Madonna House

The Inn of My Heart

by Catherine Doherty

I constantly cross my bridge to meet men and women, bishops and priests, rich and poor, sick and healthy. And when I cross over again to the island, they all come back with me—not in person, not in the flesh, but I carry them back in my mind and heart. I talk to God about them and I thank him for having brought them to Madonna House so that I could hold them and give them room in the inn of my heart.

Then there are the nights. There are times when I wake up instantaneously, feeling very refreshed and rested. These are the moments when, again, the humanity that I meet in Madonna House, and the brothers and sisters I meet only in the mail, seem to throng onto my island and into my log cabin.

And the strangest thing happens: both my island and my log cabin, even as my heart, seem to expand immeasurably so as to accommodate the multitudes.

Together we talk to one another and to God. Yes, there are the nights, the quiet, starlit, moonlit, overcast nights that make me one with all the world, but especially with my brothers and sisters in Christ.

From Welcome, Pilgrim, (1991), pp. 43-44, MH Publications, out of print.