would find that it is as translucent as batiste. This was one of those moments. I knew like I’ve rarely known anything in my life that I was meant to give these men a ride to, as they put it, wherever their next ride was waiting for them.
They tossed their backpacks into my trunk and began to fold themselves, one after another, into my car. By the time I climbed into the driver’s seat, the friars were chattering away with my giggling children. Though to this day I could not draw you a diagram of how we all managed to fit ourselves into that car, somehow we did.
Can you Feel it Now?
I pulled my car back onto the road, headed across Mobile Bay, and began what was one of the most spiritually profound experiences of my life. As Dan so eloquently put it once, as soon as the three friars joined us, a “spiritual fizz” filled the car. We didn’t discuss anything particularly profound — though their tales of their journey thus far were entertaining and the way in which they encouraged me in my vocation was hugely uplifting. It wasn’t just that these men were joyful, though they absolutely were. The best way I can think to describe it is to say that it was as if somehow the Holy Spirit himself had managed to squeeze himself into my car as well.
Never before, and never since, have I felt the presence of God so intensely. I wish I could have bottled that experience so that everyone could get a taste of what those thirty minutes spent in the presence of those friars felt like, but even then, I doubt words could adequately describe the experience. Simply put: it was otherworldly.
Our time together passed swiftly, and before I knew it, they were climbing back out of my car. Though, at that time, my bank account spent more time in the red than not, I felt compelled to offer them what little cash I had in my wallet. Due to their vow of poverty, though, they refused to accept it. I frantically searched my car looking for anything I might offer to help sustain them on their journey, but all I could find was a half-eaten bag of trail mix. I sheepishly asked whether they might want the last of it, to which, with twinkling eyes, they responded, “Oh, yes! Absolutely! Does it have M&Ms in it, by any chance?” Oh, that you could have seen the looks of glee that danced across their faces when I assured them that yes, of course, it had M&Ms.
Right as I was about to climb back in my car and continue on down the road, they humbly asked whether I might allow them to surround my car and sing the hymn “May God Bless You and Keep You” to my children and me. They began to sing, and I started to cry. I cried while they sang. I cried while I hugged them good-bye. I cried as I drove away. And I kept crying as I called my husband to share with him what had just happened to me.
For years Dan and I had been experiencing relentless trials — financial trials, marital trials, extended family trials, and more — and I’d begun to think that maybe God didn’t love me. Or rather that he did love me, but that I’d cut myself off from that love, being the terrible person that I am. What else could explain his silence? Why else would he withhold relief and comfort? But then he sent his friars to me, somehow managed to fit them all into my tiny car, and allowed me the privilege of spending thirty life-changing minutes in their God-soaked presence. Minutes during which God chanted, “I love you, my daughter. I love you. Can you feel it now?”
People talk about mystical experiences and try to explain them because when something that awesome occurs, you want to share it with the entire world. But they, and now I, always sound a little crazy because God’s a little crazy, and when he deigns to reach down from heaven and touch the earth, crazy things happen. And those crazy things don’t fit easily into flawed human language. All I can say is that was the day that I went from thinking that God was probably real and that he probably loved me to knowing that he is exactly who he says he is and believing completely that he absolutely loves me. That was the “before and after” moment of my life.
After I finally stopped crying, I started to think about those three friars and wonder what it was that they knew that I didn’t. Here they were in a foreign country, with no money, no car, no home, and no real plan other than to somehow hitchhike hundreds of miles until they landed in Kansas City, and yet they could not possibly have been more joyful or at peace. I, on the other hand, had a car, a roof over my head, and at least a small income, and yet I was full of fear and anxiety and had little joy and even less peace. What was I missing? Did God favor these three men more than he favored me? Or was it, perhaps, that they knew some secret that I had yet to stumble upon?
I figured, as long as God was touching the earth and doing crazy things, I might as well ask him. Almost immediately — as he likes to take advantage of my attention when he has it — a scene from a few months earlier popped into my mind.
I had been fretting about money, and Dan kept telling me that everything was going to be fine. Over and over again I replied, “But you can’t know that! You have no idea what the future holds!” Finally I added (with no small amount of histrionics), “For all you know we could all end up living under a bridge!” Do you know what he said? He said, “You’re right, Hallie. We could end up living under a bridge. But even if we did, we’d be okay because we’d have each other and God would be with us.”
And that was the end of that conversation. Because there’s no point in arguing with an insane person.
I’m starting to think insane people are God’s favorite kind of people because he played that scene for me in Technicolor and whispered, “Dan’s right, you know. He knows what those friars know. As long as I am with you, you will have everything you need regardless of whether you live in a mansion or under a bridge.”
That ebullience the monks possessed? They possessed it because they weren’t afraid of living under a bridge or on the side of the road. They weren’t afraid of going hungry or only eating one half of a bag of trail mix shared between them for an entire day. They didn’t fear rain, or cold, or the merciless Alabama heat. They carried God with them wherever they went. And so, in a way that is simultaneously utterly mysterious and breathtakingly simple, they were at peace.
Spark
Do something beautiful for God.
Do it with your life.
Do it every day. Do it in your own way.
But do it!
~ St. Teresa of Calcutta
My husband is a natural father. Of the two of us, he is the better parent. He’s the perfect balance of playfulness and firm guiding hand and never even blinks at the idea of watching our seven small scrumptious children all on his own. When he leaves town, I batten down the hatches and warn the children of all the ghastly things I will do to them if they answer the door. He takes them to the beach.
Thanks to his excellent small-army management skills, I used to try to sneak away on occasion to work on writing projects and other creative endeavors. I imagined that I could get more done if I didn’t have a baby in my arms and a multitude of other creatures dancing around my feet. It makes sense, no? And yet, no matter where in the world I settled down with my laptop, my brain would shut down, or go on vacation, or do anything, it seemed, other than what I wanted it to do, which was to help me put words on the page.
After attempting to write in solitude in a number of different locations (including two hotels, three restaurants, and that cute little pie shop down the road) on a shockingly high number of occasions without any improvement in word count, I gave up.
I
