Retreat

The walls were made of cinder-block. The floor was cement painted black. The room was sparsely furnished with a bed in one corner and a chair and reading lamp in other. The sink, toilet and shower, in the bathroom, were scrubbed immaculately clean. The sole embellishment on the wall was a crucifix. I spent three days and three nights at a trappist monastery. My quest for more insight into the rumbling of my soul continues.

Gifts are given to us every moment of every day....recognizing those gifts becomes almost impossible with the phone ringing, TV blaring, and the compulsion to run the computer. I was looking for solitude and an opportunity to reflect and pray...to search.

The years have flown by so quickly...I can barely remember the girl in the navy blue uniform that graduated St. Joseph High School. Am I still that person? Have my experiences tainted my outlook on life? Can I still pray with an open mind and heart? Have the years and experiences matured me enough to feel deeper into my soul?

Trying to ignore the gnawing hunger in my stomach and the throbbing pain in my knee were obstacles I had to overcome. Gradually I found the grace to concentrate on prayer and reflect on the mysteries of the �Rosary.� The miracle of Fatima was foremost in my mind.

Only time will reveal the gifts that I received those few days of prayer.

Through the dark and hallowed halls I crept
As the others peacefully slept

Searching for a phrase
Help me through the days

I dare not utter a sound
Something within me started to abound

Silence was abscond
Hilarious laughter all around.

This is the prayer I shall say
This is the prayer for my day

I�ll share it with the wind
I�ll share it with my kin

It will keep me whole
Laughter is the music of my soul.

April 15, 1999