I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
Every event in life has its purpose. Nothing happens on accident. Every event, every word, every action was carefully crafted by the hands of God.
I often think about that before I go to the monastery. I always seem to go before something important in my life happens. My first visit to the monastery was just before my confirmation. My second trip was right after my husband and I got engaged. I remember, my priest friend would tease me and say, “it’s not too late, I know a convent right down the road.” My third milestone visit to the monastery was right after I had gotten married. Finally, the last time I visited was the summer before I went to the Holy Land. Now that I’ve visited again…I have no idea what to expect…what moment or what healing, but I put whatever it may be in the steady hands of God.
I’d forgotten the peace I find there. The love, the community, the tradition, and the brotherhood. All of our paths have intertwined for a reason…one in which at this time is a mystery to me, but I recognize that it started long before us…long before our grandparents and great grandparents. We’ve all been connected and intertwined by the careful handiwork of God. We’re all part of the redemptive story…all the lives we touch and our daily interactions aid only in the slightest way. It’s all about finding God in the ordinary.
**Quick edit: I have a sneaking suspicion as to what it may be**