A Saturday morning reflection doing laundry at a coin-op laundromat in Cleveland Heights on a day off from work, presents a calm disposition. The new employment is sound, pouring on a lot of information, occupying all of my time during work hours. I am told over and over it will take two years to settle soundly into my position. I respect the voices, admiring the fact the company is reliant upon a team approach, assisting one another, the company providing training, senior technicians asking little except not to do anything stupid, to please consult with them. Communication means everything. We wear radios so it is easy when handling calls to report what I am observing and doing. It is a system established for efficiency, deterring against individualism. The egotistical and psychologically disturbing need to subvert others, to present complications, interpretations, manipulations, and delusional drive to selfishly influence matters at work is closely monitored. The head of maintenance is strict in his position not to allow poison to infect his crew, on any and all shifts. He has taken a liking to me, allowing space, providing kindness and support. I approach simply, humble, learning from all, doing the best I can, while not underestimating nor overestimating my skills. I am content with myself, trusting in God. Last night, a Friday night, getting off work, there was an energy running through the locker room. Production, die-repair, machinist, warehouse, and maintenance workers removing work uniforms, dressing in street clothes, preparing for a weekend, shared a joy for the ending of the work week. I felt spiritually lifted, comprehending God was pleased with the simple endeavor of being a working man. Being the dramatic artistic trending individual I am, inwardly I smiled with the thought of Charles de Foucauld assuming such delight when he comically donned the disguise of a working man while finding employment with the Poor Clares of Nazareth. We are spiritual buffoons of the same making. My heart was overjoyed sharing the Friday night moment with coworkers. Driving away from work, I reflected upon how far I had come. I have known homelessness, hopelessness, despair, and brokenness to a severe degree; a life desperately collapsing into spirituality and artistic efforts. It was miserable; futile and suicidal. I am convinced distressing to my Holy Mother. During these times, our spiritual mother/son relationship was strong, the intimacy tangible. I am convinced Mary saw me through the worst of my alcoholic times. There were dreadful moments of tears, physical trauma, absolute insanity, in which the Blessed Virgin perceptibly assisted, her presence warming and overwhelming. She protected and carried me, throwing her mantle about me. Within the moment, underneath everything, a conviction only grows stronger that God loves me. I am special to Him. God would not allow me to get away from Him. There was a mission he was seeing through to the end. I relate everything to a peace this morning. There is an individual in my life that has been fueling my every breath since my move to Cleveland. The last six months my anger, frustration, absolute imbroglio of emotion, tenderness/brutality, care/detestation, concern/disregard—love/hate, induced such tremendous persuasion that it elevated my spiritual life to new heights. During the last week or so that robust emotion has been lifted. I miss the intensity of such a hurricane engulfing my life. Now the relentless passion is dissipated, a voice and voicing no longer devastating. The emptiness persisting longs for the drama, yet maturity comprehends the necessity of letting go of extremes. I surrender to peace, allowing the dependency and addiction to hysterics to fall away, allowing the Holy Spirit greater room for efficiency. I admire and praise God, marveling more and more at divine wisdom. I am going to jump around, centering not upon the idea everything is coming together contemplatively within bliss. The end of the week was difficult. I resorted to a pouting, awful in stating, that I was upset with God, questioning and at times becoming angry. I am convinced of a calling to work with the Hospice of the Western Reserve and I heard nothing, left in the dark regarding my involvement. They said it would be two to three weeks before I heard from them and at the end of two weeks I was already out of patience. It is good to state all of this, asking anyone reading to easily interpret my mindset, and mental conversations calling God into question, bemoaning and whining: ‘What are You doing? I am ready to serve You, ready to give everything I have to others and all You do is nothing, just making me wait over and over. Don’t you understand I am getting older? I cannot keep waiting all of the time. I wanted to go to the monastery and now it looks like you are subverting that, and for what? For nothing? If this call to work with the Hospice is so important why am I left in the dark? Not a call from anyone in two weeks? What in the world is going on?” Anyway I think the picture is clearly defined. It is easy to sit and reflect wondrously upon imaginary perfection (a St Francis de Sales term I adore). It is easy to type only focusing upon the good things, and there are good things, yet also there is so much room for growth. The thought was recently presented that it serves me spirituality stronger not to glorify in the good things God does for me, or for the self-knowledge I have attained, observing my life concentrating upon perceived graces. Rather it behooves matters to consider who I am not? Who have I still not become spiritually? What can I do to cleanse the vessel better, to keep scrubbing away at my subconscious, weakness, vanity, sloth, sensual and selfish nature. Let me know God: who I am not in equal proportion to who I am.