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

Not Afraid to Look

I am terrified. I stare at a blank computer screen and wait for words to appear. But they don't.

I've made a commitment. I have said I'd be sharing occasional "snapshots" of my life TODAY as a cloistered heart; snippets of my ongoing struggles to remain "cloistered" in the midst of this world, this family, this year, this age of the world and the Church and (oh dear) of me. Yes, I'm terrified. The screen sits here so. Blank.

What if the words are gone. I mean, it's as if I can't find them. Is it because I'm no longer just scribbling private scratches in hidden-away journals, as I did years ago, unaware that one day those would tumble out in print for other eyes to see?

Now I know you are right there, on the other side of the screen - and oh, I'm so grateful! I am truly grateful. You hear, you echo, and we let each other know, now and then, that we're not alone in being bent upon living for God right in the midst of the world. And even though the painting on this post is not actually of someone gazing at a computer screen, couldn't it be ......us?  In my case, with no jewels. And with a striped blouse and gray sweater (I knew you'd want to know that). But I digress....

To be bent on something, say the dictionaries, is to be resolute, extremely determined, characterized by firmness, and unshakeable.

Am I bent upon living for God? It is a good question as this new year begins.

And I think I will leave this post at that, just with that question. I do want to live a good life, a moral life, a life of concern for others. But am I, at this moment in time, utterly bent upon living for God? 

I will spend time today prayerfully pondering. Jesus is with me, and He is mercy, so I shall not fear my own answer.

Jesus is with me, and I am not afraid to look.




Painting: Richard Edward Miller, in US public domain due to age

Snapshots from a Backwards Blogger

"The Cloistered Heart," I wrote in 1996, "is prayer, a way of life, an experience. It is a heart learning to love God, a will vacillating between yielding to God and struggling against Him, it is encounter, it is poem....  I would like to tell you about this enclosure, this heart monasticism which has truly changed my life; yet I hope you will understand when I say I cannot tell you.  I can only show you 'snapshots' from my own journey into a cloister which I have found to be so beautiful that I never want to leave it again...." (from book The Cloistered Heart, Preface)

Thus it began. Or at least, thus began the preface, written to introduce a book that was taken from my 1993 magazine article that was taken from my journals begun in 1985. In other words, journal entries (i.e. "snapshots") were condensed into an article that was then expanded into a book that, years later, became the basis for a blog which you are now (heroically, since you've made it through this paragraph) reading.

Have I confused you yet? If not, just wait a minute. All our heads will be swimming if we manage to hang in there for this whole post.

The thing is: I blog backwards. Most people seem more likely to "journal" into a blog, then (maybe) a few of them organize some of the content into a book, in time. I've done the exact opposite. I journaled in quiet prayer, or while I rode with my husband in his boat, or when I awoke in the middle of the night. How such random, deeply personal thoughts made the trek from journals to magazine(s) to book(s) to becoming "organized" in a blog is a story in itself. In the meantime, I am growing as these concepts are arranged, here, more and more into categories.  I hope you find the organization (such as it is) helpful as well.

"Snapshots," however, are still being taken. I still indulge in an occasional journal ramble, a working-through-in-writing-scribble of how I can surrender to God in this situation, and that one. In other words; more personal things.

If you will indulge me, I'd like to share some fresh new "snapshots" right here once in awhile. After all, I've been practicing the "view through the grille" for such a long time now. Too bad I still struggle to see it clearly. I'd like to share some of the struggles, now and then.  Maybe once a week or so, in the midst of our regular posts?

As for photography itself, well - that has changed a lot since 1996, hasn't it?  It's all so instant now.  Perhaps cloistered heart journaling could be a bit like that?

Let's see what a new batch of snapshots just might unfold.

Sincerely,
The Backwards Blogger, Reggolb Sdrawkcab




Painting: William Holman Hunt