The Well is Dry

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I am struggling with this column. Not just this particular piece of writing itself, although the words are failing to piece themselves together as easily as I have come to expect, but also with the challenge of writing 600 words each week from the wellspring of my own creativity.

Except that it’s not my own talent that I’ve been drawing on these past five years. Each week when I sit down to put pen to paper – or, more often, fingers to keyboard – I ask the Holy Spirit for inspiration. Until now, my prayer has been answered week in and week out.

For the past month, however, I have been unable to tap into the source of all knowledge and understanding.

I’m very much aware of my dependence upon the Spirit for any ability to write something of interest in this space. Unlike the news stories found on other pages of this paper, which spring from the life of the Church, this column draws from my own experience. I’m well aware that my personal life is unexceptional. I have no claim to glory or wisdom or spirituality; I am an unremarkable middle-aged woman who grapples with life and faith and is more wont to deprecate than to delight.

I have been blessed, therefore, that when I sit down to write this column the Holy Spirit has answered my plea and guided my words.

Today, however, and for the past few months, it seems that my petition has gone unheard. Either that or I have been unable to open my ears and heart to the needed guidance.

I wonder if it’s because I’m being tried and tested, as the Bible assures us we must be so that we can develop endurance, so that I might present an offering of righteousness. Up to this point I’ve not had to sacrifice anything but time to write this column, but for the past couple of months the thought has come to me that more is required.

For my class I am reading about the four women Doctors of the Church: St. Teresa of Ávila, St. Catherine of Siena, Thérèse of Lisieux and St. Hildegard of Bingen. Each of these women wrote amazing works of such spiritual depth that they are still read today. While I’m the first to acknowledge that I can only aspire to but likely will never attain their status (after all, each of them wrote, as Catherine described it, a dialogue between God and a soul who rises up to the Creator), it’s worth noting that each lived a life filled with fasting, prayer and almsgiving.  

I, on the other hand, consider fasting a day without snacks between meals. My prayer life is a hurried morning devotion, grace at meals and evening prayer on the nights when I remember to pick up the book before I turn off the light. As for almsgiving, my budget recently has prohibited much of that. Taking all this into consideration, I must admit that I’m doing little to develop a spiritual life that could serve as a source for this column.

While I admire the asceticism of Teresa, Catherine and Thérèse, I don’t have the discipline to deny myself everyday comforts. (One of many of Catherine’s claims to fame is that for the seven years before her death she ate nothing but the Eucharist. Teresa mortified her flesh. Thérèse smiled at people who were unpleasant to her and didn’t respond even to unjust criticism.) I, on the other hand, am too fond of my daily dose of chocolate, my creature comforts and my pride to do as these saints did. And yet, if I wish to write like them, perhaps I would do well to imitate them. Hildegard, at least, followed the Benedictine rule of moderation, and her nickname is the Sibyl of the Rhine. It’s likely that I will never take the vows of poverty, chastity and obedience, I can at least fast and pray and do good works. Perhaps then I will again find the well from which my words spring.

Marie Mischel is editor of the Intermountain Catholic. She can be reached at marie@icatholic.org.