Behind the Wall

By Elizabeth Ann Kuhn

BEHIND THE WALL of a Trappistine Monastery, under Papal Enclosure, tread only the Monks and Nuns who vow to live in this Order of their own free will. This is the story of a young girl aspiring to the heights of her vocation under the Cistercian Rule of Saint Benedict. Absent from any contact with the outside world, in strict silence, in a non speaking Order, she lives her life alone with God reenacting the joys, sorrows and concerns of a soul trying to fulfill her calling. She brings to life her travails under a new superior in a new foundation who caused her demise, bringing her back out into the modern world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 11, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452065649

Elizabeth Ann Kuhn

ELIZABETH ANN KUHN was born in the hills of Pennsylvania, a Coal Miner's daughter.  She spent six and a half years in a Trappistine Monastery in the Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance, (OCSO), as a Postulant, a Novice and a Trappistine Nun under Simple Vows.  On returning to the outside world, she obtained a Bachelor of Science (BS) Degree in Nursing.  She then joined the US Navy Nurse Corpse and was stationed in Long Beach,  California at the  Naval Hospital attending to our service men and women coming back from the Viet Nam War.  Since then, she has labored in every part of the nursing field including teaching CPR and Standard and Advanced First Aid.  Being interested in Alternative Medicine, she is a Certified Healing Touch Practitioner (CHTP) and has taken classes in other alternative modalities including CranioSacral Therapy, Meditation Specialist, Aroma Therapy, etc... She holds a Health Care Teaching Certificate for the State of California. She also studied at Pacific Travel School and received her diploma.  She is now a Certified Travel Agent. She is active in the Catholic Church as a Lector and has been a Eucharistic Minister, Bible Study Facilitator, CCD Instructor, participated in Engagement Ministry and the Newcomers Welcoming Committee.  She was also President of the Woman's Council.She was instrumental in setting up the "Renew" project and has been a facilitator for many years. She prides herself, mostly, of being a wife and a mother of two fantastic children.

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Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Ann Kuhn. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 8/24/2012

Rev. 9/11/12

ISBN: 978-1-4520-6563-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-0911-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4520-6564-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010915614

COVER CREDITS:

Designed by the Author

Art work and painting by: Nancy Minear

Photo edited by: Rustyn Sa

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Forward A Whole New World – I Have the Better Part

Chapter 1 A Leap in the Dark

Chapter 2 Reflections

Chapter 3 Finally, an Open Door

Chapter 4 A Taste of Silence

Chapter 5 The Manila Envelope

Chapter 6 The Test

Chapter 7 Whispers of Youth in Bygone Days

Chapter 8 Filling in the Gap

Chapter 9 Breaking the News Good Tidings—For Whom?

Chapter 10 You Called! – Behold, Here I Am

Chapter 11 One Step over the Threshold Skimming the edge of Silence

Chapter 12 Monasticism – The House of Silence

Chapter 13 Holy Ground

Chapter 14 The Great Mandatum

Chapter 15 Reception of the Cistercian Habit

Chapter 16 Why Did You Come Here?

Chapter 17 A Time for Every Purpose under Heaven Make Hay while the Sun Shines

Chapter 18 The Flitter Flutter Club – An Unwelcome Guest

Chapter 19 Baah! – But Not Humbug

Chapter 20 Mother Earth – Increase and Multiply

Chapter 21 Little Wally

Chapter 22 Feast of the Angels

Chapter 23 Autumn Brew

Chapter 24 Christmas in the Cloister

Chapter 25 A Sweet Trip

Chapter 26 Five Times the Love in My Heart – The Gift of Self

Chapter 27 Sounds in Silence

Chapter 28 Illusions

Chapter 29 Into the Wilderness

Chapter 30 That’s a Lot of Bull

Chapter 31 Nellie and Bell

Chapter 32 The New Foundation

Chapter 33 Life on the Knoll

Chapter 34 The Wintry Knoll

Chapter 35 A Time to Embrace

Chapter 36 Lotus Bud

Chapter 37 A Bit o’ Blarney

Chapter 38 Exodus

Chapter 39 Terminate

Chapter 40 Reentry

Epilogue

Addendum

Author’s Note

Acknowledgments

To my two wonderful children, Aaron Thomas and Dawn Elizabeth; you are truly a unique gift from the Great Creator of all things. I wrote this epic of my consecrated life for you. You both are the light and love of my life. Maybe it will help you to understand your mother and why she acted as she did on many occasions. It’s because she loves you so much, so much that it hurts sometimes. I was overjoyed to be the vessel that housed your wonderful spirits while your beautiful bodies were being formed. It was an awesome, humbling, and even scary thought that I was the one to nurture and guide you through life. I felt ill-prepared to have two lives in my care; I counted on the great Councilor, the Holy Spirit within all of us, to lead and guide me. I also depended on your father; we were a team. For those times that I failed you, I truly am sorry. But you have the Divine Councilor inside of you also; always turn in for advice. He will never fail you. You are destined for great things; always believe that! You are a part of God, and I will always be a part of you. I love you, babes!

To my husband, Tom, we started our life together because you thought I was different from the rest of the girls—Refreshing, you said. I wrote these chapters for you also, because it’s so difficult to get inside of someone to know what moves them. This is the other side of me, which you did not know because I buried it deep inside, because, at the time, I felt unaccepted by the church I surrendered my life to and still felt obligated to protect it by my silence.

I am neither a saint nor a recluse. I am a person who is devoted to the God who created me, and to you, my husband, who together with our Divine Maker we co-created two beautiful children. They are my reasons for living. I love you and will always be faithful to you and to the vows we professed on our wedding day!

To my sisters in the Cistercian Order of the Strict Observance, the Trappistines, with whom I lived, prayed, worked, and sang in a devoted life to our one and only Creator, for almost seven years. You were and are my inspiration along my spiritual path, and during the many trials in my life. I have never left you; you are always in my thoughts and prayers. And, of course, you hold a special place in my heart.

All of the events and circumstances in this story are true. The names have been changed or eliminated to protect those who have given up the world to live in silence and obscurity for God Alone in the Cistercian life, the Trappistines.

All Bible passages were taken from:

The New American Bible Catholic Edition

Thomas Nelson Publishers, Nashville–Camden–New York

A Child’s Prayer

Thank you, God, for surrounding us

With Your favor and Your love like a shield.

Thank you, for giving Your holy angels charge over us (Ps 91:11)

To keep us in all our ways,

And no weapon formed against us shall stand!

We are like trees planted beside the living water;

We bear much fruit (Ps 1:3)

And all that we do shall prosper.

By His stripes we are healed

And our God shall supply all our needs (Phil 4:19)

According to His riches in glory by Jesus, Amen.

God Bless Mom, God Bless Dad, God Bless us Children

God Bless all those we come in contact with

God Bless the United States of America and the whole world with your Love

And give us your Peace.

Amen

Prologue

The following is a short synopsis of my life as a Trappistine Nun in the Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance, the strictest order in the Roman Catholic Church. After almost seven years of service and devotion, I was thrust back into the secular world under the most unpleasant of circumstances.

I believe that a vocation is a calling from God, our Creator who forms us to the job we are destined to do, the reason we were born into this world. A calling is not only to Religious Life but also to every vocation in life. The Creator Spirit who forms us may bring us through certain trials and may want us to be in a certain place for a time. When it is time to move on, we have the unlimited power of the Holy Spirit within us to comfort and guide us. I found this out through my unpleasant experience.

Although sometimes religious organizations can represent the spiritual life as a life of sacrifice, denial, interior struggle, and austerity, I believed a life lived close to God can be pure joy, beauty, and contentment. This is how I lived my religious life. I cannot deny that I had all of the other representations also, but my real pleasure came from knowing I was doing God’s will, and I was where He wanted me to be. My problems came when God’s will was clouded over by certain uncharitable acts by two superiors who represented God in our religious life. Was this God’s way of showing me that only He is perfect and all others who try to represent Him have many faults, even sins?

I embrace those two nuns that caused me so much pain throughout my religious life and shower them with pure love and forgiveness. Love is the key that opened up a whole new world, and forgiveness set me free of the pain and anguish left behind by their actions.

Life has many rude awakenings, and sometimes it packs a powerful punch that knocks the spirit out of us. For me, it took a long time to even feel like God cared that I existed. I feel that I will be able to reach a wide range of readers who will identify with these experiences, impressions, and problems.

Starting there, maybe I can give Hope to those who have been discouraged in their search for God. Maybe I can shed a little light into a soul hardened by negative experiences in a Religious Order, or by a single or a few insensitive religious. And just maybe these pages may rekindle love in a soul that feels despondent and not cared for, or rejected by God.

One thing I must make clear: I am not an expert in the Religious or Spiritual Life; I am just someone who is trying to find God’s will using Holy Scripture and the Holy Spirit as my guide. I have my faults and my failings. God has not finished His work in me yet. So, as you read these pages, you will be following my experiences, feelings, and opinions. They are not written in stone; sometimes they are clouded over by an imperfect human being.

The message of this book is to never give up on the Creator Spirit who birthed all things and saw that they were good, because this Creative Force never gives up on you.

All of the circumstances in this story are true. I have given myself totally to the One Supreme Being, God our Father, Son and Holy Spirit, almost seven years of my life—where He taught me about Himself and formed me in His own image, defective as I am, and a poor representative, and sent me back out into the world to live through me and to feel the pain of His people. I must do my best, with His power, to heal them and walk with them to our eternal destiny. I do not bear any grudges; forgiveness came long and hard for me. I bear the scars of unscrupulous and insensitive people, especially religious. But Jesus bears the scars of my faults and sins also. It makes me more like Him. I have one life to live, and, whether in or out of the monastery, I am His.

Forward

A Whole New World –

I Have the Better Part

Gloria Patri et Filio, et Spiritue Sancto. The white-robed figures bowed in humble adoration. The flexion of the Gregorian chant amplified and gathered energy like waves rolling toward the shore—wave after wave of praise and adoration rising to the throne of God, each surge beckoning Him to pour His grace out upon the earth; each heart united in the one purpose, to serve as a living sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving to the Creator of the universe.

The rows of Choir Stalls face each other, alternate harmonies weaving their cadence of the Gregorian Chant, through the psalms, filling the whole chapel with a melodious, mystic memory of years past. The Nuns follow the ancient ceremonial customs and rules laid out by the Holy Rule of Saint Benedict, accomplishing the work of the Divine Office. The melody is solemn and respectful.

The Chapel is plain and uncluttered, exemplifying the austerity of the Order. No statues, artistic paintings, gilded ceilings, or fancy woodwork ornament this sacred space. Only the necessary architecture was used to cause the whole atmosphere to resonate with the melodious praises. The intensity of light flowing in from the clear glass windows high above the choir stalls gave a clue to what time of day it was and what hour of prayer was being sung.

A knock signaled the end of the Divine Office. The Trappistine Nuns filed out of the choir stalls, one by one, making a profound bow to the altar, hidden behind a huge double grill, covered with a thick, reddish, burgundy curtain separating the cloister from the secular side of the church. They silently make their way through the shadow-laden cloister. Shades of sunlight glimmer in through the huge glass windows of the enclosed quadrangle cloister, weaving its colorful rays between the white monastic robes of the nuns.

This scene repeated itself seven times a day, plus evening prayer, which makes eight, in the life of a cloistered Cistercian Nun. In solitude and silence, their lives are lived for God alone. Cut off from her previous life in the world with no communication with it, the nun finds herself in a whole new world.

How many whole new worlds exist? Or … is it even possible that entire new worlds do exist, or are there only new experiences? An experience is a world in itself, new and exciting, which leaves quite a lasting impression. This experience inside the monastery deviates, entirely, from the normal everyday affairs of ordinary existence. In that case, mine was a Whole New World.

How do I begin? How can I retell the story of the many facets of my life? It is a very unusual life, an adventure, a search for love and conquest. Some people are amazed and surprised when I tell them the whole story. Others are silent, some because they do not understand, and others because they do not approve. There are some who just walk away. For this reason, I keep silent until I have to speak of my cloistered life. I am not ashamed of it. In fact, I wear my past experience as a Trappistine Nun as a badge of Faith and Courage. I am proud and thankful that God gave me the strength to live a selfless, cloistered life for Him alone for almost seven years. The following story is an account of one soul’s struggles to find her destiny in serving the Living God.

I graduated from All Saints High School in Masontown, Pennsylvania, just as I was turning seventeen. The abbess at the monastery thought I was too young to enter such a strict order. Time passed until she was sure I had a vocation.

I entered the Trappistine Order (the Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance), the female branch of the Trappist Monks, at the age of nineteen. It was the strictest Religious Order in the Roman Catholic Church. I stayed for six and a half years. I gave up everything, even the world, only to find that I was thrust back into it against my will or desires. Infinite Wisdom, who is God, does not always let us in on His Divine plans. I do believe God was preparing me for a mission, and the preparation time would be long and tedious.

In the first half of the twelfth century, Saint Bernard of Citeaux, France, sprang from the ranks of the Benedictine Order to found a reformed order at the monastery of Clairveaux, France. It was a silent order, the Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance (OCSO). Hence the Cistercians separated themselves from the Benedictines and claim Saint Bernard as their founding father while keeping a reformed structure of Saint Benedicts Rule and hours of prayer (Saint Bernard, 1090–1153). They derived the name Trappists from the Abbey of La Grande Trappe, in Normandy, France, where there was another reform movement in 1664—hence the name Trappists and Trappistines.

The Trappistines do not speak. Instead, they use a sign language to communicate necessary work commands. As vegetarians, they eat no meat, fish, or eggs. It is a contemplative order, and all rules and regulations are made to accomplish that end. Their main work is chanting or reciting the Divine Office.

The Divine Office, called Canonical Hours or Liturgy of the Hours, is the public service of praise and worship consisting of psalms, hymns, prayers, readings from the Fathers of the early church and other writings. It dates back to the Middle Ages and the time of Saint Benedict, (480-547 AD), who structured the hours of prayer for the monastic order. It was the chief work of the monks, as Saint Benedict and Saint Bernard saw it. They called it, the Opus Dei (the work of God). This formal, communal worship service was to permeate the monastic day and night with periods of prayer and manual labor. Each prayer period, or hour, had its own particular character. Each day’s prayer entered into the liturgical worship of the Universal Church, reflecting the cyclic liturgy of the church, alternating penance and joy. It was in the Opus Dei that community life found its primary expression.

The Liturgy of the Hours and Opus Dei for the Monastic Communities is sung or recited at various times during the day and night. Its intention is to sanctify the life of the community. Documented as the official prayer of the church, it continues Jesus Christ’s priestly prayer of praise to His Father.

In the Roman Catholic Church, there are seven canonical hours: Matins, the longest, is sung at an early morning hour, 2 a.m. on Feast days, like Christmas and Easter, and about 3 a.m. on Ferial Days, that is, common, ordinary days. The reasoning for this is that the Office is longer on Feast Days. After a half hour of mental prayer, Martins is followed by the Office of Lauds; this happens just about daybreak, when we invite all living things of earth and heaven to praise the Lord. The praise continues throughout the day. The Office of Prime is the first hour of the day, about 7 a.m. Terce, the third hour, is about 9 a.m. Sext, the sixth hour, is about noon. None, the ninth hour is about 3 p.m. Vespers, evening prayer, is about 5 p.m. These hours vary a little with the seasons. Compline, the night prayer, is of monastic origin; it is sung just before retiring, about 8 p.m.

For centuries these eight hours of prayer have been the primary responsibility of monks and nuns, who sing or recite them in choir, and priests, who recite them privately. Saint Benedict, in his rules, lays out exactly how the office is to be sung and said, down to the exact number of psalms, hymns, canticles, and prayers for each office, for each season of the year, so that in one year all of the psalms are sung.

The Psalmist says: Seven times daily I have sung Your praises (Ps. 119:164), and for the Night Office: I arose at midnight to give You thanks and praise (Ps. 119:62). We would rise at two or three o’clock in the morning, depending whether it was a feast or ferial day. Interspersed throughout the day were work, Divine Office, mental prayer, and spiritual reading. The Trappistines were self-supporting. A dairy barn, a candy house, the garden, and the art shop contributed to our daily livelihood.

I was a postulant for six months, a novice for a little over two years, and a professed nun, with simple vows, for four years.

Without sufficient explanation, circumstances were arranged for me to leave the monastery. This was the hardest thing in my life to do. But God asks us to give up those things dearest to us, at times, for His own reasons. With all the spiritual training in life, it does not make a person immune to the workings of providence that uproot and change one’s world.

I’ve learned, over the years, to hold loosely to the things of this earth and to be prepared to give up what I hold most dear to me. This learning didn’t come easily. I am very human, and I tend to hold on to things, even the things of God. I can gladly give up clothing, toys, even extra money; I can even give up all worldly possessions and do the hardest penance any anchorite ever thought about. But God often goes right to the heart and asks the very thing that we cherish most dearly. In His infinite wisdom, He wants us entirely for Himself and tries to tell us that He is all we need.

We, as Christians, are not exempt from the trials, sufferings, and problems in this world, but we do have one thing in our favor. We have God’s promise that He will be with us through them all. We must reach out and hold His Hand. And as we hold on tightly to Him, He will walk through this valley with us. While we are going through our troubled times, it may help to know that our brothers and sisters have been there before us.

I do believe that God called me to the religious life of a Trappistine Nun for a time. I had much to learn. I have learned much. I am still learning. I ask your prayers that whatever He asks of me in the future, no matter what it is, that I will give it to Him freely and without holding on with my sticky fingers. If God asks it of me, it must be for my good. Consider the story of Martha and Mary in the Bible. Mary is sitting at the feet of Jesus, listening to His every word while Martha is doing good works. Jesus said, Mary has chosen the better part (Lk 10:38–42). Like Mary, I sit at the feet of Jesus; I too have chosen that better part.

Chapter 1

A Leap in the Dark

The Greyhound bus screeched to a halt at a curb in the small rural town of Wrentham, Massachusetts. Its brakes bellowed the last blast of compressed air, breaking the silence of the early morning. Wrentham! The bus driver shouted to the sleeping passengers, who ignored his call, all but one.

A thin, frail, nineteen-year-old girl stepped to the pavement. She had light brown hair, brown eyes, and weighed all of eighty-nine pounds. In the next second, a big belch of exhaust, black smoke, and rumbling filled the air. The bus was gone.

The girl stood there perplexed and amazed, alone and a little frightened. What a small town, she thought, not even a bus station, not a soul on the street. She quickly looked at her watch. It was 7:45 a.m.

The place seemed deserted. There were no people, no stores, and no churches in sight. A narrow two-lane street lay in front of her. An occasional house sat between empty, weed-laden lots. This quaint, three-hundred-year-old town was still asleep and deeply immersed in fog. It was Saturday morning. She thought, If there was a Catholic Church nearby, the priest would be able to tell me where the monastery is and how to get to it.

The fog surrounding this sleepy town made it difficult to see any distance down the road. A chill hovered in the early-morning air. Alone, on a lonely street curb hundreds of miles away from home, not knowing which way to turn, she turned inward, as she often did, to seek help and guidance from the Holy Spirit. Sometimes, just thinking through the situation helped make the way more clear or bearable. Musical melodies danced and swirled through her head. Humming melodies, she would make up a poem or song to renew her courage when the going got tough.

I took the first step—and landed here.

I swallowed hard—and fought my fear.

I jumped—and am still in the air.

Will I come down? Dare I look—at where?

Here I am, Lord, I took a chance, Lord.

I’m off to seek my future in Your Way.

I’m not much, Lord! All I have to offer

Is a life willing to obey.

This girl setting out to find her place in life, her mission, her job to do in this world, was me. Baptized Elizabeth Ann Brice, everyone called me Betty Ann.

Many times over, I think of that first step. I had no idea what would happen, but I knew down deep in myself that I had to fulfill my quest. I had to venture out.

On the outskirts of this small town was a Trappistine Monastery (The Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance), where nuns lived in silence and solitude. They lived a life in love with God, in simplicity and humility, and I was going for an interview with the Abbess. I wanted to join the community more than anything in the world. It had taken two years to get this interview. Now it was here. I had a lump in my throat and butterflies in my stomach, but there was also a peace that prevailed over me. I was sure I was doing the right thing.

I stood on the curb that foggy Saturday morning in July 1958, deciding which way to go, left or right; I didn’t know where the monastery was. The only address I had was Wrentham, Massachusetts. I decided to go left to look for a church. It was almost eight o’clock in the morning. Usually the Masses start on the hour or half hour. If I found a church, the priest would be either finished with Mass, or just starting.

After walking a few blocks and seeing nothing alive or moving, I sighted a church in the distance. I ran with my overnight case clutched in my right hand. My bag, draped over my left shoulder, was clasped tight to my body as I made giant strides down the pavement. Neither sign nor name was outside the church, or at least I couldn’t see it in the fog. There were a handful of people scattered inside, which wasn’t unusual for a Saturday morning. I slipped quietly into the back pew, closed my eyes, and prayed silently. My prayers were those of gratitude for a safe trip and of childlike trust in whatever was to come.

The priest walked out onto the altar. Something wasn’t right. His vestments were different. Why did they change the opening prayer? I thought. I knew all the prayers of the Mass so well; I would do the altar boy responses to the priest’s prayers at the Immaculate Conception Parish in Rochester, N.Y., when there were no altar boys around. I did not take part in the ceremony; I just said the prayers, off to the side of the altar; women were not allowed on the altar at that time. They just filled in behind the scenes. This ceremony was so familiar and yet so different. Am I in the right church? I questioned again. I came to the conclusion that it must be an Episcopal Church. I sighed with disappointment, not because I was in an unfamiliar church, but because they probably wouldn’t know about the location of the Trappistine Monastery. I waited for a while so as not to show disrespect; then I walked out.

Once more out on the street, the hike began. It seemed more like a country road than a street; no one was in sight. After what seemed to be a half an hour, another structure, off in the foggy distance, slowly took the form of a church. Instead of running as before, I cautiously approached the building. I did not go into the church, but headed straight for the rectory and rang the doorbell. A short, jolly priest stood in the doorway.

Good Morning! He said joyously. His face beamed with a smile from ear to ear. He appeared to be about middle age, with a full head of hair graying at the sideburns and his belly just starting to protrude over his belt.

With a sigh of relief and excited happiness, I responded graciously, Good Morning, Father, my name is Elizabeth Ann Brice. I thought I had better use my baptismal name when dealing with the church. I’ve come for an interview at the Trappistine Monastery, and I was wondering if you could tell me how to get there?

Oh dear, my child, that is quite a ways up the hill, way out in the country, he said, surprised.

Is there a bus or a taxicab I can take that goes that way? I inquired. Deep inside me I thought, How much more out in the country could one get?

Come on in, my dear, the priest insisted. I just finished saying Mass. After I eat breakfast, I’ll drive you up there myself. Did you have breakfast yet?

No, I answered bashfully. I just got off the bus.

Oh! he replied with astonishment. Where are you coming from?

Rochester, New York, I was staying there with my brother; my real home is Masontown, Pennsylvania, I replied.

That’s a long way, he retorted. Are you going to join the monastery?

I smiled and whispered, Yes, I would like to.

That’s grand! That’s grand! he shouted.

Just then the housekeeper came in. She was a tall, slim, gray haired, elderly lady with a white lace apron tied around her waist; she carried in her hands a large dish of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. The priest introduced me to her. She too was excited about my interview at the monastery.

Come! Come! she said. Eat something; you must be starved after that long trip. With that, she ushered me into the small dining room, which was neat and clean. The table had a beautiful lace tablecloth on it. A picture of the Last Supper hung above an antique bureau. Across from the picture was a huge double door entering into a parlor. In one corner of the parlor were sofas and chairs near a white, lacy, curtained window. In the other corner was a piano. My eyes took all of this in; even though it was modest for a priest’s rectory, I was not used to being a part of it. I felt like a princess, and I wanted to pinch myself.

The priest pulled out a chair from the table and beckoned me to sit down. I was astonished. Where I came from, we showed deference to the priests, and not them to us; and no layperson ever ate at the priests’ table, as far as I knew. Here, I was being treated like royalty. The words of our Lord, in the New American Bible, came to me, I will send my angel ahead of you to guide you along the way (Ex. 23:20) (Ps. 91:11).

This priest was humble and so amusing that I sat there listening to him, intensely hanging on every word rather than eating. It was difficult for me to eat anyway. I was not familiar with all the utensils and plates in front of me. Father Dalton must have noticed that I wasn’t doing much with the food.

Eat! Eat, young lady. I will never eat all the food my housekeeper cooks; you’ll have to help me. I don’t need it; look at this, he caressed his round belly. You can use it much more than me. God, are you skinny, child! Eat!

The jolly priest pushed the eggs and bacon over to me. I bashfully took a little and nibbled on it. All during breakfast, he asked me questions, and I answered the best I could.

After repast, Father Dalton took me in his car out into the country toward the Trappistine Monastery. The woods and meadows this summer day of 1958 reflected the beauty of New England at its best. The sun was out now, and the panoramic view of the countryside glistened with the morning’s fresh dew as we passed by in the car. The priest was lively with his conversation. He asked many questions. He was so easy to talk to that I ended up telling him all about myself. I also told him my reasons for wanting to join such an order.

How did you hear about this Order, Betty Ann?

When I was in high school, I related, I found an article in the library about the Trappist Monastery in Conyers, Georgia. I liked what it said about a life dedicated to God in prayer and reading of the scriptures and spiritual books. I was curious, so I wrote to the abbot at that time, Abbot McGann. He wrote back and told me there was a monastery for women here in Wrentham, Massachusetts; he gave me their address, and I have been writing to them ever since. They told me I was too young to enter their Order; but, finally, I received an invitation for an interview. I was so excited. And so, here I am.

For a brief moment he grew silent, and, looking at me with an inquisitive expression, he asked, Why this Order, Betty Ann? His head cocked to one side and the corner of one side of his mouth turned up to a half smile. It was as if he knew something I didn’t know, a mystery—like it was a rare person to enter such a secluded, silent Order.

I knew he deserved an answer. I reached down deep into my soul to express the truth that prompted my actions, not knowing how to express in words the feelings that were motivating this determination that propelled me toward this austere life. I asked, Have you ever felt drawn to do something you knew you had to do? You didn’t know everything about it, but this magnet inside of you kept drawing you toward it? Like your own vocation! Can you explain why you chose the priesthood?

His face glowed with an understanding that reached a depth that words are helpless to convey. I know what you mean, Betty Ann, he answered contentedly.

As I gazed out the car window, my thoughts went back to the early days when the idea of serving God was just a tender bud. The New England scenery faded from view as my thoughts drifted back.

Chapter 2

Reflections

It was April 1955. The blossoms hung fragrantly on the peach trees. The aroma of apple blossoms scented the air.

I had recently turned seventeen, and I was about to graduate from high school. I was an adult now, or so I thought. Now, the big question: What would become of me? What road would I take? What would the future hold for me? I had thought about it at different times and discussed it with people who I thought knew and cared. But as a high school student, I was too involved in current events to think further about my future.

Not too much thought was given to a woman’s future in this small town of Masontown, Pennsylvania. Very few went off to college; some found a husband, settled down, and raised children. Most girls left Masontown because there were slim pickings of both husbands and jobs.

Though my academic course plus typing in high school gave me the option of attending college, no one encouraged me to apply. I was just a poor Coal Miner’s daughter. I didn’t have the money for college. For the time being, it was out of the question. But now I had to make a decision. I had to make a choice about the course I would take.

When I was about seven or eight, I decided I wanted to be a nurse. No one in our family was a nurse, so I had no mentor. No one was seriously ill that we knew of, either. So I had no experience caring for sick people. I had not seen a nurse, except in books. I’d read stories of how selfless and heroic they were in taking care of the sick, and I wanted to be like that. But nursing would have to wait until I found a job and saved enough money to follow my dream. Deep within, I had another secret burning and longing that I dared not talk to my parents about at that time.

Masontown, Pennsylvania, my hometown, was a small country town with one main street consisting of two blocks of shops and one stoplight. It was a coal-mining town. Robina Local was a large coal-mining company that dominated the area with deep shafts and a high tipple and bellowing coke ovens. There were also many small, deep-shaft coal mines and strip mines around the area that were very active. All of the young people, when they graduated from high school, either left Masontown to find jobs in the surrounding towns or stayed to become coal miners. A small percentage of them married childhood sweethearts and stayed.

The outside influence didn’t give much of an incentive to make something of oneself, though in this school atmosphere I could dream of what I wanted to be, learn new things, and progress as a scholar. Outside of being a kid in this town, I saw no future in it for me, or, should I say, something inside of me kept reaching to the world outside. I wanted to see, to do, to experience in a wholesome way what the world had to offer. I was restless.

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Betty Ann - 2 years old

Betty Ann – 3 years old on running board of Dad’s Model "T’ Ford

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Brother Richard, Sisters Genevieve & Baby Sister Madelyn. Dad always wanted to enter the military he kept telling us kids, Chin in – Chest Out! No one cooperated but me.

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November 1949, Alfred Brice coming home from his work in the Robina Coal Mines. Dog Bruno greeting him.

I knew life at home and in this town was not for me, and yet it was the most secure life I knew. Along with this security struggle in my mind and heart, I had long since given up the idea of being a nurse; my new heart’s desire was to be a nun. I went to All Saints Catholic School, but the Immaculate Heart of Mary Nuns who taught there did not influence me. I didn’t want to live like them. I didn’t like the habit they wore. I didn’t want to be a Teaching Nun, a Nursing Nun, or a whatever Nun. It wasn’t the idea of what they did that struck me, but it was their love for God. I’m sure my Christian family life and Christian education had a great influence on this. The question for me now was, How could I express my great love for God?

Once again I relied on my feelings. I felt quiet and content when I thought of this Great Being called God. It was like nothing else existed. Something inside of me glowed when I read about this Being that ruled the whole world and guided each individual and planet. This same Being kept us from falling off the face of the earth and flicking off into space. There must be a reason for this, I thought. Why would this God bother with each one of us, the earth, the planets, the weather, and why would He care about me? Catholic School Catechism Classes gave me rote answers that I had to memorize. But I wanted more. I wanted to get inside this God and find out all about Him. What does it mean that, In Him we live and move and have our being (Acts 17:28)? The best way, in those times, was to become a nun. So, I wanted to be a nun! But what kind? Oh, dear! That presented a problem. I had heard so much about the Maryknoll Missionaries. They published a magazine every month; there were pictures of Maryknoll nuns taking care of orphaned babies in Africa. In fact, our class put up a huge poster describing how to adopt one of these African orphaned babies. It had a thermometer graft beside it, and as we donated money toward this foundation, the red line on the thermometer would rise until it got to the point where it showed that our class had adopted an African baby. We were all so excited. I think we adopted about ten African babies one year. I wanted to be like those nuns. I wanted to go to all parts of the world to help people in need. In the meantime, I tried so hard to be soooooooo good. I didn’t gossip. I was nice and helpful to everyone. I helped my parents around the house. I promised God there would be a saint in Masontown.

The activities of school took my mind off the future. There were no counselors in this Catholic School, and the nuns did not foster any ideas of planning for the future. No care, concern, or interest was shown to me. This was not uncommon in those days. There was no career planning, and, again, I must stress that being female did not hold much promise for a career unless one was willing to fight for it. In a small town, in a small private school, belief was held and very strongly enforced that a woman’s place was in the home.

I was in everything that was offered at All Saints High School. I was head majorette, cheerleader for the boys’ basketball games. I played first team in girls’ basketball (in those days we only used half of the floor), participated in forensics, debates, and expressed my talent through art. On the whole, I managed As, Bs, and Cs in my classes. There was no one to help me with my homework. Mom and Dad were always too busy working. When I entered high school, my studies were way beyond my parents’ education. Mom was schooled in a little red schoolhouse. She had to leave school at age thirteen and go to work in order to help her family because someone shot and killed her Dad and stole his paycheck as he was coming home from the coal mines. Dad got to the ninth grade when his father died of influenza in the plague that struck in 1918. He had to go off to the coal mines to support his Mom, who had ten children. He was very intelligent, but any plans he had were thwarted. He had been ready to enter Douglas Business College in a few months. The tuition had already been paid. He chose to do the moral thing and entered the coal mines to support his mother, brothers, and sisters.

My brother, Richard, had already graduated from All Saints High School and was now serving his country in the Korean War. My sister Genevieve married an Air Force Officer in her senior year of high school and was following him around the country and world, starting her new life and family. Consequently, scholastically I was on my own. I longed for help. One of my friends and I would study together sometimes, but it was not enough for me. I had a lot of questions and needed someone to bounce ideas off of and discuss. Dad was working or sleeping because he was on the swing shift at the coal mines, and we had to keep quiet at home. He would help me with current events and political views, but most of my studies were over his head. Mom would try to console me by reciting a poem she memorized in fifth grade and leave me with a nostalgic picture of how fun school was in those days. My sister Madelyn was three years younger. She was a fun and challenging game and play partner but not a study partner. I longed for more intellectual stimulation but was afraid to ask my classmates to work with me. I didn’t want them to think I was dumb.

Boys were not a dominant part of my life. I did go to a few dances and parties. I didn’t care for the boy who asked me to the Junior Prom, so I declined. Bob, the boy I wanted to ask me, did, but something happened, and he couldn’t go at the last minute. So I stayed home feeling sorry for myself. As I found out later, the boy I met at my place of work, in the Savoy Restaurant, was the better choice of the two. His personality, mannerism, politeness, and respect were much more honorable. I admired that, and I liked the boy, and I must confess he was much older than I was, and I didn’t think he was all that handsome. At sweet sixteen, my vanity was in full bloom. I was so impressed with how people looked. I wanted to fit in. I had enough of being made fun of. Besides, this boy was crazy in love with me, as the saying went back then. I was afraid of that; I didn’t know how to deal with it, didn’t know where it would lead and didn’t want to encourage it. Low self-esteem was one of my struggles during my teenage years, and I wondered why someone would be so crazy about me.

What if he got to know me like I knew myself? He would only like me some of the time, or run away for good. I would conjure up all these reasons not to let anyone too close. I didn’t like my body that was growing and forming into a woman. If I could have made myself, I would have looked like a Barbie doll. The only thing I had in common with Barbie was the skinniness, not shapely, but skinny, scrawny, like a twig or, as my aunt called me, a long drink of water. I had little tolerance with imperfection in myself. From the first moment I started noticing and comparing my body to others, I prayed that Jesus would make me straight, even, and rounded in all the right places so I could feel comfortable with me, and I could compete with the rest of my classmates. I felt I had a first-person relationship with Him, and I could talk freely and ask God anything.

My immaturity and fear of being rejected inhibited me from taking chances and enjoying the good part of growing up. I didn’t know how to keep the dating light. I didn’t know much about courtship. Everyone seemed to get so serious so fast. In the case of the guy at the Savoy