155/365 Oblate Director

Sometimes I feel like I'm on a path to my death and other times I tell myself to perk up and make the most of whatever time I have. That's all any of us can do, no? Anyway, I'm sending my love and care and my prayers for you and yours. You are never far from my heart's prayers. Lovingly, Sr Jean

My oblate director has been diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis and has some other very mysterious symptoms. And she's older--probably nearing 70. The possibility that by the time I make it up to the monastery again, she may not be the oblate director, for one reason or another, is pretty, well, possible. And thinking that made me suddenly realize how glad I am to be an oblate at Clyde compared to my first attempt at a men's monastery in Illinois.

It was all fine and good. There was nothing really wrong with it--online, it certainly seemed worth a try (compared to the local Benedictine presence, which did not seem worth a try, frankly). I talked back and forth via email with Fr. Paul and made a trip up there one Sunday in November, which was, frankly, one of the worst car trips I've ever taken.  But that wasn't the monastery's fault.

What struck me most, though, was the groupie atmosphere. There are several authors at that monastery, men who have published books on various topics.  The other oblates were so excited when they found out there would be speaking engagements with these authors in the coming year.  And that's great, but you know what, I didn't come to be part of a fan club.

So I went home unsure. And later found my way to Clyde, which was more what I was looking for. I didn't need celebrities. I needed a grounding place. The oblates I met the first weekend, and then on subsequent retreats, had been through a couple of directors over time. They loved Jean, and they loved the women who preceded her. But they weren't starstruck. They could probably have a different director every year and it wouldn't have changed how they felt about the place and the charism there. It was like the difference between following a preacher to the new Church of What's Happening Now compared to sinking into a parish and seeing several pastors come and go.

I pray for Jean, for her health and comfort. But I know I won't be left twisting in the wind when she leaves or dies.