[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
house, but after just a few minutes, I had to stop.
"I had discovered that the woman's taste was exactly the same as mine. She owned
records that I would have purchased, the same music that I would have enjoyed
listening to as I looked out on that beautiful landscape. Her bookshelves were
filled with books I had already read and others that I would have loved to read.
Looking at the furnishings, the paintings, and all her other possessions, I felt
as if I had chosen them myself.
"From that day on, I couldn't forget that house. Every time I went to the chapel
to pray, I realized that my renunciation had not been total. I imagined myself
there with you, looking out at the snow on the mountaintops, a fire blazing in
the hearth. I pictured our children running around the house and playing in the
fields around Saint-Savin."
Although I had never been near the house, I knew exactly what it looked like.
And I hoped he'd say nothing else so that I could fantasize.
But he went on.
"For the past two weeks, I haven't been able to stand the sadness in my soul. I
went to my superior and told him what was happening to me. I told him about my
love for you and what had begun when we were taking the inventory."
A light rain began to fall. I bowed my head and gathered the front of my coat. I
suddenly didn't want to hear the rest of the story.
"So my superior said, 'There are many ways to serve our Lord. If you feel that's
your destiny, go in search of it. Only a man who is happy can create happiness
in others.'
" 'I don't know if that's my destiny,' I told my superior. 'Peace came into my
heart when I entered this seminary.'
" 'Well, then, go there and resolve any doubts you may have,' he said. 'Remain
out there in the world, or come back to the seminary. But you have to be
committed to the place you choose. A divided kingdom cannot defend itself from
its adversaries. A divided person cannot face life in a dignified way.'"
He pulled something from his pocket and handed it to me. It was a key.
"The superior loaned me the key to the house. He said that he would hold off for
a while on selling the possessions. I know that he wants me to return to the
seminary. But he was the one who arranged the presentation in Madrid so that we
could meet."
I looked at the key in my hand and smiled. In my heart, bells were ringing, and
the heavens had opened to me. He could serve God in a different way by my side.
Because I was going to fight for that to happen.
I put the key in my bag.
The basilica loomed in front of us. Before I could say anything, someone spotted
him and came toward us. The light rain continued, and I had no idea how long we
would be there; I couldn't forget that I had only one set of clothes, and I
didn't want them to get soaked.
I concentrated on that problem. I didn't want to think about the house that was
a matter suspended between heaven and earth, awaiting the hand of destiny.
He introduced me to several people who had gathered around. They asked where we
were staying, and when he said Saint-Savin, one of them told us the story of the
hermit saint who was buried there. It was Saint Savin who had discovered the
well in the middle of the plaza and the original mission of the village had been
to create a refuge for religious persons who had left the city and come to the
mountains in search of God.
"They are still living there," another said.
I didn't know if the story was true, nor did I have any idea who "they" were.
Other people began to arrive, and the group began to move toward the entrance of
the grotto. An older man tried to tell me something in French. When he saw that
I didn't understand, he switched to an awkward Spanish.
"You are with a very special man," he said. "A man who performs miracles."
I said nothing but remembered that night in Bilbao when a desperate man had come
looking for him. He had told me nothing about where he had gone, and I hadn't
asked. Right now, I preferred to think about the house, which I could picture
perfectly its books, its records, its view, its furniture.
Somewhere in the world, a home awaited us. A place where we could care for
daughters or sons who would come home from school, fill the house with joy, and
never pick up after themselves.
We walked in silence through the rain until finally we reached the place where
the visions of Mary had occurred. It was exactly as I had imagined: the grotto,
the statue of Our Lady, and the fountain protected by glass where the miracle of
the water had taken place. Some pilgrims were praying; others were seated
silently inside the grotto, their eyes closed. A river ran past the entrance,
and the sound of the water made me feel at peace. As soon as I saw the image, I
said a quick prayer, asking the Virgin to help me my heart needed no more
suffering.
If pain must come, may it come quickly. Because I have a life to live, and I
need to live it in the best way possible. If he has to make a choice, may he
make it now. Then I will either wait for him or forget him.
Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the
worst kind of suffering.
In some corner of my heart, I felt that she had heard my plea.
Wednesday, December 8, 1993
By the time the cathedral's clock struck midnight, the group around us had grown
considerably. We were almost a hundred people some of them priests and
nuns standing in the rain, gazing at the statue.
"Hail, Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception," someone close to me said, as soon
as the tolling of the bells ceased.
"Hail," everyone answered, with some applause.
A guard immediately came forward and asked that we be quiet. We were bothering
the other pilgrims.
"But we've come a long way," said one of the men in our group.
"So have they," answered the guard, pointing to the others who were praying in
the rain. "And they are praying silently." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl szamanka888.keep.pl
house, but after just a few minutes, I had to stop.
"I had discovered that the woman's taste was exactly the same as mine. She owned
records that I would have purchased, the same music that I would have enjoyed
listening to as I looked out on that beautiful landscape. Her bookshelves were
filled with books I had already read and others that I would have loved to read.
Looking at the furnishings, the paintings, and all her other possessions, I felt
as if I had chosen them myself.
"From that day on, I couldn't forget that house. Every time I went to the chapel
to pray, I realized that my renunciation had not been total. I imagined myself
there with you, looking out at the snow on the mountaintops, a fire blazing in
the hearth. I pictured our children running around the house and playing in the
fields around Saint-Savin."
Although I had never been near the house, I knew exactly what it looked like.
And I hoped he'd say nothing else so that I could fantasize.
But he went on.
"For the past two weeks, I haven't been able to stand the sadness in my soul. I
went to my superior and told him what was happening to me. I told him about my
love for you and what had begun when we were taking the inventory."
A light rain began to fall. I bowed my head and gathered the front of my coat. I
suddenly didn't want to hear the rest of the story.
"So my superior said, 'There are many ways to serve our Lord. If you feel that's
your destiny, go in search of it. Only a man who is happy can create happiness
in others.'
" 'I don't know if that's my destiny,' I told my superior. 'Peace came into my
heart when I entered this seminary.'
" 'Well, then, go there and resolve any doubts you may have,' he said. 'Remain
out there in the world, or come back to the seminary. But you have to be
committed to the place you choose. A divided kingdom cannot defend itself from
its adversaries. A divided person cannot face life in a dignified way.'"
He pulled something from his pocket and handed it to me. It was a key.
"The superior loaned me the key to the house. He said that he would hold off for
a while on selling the possessions. I know that he wants me to return to the
seminary. But he was the one who arranged the presentation in Madrid so that we
could meet."
I looked at the key in my hand and smiled. In my heart, bells were ringing, and
the heavens had opened to me. He could serve God in a different way by my side.
Because I was going to fight for that to happen.
I put the key in my bag.
The basilica loomed in front of us. Before I could say anything, someone spotted
him and came toward us. The light rain continued, and I had no idea how long we
would be there; I couldn't forget that I had only one set of clothes, and I
didn't want them to get soaked.
I concentrated on that problem. I didn't want to think about the house that was
a matter suspended between heaven and earth, awaiting the hand of destiny.
He introduced me to several people who had gathered around. They asked where we
were staying, and when he said Saint-Savin, one of them told us the story of the
hermit saint who was buried there. It was Saint Savin who had discovered the
well in the middle of the plaza and the original mission of the village had been
to create a refuge for religious persons who had left the city and come to the
mountains in search of God.
"They are still living there," another said.
I didn't know if the story was true, nor did I have any idea who "they" were.
Other people began to arrive, and the group began to move toward the entrance of
the grotto. An older man tried to tell me something in French. When he saw that
I didn't understand, he switched to an awkward Spanish.
"You are with a very special man," he said. "A man who performs miracles."
I said nothing but remembered that night in Bilbao when a desperate man had come
looking for him. He had told me nothing about where he had gone, and I hadn't
asked. Right now, I preferred to think about the house, which I could picture
perfectly its books, its records, its view, its furniture.
Somewhere in the world, a home awaited us. A place where we could care for
daughters or sons who would come home from school, fill the house with joy, and
never pick up after themselves.
We walked in silence through the rain until finally we reached the place where
the visions of Mary had occurred. It was exactly as I had imagined: the grotto,
the statue of Our Lady, and the fountain protected by glass where the miracle of
the water had taken place. Some pilgrims were praying; others were seated
silently inside the grotto, their eyes closed. A river ran past the entrance,
and the sound of the water made me feel at peace. As soon as I saw the image, I
said a quick prayer, asking the Virgin to help me my heart needed no more
suffering.
If pain must come, may it come quickly. Because I have a life to live, and I
need to live it in the best way possible. If he has to make a choice, may he
make it now. Then I will either wait for him or forget him.
Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the
worst kind of suffering.
In some corner of my heart, I felt that she had heard my plea.
Wednesday, December 8, 1993
By the time the cathedral's clock struck midnight, the group around us had grown
considerably. We were almost a hundred people some of them priests and
nuns standing in the rain, gazing at the statue.
"Hail, Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception," someone close to me said, as soon
as the tolling of the bells ceased.
"Hail," everyone answered, with some applause.
A guard immediately came forward and asked that we be quiet. We were bothering
the other pilgrims.
"But we've come a long way," said one of the men in our group.
"So have they," answered the guard, pointing to the others who were praying in
the rain. "And they are praying silently." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]