It's Time For The Nuts and The Bolts

For those of you that are tapping that foot -- ticking those fingertips against the keyboard thinking out loud, "WHEN is she going to tell me what goes ON in there?," I thought I would get that out of the way. After all, I did promise to let people know what it is like to enter a monastery!
So, I will start with the basics -- like the schedule. I am one to seek the life of a religious, however, I am NOT a person who would fit behind walls and a lifetime of silence. The closer I've come to God, the more I have felt the need to "be quiet" and to serve. The Dwelling Place Monastery is a perfect home for me, as you will see by the schedule - AND - if you are aware of the schedules of other monasteries!
5:45am It's up and at it -- getting ready for Prayers.
6:30am Morning Prayer
7:00am Breakfast
Off to work with the poor for everyone -- down the mountain and out into the world. In my case, I work at the St. James Episcopal church office 4 hours a day, 4 days a week. On the 5th day, I work on the community web site, in the library, take photographs, run errands, and at the Floyd County Animal Shelter.
5:45pm Evening Prayer
6:15pm Supper
9:00pm Compline - silence until morning.
This is Monday through Friday. On Saturday, we continue to work. There are 24 acres to care for, and many buildings that must be kept clean and in repair. We usually work some or most of the day on Saturday with whatever needs to be done on the monastery property. On Sunday, I attend church services, and then - have the rest of the day off.
Inbetween those hours during the week, we share our day's journey with each other, we take walks, we have private prayer. We read, we sew, we knit. We garden, we sit! We almost always have a retreatant, and this means that Christ is at the door! And that means there is someone who needs to be watched over. Everyone who comes to our door is to be served as Christ. And so, although we might come home from work, there is still work to be done.
I am now on the official chore and work list! I think this is a good sign, my dear friends! Figure if I wasn't working out here, they wouldn't bother to make out a list and put my name down. I now cook on Tuesdays (if anyone has any good and SIMPLE vegetarian dishes, please contact me!) for anywhere from 10-15 people, and do dishes on Thursday and and Friday nights. I tend the flower garden at St. Joseph's. How kind of them to assign this plot to me, knowing that my back can not take a lot of bending; it is a very small area. I must also keep St. Joseph's House clean and neat for retreatants. Since this place has a special place in my heart (the first place I stayed as a retreatant four years ago) it is an honor to keep it nice and as pleasant for others that are visiting. I also live there!
And then - very close to my heart is my new OFFICIAL POSITION -- Animal Behavior Specialist! What a title! The Prioress came up with that one. Yes, I am in charge of training the dogs to a few new habits around the monastery. There are three of them, all three are different in personality and needs. I love them. It makes my job very easy. It makes this job pure joy.
And so, there's the nuts and bolts. Of course, there is a lot more. The prayers mean we read the psalms through every 5 weeks. We keep the Daily Office. It has become my anchor. My day would not be complete without coming together to pray.

What's It All About....Alfie?

I have no idea. The only thing I know after taking a 10 week inventory, is that this is truly a process of loss and gain, dying and learning to live anew. How do you put that down on paper, or chit chat about that over afternoon tea?
My heart is filled in happiness - but more importantly, when those moments when it is not, I know deeply, that it is ok. This is a safe place. God is here, where no other place is for ME. Of course - God is everywhere in everything. I have always known that, and know that. However, for me, it does not mean I can see or hear God. Those glimpses from the side, those whispers just caught -- are not where I came from; not very often. At least not as easily gained. And I felt alone in the middle of the crowd. There was a stranger in the midst of the laughter. Not to be confused with a sad lonely stranger, but a stranger I was. Have always been. I love people. I enjoy people. I laugh - inside and out. But how can you feel truly at home when there is another world that can not be shared on any level with anyone? That is why I left everything. It was now or not to be. Was I going to see if I was brave enough to leave conformity (where I'd failed, but was at least liked and found to be entertaining most of the time), or would I do what I had done all of my life - over half a century and follow along; attempting to be like everyone else
I left a life behind in search of another. That is what I got. And, as I continue to discover the dying and living it takes to embrace it, I am.... finally discovering what God made.

On The Mountain - Arrival - AT LAST!

I know! You thought I dropped off a cliff, somewhere! It has been so long. And, it has. In the realm of time and in place. It has taken me a while to get hold of a computer that works, and it took me even longer to WANT to get on a computer.
Surprising. It was for me. So much of life has been computers. Work, friends, shopping, news, socializing. Yet, where I am now, there doesnt seem to be such a "need" for it. I forget to get on the computer! For me, that is sort of like forgetting to eat dessert! However, I wont go as far as saying its like forgetting to eat chocolate!
My first couple of weeks at the Dwelling Place Monastery was so tiring. The first week I hardly knew I was there. Each evening at Evening Prayer, everyone has a chance to say a prayer ending with, "We pray," and everyone answers, "Lord, hear our prayer." Days passed, and I never acknowledged my arrival! I knew they were beginning to wonder what was going on. Was I happy? Was I ready to pack the car and perhaps slip out in the night?
It was the trauma of leaving. No, not because I missed my home, family, friends, familiar things. It was what it took out of me to GET out of there. And it wasn't until I WAS out of there, that the trauma of it truly hit me hard. Like PTSD, I was numb; I rarely raised my head to look at the trees above me.
Five days after arriving, during Evening Prayer, I said, "In thanksgiving for my arrival for I HAVE arrived! We pray." And the Sisters all turned to me and smiled. In unison, they said, "LORD, hear our prayer."
And I have arrived. Each day I learn something new... where another dish goes in the largest kitchen I have ever seen... how a tiny piece of my heart fits inside this world of Joy.
I have arrived. I am SO tired and I am SO happy.
And, I will be back here very soon.
Much love for all of you who have waited with love.

Angels In The Sky

I woke up this morning, rolled over, and saw angels.
This is the best way to start ones day. I decided this, as I watched in wonder as one angel, cherub, and okay, elderly man and woman, and a few chidren, aimlessly passed by after another.
The clouds were amazing. It lasted a long time and for obvious reasons, I didn't want it to be finished. My greatest view was of a standing angel kissing the forehead of a woman. Then there were fat cherubs, and even an angel floating with arms outsretched - just hanging there with a billowing long garment, as if saying "Hello, I can see you from here. Can you see me?"
I mention this because it is important. I think as important as anything I've mentioned before. I love life and it is exciting. The wonder of it is amazing. I am dazzeled almost every day and on the days I am not, I ask myself why I didn't bother. Because it all has to do with how I busy myself. I can busy myself with the this's and that's and call it reality, or I can watch those clouds to see angels.
I can look into the eyes of the person at the grocery store and see Christ.

The Cross We Think We Carry

I know you've heard it. The Cross we carry. Pick up your Cross. Hymns are full of this, sermons, people say it at times of crisis or tough times to connote just that; crisis or tough times.
And I believe that's too bad because most of us have no clue what it is like to carry a Cross. Not a single clue. But we do know how to use Cross carrying as a cover for pride. I should know since I am an expert at this.
Pride.
Pride?
Men don't cry - carrying your Cross. Women give everyone else the larger portion - carrying your Cross. Children be small adults - carrying your Cross. In American society, we are taught young that to complain, express emotion, let people know we are in distress, have needs, are hungry, is NOT carrying your Cross.
For the life of me, I can not find that in the Bible, although I was raised in a Christian family and our culture is undeniably one formed from Christian principles. I would like to find the person who came up with this thought the first go around and have a nice sitdown with them, because this person has made Cross carrying cliche and a lie.
We don't let people know about these things because we don't want to appear vulnerable, weak, less than the best. We put on great faces (facade?) and go out thinking we are carrying that Cross. Let me add that I am using "we" but it does feel comfortable. If you are not included in the "we" then I truly humbly apologize and want you to have a sitdown with me. I need it.
Pride is my greatest demon. I have a lot of them, but pride looms over me like the shadow of the Cross. Dark, sad, and empty. Like carrying the fake one, self delusion is heavy. It is a burden that drags you down day after day, until you are so wasted there isn't a lot left to call upon. That inner strength is sapped. Yet you try and have no idea why you aren't getting anywhere. Up pops another Cross - you think.
Don't get me wrong, many of us have bent backs from the burden. This is not an exclusive club. And, I am not a fixer. My Cross is so large, I have to wear a back brace just to stand straight!
I looked at Jesus on the Cross at Easter, and I dropped some wood chips at his feet. Just some chips. There he was, showing me how to let go of pride the best way he could, the most giving way a human can. In my face, he showed me. All I could give him were a few chips. And that tore at me like death. My pride is so important to me, to give up even a particle of it hurts.
Today I drove around the large cemetery in town visiting the duck pond, looking at the Dogwoods and Redbuds in bloom. When driving toward the gate toward the main roadway, I laughed. It had been so enjoyable. Everything so beautiful, so special, so sacred. "God is good," I said. "God is the best."
Yes, it was humorous. Because if God is good and is the best, and I am a part of God, that means I am a part of everything I had just experienced. Pride had nothing to do with it. I was free of the self imposed Cross for just a few seconds. I could have soared through the moonroof, as the load was lifted from my shoulder.
Then I made a right turn and headed to the car repair shop. A friend of mine found out my car was about to conk out and called to tell me to go have it fixed. I drove on from the cemetery to the repair shop. While waiting for the mechanic to dismantle Tina enough to see what all could be wrong, I read the book I'm enjoying; The Cloud of Unknowing.
When the mechanic told me it would cost $2,000 to fix Tina, I straightened my back brace and drove her home.

Holy Week Takes Me To My Knees

It was in a small church in Jesssamine County, Ky that I found Jesus. That was in 2001. Up until then, and we are talking 50 years or so, the entire show had been just that. A show. Interesting, wonderful stories. Perfect for children. Loads of action. Sweet ones, dour ones. But somewhere along the line, my spiritual maturity became stunted (or stopped) and, honestly, all of the stories read like Dick and Jane. See Dick Go. See Jesus make wine. See Jane go. See Mary cry. Nothing got past the outer layer of the skin of me.
Until I walked into that small white church on top of a rise in Jessamine County during Holy Week. They'd set up a little garden inside to represent Gethsemane. A fountain gurgled, there was greenery, I could smell flowers. It was quiet. It was very quiet. I stood alone surrounded by this pretend garden and... went to my knees as Jesus soaked through the pours of my skin and into my marrow. The picture in the picture books because flesh. Words became flesh.
And that meant all this suffering became suffering. I was crushed with pain and sorrow - loss and bewilderment. Frightened to have lost this great man! Oh God, Oh God, WHY? Why have you taken him from me. Jesus, oh WHY did you have to suffer so? Oh my God, he was so afraid!
That was the first time I "sat up with Jesus." Every night after Maunday Thursday, since - I sit up with Jesus. By golly, the disciples were a disappointment that night, and I am most of the time, but for that night, I can not fall asleep and be with him during this hour of suffering.
But what does this all really mean? Hallucination? Creative imagination? Time warp? I don't think it matters. At least it doesn't matter to me. I will BE there. No matter where I am, Jesus, I will BE there with you. You are not alone.
I look at Jesus on that Cross... bloody, his arms stretched too long as they dislocated, his skin with pallor, his chest caved in.
NO! No, this is not some sacrificial lamb that's been roasted for God to smell on High! How demeaning to this most glorious message this man gave us with the ultimate demonstration of his message! NO! No, he was NOT like the goat that was given all the sins each year and then sent out into the desert so we could go on about our business, cleansed again. How cheap is that? Can you really bring yourself to feel this man's life and his death and sum it up to being a sacrificial lamb or goat?
Instead, I see the ultimate message from the most loving man I've ever known.
He tried to speak in parables - people didn't catch it, not even his disciples most of the time. Miracles were not enough! Foot washing was taken the wrong way! Up to the very end, Jesus was still trying to get across his message, and up to the very end there was continued resistance. And so, the Cup could not be taken away. It had to be done, and this wonderful man did it. He showed us with his body, the message of his life.
Come. Look. See. Take away every shred of ego, humble yourself to the point of THIS, let go of ALL control, lose EVERYthing, and then you can Love. Come, Love...

That Old Woman

None of this is easy. Just keeping a focus for a day and week after is tricky. I wake up some mornings and am shocked another week has passed! Right now I am in disbelief that Lent is almost over and so is March. Not just "where did it go" but "how did it get away from me" comes to mind. A lot.
The house cleaning and packing, sorting and ALL of those things have begun in earnest. Thank goodness. I love packing a box, knowing it is going with me; part of my future. Some I pack by pitching things in saying "bye, bye" knowing it is my past to be sold or given away. Some goes in storage - to be given away after it is determined that Mt. Tabor is truly the place for me.
But so MUCH! Does everyone have 5 pairs of white trousers? 10 t-shirts to sleep in? I've decided that, in good shape or not, I'm NOT taking all this stuff with me! If I want to save some for the time when clothes wear out, I will pitch it in a storage box and find it in a couple of years to replenish my clothing line.
So, mixing it up, pitching it out, hanging on.
And reading a wonderful book before I fall asleep. I've found it reads best, then. Softly easing my mind and spirit into dreams to hang on too. The Cloud of Unknowing. I've read it before, but the translation was so rough, I honestly didn't finish it. This one is translated by Carmen Butcher and is lovely. And a dream-maker. Can not tell you how many things I've sorted out dreaming them to resolution, but I believe one can, and IF one can, if I can not remember all of them, the exact number is not known.
And so, the other night - the 22nd, actually. I was having somewhat of a pity party because although my Facebook friends were incredible, and a friend from church called me; nothing from my closest friends nor family. My mother didn't even call me. I didn't expect my sons to call, they haven't noted my birth for years. By late night, I had worked very hard at drawing myself down into the darkness of pity as much as I could. Made it just as rough as possible. Made it feel rough, because it WAS rough- so I decided it should feel that way. Even with that, I picked up The Cloud to ease myself into sleep.
She was an old woman. I could tell because she had long grey hair. Of course, I have long grey hair and I don't think of myself as being old, but I decided, she was. Old. She had on a dark blue shirt, a full skirt that came down below her knees. She sat in a straight-backed chair against a wall of windows. There was no carpet on the floor of the large room. Why we were there, I have no idea.
What she said, I have no memory. I do remember the topic. She was very confused. She was emotionally hurting and confused, not sure where she was and not sure where she was going. She felt very alone and didn't know exactly what to do. She wasn't panicked, but she wasn't happy, either. Why she talked to me about this, is a mystery. And I didn't have any magic words of advice for her. Who was I to talk with this old woman about these things? Anything I said would be platitudes.
I'd been squatting in front of her as she talked, and now got up and walked across the room. Someone I couldn't really see whispered to me, "You know she's dead, don't you?"
WHAT?
"She's dead and she doesn't know it."
Looking over my shoulder, the woman sure looked alive to me. I suddenly felt my heart open toward her, fill with words that made sense to me. You know how you feel stupid one moment and the next for reasons unknown to you, inspiration hits? I walked back to the woman and sat on the floor in front of her. Told her that she was loved and valued, just not here. That she needed to let go. And then I broke the news to her that she was dead.
I woke up, then. So, I have no idea how the old woman took the news that she was dead! I stayed in bed a few extra minutes going over this dream, marveling at its detail and also how these things are always filled with the strangest things. Then it was off to start my routine for the day.
It was when I stepped out of the bathroom into my bedroom that it came to me. I was the old woman. My life here was over. I was dead to it, in a way - and yet, my confusion came by my remaining where I no longer belonged. My new life waits for me - where I will be loved and valued. Thank goodness for that old woman visiting me in my dreams. How fascinating to have yourself come to help you in times of need.