Tag Archives: August 2017

Reflections from the Ranch – August 2017

Reflections from the Ranch

Monday afternoon. Flying in. Reading Fr. Gabriel of St. Mary Magdalen on St. John of the Cross and union with God. The contemplative life consists of prayer and mortification.

Consolation. Gentle smile of assurance that I am on the right path. Remembrance of the Apostoli Crest. Prayer and ascesis.

Dad picks me up. Smoke in a dirty truck. It is good to see him. He won’t be around long. I am here to love him. My desire is his salvation.

At the ranch. “It’s all cleaned up for you.” Remembering what that meant last year. Dirty but not filthy – I guess. The bed had been slept in and not made. Pulled back the covers. Mice had seemed to also enjoy it. Feces and shredded stuff of various configurations. To the store to buy bedding. Frustration. But that was last year.

This year – reading St. John of the Cross. I have wanted to make a poustinia. Consolation. The discomfort of this place will be good for my soul. Prayer and ascesis.

I pull out a crate that I prepared last year. I tried to store my bedding in a sealed container. Opened it up to discover about a hundred earwigs and their feces on white but no-longer-new bedding. “Ascesis” I say to myself.

I’ll set that aside until I figure out a way to clean it.

I begin to clean the mobile home – fifth wheel. I remember the sisters’ hermitage in Ann Arbor. Clean. No mice or feces. A privilege to stay there – usually only for priests. Thankful.

I need clean surfaces to bring my stuff in. Wipe down all the larger surfaces so I can set my stuff on it without infecting my stuff with whatever was on the surface.

Then the bedding. “Johnny bought new sheets. It should all be pretty clean. He probably washed it all before he left.” I had no doubt what that meant. Ascesis. I gathered it all up in a self-contained ball and stuffed it in a corner.

Washed my bedding from last year and dried it with a fan on a line strung across the bathroom. Prayed that it would not fall on the floor.

The floor. Don’t think about the floor. This is better than hanging it to dry outside because of the pollen. The pollen here drives my senses a bit crazy. Ascesis. Clean sheets – bed made. Careful not to allow the covers to touch the floor. No sense in making it easier for them.

Talked with dad for a while. “You have to put enough money away to be free.” “Freedom comes through having money so you can do what you want.” I feel the tug of my youth as he talks. He is a generous man – the best kind of agnostic. Lots of money, a kind of rescue driven generosity, and “freedom.” But in the

But in the end it is all about a good expression of self – one that satisfies the ego and preferences – and helps others too – in a way. I battle the pull of the lies that once owned me – but it is not difficult. True freedom is found in detachment – contentment in wealth or poverty, comfort or discomfort. True freedom is to be with God and to have no love other than love for Him and thus to be able to love Him and others with abandon. True freedom can sleep with mice in peace.

True freedom is found in detachment – contentment in wealth or poverty, comfort or discomfort. True freedom is to be with God and to have no love other than love for Him and thus to be able to love Him and others with abandon. True freedom can sleep with mice in peace.

A family of deer interrupts our conversation.2017-08-21 19.56.16

I can’t allow what happened last year. Drive by the parish in town to check on Mass times.

Drive by the parish in town to check on Mass times.

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Step into the side door and enter into the sanctuary to kneel before the Tabernacle and pray. The Church is dark and silent. Peace.

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Back to the ranch. Write out my schedule – my plan of love/rule of life for this trip – at least for Tuesday. Time for bed.

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Examen prayer. Night prayer. Thankful for clean bedding. Sleep.

Tuesday morning 4:00 am. Cold. Probably around 45 degrees. No heater. I lay for a short while not wanting to get out of bed though it wasn’t warm in bed, just warmer than bare skin to the air.

Up to find warm clothing as quickly as possible but not in a hurry – peace. Nothing real warm because days are in the 80’s. I forgot how cold it gets here at night. Clothing provides some protection but still cold. A painting on the cover of my book shows St. John of the Cross in a habit with a cape over it. Back then they controlled the temperature with their clothing and sometimes a fire. Same for me this morning. It is cold but just above the temperature where the body begins to shiver out of self-preservation.

Nothing real warm because days are in the 80’s. I forgot how cold it gets here at night. Clothing provides some protection but still cold. A painting on the cover of my book shows St. John of the Cross in a habit with a cape over it. Back then they controlled the temperature with their clothing and sometimes a fire. Same for me this morning. It is cold but just above the temperature where the body begins to shiver out of self-preservation.

Coffee will warm me up a bit. Thank the Lord for warm water. Seven teaspoons for four “cups.” Pre-heat the cup with hot water from the sink so that the coffee is not cooled by the cold cup.

The mice got into my potato chips. Feces, chewed packaging. In the trash.

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Warm coffee in cold hands. Light the candle. Open the prayer book. Prayer. The mouse shows up during my chanting of the liturgy of the hours. I was surprised because I am there chanting – making noise – a dangerous human. He must be hungry. Looking for the chips. Then he disappears. Where did he go? How does he get up there and then disappear so quickly? Back to prayer. Peace.

Prayer.

The mouse shows up during my chanting of the liturgy of the hours. I was surprised because I am there chanting – making noise – a dangerous human. He must be hungry. Looking for the chips. Then he disappears. Where did he go? How does he get up there and then disappear so quickly? Back to prayer. Peace.

Back to prayer. Peace.

Spiritual reading. John of the Cross – the contemplative life and contemplation are two different things. Contemplation normally flows out of the contemplative life but they are not the same thing. The contemplative life pursues prayer and ascesis for the denudation of the soul – to free it from the love of creatures so that it can be filled with the Love of God. In this freedom – true freedom – we can love and be loved in a way that transcends the best of what this world has to offer. Prayer time finished.

The contemplative life pursues prayer and ascesis for the denudation of the soul – to free it from the love of creatures so that it can be filled with the Love of God. In this freedom – true freedom – we can love and be loved in a way that transcends the best of what this world has to offer. Prayer time finished.

In this freedom – true freedom – we can love and be loved in a way that transcends the best of what this world has to offer.

Prayer time finished.

Get into the truck. The first opportunity to control my environment. Didn’t work too hard at it. Just a little more warmth would be nice. Drive down the ranch road to the highway then into Livingston and Montana Cup.

Drive down the ranch road to the highway then into Livingston and Montana Cup.

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“Bacon and egg no cheese on an everything bagel please.” Very good. He is very kind to me. Writing now.

Very good. He is very kind to me.

No more food in preparation for Mass. Leave for Mass and to see the face of a faithful priest- Fr, Leo McDowell. St. Mary’s Catholic Church – Livingston Montana.

Early to the parish side chapel. Silent.

Silent. Alone with St. John of the Cross. I love getting to Mass early. It is particularly rewarding in a rural parish where there is no hustle or bustle, “not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.”

I love getting to Mass early. It is particularly rewarding in a rural parish where there is no hustle or bustle, “not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.”

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Mass wasn’t with Fr. McDowell but instead offered by Fr. Amul Parochial Vicar.

The lector sounded like Katheryn Hepburn in her parkinsons stricken vibrato from On Golden Pond. She read the best she could and the heavens were pleased with her sweet spirit and noble effort.

Fr. Amul appears to be Pakistani. Dark skin. Dark piercing eyes. He stares longer than our culture prefers which serves to increase the intensity of even subtle glances. He was faithful in the Mass and His homily was deep. He believed every word he said. It is nice listen to someone who cares and believes.

Into the main sanctuary to kneel before the tabernacle and offer thanksgiving. My prayers gently interrupted by Fr. Amul sweetly singing a hymm to God in the sacristy – suprisingly in English. May he show that love in public with abandon.

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Back to the ranch.

Here’s the RMS – Rodent Mitigation Strategy. Tupperware and mouse traps.

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Nothing too exciting today. Just hanging out with my dad.

Lots of cuss words. I don’t understand the attraction. He likes the “f” word. I don’t care for cussing because my wife and the Holy Spirit both don’t like it. “Let no unwholesome word proceed from your mouth, but only such a word as is good for edification according to the need of the moment, so that it will give grace to those who hear.” Ephesians 4:29

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Even so, I don’t judge him. It is silly to condemn and hold non-believers up to the standard of believers as if they understand what they are doing. We forget Jesus’ words, “Father forgive them for they know not what they do.”

After the talking faded, we went up to the pond.

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Lots of fish. If you care, Brook Trout, Rainbow Trout, Cuthroat Trout, and Brown Trout. Many are bigger than most have ever seen. Brook trout are stunning when they get large. Here’s one.

Brook Trout

Back to the trailer and my little furry friends.

Chant night prayer.

I love chanting the office. It slows me down and draws me in.

O God come to my assistance, O Lord make haste to help me…

Time for bed. I wonder if we will catch a mouse tonight.

Sleep broken – thwapp!! Got one. I will clean it up in the morning. It’s cold. Sleep.

Wednesday Morning: Alarm – 4:15. Only can get one eyelid open. Close that one and pry open the other. Can’t seem to muster up the strength to open both at one time. I think – “too easy to fall back to sleep.” Reach for the bright light about six inches from my face. Face the light knowing that my physiological response will help me wake up.

It’s cold in bed and colder out. Still need to get up or my prayer time will be compromised – my commitments to God. I owe Him everything. Open both lids.

My first real thoughts. “Ascesis.” “Mortification.” We need sleep. Sleep is good. But, if we allow our bodies to control us we will sleep too much. I need to get up. The appetite for sleep can become disordered, as with any appetite, if we allow it to rule us.

Too much food. Too much sleep. Too much… The interesting thing is that our appetites, even the good ones, are insatiable. This means that good appetites for sex or food, if we followed their every whim, would lead us to self-destruction and the destruction of others.

Our appetites were not given to be unrestrained – to rule us – but to be channeled to serve us as we serve God.

Rightly ordered appetites are moderated specifically to the service of God. If they rule us, they replace God and determine what we do in our lives. We either manage them or they manage us and destroy us. We either use them to serve God or they become a ruthless god and imprison us.

Obesity. Sexual devience. Clothing. Self-care. Makeup. Reading. Gardening. Sports. Church service (yes, I said it).

This is why wealth is so dangerous.

Time to make coffee. Yesterday seven scoops made the coffee weak. Mortification. Seven scoops.

The mouse is dead. My instinct is to name it. I wonder why? Primordial assignment from God?  “Name all this stuff” He commanded Adam. “Dead Bull Draw.” A place my dad named on the ranch because, you guessed it, they once found a bull dead there.

Ed? No, I have a friend named Ed and the mouse is dead and Ed might think I don’t like him – the real Ed I mean. Elmo? That works. I don’t know anyone named Elmo. I’ve got to get him out of here before I pray. Elmo is only about two feet from where I pray.

It is cold outside. Where are my gloves? The temperature outside is the same as inside. But it feels colder without walls – protection – stuff to lean on. The law of God is like this. Outside the law anxiety and disorder reign because we are outside of His care.

Prayer.

O God come to my assistance, O Lord make haste to help me…

Lots of distractions. My eyes are itching. The pollen has caught up to me. Appetities – itching. If I give in, it will feel good for a moment and then burn all day. Same with sin.

I wish all appetites, when abused, had this instant price. It would be easier. As it is, 100 extra calories has no instant price to deter us. One puff has no cost. One thousand brings cancer… We must stay awake – sober and alert – the devil is prowling about seeking someone to devour.  He devours those who sleep…

More thoughts after prayer. When we have any measure of wealth we tend to seek to optimize every environment we encounter. The temp, the taste, the color, the feel, the hue. We think we are in control. But each optimization feeds the flesh – it grows in its power to dominate us – to rule us – to imprison us. The flesh grows stronger and more demanding.

The appetites are insatiable and left to themselves, they will eventually kill us.

Ordered to God, they facilitate life and self-giving. They are the vehicle of love.

Off to Montana Cup.

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“Bacon and egg, no cheese, on an everything bagel please.”

Thursday Morning: It is warmer today. Easier to get out of bed.

“Make” the bed to keep the critters off of my pillows and the areas where my head or face will be.

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I do appreciate the fecal distribution of mice. They make it clear that they can access any flat or angled surface and that they do so covering 100% of available territory. This disabuses one of the illusion that any surface is clean.  Thus all must be cleaned before each use.

Getting ready to pray. “Steady your pace boy.” I tell myself.

I am very intense by nature and I can get the motor raging within minutes of the morning light. It is essential to my spiritual health to keep the RPMs low – especially heading into prayer.

Without restraint a typical engine can be run in such a way as to cause it to self-destruct. Pedal to the floor for an extended period produces too much heat and friction – it begins to break down. Similarly, my engine needs to be restricted to a certain RPM range – the pace of prayer. Beyond this pace I leave Jesus behind – I exit His world, His leading, His presence. I run out ahead to my destruction. The pace of prayer is pace is a pace of faith. It requires a relinquishing of the illusion that my effort is all that matters.

The pace of prayer is pace is a pace of faith. It requires a relinquishing of the illusion that my effort is all that matters.

Prayer. Easy to be quiet and still with the Lord. Grateful. Peaceful even though my allergies are raging. The wind picked up yesterday.

Easy to be quiet and still with the Lord. Grateful. Peaceful even though my allergies are raging. The wind picked up yesterday.

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Three mice dead. They are easy to catch. They betrayed their preference – chips. Their appetite is predictable and thus I can bait a trap to their liking and in one instant – death.

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What are my appetites? What do I cling to? What do I seek? In the early stages of spiritual growth where habitual sin is prevalent, the enemy watches and baits and when the human bites and gets trapped, the black soul berates and abuses. He watches. He baits. He traps. He abuses. He confuses. He watches. He baits. He traps. He abuses. He confuses. He watches…

In the early stages of spiritual growth where habitual sin is prevalent, the enemy watches and baits and when the human bites and gets trapped, the black soul berates and abuses. He watches. He baits. He traps. He abuses. He confuses. He watches. He baits. He traps. He abuses. He confuses. He watches…

He watches. He baits. He traps. He abuses. He confuses. He watches. He baits. He traps. He abuses. He confuses. He watches…

Every person has their preferred meal of sin. Pride, lust, anger, covetousness, envy, sloth, gluttony. The enemy watches. He baits. He traps. He abuses. He confuses. He watches…

The enemy watches. He baits. He traps. He abuses. He confuses. He watches…

Every sin has bait that works to draw the sinner. Every attachment has bait that draws first to the attachment, then to sin. Every imperfection has bait…

Detachment has no bait. Humility has no bait. Detachment and humility free the soul from being manipulated and trapped.

If we are AWAKE to our sinful tendencies, attachments, imperfections, we can see the bait and reject it. If we are asleep to the danger within and outside of us, we approach the trap, follow our bellies, our eyes, our desires, our vanity, our ego, our anger, our self-abuse… thwapp!!

If we are asleep to the danger within and outside of us, we approach the trap, follow our bellies, our eyes, our desires, our vanity, our ego, our anger, our self-abuse… thwapp!!

How to stay awake? Eucharist. Reconciliation. Daily mental prayer. Daily examen.

Eucharist. Reconciliation. Daily mental prayer. Daily examen.

It all requires effort. This is ascesis. This is mortification. I’ll take ascesis any day over the trap, the abuse, and all that exists within the destructive path and aftermath of the hurricane of sin and self-love.

To the cross.

To the solar panels. Spent the entire day wiring and setting up a set of solar panels for my dad.

Spent the entire day wiring and setting up a set of solar panels for my dad.

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It was a joy to work with him. We think alike when it comes to mechanical stuff. “Do it right and you won’t have to do it again.” Of course his axiom was much more colorful.

Ready – aim – fire. Slow, deliberate, thoughtful, assembled, organized, perfection. No future repairs required.

There are no shortcuts in the created order. Sin has unleashed the second law of thermodynamics – all things go from order to disorder. Sin has unleashed a spiritual truth that corresponds – the soul goes from order to disorder. The force of time, sin, an ever-changing environment, all conspire to unravel all that is ordered, including the soul.

Sin has unleashed a spiritual truth that corresponds – the soul goes from order to disorder. The force of time, sin, an ever-changing environment, all conspire to unravel all that is ordered, including the soul.

Anyone can create a beautiful garden. Few are willing to do what it takes to keep the garden beautiful. We must expend our energy in such a way as to maintain the order. It is a daily battle that can never be neglected.

Order is not order for order’s sake. It is order that rejects disorder and orders itself to God. The garden of God – always beautiful – always ready for His presence within us. This is a daily battle and will be so until we die. All souls, left unattended, move from order to disorder.

The dark one seeks to accelerate the disorder to our destruction. He watches. He baits. He traps. He destroys order and beauty and all that is good with us and around us.

To the cross. To self-denial. To mortification. To ascesis. To tending the garden. To resting in His presence. To the freedom of life in Yeshua Hamashiach. The One long foretold. The One who would set us free from sin and all that binds us and seeks to destroy us.

To the cross. To freedom. To joy. To peace. To presence. To life.

To Montana Cup

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“Bacon and egg, no cheese, on an everything bagel please.”

Thursday Evening: No more dead mice but should I relent in my pursuit of the invaders? No. Why not? Because finding a fecal distribution on my pillow or bedding or some other treasured space would be troubling. As well, I don’t know what I don’t know. I can’t tell what is hiding in this old place. There are thousands of hiding places. The soul is no different. Infected by sin there are thousands of rooms that need cleaning and the infilling of God. In contrast to this old place, I have help with my soul. Even beyond habitual sin, there’s plenty of scar tissue and dysfunction. The scent of mice and old stale stuff will never be cleansed in this old place. The scent of concupiscence, though faded, won’t leave until our final perfection in Him.

The soul is no different. Infected by sin there are thousands of rooms that need cleaning and the infilling of God. In contrast to this old place, I have help with my soul. Even beyond habitual sin, there’s plenty of scar tissue and dysfunction. The scent of mice and old stale stuff will never be cleansed in this old place. The scent of concupiscence, though faded, won’t leave until our final perfection in Him.

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Until then, He warns “stay sober and alert” and “pray that you not enter into temptation.” He knows our hearts. He is asking us to keep the traps out. To stay awake. To be vigilant in finding and rooting out every actual and potential entryway for the dark one. The dark one is always circling and looking for a way in. Every doorway must be locked and sealed.

The dark one is always circling and looking for a way in. Every doorway must be locked and sealed and relocked and resealed and checked and sealed and locked and checked…

Mortification.

St. Teresa of Avila teaches that self-imposed mortification is far less efficacious than when we carry the crosses that are imposed on us from without.

Why? Because when we self-mortify, like when we fast or whatever, we have the power to end the fast. We know this and it makes it all easier. When the suffering comes from outside or is from a source outside of our direct control, we often don’t know when or if it will end. A spot in the middle of my brain. Wish I hadn’t remembered that. They said it is probably not a problem. It is inoperable anyway. Jesus says, “Sufficient unto the day…” Lord

When the suffering comes from outside or is from a source outside of our direct control, we often don’t know when or if it will end. A spot in the middle of my brain. Wish I hadn’t remembered that. They said it is probably not a problem. It is inoperable anyway. Jesus says, “Sufficient unto the day…” Lord Jesus I trust in you.

Some like to soften St. Teresa and say, “look how balanced she is.” We shouldn’t pursue so much self-mortification.

Those who say this know nothing about her life or her rule of life. I would like to ask them if they are aware that St. Teresa and her sisters used the discipline every Wednesday. Ask them if they have ever tried the discipline.

Balanced? Balanced today means nothing more than compromise. The saints were not balanced. They were sold out for God and ran headlong flailing into the Kingdom. They were always leaning forward against the wind, against sin, against selflessness, against the gates of hell, and all for God.

Ask them to read her book of foundations and if they had ever chosen to live in a house that didn’t have all the walls… Balanced. Eye roll.

St. Teresa also gave a hair shirt as a gift to her brother – a layman! Balance? She joked about it with him in one of her letters. Balance? She used this kind of mortification because she knew that it actually strengthened the will to deal with the stuff outside of our control.

Put simply, choosing to fast will strengthen the will and aid the soul when it faces things outside of its control but is still called to a joyful embrace of God’s providence.

The latter is more efficacious but the former is necessary for success in the latter.

Remember when the apostles were beaten and imprisoned? All their liberties removed. All their dignity lay in a bloody pool as it ran down their backs to the dirty prison floor. And then they were released. They still had no liberty. But they were totally free – in prison or out. Free. Joyful. They “rejoiced” in their suffering. Free. Joyful.

Sitting with my father in his trailer.

He smokes non-stop. I have asthma. I have emergency medication I can take later. He asks me if I am ok. “I am fine. No need to worry.” I will be fine. I can take emergency medication later. No long term damage. The TV is on. I hate TV. Why would anyone allow that invasion into the beauty of this place? I would rather have mice than TV. Haven’t had a TV for decades. I have hearing issues and attention issues. He is talking, the TV is talking. The room is smoky. We “talk” for hours about stuff that matters as much as stuff matters. It all matters to him. Love builds a bridge over which truth can pass.

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My father loved me and gave life to me. He cared for me and rescued me when I was at my end. I can sit in smoke. Jesus would do it. I can do it. I can take the medication later. I can look at my phone later. When you look at him he feels love and care. It can wait until tomorrow.

Mortification.. but the easy kind. Joyful.

The mice are the harder kind. The pollen is harder. The dirt and disorder is harder.

This is my brother. Looking at this is harder. I do love him.

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But not that hard. “You have not yet resisted unto the shedding of blood.”

Joy.

Joy doesn’t mean anything if it doesn’t make it to our faces. What do others see? What do those who are seeking God see when we look at them? Do they see delight? Acceptance? Love? Care? Joyful. Joy doesn’t mean anything if it doesn’t make it to our faces.

Joy is light. “Be a light to the world.” You can’t be a light and hide the light. Joyful. Joy doesn’t mean anything if it doesn’t make it to our faces… if it doesn’t result in a smile as a gift to another.

Joyful. The world says that joy is something that we feel. Sure. But they also imply that if we don’t feel it, then it isn’t there. How then does that square with St. Peter’s admonition to “Count it all joy my brethren when you encounter various trials”? It doesn’t.

Joy is also a choice. It is the fruit of humility and awakeness. When we are awake we know our sin and God’s desire. We know His goodness and provision. We recognize His presence and redemptive action everywhere. Joy flows out of this knowing and seeing. But we must choose to be awake, to be joyful.

We must look in order to see Him. We must be awake to look.

What if I don’t feel it? “Count it all joy…” This means we can put on a smile because we choose joy. We choose to love others more than ourselves. We choose, in our countenance, to be pleasant, open, even if we don’t feel it. We choose self-giving over a dead narcissism that only gives when it feels like it, only smiles when it feels like it, only goes to the cross when it feels like it. But the one who only gives when it feels like it will never choose the cross.

Hope and joy.

“Love hopes all things.” What is hope? Hope is the joyful anticipation of good. Do people see in my face, a joyful anticipation of good towards them? Do they see light or disapproval?

I think that my dad and brother see too much disapproval. They know I live a different life. Pain. Tears.

I don’t need to withhold a smile from my brother as if it were a grave and tacit approval of all the darkness. He knows what I believe. I have been very clear. I need to love, to smile, to rejoice in every tiny little good thing I discover. I must be awake. I must not let my instincts lead me. He must lead me. Awake.

Joyful.

They will never be compelled to the light if they don’t see the light. Love builds a bridge over which truth can pass. Joy is the material of the bridge. Joy lights the way to the bridge and the path across the bridge. If they don’t see the light, they won’t see the bridge, and they won’t hear and receive the truth and find their way across.

Joy. Light. Bridge. Truth. Love. They will come. And if they don’t you have done all you can. Deep sorrow. Tears. Guttural groan at the thought of their eternal loss. Deep sorrow. Tears.

Liturgy of the Hours. Chant. Sleep.

Friday Morning: In the “bathroom” mirror. You are ugly in the morning. You look like a muppet gone bad. I have a beautiful wife!

Oh… I got me a fine wife, I got me old fiddle,
The suns comin up I got cakes on the griddle,
Life ain’t nothing but a funny bunny riddle…

It’s Friday morning. No meat today. The cross. The cross.

Eye drops to ease the burnitch. No pain killer today. The cross. The cross.

O God come to my assistance, O Lord make haste to help me.

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Silence

Help me Jesus. Tears.

It is cold, and I am alone.

You are not alone. Pray with me my Angel. Tears.

Silence

Distraction. I love You Jesus my love, grant that I might love you always, and do with me what You will.

Silence.

Liturgy of the Hours.

I love the way. I love the Way. I was born for this. It is the culmination of all of my life experience in Him. I will die serving souls to heaven. Clarity. Community. Self-giving until death.

I was born for this. Even so, it is subordinate to my calling as husband. Interesting. My calling to one trumps my calling to thousands. This is how popular priests have lost their way. They see their calling to thousands or to their causes as if it were the same as their calling to the One. It isn’t the same. To make it the same is idolatry. Grave sin.

Public speaking is not more important than your relationship with the One even when your speaking is about the One. May you return and humble yourself to your true calling to the One. May you return and spend your life in silence and die in peace – in His arms. This is why you were made.

The pro-life cause is not more important than the One. May you repent and reorder your life and humble yourself to the Bishop. May you repent, and only place the One on the altar. May you repent and return to your first love and then reengage in the fight enabled by the power of God rather than your own efforts without that power.

Help them Jesus. Tears.

I was born for this. I love the Way. I love His way. I love His people. Prayer. Ascesis. Self-Giving. Joy. Light. Bridge. The cross. The cross.

To Montana cup.

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“Just an Egg on an everything bagel please.”

It is Friday. The cross. The cross.