The gates were open to all.
Yet, all seems to talk in whispers.
The St. Francis monastery in Washington D.C. is off the beaten path.
It's a place of retreat for ten minutes to ten hours.
We linger in the sunny warmth that invites us to wander around the grounds.
I recall a few words from my favorite Psalm . . . 100: "Enter into His gates with thanksgiving and into His courts with praise."
Some words stand alone.
Others need expansion.
Affirming words enter our hearts . . . words to carry with us as we wander the vast expanse of this inviting haven of rest.
We linger as we digest the words.
We linger as we saunter along the paths.
We linger in the sunshine.
In this gate I see a heart sliced in half by a sword. It reminds me of a life fully given to God yet fully in the world of strain and chaos. |
In the midst of this cloistered setting, a replica of the chapel where St. Francis met God . . . simple, intimate, precious beauty. |
The cloister was filled with mosaics of Saints from centuries past. St. Francis with child. |
Some words stand alone.
Others need expansion.
Affirming words enter our hearts . . . words to carry with us as we wander the vast expanse of this inviting haven of rest.
We linger as we digest the words.
We linger as we saunter along the paths.
We linger in the sunshine.
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