A pedal stroke closer to the monastery

The schedule of things

2008-02-11T13:04:00.001-06:00

This post has been mostly ready to go for some time now, but due to some technical difficulties and a fuller schedule these days, . . . Well, excuses, excuses.

The community’s daily worship schedule provides the main framework of my days. During the week, we pray the Liturgy of the Hours together at 7:00 a.m., 11:30 a.m., and 7:00 p.m. Each of these typically lasts just under 30 minutes. We also have daily mass at 5:00 p.m. The particularities of the rest of the day look something like this for me right now:

- wake up and totter to the shower and get dressed for the day
- eat breakfast
- morning prayer
- (sometimes eat breakfast after prayers since I’m a reluctant riser)
- preferably stay in the oratory for some meditative reading or centering prayer
- go off to one of my jobs (in an office, or the bakery, or a weekly class on the basic tenets of Benedictine life for us postulants)
- noon prayer (except the two days when I’m still at an off-campus office job at that time)
- lunch in the monastic dining room
- work some more (typically massage-related tasks or blogging or preparing for class)
- move my body – in these days when darkness falls upon the northern latitudes rather early, I like to go for a walk or snowshoe while I can still see and be seen. Or, when I’m too wimpy to face the cold, I ride one of our indoor bikes.
- celebrate Eucharist – and on Mondays I go early to do the sacristy work and prepare the space for our worship
- eat supper – three nights a week, my housemates and I cook at home and eat together there. The other four evenings, we eat in the main dining room. Each living group has its own rhythm of when they eat where, except that everyone eats at home on Saturday evenings, when the staff in the main dining room gets the night off.
- enjoy a little break – often part of the time is spent in the community center where I can chat with whoever is there playing cards or fitting puzzle pieces together, and see if there’s mail on my shelf, and read the prayer requests and news items on our big bulletin board, or I might go early to the oratory to sit quietly, or some people watch the news or read the newspaper.
- evening prayer
- relax – regular evening stuff like watching TV or a movie with housemates, reading, playing games, doing crafts, putzing in one's bedroom, going to a concert or lecture, etc.

Of course, there are deviations from this neat little schedule, but that is the basic flow of my days here at St. Ben’s. Weekends bring a different prayer schedule—morning prayer isn’t until 8:15, so a person can sleep in a bit if she so desires. Saturday is a day for errands and cleaning and napping and walking and laundry and whatever else gets scheduled on a Saturday. Each of us has a house “charge,” meaning an area we’re responsible for cleaning (e.g., I vacuum the stairs and the long hallway upstairs), and much of this takes place sometime on Saturday. Then we have Eucharist at 11:30, lunch (often a smorgasbord of leftovers from the week), whatever the afternoon brings, evening prayer at 5:00, supper with our living groups, return to the oratory for Vigils at 7:00, and then whatever the evening brings. Sunday’s schedule is similar to Saturday’s, except that mass is at 10:30 (choir rehearsal at 10:00), and supper is in the main dining room.

So, we pray. And we work. And we do pretty much all of the normal, standard stuff that normal, standard you do. We don’t have one main type of work that we all do, as in some orders that center around teaching or nursing or social work. The Benedictine life is not so much about what we do, but what we are and how we are.

The standard question asked upon meeting a new acquaintance is, “What do you do?” meaning, “What is your job?” Benedict challenges us to be counter-cultural, to remember that we are human beings, not human doings. The important, life-sustaining thing we do in the monastery is to seek God. Of course, this happens in all of life. That’s our real job, as monastics, as human beings. The rest of our jobs flow from that, and right back into it.

Perhaps if we took “What do you do?” to mean “How do you contribute to our world?” we would all be a little better off for this shift in attitude. We all contribute something. And how we do it is possibly more important than what we do. I strive to be aware of God, and bring into being more of God’s presence, in the thousand ordinary parts of my life each day.

Still here in the new year

2008-01-04T14:48:00.000-06:00

It’s been a while, eh? Sometimes I haven’t been sure what to write about; sometimes I felt like there was so much to write about I didn’t know where to begin; sometimes there were things to process, but this wasn’t the best forum. Sometimes life was just plain busy.

I was with my family in Montana for a very relaxing Christmas and a much-needed break, but made a point of coming back before the dawn of this new year. This was the first time I’d seen my family since we pedaled here in August, and it was harder to leave them than it usually is. It was also harder to come back to the monastery than I thought it would be, but am I ever glad I did. St. Ben’s celebrated its sesquicentennial year (150th anniversary) in 2007. It opened on Dec. 31, 2006, with a ritual that included reading the names of the sisters that have gone before us—all 1,085 of them. With 14 intervening celebrations of various sorts, the year closed on Dec. 30, 2007, with a ritual that included the prioress reading the names of all of the current members of the community—289 professed sisters, 2 novices, and 2 postulants, plus 9 more who have passed on this year.

We walked into the chapel in statio. (That’s a solemn way of processing into the chapel that the community reserves for special occasions like funerals and really big feast days. We walk in two-by-two, and bow together in front of the cross. Then as we step aside, the pair behind us steps up to the cross. As they bow to the cross, we turn and simultaneously bow toward them. It’s a beautiful symbol of solidarity on this journey and recognizing the divinity in all of us.) We normally line up in any order, but for this event we processed in rank—from the sister who’s been in the community the longest, all the way down to me, who hasn’t yet made vows.

During the closing ritual, after the prioress said the name of each living member, that person said, “I promise to be faithful.” What a powerful experience to hear sister after sister recommit herself. And, though I haven’t made monastic vows, I still promised to be faithful to this journey, wherever it leads. I think we were all promising to be faithful to the same basic quest, regardless of the formal level of commitment one has made.

After this celebration, we moved down to the dining room for a festive dinner—served by our wonderful volunteers and oblates. And after dinner there was a program, during which we reviewed the year and expressed thanks to the many, many people who had some part in making this year so special. Near the end—but before the flaming dessert!—members of the planning committee folded and presented two of the logoed outdoor banners that have flown on days of special sesquicentennial celebrations—one to S. Nancy, our prioress, and one to S. Suzanne, the senior member of our community who was present. S. Suzanne then turned around and handed her flag on to me, the youngest and newest member, in a tear-jerkingly rich symbol of unity and movement for the community. What a way to close these 150 years! And move into the next!

Sometimes we have big to-dos like those above, but mostly we live ordinary, day-to-day lives here in the monastery. It’s the daily stuff that I hope to share more about on this corner of the web in the coming weeks and months—and more regularly than I have of late! I recently shared some of my story with two fabulous sections of a class on “Women’s Theological Perspectives” at the college associated with the monastery. Those students just about blew me away with the great questions they asked, which helped flesh out the real daily life that happens inside the monastery. There’s still a shroud of mystery and holiness around places like this, but it’s really just home for 293 women who live remarkably ordinary lives. Among other great questions, the students asked things like:
Can you go on vacation?
What about your school loans and other debt?
Do you have a car?
What does the schedule of a normal day look like for you?
Do you have your own bedroom?

If you have particular things you’re curious about, just let me know.

Wishing you a Christmas season full of light and a year full of growth,

Steph

What is it you seek?

2007-10-29T13:46:00.000-05:00

I seek to listen.

I seek to know myself, others, and God-with-us more fully, and to recognize ever more the divine at the center of all, calling us toward love.

I seek to be grounded in a place, and from that foundation allow my heart to be opened to the world.

I seek to live a life rooted in the wisdom of our Christian tradition, and to live more fully into the Benedictine monastic way of life as this community expresses it day by day.

These are the hopes and longings I shared with the monastic community during the ritual of formal acceptance into the postulancy. Several times each year, the entire community gathers for “Chapter,” a day-long meeting to come together around what we as a community need to discuss, discern, flesh out—community finances, visioning for the future, recognition of achievements, updating on and recapping of events, voting on certain issues, etc., etc.

During morning prayer, our prioress asked Karen and I, “What is it you seek?” We each looked out into the assembled community and shared our responses. We were then given copies of the books the community uses when we pray the Liturgy of the Hours, as a symbol of this step further into the community. Of course, we’ve been praying with the community these two months, but this was the first time that the community has been assembled to confirm our acceptance into this next phase, and it somehow feels more substantive now that we’ve had time to work through the craziness of the initial settling-in process.

As I was preparing the statement above, I realized that I also hope for some magic from a framework, some effortless shaping toward sanctity and serenity. But inherent in this frame is the daily work of being present and allowing myself to be molded, day after day after day after day. It is the accumulation of micro-movements that, over time, shift us toward our center, toward the God we long for. It’s fidelity to things that seem insignificant on their own.

(“Since I’m on such a roll, I’m going to keep working instead of going to noon prayer." “I’ll just skip my reading time this one day because I have so much else to do.” “I don’t have the energy to engage with Sister X, so I’ll go around the long way to avoid her.” “I can keep going without a rest, even though that means my presence in the community will only be bodily.”)

Certainly, life happens, but in the long run, I hope I remember and trust that the daily stuff I do—or don’t do—really does add up. I may want to be as rounded and balanced and whole as some of the older sisters, but I can’t just jump straight there. They’ve filled their baskets with the delicate flakes of that “magic” faithfully over years of conversation at table, struggle in their assigned work, presence to guests, sharing their resources, calling on each other’s gifts, making time to foster their relationship with God, processing and confronting the stuff of life in between. I have my basket. Have I added to it today?

Quieting down

2007-10-17T15:31:00.000-05:00

For months and months before I came as a postulant, I told the vocation director that I just wanted this setting and lifestyle to be normal, that I wanted to be a normal part of this place. Now that I’ve been here 7 weeks, I feel more like a part of the everyday scenery of the place—I don’t draw quite as much attention as a brand-brand new arrival. People are still thoughtful and helpful concerning particularities that a newcomer might not know about, which I appreciate; but enough of the fresh excitement has worn off that I feel like I can blend in a bit more. Things are settling down, little by little. With less of the spotlight in my eyes, it’s easier to look outside of myself, to recognize the needs of others and take appropriate action—with daily things like clearing dishes or moving a chair.

Yet, the dailyness and ordinariness aren’t somehow quite what I expected. There are a hundred things that squirm around and make that difference difficult to pin down. Some part of it has to do with quiet, reflective, listening time. I’m finding less time for it in my days thus far than I thought I would. At first, I told myself that this was just part of the transition, that I needed to establish more of a rhythm for my days, let the elements of my day settle and shift about. And I think that was true.

It’s also true that there are a plethora of things to keep one constantly busy here—planned events, spur-of-the-moment invitations, concerts and other ways of appreciating the arts, inspiring lectures, conversations en route to check one’s mail shelf, etc., etc. It can be difficult to fit in quiet time around all the rest of the opportunities here. It’s reminiscent of my first semester of college as I began to negotiate a balance among the dozens of exciting opportunities on campus, the demands of coursework, the necessity of friendships, and, especially crucial for introverts like myself, quiet time to rejuvenate from all of that stimulation. I may be at a monastery, but that certainly doesn’t mean life is quiet. In fact, one of the things I’ve admired since I first started to get to know these women is how involved and engaged they are with the world around themselves. Yet, there’s only so much a person can do; internal recharging is just as necessary as exterior engagement, and the latter is unsustainable without the former.

By “quiet time,” I mean several things: time alone to just be with myself and my thoughts; time in contemplative prayer, perhaps holding a word or phrase to draw me back to center; time to just be; time to putz around in my room and do whatever I need to do; time to slowly read and meditate on how scripture or other “holy reading” is speaking to me today.

Being a person who loves to make to-do lists, I added “quiet time” to my list some weeks back, and keep transferring it over to new lists as a way to keep that intention always before me. It strikes me, however, that what I said above about trying to fit in quiet time around the rest of life’s activities is going to continue to be exceedingly difficult to accomplish, especially on any sort of consistent basis. If quiet is truly a priority for me, let it be one of the key elements of my day around which the multitude of possibilities has to fit. It won’t just happen.

Well, that being said, perhaps I’ll go sit in the oratory for a few moments of centering. --Before moving on to the next activity. Or, rather, so I can move on to the next part of the day recharged and with my fuller self.

At long last!

2007-09-27T14:48:00.000-05:00

So, it’s been a month since I arrived at St. Ben’s. I’ve started a couple of posts in that time, but have been focusing my energies more toward settling in than sharing with you-all. Thanks for your patience. I won’t “recap” per se--what needs to be said will come up in other posts, I trust.

Part of my hesitation about posting involves the delicate balance between my personal reflections and the lives of those I live with. I continue to see this as a forum for processing my experience and ponderings; but I’m also keenly aware that what I’m going through is inextricably bound up with the wider community and my particular living group. I will strive to remain true to my lived experience while maintaining the confidence of my community.

I’m sure that I will also use part or all of some posts to explain terminology and practices (to the best of my understanding). I’ve been hanging around with these women for 9 years now, since I came to college, so some of the terms may slip under my radar as “normal” or “everyday.” If you catch phrases in anything I write that you’d like explained further, just post a reply and let me know. Also, if you have other things you’re curious or unsure about, let me know and I’ll keep a list and address topics as time allows.

As I said, I'm still very much settling in. The first week here seemed the easiest, and since then I've noticed the tiny shifts and adjustments much more. When it's time to gather for common prayer, it's sometimes difficult to put down what I'm doing and just go, or to use well a small pocket of time between the end of one engagement and the time to head to prayers. But that's part of the point. It's not necessarily easy to drop my agenda, to stop multitasking, to rest for a little while in God's word. But once I get to the oratory--or on my way there--I'm invited to open myself to God's presence, to remember that God is always and everywhere with us, to pray with and for the whole universal church that God's "will be done on earth as it is in heaven"--and to notice what that might be calling me to do.

Lest this get too lofty, I'll sign off now and prepare for S. Kristin's funeral--perhaps more on that soon.

Thanks

2007-08-28T15:23:00.000-05:00

Sometimes it's risky business mentioning specific people, for fear of leaving someone out, but I'd like to thank those without whom this pilgrimage simply would not have been possible.

My mom and sister, for having the openness, stamina, and bravery to prepare for and pedal all those miles, to share of themselves out there in the open spaces, to support and encourage and be patient with one another, pedal stroke by pedal stroke.

My dad, who did all the rest of the work--laundry, grocery shopping, dishes, house cleaning, trail scouting, informal local publicity, press secretary, bike securing, tire fixing, camper set-up and tear-down, scrupulous Meriwether Lewis-like journaling of our progress, and much more, with nary a complaint.

Those who took interest in our story along the way, and especially those who befriended us and made our journey a little easier--Allen, Deb & Dary, Steve, Margie, Tina & Uncle Lloyd, the family at the farmers' market in Lemmon, the couple driving from Wisconsin to Montana, the couple from Bismarck that we met in Starbuck, everyone who read and responded to the blog.

Folks who took care of the pets back home--my brother and the Wolff gang.

All of our friends and family who were thinking of us, praying for us, checking in on us.

My dear sisters at St. Benedict's Monastery, who prayed us home safely.

And, of course, the One whose creation we marveled at daily, who was our source of consolation in the difficult stretches, who was and continues to be with us, guiding us all home.

Write-ups

2007-08-27T18:44:00.000-05:00

Here are links to articles I know of regarding this pilgrimage.

Catholic News Service 8/27/2007
http://www.catholicnews.com/data/briefs/cns/20070827.htm

St. Cloud Times 8/24/2007
http://www.sctimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20070824/LIFE/108240013/1004

The Catholic Spirit 8/15/2007
http://thecatholicspirit.com/main.asp?Search=1&ArticleID=660&SectionID=52&SubSectionID=&S=1

St. Joseph Newsleader 8/31/2007
http://www.thenewsleaders.com/articles/2007/08/31/st_joseph/news/news6.txt

CSB/SJU Alumnae/i and Friends page 8/15/2007
http://www.csbsju.edu/alum/news/2007/08/StephanieHartBikePilgrimage2007-08-15.htm

Bristol News Journal 8/24/2007
http://bristolsdnewsjournal.com/082407.pdf

Since the CNS picked this up, there are more and more articles out in diocesan papers, etc. And a special thanks to other bloggers who mentioned this blog.

Arrival!

2007-08-27T18:33:00.000-05:00

Day 15. Or should that be Day 1?

We arrived to cheering and applauding and picture-taking at the end of the Lake Wobegon Trail in St. Joseph on Saturday evening, just before 7:00. My housemates met us there and celebrated our arrival in St. Joe. After enough hoopla there, we pedaled over to the monastery just in time for the end of evening prayer, where there was more excitement and merriment as sisters walked back home after prayers.

For the record, we logged 668 miles on my odometer, and 77 hours and 25 minutes of saddle time.

Here's a little video of our last few seconds on the trail:

Karen, the other postulant, finished her (much longer distance but much shorter duration) journey from England that evening as well, so our house was full of festivity and hospitality, as Benedictines do so well.

After sharing stories and treats and a little wine, I became better acquainted with my new bedroom. Mom, Dad, and Cindy made it safely home Monday--all riding in the pickup. I've spent the last couple of days settling in, unpacking boxes, living the rhythm of prayers, getting oriented to more of the spaces and procedures, being welcomed by sister after sister, and finally getting back to technology.

This blog has been a helpful tool for reflection as I began my journey at St. Ben's, and I'd like to keep it up as the journey continues--perhaps a couple times a week. So keep checking back for some musings from inside the monastery.

One more day

2007-08-24T23:22:00.000-05:00

We are now one day’s ride away. We’ll arrive at St. Ben’s on Saturday evening. We’ll leave from Westport in the morning, travel 12 miles to Sauk Centre, then sail over to St. Joseph on the flat, smooth Lake Wobegon Trail, which runs basically parallel to I-94.

The nerves have set in. Once we crossed the border into Minnesota, and the culmination of this pilgrimage was one significant notch closer, some of the normal nervousness before a significant step such as arriving at the monastery one has asked to join began to creep in around the edges of my stomach. The waves come and go, seeming a little stronger with each return, and with each pedal stroke closer to the monastery. It’s more and more real that I really, really will be at the monastery, day in, day out, living the rhythm, facing the challenges, living the questions, listening to the tugs at my heart, hoping to find some of the places where my deepest longing meets the world’s deepest needs*, daring to be stretched to love bigger and bigger.

Just as it took us a while to establish and settle into a rhythm to our biking days, and just as it does in any transition, I imagine it will take a while to sink into a sense of normalcy at St. Ben’s. In the midst of these nerves, the best I can do is remember that until a few days ago I was very sure this was the best next step in my life, and that the people who have walked the journey with me must have had good reason to support and encourage my progress in this direction.

As any journey like this is bound to do, it has helped me to let go of some things and see life with a wider, fresher perspective. Numbers don’t matter as much any more--I watch our average speed less and less as the days pass. It’s nice to know the numbers at the end of the day, but I’ve let go of the early habit I had of trying to push us to achieve any particular average for the day while in the “lead” position. We bike as best as we are able, and we get where we need to be when we get there.

We three bikers are all finally finding/accepting/reconciling our individual paces with the group pace. The pushing and pulling and adjusting and second-guessing have mellowed into something more comfortable for all of us. Even the switching of the person in the front position is more fluid and flexible now. And so it is in any community, be it three bikers and a support crew, or nearly 300 nuns and all of their various webs of connection and support.

Most of these past 14 days, we've experienced an array of emotions--from high energy in the morning to a mid-afternoon slump, sometimes including real uncertainty about being able to continue through the wind or heat or pain. The end of some days is full of high energy again, especially if we are blown into town with a tail wind or down a hill, and sometimes we barely manage to crank the pedals the last five miles to the camper, then scramble around for our "recovery" food and fall into a bizarre, endorphin-influenced stupor as we try to prepare to do it all again the next day.

Water towers are one of the joys of my day now. They come much more frequently, as towns are increasingly closer together as we follow old trade and railroad routes. They signify a chance to take a break, rest our saddle sore bodies, our knees that have spun the pedals over 300,000 times.

We pedaled 468 miles on U.S. Highway 12 before turning north on South Dakota Road 25, taking a shortcut across SD-16 and BIA-3 to reach Highway 10 into Sisseton. The 10-mile section of Hwy 10 between Sisseton and the border of SD was the roughest road we’ve been on yet, including the day on dirt/gravel in the construction zone. At the border of Minnesota, SD-10 continues as MN-28. We’ve had fairly narrow shoulders again (with a wide girth of gravel to resort to before the ditch, though we haven’t really needed to). Mercifully, the highly trafficked area around Glenwood and Lake Minnewiska has a wider paved shoulder.

According to the odometer on my bike, we crossed the 600-mile mark today just past Starbuck, MN, and it took us 70 hours of saddle time to pedal that far (much more in clock time, once all of our breaks are added in—still to be added manually).

We’re in glacial lake country now. Rich, fertile soil whose depressions, be they vast or little more than a ditch, hold more water than we’ve seen yet. There are certainly more hills than around Aberdeen, but by and large they are gentle. We’ve been graced with gentle winds these past several days, and they more often scoop around from behind us rather than confront us head-on or tackle us from the side. It looks like this trend will continue on the final day of biking.

Biking all day feels very normal now, and I’m sure I will miss it, but Karen (the other postulant) and I will be busy settling in to the physical spaces and daily rhythms of prayer and work and leisure. Look for one or two more posts tying up the specific pilgrimage aspect of this journey, and possibly more relaying the daily journey of transition into monastic life. Now that I’m getting the hang of this blogging thing . . .

*Frederick Buechner's definition of vocation in the large sense of life calling--perhaps not an exact quote, but close.

A rainy morning

2007-08-23T10:28:00.000-05:00

On the tenth day, God took mercy on three bikers and granted unto them a tail wind. And “[made] straight in the wasteland a highway for our God! Every valley [was] filled in, every mountain and hill [was] made low; the rugged land [was] made a plain, the rough country, a broad valley” (Isaiah 40). And the people rejoiced much, and sustained speeds of 14 mph for the first time on their journey.

Again on the twelfth day, God saw to it to place a long downhill slope to the west of Sisseton, SD, and the bikers rejoiced much at the ability to top speeds of 30 mph without even pedaling. Their progress had been slow in the two days since the eldest member of their tribe fell down the stairs, but this speedy, effortless movement bolstered their spirits.

On the thirteenth day, they awoke to light rain, and a few mild leaks in the camper again. They prepared for the day slowly, in the hope that the rain would pass over before they began pedaling. Yet they kept in mind a little chant that the eldest member of the tribe came up with a few days earlier: “OSB! Openness, stamina, bravery!” [For those of you unfamiliar with those initials, they also stand for the Order of St. Benedict, and will be the initials after Stephanie’s name once she is a full member of St. Benedict’s Monastery.]

We are encountering more and more local folks as we progress on this journey. One man stands out in particular. Back in Selby, at the half-way point (literally mile 325), Cindy had a flat tire. It wasn’t just a punctured inner tube, but the tire itself was split and would have continued puncturing the tube. I went in search of something to act as a buffer between the tube and tire (an improvised “boot,” for anyone else who’s experienced this with their bike or car tire). As it was Sunday, Selby Auto was closed, but I tried knocking on the door anyway. A man rolled up on his motorcycle and said I likely wouldn’t find anybody home there, but did I need anything. I explained what I was looking for, and he took me down to the John Deere station, where he works, and found a few old car tire patches that they don’t use any more. Voila! That was exactly the sort of thing we needed to make Cindy’s tire drivable for the day.

A dairy farmer who was curious about the camper with Montana license plates stopped at an approach near his farm stopped to chat while us three girls took a little break. He also gave us a lead on where to park the camper in Bristol—full hook-ups, which is more than we expected that evening. Dad found it and got supper ready for us, and after we pedaled in, the neighbors came over. Deb had passed us on her way home from work, and Dary had already heard some of the scoop from Dad (whose role has expanded from housekeeper to press secretary to shortcut scouter). They stayed and chatted for quite a while, and we shared lots of laughs. The next morning, they also sent a retired Lutheran minister and oblate of Blue Cloud Abbey our way. He works with an online news source for Bristol, SD, and stopped us a few miles out of town to take our picture.

Cindy and Ellen even used the wireless internet connection from Deb and Dary's house to check the weather report for the day!

These sorts of connections are an important part of this journey, and I’m deeply grateful for all of the people who have opened themselves to us. May we continue to be open to them.

For now, we must cover ourselves with our rain gear and pedal the 10 or so miles to the Minnesota border, give thanks, take a picture in the rain, and keep pedaling toward Chokio. The camper has sprung a fourth leak as I typed this, and Dad wants to hitch up and get out of here in the hope that it will leak less when in motion.

More thoughts from the road

2007-08-21T11:45:00.000-05:00

I’ve been thinking a lot about the band of sisters who made the journey to St. Cloud and established St. Benedict’s Monastery 150 years ago—the physical demands of their long journey, and the continued stresses of adjusting to their new surroundings. And I’ve had more “inside” time. When we’re riding in mist, I tend to look around at the scenery less so as to keep my glasses a bit dryer. With my head down and eyes focused on the white line, it’s easier to slip into a deeper meditative state.

I already referred to Rosanne Keller’s book about various aspects of pilgrimage. One of the things that stuck with me the most when she talked about her pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in Spain was the yellow arrows and signs that say “Animo!” and mean, “take courage, keep going.” On this pilgrimage, my “Animo!” comes in animal form—cows that turn to watch us pedal past, and sometimes even grace us with a chorus of moos; horses that walk up to the fence, or gallop to the end of their pasture along with us; songbirds that chirp from telephone wires or fence posts at just the right time to lighten our spirits.

The storms of Friday that drenched Mobridge and the surrounding area were slow to peter out. The next three mornings we had thick mist, then the skies cleared up and we shed our various rain gear. Saturday and Sunday the mist set in again near the end of the day, but Monday it cleared up and stayed clear. We even had our first tail wind! To top it off, the terrain totally flattened out (we only had a couple of rises or inclines—they don’t even merit being called hills) and we had smooth, wide shoulders to ride on. We were able to sustain speeds over 14 mph for the first time since we left Miles City. Mom even managed fine though she had just taken a nasty spill down the camper steps when we stopped for a break. She’s a bit sore today, but we’re all heading out.

We’re leaving Aberdeen today. We stopped at a bike shop and got a few things, including new rear brake cables and more spare tires and inner tubes, and new gloves. We wanted to take S. Vicky up on her invitation to visit her here, but we are too exhausted in the evenings, and were far too slow-moving this morning. It’ll take us two days to get to Sisseton, then we’ll cross into Minnesota and hook up with the Lake Wobegon Trail at Sauk Centre. We’re nearing the home stretch. With that comes the typical mix of anticipation for the destination and simultaneous desire for more time en route. But another one of Rosanne Keller’s motifs in her book with which I heartily agree is that we are always on a journey. We return home changed, but we do return home. And we live as returned pilgrims continuing our pilgrim journey.

Visual update

2007-08-19T07:47:00.000-05:00

Here are a few more pictures of what we've been surrounded by. Pictures can never really capture the grandness of these wide open spaces, so try to imagine what extends beyond the border of these snapshots.

View from the saddle. (Rest assured, I was stopped when this one was taken!)

North Dakota sunflower fields add subtly cheery variety in the midst of the wheat fields and hay bales. And the honey bees love them!

Our outfits get more and more eccentric, and we seem to care less and less what's on the outside, as long as it helps us on this journey.

Cindy and I had to protect our legs from the sun, and have since concocted more ways to cover ourselves, especially our south-facing (right) sides.

The other photo shows us all prepared for our day of rain/mist. The skies were gracious--it only misted for the first and last 45-minute segments of the day's journey.

On Saturday, we left the Standing Rock Indian Reservation, crossed the narrow, mile-long bridge over the Missouri River / Lake Oahe, and entered the Central Time Zone, all within a couple of miles--an uplifting show of progress.

Heads or tails

2007-08-18T11:12:00.000-05:00

The wind is one of our most constant companions and points of interest. On the first day the wind was pretty calm, on the second day we had an unbelievable side wind, on the third day we were elated to have a tail wind most of the day, on the fourth day we had a head wind again as we navigated our way through 17 miles of road construction, on the fifth day it turned from a side to an oblique to a relatively gentle head wind, on the sixth day we had a pretty gentle head wind again as we came into South Dakota, and on the seventh day we rested.

It's a good thing, too. Huge storms threatened the integrity of Arty's camper, let alone three bikers out on the road. I awoke to the sound of water spattering near my left arm from the corner of a ceiling vent. The day only got more interesting from there. As the rains continued, so did the leaking. We strapped a tarp over the top of the camper, only to have it snapped away by increasing winds. At that point, we abandoned ship and headed for cover at the casino in Mobridge, near where we had camped.

It's taking us much longer each day to get to the towns we want to get to, and several days we haven't made it to the intended town. We are constantly re-evaluating based on our energy levels, time of day, distance to the next possible stop, terrain, weather, etc. When we get in for the evening, we’re exhausted and quickly become quite loopy—finding the simplest things absolutely hilarious, and having great difficulty with the English language. We’re also supporting and relying on each other in fuller, deeper ways than we’ve had to before, I think.

It’s also been difficult to connect to the internet to update this little blog, but we finally have a solid connection at the casino, and I trust we’ll be able to find a place to connect in Aberdeen in a few days. We’re not quite at the half-way point yet (we’ve pedaled 276 of about 650 miles), so we likely won’t make it to St. Joseph by the 24th as we hoped, but the 25th or 26th seem doable, especially since it looks like the topography flattens out between here and Aberdeen. Every time we’ve crested one hill these past several days, we see another one, which sometimes elicits some of the grumbling that Benedict warns against, but we keep pedaling, and take breaks when we need them (which is sometimes very often).

In Joan Chittister’s commentary on the Rule of Benedict (Insights for the Ages, Crossroad, 1992), she reminds us that Dietrich Bonhoffer once wrote, “There is a meaning in every journey that is unknown to the traveler” (158). We’ve seen so much, experienced so much, been stretched so much, yet details get blurry and things are running together already in the midst of it all. But the “meta” lessons will keep coming to us as we keep mulling this over for some time to come, I’m sure. And perhaps those we’re meeting along the way—whose stories we hear and who hear our stories—and whose stories meld into each other’s—will know more of the meaning of this journey than we are yet aware of.

For me, part of the meaning has to do with the small things—going slow enough and being aware enough to see the cricket making its way across the pavement, and having enough compassion to swerve our bike tires around it. And for the trust to persevere in an endeavor that is totally new and full of unknowns and already more difficulties than we imagined we’d face, supporting each other the best we know how, and loving each other even when tempers run short. We’re riding in mist and probably rain today, another new and less-than-exciting part of this journey. We may be wet and raw at the end of the day, but we’re more refreshed for having had one day off the saddle, so we’ll do the best we can. That’s all any of us can do on any given day.

Crazy?

2007-08-12T23:43:00.000-05:00

We're at the 83 mile marker on Hwy 12, 85 miles into the journey. Today we managed 38 miles with a doozey of a side wind--up to 50 mph we think, and consistently over 25 mph. We had to split those 38 miles into two segments, with a nap in the camper in between. Tomorrow things should turn around, though, and we expect a tail wind will help push us into to Gascoyne, ND.

Only three times have I wondered if we're crazy for doing this--at one low point during today's struggle with the wind, and twice yesterday as I looked down and saw my feet pedaling around and around. This really is one pedal stroke closer to the monastery at a time. And each of the three of us has to do it on her own. Sort of. We support and encourage each other, but no one else can make those pedals go around for any of us. At the same time, we're definitely in this together--we can only go as fast as the slowest, tiredest, sorest, crankiest one among us can go during any given stretch. Rather like life in general, and like life in a monastery, but perhaps amplified.

Not only the biking but the camping is encouraging us to stretch and bond as a family--to communicate our needs and desires clearly, to be willing to adjust and adapt plans (and relinquish the security of any definite plan beyond the hour or possibly the day), to find more than an average day's amount of mercy, and to remember to laugh at the silly stuff--again, amplified lessons for life post pilgrimage. May we keep these lessons close.

In the beginning

2007-08-10T23:33:00.000-05:00

Our departure time has arrived. This is us: Ellen, Cindy, Dean, and Stephanie.

And below is the prayer that I say as I begin the ride each morning. It's a variation on St. Patrick's Breastplate based largely on the version offered by Rosanne Keller in her reflections on pilgrimage (Pilgrim in Time, Liturgical Press, 2006). It also includes elements of versions available on the internet, as well as a few minor changes to make it even more appropriate for this journey.

I arise today
through the strength of heaven
light of sun
radiance of moon
splendor of fire
speed of lightning
freshness of wind
depth of sea
persistence of river
stability of earth
firmness of rock.

I arise today
through God's presence to pilot me
God's strength to comfort me
God's might to uphold me
God's eye to look before me
God's wisdom to guide me
God's way to lie before me
God's ear to hear me
God's word to speak for me
God's hand to lead me
God's angels to save me
God's shield to protect me
from all who wish me ill
afar and anear
alone and with others
against every cruel
merciless power
that may oppose my body, mind, and soul.

May Christ guard me today
so my mission may bear
fruit in abundance.
Christ behind me, Christ before me,
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ with me, Christ in me,
Christ around me, Christ about me,
Christ on my left, Christ on my right,
Christ when I arise in the morning,
Christ when I lie down at night,
Christ in each heart that thinks of me,
Christ in each mouth that speaks of me,
Christ in each eye that sees me,
Christ in each ear that hears me.

I arise today . .

The route

2007-08-09T11:04:00.000-05:00

The U-Haul and I arrived safely in Miles City, and I've been visiting friends and family and tying up details this week. We've also been cleaning and preparing the camper that an old cowboy from Jordan, MT, (who used to sell cattle to Grandpa's livestock yard) loaned us. These next couple of days, we'll be packing and loading and doing all of the last-minute things that one thinks of before a trip like this.

We head east in the early morning of Saturday, August 11. Here's a link to a Yahoo! map of our intended route. If it doesn't work, try entering the following towns into your favorite route builder (e.g., mapquest or yahoo).

Miles City, MT
Lemmon, SD
Aberdeen, SD
Lake City, SD
Sisseton, SD
Browns Valley, MN
Morris, MN
Sauk Centre, MN
Saint Joseph, MN

This is our intended route. It's always possible that there may be some variation as we progress, especially during the Minnesota portion of our journey where there is more pavement to choose from.

We'll be on Highway 12 all the way from Miles City to just past Aberdeen. We're taking a little jog up to Sisseton, SD, to visit the hometown of my dad's grandparents, and will come into Minnesota via SD-10 / MN-28. The shortest route is to follow MN-28 all the way to Sauk Centre and then take the Lake Wobegon Regional Bike Trail into St. Joseph, but another option is to take Hwy 55 to Paynesville and then enter St. Joe via Cold Spring on CR-2. Either way, the total distance comes out to be just over 650 miles.

Pray with us as we scurry around these next couple of days that things will be set in place for us to settle into the slower pace and open mindset/heartset of pilgrimage.

An idea blossoms

2007-07-30T09:08:00.000-05:00

Since the summer of 2004, I've been listening more intently to what has been a recurring "call" to monastic life. At the end of August 2007, I plan to begin living full-time at St. Benedict's Monastery in St. Joseph, Minnesota. Currently I am an Affiliate of the community, which means that I'm in a time of more intentional relationship and continuing to get to know the community, but I maintain my job and home, etc. When I arrive this fall, I will be a Postulant, and live and pray, work and play with the Sisters of this Benedictine monastic community as they and I continue to discern whether this is a lifegiving match for all concerned. (See the vocations page for more info on the stages of joining the community.)

When it seemed pretty clear that I would be going to the monastery to live the rhythm on a daily basis and really find out if this lifestyle is as good of a match for me as I think and hope and pray it is, I called my parents to share an idea. I've wanted to do a pilgrimage by bike for a couple of years now, and one day while sitting in the space where the Sisters come together three times each day to pray the Liturgy of the Hours, it dawned on me that my pilgrimage would be to St. Ben's. I would bike from my childhood home to my new home.

Though my family is supportive of this move in my life, my dad was anything but enthusiasitc about his daughter riding her bike solo on the highways of Montana, North Dakota, South Dakota, and Minnesota. But soon enough he said, "Maybe your mom could go with you." She's an avid biker--has been longer than I have--but she really needed to think about this crazy idea of biking 650 miles across windy and largely treeless terrain in the heat of August. Several weeks later, she sounded more confident that this is something she could try, and would be willing to train for. Especially if Dad would catch up with us in a car on the second week of our journey. Once the plans started to roll, my younger sister wanted to be in on it too. And now plans have evolved such that Dad will be with us the whole time, pulling a camper behind the pickup--which eliminates some of the need to plan our daily distance based on which little towns along our route have a place for us to sleep. He'll also be our main cook and general support crew. (Pray for him as he puts up with three exhausted women on a daily basis!) My brother will stay home to work and take care of the family dog.

Us three girls have been training for months now, and have done some decent practice runs (including a day for my mom and sister on the plains of eastern Montana when the temperature ranged from 67 degrees at their 6:00 a.m. departure to 97 when Dad picked them up at 10:30--and maxed out at 113 that afternoon!). And I biked from the Twin Cities (my current home) to St. Ben's--an equally important branch of the journey as I prepare to move to my new home with the fullness of all that I am, including not only parts of me from my childhood, but also from the nine years during and since college that I've lived mostly in Minnesota and presently in Minneapolis.

Blogging is something new to me, so please bear with me, and be patient with our possible lack of internet availability at some points on the journey. I'm also still trying to reconcile how this technological aspect may influence the spirit of pilgrimage. It will be important to reflect upon as well as document this journey, but this is a different medium than I was expecting to incorporate until very recently.

As I post this first entry, I am also sorting and boxing my post-garage sale possessions according to their destinations: St. Ben's, Mom & Pop's Free Storage, and various friends. I head for Montana in a U-Haul on August 4, and the four of us start heading East on Highway 12 on August 11. Look for one or two more entries before we begin pedaling in earnest.