Ordinary Mystic

ORDINARY MYSTIC BY CURRAN GALWAY

PROLOGUE

I fell in love with God when I was thirty-five years old. Lost in my ordinary existence as mother and wife, I had been invisible until that day in1980 when I went on a retreat in the Santa Cruz Mountains of California.

I can still smell the damp, green forest and see the lush ferns that lined the pathway, the massive redwoods standing like soldiers guarding the entrance of Mercy Center.

My name is Bridget McGuire. I am an ordinary mystic, ready to tell my story to awaken other mystics. The journey of transformation isn't easy. The tragedies I have endured in my life challenged me to continue to reach deep inside and hold on to the dignity of my own divinity.

My story is about the struggle to integrate the extraordinary into the ordinary life. I have always felt the nearness of God in the process. This Presence continues to be as close as my own breath.

CHAPTER I

In January of 1980, I was at the wheel of my Jeep Wagoneer focusing on negotiating the treacherous twists and turns of the dirt road that led to Mercy Retreat Center in the Santa Cruz Mountains.

The damp, green forest looked like another world. Lush ferns crowded the pathway. Massive redwoods formed a canopy under the pale evening sky, their branches swayed with the cool breeze, welcoming me into the enchanted forest. The stress in my back and shoulders began to let go. I heard the peaceful songs of the robins, sparrows, and chickadees. The shortest nun I have ever seen greeted me at the front door. A large, silver crucifix dangled at the end of the rosary beads that hung from the rope around the waist of her brown robe. She looked like a dwarf from the woods, but her smile was warm, and her face had the glow of an angel. She picked up my bag and showed me to my room: a tiny chamber with a single bed, a sink, a small desk, and a rocking chair. It would make a person feel claustrophobic if not for the panoramic view of the forest. I pulled back the curtains to invite the forest in, and the room seemed bigger.

This was my third visit to Mercy Center while my husband watched our three children. I was desperately seeking meaning for my life, and needed to get away to make a decision about a divorce. These weekends taught me that there was a lot I could live without. No TV, no phone, and no kids demanding my attention, was heavenly. Listening to the quiet took some getting used to. At first I was restless, but after a few retreats, I began to look forward to the silence. In the stillness, I could hear the voice of my soul.

The distant sound of a bell reminded me and my empty stomach to head to the dining hall. I pulled my red hair into a pony tail and headed for the door. The door to my room opened out onto a long porch lined with doors to other rooms like mine. The building layout resembled a two-story motel. I followed the porch to the end, meeting other women en route to the dining room. It was very dark as we walked a gravel path toward the lights ahead, smelling the sweet aroma of oregano and tomato sauce. It seemed I was the only woman who came alone. Others arrived in groups, but I relished the freedom of solitude. The women chatted and laughed as they walked along together, knowing this would be their last chance before surrendering to the Franciscan rule of eating meals in silence.

The dining hall was large enough to accommodate 200 people, with tall ceilings, and 30 round tables that each seated six. A picture of the Madonna and Child towered over the stone mantle. Gregorian chant filled the room with angelic sounds. Franciscan nuns stood at attention, stiff as soldiers by the kitchen door, waiting to serve from steaming pots of lasagna

I took a seat at the table by the windows. The forest was black now, but I knew it would be amazing in the morning. Looking around the crowded tables, I wondered if other women were as delighted as I was to have someone else cook the meal. All eyes in the room moved to Mother Clare, the Mother Superior, as she stood to welcome us and recite the blessing. She was short and stocky, a wisp of grey hair peeked out from under the wimple of her habit. Her face was round with many wrinkles. She looked stern, with pursed lips, and did not smile as she greeted us, then said, "Bless us, oh Lord, for these Thy gifts which we are about to receive from Thy bounty through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen."