Monday, August 20, 2007
Get Thee to a Nunnery
Hi everybody. I've decided I like blogging. I'm not quite sure why but I think it's because it makes me feel like I have something to say as me. It's kind of foreign to me to speak from an I or me point of view. When I was eighteen and full of ideals, I thought that God was calling me to be a nun so at midterm of my freshman year at Mount Mary College, I transferred to the candidature for the Notre Dame nuns at their convent in Mequon, Wi. on Lake Michigan. The weekend I was to report for duty happened to be when my parents had to go to Lackland Air Force Base in Texas for my brother, Mark's graduation from B52 Navigation school, so our parish priest drove me to the convent. I only stayed that one semester but it was such a meaningful time in my life. I wore the long black habit and a black veil attached to a headband and lived the very organized life of a candidate for the sisterhood. There was morning prayer and classes and recreation time and prayer and every evening before evening prayer, the Mistress of Novices would give about a half hour lecture. You've probably heard of retreats where you go away for a few days to reflect on your life, your goals or your aspirations. Well, this was like a six month retreat and the first lesson to be learned and not forgotten was that we were no longer, "I". We were a community and everything was "we" or "ours". There was no place for individuality. That lesson came in handy throughout life as Bing and I became one and then our family added to the team spirit. But I've always written from the point of view of both Bing and me because before e-mail, I don't think Bing ever wrote a letter to anyone, ( except, of course, a few love letters to me when he had to go away for National Guard duty every summer for five years.) So, now I must retrain my brain to speak from a personal point of view and try not to think of it as too self centered. One of my main reasons for doing so is to let my sons and their families know a little bit more about their mom. My mom died when I was 24, so I never really matured enough before she died to wonder about her story. Each of us has a story and if we take the time to know each other's stories, more understanding can flow and with understanding comes love. The more love there is in the world, the less room there is for hate.