I despise my life; I would not live forever. Let me alone; my days have no meaning.
Job 7:16

"And the Lord said to him, 'Take off the shoes from your feet, for the place where you are standing is holy ground."
Acts 7:33

"God had one son on earth without sin, but never one without suffering."

Saint Augustine

What mist hath dimmed that glorious face!
What seas of grief my sun doth toss!
The golden rays of heavenly grace
Lies now eclipsed on the cross.
Jesus! my Love, my Son, my God,
Behold Thy mother washed in tears;
Thy bloody wounds be made a rod
To chasten these my latter years.

You cruel Jews, come work your ire
Upon this worthless flesh of mine;
And kindle not eternal fire
By wounding Him which is divine.
Thou messenger that didst impart
His first descent into my womb,
Come, help me now to cleave my heart,
That there I may my Son entomb.

You angels all, that present were
To show His birth with harmony,
Why are you not now ready here
To make a mourning symphony?
The cause I know: you wail alone,
And shed your tears in secrecy,
Lest I should moved be to moan
By force of heavy company.

But wail, my soul, thy comfort dies;
My woeful womb, lament thy fruit;
My heart, give tears unto my eyes,
Let Sorrow string my heavy lut.


Robert Southwell, Virgin Mary to Christ on the Cross

Resting on our Solutions

"The riddles of God are more satisfying than the solutions of man."

G. K. Chesterton, Introduction to the Book of Job, 1907

unfold

A young, new Priest was walking with an older, more seasoned Priest in the garden one day. Feeling a bit insecure about what God had for him to do, he was asking the older Priest for some advice.

The older Father walked up to a rosebush and handed the young Priest a rosebud and told him to open it without tearing off any petals. The young Priest looked in disbelief at the older Father and was trying to figure out what a rosebud could possibly have to do with his wanting to know the will of God for his life and ministry. But because of his great respect for the older Father, he proceeded to try to unfold the rose, while keeping every petal intact. It wasn't long before he realized how impossible this was to do.

Noticing the younger Priest's inability to unfold the rosebud without tearing it, the older Father began to recite the following poem:

It is only a tiny rosebud,
A flower of God's design;
But I cannot unfold the petals
With these clumsy hands of mine.
The secret of unfolding flowers
Is not known to such as I.
GOD opens this flower so sweetly,
Then in my hands they die.
If I cannot unfold a rosebud,
This flower of God's design,
Then how can I have the wisdom
To unfold this life of mine?
So I'll trust in Him for leading
Each moment of my day.
I will look to Him for His guidance
Each step of the pilgrim way.
The pathway that lies before me,
Only my Heavenly Father knows.
I'll trust Him to unfold the moments,
Just as He unfolds the rose.

Bridge to Home

"We are still children, however hard we try to cover that up. There are no 'grown-ups.' When we get old, we only exchange our toys: business for bats, sex for sleds, power for popguns. At death our Father calls: 'Come, little one. Time to put away your toys and come home.'"

Peter Kreeft, Heaven