That You Are Nothing

The spiritual da yesterday returned the book lent him, Words of Love: Revelations of Our Lord to three Victim Souls in the 20th Century.

He had opened it to a page and read Jesus' words to Sr. Josefa Menendez, reminding her that she is nothing, but pleasing to Him in her nothingness, and He is all in her, filling her with Himself. Words to that effect, and this morning this nothing is trying to find the exact quote, to no avail!

The morning has already been met with distractions, pulled out into the world once praying the rosary left off. A phone call was made regarding an on-line account, quite frustrating but with patience, remedied by help of a service rep. Then there was the call to the detective at the Sheriff's department, leaving the message that the neighbor woman is erupting again. It needs to go on record. The nothing tries to view it rationally, and prays more, and yet must go out and work in the Mary Garden, as one going out into a possible ambush.

Such hatred roils and rumbles from within some souls, pouring out like filthy water from a bucket.
The breezy moisty morning refreshes; Lake Immaculata absorbs the foul words that reverberated last night, and the leering face is forgotten in peering into the fresh rose buds opening afresh.

A hermit cannot avoid the world when it comes snarling; a hermit cannot avoid the 21st century means of handling life skills necessary for existence in a society. Bills must be paid. Ears and eyes also take in others' anger--also others' love.

The spiritual da yesterday did not condone the trees and shrubs purchased for the Mary Garden. His eyes glimmered with sighting interiorly, the beauty and the uniqueness of these trees. We discussed how botanists and horticulturists are trained in the technicalities, and then spend years developing certain strains of plants, then wait years for the specimens to grow to a certain size salable, and then nursery owners, some of them, take risks in stocking some of the more rare and amazing species.

But the nothing is directed to keep at the gardening. Yes, continue to write blogs, and do so with more freedom of whatever comes to write, for he says writing is a necessary component of the nothing's life. It has always been so since early childhood. But wait until fall, or after the work in the gardens is under wraps, before starting a book. We discussed what book, and so the nothing will pray and ponder it while weeding, planting, painting, and watering.

Today there will be some planting of perennials, a stop at the garden center before or after Mass for some peat, compost and top soil and metal paint (rust spots on garden furniture), and spraying roses toward evening. Leaves are being nibbled already, early in June.

The nursery man spent time yesterday, showing the nothing how to crop conifers. The Samaritan's triage is coming along well, and green tips are seen, but the nothing must prune it into a better shape now, in this time of its recovery. Might take through this season, and next spring creamy-and-green leaves with buds should show forth. Such a shame the young man did not realize to water a tree, the nursery man thought. But, the nothing has realized that it was a simple error, for don't we often not think of trees much--just assume they can handle about anything? And is this not so for our view of our priests--think they can just take anything, work long hours, take innumerable phone calls, hear our soul horrors, and never wilt?

Many do not wilt, not easily. Their roots are well-established in their priestly vows. But priests are graced and blessed--yet still need retreats and our many prayers and much appreciation.

Positive reinforcement is always preferred to negativity. The sensations from the neighbor's hate and crude words, her wishes for the nothing to go to a not good place, and the leering anger in a face jutted forward, mouthing yet another invective, lingered from its unexpected eruption. One then thinks of our priests who listen to the innards of souls, who place the Body of Christ on tongues which are capable of speaking hate, in hands which are capable of lewd gestures and petty-to-serious crimes. Or, tongues may be healed and speak flowers and bird chirps, or speak silent breezes. Hands may give warmth, comfort, gentle touch to earth, blooms, food, steering wheels, computer keyboards, and to human beings.

Time to touch the clothes to don and touch the garden spade! Time to speak breeze words of praise for a new and fresh day!