I will probably spew short hiccups of my Italy trip for a long while, so be ready!
I just emailed my friend Dotsy to tell her that I thought of her frequently as I vacationed in the Holy Land. Dotsy has a love for nuns, and Italy is teeming with them in full habits. When Corey and I were in Venice, we visited only one cathedral, the Basilica Maria Gloriosa dei Frari. This came recommended by my guide book as one with fewer tourists and glorious paintings by Titian. It also came with a pack of nuns on vacation from many different lands, touring the cathedral and getting guided tours in various languages from monks.
The nuns were sporting their "summer habits" of creamy white flowy material. I can only assume this is to beat off the oppressive heat already smoldering the wet city. The walked in matching strappy sandals, hands clasped behind their backs, admiring the art that has stunned the world for so long. I should have been appreciating what a powerful force God must be to inspire such beauty, nodding along with the nuns as they shared in the mighty faith.
Instead, I thought only of one thing: none of these women had had sex. Ever. Chastity. All I can think about when I see a nun is chastity. How do they do it? Do they actually remain chaste? Why? Then I started wondering if this made me an awful person, because immediately after I think the word chastity, my brain starts thinking about sex. I felt like I was being disrespectful to the nuns inside my head, so I looked away until they walked softly past.