seven children have been called to their eternal home, while two of my brothers and two of my sisters are still in this vale of tears struggling with life's problems.

When I begged to take my vows, Mother Antonia said, "Certainly you have proven your vocation--first you held God and then God held you."

Yes, God guides and leads us through our Superiors, which I now plainly see and daily thank Him for. I also thank His Immaculate Mother who is also our Mother and has proven Herself so wonderfully in my regard. With a prayer for all who have borne with me so patiently through all these years,
Sister Mary Anastasia
(nee Beerman)
St. Rose Convent
La Crosse, Wisconsin
October 28, 1934
Feast of Christ the King.