3. The Ramble

As Written by me, Kathy

We climbed about twenty stone steps from the shore, and suddenly the rocky ground gave way to the softest mossy carpet, fresh and green and cool beneath our feet. A little stream of sweet water ran beside us, slipping down toward the sea. We followed it up into the island, where the trees arched overhead like the beams of a chapel, their branches woven together so thick that only little specks of sunlight danced through.

Sister Mary Claire whispered, “This is a church built by God,” and it truly felt like one.

Mini scampered ahead with her little bottom wiggling, and Omelette nestled snug in the carry sling at my side, her head poking out and turning this way and that. The ferns grew higher than my shoulders, and the reeds rustled as if they were praying too. Father LeRoy led the way with his walking staff, and now and then he’d pause to say a quiet prayer or point out a plant that might be useful for healing.

It was such a sweet feeling to stretch our legs after so long at sea. The air smelled like leaves and clean water, and we felt free, almost like the world had just begun again. Father LeRoy reminded us to be watchful, since we didn’t know what lay ahead, and he said the words of Psalm 61:4: “Let me dwell in thy tabernacle forever: I shall be protected under the cover of thy wings.”

We walked quietly for a little while, letting the sounds of birds and the trickling stream fill our ears. Then Sister began to hum a hymn, and I joined in softly, and even Mini barked once like she was singing too. We all laughed, and Father said it was good to let our joy be known to Heaven.

We stopped to fill our water jars at the stream, digging a small trench so the water would pool up deep enough. Then we sat for a council, right there on the moss. Father said we must decide how to spend the afternoon before nightfall. He told us his plan: we’d circle the mountain, keeping to the valley, and gather what we could—maybe herbs or fruit or game if we came upon it—but we wouldn’t climb too high or stray far. If we kept steady, we’d be back in about three hours, just in time for evening prayer.

No one objected. We all agreed. I had Father's rifle slung over my shoulder just like he had shown me. Sister Mary Claire carried our little basket of bread, and Mini was right by her side like a sheepdog proud of her flock.

I don’t know what we’ll find, but I know one thing for sure—we’re not lost. We’re exactly where God wants us.