"Why can't I just stay home with you, Mommy?" my son would ask me, day after day.
I wrapped him up in a big bear hug. "Well," I explained, "I am not a good teacher. I want someone who knows what they're doing to teach you."
Still, I thought about it. Maybe I could homeschool my son instead.
And then on December 27, 2021, my son received a special needs diagnosis. This unexpected life change gutted my mental stamina for writing about tough topics. I needed to refocus my energy on helping our son.
During the past four years, I have discovered that my fantasy and real-life stories are often deeply and strangely intertwined.
Also, the cover reveal for Avalon Lost, my debut YA fantasy novel.
In honor of our 8th wedding anniversary this week, I'm delighted to present "Madoc's Choice," an epic fantasy romance set in the world of Avalon Lost. ❤️🏰
You said you have so long waited...for the convent of the heart. When I first found Nancy Shuman's book, The Cloistered Heart, I just kept saying to myself, "How does she know?"
-Email message from Cora Brown, a Cloistered Heart
"Heart cloister can be lived by single or married persons, religious or clergy or lay, male or female. Because we carry our enclosure with us, we can be united in heart with God wherever we may be." - The Cloistered Heart Way of Life, by Nancy Shuman
Cora had assured me that twelve women were presently following this cloistered way of life. She’d also written that the Cloistered Heart was a “call” – something given to a person by God.
Jesus, are you calling me to this way of life? I wondered.
I wrote as if I had an audience. As if someone else would someday want to know what had happened to me on November 29, 2013. My heart told me that this little “thing” was the real thing—the first flowering of my betrothal to Christ, and a gift that would never be taken away from me, as long as I lived.
It seemed as if the dark cloud of PMDD hid also a secret gift. The disorder that had caused me so much suffering, was also the very thing that could produce new life.
I studied the month of June with dread. What would happen in two weeks, when I started having those alarming symptoms again? I felt a bit like a werewolf fearing the full moon.
“Then you have to find a way to stay calm, even when everything around you is not calm,” I lectured myself.
I needed to find a way to remain at peace during a domestic crisis. But how?
I wondered if Jesus was also trying to show Father Philip that he was not alone. A small band of parishioners were still present, keeping vigil with Father and Our Lord until the very end.
I’d spent the last two years staring at the same four walls, the same few faces, the same sidewalks, parks and streets. In order to produce new writing—new art—I needed a fresh vista.
My editor Ruth smiled encouragingly at me. “Can the convent deal with suffering? Can my writing deal with my suffering? These are questions your book will try to answer."
The Lord loved me before I was following Him. He called me before I was listening. And He had a marvelous plan for me, long before I had given up making my own plans.
"After six years of marriage and the birth of two children, Mary at last learns to build a convent of the heart."
That’s a beautiful way to end the book, I thought. But in real life, this hasn’t happened yet.
When I started dating James, I wasn’t sure how this was going to work out. How could I be in love with the Lord, and then also fall in love with James?
I left the convent on the Lord’s orders: “Go home and tell your family all that I have done for you.” I’d given Him complete reign of my life: all obstacles removed, no holds barred. And so He acted freely in it, turning even the smallest details of my life into signs and wonders.
April 26, 2014. The night when my story became our story. In honor of this special event, James and I have both shared our perspectives about the night when we first met. ❤
When I asked Father what I should do now, I’d expected him to give a more vague answer. Instead, Father welcomed me deeper into the parish community, by inviting me to volunteer and get involved. He made me feel included, which I liked, but also challenged.
I was only one day out of the convent, but already I knew: there was no going back. My 19 months in the cloister had changed, healed, and marked me. Maybe you couldn’t see this mark, like you could my oddly cut hair and cheap new clothes. This transformation went far deeper than physical appearances.
Each new color and sound struck my senses with painful intensity. After 19 months of white walls, silence, and lowering my eyes, just standing in my mother’s kitchen was sending me into sensory overload.
Welcome to Life After the Convent, a blog about finding new life after the convent, and other experiences of radical change. Future posts on the blog will include: Testimonies by…