The Loveliest Beauty of All

'To eyes which know how to find it, there is in the least luxuriant season of the year a beauty which is entirely sufficient. And to the perception of a nun, the quiet and solemnity of a convent contain all the loveliness she needs. Just as there is no season without its particular beauty, so there is no health of soul without beauty; and the beauty of holiness is the truest and loveliest of all.' (Lathrop, A Story of Courage, p.2; punctuation slightly edited)

Click this line for information about A Story of Courage.

Painting: Carl Friedrich Lessing, Klosterhof im Schnee 


This post is part of our series 'A Story of Courage.' To continue in chronological order, click this line.

Because Pumpkins

How can one use pumpkin? Let me count the ways.

In the last week, through no fault of my own, my house has been filled with the glorious aromas and tastes of

Pumpkin bread
Pumpkin pies
Pumpkin flavored coffee
Pumpkin seeds (roasted)
Pumpkin pancakes
Pumpkin ice cream
Pumpkin candy
Pumpkin items that I cannot possibly remember

I feel rather monastic about it all, especially when I recall a deluge of pumpkins with which the Passionist Nuns of St. Joseph Monastery were once blessed. They posted about it here, and their Great Monastery Pumpkin Adventure is as "adventurous" today as when they first shared this story. 

November is a great time for a 'field trip,' so shall we drop in for a visit?  

I'll bring the pumpkin pie. 


Graphic made from painting by Lapage

Birds and Poems and Cloistered Sledding

Today I sit inside a snowglobe. I'd love to grab woolen mittens and a wooden sled and spend the day sliding until my face freezes and my hair cakes with ice.

Ah... but for me, such activity is no longer possible. For a "not so young woman," attempting anything of the kind would be throwing not only caution, but also sanity, to the wind.

I can, however, toss aside any of my previous posting plans, and invite you to share a few spontaneous minutes of "virtual cloistered sledding."

We can then spend a little time contemplating God's seasonal gifts.

What do you say?  Let's click "Winter Birds (and Nuns too)" to see what cloister gardens (and recreations!) are like at this time of year.

And to settle back in contemplation of God's world, we can click on
"A Winter's Serenade"  
and 
"Winter Poem of Mystical Death and Divine Rebirth"

And we can enjoy!

Paintingt: Adolf_Kaufmann

Photo © 2015 N Shuman

Holding Hope of Green

I want to write a post here today. A "snapshot" of what's happening in my cloister right now. But oh, I feel so lazy. Tired, mentally sluggish, and very, very lazy.

Which IS (when I think of it) a snapshot of what's happening in my cloister right now.

I just saw a thumbnail picture of one of our earlier garden posts, and thought "I could write about gardens!" My enthusiasm for that lasted about nine seconds.

The truth is: I feel lifeless today. Lifeless about writing, lifeless about praying, lifeless about thinking. My tiny burst of enthusiasm seems to have popped out, had a quick look around, and rushed back underground. The "cloister garden" feels bare, unproductive, stark.

Turning my attention to the window beside me, I see that I am surrounded by sticks. Skinny bare branches reach halfway up the glass. In summer we call that clump of dark gray lines a "bush." Today it seems a strange word for what I see before me, a lush green word from an unknown foreign tongue.

If I had not experienced seasons, if I hadn't watched this bush drop leaves and wither every autumn,
and then burst forth with tender shoots each spring, I cannot imagine holding hope of green ... ever again.

But green is there. Life is there. Somewhere deep inside, safe from ice encrusted winter, life is there. Dormant, huddled, swaddled life. Plants need their seasons of dormancy as much as they need the warmth and sunlight of summer. When they seem totally barren, the sticks outside my window are in fact protecting life.

The appearance of lifelessness is far from the truth.

"O my Lord, I am in a dry land, all dried up and cracked by the violence of the north wind and the cold; but as You can see, I ask for nothing more. You will send me both dew and warmth when it pleases You." (St. Jane de Chantal)

Painting: Julius von Klever, 1906

A Necessary Winter

'In heaven it shall be all a springtime of beauty, 

all an autumn of enjoyment, all a summer of love. 

Winter there shall be none; 

but here winter is necessary for the exercise of abnegation 

and of the thousand beautiful little virtues 

which are practiced in the time of barrenness.' 

St. Francis de Sales

Painting: Jules Breton, Last Flowers

Holiday Heroics

The holiday season is almost upon us. Thanksgiving, Advent, Christmas. We will cook, decorate, gather with family and friends. It's time for preparation, festivities, fun.

It can also be a time for heroics.

We talked, in our last post, about our call to be heroes of the faith in our everyday lives. I cannot think of a better season than this one for everyday heroism.

Such opportunities! And oh, how I have squandered them. For too many years, I've shoved aside chances to bake, chop, clean, serve, shop, plan and wrap heroically. I've been found grumbling instead of praying, resenting rather than thanking.

There is much to do in little time with little money. Some of us are surrounded by so many people that we want to run away to a quiet room. For others, the loneliness of yet another holiday can stab with the force of a sword.

In all of it, there are chances for heroism. I can offer up busyness or loneliness as prayer. I can complain about all this cooking and all this wrapping, or I can bring peace to others by simply keeping my mouth shut (for some of us, silence can be truly heroic).

And when I'm seated at Thanksgiving dinner next to that cousin who constantly, publicly, loudly criticizes my faith, I can stick up gently but firmly for Christ. True heroes have died for Him since the first days of the Church. I can die a little to myself by not scrambling to hide the fact that I truly believe in Jesus, and that I choose to live for Him today.  'To be criticized, denounced and despised by good men, by our own friends and relatives, is a severe test of virtue.' (St. Francis de Sales)

The season is almost upon us.  Let the Holiday Heroics begin.




Painting: Franck Antoine Bail, Carving the Pumpkin, 1910
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