A Life Shaped by Faith, Family, and Service
As I begin to recount my life’s journey, I must tell you that I am truly a coal miner’s daughter. I was born at home in 1937 in Moundsville, West Virginia, to a coal miner father and a hardworking mother. I had one older sister, Josephine, and years later two brothers were born – Jim, eight years younger than I, and Jeff, sixteen years younger. The Jastremski family lived in Moundsville, surrounded by generations shaped by the mines.
John Jacob (J.J.) Jastremski and Helen Eva Kanieski, Sister Jeanine Jaster’s parents, married March 2, 1935(last name changed to Jaster in 1947)
My grandfather, Dziadziu (the Polish word for “grandfather”) Jastremski, was also a coal miner. From Moundsville we moved to Glen Robbins, Ohio, where my father worked in a coal mining camp owned by the Hanna Coal Company. The song Sixteen Tons perfectly reflected our life—we owed our soul to the company store.
Sister Jeanine Jaster’s paternal grandparents, Jacob and Anna Jastremski
In 1941, we moved in with my mother’s parents. My maternal grandfather, Dziadziu Kanieski, was also a coal miner. My grandparents were from Poland, and as a young child I learned to speak Polish. When World War II began, however, it became uncomfortable to be associated with Europe, especially countries near Germany. Gradually, I forgot the Polish language I once knew. Sadly, I never really knew my grandmothers—my mother’s mother died when I was born, and my father’s mother died when I was eight years old.
Sister Jeanine Jaster’s maternal grandparents, Walter and Linora (Leonora) Kanieski
Tragedy touched the coal miners in my family more than once. My grandfather lost three fingers on his left hand. The more devastating tragedy occurred when a massive boulder of coal fell on my father’s back, crushing several vertebrae. He lived in constant pain. Doctors in Wheeling and Columbus could not help him, and as a last resort he went to the Cleveland Clinic, where surgeons removed a bone from his leg and placed it in his spine. Despite everything, he never truly recovered. My father died suddenly at the age of fifty-six; the official cause of death was black lung disease.
Because of my father’s medical treatments, we moved to Cleveland in 1948. I was heartbroken to leave the “Valley,” where my friends and childhood memories were. Before we left, my faith was already taking root. There was no Catholic school in Tiltonsville at the time, so the Sisters of Charity of Nazareth traveled from Martins Ferry to teach us catechism. It was there, at about six or seven years old, that I first met Sister Gabrielle Branscome and Sister Ellen Maria Ballew—two of the kindest and most loving people I had ever known.
Sister Jeanine Jaster’s parents, J.J. (John) and Helen Jaster
I wrote to Sister Ellen Maria after we moved to Cleveland and was heartbroken to receive a postcard saying she was being sent to Gaya, India. But God had other plans for me. Sister Gabrielle took her place, and we remained close friends through thick and thin. These two women became my inspiration. I felt God calling me to religious life.
When we moved to Cleveland, we shortened our name from Jastremski to Jaster, hoping people would pronounce it correctly. That never quite worked—I still get Jasper, Jester, and even Foster.
Growing up in Cleveland and worshiping at Our Lady of Good Counsel Church, I became deeply involved in sports—softball, basketball, and eventually track. I excelled at softball and was a very fast runner. I won the Knights of Columbus track meet in Cleveland, which earned me a coach and opportunities to compete at Kent State, in Toronto, and in Chicago. In Chicago I tried out for the Pan American Games and finished fifth—at that meet I was the fastest white girl. This was long before women’s sports were widely supported.
Jeanine Jaster, second from right, showing off her basketball skills in high school
Softball remained my great love. When once asked what I thought heaven was like, I answered, “It’s like playing shortstop on a good team.” Years later, while missioned at St. Teresa’s Little Flower in Memphis, I had the chance to play again and continued until age fifty. I finally quit after a teammate was hit in the face by a ball—a sign that it was time to stop while I was still uninjured.
After graduating from high school, I told my parents I wanted to go to Nazareth. My father firmly replied, “Over my dead body.” Ironically, once I entered the community, he loved every Sister he met. He visited Nazareth, entertained often, brought gifts, and even asked to be buried there. Mother Lucille said no, so he is buried in Cleveland—but the change of heart always makes me smile.
Because of my father’s resistance to my entering the community, I attended Nazareth College for one year first. After that year, he relented, and I entered the community in 1957. Our class was the first to remain home for the juniorate so we could earn our degrees before being missioned. I taught briefly at St. Gregory in Samuels—a split second- and third-grade class. Never again! From then on, I happily stayed in middle school education.
Sister Mary Raphael (Frances Marie Lewis, withdrew), Sister Mary Placide Cassidy, Helen Jaster, and Sister Mary Nathaniel (Jeanine Jaster)
My first mission was St. Anne in Memphis, where I spent three very happy years. I was then sent to Holy Family in Louisville. When I received my “thin letter,” I had no idea what “CD” meant—it turned out to be choir director. I had no formal experience other than learning from Sister Margaret Rose Griesbaum at Nazareth, whom I deeply admired. Holy Family was a large school with a vibrant community, and I stayed there ten years, remaining in contact with several former students even today.
After that, I was sent first to St. Francis of Rome in Louisville during a time when schools were merging. We combined with St. Joseph’s in Butchertown, and I drove several children back and forth each day. Later, I moved to Butchertown and lived with the Louisville Ursulines. One of the joys of that time was singing with two Ursulines in the Kentucky Opera Association, performing in the choruses of L’Elisir d’Amore and Otello—an exciting and unforgettable adventure.
Sister Mary Nathaniel aka Jeanine Jaster steps up to the plate ready to take a swing at the ball
In 1975, I returned to Memphis, this time to Little Flower School, during the early days of integration. I vividly remember asking my Black students to spell words I couldn’t quite catch—this Yankee ear had not yet adapted to the local accents. One moment that stays with me forever was when a mother told me, “You are one of us, and we accept you.” I remained at Little Flower for ten wonderful years, sharing countless meals of cornbread, grits, and greens.
After earning my degree in pastoral ministry from Loyola Chicago, I spent one year as pastoral associate to Father J. Edwin Creary at Little Flower. During that time my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer, and I was given permission to return to Cleveland to care for her. She died seven months later, and I returned to Memphis.
Sister Emily Nabholz encouraged me to take a sabbatical, which I did in Little Falls, Minnesota, and through the Exodus program near St. Louis. Since those programs did not occupy the entire year, I spent a semester at the Memphis College of Art and later taught art and music at St. Anne. I eventually returned there full-time until the diocese reorganized the schools into middle schools and my position ended. Once again, God provided—Sister Trudy Foster hired me at Holy Rosary, where I spent seventeen happy years.
Sister Jeanine Jaster at her Golden Jubilee celebration with her brother, Jeff
I officially retired in 2010—at least I thought I did. I was asked to finish the year at Our Lady of Perpetual Help in Germantown, and though they invited me to stay, I was committed to the Global Exchange program in India. I traveled there in November 2010 and had the privilege of being present for the 200th anniversary of the community – a unique and meaningful experience.
Sister Jeanine Jaster
In subsequent years, I tutored adults through the Literacy Council of Memphis and discovered that teaching adults can be harder than teaching middle school students, especially when tutoring math. One student – now seventy-four – had only completed fourth grade, became pregnant by an uncle, and never finished school. We shared many laughs while learning together, and she continues to work toward her GED (General Education Development) while holding two jobs. She remains very dear to me.
Sister Jeanine Jaster’s brother and sister, Jeff and Josephine
In retirement I joined several groups for fellowship and fun, including the Memphis Calligraphy Guild, the Memphis Herb Society, and Pax Christi. I gardened, cooked, visited the sick and elderly, drove neighbors to work, and traveled abroad. One especially moving journey took me to Poland with Sister Elizabeth Wendeln, where I met members of my father’s family. They lived much as people did in the 1930s and 1940s – cutting hay by scythe, using horse-drawn wagons, and without indoor plumbing – yet filled with joy. Though the visit lasted only a few hours, it remains unforgettable.
The Vanderkaay family, members of Sister Jeanine Jaster’s familyNephew-in-law, Kyle; great nephew, Lincoln; great niece, Taylor; a friend of the family with her baby; and niece, Lisa Vanderkaay
Among my greatest joys were teaching children to love math, taking teams to the State MathCounts competition two years in a row, creating calligraphy versions of the school mission statement, and – surprisingly – being the top Super Raffle ticket seller for many years. My best year was 2023, when I sold over $10,000 in tickets.
After nearly 50 years in Memphis, I returned home to Nazareth in 2025, where I am happily ensconced in Carrico Hall.
Writing this account was not easy. I do not keep careful track of dates, and many names have faded with time—but the gratitude, the faith, and the love remain clear.
Sister Jeanine Jaster with her niece, Jacqui; nephew-in-law, Jameson; and great nephew Maddon