From the hills of Kenya to the cloisters ....
From the hills of Kenya to the cloisters of Notre-Dame de Bonne-Espérance and finally to Santa Rita Monastery in the desert of the United States — my vocation story has been, in many ways, a holy adventure directed by God… with occasional moments of divine comedy. 
I often say my vocation began before I even knew what the word “vocation” meant.
I was about six years old when something mysterious happened in my little heart. My family lived near a monastery of Cistercian monks. I would see these quiet men dressed in their habits, walking peacefully, praying, working, living as though God were the most important Person in the universe.
And I thought: “These people seem strangely happy… and also slightly mysterious.”
There was something about them that fascinated me deeply. While other children dreamed of becoming pilots, nurses, teachers, or football stars, I secretly dreamed of becoming… a monk. Well, eventually a nun — details came later.
I remember praying very simply: “Lord, when I grow up, I want to live like those people who belong completely to You.”
The first person I ever told was my elder sister. I expected shock, concern, maybe even laughter.
Instead, she calmly said: “That would be good.” That was all.
But her peaceful response stayed with me for years. It was like God quietly confirming the desire He Himself had planted.
So, I kept the call hidden in my heart for a long time. Very hidden.
At home I looked like an ordinary child. But internally? A tiny desert monk was already living inside me. While others were discussing fashion, music, or parties, somewhere in my mind I was wondering: “How many psalms do monks pray before breakfast?”
Years later, when I finally gathered courage to speak to a monk about my desire for monastic life, his response was not exactly the heavenly affirmation I expected.
He said: “No. You are too young to think about monastic life.”
Ah yes. The classic spiritual cold shower. For a moment I thought: “Well then perhaps I imagined everything.” But the strange thing was — the call did not disappear.
It remained quietly alive.
That is one of the mysteries of a true vocation: when God calls, the invitation waits patiently inside the soul. So, I waited. And waited. And waited for some more. Which, providentially, turned out to be excellent monastic training.
Then one day, after years had passed, the same monk finally said: “Now I believe it is God calling you.” I think heaven itself probably whispered: “Finally! We have been trying to tell you this since she was six!”
And so, the journey began. I entered the monastery in France at Notre-Dame de Bonne-Espérance.
Monastic life is not an escape from reality.
It is entering reality more deeply. It is a life of prayer, silence, work, community, forgiveness, patience, and conversion of heart — daily conversion.
Over the years God continued leading me, eventually bringing me to Santa Rita Monastery in the American desert.
Looking back now, my heart is filled with deep gratitude.
First, gratitude to God, whose faithful love has guided me from the dreams of a six-year-old child to the reality of monastic life. He has been patient, merciful, and endlessly generous with His grace.
I am deeply grateful to my family, especially for their love, support, prayers, and quiet trust in the mysterious work God was doing in my heart.
And I am profoundly grateful to the monastic communities that have formed me and continue to form me daily — through prayer, work, patience, correction, encouragement, and shared life — helping me little by little to become more united to Christ and, by His mercy, a little more Christ-like each day.
Because monastic life is not about becoming extraordinary. It is about allowing God, slowly and sometimes hilariously, to transform us through ordinary life.
I can truly say: monastic life is a beautiful life. Not because monks and nuns become perfect.
Oh no. But because God is endlessly patient, endlessly merciful, and astonishingly generous with His grace.
There are difficulties, yes. There are sacrifices, yes. But there is also deep joy — the joy of belonging entirely to Christ.
I sometimes think vocation is a little like the Gospel story of the mustard seed: tiny in the beginning, almost invisible, yet quietly growing through years of trust.
We monks and nuns simply keep walking toward God together — sometimes gracefully, sometimes tripping slightly — but always sustained by His Mercy and Joy.
Sr Hildegard OCSO
