Cloister Garden

"Serving coffee to the Sisters is like the eighth work of mercy," the novices liked to joke. After a few invigorating sips, I had to agree.

"Don't think without Him." For a place that was so physically peaceful and quiet, I was astonished by all the noise inside my head.

The words sprang from the depths of the novice's hearts, proclaiming their longing for the Lord: "While the music played, Cecilia sang..."

I was on my way to retreat with the Dominican Sisters of Saint Cecilia.

The Lord gazed back at me silently from His place of repose. He gave me no sign; He didn’t need to. I already knew what I had to do.

Kentucky was the last place I lived before entering the convent. Every detail of my life here helped prepare me for entrance day.

I was like my friend Jim: even with such a generous speed limit, I wanted more. Not so much miles per hour, but more out of my life.

Like Abraham, “who went out, not knowing where he was to go,” (Hebrews 11:8), I was embarking on a journey with an unknown endpoint.

The Lord was calling me. He spoke to me in those intimate Thursday mornings before the Blessed Sacrament, and through the beauty of the

In the spring of 2010, I worked as an Army public affairs intern on Fort Hood, Texas, a 24-hour drive from my Michigan home. I used my...