Finding a Rhythm That Saves: My Journey to St. Benedict Abbey’s Oblate Program

I did not come to St. Benedict’s Abbey or Benedictine College in search of a title or a structured program. I came because, in July of 2022, my life had reached a breaking point. I was in the midst of a marital separation, carrying emotional turmoil and interior wreckage, and running out of ways to pretend I was holding everything together. In that fog, my father gently guided me toward a mentor who saw something in me I could not yet see in myself. That mentor encouraged me to spend time with the monks at St. Benedict’s Abbey.

At the time, it felt like a last resort. Today, I see it as the moment God began quietly saving my life.

When I walked into the abbey for the first time, I felt lost, scared, humbled, and unsure of who I even was. But I also knew one truth with absolute clarity. The tools I had relied on for years were no longer enough. I needed structure. I needed community. I needed a rhythm steadier than my emotions. I needed the kind of redemption that only comes through surrender.

What I discovered in the Benedictine tradition was not a quick fix, but a way of life that slowly rebuilt me from the inside out.

A Rhythm That Holds You Up

The Benedictine rhythm of ora et labora became the first thing that steadied me. The monks embodied something I had rarely encountered before, something I had quietly longed for my entire life. Serenity. Not the absence of struggle, but the presence of God in the midst of it. A serenity rooted in prayer, humility, consistency, and a deep trust in God’s providence. Watching them, I began to understand serenity not as a feeling but as a way of being.

The Liturgy of the Hours introduced me to a new kind of time. In my old life, time felt rushed, scarce, and demanding. But in the abbey, time became something sacred. Kairos time. God’s time. Time measured not by productivity but by presence. Each Hour was a gentle interruption, a reminder that God breaks into our lives not according to our urgency but according to His love.

In those early days, simply allowing Scripture to interrupt the noise of my mind felt like oxygen.

Lectio divina taught me how to listen. Not just to the words on the page, but to the movements of my own heart. I learned to sit with a phrase long enough for God to speak through it.

And the Rule’s insistence on humility softened parts of me I didn’t even know were hardened. Benedict does not ask us for perfection. He asks us to show up, to stay, and to begin again. That simple permission to begin again became one of the most healing gifts of my life.

Stability in an Unstable World

My interior world had been restless for years. Stability, so central to Benedictine life, felt impossible. How do you stay planted when everything inside you feels like shifting ground?

Slowly, I learned that stability is not about geography. It is about remaining with God as He reveals who you are. It is choosing patience over panic, presence over distraction, and community over isolation.

The monks did not rescue me. But by their witness, they showed me how God rescues us: quietly, gently, through ordinary faithfulness. Their serenity, born from rhythm and prayer, became something I longed to cultivate within myself.

Community and Accountability

Before entering the oblate program at St. Benedict’s Abbey, I carried my failures and fears alone. The Benedictine community taught me that accountability is not punishment. It is protection. It frees us to grow, to be honest, and to be known without fear.

It was in those honest spaces that God redeemed parts of me I thought were beyond repair.

Prayer Commitments in Daily Life

People often ask how the Benedictine commitments work within a modern schedule. My answer is simple. The more chaotic the day, the more essential the rhythm becomes.

I do not always pray every Hour perfectly. Some days I fall short. But the rhythm shapes me even in my imperfection. Morning prayer recenters me. Midday prayer interrupts my ego. Evening prayer invites release. Lectio divina softens the hard edges. The Rule challenges me in the moments I most want comfort.

These practices do not remove the weight of life. They give me strength to carry it with grace.

A Life Redeemed, Not Replaced

I did not become an oblate because I had everything figured out. I became an oblate because God found me in my unraveling and led me to a way of life that could hold all of me, even the parts still being healed.

Through the life of St. Benedict’s Abbey, my past was not erased. It was redeemed. It was transformed into humility, gratitude, hope, and the quiet courage to begin again.

And so I leave you with the same invitation that once met me in my brokenness:

What might the Holy Spirit be trying to say to you, if you were willing to slow down enough to listen?