Yesterday I got to sit on my balcony for an hour or two before walking to 5:00 Mass. Work of various kinds has kept me from the lying-fallow, idling time I long for and that, in its season, will inevitably (I FERVENTLY pray) come again. The succulents, agaves and geranium drank deeply of the sun–like me!–and together, we refreshed each other’s spirits.
I’m continually struck by how, just when I’m most in need, a “word” comes from “out there”: a thank you, a reflection from a fellow lover of St Therese of Lisieux, a link to a project by a guy named Thomas Kiefer who works for the Mexican border patrol and takes photos of the goods–wallets, toilet paper, backpacks–that are confiscated and thrown away. El Sueño Americano (The American Dream), the project’s called.
Last night I received this quote from a reader and a friend.
“No one in the world knows the reason for the conversions of pagans at the very ends of the earth, for the heroic endurance of Christians under persecution, for the heavenly joy of martyred missionaries. All this is invisibly bound up with the prayers of
some humble cloistered nun [some weird blogger chick in LA.] Her fingers play upon the keyboard of divine forgiveness and of the eternal lights; her silent and lonely soul presides over the salvation of souls and the conquests of the Church.”
–Jean-Baptiste Chautard, The Soul of the Apostolate