I took my car in for routine maintenance this morning, voiding early mass at St Clare. I was able to attend noon mass for the first time at Sacred Heart. Walking to the Adoration chapel, I encountered none other than the man who has been on my mind. J. Ivan Prcela,  with all of his ninty years, stood there talking in the hallway. I approached. He warmly received. We discussed Spain. I marvelled while reading his book on St Joseph that his wife was Spanish. She is native to a smaller Valencia town, near the city of Zaragoza, my mother’s hometown. He told me of meeting his wife in Spain, admitting he took the trip with every intention of finding a wife. The man’s charm is his frankness and lack of concern regarding the making of an impression. He is a character of simplicity within his complexity. I am astounded by the scholarly level of his writing. He is a true academic authority on St Joseph, an authentic intellectual voice properly rendering influence on the highest levels of the Church. It is his mission to establish Church dogma regarding the virginal grace of St Joseph’s life. The indisputable fact St Joseph was a virgin, never married, nor fathering other children. St Joseph was not an elderly man of eighty years. Ivan is a legitimate voice of such a sublime and bold assertion; scripture, saints, and doctors of the Church his sources. Notice the cover of the white book I posted deals singularly with organizing his sources. He sees himself as a modern day Duns Scotus, the Franciscan who intellectually battled for the Immaculate Conception of Mary through reason and debate. Ivan does the same for St Joseph. He corresponded with Pope John Paul II on the matter and continues to interact with other Church luminaries in the same regard. However put that aside. Ivan’s candid friendly manner announces his true joy is his faith, family, and fellowship. His academic writing achievements are embraced intelligently and passionately, yet his heart is grounded in faith, family, and friends. St Joseph is more than an intellectual pursuit. St Joseph is a model and practical inspiration, an example for the life of an authentic man of Christ. I love Father Doze’s identification of St Joseph as the shadow of the Father; like Mary a hidden treasure within a humble life lived, a man immersed within the mystery of God. I am positive Mary and Joseph smile upon my growing endearment with Ivan. I do differ in approach though, and it is not by choice. His education and life experiences raise him to an intellectual level I can only look up to and admire. However that said his ways are analytical, linear thinking amongst the immensity of Church thinking, reason and study bearing the weight of advancement. I easily understand that is not my way. My youthful desire to establish the life of a writer arose from brokenness. I am not a scholar, and feel none the less for the recognition, the acceptance. Previously, I envisioned the healing and justifying of myself could be accomplished by becoming a writer, a noted and unique thinker. I am convinced it is not a deeper calling. It is spiritual gluttony, an absorption in self, an attachment to sweet consolations. God only wanted me to sit still, to truly learn to be quiet and listen to Him. That is all I am called to be. That is my real business. Through the perfecting, love germinating and cultivating in my center, I can spread love upon my circumference, able to act and be of service to God. I knew the Hospice calls would cease for the time being. They will return. This weekend with family: a mother and a shared trip to Spain discussed, a son and his girlfriend, newborns, Brandon and Tyler, and of course Andre. A funny story, one that moves the heart, demonstrating the importance of a father figure, I was told during my mid-Sunday afternoon nap I became the focus of Andre’s delight, my loud snoring hilarious to the child. My mother said he climbed up next to me, watching me sleep, laughing when I snored. I am glad he finds it so amusing. Final note: Sacred Heart has Joseph and Mary together adorning the sanctuary. I noticed the fact today. Both St Clare and Sacred Heart are  the same in uniqueness. Sacred Heart is truly a visual splendor with its immense gold gilded sanctuary backdrop, stunning Trinitarian tribute, and a wonderful statue of David as a youth, a lamb upon his shoulders, his pouch of five stones ready for dispensing. Today, I absorbed the wall mounted statue of Joseph with his arm around Mary. I am touched how the two churches have emerged in my life.

My employment probationary period is complete, my testing successfully satisfied. I have attained the rank of top electrician at work. There is room for growth. An engineering technician position aligns with my qualifications. Taking matters a day at a time, I recognize there is so much to learn. I have never applied myself regarding employment. Potentialities intrigue. I become more confident daily, recognizing alcoholic personality remnants are truly my greatest obstacle. I possess an insecure, pessimistic, overly-critical attitude toward my work, always hard on myself, stressing out and making everything more difficult than it should be. My pace becomes frantic and manic all too often. My mental state is an agitated flight and fight desperation, an internal screaming, complaining, cussing, and overall collapse into panic. I assume the worst the majority of the time. I tend to talk to others unsure of myself, displaying an exterior persona devoid of confidence. Others of lesser ability and intellect can dominate me simply through bravado. Yet overall I am learning to trust in God, abandoning fear and an obsessive disposition demanding perfection. My employer and coworkers like me as an electrician/mechanic and a man. I do not fear. If I am no good, lacking in ability, so be it. I do not fear failure. God blessed me with a decent intellect, a solid work ethic, and the ability to get along with others. I have all the skills necessary to excel at work. With Saturday and Sunday off, I am able to concentrate upon my future with the satisfaction of knowing financially I can prosper. The religious life calls, yet first I must leave the world with dignity. I am still not sure what the insight, the acute awareness, declaring itself last Sunday at St Paul Shrine designates. God is going to elevate matters, providing a heightened spiritual life, yet details lack definitude. John the Hermit wants me to visit property in southern Ohio, near West Virginia, canvasing the area, investigating possibilities for a hermitage. It all seems exciting, yet so remote and exotic. It dawned on me while working that a hermit I spent time with in the distant past in Missouri might be of interest to John the Hermit. The man in Missouri is associated with Assumption Abbey, an Ozark Trappist monastery. His name is Paul Jones, a former Ivy League college professor, leaving behind a successful academic career for the remoteness of the Missouri Badlands. He has an interesting book, ‘Teaching the Dead Bird to Sing….’ detailing his efforts to settle into the life of a hermit.

I detoured from the post, reading an article by Father Paul Jones. I am exhausted. Good night.

I have been thinking, praying, regarding my last Hospice patient. Within all good intent I was disobedient. I perceive my Hospice calls will cease for a short time. I have the weekend off, planning time with my son and nephew with his newborn in Ann Arbor and Toledo. It will be a downtime weekend, rest and family. The Hospice calls I treat as the voice of God, responding without hesitation. The timeliness has been astounding. The last patient was the first time I took initiative, passively demanding as much time with the patient as I could arrange. I made the calls, setting up my visits on my own. I reacted to what I perceived to be the woman’s need, her immense reception of my attention overwhelming me. I should have shown patience, allowing God to call if needed. What if my lengthy touch upon the woman’s forehead distracted her in some regard, causing her to yearn for worldly things. I prayed authentically, discerning with care. I am pure in my motivation. The effort was conducted through sheer love and compassion, focused upon God and eternity. However, what if my touch negated my visiting with the woman according to the demands of God? These things are that serious. Death is that serious. I must bring absolute obedience to matters, comprehending my best desires are suspect to my imperfections and the imperfections of the patient. Another recent Hospice encounter from last week haunts a bit. A woman arraigned for me to sit with her husband while she went shopping with her sister in Akron. The woman, I perceived as older, and I easily engaged in friendly banter over the phone, discussing casual matters and my Hospice efforts. She called me twice. I assume she retrieved my number from her cellphone call log. That is against Hospice regulations. I said nothing, waiting until I met her to address the matter. Meeting her, I was stunned to be greeted by a beautiful Jewish woman my age. Engaging, funny in conversation, she showed me around her home, touching my hand while speaking. Sitting with her husband, praying, talking to him, it took all my energy to stop myself from imagining righteous situations that would allow me to further socializing with his wife. I spoke more earnestly with him,  filled with shame. That one called for confession. I did talk to her over the phone afterward, informing her she must call the Hospice if she needs my service in the future. It was not proper for her to call me. I did enjoy my time with the gentleman. If God wills, I would return. My point is the relevancy of the post from St Albert Hurado. Let’s read some of it again:

The generous man tends to move forward too fast: he wants to restore the good and destroy the injustice. But there is inertia in both men and things that he must take into account. Mystically, it is a matter of walking in step with God, of fitting exactly into the plan of God.

All effort to move faster than God is useless, and even worse, harmful. Activity is replaced by activism, which goes to the head like champagne, aspires to unreachable goals and leaves no time for contemplation. A man is no longer master of his life: the danger of excess of action is compensation. An exhausted man easily seeks it. This is all the more dangerous when one has to some extent lost self-control.

The body is tired, the nerves are agitated, the will vacillating. The greatest stupidities are possible in these moments.