Bossuet

This will be my Lenten, reading, again. I always read Praying with the Saints, Angelus Press. Right now, its Winter. Fr. Troadec is very good at giving one a nice history of each Saint in a page and a half, with good meditations to go along with it. Bishop Bossuet is different, more of an intellectual hard hitter from the 17th century. Always a good change for me. 

Have been meditating on the coming clash between the SSPX and Rome. The first unsettling part for me is that the Pope himself will not meet with Fr. Pagliarani. Why, one wonders? Perhaps the Vatican just can't come to grips with the head of the Society shaking hands with the Holy Father? Would the ramifications be just too much in that single photo shoot? Time will tell, even though I have a feeling this meeting with The Tucho will never take place. Just sayin'...  
 

Preparations

 Well, I'm back.

I haven't really gone anywhere, I've just been away from this page for a year, because, as usual, I don't have much to say that's worthy of saying, but the time has come to begin again. The season of Lent is fast approaching, and my guilt at not having a very fulfilling Advent because of a lack of preparation has been gnawing at me. In my older age I've become lazy, bad physical health notwithstanding. I owe it to myself to be more disciplined in my day, in my thoughts and in my spiritual life.  But he that knew not, and did things worthy of stripes, shall be beaten with few stripes. And unto whomsoever much is given, of him much shall be required: and to whom they have committed much, of him they will demand the more. (Luke 12:48.) Well, that is probably me. God has given me so many good things, the things that make me happy, make me smile, make my life keep moving forward, all well and good, but I also see now that the trials and sufferings that I have on a daily basis are also wonderful gifts, perhaps the greatest gifts of all from God, for I believe that those sufferings are my penance for those lost years. Every day, in one book or another, I read about the Saints. I read how most suffered, for some longs years, others, dying young. I am not a saint, but I hope, before the end, I become one. I hope that when the end comes, I can go singing to the gallows, fairly confident that I have run the race. But, BUT, if I don't try to take this life to the next level, because I know God wants me to and St. Francis is up there staring down, waiting for me to show him what I'm worth, why I was called to be a Franciscan, then all is lost.

I jest, in many ways when I write, using dumb metaphors when I should be more serious... (singing to the gallows, up there staring down,). Perhaps because I see down the road and it scares me to death. There is no time to let one's guard down and Lent is a great time to dust off the armor and begin the battle. In all things taking the shield of faith, wherewith you may be able to extinguish all the fiery darts of the most wicked one. Ephesians 6:16

And so, I begin again.

Virtues at 13°

 Outside I go, into the cold of 13° just to get a chore or two done. Winter is a funny season for me, one minute I don't mind the cold, next I want no part of it. I guess it's the wind that really puts a damper on things. Today, not so much. This winter has been cold, consequently we've gone through more wood than last year, which has had me loading the stove less frequently, thus, in a way I've been able to practice the virtue of frugality! Now let me say straight out, I'm not a great practitioner of the virtues, even though I good priest I know would always drill it into us to practice them whenever we had a chance. He used the example of driving in a car, especially an interstate, when you're stuck behind a 'slowpoke', that this is a perfect time to practice the virtue of patience. Unfortunately, I'm still working on that one...

While out, the wind chimes ring their individual songs, all different, but still always the same. I like them like that. And the winter birds that visit our feeders are living proof (to me), of the Hand of God in everything. To be, what appears completely happy while living in 0° And lately I've been thinking of St. Francis, and how he was so aware of his surroundings, the material world and the spiritual world. Why can't I be just a little bit better at that? I do believe that Francis was a chosen vessel, chosen by our Lord Jesus Christ, and the amount of grace that was given to him, and moreover, how much he accepted, how much he absorbed, is probably well beyond what I could even handle. In a way our state of life dictates how we see life, but not how we should see life. Our job, as people who are always trying to stay on the narrow path, is to constantly practice the virtues, no matter how bad we do it or ignore doing it. Think of the virtues first thing in the morning, in the dark, holding your Rosary, perhaps with the first flames from the wood stove filling the room. And at the end of the day, in the dark and fighting off sleep, think of the virtues that you practiced (or tried to) today. Either way, Our Blessed Mother and Our Lord will be pleased.  

Searching for Silence.

 Much happens, yet much remains the same. No big revelation there. But when you're living it, seeing it go by slowly like a winter in New Hampshire, you feel it, inside and out. The sameness of one's life, when you get to a certain point of age and physical stagnation, your thoughts can turn to many different things, with only some of them leading you forward. Take prayer life and social media. They do not go together. I try to make them both work, giving time to each one, but social media, or really any kind of media, is a big distraction for me. It is so easy to scroll, scroll, scroll. Harder to go out to the garage when it's 25 and putter. It's cold! And let's face it, I don't have much to say that's very interesting. Heck, I don't find many people very interesting anymore. Personally, I think the world is in a bad spot when it comes to FB, YouTube, etc. People can talk themselves into thinking that one is getting smarter by watching and even contributing to this stuff. The answer is no, and we all know it. Joy comes to us in fits and starts, and evil hides it's face all the time, even when he shows it to us. Push it away, turn your face from it, even if you have to sit in silence, by yourself and turn off the inner noise. Even if nothing comes of it, even if the silence is broken, still, the turn was there, even for a moment. 

 Nov. 12.

Today begins the Fast of St. Martin of Tours, a type of pre-Advent fast that had it's history going back to the year 480 but more verified in the year 582, during the Council of Macon. Regardless, St. Francis had a deep devotion to St. Martin and took this fast very seriously, and so I, as a third order Franciscan will also. As I get older my dietary needs don't allow for the hardcore fasting that my wife and I used to do, so this year it will take on a more contemplative nature. Books I have, the focus on staying strong until Christmas Da
y is always the challenge. I hope to post a bit more throughout, but I'm terrible with that. 

8 out of 10.

 I'll be 69 in April, and I'm slowly (or quickly!) coming to grips with the fact that I really may have to have something more done than just taking Advil or Tylenol or Turmeric. Shoulders, knees, hips and back are cooked. Tomorrow I'm going to pain management to have my hip looked at. I've been diagnosed with adult hip dysplasia and the pain, at times is unbelievable. I've spent most of my late adult life living with pain, but this is tough. Even with the good thought of giving this pain to Our Lord, for Him to do with what He will with it, I guess when I actually cannot walk, then it's time to seek relief. I'll try the shot first, and if that doesn't give me long term relief (which it won't) I'll have to consider an operation.   

End of January

 End of January,

but winter has been scarce

here in New Hampshire.

One cold stretch 

yet double digits held sway

and today the 40's reign.

Retired, yes, but still 

one waits for rest

that never comes,

the days are full.

Age and death 

watch over me, as I do them, 

as we count the days

'till planting time.