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For once this blog post was written in English inside my brain while weeding my fruit bushes and scolding the children for their dodging of chores, namely weeding another part of the garden. Fighting with dandelions and feeding the leaves to the hens one by one is more fun than weeding.
Whenever I despair of everyday life, is oppressed by chores and dust mice and laundry, I try to remember this song: Youtube
Here's the text written out:
Climb every mountain
Climb every mountain, search high and low
Follow every byway, every path you know.
Climb every mountain, ford every stream,
Follow every rainbow, 'til you find your dream!
A dream that will need
all the love you can give,
Every day of your life
for as long as you live.
Climb every mountain, ford every stream,
Follow every rainbow, 'til you find your dream!
I too have like Maria von Trapp sat on those green benches at Residenzplatz in Salzburg, and wondered if my vocation was nothing but a longing to get away from the world and its demands, or if it really was a way of getting closer to God. The decision was - as should be obvious from my blogging on life with husband and children - that the monastery for me would indeed be an evasion, and not a vocation.
When I have trouble remembering this, the abbess's song from "The Sound of Music" is one of the best remedies, sometimes even better than prayer, or maybe this song from quiet Nonnberg really is a prayer.
Residenzplatz, Salzburg |
Her er min sangbare, men ikke fantastiske oversættelse:
Løb over bjerge
Løb over bjerge, søg her og der,
følg alle veje, hver en sti du ser.
Løb over bjerge, kryds hver en strøm,
følg alle regnbuer til du når din drøm.
En drøm der vil ta'
alt det du har at gi'
hvert minut, hver en dag
gennem hele dit liv.
Løb over bjerge, kryds hver en strøm,
følg alle regnbuer til du når din drøm.
Også jeg har som Maria von Trapp siddet på de grønne bænke på Residenzplatz i Salzburg og overvejet hvad Gud egentlig ville med mig. Om klosterlivet var mit kald eller hvad.
For mig har klosterlivet altid stået i et forklaret skær, Tænk bare at måtte koncentrere sig om Gud hele tiden, gå til messe hver dag, at måtte bede tidebønnerne, at blive tvungen til regelmæssigt skriftemål, ikke at skulle bekymre sig om sit timelige velfærd; Da jeg dengang nåede så langt i mine overvejelser sammen med Gud, stod det mig klart, at det ikke var min vej, det ville være en flugt, en flugt fra alt det distraherende, alt det uforudsigelige og spændende ved familielivet.
Når jeg som i dag har svært ved at huske på dette og rette mit indre kompas mod Gud, så er abedissens sang fra det stille Nonnberg i stand til at rette op på det, bedre end nogen bønner. Men måske er abedissens sang en bøn ...