Perhaps the best place to begin a farewell is a recounting of the hello.
I will never forget the hot summer afternoon when I unbent all my crooked limbs, stepping out of our overstuffed suburban, and looked up to see Mr. Callihan striding across the lawn in his black shirt. Before I knew it, I was wrapped up in a bear hug. I have often brought that scene back to mind this year, just to remember how wonderful it was to actually know how tall and welcoming he is. I made my way in to the house to find Mrs. C making dinner (she didn't need help) and on the front porch I discovered Caleb draped languidly across some furniture conversing with Emily.
The year that followed has been one of the most defining ones of my life. Summer Hill Abbey began with morning prayers. The peace of summer mornings combined with the communal structure (not to mention the handsome, sleepy young man present every day) made the morning prayers very dear to me, and the singing around the piano in the evenings became very special as well. During Hill Abbey Hall, the practice of morning and evening prayers became more of a discipline for me, and for that reason probably more beneficial than ever. Michael and I intend to keep some form of the prayers a constant in our lives. The things that I love the most about the prayers are the way that they have familiarized me with the Psalms and the general aura of peace that fills me when I am involved and responding with my heart and not just my lips. Though prayer is still something I struggle with, familiarity with the set prayers of the Book of Common Prayer has allowed me to pray more free extemporaneous prayers, now more readily springing to my lips. Which brings me to our daily Trappist hours. Spending an hour and a half every day with nothing on the agenda but Christ, reflection, prayer, contemplative reading, has had a tremendous affect on me. Hopko says something like, "Every Christian must take at least an hour every day to spend in prayer and contemplation, unless he is really busy. Then he must take two hours!" Not many, if any of the countless hours I've spent in this way over the year have been wasted. Reflections vary; from Pastor Sumpter's most recent sermon and Schmemann to Psalms and prayer to dandelion chains and cloud patterns. I have filled several journals over the course of the year, my "Commonplace Books"—full of praise, prayers, ideas, quotes, and the wanderings of of a mind unconcerned for the moment with the urgent and content to dwell on the important. Writing gives me a chance to work out logically why I'm feeling and thinking certain things, and this practice has provided so much clarity this year. I think that the regular quiet times to reflect on life and relationships has kept me sane as I dated and became engaged to man I have know for less than a year. Of course it is impossible for me to separate Hill Abbey from Michael. I met the two of them at the same time and Michael and I shared the Hill Abbey life together as we met, started dating, and fell in love. While on the one hand, juggling a romantic relationship alongside my academics was rather distracting, Hill Abbey and the surrounding ideas, people, and liturgy has given me the ability and time to prepare myself for marriage. Michael, in addition to changing my life, has been one of the most influential people this year in changing me—he's challenged many of my assumptions and helped me to look at things from a different perspective; he's taught me about humanity and Christ in a different way than anybody has before. I have begun to learn that no amount of preparation will make either one of us perfect.
My soul has been shaped—changed—this year; not in the way I thought it would be, however. I thought I would become more holy, more "spiritual", while, if anything, I have become more tactile, more physical a being than ever before. I am learning that the development of one's soul allows one to more freely enjoy physicality and to understand how inextricably linked body and soul are. I have learned that physical acts have emotional consequences; and when one's loves are properly ordered, those consequences are good.
I have been soaking in the last week of Hill Abbey like a sponge—savoring each moment as reality. Dragging out the seconds by lingering in them and noticing the small things. Not in order to try and preserve something that I cannot have again after today—but to imprint on my mind precious memories of this life, and why it means to me what it does. Telling myself, "I want to remember this," while I watch Mr Callihan's entire demeanor brighten as he waves to Mrs. C across the lawn—though it's only been 15 minutes since he saw her. As I watch the light change across her face while we sing the Nunc. As we three girls cuddle quietly, contentedly, together before bed. As Mr. C once again passes the food set specifically next to him without taking any first. These are burned into my memory, just like the first time I met the Hill. The relationships I have developed here—with the people, with my Savior—are the most precious thing I have gained this year, hands down. I love you all.
I will never forget the hot summer afternoon when I unbent all my crooked limbs, stepping out of our overstuffed suburban, and looked up to see Mr. Callihan striding across the lawn in his black shirt. Before I knew it, I was wrapped up in a bear hug. I have often brought that scene back to mind this year, just to remember how wonderful it was to actually know how tall and welcoming he is. I made my way in to the house to find Mrs. C making dinner (she didn't need help) and on the front porch I discovered Caleb draped languidly across some furniture conversing with Emily.
The year that followed has been one of the most defining ones of my life. Summer Hill Abbey began with morning prayers. The peace of summer mornings combined with the communal structure (not to mention the handsome, sleepy young man present every day) made the morning prayers very dear to me, and the singing around the piano in the evenings became very special as well. During Hill Abbey Hall, the practice of morning and evening prayers became more of a discipline for me, and for that reason probably more beneficial than ever. Michael and I intend to keep some form of the prayers a constant in our lives. The things that I love the most about the prayers are the way that they have familiarized me with the Psalms and the general aura of peace that fills me when I am involved and responding with my heart and not just my lips. Though prayer is still something I struggle with, familiarity with the set prayers of the Book of Common Prayer has allowed me to pray more free extemporaneous prayers, now more readily springing to my lips. Which brings me to our daily Trappist hours. Spending an hour and a half every day with nothing on the agenda but Christ, reflection, prayer, contemplative reading, has had a tremendous affect on me. Hopko says something like, "Every Christian must take at least an hour every day to spend in prayer and contemplation, unless he is really busy. Then he must take two hours!" Not many, if any of the countless hours I've spent in this way over the year have been wasted. Reflections vary; from Pastor Sumpter's most recent sermon and Schmemann to Psalms and prayer to dandelion chains and cloud patterns. I have filled several journals over the course of the year, my "Commonplace Books"—full of praise, prayers, ideas, quotes, and the wanderings of of a mind unconcerned for the moment with the urgent and content to dwell on the important. Writing gives me a chance to work out logically why I'm feeling and thinking certain things, and this practice has provided so much clarity this year. I think that the regular quiet times to reflect on life and relationships has kept me sane as I dated and became engaged to man I have know for less than a year. Of course it is impossible for me to separate Hill Abbey from Michael. I met the two of them at the same time and Michael and I shared the Hill Abbey life together as we met, started dating, and fell in love. While on the one hand, juggling a romantic relationship alongside my academics was rather distracting, Hill Abbey and the surrounding ideas, people, and liturgy has given me the ability and time to prepare myself for marriage. Michael, in addition to changing my life, has been one of the most influential people this year in changing me—he's challenged many of my assumptions and helped me to look at things from a different perspective; he's taught me about humanity and Christ in a different way than anybody has before. I have begun to learn that no amount of preparation will make either one of us perfect.
My soul has been shaped—changed—this year; not in the way I thought it would be, however. I thought I would become more holy, more "spiritual", while, if anything, I have become more tactile, more physical a being than ever before. I am learning that the development of one's soul allows one to more freely enjoy physicality and to understand how inextricably linked body and soul are. I have learned that physical acts have emotional consequences; and when one's loves are properly ordered, those consequences are good.
I have been soaking in the last week of Hill Abbey like a sponge—savoring each moment as reality. Dragging out the seconds by lingering in them and noticing the small things. Not in order to try and preserve something that I cannot have again after today—but to imprint on my mind precious memories of this life, and why it means to me what it does. Telling myself, "I want to remember this," while I watch Mr Callihan's entire demeanor brighten as he waves to Mrs. C across the lawn—though it's only been 15 minutes since he saw her. As I watch the light change across her face while we sing the Nunc. As we three girls cuddle quietly, contentedly, together before bed. As Mr. C once again passes the food set specifically next to him without taking any first. These are burned into my memory, just like the first time I met the Hill. The relationships I have developed here—with the people, with my Savior—are the most precious thing I have gained this year, hands down. I love you all.
Comments
Post a Comment