If you’re not
familiar with the monastery, check out their website at www.trappist.net
for more information and my Heart-chords post The Monastery of the Holy
Spirit at www.heartchords.blogspot.com.
Also posted below
is a story that I entered one time into a short story contest hosted by Xulon
Publishers. No, the story did not win,
but I wrote what was on my heart at the time, and to me, that’s more important
than winning anyways. Yes, the monk in
this story is completely fictional, but I described the Monastery of the Holy
Spirit as the setting. You’ll also
notice that the monk in the story wipes his hands on his denim trousers. Yes, the monks at the Monastery of the Holy
Spirit are allowed to wear blue jeans under their habits; in fact, they can
wear Dockers, dress slacks, khakis… I think whatever they prefer really. The monks are also very skilled in bonsai
tree growing and shaping. For more
information about their bonsai trees, visit their bonsai website at www.bonsaimonk.com. Enjoy!
*All right, blog-reader friends, bear with me again. My Internet connection is unfortunately very slow tonight, so I'm going to have to postpone sharing this slideshow with you until I can get faster a Internet connection to upload it. I told you I experience difficulties when uploading videos. :) Check back in a few days and hopefully I'll have it rolling by then. Thanks for your patience.
The Pain of
Pruning
Silence hung over the bedroom. With precision
Brother Andrew snipped a sprig from the miniature tree, the stem falling upon
the surface of the desk along with those clippings previously clustered into a
pile. He sighed deeply, resuming his work though the reflection upon two weeks
prior crowded close at the foremost of his thoughts. Lowering his shears to the
desktop, the young man rose from his seat and disappeared from the room.
Stepping from the cloister, he took a deep breath
of the fragrant breeze wafting from the rose bushes nearby. Radiant sunlight
streamed through the gnarled branches of the sylvan cathedral overhead. Giving
another sigh, the monk began to stroll through the grounds of the monastery,
pensive as his thoughts reflected back.
Two
weeks ago had compelled him to leave the monastery and confront that which he
had left to rest in the past. Upon his visit to his family, he had been obliged
to return to the life he had left behind. Nothing had changed. His family that
had so discouraged him in pursuing admission to the monastery those several
years ago was still as opposed to his monastic life as before. The young woman
that had once said she loved him, but had later upon his decision to become a
monk been quick to inform him that it would be a waste of his life, still
believed it was his excuse to escape an occupation in exchange for only prayer
and meditation, as she believed was all a monk’s day consisted of.
Taking
a seat beneath one of the oaks in the meadow, Andrew drew another deep breath,
fighting against the war waging in the battlefield of his thoughts. Revisiting
the life he had left behind had torn his heart in directions completely
opposite. The possibility of being reunited to his family gripped his core with
desire, and when Brooke had assured him that if he left the monastery things
would be the same between them as it had been before… He sighed again.
Everything within the corporeal of his emotions yearned to return to his former
life, yet everything within the spiritual and his conscience reminded him of
the commitment he had made. Tomorrow he was to take his solemn vows, professing
to having permanently adopted monasticism and to dedicating the rest of his
life in absolute devotion to God. The Lord had called him to where he was at
that moment, he was still as certain of the fact as he had been when he had
first taken his place among the brotherhood, and now he felt the Lord calling
him to fully devote his life to being a monk until He should call him to
otherwise. But yet to return to what had been…
Tossing
aside the leaf he had torn, Andrew rose, wiping his hands on his denim
trousers, and started towards the chapel. Another breeze wafted, rustling the
leaves as he passed in the trees’ shade. The church bells rang as he
approached, the chimes resounding across the acres belonging to the monastery.
Entering the sanctuary, a reverent silence greeted Andrew. Like him, the last
few monks were taking their seats. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass
windowpanes and cast shadows about the walls and arched ceiling. All was silent
until the service began.
The
assembly having dismissed, the other monks left the sanctuary singly until
Andrew was alone. Still confronted by the battle in his spirit, he stayed there
praying until at length, he left the sanctuary and returned to his bedroom, at
peace with his decision. Tomorrow he would take his solemn vows.
On
entering, his gaze fell upon the bonsai tree on his desk, the last rays of
daylight playing across the wood surface. A smile broke across his countenance
as he noted the pile of clippings. Like the bonsai he was shaping, he too was
being pruned. He was now willing to endure whatever pain may pass for he knew
in time the harvest would be fruitful.
I am the true vine, and my Father is the
gardener…every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even
more fruitful. ~John 15:1-2
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