Windows and Revelations—Part 2: Sister Bernadette
Author's Note—This story contains small amounts of dialogue from Episodes 5 and 7 of CtM series 2. Those lines, and the characters, concept and show itself, belong to Heidi Thomas and the rest of the writers and producers of CtM. I'm sharing my ideas, but the show is not mine.
Sister Bernadette hung up the phone in the sitting room at St. Anne's Sanatorium, remembering Sister Julienne's warm voice and hoping that she would finally be able to tell her what she had been meaning to say all along. Months ago, when she had first entered the elder Sister's office with a request to share a concern, she had planned to tell her everything. She was sure she would have done so if the phone had not rung, bringing the inevitable postponement of the conversation. Then there had been those words from her trusted mentor "Change nothing. Go nowhere. Stay exactly as you are. I really don't think I can do without you.." Those words had been a wall to her, obscuring the way forward. And later, Sister Monica Joan and her poetry had unsettled the young sister greatly, so that when Sister Julienne had finally asked her what was wrong, she had been unable to provide a coherent answer.
The truth was more complicated than it first appeared—that was certain. She had enjoyed listening to the nurses' tales of dancing and romantic adventures, but she had always convinced herself that was all right. That was different. Romantic love was an easy thing to think about for her friends, especially when she thought it would never happen to her. It never had, anyway, so she hardly saw it as a temptation then. Yes, there were childhood crushes, brief infatuations, but those were easy to dismiss when compared to such a deep, personal calling as she had experienced. That was until she noticed that her thoughts were suddenly being occupied by a man who wasn't a figment of her imagination. This, however, was no brief crush, and it terrified her. It was no fantasy or vicarious imagining. It was very, very real, and she couldn't help but think she was betraying God with her very thoughts and, dare she even think the word? Desires. There was no point hiding that thought anymore. How could she hide from God anyway? He knew her deepest thoughts, wishes, wants. It was ridiculous to try to hide them from Him, and so she had begun to pray about them.
First, she prayed He would take the feelings away so she could concentrate on her work, and when that didn't happen she had been increasingly troubled. Then came the tuberculosis, the treatments, and the hours of solitude. Alone with her thoughts, she found she couldn't escape these feelings, and now those feelings had been joined by the uncertainty of her diagnosis. Why would God do this to her when she had been so devoted to Him for so long? She had even stopped praying, for a time. She wondered if God had abandoned her, or if He was even listening. Unaccustomed to this distance for all these years, she finally gave into it, trying to shut off a part of her that had been so vital for so long.
She spent her days on autopilot, existing rather than living, wondering when or if this night would ever end. Yes, there were letters from dear friends, and the occasional visit. These gave her some comfort, but she never dared let on what chaos raged inside her head. She had started off down a dark corridor of uncertainty, not knowing where it might lead, if anywhere. After a while, however, she couldn't even say how, she found she needed to pray. She had hit the wall and somehow found a window. Thoughts of a life without God were unfathomable to her, so even in the midst of the deepest darkness, she prayed. And that was when she found her prayers changing.
No longer was she praying for God to take these thoughts, these feelings away. Now, she prayed He would show her what to do with them. Perhaps He would still take them away, but that was for Him to decide. And in those prayers, the months and years of thoughts, feelings that she had pushed behind the wall had come flooding back. Hopes, dreams, desires long held that she had belittled or denied couldn't be held back anymore. At the same time, her mind kept being brought back to the letters.
Everywhere she went, the letters seemed to be there. When she tried to sleep, she thought of them. She tried to hide them-in drawers, in pockets, in books. Still, no matter where she hid them, they would always turn up again. And new ones kept coming, every week. She wondered why he kept writing when she never wrote back, and why he didn't give up. Still, when she was most honest with herself, she knew she was glad he hadn't stopped. She had no idea what was in the letters. They might be love letters. They could be simple expressions of concern, or medical stories, or even weather reports, but she didn't care. They kept showing up, and they were from him, and that was what mattered.
Still, despite her increasing curiosity about the letters, there was this heaviness. This guilt. This fear. What if she did read them? What if she didn't, and he sat there at home wondering why she never wrote back? Was it even all right to want to read them? She prayed for wisdom, what to do with the fear. Should she listen to it? Was it a sign? No. She didn't think so. God was Love. There is no fear in Love.
She went about her days, receiving treatments, reading, walking in the garden. Praying. Asking for wisdom and finally realizing that she was no longer fearing the letters as strongly, even if she still didn't know what to do with them. She had to be honest with herself, and with God. She wanted the letters. She waited for them. She still wondered what was in them. She did not doubt his feelings for her—he had made them clear in just a kiss on the hand and a few simple words. They had spoken nothing of that since, but she was sure. Still, she wondered what he would write, even as she wondered if she could ever bring herself to read it. She pulled out the one letter that she kept in the pocket of her dressing gown and stared at it for a moment, before hastily stuffing it back in, and glancing out the window into the garden, glimpsing other patients on their morning stroll, wondering if their thoughts were as confused, as plagued as her own.
Finally, after another restless night of thinking and praying, a thought came to mind. What if she wasn't betraying God? What if these thoughts, and the letters, were His way of showing her the way? What if they were His permission to feel what she felt? The very thought both terrified and fascinated her. She longed for someone to talk to—someone with more wisdom than herself.
As she sat in the sitting room that day, Nurse Peters delivered another letter when she arrived to take the sister's temperature, joking as she always did about why she never opened them. When the nurse suggested sending the letter back, Sister Bernadette finally had the thought. The letters needed to be dealt with. She couldn't just let them pile up, and let him wonder why she never answered them. She needed an answer herself, and she had an idea now of where should could get it.
She'd asked for the telephone. She'd called Sister Julienne. And then she had waited.
A few days later, she was sitting in the garden, waiting after a particularly troublesome night, still wondering whether the letters were a temptation or a sign. Somehow, even in this weariness, she knew or at least hoped she'd get her answer today. She also knew, and resolved, that she would have to tell Sister Julienne everything. When the nurse announced her visitor and she looked into the smiling face of her dear and trusted mentor, she was able to manage a faint smile.
"Dear sister! How we have missed you." Sister Julienne sat down, taking the younger sister's hands and giving her a reassuring smile. "God is very kind to us."
Daring to hope that her prayers would be answered, Sister Bernadette nodded. "He is, isn't He?"