Karen Armstrong - Through the Narrow Gate - A Nun’s Story

In the morning Lindsey was better. She had had a huge inflammation in her throat, and the surgeon had been just about to perform a tracheotomy when the poisonous thing broke and she could breathe again. We could all breathe again, but now once more the world seemed ringed round with a threat. I had forgotten how insubstantial life really was; Caroline’s death had been so long ago. There would be many times in the next three or four years when I would forget this again, but Lindsey’s illness had scarred my trust in life, and from time to time I would taste again that frightening emptiness of the world I lived in.

I kept remembering the promise I’d made to God. It almost seemed as though someone else had made it for me while I was off guard. Who? God? Had He been trying to tell me something? I turned away from that idea; it was full of disturbing implications, but time and again in the years to come I would flinch at the memory uneasily. Now I tried to salve my conscience. I only said I’d think about it, I reassured myself. I didn’t say I’d actually do it.

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