One of my favorite places to visit this past summer while researching for my book Road Maps was the Shrine of the Grotto of the Redemption in West Bend, Iowa. While it is a Catholic structure, I recommend it for anyone of any religion. The spiritual connection there surpasses any religious denomination limitations, and it's inspiring that such a structure came from the devoted mind and dexterous hands of mankind. You can find more information on the Shrine at its website here: https://www.westbendgrotto.com/ but it is definitely something that should be seen in person. Pictures do not do it justice.
Father Paul Matthias Dobberstein began working on the Shrine in 1912. Over a century later, it is now composed of nine grottos and materials ranging from petrified wood, malachite, azurite, agates, geodes, jasper, quartz, topaz, calcite, stalactites, stalagmites, and more. It is quite a feat of artistry, religion, and human dedication.
In Road Maps, Logan Sterling and her father visit the Shrine of the Grotto of the Redemption while on their father-daughter journey across the state of Iowa. Previously estranged for ten years, Logan's father reaches out, hoping to reconnect before he dies of a terminal illness. Logan writes a book about this journey, which gets made into a movie five years after the events. Here is an excerpt from my upcoming novel Road Maps, which is written includes excerpts of Logan's novel Iowa Nice. I hope you enjoy this sneak peek, and if you get the chance to visit West Bend yourself, I'd love to hear about your experience.
Excerpt from Iowa Nice
West Bend
Religion has always been a nebulous concept for me. There’s too many options for me to choose just one. It’s like an ice cream counter, and I’m being handed tiny spoon samples of each. But I’m afraid if I commit to one and get a larger scoop, there’s going to be some part of it I don’t like, an ingredient that didn’t make its way into the sample. Or maybe I’ll get sick of the taste before I finish, overwhelmed by too much of a supposedly good thing.
My eyes are bigger than my stomach when gazing upon the spiritual smorgasbord of life, and I am worried I’ll be left with a horrendous stomach ache if I actually start to fill my plate.
But it’s difficult not to dive into the buffet of belief when surrounded by such unique beauty and sheer will of faith while traversing the path through the artistic geologic wonder that is the Shrine of the Grotto of the Redemption. I’ve lost sight of Dad, having given him some space after realizing he was in one of his moods again: reflective, quiet, testy. These moods have only increased. We’ve started renting separate hotel rooms when available, not because we necessarily need the space from one another, but because Dad’s sleep is interrupted and fitful. He exists in a perpetual state of exhaustion and insomnia, desiring nothing more than rest, but unable to drift away into slumber when given the chance. He’s taken to napping in the passenger seat more, which has given me loads of quiet time while driving.
I loathe it.
Quiet time means dealing with the demons of my past: my mistakes, failings, and regrets. Things that might be aided by some grasp of theology, but alas, I’m still empty-handed. However, being here, in this meticulously made structure of stone, minerals, and petrified wood; it’s easy to see how many people have gained solace from religious structure.
I stop on the path, surrounded by the stations of the cross, a passageway constructed of fourteen scenes depicting Jesus’ journey from when he was condemned to death to when he finally met his fate. To know one is dying, a curse and a blessing. And though Mac McClarnon is no Christlike figure, I am aware of the tangential similarities of the grotto’s story and anyone diagnosed with a terminal illness.
That’s what my dad is doing, marching through his own stations of the cross, and though I am on this journey with him currently, eventually he’ll be on his own. And so will I.
Almost makes one want to find religion.
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