Beyond the Garden Wall: Bride of Christ Bride of Man

By Elizabeth Ann Kuhn

The Confessions and Adventures of a Former Trappistine Nun reveals the difficulty she encounters after leaving the cloistered Cistercian abbey. She realizes she must face her past in order to find identity in the outside world. It is her conversion story. This book is a sequel to her first book, Behind the Wall (Authorhouse, 1663 Liberty Drive, Bloomington, Indiana 47403; www.behindthewallbook.com).Her intention is not to cast an unfavorable light on any one or any institution but to find peace and healing despite all the difficulties she encounters and to pray for lost souls, souls lost like she was when she first came out, and for lost shepherds who have failed to pasture their sheep. Hopefully these souls will see how much God loves them and how He never gives up on them.After seven years of prayer, austerity, and silence under simple vows, she finds herself out in the modern world. Returning from any religious order can be traumatic.Silence reigns in a monastic cloister; the only sound heard is the chanting of the Divine Office. There is no contact with the outside world--no TV, phones, newspaper nor visitors, except for parents seen behind a double grill twice a year. Coming out of this order is like returning from outer space and finding the world--so different. Emerging from this eternal silence, all of a sudden, she is thrust into this chaos of noise. Her journey is to find a path through this rubble and feel at home with God beyond the cloistered walls.The Cistercian novice studies for two years before she pronounces vows. She does not take a vow of silence, but silence permeates her whole being--because that is where God lives. After pronouncing vows, she is then consecrated to God and becomes His spouse--a bride of Christ. Once something is consecrated to God, you just don't throw it away. It is burnt because it is holy. She remains committed to God throughout her life, hoping for union with Him here and hereafter.This book was written with an abundance of love and concern for all those passing through troubling times and who are truly seeking God. There are always a few bad apples in every profession, but that does not necessarily make the profession or those who embrace it bad."All things work together for the good of those who love God" (Rom. 8:28).

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9781639618828

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Acknowledgments

I Stand Outside Your Window

The Prayer of Jabez

Prologue

Introduction

Chapter 1: Bear East of Eden

Chapter 2: Out of the Depths

A Silent Prayer: I Am What I Am and I Have a Need to Be

Chapter 3: Into the Wilderness

Chapter 4: Boom and Decline

Chapter 5: In Peril on the Sea

Chapter 6: This Ole House The House I Grew Up In

Alone for the First Time

Masontown

My Secret Cloistered Garden

Chapter 7: The Ghost of Childhood Past

Dirt-poor

Chapter 8: Seaton Hill

Little California College (California, Pennsylvania)

Chapter 9: St. Mary's Nursing School

One Memorable Reunion

Friends and Frolic

Chapter 10: Christmas Break

Chapter 11: U of R

Chapter 12: 50cc Honda

DMV—Test Day

Freedom at Last

Sheriff Skinner

Chapter 13: D'Youville College Entrance

Chapter 14: Deep Is Calling unto Deep

Lead Us Not into Temptation

Chapter 15: Marguerite Hall

Mount Sinai Hospital

Chapter 16: License and Stripes

Officer Training School (OTC): An Officer and a Gentle Lady

Graduation as an Ensign in the United States Navy

Chapter 17: First Assignment

Chapter 18: White Flag over the Ortho Ward

D-Day Dawned!

Chapter 19: Navy Nurse Corps Birthday Party

Chapter 20: A Dangerous Military Excursion

Chapter 21: Mickey Mouse in Navy Regs

Standing at Attention

The Six-Part Chit

Three in One

Uniform Code for Women

Chapter 22: Commendation Medal versus a Selfless Call to Duty

Zero, Zero, Zero, Zero: 0000—a Dysfunctional Definition of Time

Chapter 23: Life Has Blissful Awakenings

Chapter 24: Anchors Away

Chapter 25: Sick Leave

A Toss of a Coin

Just a Simple Meal

Chapter 26: Ties that Bind

Dusty

Chapter 27: Arch of Sabers

The Big Day: Do You Take This Man—till Death?

Chapter 28: Riding the Waves of the Wind

Chapter 29: Sails Groping for the Wind

Chapter 30: Breath of a New Life

Chapter 31: Life Is Beauty—a Mystery, a Promise

Schooling for Our Children

Deep Wounds

Chapter 32: Try Being a Doctor's Wife for the Rest of Your Life

The Perfect Dr. T.

The Moment the Light Breaks Through

Dealing with a Type A Personality

A Way of Escape

And the Rains Came…

Chapter 33: In a Blink of an Eye

Harmony

Puggy

Mojo

Chapter 34: Little Maestros

Little Maestros

Chapter 35: The Skies Thundered

Chapter 36: Seeds

Gathered to Share Memories

Chapter 37: On—Sail On

Third Trimester

Chapter 38: Prayers and Thoughts of My Heart

Let My Prayer Come unto Thee

Addendum: Twenty-Four Seven

Twenty-Four Seven

Epilogue

How Do You Love a Spirit?

About the Author

cover.jpg

Beyond the Garden Wall

Bride of Christ Bride of Man

Elizabeth Ann Kuhn

ISBN 978-1-63961-881-1 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63961-883-5 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-63961-882-8 (digital)

Copyright © 2022 by Elizabeth Ann Kuhn

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

All Bible quotes are from the New American Standard Bible, unless stated otherwise.

Proofread by: Elaine Lanz

Cover Design by Author

Cover Artwork and Painting by Nancy Minear

Printed in the United States of America

To our twelve grandchildren, in order of their birth: Vincent York, Isaac Thomas, Gunnar Franklin, Noelle Marie, Jarvis Webster, Elijah Jefferson, Elisha Madison, Calvin David, Liberty Abigail, Enoch Hamilton, Matthias Kolbe, and Dominic Joseph.

You children are our special gifts from God. We hope and pray that you will always live in His graces and be guided by His Holy Spirit!

The Almighty has done great things for me and holy is His name (Luke 1:49).

In Memory of:

These two priests were kind and concerned; they helped me through some difficult times.

They believed in me and trusted me.

Acknowledgments

To my husband, Thomas Kuhn, MD, the one I shared my love with the Eternal God—the human love of my life and the father of our children and the one who has been by my side through the many trials of life and who has provided for, cared for, and watched over me all these years. If it wasn't for you, these books would never exist. You have been my encouragement and helpmate through many troubled times, with the help of our Blessed Lord, Who has given us the grace, to see them through. Thank you for being there for me and with me.

To our children: Aaron and Dawn, the loves of my life—the ones I have tried to do the right things for and keep you in the love of our Beloved Jesus, our Savior. You are hourly in my prayers, along with your spouses. No one can ever take your place in my heart. I have given the best I had to offer: love, guidance, and devotion even when it hurt. Someday, I hope you realize that. You are in my heart forever. Now you are settled in your own lives and have children of your own, please keep Jesus the love of your life as long as you live and teach your children to do that also. I will always be with you and on your side.

To our grandchildren—oh my! You make grandma's heart so very happy that it glows. My love for you is eternal like Jesus's. My wish for you is to always follow God's law, even when it is hard. Enjoy God's beautiful world. Stay close to His heart. Our hope for a better world is in you. You will always be in my heart; I will love you always till the end of time and on into eternity—with Jesus.

To all who have been in my life and have helped form me along the narrow way through the years: my mom and dad, Alfred and Elizabeth Brice; my brother and sisters: Richard, Genevieve, and Madelyn; all of my relatives; Fr. Darcy Bolger, my first spiritual director; and all the people who worked at the Immaculate Conception Parish in Rochester, New York.

To the Immaculate Heart of Mary sisters who taught me all through Catholic School and my classmates.

To all of our St. Bonaventure Church friends, including the Group.

To all those in the ministries: Women's Council, Bible Study, Morning Prayer, Children's Liturgy, RCIA, Lectors, Parish Council, and many more.

To all of our Card Party friends and other social friends.

To all St. Bonaventure priests, especially Fr. Lionel Bouvier (RIP) and Fr. Rod Keller (RIP). These priests believed in me and stood by me when unkind accusations were hurtled against me. They are a rare find, and to them, I am truly grateful, especially to God who put them in the right place at the right time. I pray for their souls daily.

With all St. Bonaventure parishioners who have had an influence in my life and to many more who have touched my life—if only for a moment in time. If I didn't know or meet you, the outcome of this book would be different, or it would never have been at all.

Most of all, to the nuns in the monasteries I passed through: Mount Saint Mary's in Wrentham, Massachusetts, and Our Lady of the Mississippi Abbey in Dubuque, Iowa, our new foundation.

Thank you. I am forever grateful for ever having known all of you. I wish to see you all again in that place that Jesus said: No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no human mind has conceived what God has ready for those who love Him (1 Cor. 2:9).

I Stand Outside Your Window

This poem is dedicated to St. Bonaventure Parish, during the COVID pandemic, when we were locked out of the church and had to visit the Blessed Sacrament through a glass window.

I stand outside Your window

—The darkness and chill tarry here,

Your hidden silence speaks so loud and clear.

The light above Your tabernacle causes it to glow

Good morning, my Lord, my love, I whisper sweet and low.

You waited all through the night

For one visit from a friend,

The night is really long

Soon it will be at an end.

I come to tell You how much I love You

And am so happy You are here,

I bring all those You love

I represent them and all their tears.

The brokenhearted, the lame, and the poor

All the sick of body and soul are represented and more.

Some couldn't come; the excuses are many and long

I know You love them, You want them near, You understand their song.

The day has not yet broken

—Your graces You are ready to spill,

I ask for all of them to distribute where You will;

I come to gather them this morning

—To give to the most in need and tell them of Your yearning.

I give You Your mother's love with the saints and angels above

We are all here thanking You for Your sacrifice and love.

We all need Your love to grow in Your image and grace,

We ask for Your loving presence

—To meet this new day with Your loving face.

We are all here, rich, poor, sinner, and saint

Old and new, sick and whole, the lively and the faint,

We acknowledge our weakness—our failure to serve

Be with us, dear Lord, guide us when we swerve.

I stand outside Your window

In a humble grateful state,

If You can stay in Your little house,

I can stay quietly in my place.

The Prayer of Jabez

Oh, that you would bless me indeed.

Expand my territory, Let your Hand be upon me. Keep me from harm. Let me be free from pain.

––1 Chronicles 4:9–10

Jabez is sandwiched in the middle of the genealogy of Judah and is only mentioned very briefly. Jabez must have had an exceptional relationship with God to have the author of 1 Chronicles mention him even for a few lines. It shows how God had a purpose for Israel; they had been given the promised land and were the chosen people for a reason. God had a plan that started with Adam on up through Abraham, Moses, David, and into the New Testament where the promised Messiah is born. Through all the sons of Jacob (Israel) came the twelve tribes of Israel. Through the tribe of Judah, the lineage of the Messiah is traced. There is where we find Jabez.

Jabez's mother bore him in much pain, and she predicted that he would have much pain in his life; thus his prayer to God that he would be free from pain. He was determined to fulfill God's plan in his life; he prayed with urgency and cried out to the Lord with boldness, and God granted his request (1 Chronicles 4:9–10). These words are a joy and a blessing to hear.

In this genealogy, God mentions all the players who were to carry out His plan. In the vast sea of people, he zooms in on Jabez for a few lines. I feel like there is a message here. I believe God has a plan for all of us in our lives. If we seek it out and pray with boldness to the Lord, He will answer our prayer, like he did with Jabez. It may take a while and much prayer, but in time, it will be revealed.

I pray this prayer every day; I change the pronouns to be more inclusive for my husband and my family. I also change the last line, Let me have no pain to Let us do no harm. I am wedded to my Savior in His totality of pain. I do not wish to annul that, but I offer it up united to His sacred humanity to help my brothers and sisters on their journey.

My husband and I are in the medical profession, so I pray as the Hippocratic Oath states to do no harm. So my revised prayer of Jabez is:

Father, Bless us indeed,

Expand our territory,

Let your hand be with us

Keep us from all evil

And let us do no harm.

By saying this prayer, I do believe that God has helped me through the transition from consecrated life in the monastery to civilian life in all its demands. I did cry out many times with loud cries and tears, with boldness to the one who held my life in His hands. Lord, what would you have me do? Let Your Holy Spirit lead me in ways that are smooth, gentle, and everlasting.

Prologue

The living, the living, give you thanks, as I do today.

—Isaiah 38:19 (NAB).

In the springtime of life, all things are fresh, budding, promising, and diffused with radiant joy. The world is our playground. There are so many roads to travel, sights to see, new things to explore, songs to sing, and ways to search for that one true love.

Hope springs out of the heart. Oh, to be young again and have all these choices lying before me. Would I make the same choice in my life that I made so long ago? To dream what would life offer if a different path was chosen?

I let my mind wonder, daydream, and dare to taste another reality. The echo chambers in my heart seared in response, crying out to me, Taste and see that the Lord is Good (Ps. 34:8). In quick reply to the cry in my heart, I answered, I have tasted. I have seen. How can I choose another way? ‘A bundle of Myrrh is my Beloved to me' (Cant. 1:12 Douay Rheims). He is, at the same time, Sweet and Sour. His love for me made Him endure His sorrowful passion. This holy and purifying bitterness wears constantly upon my heart. My love for Him has brought me down the same path He has trod, yet somehow, somehow, my spirit yearns for Him.

Now, at the bottom of the abyss, my Spouse, my Beloved, seems to have abandoned me. I have given up everything to follow Him only to have my weakness broken open and my dreams, like my habit, blown away with the wind.

There was never an apostasy, never a desire to stray far from the Love of my life. I had this desire to do great things for Him, never a desire to be anything than what I was; but I wished I could have been and done things better. If I had it to do all over again, I would choose, again, to love God with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength. To belong to Him in whatever way He chose for me; to whatever path He leads me; whatever mountain or hill I need to climb; or whatever valley, storms, or doldrums await me—I am ready!

I was always ready; my spirit was willing, but my flesh is weak, and my choices are not always unselfish.

But, yes, I would choose You again, my God, and if need be, I would go through the same purgation, humiliation, solitude, and desperation if it leads me to You!

These are the confessions of a young girl who has been wounded by someone in religion and her struggles to maintain sanity and equilibrium and to keep faith in God, the Bible, and the Catholic Church.

Faith, that illusive virtue that stabilizes one and gives insight into the praise and service of God; that faith that opens heaven and pours down graces to strengthen our hourly walk along the narrow way in this valley of tears; that faith that radiates through the whole world and singles out those who are willing to be open to His Holy Spirit of love—giving hope to those struggling and in pain.

God laid it on my heart to write this book for all His misguided and floundering children who have been traumatized by religion or any authority. It is no small matter for those who have believed and dedicated their life to someone or something only to have it torn away ruthlessly by some unkind, uncharitable steward. It will take someone who understands the pain of these souls, someone who will not judge them, but who can empathize with them; they need someone to go after them, someone who understands their hurts and resentment. This is fertile ground for the new evangelization movement in the church, going after those who were lost due to mismanagement. Many people, especially the young, have been misguided by their mentors or guides. It seems that their guides have not born in mind that each person is made up of mind, spirit, and body. These three elements work together to maintain the health of the individual. Each part must be dealt with in a timely, delicate fashion. Some guides have their own issues they are dealing with, and they project onto others. This causes much pain and confusion in the person truly seeking God. When someone does something to disrupt this balance or treats it like it shouldn't or doesn't exist, it could have devastating effects on the young adult on into maturity. We see so much dysfunction, lack of kindness and generosity coming from single family homes, schools, work places and institutions all over the world. Is it so difficult for those in charge of others to be kind and speak an encouraging word?

I am attempting to do just that, going after the lost sheep. I was one of those souls, and I have walked through those dark days and finally came out on the other side. I gave myself to God as a total commitment in the silent, contemplative Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance O.C.S.O. I invested almost seven years in all its observances; I was even sent on their first new foundation to Dubuque, Iowa, and was on my way to settling into this vocation. In a few months while still under simple vows, I would make the decision to return to the world or pronounce solemn vows and remain in the Order for the rest of my life.

Without warning and without any guidance, I was underhandedly dealt a mischievous death blow; I was cast out of the monastery without warning or explanation, clearly against my will. The life I devoted myself to for seven years was ripped away from me. This literally sent me reeling and wondering where God was in my life. Since this was done by a religious superior, someone who was to represent God in our community and claimed to belong to Him, I began to wonder what kind of a God I was vowed to and served.

This led to a crisis in my faith; is God still alive and involved in our lives, or is it all a sham, a make-believe ritual to make us feel good? I knew the contrary, because His presence was really felt in my life, but this devious act of derailing my religious life, for whatever reason, had evil connotations. Seriously, it was like the mafia snuffing out someone they no longer had use for, without a trace or a bit of remorse.

Instead of my spiritual life advancing along the way of perfection, this action by a religious sent it tumbling; headlong into an abyss that would take years, many prayers, and much work to salvage and repair.

There is hope, there is healing, and there is time to love again!

Resentment must go, and trust must grow. Then the field (soul) will be right for cultivating and planting. In the beginning, the tiny shoots of hope are so fragile; they must be nurtured and guarded with delicate hands lest the soul wilts and is lost forever.

I have been there. I am living proof that God does not give up on any one of us. He is there with us guiding, encouraging, and loving the soul every step of the way.

This is what our Lord says to that soul:

Fear not, little flock, for it has pleased your Father to give you a kingdom. (Luke 12:32 NIV)

Can a mother forget her infant, be without tenderness for the child of her womb? Even should she forget, I will never forget you. (Isa. 49:15 NIV)

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father's care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So, don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows. (Matt. 10:29–31 NIV)

I will be with you always, to the very end of the age. (Matt. 28:20 NIV)

Looking back, forward and in the present, I put together this Mission Statement that dictates my life at present, encompassing the past and looking into the future.

To heal the brokenhearted;

To be a healer to the sick of mind, spirit, and body, and to bind up their wounds;

To comfort the sorrowing, the war-torn and the orphan;

To help the blind to see God acting in everyone and everything;

To help the deaf to hear God's word proclaimed in Holy Scripture;

To pray for the sick and suffering, our soldiers guarding our country and our nation;

To help and pray for our children, wherever they may be all over the world;

To love God above all things; and

To continue trying to love my neighbor as myself, my family, and my country.

*****

My years in a Trappistine monastery (the female branch of the Trappists) were spent in total self-giving. All personal and earthly things were taken away, a life for God alone, completely silent and contemplative. Nothing existed but the praise and work of God, the Divine Office, prayer, and the maintenance of the order. Life on this earth was an existence for union with God and praying for the church militant and suffering.

This Powerhouse raised continual prayers, day and night, for all the members of the body of Christ and for all those who have fallen away, sending continuous love flowing out into the world to heal the wounded, the brokenhearted, and the captive. It is a beacon of hope for the world.

Life in a cloistered, silent order eventually brought some problems because there was only one superior whom all the orders and spiritual direction flowed through. No other thought, desire, or wish but the Reverend Mother's was tolerated. Her word was the word of God for all of us. Some people are good at deciphering subliminal messages; some walk more the open, matter-of-fact way of life. Some grew and flourished under these conditions with the guidance and help of the superior. As years flowed on, I felt like I was growing closer to Jesus Christ; I believed, loved, followed the holy rule, and felt like I belonged.

Something went wrong. In a silent order, there are so many things one can blame because nothing but the word of God is clear. It is all about pleasing the superior; again, I thought I did that very well, but when one does not talk things out, so many misunderstandings can occur. Under a new superior, in a new foundation, the tide had turned against me.

This book is a sequel to my first one, which describes my traumatic exodus (www.behindthewall.com).

As my life unfolds before you, it is not an ego trip, nor is it meant to be a walk down memory lane. It is a journey of one soul's desire to find God, to find the meaning for its life here on earth. Who am I? What would You have me do? Where do I belong? What am I good for, anyway? And the biggest question, Who are You, Lord, and what do You want of me?

This may sound egocentric, but we all are to a certain point until we get these questions answered and we are well on our way to doing and being what we were created for. All life is a journey; it could either be a struggle for survival, domination, and power, or happiness and a peaceful planning of what you feel you were meant to be and do. Whatever it is, we believe it will quiet the longing in our hearts and the anxiety in our minds, and restore peace and tranquility to our emotions.

*****

Maybe you have already found the answer to all these questions; but to those of you who haven't, maybe you would like to come along with me and glean some gems from these pages, that through all my mistakes, failures, trials, wandering, and successes, you may find help to answer your questions and that searing agony in your heart—Why?

Introduction

Behind the Wall , my first book, gives an invigorating and pensive description of life lived behind the walls of a cloistered order—a true story of a young girl wanting to give her life to God in a contemplative order.

After almost seven years in the monastery in the Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance (OCSO)—the strictest order in the Catholic Church, otherwise known as the Trappists—she found it was impossible for her to live under a new superior's rules in a new foundation. It was inconceivably hopeless to grow spiritually under those austere, unbearable, uncharitable conditions. She was cast outside the cloistered walls and the sanctuary that taught her how to know and love God.

Many who have read the book kept asking for more, wanting to know what happened to her and how she fit into this outside world—or did she? The following pages take up the story about the trials and conflicts of trying to fit back into a world that she left seven years ago and the happenings during that time she had no knowledge of because she was cloistered from it. Being brutally honest, she opens her mind and heart for you to see and maybe gain insight into her plight.

She sets the scene for you to walk along with her, for you to try to feel her pain, the loneliness, the darkness, the betrayal, and the uncertainty of the future.

The following story is a true autobiography experienced and lived in all its anxieties, fears and shortcomings. This book, like the first, is meant also to be salt and light to all who read it. There is life after a cloistered religious vocation. Does one have to lose one's faith in God, in religion, priests, nuns, and even the church to be able to live again? We shall see how a wounded individual fought against the psychological trauma dealt her in the monastery and made her way to a new life in this world. Trying to adapt and be integrated into this changing world after almost seven years of total exile from it could be another educational voyage through troubled waters.

One does not have to leave the faith in which one believes; it is not the essence of the faith that is at fault, but the humans who are put in charge of ministering it to the people.

This is my story after exiting the Trappistine monastery, and I choose to retain all the inspiring memories deep in my heart and hold no grudge toward any of its inhabitants.

Come and see what the Lord has done for me.

Chapter 1

Bear East of Eden

He drove the man out, at the East of the Garden of Eden, He stationed the Cherubim and the fiery revolving sword to guard the way to the tree of life.

—Genesis 3:24

The taxicab was stationary outside the monastery's cellar door, the motor still running while whirling streams of rain driven by a piercing cold, icy wind pounded on the roof and windshield this early April morning. Moments later, the rain subsided as I stepped out of the monastery; the cabby hurried and opened the taxi door. I stumbled in and sat, teeth chattering, shivering uncontrollably from the early morning chill. I was dressed in a thin cotton shift dress and a light-blue sweater provided for me by the superior of the monastery to replace the religious habit I had worn for almost seven years. The white Trappistine habit covered me from head to toe, with a black scapular and a long white cape as an outer garment. I had to shed it moments ago.

It was five o'clock in the morning in the Trappistine monastery in Dubuque, Iowa. Great Silence still reigned over the hours, and darkness covered the land. The Office of Prime had just ended; Low Mass was to begin at five thirty.

The rain had started up again; the sky itself was crying, mimicking the ache in my heart, as heaven drew its tearful shades, bending low and dark. Turning, I looked back, peering through streaming tears, blurring my vision, through the taxicab windows; the door to the monastery was closed shut. No one there to wave or encourage me on, no one to even acknowledge that I was ever there. After seven years, the Bon Voyage was not heartfelt.

Visions of Genesis 3 wisped through my consciousness. In my mind, I saw the angel with the flaming sword flashing back and forth guarding the entrance to the monastery. I was cast out and the door shut. All hope of returning died in my heart.

In that moment, heaven was silent, except for the comforting raindrops that seemed to surround me and hold me tight. Calling on God, who had just permitted this to happen, was ludicrous. I knew He was there, and there must be a reason, but I was not privy to that. The raindrops matched the tears flowing down my cheeks as I remembered the Paschal season we had just gone through. It was Alleluia time for the church, but I was still back with Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane and on the Cross. It was even too painful to think, and my mind knew the answer. What must I do? The die was cast—the program set. It was happening.

The cheery cab driver, pleasantly smiling while helping me into the cab, broke the eerie vision of the determined military angel wielding the threatening flaming sword through the dripping wet glass as he closed the cab door. It was truly a road blocked. This way was closed to me now; another way must be chosen.

Where to, ma'am? he said joyfully.

This whole scene was surreal and absurd to me. This had to be all prearranged by the superior. I knew nothing about it. Why is he asking me where to? Didn't the superior tell him? Or did she just order a cab? An airplane ticket was shoved into my hand, along with a twenty-dollar bill, as I was escorted out the monastery's cellar door. I looked at the ticket in my hand; this may be a clue. I guess I'm to go to the airport, I muttered, barely choking back the tears.

Which airline? the driver asked eagerly.

I'm not sure. I was embarrassed. This would be the first time I flew on a commercial plane. When we were sent to this new foundation here in Dubuque, Iowa, from Mt. St. Mary's Abbey in Wrentham, Massachusetts, twelve of us plus Reverend Mother flew out on a small private plane. I had no idea what an airport looked like or how many or what kind of planes flew into it.

Here, he said, let me see your ticket. I handed it to him. He grabbed it and studied it intently.

Oh yes, TWA. I know right where to go. He handed the ticket back to me and revved the engine of the yellow cab. He pulled away from the cellar door of the monastery and up the little hill. I turned my eyes away from that locked door. The taxi driver chatted away while I sat, glassy-eyed, staring out of the window, following the trails of eddies sliding, recklessly, down the glass. Was there a name for this feeling? Crushed, humiliated, alone, numb, and almost naked compared to what I had worn for years and had to shed a few minutes ago?

As I sat shivering in the backseat of the yellow cab, the cabby chatted on while my mind pondered the last few hours of my vocation. A few days earlier, I had injured the middle finger of my right hand by catching it in the swinging door of the pantry. After Vespers, one evening, it was my duty to leave mental prayer early and go to the kitchen to prepare for the last meal of the day, supper. As I was coming out of the kitchen and pantry, the housekeeper was coming in the opposite way. As I pushed the door open, she pushed the door the other way, catching my middle finger between the door and the frame, ripping the nail which was just barely hanging on. I saw stars and lightning flashes. The superior and the nurse hurriedly drove me into the emergency room. The young doctor, in his white coat, stood there wide-eyed and, with a gaping mouth, said. My God, young lady, what happened? After relating the story, he efficiently sutured up the wound and cut my dangling fingernail loose while I was almost sweating blood. My finger was so sensitive that it was pulsating with every heartbeat.

You are going to have one sore finger for a long time. I am going to put a guard on it so that you don't accidently bump it, the doctor said empathetically. Just looking at it caused a flame of stars to shoot out of the tip. I am also giving you some pain pills, Darvon, to lessen the pain. I want to see you back in one week to check up on that wound.

The medication did not help; it upset my stomach and caused my head to be fuzzy. In the meantime, I requested to see the superior to ask for something to allay the pain in my stomach and my head. Maybe some crackers would help. She refused. In the Trappistine Order, no words were uttered; only sign language was used for necessary communication. She avoided me and would not answer my note to see her.

Time came for the doctor visit to check up on my finger. Two other nuns came along with me and the superior. We were going into a large town, many miles, away for medical visits. Ordinarily, we were not allowed to talk, but for charity's sake, we were given permission to speak because our driver was a secular guy who wasn't used to silence for an hour-and-a-half car ride. Personal topics were to be avoided so I couldn't discuss my finger problems.

On arrival, I was ushered into an office with big letterings on the door, Psychologist. I turned immediately and looked at the superior. Her face was stern and pensive. She avoided eye contact and nervously hurried out with downcast eyes, closing the door. I immediately went to open the door after her. The psychologist was right behind me and closed the door and stood in front of it, letting the superior escape. It was like I was a prisoner. His calm demeanor encouraged me to sit down and explain.

There's been a mistake, I said quite emotionally. I am supposed to see a medical doctor for my finger. I raised my bandaged finger high so he could see it.

He wasn't fazed in the least. He stared at me through his beady eyes, round and pudgy face, and graying dark hair. He was an elderly gentleman with a stern countenance. I have you in my book, here—he pointed to his book—to talk to you at this time. He had a determined attitude to do what he was trained to do, staring at me with steel eyes that pierced me through and made me feel guilty no matter what I said to the contrary.

I am not supposed to be here, I said, determined to get my point across. Quick, go get the superior. I was told I was going to a medical doctor for a check up on my finger.

Are you telling me she lied to you? He looked at me frowning.

I'm not telling you anything about her. All I know is I am supposed to go to a medical doctor for a checkup on my finger. I held up my bandaged finger.

So she lied to you and brought you here, he said sternly.

I didn't say she lied to me. I was told to get ready to see the doctor for a checkup on my finger today. We live in a silent order. We don't talk much. I am just doing what I was told to do. If you would, please, go and verify that with her. That would answer all your questions.

Instead of listening to me, he went into the rules of the Cistercian Order and the strict silence. The drilling was grueling; it was like I was defending the faith and the order. He pleaded ignorance in ever hearing of the Trappistine Order, and it was almost in his backyard. How can psychologists be so dumb unless they have an ulterior motive? He kept asking me why I would want to enter such a strict way of life. This question brought me into the love of God and what some people do, like the saints, for the love of God. He pleaded ignorant of any religious knowledge which caused me to ask him, Haven't you ever read any books on the saints or holy men and women?

No, I haven't, he said.

Well, I said, that is hard to believe that you lived so long and haven't heard of people devoting their lives to God in a religious order. Do you go to church?

He ignored that last question and started up again on why I entered such an austere order. This went on for quite a while. I was getting tired of talking and explaining our order and why I joined. So I said, I have told you everything and the truth, but you insist on asking the same questions over and over. I do not belong here. I need to see a medical doctor for my finger. If you insist on asking the same questions as if you don't know anything about religion and religious orders and you refuse to check with the superior, I am going to remain silent and pray for you. With that, I pulled out the rosary from my pocket and began to say it quietly.

He sat there asking the same questions over and over, and I remained silent. Finally, he got up and headed toward the door. Okay, let's go and talk to the superior. I promptly arose and followed him out the door and down the hall to the reception area. She was not there. Well, Sister, it looks like you were left here. It is best you wait here for her to return. I have work to do. With that, he returned to his office, and I sat waiting, alone for the absconding superior. She tricked me. She lied to me. A religious superior did all these uncharitable things. What was I to do now? I needed a ride back to the monastery. I finished praying another rosary when she finally showed up with another sister beside her. What a coy person she is, I thought. She knows I cannot ask her anything or discuss my visit with the psychologist with another sister around. Well, at least she didn't leave me on the side of the road like a stray animal. I will have to catch her later.

On arriving at the monastery, I asked, Please, may I see you? She turned on her heel, completely ignoring me, and her tall lanky frame made a determined line to her office and shut the door. Many days after, I tried to contact her to no avail. It was a given—she was ignoring me, and she wasn't ready to tell the truth about the visit to the psychologist. One evening, after the Office of Compline, she went to her office and closed the door. I was determined to see her. It was the Great Silence, but it had been broken before for a good reason. I was in anguish, my finger had not been attended to, my stomach and head were hurting from the Darvon, and my sprit was crying, Why a psychologist? I got the nerve to knock on her door. She opened it; the expression on her face was priceless, like she saw a ghost—shock. In sign language, I said, Please, I need to see you! She stood there for a few seconds unable to move and then reluctantly walked to her chair and sat down. I closed the door behind me in respect for the Great Silence and the sisters going to sleep. This was her office, a tiny desk lamp shown yellowish dim light casting shadows throughout the room. I knelt at her feet, which was our regular posture when speaking to a superior. In trepidation, I asked her, Why a psychologist? I was supposed to go to a medical doctor. My finger is killing me.

She grabbed a rag doll and shoved it into my arms and said, All you want is attention. Sister, grow up!

Exhausted, in pain and wanting answers, I pleaded, Did you ever think I wanted and needed direction? You, as our superior, are supposed to help and direct all the nuns here. What did I do to disgruntle you?

She picked her nose nervously wiggling in her chair and rearranged her scapular. The psychologist thinks you don't belong in this order.

I couldn't believe my ears, my forehead wrinkled, and my eyes enlarged. What! I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I questioned, Does Reverend Mother, in the Mother House at Wrentham, also believe that? She affirmed it.

You are letting a psychologist, who claims he knows nothing of our life and order, to make decisions like that?

She sat there with a plastered smile on her face and eyes down.

I've been here, on the new foundation for six months contributing my all just like my sisters. I made useful things out of wood to further our growth, candleholders, lamp and flower stand, a kneeler, Christmas wreathes from my aunt Alba's recipe, and with plans to make a coffeepot stand. Not once did you call me in to talk to me or to offer direction. Not once did I have a ‘see time' with you. Every time I wanted to see you, you ignored me and ran away. What is it with you and me? Why are you hiding behind a psychologist?

She wiggled her nose, scratched her ear, and wiggled uneasy in her chair. Reverend Mother and I think alike on that matter.

Reverend Mother never told me that, I said, dropping the rag doll to the floor. Don't you think it would have been a kind act to talk to me first, to see what I had to say before taking drastic matters? Couldn't you just talk to me, like an adult, and try to work things out and then make a decision?

She sat there, smirking, not listening to anything nor responding to anything I had to say.

Well, that is just the way it is, Sister. I will make the arrangements for your departure. I was stunned. She wouldn't even look at me—no explanation why a psychologist, what I did wrong, what problems that I had that prevented me from living this monastic life anymore.

A written message was left on my locker door a few days later, to meet the superior in the cellar shortly after the Night Office of Readings and Mental Prayer. I arrived early down in the cellar. To the left of the stairs was my woodworking bench where the monks of New Melleray Abbey taught me how to build certain little things needed for our little monastery like wooden platforms for our shower stalls in the cellar, and candleholders for our ceremonies, etc. They gave me a miter box and taught me how to saw angles and how to piece them together. My little carpenter shop with St. Joseph's statue on the shelf will lay dormant now that I am gone. I forced myself to look away because it hurt too much to reminisce on all the prayer time and work I spent there.

Mother Superior opened the door at the head of the stairs. She was tall and thin with a plastered smile on her face. She was carrying a big rectangle box which contained the secular clothes I was to put on. She also brought a raisin bagel for my breakfast. She finally showed that she had a heart now that she did her dirty work to get rid of me; it was like my final meal before execution. She has never been this nice to me.

Please may I keep my leather belt as a remembrance that I was consecrated to God? I asked. I would grip that belt many times and renew my vows to Jesus as my Spouse. It was a comfort to me for many years as I walked in my long white robe, and the end of it would brush against my leg to remind me Whom I belonged to.

Not even raising her eyes to meet mine, she said, I'm sorry, Sister. That belongs to the monastery. She began to lay out the blue dress, a light sweater, a scarf, black shoes, and a black purse on a plywood table, all the while she held the plastic smile on her face.

It was the hardest thing I ever did in my life; I had to disrobe and, after putting on the secular clothes, was sent out the cellar door.

I lost myself: I lost my God. I did not recognize this scantily dressed person sitting in the back of the cab. My soul cried out, The keepers of the walls took away my veil from me (Cant. 5:7)! And like the lover in the Canticle of Canticles, I cried, Have you seen Him whom my soul loveth (Cant. 3:3)?

No one could give me an answer. Oh yes, there was one, the superior who planned this whole exodus. But she refused to tell me—hiding behind the door that just closed. My conscience tried to give her a reason. No doubt she thought she was doing the right thing, but didn't I deserve a better answer than what she gave me? Or can a superior say, I and Reverend Mother think you must go, and you are gone! Just like that? No explanation, no kindness, no understanding, and no Christian charity? I will never know. I'm sure it was hard for her to do what she had to do. She was a new superior, and I was the first one she let go. She was not good at it. She had a lot to learn, and I had a lot to forgive.

It was time for me to leave; God only wanted me there for a while. I know I could not live and be worth anything to our Lord, and I could not grow spiritually under her rule, because these circumstances were unbearable. I thought of Jesus and His betrayal and passion, and I was going through the same thing. I offered my entire pain and heart ache to His sacred humanity and bathed it in His blood. I did that often while I was in the monastery; and I squeezed out a prayer of forgiveness for the superior, who dealt my death blow.

I sat stoically in proper religious decorum. My heart sank deeper down into what seemed like a chasm. I felt alone and unreachable. My spirit turned its eyes to heaven, the one place I knew was my only help.

I have lifted my eyes to the Mountains from whence shall help come to me. My help is in the name of the Lord, Who made heaven and earth (Ps. 120:1).

But wait a minute, my consciousness cried. Isn't this the same God who was silent to all my pleas in my last days in the monastery? What good is it to cry to Him now?

I fought desperately not to drift into despair. But I am Your child! I cried to the One who permitted this banishment. Maybe perchance He would send a blessing down here. Surely, He knows I am here. Out of the depths I cry to you O Lord, Lord, hear my cry! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my supplication (Ps. 129:1–2). All the while in the cab, I prayed with the only words I knew; and I clung to the parent (God, my Father), who had just, I felt, punished me.

Before entering the monastery, my spirit would make up poems and songs to fit the situation so my soul would cry out in lamentation, joy, or fear to the God who was always with me. Now, since I was versed in the psalms and the canonical hours, I made those psalms my own; and like David, I fit them to the situation at hand. Now I could pray with the whole church and unite myself with my brothers and sisters all over the whole world. Surely there was someone going through the same or similar turmoil as I was at this moment; we could help each other by our prayers, at least to stand firm in our faith.

My soul was stunned. Numbness and disbelief absorbed me over what had just happened, leaving me desolate and alone. Fear and anxiety bore deep as I gazed into the future. Anger at the rude and inhumane way I had been treated lay dormant in my subconscious. Yet, I still trusted and looked to the God who allowed this to happen. Robotically, I prayed to the One who I knew could guide my destiny out here. I looked for the One I had belonged to. I searched for His guidance.

In whatever the future holds, I know that You, my God, hold me dear and close to Your heart. I only ask for the grace to follow your divine will and Your Holy Spirit, all through the journeys that lay beyond. Your Spirit beckons me…to follow!

How have I failed You, my God? Forgive my wavering nature, my self-indulging attitude, my self-pity, and heal the hole in my heart and spirit so that I might unwaveringly follow You no matter how difficult it might be. For I know you would not have brought me to this point in time if it weren't for my good—and the good of all who are counting on me.

I rejoice to do Your Will as though all riches are mine (Ps. 119:9–16).

The taxicab stopped abruptly at the airport, and the cabby hurriedly opened the door for me and extending his hand, helped me out onto the tarmac. He said, See that sky cap over there? pointing to a man in a blue suit standing by a gate. "Show him your ticket, and he will direct you