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The Fabric Of Sadness
I have a friend — we’ll call her Lydia — whom I haven’t seen in several months. The last time we met, Lydia told me about her brother, Jake, who had recently had a massive, debilitating stroke. At the time of the event, Jake had been caring for his girlfriend, who had suffered a similar stroke some months prior. While describing their sad plight, Lydia said, “They’re all each other have. They pretty much just lay in bed and comfort each other by talking to each other.” I promised to pray regularly for all of them. Yesterday, I saw Lydia again, and the first thing I asked her was how…
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Prayer’s Labyrinth
I received a call today from a friend who asked my wife and me to pray for her family. To say that they are walking in the valley of shadows would be an understatement. I promised that we would be praying for the family and asked her to keep us updated and to let us know if we can do anything of a hands-on nature. Then on the way home, I passed a state trooper headed in the opposite direction. He must have been doing 80mph in a 40 mph zone, lights and siren going. Right behind him were two ambulances, flashing and wooping with equal dynamic presence. I crossed…
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For Lauds, Saturday, August 8th A.D. 2020
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Day Of Sighs
I drove to work, almost able to see the miasma of lies and evil hanging like summer fog in the air through which I moved. Natural beauty almost always lifts me out of myself and helps me forget the ugliness within and without, but yesterday, I could feel it affecting me, entering my spirit’s lungs, sickening me. Arriving at my office and parking in my usual spot beneath the tree, I did not want to leave the shelter of my vehicle, did not want to cross that parking lot, did not want to enter that building where profit is king and spiritual realities are, at best, sneer-fodder. I wanted to…
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The Most Catholic Thing
Tomorrow I will embark on the most Catholic thing I’ve done to date: I will begin the 33-day preparation for a consecration to Mary on the Feast of St. Loius de Montfort. I’m looking forward to the focus and the discipline of this preparation. So many of the events swirling in the air today have reminded me of exactly why I began to be drawn to traditional Roman Catholicism some years ago, setting in motion a series of broken friendships and relationships that still grieve and perplex me to this day. *** I saw my bicyclist friend on the side of the road yesterday morning, in the rainy dark. I…
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Towards, Then Past, Then Wondering
I was lost in thought as I drove home this evening, my mind splintered by the day’s frustrations and the mountains before me, bearded as they were with February mist, my almost-formed thoughts bunching up and then firing off in some of the directions to which they’re prone, then looping back and catching hold of the lullaby voice of Father Chad Ripperger, whose podcast was playing while the tires spun the rain back behind me and the wipers kept a cadence like 45 pairs of boot heels digging into the surface of the grinder beneath that unrainy sky so many years ago. The road sweeps down through a mountain gap…
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Lances In Darkness
Because we didn’t own a car when I was a boy, I was always thrilled to ride in one. The speed of modern transport has never lost its magic for me, and this perpetual appreciation stems from remembering how it feels to walk to or from home when hot and tired while watching cars purr past with their air conditioning and comfortable bench seats. I used to play a mental game anytime I rode in a car. I would imagine I had a long, long sword, sharper than the stropped razor’s in R.V.’s barber shop, longer than a vaulter’s pole, extending out the passenger side window. And as we would…
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The Soul’s Language
Prayer begins by talking to God, but it ends by listening to Him. In the face of Absolute Truth, silence is the soul’s language. — Venerable Fulton J. Sheen
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Before My Candle
I sit before my candle and watch it the flame. How can a thing so still be so alive? The flame is mysterious to me. I’m told that energy is never destroyed, that it merely changes form. What form does the blue-and-yellow flower of fire morph into as it reaches to the ceiling, immobile as long as my breath does not reach it? Does it cycle back to be used by some other soul, some child of God asking questions that all seem rhetorical? The candle illuminates my face, and I wonder how I appear to it. I suspect that animals can see and hear and sense things that are…
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Sanctae Scripturae
In the arid palm of August, this region is not as hot as Texas but it is hot enough to drive me inside for most of the day. I bookend the hours on days like this with a walk and a long sitting/meditating/praying/reading session before the sun gets too high in the sky and then again after it drops behind the western ridge. The stretch in between is taken up with whatever piddling and puttering can be accomplished inside, in the cool dark cathedral of home. This morning, I sat out in the piney shade of the front yard, breviary on my knees, and with the stiff breeze it was…