Healing Happens in the Embrace of Divine Love by Bridget Mary Meehan ARCWP

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No matter what wound you carry—grief, anxiety, loss, broken relationships, illness, disappointment, spiritual dryness, or uncertainty—you are held in a healing Presence that is already at work within you.

When life hurts, we often search for answers. Healing Prayers and Blessings for Everyday life offers something deeper: healing prayers, reflections, and blessings that help you rest in the embrace of Divine Love and discover hope, strength, and peace one day at a time.

Every wound can become a doorway to grace.
Through heartfelt prayers and uplifting blessings, this book invites readers to experience the healing power of Divine Love in everyday life.

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Day Two Retreat: I Came to Kylemore Abbey: Mist, Mountains, and Unexpected Crowds Became My Prayer

I came to Kylemore Abbey expecting silence.

In my imagination, this part of my pilgrimage would be a quiet retreat—a few peaceful days walking the beautiful grounds of Kylemore, praying with the Benedictine sisters, gazing at the mountains and lake, and listening for the gentle whisper of the Holy One in the stillness.

Well, the Holy One apparently had another plan!

Today, hundreds of visitors are walking the grounds, touring the Abbey, visiting the beautiful Victorian Walled Garden, stopping for photographs, talking with friends and family, and taking in the breathtaking beauty of Connemara.

So much for what I had imagined as a quiet retreat. Yet here at Kylemore, as I walk beside the lake and look toward the cloud-covered mountains rising behind the Abbey, I begin to realize that perhaps this is exactly the retreat I needed in the embrace of such vibrant life.

The presence of hundreds of visitors from around the world, moving through this place on a rainy day, and the haunting beauty of ancient chants sung by the Benedictine nuns in the monastery chapel, all weave together into my prayer. Everything here seems to belong-in the midst of life unfolding all around me, inviting me to recognize God in every step, every breath, and every encounter.

There is something powerful about knowing that women here have created a community of prayer in this place and continue the ancient Benedictine rhythm of prayer, work, hospitality and community.

Their presence reminds me that spirituality is not only about extraordinary mystical experiences. Much of the spiritual journey consists of showing up faithfully each day—praying, working, welcoming, listening and caring. The Benedictine motto is pray and work.

Yesterday, as I listened to the sisters chanting Evening Prayer in Latin I could not understand most of the words. Eventually I stopped trying and simply listened. Today, they prayed and sang at Noon in English.

Perhaps that, too, was a lesson.

We do not always have to understand Mystery.

Sometimes we simply allow Mystery to embrace us.

So today  brought another revelation.

The Holy One was not only present in the mountains, lake and Benedictine sisters.

The Holy One was walking around Kylemore with hundreds of tourists!

As I watched families, groups , and people moving in every direction around me, they were not people interrupting my retreat.

They were part of my retreat.

The Holy One was present in the elderly couple walking slowly together, in parents exploring the grounds with their children, in strangers taking photographs for one another, in visitors standing silently before the beauty of the lake and mountains.

Perhaps they, too, were being touched by something they could not quite name. 

Beauty has a way of opening the soul.

They walk in the gentle Irish mist alone and in small groups.They take into the magnificent landscape.They are on holy ground. And their walk itself -like mine- is a Camino- a sacred journey.

I used to think that pilgrimage meant traveling to sacred places.

 Increasingly, I am discovering that pilgrimage means learning to recognize the sacred wherever I am and with whomever  I meet on the journey. Life itself - everyday- is a pilgrimage where we can awaken to the Holy One present in the unexpected twists and turns we encounter.

I know that I do not have to search very far for the Divine Presence.

I simply have to open my eyes, open my heart, and keep walking, trusting that the Holy One is always speaking - sometimes in the most surprising circumstances and in a gathering of people I don’t know! But the message is always the same: “I love you and I love all of them!”

For more information on history of Kylemore Abbey, check this link: https://www.kylemoreabbey.com/?utm_source=mybusiness&utm_medium=organic

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Day One at Kylemore Abbey: When You Don’t Understand the Words, Listen with Your Heart

On a misty evening in Connemara, I began my retreat at Kylemore Abbey with Evening Prayer in the chapel. Outside, the mountains were wrapped in clouds and the lake lay still beneath the gray Irish sky. A deep quiet seemed to embrace the abbey, inviting me to slow down, breathe deeply, and simply be present.

As the Benedictine sisters began chanting the evening prayers in Latin, I tried at first to follow along. But since my Latin is almost nonexistent, that effort did not last very long! So I closed my eyes, stopped trying to understand every word, and simply listened.

And perhaps that was the first grace of my retreat. Listen.

The sisters’ voices rose and fell in the ancient rhythms of chant, drawing me into a stream of prayer much older than the twelve of us gathered in that chapel. For centuries, Benedictine women and men have paused throughout the day to pray, following a monastic way of life shaped in the sixth century by Benedict of Nursia and embraced by his sister Scholastica and generations of Benedictine women and men who followed.

Sitting there, I realized that sometimes we do not need to understand the words to receive their meaning.

Prayer is more than words. Prayer is presence. It is listening. It is opening ourselves to the Sacred Mystery already within us, around us, and flowing through all creation.

With my eyes closed, I became aware that the sisters were not praying alone. Their chant carried echoes of countless generations who had sung these same psalms before them. I felt connected with mystics and pilgrims, seekers and saints, and ordinary people in the communion of saints through the ages who have longed, as we all do, to know that they are loved and held by a Presence greater than themselves.

I thought, too, of the many ways people pray throughout our world. Some pray the rosary. Some chant psalms. Some sing gospel songs. Some sit in silence. Some dance. Some weep. Some walk through forests, along the sea, or beneath a starlit sky. And sometimes our entire prayer is simply one word which I often use: “Help.”

The Sacred Mystery at the heart of all life understands them all.

As I listened to the sisters chanting, I felt deep gratitude for this sacred pause in my journey. I had arrived at Kylemore  as a pilgrim carrying memories, hopes, dreams and the weariness that comes with weeks of wonderful but tiring - packing and unpacking -travel. Slowly, I sensed that I simply needed to be here. No agenda!

Perhaps this was the first invitation of my retreat at Kylemore Abbey:to slow down the pace, listen with my heart, enter the silence, and rest in the infinite Love in whom we live and move and have our being.

Footnote:
The Rule of St. Benedict (6th century) was written by Benedict of Nursia and became the foundational text for Western monastic life. His twin sister, Scholastica, is traditionally regarded as the first Benedictine nun and is honored within the Benedictine tradition for her deep spiritual companionship with Benedict and her own contemplative witness.

ChatGPT was used for editorial assistance in this article. 

A Walkabout Galway—and Another Serendipity: My First Hen Party!

 

Yesterday I set out to wander the streets of Galway. Being in Ireland, I came prepared for rain with jacket on. Thick clouds lingered overhead all day, threatening to open at any moment. But, not a drop fell. In Ireland, there’s often several showers with intermittent sunny spells each day. Yet this summer has been different—unusually dry, unusually warm, as if even the skies had decided to be unusually kind.

Across from where I was staying on Eyre Square, there were colorful tents filled with crafts, paintings, custom jewelry, and—most dangerously for me—desserts. I stopped at several stalls and enjoyed conversations with local artisans before finding a few small treasures for my already bulging bags. Then, I spotted the biscotti cheesecake.

And I was hungry after the two hour train trip and besides there was no soft- serve ice cream in sight so of course , i felt obliged to try a slice. It was delicious. I reassured myself that I would likely walk several miles that day, and that the calories would simply disappear somewhere along the streets of Galway.

That evening, my fitness app informed me I had walked 5.4 miles. So no worries about weight gain!

Whether 5.4 miles fully cancels out biscotti cheesecake remains a question for future research which I probably will not do.

Music was everywhere in Galway, spilling out of doorways, and drifting through alleyways as well. I love Irish music, and as I wandered through the pedestrian streets, I kept stopping to listen, drawn in again and again. Two musicians were playing a lively jig or reel, their fiddles and bodhráns setting the air itself in motion, and suddenly the entire street seemed like a celebration you’ve accidentally been invited to—full of energy, warmth, and an irresistible, joyful pulse.

Later that evening, I passed several restaurants and pubs and found myself at An Púcán. The sight of it brought back fond memories. I had visited years ago with my Dad, and later returned with my brother Sean and my sister-in-law Nancy. Walking in felt like stepping into these happy moments.

A band was playing sixties and seventies music—my era—so my feet were already tapping.

Nearby, a bride-to-be and her friends were celebrating a hen party. The bandleader invited them onto the dance floor, and up they went.

I was sitting quietly nearby, still waiting to order, when one of the women looked over, beckoned, and invited me to join them.

Before I could think twice, I was on the dance floor.

There I was—a wandering “pilgrim”in Galway who had started the day in search of crafts, music, and perhaps a little cheesecake—now dancing with a bride-to-be and her friends at my first Irish hen party.

As we danced, I learned the wedding will be in October, and one of the women mentioned she had visited Florida. Small world indeed.

And what a delightful serendipity.

It struck me afterward that pilgrimage is not just about sacred sites, ancient churches, quiet prayer, or deep reflection. Sometimes the sacred  journey includes a delicious slice of biscotti cheesecake, street musicians playing an Irish reel, a pub filled with family memories, or a stranger inviting you onto the dance floor.

Perhaps the Divine Presence does not only whisper, “Be still and know.”

Sometimes She says, “Get up and dance!”

So here is another lesson from my Irish pilgrimage:

Be open to the unexpected invitations that bring you joy.

We can become so focused on where we are going that we miss the grace unfolding right beside us in the most unexpected places. Serendipity invites us to loosen our grip on the itinerary and allow ourselves to be surprised by the people we meet along the way.

Joy often arrives without an appointment.

And sometimes the Spirit doesn’t wait for you to be ready—or even to finish ordering your drink.

She simply reaches out through a stranger and says:

“Come join the dance!”

And when that happens, my advice is simple:

Get up and dance.

The Spirit is alive—and She loves to dance with us!

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