One element of CTM which impressed me was the treatment of religious material in general and Sister Bernadette’s story line in season two in particular. Most modern media, whether journalists, television producers, or movie directors, see religion as a source of dogma and intolerance. While completely removing the religious element from Worth’s memoirs would be impossible, it might have been tempting for BBC executives to portray the religious elements as outdated or narrow-minded.

I see that same old face in the mirror But the face has changed somehow Something’s there that wasn’t there Beneath my puzzled brow I frown as I examine What, to my surprise Has suddenly transformed Deep within my eyes  They are still the same color They have not grown in size But now I hold a secret Deep within my eyes Their gaze has turned to hardened stone The fire behind has died There is a sad reflected soul Deep within my eyes

Stand at the doorway--
("wait your turn!")
Poised to run--
("Look out!")
Dashing off,
headlong down the hall--
("here I go!")
One giant leap,
arms outstretched to each side,
eyes closed,
Whump!
Open your eyes,
("I did it, see?")
Hop off the chair again,
("Now you try")
And scurry back down the hall,
to continue to practice
this very important skill.
Then Mom comes in,
("just be careful...")
and says, if you don't break the couch,
or any of your bones,

I will be nineteen years old tomorrow.
This past year has probably been the most intense year of my life... Me and myself at eighteen have been through a lot together - both brokenness and beauty. Such beauty...

Sitting in the sanctuary,
I close my eyes;
Anticipating the rush of song,
that is sure to come.
Right on cue,
The choir starts singing.
My skin tingles as a soprano
soars up to an exceptionally high note,
And as a bass,
goes so low;
The room seems to vibrate.
Estatic, I lean back futher, half asleep.
I am suddenly jolted from my reverie by the
sound of thuderous applause.
The concert is over.
I struggle to my feet clumsily,
Joining into the clapping.

While all the earth lies restful
And the lands lay under cover of sleep
Awake the watchfulness of peace sounds
Awake the awareness of God surrounds
Awake the love of His heart resounds

When the wetness of morn’s dew gathers on thin grass blades
On your heart a hand bades you rest, on mother Mary’s breast
When the moon rises and the stars gather sparkling in the sky
The angels surround your weary face, and sing softly songs of grace

I feel the sun catch the tops of the trees before I see it. Turning, I see through my window the oaks aflame with the last of the dying light. For a moment I am still, dazzled with the flash of gold. Then I rise, abandoning my study without a second thought. In some deep corner of my heart I know I will not be able to live with myself if I don’t go to the hilltop.