Thirty Years

She was the Reverend Mother, a kind woman, humble, with a good heart and an eye for discernment.  We had a conversation one day, sitting on the steps outside the large chapel.  I remember watching her hands, the age spots on the back of them were somehow comforting to me.  Her white, whispy hair peeked out from under her habit, and clear blue eyes, that seemed to see through my defenses and into my soul looked into my blue eyes from time to time as we spoke. 

My application was in.  I had given my landlord notice and the Salvation Army was scheduled to pick up the things I hadn't already given away.  A few days before I had gone for the physical which was required before I could enter the convent.  It was a beautiful day in May and the breeze felt so wonderful in my hair.  Soon however, my hair would be covered most of the time.  I wondered if I could stand it!  I still love the feel of the wind in my hair. 

"Mother, the doctor says I have a connective tissue disease.  They haven't done further testing to find out exactly what it is...it could be Rheumatoid Arthritis or Lupus or some other thing."

"I'm so sorry to hear that Connie.  Do you have much pain now?"

"I do have some joint pain, my knees especially, and I get pretty tired out."

"Well, as hard as it is, the best thing you can do is to get outside and walk everyday, whatever the weather."

"Yes Mother..."  I said obediently.  I would of course follow her advice, and even all these years later her words echo in my ears as I take the dog out for a walk. 

"Connie."

"Yes Mother?"  I glanced over at her and she was biting her lip.  It was endearing at the time.  She was so central to the life of this community of women, such an important figure, and it never failed to touch my heart to see her humanity.  Most deeply moving were the times I would come upon her, kneeling in the refectory, cleaning up a spill.  Once it was even an accidental spill for which I was responsible.  I must have turned 50 shades of red that day.

"I'm afraid we can't accept you with a disabling condition like RA or Lupus."

Tears came as unexpectedly as Mother's pronouncement.

"It's not that bad Mother...really."

"But my dear, it could become much more difficult for you to manage in the years to come.  I know this isn't the case with you, but there are those who enter convents with the expectation that they will be cared for in the event their conditions become disabling."

I felt my shoulders slump, tears sliding down my face, my heart felt as though it was breaking into many pieces, one more time in my young life,  though certainly not the last, I felt as though I wasn't good enough for God.  Here I was, giving away everything I had, willing to be married only to God, and the convent didn't want me.  I was damaged goods.  I, I, I...one learns that the world does not revolve around one's ambitions, hopes or dreams, though God does see us and longs for good to be prevelant in our lives. 

Yesterday, 30 years after my initial diagnosis, I saw a doctor who believes I have lupus.  It has never been diagnosed, though I myself have suspected it for some time.  I guess the story of the convent came back to me sitting in that exam room, talking with him about possible causes for numerous symptoms. 

Finding the strength within ourselves to continue on, despite being "damaged goods", unwanted at times, is difficult to say the least.  It isn't the connective tissue disease that causes those feelings.  It originates I believe, in years of sexual abuse and a sense of being unwanted in the world.  It is a recurring theme for so many.  God's love for us has nothing and everything to do with those things.  God brings healing and tenderness to the wounds AND it is much bigger than all of that.  Those things do not define us in God's eyes.  The world isn't always a friendly place to those who struggle with disabilities of many kinds.  And I acknowledge that my life is a miracle in many ways.  Many who have experienced sustained childhood sexual abuse, never make it to adulthood, or if they do, they succumb to drugs and alcohol or take their own lives, or go insane from the grief, or wind up in a prison cell.  And many others become bitter and angry, difficult to love.

All these years later, the hatred I felt for so long has washed away, and God's love fills the empty places.  It is still such hard work, every day and in more ways as I age.  A sense of belonging is elusive to me, as it is to many.  I'm not alone in that.  But the gift is to be able to lift up one's head and bless those who did harm to us in the past.

And so life continues.  Sunshine is streaming in through the windows, Joy, my dog who looks a bit like the flying nun at times with her ears, is snoring at my feet.  I've made plans to see a dear friend today and another next week and I know I'll talk to my best friend later today and we will find much about which to laugh, even when the heart aches. 

Loving God, wrap your arms around each of your children who feels alone, who feels unworthy or unloveable.  Whisper the truth into their hearts and minds so each can walk in your ways to the glory of your name this day and every day.  Amen.