A CHILD IS BORN

Susan had been staying in the Convent Retreat House. She had prayed here and had spent much time thinking over the problems that had brought her here. Much of the time she had spent in silence in the chapel or walking in the cloister and the gardens. Now, at last, she felt that she could face the outside world. Just a short walk, she thought. Not too far to begin with. Not too far from the safety, from the friendliness of the Convent that she had come to look upon as her home over the past two weeks.

Donning her coat, for it was still chilly, Susan, an ordinary looking girl in her mid-twenties, left this peaceful haven. The sun shone but the wind was cold. It was an autumn day, with the sunshine gleaming in fits and starts, showing up the golden and russet leaves against the slowly darkening sky.

She had meant to walk towards the village, along the one main street lined with houses and shops built of local stone and flint, and then on towards the old church. Somehow, she had turned to walk in the opposite direction. It was as though she were being drawn to go that way and so, without questioning, she followed the road until she came to a junction. Instinctively she turned to follow the road to the left. This was a pleasant country road with the almost naked trees sheltering her as best they could from the fine drizzle that was, now, falling.

Pulling up the hood on her duffel-coat for protection, Susan walked on. Slowly, now, were her steps as the road began to rise - a slight incline at first but then quite steeply. At one point she halted to regain her breath and to look around at the unfamiliar landscape. How silent - as regards man-made noise! The drizzle, dripping from the skeletal leaves; from the branches; made strange whispering noises as it did so. A bird tweeted its song not too far away and a sharp trill, in the near distance, called back in answer. From the direction of the village came the faint bark of a dog. Susan listened, in the silence, to the sounds of nature and then continued on her way.

Soon she found herself on the outskirts of the neighbouring village with its trim village green. The white-washed houses, with their tidy gardens spilling over onto the paved walk-way, were arranged neatly around it - but Susan saw no one. Smoke curled from the chimneys and rose skyward and she thought of the smoke of the incense in the Convent Chapel rising heavenward.

A road to the right; a road to the left; a road going straight on! Which should she take? Without consciously thinking she took the road that went to the left. After a few yards the road dipped to go through a shallow ford. Susan couldn`t help but notice that the drizzle had now become rain - quite a heavy shower. Her pace quickened as she took the hill leading to a large white house that was clearly visible in the distance. The road skirted the house to the right but to the left Susan saw a footpath and took that. Desperately, now, she sought shelter as the rain became a downpour, but the path seemed to be leading nowhere except to a wooded valley.

It was then that Susan saw, to her right, on the horizon, a church. How come she hadn`t noticed it earlier, for it seemed to be quite a large church - much larger than the normal village church hereabouts?

As Susan neared the building she noticed the irregularity of the stones and the flint of which the Church was built. She looked upwards, taking in the tall spire. At that same moment as her eyes reached the top a brilliant flash of colour forked across the sky. Then came the thunder - roll after roll after roll.

Making a dash for the Church, and for shelter, she ran across the wet grass of the churchyard, through the vast jungle of gravestones and humps of memorial-less burial places. Susan reached the shelter of the Church porch just as the lightning flashed once more, to be followed by more rolls and roars of thunder.

She felt safe now and took off her wet coat, giving it a shake to get rid of some of the wetness. Then she sat on the stone bench to recover her breath and gather her thoughts.

What a place to build a church, she thought. Quite a step from the village that she had passed through and no other village or hamlet that she could see in the close vicinity. But here was shelter - here, a haven from the storm.

Susan was one of those persons, who, when things in life got rough, found solace in a Church. Here she was, now, sheltering not from the storms of life but from a raging storm of nature.

The wind was blowing hard now and the rain pelting down. Susan listened to the pounding of the rain as the large drops fell upon the ground outside of her shelter. She listened to the angry blast of the wind; its fiery breath blowing around the stonework of the old building. Now, taking hold of the large cast-iron latch, Susan turned it in anticipation. So many churches, nowadays, were locked against vandalism that she didn`t know whether or not she would be able to go inside. Fortunately, this was one church that was still open for visitors.

Timidly, Susan pushed open the heavy, thick wooden door and found herself inside the stone-built church. She became aware of the remains of harvest decorations - small bunches of wheat still tied with ribbons to the ends of each wooden pew. Glancing downwards, she walked across the pale golden stone slabs that paved the floor, and made her way to the altar. She touched, lovingly, as she passed, the dried head of wheat that had once stood, proud and golden, in the sun-kissed fields of the Norfolk countryside. She was aware, also, of the peeling plaster work; the patches on the woodwork from which varnish had worn away; the vastness of this isolated church.

Kneeling before the altar, Susan became calm. She was filled with such a peace and her heart was near-singing with a joyfulness.

How long she knelt there she neither knew nor cared. She felt such a different person - not a care in the world. She felt so light and so very, very happy.

Standing, now, she turned to look around this House of God. How many prayers had been said here, she wondered? How many pairs of knees had knelt upon the threadbare kneeler before the altar - to pray; to receive Communion? How many eyes had gazed in wonder, in awe, upon the painted scene that was the backdrop of the altar - a painting that showed the Passion of Our Lord? How many feet had walked across the cold, stone slabs that paved the floor of this country church? Susan could almost see the many, faceless faithful as she looked upon the grooves worn into the slabs by countless worshippers who had reverently made their way towards the altar.

It didn`t seem possible to Susan that, quite recently, there had been a Harvest Festival service held here. The whole place appeared to her to be out of this present time - unreal, somehow. But she knew, deep down, that it was real, that it was true, as she, once again, fingered the crumbling ears of wheat and the ribbons as she walked back to the solid, heavy door. One last glance around before leaving and then into the porch, where Susan sat to ponder over her peacefulness, upon her joyfulness.

The rain was still falling; the wind still howling its angry message. Dark clouds scurried across an even darker sky.

Susan took her note-book and pen from her bag and hastily began to write. Her thoughts came close and fast and the letters became almost illegible in her haste to pen the words that came pouring forth from somewhere deep inside her. So engrossed was she in this exercise that she was startled, almost to the point of jumping up and shouting, when the heavy wooden church door suddenly opened slowly. Susan felt certain that she had fastened it securely when she had left. Thinking about it she knew that she had certainly fastened the old latch for she had made a conscious effort to make sure that it was closed properly.

Her heart pounded furiously within her breast; her pulse raced and she could feel the throbbing of it in her neck. Susan stood, pushing into her bag the notebook and pen and, taking up her coat, pushed gently upon the slightly open door. It was as if she was being invited to enter into the church for a second time - perhaps to finish her prayer, she thought to herself.

Susan stepped inside. But now, not only the sigh of the wind did she hear, not only the heavy raindrops upon the roof tiles, but the sound of the organ playing softly and the sound of sweet voices chanting psalms of praise. Not only the dried bunches of wheat tied with ribbons to the ends of each pew did she see; bare stone slabs laid with care upon the earth beneath; but colour, bright, bright colour everywhere. Painted statues. Candles burning. Green leaves, yellow, red and white flowers; blue blossom peering shyly here and there from a protrusion of colour.

She stood still, dumbfounded, staring in amazement. She stood still as if riveted to the ground. She couldn`t take in the sight that, now, appeared before her. The backs of nuns - their heads clothed in black. The priest before the altar, wearing white vestments adorned with burnished gold and silver embroidery. All was so bright - so radiant.

Susan stood against the heavy door listening to the voices as the chanting continued. She wanted to join in with them - oh, how she wanted to join in the singing; in the praise; in the thanksgiving.

Then the organ stopped playing. The singing ceased. All knelt and Susan found herself kneeling too, upon the cold stone slabs - now smooth beneath her knees - for they had not yet become worn by countless feet treading over them. She listened intently to the words being spoken by the priest. Words that she knew and understood even though they were being spoken in Latin. She thought back to the sweetness of the chanting and knew, too, that she had understood the words that were being sung - for how else could she have known that they were psalms of praise!

Tears began to well up in Susan`s pale blue eyes and, as she listened to the words of Consecration being intoned by the priest, they fell. They washed over her cheeks and chin and fell onto her sweater. Instinctively she raised a hand to wipe them away. Slowly the sound of the words began to fade, as if into the distance. The brightness became dimmed and the colours started to fade away. But Susan remained kneeling until the grooves in the cold, stone slabs began to cut into the flesh of her knees. Feeling uncomfortable she raised herself to her feet. The pews were, once more, empty. No priest stood before the altar. No candle burned and no green leaves and profusion of flowers could be seen. Only the empty Church - save for the dried wheat ears tied with ribbon to the ends of each pew.

As Susan turned to walk out of the Church, for a second time, she knew, again, a profound peace. She was at peace within herself. At peace with the world. All the troubles that had brought her to this place seemed so far away, so very, very far away.

Closing the heavy wooden door carefully behind her, Susan put on her coat and gazed into the blueness of the sky. Into the fresh blueness. She looked at the white, fluffy clouds - upon the hazy, pale yellow disc of the noon-day sun. She listened to the whispering of the autumn breeze; to the song of the birds - and as she listened she heard the words of the Angelus being sung.

Her heart was full of joy; her soul at peace with all. Susan made her way back to the Retreat House. She now knew what it was that she had to do. But why had it been so painful? Why all the hardships, all the worry, all the grief? She remembered the words which one of her married friends had once said to her just after she had given birth to her first child - `It was, oh, so painful, so long, but the outcome was so worthwhile; so worth all the effort.`

Susan felt that her life so far - all that she had been through, all that had happened to her, had been like giving birth. And today her child had come to full term. Today her child had been born. Her wonderful, beautiful child.

Some many years later, Susan walked again those same steps, retreading her walk to the Church where she had heard the Sisters chanting so beautifully the psalms of praise. This day the sun shone all day - the breeze, a mere kiss upon her lined cheeks and barely ruffling her dark grey habit, as she made her way between the gravestones to revisit the place where `her child` had been born and where the ghost of her past had been laid to rest.

Her child - her wondrous, beautiful child - her life devoted to God - devoted to prayer and to Love.

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