Reason #60781 Why The National catholic Reporter Is Heretical

Reaching the thin place

by Kate Childs Graham on Dec. 15, 2011

According to Celtic spirituality, a thin place is one where the human and the divine seem closer together, where matter melds, where God's presence is strongly felt, where the veil between Heaven and Earth is lifted. People have found thin places at holy sites -- St. Brigid's Kildare for example. People have found thin places in nature, where jagged cliffs meet crashing water, where rolling meadows go on forever. People have found thin places in every day locations -- their favorite chair, their walking path. But thin places occur not only physically, they can occur spiritually, temporally as well.

I have often described the weeks, the months when I first met my spouse, Ariana, as a thin place. It was something more than that rush of excitement, of attraction I had felt in previous relationships. My soul was doing the beautiful and oftentimes challenging work of intertwining with hers. I could feel God in every breath taken, every word spoken.

Seven months ago, I experienced for the second time a thin place.

NCR: December 9-22, 2011

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- World News: Reform Manifesto
More than 6,000 sign on to Belgian priests' call

- Special Section: Spirituality. Theresians turn 50; ecology and a lived ethic; Mary's strength; and more

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Historian sheds light on parallels between US of 1930s and today

It was 6 a.m. Ariana had woken up early, unable to sleep, perhaps in anticipation of the day about to unfold. I felt a pang in my stomach. About 10 minutes later, I felt another one. Another 10 minutes, another one. I called down to Ariana. "I think today's the day," I said. I was in labor.

We laughed nervously. Then cried. Then we were interrupted by another contraction, growing stronger by the minute. We called our offices, our families, our friends. Knowing we still had a while to wait, we went outside. It was a stunning spring day. I was floating. I could feel the divine in me, around me.

Until Earth pulled me back down. The pains of labor became worse, the contractions closer together. My water broke, and we hurried to the hospital -- a car ride neither of us will soon forget. I tried to grasp for God, for respite, praying Hail Mary after Hail Mary, repeating the mantra, "When I breathe in, I breathe in peace. When I breathe out, I breathe out love."

From there, the details are fuzzy for me, though Ariana can recall my screams, my quiet cries for help. A mixture of exhaustion and determination took over, and it wasn't long before my doctor was telling me to push.