Cloister Garden

During the third week of July, the other postulants and I attended a nine-day silent retreat in preparation for our novice year. The...

Until someone looked me in the eyes, listened to my story, and understood me…I would never get better. I would never be healed.

This spring, I have stepped back from writing new posts so that I can finish my convent memoir.

Before I left, I wanted the home visit to be longer. How many friends and family members could I see within a span of 120 hours?

Oh Lord, I need to talk to someone! As a postulant, I usually found the convent’s silence difficult. Today, it seemed impossible.

My brain was hurting again, but in a good way. I was making some brand new wrinkles in it, re-training it to think positively about myself.

That's the source, I realized. The psychological reason for my back pain!

On Good Friday it all pressed close to me, pressing like the Crown of Thorns around the Lord’s tender face. He was suffering today, for me.

Deep down I knew there must be more to this wound than met the eye. There had to be, or why hadn’t it gotten better after 12 long years?

During Lent, Sister Anna gave me permission to put on a play for the postulants.

Why Lord? I demanded. Why did You give me gifts that I can’t use?

Sister Anna's Challenge During my next conference with Sister Anna, we talked about solutions for my back pain, including possible...

I didn’t feel the sun’s warmth. My back pain had overwhelmed every other sensation, any other thought. “Please,” I asked her. “I need help.

You need to rest, Sister. Five a.m. comes way too soon around here. But try as I might, sleep eluded me.

A couple days after Christmas, my family drove down to Nashville for a four-day visit.

"The Sisters should have a tree with a classic, formal look," said Sr. Joy. I stifled a sigh. It was classic, alright. And boring.

“What does it mean?” Sister Lucia climbed up beside me. “It means you don’t have to worry, Sister. God is taking care of everything."

I’d never spent Thanksgiving in a convent full of Sisters, all of whom seemed more excited about the St. Cecilia antiphons than the turkey.

“Taco night,” whispered Sr. Marisa, “and that means toppings.”

During my first few outdoor recreations, I felt a little nervous. Was this going to be a repeat of my sixth grade gym class?