Ancient Silence

Following my Dysautonomia diagnosis, I experienced a heavy-hearted time in my spiritual journey.  Each doctor's appointment led to more questions and few answers.  My weary mind filled with fear and doubt.
  
Then one afternoon while traveling to meet with my team of doctors, I made my first stop at a nearby Monastery.

The unlikely pit stop turned out to be a quiet place where comfort hovered low to the earth.  A silent voice unexpectedly spoke deep into my soul. "Come to me, all who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest."  My tired, stressed muscles softened and relaxed. 

After my first taste of the monastic atmosphere, I began to crave the peace that came from walking the grounds of the sacred space.  I would walk and cry out to the Lord for answers. In the hallowed monastic cemetery I discovered a life size statue of Jesus on the cross, where I laid my heart at His feet. Winding my way inside and then out, I walked the Labyrinth, longing for His touch.  I searched out every prayer garden on the grounds.  At each site, I prayed, begging and pleading for God to rescue me.  

One day, I got up enough courage to actually walk inside the monastery doors. As a non-Catholic, I wasn't sure how I would be received.

Opening the tall, heavy, wooden doors a petite, gray-haired woman quietly welcomed me.

"We've been seeing you walking around out there. I'm glad you came inside!"

I sheepishly asked, "Is it okay that I'm not Catholic?"

Grinning with a mouth deeply furrowed with years brimming with gentle smiles, my new friend replied, "As long as it is okay that I am."

She escorted me inside, giving me a tour.  The sound of the creaking old wooden floor and smells of burned incense and rich, wood soap wrapped around me like a child's security blanket. I felt my stress relax away a bit more.

As thus began my love affair with monastic prayer life.

It is quiet, repetitive, and peaceful- deeply soothing to the soul.  The ancient words and methods call out to a God who never changes, but is willing to change me.

In my upcoming books, you will find common threads-prayer, love and unity-woven in each story.  Here is an excerpt from "Echo In The Veil-Dalhousie."



Ana heard the hum of distant conversation among the Laird’s servants, already busy at their morning’s work.  The noise gently aroused her mind, reminding her that Mary, Queen of the Scotland would arrive today. 

With a flutter in her stomach, she eased out of bed and moved to the deeply padded chair by the window. Lifting the book from the table, Ana caressed the fragile cover of her tiny Psalter, a gift from Mam on her thirteenth birthday.  Some of the illuminated pages were missing, but even so, the cherished book held promising words that soothed her.  

In generations past, her family had practiced the Catholic faith.  However, when political and religious change swept over the lush green Scottish lands, the Ramsays had declared their Protestant faith.  

War’s constant groan rumbled across her beloved land with many eager to shed the blood of others. It distressed her. God was a God of love.  Ana believed that children of God should focus on what unifies rather that what divides.  She did not understand the warring attitudes between the two religious groups.  The Scottish people, whether Catholic or Protestant, simply wanted to serve their Lord, Jesus Christ.  She prayed daily that there might be a peaceful reconciliation to the turmoil in her country.  Jesus plainly commanded his people to love God and love others.  In Ana’s tender mind, that seemed a simple task.  

With the sprinkling of ancient prayers and meditations, Ana found the family’s Catholic heritage a blessed addition to her Protestant faith.  Praying the hours inspired her to seek a gentle, peaceful existence.  Ana’s deepest desire was to listen to life, hear its blessings, and respond with grace. She believed her God implored all of mankind to live in peace, as much as they are able.  A gentle life was not provoked by immediate desperation but rather lived with a stilled, quiet gentleness, constantly listening for the heartbeat of God, so that a response could be born of soft-hearted compassion.  Otherwise, a soul simply acted out with indifferent cruelty, never having listened for the whispers of God.  

Ana began the practice of meditation and praying the hours as a young lass.  Ana’s Mam believed it important to introduce children to the discipline of silence early in their walks of faith.  Elizabeth accepted the responsibility of teaching her children that the act of meditation was simple, but not easy.  It required disciplined practice. 

Each day, Mam led the children to the small family chapel to practice the ancient methods of prayer.  As Ana reflected on the experience, she could only imagine the difficulty her Mam had experienced, lining up seven young children, marching as wee ducklings along the chapel path.  With seven live births in thirteen short years, Lady Elizabeth’s hands were busy and full, but she was never too busy for prayer. 

As a young teen, Ana had complained, “I’m truly too busy to go to prayers today, Mam.”  Lady Elizabeth looked with gentleness on her young daughter and replied, “When you are too busy to pray, you must pray more.” 

Lady Elizabeth had not allowed chatter as they walked the chapel path each day.  She required silence, enjoying the beauty of the lush green Ramsay lands, preparing their minds for prayer. 

After the long walk, Elizabeth seated each child on a separate bench, knowing that seating them together inspired chaos.  She explained each day what the goals were for praying and meditation. 

“Be still my loves.  Breathe deeply.  Our goal today is the same as every day.  Be still, close your eyes, and be with God.”

After a few moments, she would add, “If your mind begins to wander, as we know it will, acknowledge the distraction by silently telling the distraction hello, then goodbye.” 

Ana recalled days she was unable to pray.  Her young mind was easily distracted by the buzz of an insect trapped within the chapel walls, Alex’s constant sniffling, or Aly dragging her feet across the floor.  Aloyasia was older and so her legs longer. While Ana’s short legs dangled in the space above the floor, Aly would swing her long legs and noisily scrape the ground with the toe of her shoes.

Once, on their return trip to the castle from the chapel, Ana confessed her inability to concentrate during prayer that morning.  She whined about all the things her brother and sisters did to disrupt her silent time. 

Lady Elizabeth smiled down at her wee daughter and laughed, “You are concentrating on your siblings more than God, my sweet lass.”

Ana wrinkled up her nose with a sigh.  Mam continued, “As we learn to pray and meditate, it is our intent and practice that gives God glory.  He realizes we are just people, and sometimes, even with our best efforts, we fail at our tasks. Just keep trying, Lovey.”

Elizabeth always thought Ana an old soul.  She thought and loved deeply, sacredly, even from a young age. One afternoon while spinning wool, Ana dreamily mentioned, “Sometimes Mam, when I am spinning, I imagine that God is sitting next to me.  We don’t have to talk at all, we just sit here as friends.” 

“Amen,” Elizabeth replied, wiping a tear that escaped from her eye. 

On the day of the Queen’s arrival, Ana anticipated the chaotic atmosphere of her home.  With the gift of spiritual maturity, she determined she absolutely must settle her mind with quiet stillness and pray, before her day began.  

“O Lord, open my lips.  And my mouth will proclaim your praise.”  

She relaxed her mind further, acknowledging the muted conversations outside her room.  She breathed in deeply, “Be…” She released her breath, expanding her chest, “Still…”

In silence, she allowed the ancient words to seep deeply into her soul.  Then with a relaxed mind, she sat with her God, in peace.   

Do it. Go.

Today is Monday.  I have the rest of today, all of Tuesday and every moment I can squeeze out of Wednesday to complete preparations for the "She Speaks" conference and publisher meetings. 

We leave on Thursday for Concord, NC.  It is just a hop skip and jump from Charlotte.  We lived in Charlotte for a time and absolutely loved it.  Going back to the area is bitter sweet considering that everyone we were close to during our time there has moved on, just as we did.  Such is life.


My "To Do" list for this week:
1.  Make final corrections to manuscript
2.  Print manuscript copies
3.  Burn manuscript to CDs
4.  Complete one sheet/pitch sheet
5.  Print copies of one sheet
6.  Pack
7.  Prepare my lads to be left behind while Momma hits the road to attempt publication

My novel was almost complete, then I decided it should be, at least, a two book series, maybe even a trilogy.

My heart is full.  My brain is empty.  My eyes are strained.  My hopes are high.

I find myself quite emotional remembering the last time I attended this event.  Angie was my traveling companion.  We had no idea that six short years later, her death would be the inspiration behind my first attempt at a novel.  In the wake of tragedy, God works in mysterious, sometimes painful ways.

I attended this same conference to pitch a cookbook in 2009.  I was two years into my Dyautonomia diagnosis.  My body was still quite unsettled, so I needed someone to go with me.  My beloved Angie volunteered as my sidekick/traveling partner. We were quite experienced at being one another's sidekick/traveling partner.  

We drove to Concord, just the two of us.  We never turned on the radio or CD player.  As I drove, we talked for 9 hours going and 9 hours coming home.  My hotel room only had one bed in it.  We didn't care.  We had shared a bed a million times in our thirty-five year friendship. Each morning of the conference, she helped me put my outfits together and select the right jewelry.

While I was in conference and meetings, Angie proceeded to purchase almost everything available for sale in the Concord area.  When it was time to come home, we barely had room in my car for our two bodies and our luggage.  My Angie was a serious shopper and had packed the trunk and backseat with her enormous haul. 

Each night of the trip, we would lay in bed together and share our day. She gave me a play by play description of her shopping extravaganza.  I told her about speakers I had listen to that day and meetings I had attended. 

The trip was best friend bliss.  What I did not realize was how precious the memories of the trip would become.

After my failure to get the cookbook project published, I thought my writing days were behind me.  But God had other plans.  He dropped a novel in my lap and said, "Do it. Go."  So I'm doing it and I'm going. 

Many have asked, "So will it be published?"  The answer is yes.  I am trying to publish through traditional avenues.  But if I have no success with those avenues, then I will seek an agent or self-publish.  There are many options for writers in today publishing landscape.  I'm just waiting to see what God has in mind.

My hunny, John will be my official traveling companion this time. Still, Angie will be with me, alive in my heart and cheering me on. 

I still miss you, Dude. I'll see you soon. 

Things you will find in Kelley's 1st novel

Dalhousie Castle, ancestral home of the Ramsay Clan located in Bonnyrigg, Scotland

1.  Scotland.  Book one finds my characters at Dahousie Castle in Bonnyrigg, just outside of Edinburgh.  The modern day characters visit Rosslyn Chapel (from the Da Vinci Code) and Rosslyn Castle.  They also make a jaunt a bit north to visit Loch Ness and Urquhart Castle.  Aidan, my main male character in the 16th century,  lives at Borthwick Castle. 

Urquart Castle

2.  Sadness.  This book was born from my own grief.  Thankfully my pain from losing Angie has not been wasted.  God has used it to birth this book.  I pray it brings Him honor and glory.


3.  Recovery.  Grief is a valley to walk through, not pitch your tent.  In the book we see that it is a valley that one absolutely must walk through,  not around.  Avoiding grief festers the wound.

Kelley and Angie

4.  A Queen.  If you know me, you likely know of my love for Mary, Queen of Scots.  She is a very important character in my book.  Writing about her has been an absolute joy.


5.  Handsome men.  I adore men, especially my own three.  In the book, there are handsome men fighting with swords riding horses....and also falling in love with beautiful women.


6.  A sweet baby.  This child is named after a lady buried on the lovely island of Iona, Scotland.  No more details on that.

Iona, Scotland

7.  History.  Many of the characters, locations and battles are historical.  I have woven my own spin on history throughout the factual parts.


8. Deep spirituality.  My characters are bonded through grief, but also in their abiding love of prayer and Christian unity.

9. Lovely women.  My 16th century women are all a reflection of the charismatic Ramsey women that I love so dearly.  George and Elizabeth Ramsay's historical family did include six girls and one son.  I just happened to give the girls names that are based on my own Ramsey family and a few nuns from the monastery where I am an oblate.  BTW, female children are rarely listed with names in historical records.  That irritates me.


10. Time travel.  Modern day Sara has quite an adventure with my 16th century Anastasia.


11.  Dysautonomia.  My character Brigid has Dysautonomia.  I pray my book sheds some light on this often overlooked and under diagnosed rare disease.


12.  Sarcasm and humor.  The book is written by me......duh.


13.  Love.  Lacking love, how good could a novel be?  

14.  Ghosts.  Oooooooooo!


One week from today, I will be leaving for a writer's conference in Concord, NC.  I will meet with publishers concerning my book.  I am thrilled and terrified.  Any prayers you might offer up on my behalf would be most appreciated.

We are leaving our grown boys behind to take care of things.  After the conference my beloved Hunny and I will seek adventures in the Asheville, NC area.

I would be remiss if I did not thank those of you who have been sounding boards and early reviewers of my work.  Many thanks are owed to Terri, Tracy, Debbie, Jane, Cathy, Kerri and Sara.  You are my most trusted critics and loved beyond measure 

And if I live to be a hundred, I will never be able to thank Darian for all her help with editing and proof reading.  You are a friend who's value is far above diamonds!