Read Online And Then There Were Nuns by Jane Christmas - Free Book Online Page B

obedience vow. I had dismissed the remark: How difficult is it to follow orders? But monastic obedience is different from run-of-the-mill obedience. It goes beyond obeying orders: it is about taming appetites and habits and about pulling yourself away willingly from things that distract you from God.
    Case in point: The previous night, one of the sisters and I had been playing cribbage during recreation hour. We were halfway through the second game (the aim was for the best two out of three) when Sister Elizabeth Ann announced that recreation hour was up. Just like that. We were not allowed to finish our game, not allowed to determine a winner or a loser. I’m a person who likes to complete what she starts, who derives satisfaction from ticking things off a list. I tried to entice my sisterly partner back to finish the game, but she shook her head and said resolutely, “Oh no, we mustn’t. Reverend Mother said recreation is over.” Cribbage interruptus.
    The following afternoon during tea break, another issue arose. A few of us were sitting with Sister Sue, peppering her as usual about what we would have to give up to become nuns. Makeup was a definite no-no; ditto for jewelry, nail polish, hair-coloring products. I knew this and had long accepted it, but now these strictures rankled my rebellious nature.
    â€œThis strips away a person’s self-expression, her eccentricities, and identity,” I argued. “Eyeliner, hoop earrings, and silver bracelets are as much a part of my identity as the mole above my lip.”
    â€œBut that’s the whole point of becoming a religious,” explained Sister Sue. “You have to give up self.”
    â€œBut does God want us to be colorless versions of what He gave us in the first place?”
    â€œGod wants us to love one another,” she replied. “That’s all. He doesn’t care what’s on us.”
    If He doesn’t care, why would a community care?
    Just when I felt certain that I could relinquish all my attachments and not let it bother me, I returned to my cell and stared longingly at a photo of my children that I take with me whenever I travel. Gazing at their optimistic faces and quiet smiles, I hardly noticed how quickly my tears began to fall. I whispered thanks for the blessing of parenthood—despite its ups and downs, it is a true blessing—and thought of how the easy phone calls and spontaneous visits would effectively end if I became a nun.
    My eyes bounced from the photo of my kids to the one of Colin. Our former once-a-day emails had become considerably less frequent, and I wondered whether he had lost interest in me. Who could blame him? It was one thing to maintain a transatlantic relationship and another to maintain it when one partner is cloistered in a convent.
    My engagement ring felt loose, and I knew damn well it had nothing to do with weight loss: the sisters were keeping us well fed and watered. Was a loose engagement ring some kind of a sign? And was it a sign that I should let my engagement fall away or a sign to be careful and hold on to it? Why can’t God be more explicit?
    ( 2:x )
    WEEK THREE. Aspects of institutional living were chafing; in particular, the lack of private time, which I began to hoard like a secret treasure. I would feel a peevish streak asserting itself whenever demands were made on my time. Even a conversation felt like an invasion of privacy. Then again, maybe it was just the heat.
    It was murderously hot outside. The sun’s harsh, relentless laser rays seemed to be on a scorched-earth mission. I sat limply in the chair in front of my cell window staring at the twelve slender white pines (One for each apostle?) that stood like soldiers, the clump of furry nettles at the ends of their outstretched branches like palms pleading for God’s mercy.
    There were few audible sounds: a papery rustle from a copse of poplar trees; the drone of a distant car blending with the