I have made the decision to center myself within my surroundings. Private in calling, there is serious discernment forming the decision. Massachusetts, the Maronite Monks of Adoration, provide pilgrimage, immersion in the Eucharist, an authentic contemplative retreat. The longing properly exist, yet I will stay home. I will remove myself from work, preserving energy, furthering the fellowship nurtured throughout Lent. Praying upon matters, a sign was perceived when Father Roger asked me at St Paul Shrine on Palm Sunday if I would participate in having my feet washed during mass on Thursday. In addition, the extern sisters implored for treats after Easter Mass for distributing. The thought of celebrating in Cleveland and with family in Toledo was already simmering. Thursday there is a dinner for all the ‘Arise’ groups throughout St Paschal Baylon and St Clare. There were various groups meeting on different days and times. Plus Thursday morning is a morning of sprititual direction. I will conduct a retreat within my life, within my existing environment. I have notified the Hospice informing them my schedule is open. My experiences with the Hospice only grows in relevancy. The patient in Huntsburg astounds with beauty. She has been removed from the By-your-side program, meaning she is not actively dying. Her body is not shutting down. I can spend extended time at the Jennings Center. I will rent a car for the week allowing unlimited mileage, allowing numerous trips to Toledo. My own life will be granted a retreat and celebration of Easter within all the good things God is doing for me. I have also made plans to enjoy the Tenebrae Mass at the Rosary Cathedral in Toledo with a Lebanese friend of special calling. The acoustics in the Church are phenomenal, the large space wonderfully carrying sound. The darkness of the Mass is powerfully broken by the thunderous percussion of a symphony kettle drum. It is a favorite Mass. The Eucharist will be adored, contemplative quiet prayer graced with profound hours, the quaint chapel at St Clare and Sacred Heart as well as St Paul Shrine providing.

God is good and all giving.  An incredible day, witnessing aside, Mary joined in, a companion in experiencing, my Sancho Panza.  We visited the ninety-eight year old Hospice patient in Huntsburg, Ohio.  The Hospice called while driving to Palm Sunday Mass, informing me the patient did not need Hospice care today.  I was scheduled to sit with her from noon to four, however my scheduler informed me the visit was unnecessary.  The patient was doing much better, up and walking about.  I was startled, disappointed as I really looked forward to the visit.  I felt we accomplished a lot praying together.  The thought of continuing our prayers brought joy to my waking this morning.  After dining with Mary on the Ox tail soup she prepared, I decided to initiate a personal visit with the patient–Mary tagging along.  I promised the patient I would sit with her today.  I had to honor the promise.  Her eyes held steady in my consciousness, dominating my good will.  There was a moment when I brushed back her hair from her eyes, in between prayers, when we locked eyes.  She was beautiful.  I know she understood what we were doing.  When Mary and I arrived, we discovered her daughter, granddaughter, and the granddaughter’s boyfriend visiting with the patient.  The patient was sitting there in her wheelchair, and sure enough she looked much better.  She was fully awake, still only partially responsive, dressed in a Sunday outfit.  She looked wonderful.  God is gracing me with an appreciation for beauty.  Utilizing my loneliness, my longing to love, He allows the patient to attain an immense attraction.  I cannot help but wrap my heart around the patient, fascinated deeply by the patient, a call of unabandoned love sent and received, grace abounding.  Conversation with the patient’s daughter flowed beautifully, detailing the woman’s life.  The granddaughter and boyfriend would often chime in.  Mary as well.  When I told the daughter I prayed a Rosary and Divine Mercy chaplet with her mother, she became excited, informing me how much the Rosary meant to her mother.  I told her that at the end of our prayers her mother thanked me twice, clearly pronouncing the words.  Ending the visit, I knelt and took the patient’s hand in mine, clearly stating gratitude and a goodbye.  The patient proved I was not a liar, by looking me in the eye, raising her chin, and clearly thanking me in front of everyone.  I could only chuckle.  Her daughter exclaimed ‘mother’ and started clapping.  Then Mary approached the patient, pleasantly taking her hand and introducing herself.  The patient maintained her air of attentiveness, holding her head up in greeting, verbally responding to Mary, although the words were not clear.  She made one heck of an effort.  It was a very meaningful visit.  Then Mary and I ventured over to the world’s tallest Our Lady of Guadalupe statue.  It is truly a spectacle.  The size is astounding, and most enjoyably the quality tile work is truly fine craftsmanship.  The weather was not so nice, the shrine built by a private family, now hosting a church for the celebration of Mass, tabernacle abiding, deserves a future visit.  Mass is celebrated every first Saturday.  Mary had already been to the Shrine built in 1995 with the extern Poor Clare sisters.  The evening concluded with another visit from John the Hermit.  Our relationship advances subtly, amazingly intimate in spirituality.  Contemplatively, we are brothers.  He is convinced that God is obviously placing us together.  The conversation and details I cannot share.  John has stressed the importance of confidentiality in the deeper things he speaks to me about.  There is nothing to speak about since there’s nothing happening.  Silence is the mandate.  Not to disrupt his confidence in me has become important to me.  Mary witnessed our words.  Driving her home, she exclaimed over-and-over what a blessed day it was for her.  All for the Glory of God and the salvation of souls.

I slept late this morning, missing mass at St Clare, heading directly to the Spanish lesson with Lilly. We are accomplishing amazing things. What a refined and cultured married woman God has blessed my life with. All properness in order, a profound friendship is blossoming. The Spanish is coming together. Lilly is an intelligent educated woman of the world. What a tremendous hour at the coffee house being instructed and talking about life and foreign cultures. Lilly and her husband are fallen away Catholics, however she mentions an interest in reading about saints sweeping over her life. She is curious how devout people of religious practice lived their lives. Her cousin is a noted Jesuit priest, an author writing literary criticism. She gave me his name. I will explore. I mentioned St John of the Cross and St Teresa of Avila. She eagerly wrote the names down, promising research and reading. We will meet again Wednesday, a day before my retreat to Massachusetts. On a discerning level, I am convinced God is introducing all these married women for a reason. Proper behavior and thought is demanded for one always willing to give his heart away. It is enough to have God grant the blessing of so many pleasant women in my life. Friendship is a grace of the highest regard. There is no need to stay attached to dramatics. Enough said for the time being. There is only one I am leery about, and that one, in all honesty, is so adorable in humility, goofiness, and beauty that her charm may be her undoing. In truth, as I seek maturity, in her extreme uniqueness, magnetism, loneliness, devotion to her husband; maturity is a lacking regard—written with do charity and respect. Remember this mischievous kind-hearted one was lying to all the boys in the fifties that she was eighteen when she was fourteen. Now in her seventies, that little girl still lives on. God is good and all giving. Advancing the fellowship, I attended noon Mass at Sacred Heart, astounded by how many people I know. Sacred Heart is a spiritually mature congregation, offering a plenitude of prayer and authentic Catholic fellowship.

Father Esterbrook in his homily touched on the idea of identity. The concept struck relevant as my spiritual path, within the good and bad, focuses largely upon smashing identity, or to a lesser degree hiding identity. Unafraid to be wrong or right, unconcerned with being wrong or right, I have been tossing thoughts about–hidden many will remain. I think a more appropriate way to put the stated ambiguity would be the following. I am willing to be wrong if it draws me closer to God. If being right takes me further away from God, being right means nothing. In fact, being right can be extremely destructive. A common theme throughout my life has been the destruction of identity. Severe alcoholism an obtuse consequence. Father Esterbrook stressed the increasing of identity through Christ. John the Baptist in scripture proclaims He increases and I decrease (John 3:30). Let us follow the Gospel path of divine espousing: He (Jesus Christ) who comes from above is above all; he who is of the earth belongs to the earth, and of the earth he speaks; he who comes from heaven is above all. He bears witness to what he has seen and heard, yet no one receives his testimony…Interesting, no one receives his testimony. Clarity. The practical point establishes relevancy. This is not another avenue of spiritual expression and investigating. It is a man transforming–transforming through acquiescence and reduction. Mystery proclaims the loudest from the mouth of babes. When I heard Father clearly proclaiming the acceptance of an identity, the rooting of one’s life within Christ in order to become fully human and individual, I took internal protest, feeling my message was wrong. The affront proved pleasant. I like being wrong. Father stressed to become somebody. My agitation by the encouraging thought of identity caught my deepest spiritual antenna’s attention.  Something was wrong.  I wanted to point fingers.  It was obvious internally I had become attached to the idea of destroying one’s self in order to advance spiritually as a thing of my doing.  It was a concept I discovered and promoted.  The powerful concept of surrendering one’s self to one’s self, the smashing of identity, became a hidden prideful identity. However, if it ends there the advancement of identity in imitation of Christ never sets foot. I become grounded in self-love, intellectualizing simply for the sake of intellectualizing. Being right means more than growing, means more than experiencing the psychic change that is a part of serious spiritual maturing. This is not an Eastern emptying, nor Zen calisthenics. Christ increasing within me purifies and strengthens so that I live a fuller life.  Being whole in Christ, I am able to become someone special. My ideas of destruction, becoming fixated upon the destruction of identity, leads to misery, frustration, and stagnation. Perversion is a word defining all that strays away from God. All my efforts must be focused upon decreasing my prideful and sinful nature in order to allow God to fill, to become stronger in identity through Christ. If now I am to focus upon identity, accepting that certain growth has transpired, accepting the will of God for me to become more active, how do I act and how do I stay pure? I have established the fact I will not focus upon my sinful nature. I am more than a sinner when trusting in Christ, when obedient to the Church, when working devoutly with Our Holy Mother. Enough! Thoughts have commenced. My ideas on identity are changing. Details may be lacking, yet I accept the challenge. I have been working in that direction with my focus upon fellowship. God is allowing something to transpire within my life. I do my best trusting in the Lord, while always asking for more. When it comes to God, I am learning that enough is not enough. I want more. All for the glory of God and the salvation of souls.

I have a bedside vigil tomorrow after Spanish lessons with Lilly.  The patient is in her mid-nineties a Catholic woman who has received last rites.  I look forward to the two hours of prayer and profound companionship.  Today sitting in Adoration, Father Esterbrook and another priest entered, tending to the Monstrance.  Priest are special men to witness and contemplate.  I want to quote from the Gospel reading today:  Jesus answered, “If I glorify myself, my glory is worth nothing; but it is my Father who glorifies me, of whom you say, ‘He is our God.’  You do not know him, but I know him.  And if I should say that I do not know him, I would be like you a liar.  But I do know him and I keep his word.  I am going to ramble a bit, leaving alone the idea of lying, keeping the word of God.  Jesus elevates lying to sins of omission.  He is a liar if He does not tell the world who He is.  He is a liar if he does not reveal to the world what His Father is doing through Him.  His work is not complete.  There are things to be done.  Sitting in adoration, Barb from ‘Arise’ also conducted a Holy Hour.  She is a married woman and I have no problem spending one-one-one time with her.  Mary is of the same regard.  As I sat before the Eucharist, I thought about the matter, recognizing I felt like crying.  It did not take serious soul searching to determine why.  There is another married woman I spent time with and it racks me with guilt and confusion.  What is the difference?  I am going to avoid details, for the examination of conscience goes deep.  I did nothing intentionally wrong.  If I sinned it was not because of cruel intent or lust.  I am positive there is an open wound that was exposed.  I feel as if I have been knocked off my spiritual horse, while still accomplishing many good things during Lent.  I refuse to get back on, rather brushing myself off, examining myself, studying where I am at and why I got here–feeling the overwhelming need to cry, yet refusing, rather determined to investigate.  I will perform the sacrament of reconciliation Saturday.  I will make no pronunciations against another.  If she calls and needs my assistance, I will do as she deems necessary.  I trust her, while recognizing she is also vulnerable.  Something is happening there and I will not leave it alone if it calls again.  I will accept the burden of ensuring everything is done for the glory of God.

Home from work, examining my day.  The Lent concentration upon fellowship continues. The ‘Arise’ gatherings ended today. Experiencing small numbers, the get-togethers proved sublime. Two women, Barb and Mary, and I, savored the well-designed program, producing splendid fruit, garnering respect, cherishing good memories.  Within simplicity, structure, humility, practicality, and mutual sharing, we practiced a sound exploration of deeper faith. It was a necessary and longed for community experience.  The three of us have agreed to continue meeting weekly, or at least every other week, as Barb will be conducting quite a bit of traveling during the coming months.  We concur that an organized approach is to be maintained.  Barb, the ecclesiastical minister, provided literature for a half dozen or so programs she has been exposed to.  We decided on a Catholic Catechism examination focused upon the theme of Christian morality, a profound investigation into proper behavior for those seeking an advanced spiritual life.  Morality beyond simple concepts.  I have been blessed.  These two women–mothers, wives, plus grown children of solid families–edify and enrich truly to glorify God, focusing inward while loving and caring, concentrating upon self-examination and improvement rather than superiority through judgement, lovingly trying to imitate their Savior, to worship a resurrected Christ, while understanding a crucified Jesus.  Being a Church authority is not a consideration.  Being an avid and active member of a parish: one amongst many, is a cherished identity.  A startling twist in fellowship occurred after ‘Arise’.  Lilly called canceling our Spanish session.  She woke today feeling exhausted and weak, sounding horrible on the phone.  Friday we will get together.  After her call, an extremely surprising call led to coffee and moving conversation. John the Hermit is spending time in Cleveland Heights, working on a book.  He is staying less than a half mile away.  He wanted to know if I could meet him at Holy Rosary in Little Italy.  The get-together went well.  I was stunned by his humility, his authentic pleasure with seeing me.  There was a funeral after Mass, finely dressed and weeping Italians everywhere.  The two of us comingled before moving off to commiserate alone.  This weekend we will spend time together, if he does not head back to southern Ohio.  I was so impressed with the afternoon that if all goes well at St Paul Shrine Saturday, I will invite him to Massachusetts, providing transportation and expenses.  Now for the perplexing issue, brutal honesty.  I do not feel guilty, yet bewilderment does linger.  Last night, I stopped by the Jewish couple’s home.  We had a long talk.  In fact, I was unable to dismiss myself until after two in the morning, excusing myself due to street parking regulations enforced after two in Cleveland Heights.  She is scared of lighting and there was a terrible thunderstorm.  It turns out, she has a nurse helping her with changing bedding and bathing her husband.  She was pleased by my offer, insisting I come in and talk to her, to enjoy some tea.  Her husband lay there listening, attempting to participate.  At times, he seemed angry, at other times at peace.  It is difficult to read him, especially when his wife is around.  I was confused, praying, trying to convince him I was there for him. The couple live solitary lives, receiving no visitors.  She is struggling to put a wheelchair together for him.  She cannot transport him.  If he needs medical attention, she has to call an ambulance.  She tells horror stories about medical treatments.  Once, her husband was declared insane, locked in a mental ward.  It is a complex situation.  Nobody visits.  She is lonely, suffering from insomnia.  She frets over her husband.  She is a talker, loving to converse.  She likes to talk about her life.  When she was fourteen, she met her husband, lying to him, telling him she was eighteen.  When she turned eighteen they married. That was in 1963, the year I was born.  Fifty-three years of marriage.  I cannot believe she is that old.  She appears to be a woman in her forties, fashionable and conscientious.  She tells me many younger men are dating older women because they admire their maturity.  She is concerned and thinks I should find a girlfriend.  She says she worries about being alone when her husband passes, yet disdains the idea of courting.  She worries about a lot of things.  When she worries too much, she speaks to Mother Theresa and her guardian angel.  It turns out, her husband is the Jewish one.  She is Italian, a non-practicing Catholic.  It is an absolute pleasure to converse with her.  I express concern that Dave might be offended with a man speaking to her so late into the night.  Sitting on his bed with him, holding his hand, she assures me he knows her loyalty and love for him.  The woman takes incredible care of her husband.  Her love for him reassures me.  I really enjoy visiting with the couple.  I will remain solid in faith, trusting in God, remaining on my path.  If I am called, I will return to be of service to the husband and wife.  I am trying my best to be a good man.  I have done nothing wrong.