Several months ago, one of the nuns asked me to type in her journal. For some reason I put this off but recently pulled out the envelope. These are daily meditations done through a Benedictine style of reading called lexio divina.
As I type these in, the room always fills with the scent of sweet smelling flowers. I’ve never thought of Sister M. as a spiritual person. I realize she’s a nun, but she’s my friend, and we rarely have deep spiritual talks. We laugh more than anything. We seem to bring out each other’s impish natures.
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