Seventy miles southwest of Lexington, Kentucky, tucked within a working farm, lives the Loretto community. It was once an active convent that now cares for retired nuns, tends pollinator gardens, and displays magnificent sculptures for starters. https://www.lorettocommunity.org/about/motherhouse/  A few historic buildings (the Motherhouse, Knobs Haven) and half a dozen 2-room cabins are available for anyone seeking some quiet reflection; for groups on retreats; even for middle-aged women in spiritual slumps – all are welcome.

I’m grateful to say Loretto is one of my homes-away-from-home, and has been for over thirty years. It never fails to teach me something important or reveal an unexpected picture of God – like the time I pushed open the heavy chapel door, only to find a traditionally dressed nun wearing camouflage muck boots. She carried a bucket, a hoe, and a kick-butt attitude about weeds. Yep, I can always count on instructive surprises at Loretto.

This summer I enjoyed a couple days in the “Grace” cabin. Thankfully, sister Susan didn’t assign me to the Hope or Joy dwellings – I wasn’t capable of either at the moment. But grace, well, that was something I was eager to receive. Winding around the cedar chip prayer labyrinth, I tossed branches out of my way. “Of course there’s debris on the prayer path.” I even snapped a photo to capture the irony.

Next to the labyrinth was a wooden sign announcing “Peace Path.” The wind in the fir trees and bird songs created the perfect setting for a lovely walk . . . for the first hour. But now I was out of water, sweating like a horse, and had no clue where I was in relation to, well, to anything. “Blasted peace path; this is a joke. They should mark the trail better, post distances, and set up a food truck at the half-way point.”  Yes, I was saying these things out loud in a tone that was less than serene.

It’s no secret that anxiety takes a person’s focus off of present reality and on to imaginary horrors, like going more than 5 hours without chocolate or being eaten by a bear on a working farm populated with nuns who wear muck boots. Those boots would have come in handy, since my next step landed my left foot in, well, in something that shared several qualities with quicksand. I lost my tennis shoe (with custom-made orthotics, mind you) AND my balance. In that slow-motion moment, I actually yelled to myself, “It’s okay, you’ve going to be okay.” I was walking on a trail called the Peace Path, retreating in the GRACE Cabin, at a CONVENT, ON A SPIRITUAL RETREAT, FOR CRYIN’ OUT LOUD – what could possibly go wrong?!?

Two days later, I’m sitting in an Urgent Treatment Center room, waiting for the (absurdly young-looking) nurse practitioner to return with my X-Ray results. “You’re going to have to wear this thing for a while. How did you manage to fracture your ankle, anyway?” Strapping on the dreaded boot of shame, and grabbing my purse, I seriously considered lying. But why make something up when the truth is unbelievable?

“I fell while walking on the Peace Path; true story.”