A baby in the womb, drawn to love. Unknowing, venturing forth, in movement reposing upon a tender touch, receiving, fulfilling in return, cuddling in peace, dreaming of bliss. Today after a St Paul Shrine Mass, cutting short Holy Hour prayers, I was able to meet the significant other at a skating rink. The heat and humidity of the afternoon was sublimely soothed by coolness. The significant other was ice skating with her grand-niece, a child quickly ascending in endearment. I walked into the arena humbled, believing the significant other was eagerly watching the door for my appearance. My heart smiled, taken aback that it would mean so much for someone to see me enter, someone waiting with immense anticipation for me–really, especially one who has known me for awhile for I can be difficult. V, her little niece was skating in the middle of the rink, leaning on an orange safety cone for balance. It was a huge advancement. Learning with the cone, last week she needed to stay close to the wall. The wall provided security, the realization she could reach for the wall if feeling unsteady. Conspicuous, she was the easiest to spot on the ice. Pushing the bright orange cone while wearing a colorfully pink safety helmet decorated with feline ears, my eyes went directly to her. The spright one is adorable, quick minded, confident, while generous, humble, and kind. She tagged me with the nickname Mister. I forget exact circumstances, yet she wanted to make an impression so she blurted out with the words, ‘Hey Mister’, in an innocent retort to grab my attention. There were others skating. The significant other is a graceful skater, skilled and at ease upon the ice.  Memories in formation, an athletic young father raced around the rink. Amazingly, between his legs, holding his hands for balance, his toddler daughter, still in diapers, glided along. The look on the one fresh to walking flying around the rink was sheer elation. Rosy chubby cheeks shining, she seem to really grasp the event, leaning into the turns, the slightest sign of fear absent. Another skated in a fluorescent pink safety helmet, sporting a mini-skirt and tights. Obviously attractive, I ignored her, convinced it was improper to admire the beauty of one so young. I was pleasantly surprised when she skated by to realize she was a senior citizen in impressive physical shape. The point of the observation was the attraction of those things calling forth love. It’s a wonderful life. The infant in the womb responding to gestures of affection. The significant other provides gentleness and kindness. Experience builds stoutly, molding and shaping. I have been truly alone for the entirety of my adult years.  Mass contained elements of early recovery world in Cleveland. A lunatic fringe element taints. An actor out of sorts, a clown in career, shook hands before the communal Rosary. I adore the man. One stood next to me receiving communion, before drinking the blood of Christ. There will never be anything less than adoration.  The significant other will accompany tomorrow for a Father’s Day trip to Toledo. We will leave early enough to attend an 8:30 AM Mass at Our Lady of Mount Carmel in Temperance, Michigan, a Mass dedicated to my father. Signifigance amassing and surmounting.  We will then share brunch with my son, his girlfriend, and my mother before heading back to Cleveland since I have to work in the afternoon. Seven days a week this week. No rest for the weary. Settling firmly underneath the worldly conglomeration, a profoundness blesses, grace embraced. God is good and all giving.

A favorite patient, a friend, someone I have been visiting with since November, is now in the By-Your-Side program.  She is actively dying.  I drove to her directly after work, meeting three of her nieces, finding a scapular wrapped lovingly around her neck.  Last Rites have been conducted.  In prayer, I stayed until one in the morning.  She is the first patient I kissed upon the forehead, holding her hand for a lengthy period of time.  I receive immensely from her.  God is good and all giving.  I will spend the morning and afternoon with her, attending Mass at the elderly care facility tended to by the Sisters of the Holy Spirit.  Time is short today with respect to duty and the loving reception of God’s love.

Jennings Chapel’s tabernacle, taken with my phone.

A reflection upon an idea from an unknown novel graced thoughts during Mass today.  The fictional story, written by an author I forget, titled with a title I forget, detailed the imprisonment of an alcoholic.  The man caused a heinous multi-fatality car crash while severely impaired.  He possessed no memory of the accident.  An educated functioning alcoholic, a professional success, although suffering a wretched personal life—divorce, detachment from family, and a financial dissipation, the fragmented man found himself enduring a lengthy prison sentence.  Inside the prison, an encounter with a prison gang leader marked my memory with relevance.  The alcoholic, experiencing forced sobriety, found himself developing a keen clarity, a spiritual awakening, his mind experiencing a lucidity he had not known since childhood.  With his advanced background, he attained a clerical prison job allowing him as much isolation as possible.  His peace would come to an end once the gangs determined to force him to declare an alliance.  Reasoning, one of the prison bosses explained his quandary.  He told the man that he was going to experience extreme strife because he was still thinking ‘outside in’.  The boss complimented his intelligence, his manners, his dedication to spiritual pursuits, all his admirable efforts in the prison AA meetings and religious life, however all these worthy attributes were not enough because he was still not recognizing he was in prison.  Delusion still plagued consciousness.  The prison interior life ruled.  The gangs ascending to mastery.  The man was not giving into powerlessness enough.  The professional alcoholic was making a grave mistake by thinking like he was outside prison.  The brutal reality was he was in prison, and the fact there were powers greater than him.  The prison boss explained, “Bad things, very bad things are going to start happening to you if you do not experience a ‘psyche change’.  You have to start thinking ‘inside-out’.  You must realize your survival on the inside means everything.  Everything you do must be centered upon this horrible reality. Everybody has given you a chance to settle into your cushy job, waiting for the opportunity to pounce.  You have been watched since the moment you walked through those doors.  The pouncing has commenced.  That job you enjoy, allowing you to receive unmonitored mail, was arraigned by those living fully on the inside.  You have to change the very way you think about things if you want to get out of here alive.”  In my way, I have taken liberties in recalling the idea, the exact details of the story toyed with.  The point is the idea of thinking ‘inside-out’ in regards to faith.  The reality my contemplative life calls for the living of inside-out.  My interior life is the center of my being, that interior being defined as weakness, brokenness and unmanageability placing me in my current position.  Scripture through St Paul the Apostle makes clear: “My (the Lord’s) grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.  Building upon faith, hope, and charity, I stand proudly upon my interior, knowing and nurturing, seeking the revealing of the gifts of the Holy Spirit.  Through this center, I interact with the exterior, the outside, allowing God to point out areas in need of healing and attention.  I move away from the thoughts, realizing I did not explain so well reflections during prayer, allowing a lingering, passing on into the experiential.  The significant other has proposed a vacation in mid-July to Mystic, Connecticut.  I am enthralled and enraptured by the idea.  We will be staying in a small cabin with an Atlantic Ocean view.  It will be a photographic bonanza.  We will swim in the ocean, canoe down the Mystic River, possibly take a steam train and river-boat cruise, allowing the days to present action and adventure.  She grew up in the town so familiarity will aid us in maximizing efforts.  It is good and exciting.  I am humbled with the thought of prayer, especially Rosaries, while looking out over the ocean.  Thinking ‘inside-out’, I am positive it is going to be monumental in the advancement of our relationship.  God is good and all giving.