March 5, 2026, Caroline McCartney, New Mexico

It was deep in the New Mexico desert that my soul saw remnants of its Home. After driving for fourteen hours, the last one spent winding through a canyon on a dirt road, I spotted what I came looking for: the most remote monastery in the Americas. The Monastery of Christ in the Desert. There, nestled between towering mesas, I saw the adobe walls that house our Lord and thirty faithful Benedictine Monks.

Struck in awe by the scene before my eyes, I felt as though God had made this place with me in mind. The church bells of the hidden monastery rippled through the canyons and echoed within my heart. For the first time in my life, there was nothing to soften or distract me from the presence of the Church, for in this place everything pointed towards it: the golden mesas, the blue sagebrush, the yellow wildflowers. Through the whispers of the wind, the earth’s voice was heard speaking, “Isn’t our Maker good?” And in the garden across the way, I spotted a monk leaving his work to answer the call of the bells, which seemed to sing, “Come home, my love, it’s time we pray.” 

For there I witnessed a glimpse of heaven, and it was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.