detached.

[ in order to defend ourselves against agitation, we must be detached not only from the immediate results of our work - and this detachment is difficult and rare - but from the whole complex of aims that govern our earthly lives. we have to be detached from health and security, from pleasures and possessions, from people and places and conditions and things. we have to be indifferent to life itself, in the Gospel sense, living like the lilies of the field, seeking first the Kingdom of Heaven and trusting that all our material needs will be taken care of into the bargain. ]

thomas merton

no man is an island

all i can say

[Lord i'm tired

so tired from walking
and Lord I'm so alone
and Lord the dark
is creeping in
creeping up
to swallow me
i think i'll stop
rest here a while

this is all that i can say right now
this is all that I can give
that's my everything

didn't You see me crying?
didn't You hear me call Your name?
wasn't it You i gave my heart to?
i wish You'd remember
where you sat it down

this is all that i can say right now
i know it's not much
this is all that I can give
that's my everything

i didn't notice You were standing here
i didn't know that
that was You holding me
i didn't notice You were crying too
i didn't know that
that was You washing my feet

this is all that i can say right now
i know it's not much
this is all that I can give
that's my everything]

Thine is the Kingdom.

[through many dangers, toils and snares
i have already come
'tis Grace that brought me safe thus far
and Grace will lead me home

the Lord has promised good to me
His word my hope secures
He will my shield and portion be
as long as life endures

yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail
and mortal life shall cease
i shall possess within the veil
a life of joy and peace]

[i will not boast in anything

no gifts, no power, no wisdom

but i will boast in Jesus Christ

His death and resurrection]

Father, Loving God,

i trust You.

You have been so good to me.

You have loved me

and given me life.

but sometimes it is so dark.

sometimes the path seems so treacherous.

i want to follow You.

i trust that You are leading me to Your life.

i trust that i am following You.

why do i always feel that i am lost?

why do the roads always look like dead-ends?

where are You taking me?

no, i do not need to know.

only that You have prepared the place.

what should i do?

no, i do not need to know.

only that Your Spirit will guide me.

if i shall fail,

may i not become discouraged.

if i shall be poor,

may i not have regret.

if i shall be a fool,

may i remember the Fool's Death.

[the path to righteousness is narrow,

and few will find it.]

i am not afraid, my Lord.

lead me down the narrow path.

[for God has made low the wisdom of this world.]

i have no strength, my God.

i have no wisdom.

i have no sight.

i have only You, and faith in You.

[Thy Kingdom come.

Thy will be done.

give us this day our daily bread.

for Thine is the Kingdom

and the power

and the glory

for ever and ever.

Amen.]

a reflection.

i haven't been writing much these days. i used to sit at my desk when it was time to be still and quiet. i would read and pray, and i would write a lot. i wrote a lot in my journal, and sometimes a few thoughts would make there way here.

but i haven't been writing much these days. usually, when it is time to be still and quiet, i sit down on the couch and watch the candle flicker in the reflection of the water in the jug of flowers on the coffee table. i will read and pray, but i don't write a lot.

to be honest, this lack of writing troubled me a first. for a long time i have been writing. writing has been a regular form of exercise: mentally, emotionally, spiritually. it has been cathartic. over the years, i have noticed that when i am not writing, often it is because i am not well. when i think of it, however, there have been plenty of times when i was writing and was not well. regardless, writing has been something i have done. and so, to not do it seemed odd.

i have tried to write. i still sit from time to time at my desk and open my journal and take out my pen. but the words come so slowly, and often so few.

i work alone. i work in a field, walking back and forth down the rows, planting, pulling weeds, watering, digging up and planting again. today i moved thirty struggling artichoke plants from a single row at the start of the field to newly formed beds one hundred feet towards the opposite end. i could explain the whole process, but needless to say after a while it doesn't require much thought. truth be told, while i am working, my work doesn't require much thought. and so my mind is free to think, and it makes much use of its liberty. often i try to pray a simple prayer to keep my mind from wandering so much, or worse, from dwelling in the undesirable places. i am not often successful, and my days end with a tired body and perhaps an even tireder mind.

i suppose that this could have much to do with my lack of writing. but i also wonder if it is something else. i wonder if, perhaps, i no longer feel such a pressing need to write. i wonder if i am no longer afraid of forgetting, or of not thinking, or praying. i wonder if i no longer feel that i have so much to figure out. i wonder if, perhaps, i no longer have so much that i feel i need to get out. i wonder if this is peace. i wonder if i am simply learning to be content, to trust God, and be with Him.

i take my mornings slow. i wake up, make some coffee, and sit down on my couch. i light the candle on the coffee table and stare at the flickering in the reflection of the water. i pick up the Bible, or a book, or nothing. i read or i pray or i sit. i wait for the morning's anxieties to come, and when they do i pray over them, and most days they leave. i thank God for His love, for my life, and for peace. i ask Him to keep me near. sometimes i get up and get ready for my day's work. sometimes i sit a while longer.


[ there is not in the world a kind of life more sweet and delightful, than that of a continual conversation with God. ]      -brother lawrence

seeds and weeds.

i think that i am a pilgrim. sometimes people laugh when i say that. but it is true. i am going somewhere that i have not found. i do not know how to get there. i am searching, and trusting something greater than myself to lead me. i do not believe that it is enough to say that this world is not my home, that i am destined for some future, yet eternal, glorious place, and go on living in this life as if it is my home. i do not believe that i should be comfortable here. but i also do not believe that this means i should be miserable here. i believe that to follow Christ, to be saintly, means to live by faith and by hope. to live by faith, trusting in the things i cannot see, trusting in the eternal reality of the kingdom of heaven and not this earthly reality which is constantly before me. and by hope, hoping for the coming of that kingdom, not in the future, but eternally, which includes, i would imagine, now. as Christ taught us to pray, Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. and so if nothing else, i feel like a pilgrim.

i live in a new city now. it is a place that i am not familiar with. i am not yet a part of it. mostly, i am becoming a part of the land outside of town, digging my hands into its dirt, pulling out its weeds, trying to bring life to a tired piece of this earth, worn by years of the world's ways of doing things. and mostly i am alone, living alone, working alone, and yet always drawing nearer to the God who beckons me. my life has changed in ways that i had not imagined. for a while, it seemed as though the things i was moving towards were not the things that God was leading me towards. for a while i thought that i had begun to make sense of things, that i had found direction and calling and purpose. but now i know that is not true. what i have found, and what has always been constant, is the tender, small voice of a mighty God, saying come. it as if this voice is saying, has always been saying, i can't explain where we are going, but stay close, follow me.

there is so much that for so long i have been trying to make sense of. for so long i have been trying to understand what it means to live in this world, fallen as it is, beautiful as it is, and yet live for another one. i have been trying to understand what it means to follow Christ in a world that hates Him, yet a world that He so deeply loves. and i have wondered why, if Christ loves this world enough to redeem, i should not, perhaps, also love it enough to practice redemption. perhaps first i must stop practicing destruction.

i have been planting some seeds and pulling a lot of weeds lately. and i have begun to realize that perhaps that is what God has been doing for quite some time.


Holy Father, grant that we might be
      as plants firmly rooted by faith in Christ,
      and as seeds blown by the wind of His movement.

to believe what is most contrary.

[ we may conclude, that the Christian religion not only was at first attended with miracles, but even at this day cannot be believed by any reasonable person without one. mere reason is insufficient to convince us of its veracity; and whoever is moved by faith to assent to it, is conscious of a continued miracle in his own person, which subverts all the principles of his understanding, and gives him a determination to believe what is most contrary to custom and experience. ]      - David Hume