Inspired to Take Spiritual Flight

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Inspired to Take Spiritual Flight
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  Inspired to Take Spiritual Flight - by Mary Ann O'Roark  Her youthful fascination with a screen star was the first step in a lifelong adventure of faith.  Growing up in a small town in West Virginia, I'd always dreamed of the adventures I would havewhen I went out into the world. It was 1963, the spring of my senior year at the University of Pittsburgh, when I saw a movie called Come Fly With Me, about three young stewardesses and theiradventures.One stewardess was always in a predicament of some sort; another was shy, demure and reserved.But it was the third who captured my imagination. She was so elegant, with a serene face and a voicelike warm honey.Who was this woman? I wanted to be like her  —  young and vibrant, in what felt like the most excitingtime in history to be young and vibrant.I read a review of the movie and learned that the actress who had made such an impression on mewas Dolores Hart. One critic deemed her the next Grace Kelly.Close to my age, she had already gotten a Tony nomination for a performance on Broadway, and hadappeared in a range of movies from Where the Boys Are to a co-starring role with Elvis Presley inKing Creole.Dolores Hart  —  forever linked in my mind to her stewardess character  —  was everything I wanted tobe: attractive, confident, adventurous.The next week, on my way to class, I noticed a poster in a travel-agency window: Be a Stewardess,Wing Your Way to Adventure. Ever since I'd been a little girl, I'd prayed to discover the right pathfor my life.As I saw it, that included travel and adventure, with a marriage and family somewhere along theway. Come Fly With Me made me think a stint as a stewardess was the ideal launching point. I wentthrough a series of interviews with TWA, and was hired.After college I went off to “hostess training,” a whirlwind combination of flight academy and charm school. Then from my base in San Francisco, I flew all around the country. I tied my scarf the sameway Dolores Hart did in the movie, and tried to be as gracious and self-possessed as she was.It was hard to imagine that just a few years before, I'd been living with my parents in a West Virginiasteel town.One day while waiting for passengers to board, a startling headline on a newspaper caught my eye:Actress Leaves Career to Join Convent. Dolores Hart was abandoning her Hollywood life to becomea cloistered nun. Is this a publicity stunt? I scanned the article but there weren’t any specifics about where she was going, just a quote to the  effect that she felt this wa s where God was leading her. I couldn’t help thinking, Why would an attractive young woman give up a glamorous life to join a convent?In the meantime, I was ready for a change of my own. While I loved flying  —  the roaring shudder asthe jet lifted off the runway, the sweep of clouds struck golden by slanting rays of sun, the glitter of stars as I stared out the galley window at night  —I hadn’t counted on being so jet -lagged andfootsore.After a year I turned in my airline wings.When I was about 10, I'd put out a neighborhood newspaper from our backyard in West Virginia. Incollege, I'd majored in writing. I was ready to widen my horizons in journalism. I moved toManhattan and got a job at the Saturday Evening Post.Eventually I moved on to Seventeen and McCall’s, my love for my work and for the rhythm and color of city life cradling me as surely as the embrace of a small town. Yes, I was living out mydreams, having a grand adventure. Even in my 40s, when I came to work at Guideposts, I still feltbrave and frisky and...young.Then gradually I noticed it happening. When I walked too far in high heels, my knees hurt. I'dglimpse my reflection in a store window and wonder why that older woman was wearing my clothes.So much of my identity involved being a young woman. I never anticipated that I'd wake up in the middle of my life and be blindsided by the fact that even members of the sixties’ “Youth Generation”don’t remain young forever.  As I approached 50, I felt disoriented and afraid, even angry. It se emed I'd hit some bumps on “theright path,” and the husband and children that I'd expected to share my life with never materialized.  Nothing had prepared me for aging  —  not college, not hostess training, not even my years in theworking world. Was there really such a thing as growing older gracefully? Then in 1994 I walked into a crowded ballroom at a writers’ convention and, out of perhaps a thousand people, sat down next to a dark-haired woman who introduced herself as Antoinette Bosco.As we chatted, I felt an unexpected urge to open up to her. “I've been having trouble coping with getting older,” I blurted out. “Sometimes I feel so alone andunsure about the future.”   “There’s a special place I go when I'm feeling like that,” Toni said, “not far from w here I live in Connecticut. It’s called the Abbey of Regina Laudis. I always have a better perspective on thingsafter I've been there. Come visit and I'll take you.”  In my mind, I pictured a medieval stone edifice on a fog-shrouded mountaintop.One August afternoon a few weeks later, Toni met me at the bus in Danbury. We drove through  rolling hills and woodlands until we reached an opening in the trees and swung into the abbey’s small parking area.Instead of the intimidating setting I'd imagined, I saw what seemed to be an old farmhouse with arustic wooden cross on its roof and a greenhouse as its entryway. A tractor rumbled past, driven by aruddy-cheeked nun in long skirt and flowing wimple who waved at us merrily. “The nuns run these three hundred and fifty acres as a farm,” Toni explained as we strolled along.   “Close to forty sisters live here,” Toni went on. “Some came to the abbey after successful careers as lawyers and teachers, one was in the state legislature. They wear full habits and never leave the grounds except for emergencies or special studies.”   She pointed toward outlying buildings. “Over there are a blacksmith shop and kilns to fire the nuns’ pottery. Sister Debbora is a beekeeper; others bake bread, milk the cows, tend the oxen.” Sh e told methe sisters had just built a chapel where they gathered to pray and sing eight times a day.From the far side of a field, a nun appeared and swept down a grassy slope toward us. A wide strawhat with a floppy brim sat on her head over her wimple, sneakers peeked out beneath her long black skirt. Something about her seemed familiar. When she came closer, I caught my breath.I knew that face framed in an oval of white, but now there was a gentle webbing of lines around herblue eyes and smiling mo uth. “Mother Dolores!” Toni said. “This is my friend Mary Ann.”   “Welcome,” Mother Dolores said in that rich, honeyed voice I remembered so well. “How wonderfulto have you here.” I sputtered something about being glad to meet her. A gust of wind caught th ebrim of her hat and she laughed and held it in place. Like me, she wasn’t a girl anymore. But her expression was luminous, her manner exuded contentment and peace. As the bells rang, calling her to afternoon prayer, she invited me to comeback to the abbey again.Some months passed before I was able to return. When I did, I had a long talk with Mother Doloresthrough a wooden grill that surprisingly only added to the intimacy of our conversation. I poured outhow I'd seen her in the stewardess movie, and at the time felt it was a kind of nudge from the HolySpirit to set me on my path to adventure.Mother Dolores laughed. She said that it had been in New York, while publicizing Come Fly WithMe, that she had made her final decision to become a postulant and join the nuns at the abbey. She’dstarted visiting the abbey several years before, while performing on Broadway, and “subconsciouslysomething kept drawing me back.”  I told her how I'd wished to be as glamorous as she was  —  and how disoriented I'd felt when I wasforced to face the reality of getting older. “Back when I was making movies,” Mother Dolores said, “I looked in the mirror one day and  realized that if my sense of worth and fulfillment was based on my looks and youth, it was all short- lived.”   She leaned closer. “I sensed inside there was something more—  much more. And I was right. Time and age don’t matter.”  As I gazed through the grill into her gentle face, it became clear: True beauty comes not from youthor genes or circumstance, but from a wellspring of inner grace that transcends age and environment. “Don’t worry,” Mother Dolores said. “Wherever you are on your path of life, however unexpectedthe twists and turns, God continues to draw you to where you belong.”  We prayed together, then the bells rang and it was time for her to go to vespers. As the shadows lengthened, I climbed the hill to the abbey chapel, where the sun’s slanting rays bathed the sanctuary with amber light.While the nuns filed in and began to sing, I closed my eyes, filled with a deep feeling of peace.Lifted on the strains of their chanting, I felt older...younger...ageless...safe, an ongoing traveler following God’s path as it continues to unfold. Venite...jubilate...alleluia!  I'd finally discovered what had drawn m e to Dolores Hart all those years before. It wasn’t glamour or  sophistication, as I'd once thought. The Holy Spirit had been leading me to an inner beauty, theeternal beauty of the soul. A beacon that would light my way through the spiritual adventures ahead. Guide Post   http://www.guideposts.org ~ Freee Book : The Miracle of Tithing ; by Mark Victor Hansen http://www.calameo.com/books/00127522718a6e0fef72d http://www.scribd.com/doc/87058897 http://www.librarything.com/work/11431http://books.google.com/books?id=zUznPQAACAAJhttp://www.worldcat.org/oclc/52788339 Free e Book : Super Power Breathing: For Super Energy, High Health & Longevity ; by Patricia Bragg http://www.calameo.com/books/0012752277f06d864fae7 http://www.scribd.com/doc/87058552 http://librarything.com/work/9216551http://books.google.com/books?id=l0LxOy_M-5YC http://www.worldcat.org/oclc/41437619 
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