It falls upon the writer, the awkwardness of truth, the claims of the word upon the flesh.

The writer finds, through examination of his own life, the things covered by Jesuit Priest James Martin, S.J., in The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything, to be of a truth.  Here, a good treatment of the religious life, a covering of topics as poverty of spirit, or humility, the appropriateness of chastity, thereby to better love one's neighbor.   Odd things to consider, but then one did not invent them.  At a more mature age, one's own experience really does seem to lead him so.  Then one might be able to see, not the 'all the things I'm doing wrong with my life,' but rather, the gentle appropriateness, and thereby a grounded stance to make the corrections one can, confident again, less troubled, and more the feeling of being loved, somehow.

Why do I act with humility?  Why am I chaste?  Why am I more an embracer of poverty rather than the riches that would seemingly bring me comfort?  To all the pains of life, all the disappointments, faults and 'sins,' one can honestly say, 'well, that's just how it is, I didn't invent it, nor the pattern, it's just the path, to life, to what may be called, the Christian life.'  The vain mis-steps one is prone to in life, in social media, the selfishness that clouds the vision, such things seemed eased away from, and a reality emerges of not so much being at fault, but being basically right and true, even if it brings its own aches.

A good neighbor calls such things The Rock, that ability to see...



The evening of a Friday night shift, someone away for a weekend trip, ends, the barman eating a piece of salmon, alone, a glass of wine.  The energy level quickly sinks, and there are things left to do, the lugging up of bottles to restock, Sancerre, and Bordeaux, the last few dirty plates to take down to an empty kitchen.  A swipe of the bar surfaces, Windex, the bar towel.  The sound system, emptiness.  Is this the fundamental condition of humanity, choose we do to not admit it?   Is this some form of the sorrowful passion from the prayer on EWTN from 3 to 3:20 every afternoon.  The last late customers he entertained, did a good job of it, and now, what's there to do but walk home, also lonely, but healthy.  He stops in the park, sits down at a park bench, and the deer are the only ones for company.    Is this where one comes to find God's love?  Or just a lousy job...

They were great people to work with.  That always lifted my spirits.  Great crowd.  A real mixing with real people.