I slept in this morning. Very grateful for this apartment with a view that lets me know life is happening out there but quiet enough for sleeping. From my window I saw a group of elementary school children accompanied by five nuns, all Caucasian, all dressed in full habit—long black robes, white (lots of white) coif and wimple. Occasionally I observe nuns, often of color, dressed in grey, grey-blue, or brown walking the streets of Florence, but this, well, this was startling.
After a cappucchino, I spent time at La Badia, my favorite prayer place. Two groups of children came in with a teachers. For a moment the rustle of coats disturbed me, gratitude took over, gratitude that they were getting a glimpse of the holy interior of the church, and seeing those of us in silent prayer.
Before leaving I lit a candle for two friends, one for peace for his dying mother, another for his wife who has breast cancer, and for him and their seven year old son. Now I’m off to wander the streets of Florence with God, to visit St. Croce.
After a cappucchino, I spent time at La Badia, my favorite prayer place. Two groups of children came in with a teachers. For a moment the rustle of coats disturbed me, gratitude took over, gratitude that they were getting a glimpse of the holy interior of the church, and seeing those of us in silent prayer.
Before leaving I lit a candle for two friends, one for peace for his dying mother, another for his wife who has breast cancer, and for him and their seven year old son. Now I’m off to wander the streets of Florence with God, to visit St. Croce.
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