What It Takes Each Morning

Just to keep going--what it takes!  Mercy, Lord!

A friend emailed a devotion she had read.  I recognize it from the classic book, God Calling.  And, as I recall, having read it a decade or more ago and thoroughly appreciating the messages, it is written by God.  Two older women sharing a home in England, I think, wrote down messages from the Holy Spirit each morning over a period of time.

The collection is profound and not unlike other such messages given to mystics, such as the anonymous relayer of messages given to a woman in the US, chronicled under the title, He and I (or to that affect, might be Him and Me).

God Calling was published in 1920's, maybe?  He and I was messaged in the 1950's or a bit later.  I think the relayers of messages in God Calling were Anglicans; He and I recorded by a Catholic mystic.

I've had the spontaneous weeping episodes this morning, most notably one that was merely triggered by my making a rather healthy breakfast type "cake", with fruit on top, baked.  I used pears this time, which is the recipe standard.  I tend to use whatever other fruit on hand, including the frozen strawberries from last summer's bounty.  My late mother gave me the recipe; it was her memory that started the weeping, and calling out in the silence of solitude, how much I miss her.

Well, that is not going to make a difference in my getting dressed and going out to continue the weeding and digging process to plant more strawberry starts.  But perhaps it makes a difference across the "veil", and that I am expressing love for a person who I respected and still do, even if she had her own flaws, such as a struggle with temper.  Her final year of life was difficult; she was not mentally or emotionally ready to die, but her lungs were quite ready despite never being a smoker.

She had a way of saying pointed statements, and voicing her disagreement, such as how she felt about my converting to Catholicism, or even dismay that I had deep wrinkles (far worse now!) between brows.  My response was to joking laugh that I guess I could razor blade them out; and then I reminded her that I do have a lot of pain, to which she immediately softened and laughed at her own comment.

But I understood my mother.  I knew that even in the superficial externals, she wanted her child--her adult child even--to be the best possible, and to not have those wrinkles and to especially not suffer so.  While even up to the last few days before she passed she made derogatory comments on Catholicism--thinking I had sneaked priests into her room when I had to point out that they were a doctor and a male nurse (she had very poor eyesight in later years due to glaucoma)--I understood my mother.

I think of the times during my daily visits and advocating for her in the assisted care facility (yes, she needed advocate for her care even in the "best" of the facilities because somehow we humans easily sink to less work than more work, even if being paid salaries).  I'd bring along my breviary and read while she was resting.  One day she asked what I was reading, and I said.  She told me I could read the Psalms parts to her, but nothing other.  She was convinced the other was something not good, something made-up by Catholics.

Now, my mother was a highly educated person, but she also had been educated from childhood on that Catholics are awful, theologically misinformed, a cult, and to be avoided.  So I read the Psalms aloud to her, then would read the little lovely prayers silently, then read the next Psalm.  This went on for a few days until one morning she said, "Well, you can go ahead and read the other parts, too, if they are really prayers and other parts of Scripture."  So I did.

One day she told me of a dream she had.  She always knew I had a proclivity to the spiritual realm and a gift for dream interpretation.  She knew I had an inner sense, what she might call more extra sensory perception, as had her grandmother--being shown people, such as those who were going to die or had just died.  (I don't have that consistently, but sometimes.)

The dream my mother told me was that which was of her guardian angel.  Her name is Phyllis, and my mother wanted me to look it up to make sure of its meaning.  It was as we thought: friend, friendship.  The dream had many implications helpful to my mother as did other dreams the Lord gave her, preparing her for her work on the other side.  Knowing she was to have a mission on the other side helped my mother look forward to being useful; and I explained again the death experience I had, and how easy is dying--how wonderful, joyous, refreshing--all going with us other than our painful bodies!

Perhaps that is why now, with the physical pain wearying and at higher levels, harder to manage, I also think of my mother and how I'd love to be on the other side, too.  My dad is in heaven, even--was shown the event when his guardian angel beside him, signaled my dad's passage.  In our time, it was about six months after his earthly passing.  My mother has not been shown to me to be in the fullness of light yet, although it has been about a year since my last vision encounter with a message she had for me.  There are distinct aspects that let me know she is not yet in the fullness of light, but she is on her way.

I received a short, computer message from the one adult child who I figured would want to remain in contact even if far away, even if many aspects of me are not part of her world and not in common with her views, likes, and dislikes.   So it is not that the relationship is no more; it is just altered and being given its rightful function between an adult who happens to have been child in the past. 

But she is a soul and one whom the Lord brought this morning to this nothing consecrated Catholic hermit.  She wanted to relate they arrived, that it is hot, that their temporary housing is very tiny, but that they are looking at some homes in--yes--about a half hour (in this time zone, that is).  I messaged back my love to them, thankful they are safely arrived in their new adventure, and that I will be praying for the right house and a good-deal house, come up on the market for them.

This is the work of this hermit.  Not so much to be a parent anymore, nor a child myself in relation to my deceased parents--other than relatedness as souls are through prayer and love.  This is the work of this hermit, of any hermit consecrated by Christ Himself, called by God to the eremitic vocation.  Pray, love, praise God.  Love God above all things and love others as oneself.

All the issues of earthly, temporal heart and mind, of attachments and disattachments, of familial bonds are not the work of a consecrated Catholic hermit.  Some of our work might be more fervent due to various bonds--such as knowing the person/s on earth who are brought to us in thought or in tangible presence.

But we must always--we consecrated hermits--tend to the work being that of unconditional love, unconditional prayer and praise and even penance.  We should strive to not be more fervent for one we may know than for a total stranger or for those passed on any less than those still alive.

It's not easy to set aside our emotions and thoughts, our memories of this and that, our attachments. But it is the calling of a Catholic hermit, one professed and avowed in consecrated life of the Church to strive for selfless love, selfless prayer, selfless praising, selfless all.

Time to get the pained body out to the weeding and digging. Today am going to dig up a long stretch of thick grass and weeds and transform it into a long, mounded row for planting strawberries.  It's nearly noon here in the desert of massive solitude and silence.  A far distant chain saw is heard now and then, but mostly sounds of birds chirping.  It has taken quite a bit this morning; but it is yet morning by a few minutes, here, anyway, and God mercifully provides whatever other hours until tomorrow morning.

Note to self:  So much of the dragging and nagging emotional upset and weeping has its source in the sickening, silent pain that has gained momentum in the past year in particular.  This hermit is aging and pain raging commensurate.

God bless His Real Presence in us!  Love God above all things and others as ourselves.

Braving, Battling Birds and Demons

There is a prize for anyone who can figure out where birds get into this hermitage!  Another one greeted this morning.  Perhaps it is the Lord reminding that He cares about the sparrow and certainly cares about us!  Not sure if the little sparrow is outside or not.  Have opened windows and doors, but then it tends to pop up in another area, yet inside.  So be it, little bird.

It has been 44 degrees inside here, and that with the heat pump going non-stop.  Yes, it finally got repaired only to have another power outage.  But this time when the power came back on after a few hours (cold ones, huddled in bed), the circuit board had not blown, thankfully.  It is just very cold.  The heat pump man came when called, and the heater is pumping out heat.  He thinks more insulation will help, and "button up the place."

There is nothing like physical discomfort to be either a motivating factor or a death-knell.  For this nothing Catholic hermit, it is a motivating factor for now.  Hustled as much as a cold, old, pained hermit can hustle, and got more insulation in the wall spaces.  

But it is not as easy as it may sound.  First all the rat feces, remains of nests, and cobwebs are to be swept from between studs.  Then steel wool is jammed down in crevices through which critters can squeeze themselves, amazingly squeeze themselves to find warmth.  Perhaps the cold in here is helping them not desire coming in so much?

Each piece of insulation is cut-to-fit the stud spaces of which no two are the same dimensions in this old domicile.  Woke up in the middle of the night to pain and also to the immediate thought:  Have to remove the insulation between all the studs and toe-nail in 2x4 blocks along the floor line.  Yes.  Surely my angel or some carpentry contractor in purgatory was sent to remind that one must have wood along the floor between studs to which the drywall and baseboards can be screwed and nailed.  

Most construction has what is called a base or toe-plate, a 2x4 that comprises the bottom of a wall.  the wall studs are nailed to the base plate and also to a top plate or ledger plate.  This old farmhouse simply has wall studs that run from the crawlspace to the top or ledger plate at roof.  The studs are 20' long and probably milled at an old lumber yard, early 1900's.

There is work to be done, and the bird of this morning is still not outside.  Saw him fluttering about in the next room.  Opened that window, but it flew downstairs.  Will deal with him later (a him due to the brighter feather coloring).  And will deal with removing insulation and nailing in the wood between studs once the body gets energized and focused enough to tackle the cold downstairs and outside where the power saw is upon its stand.

As to demons, have been battling them, and not as bravely as one would hope.  They attacked Saturday night and did not leave until Sunday night.  This hermit is sick and tired of the annoying spirits, inserting such dark thoughts into the mind and playing upon physical pain and weariness and emotional fatigue.  So decided to defrock the demons, so to speak.  Shame them out, shine the light on them, and enlist a couple of close spiritual friends to pray for this hermit in the thick of battle.

Just put it in writing to the friends, what are the dark thoughts, and how am tired of waking up to them in the wee hours, or having them descend with the dusk.  There is power in prayer; and there is power in laying bare the ugly thoughts that gain victory over us when we keep them held in.  Called the electrician, and said how overwhelmed in here with the cold and the discomforts, the work to be done and the dwindling funds.

He said anyone would be discouraged and overwhelmed with this place!  He said men would be, and men who were able-bodied, at that.  Told him how the other day decided to use the hammer he'd forgotten the last time he was here.  Laughed and said was used as a show of force and strength to get some work done! 

The main thing is to trust the Lord and simply keep going.  One must brave the elements and battle the demons.  Both are aspects of the eremitic life and tradition that are nothing new. 
_________________

A friend sent a video that helped with fortitude and  with outing and routing the demons.  It was of a man who'd been atheist for 44 years and then converted to Coptic (Eastern Orthodox) monk.  He exudes humility in the video as he shares his challenges, of which a main one is the human loneliness and sense of isolation. 

Yes, of course he has God with him; but he mentioned the other monks were in their own culture, had their language, and their families who would visit now and then.  He does not speak their tongue; he has no immediate family living, and if so would be on the other side of the world.  This hermit put it in a fascinating context.  He said the other monks have it much harder because they deal with the demons of the senses as distractions.  They can converse, they can hear and understand, they are reminded of the world in these ways, plus through their family members who are alive and not far away.  

These distractions are needling attachments and cause the other hermit monks more difficulty in arriving at the inner attachments that then need to be revealed and removed.  So, despite how difficult it is for the hermit who is of a different culture and country, he considers himself blessed to have the outer attachments snipped by circumstances. 

Hearing the hermit monk speak of such loneliness and sense of isolation helped this nothing Catholic hermit immensely.  Instead of the challenges here being hardships, or the inner battles being somehow a signal of something wrong or the vocation a failure, it all made sense that all this is a gift.  Being stripped of much human interaction, being in such solitude, braving the elements and battling the demons are signs of progress in the spiritual life and in this eremitic vocation.

The hermit monk also mentioned some phases or categories of which St. John Climacus discusses in The Ladder of Divine Ascent.  There are three ways of the hermit monk.  The first is living in community in a monastery with people about and some level of interactions.  The second is living with two or three others.  The third is living in solitude.  The man in the video lived in solitude whereas others in his community lived in the monastery.


While examples could be given of the shifts God provides in hermit lives, with some living among others more than those living with just two or three, and yet other hermits living in relative isolation from people whether religious or not, God determines each hermit's course--and most often uses circumstances to let the hermit know his or her course.

For the hermit in the video, his mother's death was a factor, as well as a conversion experience while he was traveling the world.  How he ended up in the desert and as one of the monks associated with the monastery built where St. Anthony of the desert built his hut in the 3rd century, was not revealed in the video.  He was there, though, and had been a hermit monk for some years, and was of the solitary type of hermits (of the three general ways).

What impresses, though, is the hermit's humility in candor about his struggles and challenges (at the time of video being filmed).  While he faced mostly inner challenges, still, he said, memories could snag him the most and tempt him to think of external distractions.  When the other monks families visit, he knew they talked with each other; or at other times the monks talked among themselves.  He could feel very alone.  Then, God would remind him that the hermit was with Him, and that the sense of isolation provided God to fill the hermit in ways no other could.

It is true; it is so.  There is purpose for hermits who God takes along the path of stricter, perhaps strictest, separation from the world in silence and solitude, for greater praise of God and in prayer and penance.  Whatever the case for each hermit, we ought be thankful for whatever way God provides.

__________________

Now to go downstairs and into the cold, and try to help the little bird find its way through the door which the hermit shall open for it.  And then, bundle more and measure, cut, and nail some 2x4's.  Praise God for His providence in courage to brave and battle the birds and the demons!  

God bless His Real Presence in us!  Little children, let us love one another (and all creatures) for God is Love!  Remain in His Love!

[As was finishing sharing, that little sparrow perched above on a coiled wire hanging from the ceiling.  Opened yet another window, but it disappeared in a hole in a wall in the other room.  Aha!  That is its little hermitage within this hermitage.  Eventually that wall will be gutted, and hopefully the bird will have flown out a window before more cold in here.  

"Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care.  And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.  So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows" Matthew 10:29-31.]