NunStory: #28, evils of parlor and not eating

 My addiction to the parlor became my main undoing.

Being a full fledged nun meant whenever the community was called for anything, I was included, be it for a meeting, discussion or the parlor. Until then, I had to wait to be called to the parlor. My addiction to the parlor became my main undoing.

Being a full fledged nun meant whenever the community was called for anything, I was included, be it for a meeting, discussion or the parlor.

Until then, I had to wait to be called to the parlor.

Whereas before I lived for recreation, preferring recreation with the nuns over the parlor.

Now the parlor has become a big thing for me.

Whenever the bell rang for it, I would leave everything and hasten there.

Invariably, I would sit close to the front, easily catching the eye of any visiting us.

I have, what a spiritual director told me, an especial spirit.

I think of myself as mediocre, average, mild and peaceful. Actually, I am none of those things.

I easily became the star of attention at the parlor.

The resentment of the young nuns went from disapproval to intense feelings of dislike.

I closed my eyes and ears to them.

I wanted to be a saint, to reach Union with God, and worked at suffering all with grace and peace,

I must have succeeded in that.

When I shared my graces of the prayer of quiet with the mother prioress,

She was skeptical about it, “You do not bear the fruits of such graces at prayer,” was her response.

“What about whenever the young nuns are nice to me, I would not only forgive but forget and be as nice to them in return?” I suggested.

“Oh, that does not count. You are born that way, good natured,” she told me.

Later, Mother Therese told me that they often saw the young nuns say something mean to me. I would lower my head and then lift my face, covered with bright smiles, continuing as though nothing happened.

But something was happening. I was not a saint and although I thought I was suffering like one, the mothers likewise believed the same, I was not.

The hate was affecting me. By this time, I was able to narrow it down to the three most vicious of the young nuns. We can call them the three Marys. Sister Mary A, Sister Mary C and Sister Mary T.

A few others were not so enamored with me but they did not engage in such verbal attacks on me.