Home from work, preparing for sleep, I thought about the sadness during lunch at Vicinato’s while working.  Advancing in recovery, enveloped within proper confidence, focused upon the hospice—so much more than volunteer work, answering a call, assured and assertive in discernment, moving forward without bitterness, regret, or any negativity whatsoever, I think my time with Dr. Nichta is complete.  We accomplished a lot in regards to furthering self-knowledge.  His voice remains a fixture, although I am going to pull away.  I have an appointment in three weeks.  I allow the date to approach with an open mind and heart, yet a conviction soundly forms within my disposition.  I am always willing to be wrong, a lesson from Dr Nichta.  Self-reliant, remaining honest, open, and willing to the voice and opinions of others, I mature in direction, an inner-strength forming, allowing clarity, understanding, and less of a need for counseling regarding personal matters.  Spiritual direction becomes forefront.  Father Roger emerges in greater focus.  My eye is closely upon him, my prayers aimed in his direction.  He is a man who cannot help but speak words of God.  His humility, shyness, ability to be present without the need to demand attention or resort to words, his unassuming manner, neutralizes pride.  Through time and exposure, his intelligence and holiness radiates the light of mature authentic practiced faith, a priest touched by the Holy Spirit.

Eating a fine Italian meal, delightful black and white photos of Italy decorating, savoring eggplant parmesan served over delicate pasta flavored with garlic and olive oil, a deep melancholy sweeps over me. I missed mass at St Paul Shrine. My obsessive nature depends upon the daily nurturing recieved through the Eucharist, celebrating fellowship with the Poor Clares, the attending. I scheduled an appointment with Dr Nitcha, always an appealing and enlightening affair, yet it is obvious where my true strength arises. No more noon appointments. A creature of habit, I am not one fond of jumping around from church to church. I like my same seat, day after day, observing the sisters, joining voice with them in hymn and response. I know who I am, content in sorrow, longing deeply, understanding to grow strong in God is a good thing. A heart of sorrow is advanced to a hopeful heart of love, reposing maturely within faith. I am not afraid, nor overwhelmed by sadness. As with all things, I trust in God. God displays irony, a sense of humor. Behind me a table of diners talks of Pope Francis, a sister in hospice–what a hospice is and is not, and St Paul Shrine momentarily touched upon–‘it’s such a beautiful church’. It lifts the mind and heart.

There is a woman, nervous and disordered by nature who attends St Paul Shrine, I adore her spirituality. She never fails to make me smile. I know she has thirteen or fourteen children, an amazing family from what I hear. Today, I met one of her daughters, and many of her grandchildren. Now before me, she kneels with one of her granddaughters before the Eucharist, adoring. God is so good, and humbling. Her daughter is a beautiful woman, homeschooling her children, teaching them to cherish their faith, to live their lives filled with hope and love. I felt drawn to them throughout mass as I walked in with them. After mass, I had to run out to my car in order to supply them with information on the Elk Farm I discovered. October is a special month, Bugle Days, in which the elk sound their unique call, a bellowing heard for miles. During mass an ecstasy struck, actually painful, I instantly rebeled, focusing on my sinful nature, attempting to declare I am unworthy. Opening my heart, nervously vulnerable, feeling like I should collapse, I became convinced playing the pathetic lonesome sinner is no longer an option. God wants more than my brokeness. He is calling me forth, to be active and giving. It is not enough to do all this work only to be content with my imaginary perfection, satisfied with an overwheliming sorrow for sin as an apex. Now all the grandchildren enter the church. The baby, his intensly alive, alert eyes and big ears, is adorable. God is so good. The Eucharist lords above.

This is an email I sent to Father Roger last night. I post it with meaning, confident I betray no confidentiality or trust. I really want to work with him.

Father Roger I would like you to consider spiritually directing my efforts as I prepare to work with the Hospice of the Western Reserve.  I humbly ask you to act as my spiritual director.  I have considered the matter deeply.  Praying and observing.  I am so honored God has called me to work with terminally ill patients.  There is a part of me overwhelmed, feeling inferior, yet I take inspiration in the Gospel reading from Sunday mass: “For human beings it is impossible, but not for God.  All things are possible for God.”   I am convinced God is demanding service, an effort to contribute.  I am single and alone, willing to volunteer my time, offering everything I have in assisting others encounter death.  The Hospice of the Western Reserve is an elite medical organization. Their training is impressive.  I now wait upon my paperwork to be processed.  I expect a call this week to conduct a final one-on-one interview as the Hospice of the Western Reserve determines how to utilize my skills.  I find it spiritually intriguing, beneficial, to place myself in obedience to their ways and means.  Ann informs me they are the best Hospice organization in the nation.  I am convinced we grow spiritually when we place ourselves in servitude.  This volunteer effort equates to sanctity, a giving back. I credit St Paul Shrine for providing graces, supplying a splendid spiritual home.  The presence of the Eucharist strengthens my every effort.  I have become spiritually strong, and now God calls me into action, insisting obedience, that I place myself under the direction of the Hospice.  It all makes sense.  I am honored you wrote the letter of reference for me.  I want St Paul Shrine to embolden my faith, hope, and charity.  The Eucharist leading the way.  I wait upon final word from the Hospice.  Once I am given a patient to work with I would like to offer their name to Mother Superior, imploring the Poor Clares to assist my efforts through prayer. I would like the sisters to know I am humbly attempting to assist my brothers and sisters in Christ face the severe challenge of death.  I want to bring them to mass with me.  However it is not what I want that matters.  I must allow God and the patient to determine matters.  For now I just ask you to pray for me, and then in person we can discuss how to precede forward.  I will ask very little of your time.  Let me hear from the Hospice and then we can be clearer in direction.  Speaking of the passing of life, I would like to acknowledge the passing of Sister Maria of the Eucharist, offering condolences.

God bless you and may the Lord give all Franciscans and Poor Clares His peace.

Thy will be done!