The Prodigal Parishioner

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1: World Between Worlds: The Mystic of Siena

www.prodigalparishioner.com

1: World Between Worlds: The Mystic of Siena

Paid subscribers will be able to read chapters of my upcoming novel about St. Catherine of Siena

Jenny duBay
Jun 8, 2023
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1: World Between Worlds: The Mystic of Siena

www.prodigalparishioner.com
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(Santa Caterina Writing, by Rutilio di Lorenzo Manetti)

All paid subscribers will soon have access to the serialized chapters of my upcoming novel, World Between Worlds: A Novel of the Mystic of Siena.

This novel, the first in a three-part series, chronicles the life of St. Catherine of Siena (Caterina in Italian) up until the year 1374, when another outbreak of the horrific Black Death wreaked death and devastation throughout Europe. St. Caterina lost a beloved sister during that wave of the pestilence, along with numerous nieces and nephews. Even so, she was one of the few individuals who remained in the city to minister to the sick and dying, rather than fleeing to the country in a fearful effort of self-preservation.

I spent three years of intense research before beginning to write this book, including a total of five months living not merely in Siena, but in the hotel that is now located at what was once St. Catherine’s family home.

If you’re interested in reading World Between Worlds, please consider supporting my ministry. Each donation is much appreciated, and helps me to continue my Catholic coaching and domestic abuse healing ministries.

The Prodigal Parishioner is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.


World Between Worlds: A Novel of the Mystic of Siena

Jenny duBay

Capitolo Primo: Morte, Part 1

Dialogue 94:

There are four winds: prosperity and adversity, fear and conscience. 

August, 1362. Siena, Italy.

Very soon, my sister is going to die.

This is something I know deep within myself, a truth I’m unable to deny. It isn’t a knowledge I wish for, nor one I particularly want. It’s simply there, present and pressing, a still small voice within.

There’s no rational reason for me to feel this way, yet the knowledge of Bonaventura’s death has settled deep against my soul, burrowing inside my body, pulsing from a space of absolute knowingness. It feels as if God is whispering to my spirit, and although He’s telling me something I don’t want to hear, He’s also blessing me with the grace of preparation. He’s bolstering me, strengthening me for what’s to come.

Yet I don’t feel strong. I’m weak, and small, and not ready for this.

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