February 4, 2022

I think God is saying, ‘I want you to talk about Me, now,’” said my editor Ruth*, near the end of our meeting. “’The convent doesn’t have a monopoly on Me. You have to live that out, and you have to find me, here.’”

Her words pushed hard against me. I was finding the Lord, in my daily life. But I wanted more. Much more.

The Convent of the Heart

“The Convent of the Heart might be a good title for your book,” Ruth suggested. “A book about how to build a convent of the heart. A universal invitation, not just for women entering the convent. A human heart can be built up anywhere.”

My pen raced across the page as I furiously took notes.

The heart can be built up anywhere on earth.

Soon our two-hour time slot was up.

“Thank you so much, Ruth,” I said, before ending the call. “Now I know what my story is really about.”

A young woman seeks intimacy, first with men, and then with God. To attain her desire, she enters, stays, and then leaves religious life. After six years of marriage and the birth of two children…she 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.

I set aside my notes and left my hiding place upstairs.

“A convent of the heart.” I mused. “But how do I find it?”

The kids and James were giggling down below.

“Hello, everybody!” I called. “Mama’s home!”

My son and daughter squealed in delight and raced to meet me at the foot of the stairs. I lifted them both up and carried them into the kitchen, where I ate my Panera salad and the last baguette.

“How did it go?” James knew I’d been preparing for this meeting for months.

“Good.” My son wiggled on my lap as we finished a bag of chips. “But I have a lot to think about.”

An Impossible Silence

During the next few weeks, my writing journey intensified. On Monastery in My Heart, I started writing about the interior wounds that surfaced while I was in the convent, and my desperate need for physical and emotional healing.

Easter Monday Revelation came out on February 11, a week after my meeting with Ruth.

The Girl Within, a more uplifting post on positive thinking, followed on February 18.

The next post, An Impossible Silence, was almost not written at all. My daughter wouldn’t nap the afternoon I tried to write it, and my son wasn’t satisfied with watching a show. As a result, nothing got written that day.

After the kids were asleep, I came downstairs and studied the calendar.

Hmm. My writer’s workshop is tomorrow.

“Hi Mary! What’s your plan for tonight?” James asked from the kitchen.

“I’m going to do it,” I declared. “I’m going to finish my post for the workshop tomorrow.”

My husband nodded his approval. “Go for it. I believe in you!”

Five hours later, my post was finished. I shared it on Zoom with my writer’s group the next day.

“For me and my sister postulants, the letters we received each Saturday were the lifeline between the convent and our old lives…” read one of the group members.

“But I want to be with Mommy!” my son wailed through the office door. I hurriedly put my speaker on mute.

After the writer’s group finished reading my piece, there was silence over Zoom.

“Well, what did you guys think?” asked the moderator.

“It was…emotional. Powerful.”

“Yeah, but there was one part I didn’t understand…”

I edited my piece based on their feedback, then scheduled the post for Friday, February 25.

How Will They Respond?

I woke early Friday morning, my stomach churning with fear. What would my readers think of this post? I hadn’t quite written about the incident that caused my back pain, but I did talk about how it affected me. In addition, I’d felt the Holy Spirit leading me to write this post a certain way, different than how I originally intended to write it.

Lord, what do you have in store for this post? How will my readers respond?

My watch ticked slowly towards the scheduled release time.

Most of all, was it worth it?

Was this post worth the next day’s exhaustion and the new, tearing pain in my heart?

Around 7 am, the post went live. Two of my good friends texted me with caring, encouraging notes. Another one of my readers wrote a heart-felt message on Instagram.

I was grateful for their kind responses, but inside I felt alone.

For me, An Impossible Silence had been a declaration of war. No more would I hide those old “secrets” that should be brought into the light. I would write the truth about my experiences, no matter the cost to myself. The Lord kept calling me to share my story. I wanted so badly to please Him.

Lord, is this what You want? Lord, was it worth it?

Where Are You?

Three nights later, I went to bed exhausted. Yet sleep wouldn’t come. A yawning blackness stretched over me. I thought of my post, available online for anyone to read.

Lord, I can’t do this, I thought in a panic. I can’t keep sharing this stuff with the world.

Inside the house, the furnace clicked on with a sigh. Outside, a car alarm blared in the driveway next door. Familiar, soothing sounds. I curled my legs up close to my chin.

“Jesus,” I prayed, “where are You?”

The next night, the same thing happened again. The old, ugly thoughts from my pre-convent days returned.

You shouldn’t be here, Mary. You should just give up, go away, disappear.

“I can’t,” I whispered back, wincing at the harsh words. “The Lord wants me to tell this story.”

The negative thoughts continued.

I clapped my hands over my ears, squeezed my eyes shut tight.

“Jesus, where are You?” I prayed again. My husband stirred beside me in his sleep but did not wake.

I can’t go on like this. I need to rest. So I can take care of James and the kids.

I tiptoed downstairs to the basement, fired up my computer, and removed my last post. As soon as it moved to the drafts folder, I sank back in my chair with relief. The negative thoughts faded away, then were gone.

Waiting for the Lord

After a year of blogging about my spiritual journey, I had finally encountered a topic too intimate and daunting to share with my readers. There was a dark place I needed to travel to, and I could not go.

It’s okay, I told myself, as I settled down to sleep. I cannot go there…yet.

It was when I’d reached my lowest point in Texas, that I first experienced the Lord’s presence and began pursuing religious life. And when I could go no further in the convent, I discovered my true vocation.

Now that I’d reached another dead end, I waited in joyful expectation for the Lord.

“I have no idea what God is doing right now,” I told my friends at Bible study. “But I’m sure it’s going to be amazing.”

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Thank you so much for reading and for your patience the last two months! Please me join me next week for more of the story. 🙂