A Faithful Bargain

"To the dearest daughter a mother could have. May you be as happy as you have always made me. God bless you and pray for me. All my love-Mother" read the inscription on one of the several blank pages preceding the forward of the Saint Andrew Daily Missal. The plain,black matter-of-fact leather bound missal was a gift to Patricia in the remaining days just before she entered St. Walburg convent as a novitiate.

This feigned declaration of support was supposed to keep up appearances since her mother vehemently disagreed with her decision to accept the religious life as vocation. "Who will take care of me? Who else can I depend on but you?"and then, "I love you, please don't." The words echoed in Patricia's thoughts daily after she revealed her decision to her mother. Another stray memory she hadn't invited but came as an unwelcome yet constant visitor.

"This medication is strong, but since you're going home to rest for awhile it should do very well for you now," were the last words to Patricia from the attending physician before she left the diocese infirmary. In the six months since entering the convent, her usually sharp and informed mind had become tired and unfocused. She sat solitary and wilted, hands tightly clasped in her lap, on the corner edge of the single bed in the small, sparse room at the convent.

A Purple Martin rested on the outside window ledge, deep in thought about where it might fly to next, perhaps exploring his options. In the midst of getting her few scant possessions packed to leave the convent and return home, Patricia's thoughts again wandered the trail of her young life.

"You'll never amount to anything anyway." her father told little Patsy when she was just six years old. He was drunk, but she was too young to understand what that meant. Later she adopted the practice of sleeping with a hammer under her pillow just in case he became so violent her mother might need defending. Life had seemed so very frightening and uncertain except for the almost daily attendance to mass at St.Walburg church.

As far as Patsy was aware, the church had always been there and always would be there. It was an imposing, austere structure with a mystical and magical presence. Larger than life statues of saints, beautiful stained glass windows depicting the stations of the cross. Lighted candles for prayers, holy water for blessing yourself and more protection against the many perils in the world. Nothing bad could ever touch you in church, but outside the walls was to be feared.

Patsy remembered once getting a nickel from her aunt to go see a movie show. A real treat until she glanced around the theater only to see her father there with another woman. Patsy remembered how content the woman was there on a date with her father. Confused and shattered, she left the theater telling only her oldest brother what she witnessed.

"How are the little cross backs today, Mary?" and "the little right handers." were how her father's mother, her grandmother, described the family. It wasn't often though, they mostly kept their distance in the same uncaring way her own father did. Patsy and her brothers never knew whether they would come home school and find all their possessions out on the street because their mother couldn't pay the rent that month.

Just one more prayer, one more saying of the rosary, one more day of fasting to prove that she did have faith enough to move her mountains. Had she missed the mark by one of these only? This possibility weighed on her like a tremendous anchor cast down in a vast, volatile endless sea. Hadn't she done enough, given enough of herself to compensate for anything that might be missing or overlooked in the formula ?

Pleading, tearful eyes cast upon the only ornate item in the room...a finely detailed Roman Catholic silver plate cross with an oversized stark, dark wood base. Silence filled every corner, nook, and cranny in the room. "No more mysteries, please."screamed Patricia into her own thoughts. "If you don't do this I WILL stop believing, I mean it this time!" More silence before she realized again, as she had so many times before, there would be no negotiation and the terms she believed she had earlier struck were just that, her terms only, never His.

It had all come crashing down around her just a few days ago but Patricia couldn't remember the cause nor the exact moment. She really couldn't remember the whole of the last week very much at all. Nothing had changed since she entered the convent. Father was still carousing and mother still needed her home and the money she could bring in by working.

So she simply just let go. Her spirit crumbled like a wadded sheet of paper where there were penned too many rejected ideas or misspelled words. Patricia then fully realized her father would not experience the miraculous conversion she had sacrificed herself to attain. There was no controlling her emotion. Tears multiplied into constant, uncontrolled sobbing then fear and hysteria. "What have I done? It's over, all over."

Patricia forced herself to move past the fog in her thoughts knowing that her mother would be anxious at home for her. She reached down where her habit, with the heavy black tunic, scapular and white veil, was laid out on the bed and lightly stroked the fabric in a consoling, apologetic manner.

There was so much here she had truly loved but she would now have to find another way to honor that love and reclaim her faith. Just now though, she knew God would allow her to rest her mind from so many perceived burdens. They would speak again, she and God but this time the words would be met with equal listening and a new discovery of purpose.

Her youngest brother, Glenn, was waiting for her just outside the convent gate. With no words between them he reached for her bag as Patricia surrendered it willingly and without notice. In unison they began to walk the many blocks home. Her legs moved clumsily without rhythm or stride, unmotivated to make the journey, yet she pressed on.