scripto ergo sum

“When you are first starting to write,
you don’t need to buy a whole lot of things.
What you need most is a fierce desire to put things down on paper;
and you need a certain sensibility, a way of seeing and feeling.”

~ Elizabeth Berg, Escaping Into the Open

For many people, in many parts of the world, this time of the year anticipates the liminal season that sees the late summer dovetail into early autumn. Northern New Englanders still have many shirtsleeve days of picnic temperatures, yet we can sense the transition. Light patterns and air currents call to mind what many call “back to school” season. Whether we are current students, recent graduates, instructors, or those whose school days reach into the previous century, this week’s cooler breezes are familiar old songs. As with music closely held, each of us have our own references for changing skies and passages of time.

Late August remains a slide toward Labor Day weekend. In childhood, summer camp ended at about this time, and the weeks leading into the start of the school year provided a breather. Later on, work schedule changes paved a gradual way into the collegiate routines. And still later on, the season became one of lesson plan resurrection. Time calls us inside from outdoor wanderings, sandlots, bug bites, popsicles, and shorts; life aligns with the seasons. Not surprisingly, this writer remembers the annual re-equipping for the academic year. The images of new shoes- and their aromas- come to mind. Fresh new notebooks, pencils, and other related materials, heralded the new embarkation. As with the new shoes and backpacks, the unused supplies had their own memorable aromas that came to associate with new ventures.

In this seasonal spirit, I’ve called upon my friend and fellow New Englander Mr. Roger Russell, who thankfully keeps numerous Scripto pencil writers renewed and refreshed with his inventory. Vaguely remembering the translucent, telescoped-graphite Scripto from distant childhood, these sturdy mechanical instruments were more recently brought to mind by an elderly colleague. I’ve rounded up enough of the tools to be able to apply Scriptos in larger archival processing group projects. Archival notation must be done in graphite, and alongside wooden pencils, the Scripto thickness is as bold as it is consistent. The graphite refill is as long as the holder itself, extending and retracting by twisting the eraser holder. To me, Scripto is “the fountain pen of pencils.”

Mr. Russell and my senior colleagues remind me of how long Scriptos have been around. The company name dates back more than 80 years, and although the pencils have not been manufactured in nearly 20 years, these resilient American-made tools can be found in many a desk drawer. Mr. Russell’s shop selection includes new Scriptos, along with refills of varying grades and colors. He has authored a Scripto history page which is colorful and informative. He also writes his observations related to backcountry hiking, but he tells me he is neither collector nor creative writer:

“I am more of a scientist than anything else and have other pages I have written about radium, gold and copper. Perhaps someday I will write about carbon that has an atomic weight of only six and exists in so many different forms. It does relate to the carbon used in pencils and the various blends that make the different grades of leads.”

His home page can be found here, and among its extensions there may be more you will want to bookmark. With gratitude, whether une vie en graphite is pursued by an engineer or an artist, the continuation of craftsmanship is equally essential. Here’s wishing all of you good seasons of creativity.

heart to the highway

“Set thee up waymarks, make thee guide-posts;
set thy heart toward the highway,
even the way by which thou wentest.”

~ Jeremiah, 31:21

drawing the sources

“In coming to understand anything we are rejecting the facts
as they are for us in favor of the facts as they are.
The primary impulse of each is to maintain and aggrandise himself.
The secondary impulse is to go out of the self,
to correct its provincialism and heal its loneliness.”

~ C. S. Lewis, An Experiment in Criticism

sources

With the passing of time, my attention is increasingly drawn to the roots of my experiences. Lived experience refers to present, as well as past; sensed as well as seen, remembered as well as immediate. Sources never cease to compel. A passing glance that causes me to look again and consider will invariably bring my attention to the source of the idea, the provenance of a scenario. It is a thirst to know meaning beneath the visible. And then there is the draw of sources themselves: the books that ignite the imagination, the individuals that inspire, the places that hold intrinsic and deeply personal references to the sacred. My lifelong fascinations with waterfalls and the vast ocean find parallels when listening to eloquent elders describe their stories, or when reading manuscripts from distant times. Sources speak from places and ages I could not have witnessed.

Enduring sources are timeless and cannot be exhausted. These represent tastes of the Wellspring of life, which can neither be measured nor extinguished. Peering through the glass aboard a surfaced Boston subway train, hurtling across the Longfellow Bridge, the contrast between dark tunnel and bright sky was impossible not to notice. This same sensation occurs to me, just about every time I reach the outdoor portion of the inbound subway trip. From darkened mirrors facing in, to sudden and clear outward views. The Charles River, distant buildings, and the broad sky overhead, extend my focus and remind me of the sources of all that is before me. Indeed, the very Source, the Divine, the ground of being, is solidly present such that my fleeting attention is caught away by small components. Henry David Thoreau astutely warned how easily our lives are frittered away in detail. Whether or not he succeeded in his living experiment at Walden Pond, his brilliant writing left us a document of his motivation to live deliberately, and to confront the essentials in life. It becomes vital to unburden and approach the sources of life and inspiration.

Walden Pond


experiences

My experience shows me how sources take many forms and manifestations. I’ve already mentioned such tangibles as physical sites, individuals, literary sources, and even the heart’s direct experience of God. In addition, there are repositories cultivated within, made of one’s collected source material. We may list our diplomas, their granting institutions, and a selection of jobs in our résumés, but these inventories do not describe our formation. There are sources which have made us the working, thinking, interacting persons that we are. Consider how and where you were raised, from infancy and right up until you could choose your own mentors. On the occasions in which some of my teachers and professors would tell me about those under whom they had studied (“under” as though beneath a tree!), I’d reflect that I somehow joined a kind of lineage- a genealogy of learning. Naming off where and what we studied in our formal schooling is merely at the surface. Where and what was the learning- not just then, but now?

Consider the people, cultures, and trends that comprise your influences. My oratory style is an amalgam of my father, my favorite graduate school history professors, and one of my Benedictine monk friends. My culinary and penmanship methods bear my mother’s stamp, as does my taste for irony. Many of my manners and organizing sensibilities are owed to my years of lived experience in monastic communities. A long list could follow, but instead and for this purpose, it will suffice to say the sources dearest to me have been the ones that have guided me to sources. The particular subway ride I described was en route to the Boston Athenaeum library, a place introduced to me by school friends. Learning, perceiving, and creativity continue long and far beyond the old lecture halls. Sources produce beginnings, and further sources provide sustenance.

extension

Drawing from wellsprings does not have hoarding as its goal. It is quite the opposite, for me. Collected knowledge and impressions add rungs to our ladders. Ascents progressively heighten and descents deepen, as thoughts of self occupy less space at the center. Learning, at its most redeemable, is best applied when offered as a compassionate extension. My notebooks record history while providing future references. These incidental uses have proven to be as gratifying as informative. Indeed the enjoyment of writing, in itself, remains primary. What motivates discovery are hopes for the extending of hard-earned knowledge and comprehension. Thirst for wisdom is matched by desire to diffract and share the Light within.

Above: Restoring a treasured source for an elderly friend.
Below: His hands with the restored book

In some critical ways, those who assiduously pursue the Divine for the purpose of lived application are the uncommon torchbearers. The light must be carried through undetermined crepuscule, to be potential light for others. Through waystations and on the road, learning must continue with care, so that it can be spun into reinforcing fibers. There remain great and unknown distances to cover. But I do not venture without provision. Not only are my teachers’ and parents’ lessons and stories accompanying me, but also the imprints of their mannerisms and voices. What is expressed is as important as how it’s said. A disciple is taught more than skills and methodologies; through personal mentoring, style is transmitted. Thus, facts are accompanied by techniques. Conversely, committed and witnessed errors of the past can inform discernment, and prevent repetition. We extend and manifest our received learning.

development and vocation

Pausing at this precipice of time, it is as necessary to pose the questions of cultivation as it is to ask the purposes of desire. Over the years, I’ve been making every effort within my economic and time limitations to choose how I add to my learning. Often, such decisions affect my travels, and the pursuit of wise words and artworks joins my pilgrimage. Now I recall William Armstrong’s admiring commentary about the self-taught Abraham Lincoln, who “gave back as rain what he received as mist.”

“He received his knowledge as mist, because he had so little time to learn. No one provided him with books and classes and study halls. He snatched his study periods between hours of hewing away the wilderness and fighting hunger.”*

By noting thoughts, quotations, and moments in a journal, maintaining a spirit of research, the average day can yield a manuscript collection. With a balanced sense of enquiry, a corresponding sense of expression can be developed. Feeling, thinking, and willing have been called the three primary functions of the human mind. Each are needed, along with an ability to visualize the “big picture.” Returning to Thoreau’s ideas, as I know to maintain a broad view amidst life’s transactions and demands, then I would succeed at carrying my own portable shore of Walden Pond with me. His use of deliberate is what this century might call conscientious. A clear sense of intention, of vocation, provides a guideline for life emphases and study.

Above: Taizé, France.
Below: Walden Pond, Massachusetts.

A vocation is often referred to as a calling, and this is misconstrued when viewed in a passive light. Vocation is not simply a subtle impression of God to a human. It is the reaching for a person by the very Spirit of Creation, and the initiation of an eternity of relational discourse. Going to the sources of trust and strength is a response, and the purpose is at once to draw out and to be infused by the holiness that transcends corruption. Having drawn from life-giving sources, the succeeding purpose is extension. Hence, calling is a great deal more than to merely believe, but to relate and to act. Our very physical design implies receptivity and reaching out, comprehension and active response. And collected knowledge and insights must find their means for extension to benefit others, and thus, the universe of knowledge itself. Be assured, consoled, and strengthened: even in this culture of mirages, learning and a proximity to the sources of trust and wisdom cannot diminish either in value or in urgency.

__________________
  * Study is Hard Work, by William H. Armstrong

at sixes and sevens

“Matter, which keeps souls apart, also brings them together.
It enables each of us to have an ‘outside’ as well as an ‘inside,’
so that what are acts of will and thought for you
are noises and glances for me;
you are enabled not only to be, but to appear:
and hence I have the pleasure of making
your acquaintance.”

~ C. S. Lewis, Divine Omnipotence.

As June dovetails into July, so the blog traverses yet another anniversary. My journals, known only to me, extend now to nineteen years. This month, La Vie Graphite reaches the seven year mark. Intact, and yet evolving. Though my gratitude, both for writing and for those who are reading, abides throughout the year, this annual occasion permits for an opportunity to make this an emphasis.

Seven years of ‘Graphite, through all varieties of New England weather, travels abroad as well as down the road, and myriads of daily lunch breaks, my increased shelves of filled notebooks provide archival testimonial. The longform voyage of written continuum, through every season, is a ceaseless fount of observation and initiative. On many occasions in these pages, I’ve emphasized the great worth of the quiet and sure witness of the written word. In the process, those who honestly write their days are also compiling their histories. Continuing to write remains as vital to me as self-care, gainful work, reflective reading, and all the other inclusive components that bring the spiritual to living. Writing, and knowing that others are also writing, contributes to lasting encouragement. I hope these pages have been part of your encouragements as well.

The eighth year of this blog begins without hesitation. As naturally as waking each morning, ideas and texts are ever in their formation. Along with my gratitude for the readers of this blog is an equal thanks for the readers who also blog. In that spirit, I’m always interested in good reading, and hope you will continue to share your recommendations. As for readership, my hope is for these essays to reach a wider and increasingly responsive audience. The blogosphere, fluid and abundant as it is, challenges writers who hope to cultivate a depth of personal work while remaining up-to-date. We all know quite well about the fickle and amnesic tendencies of the internet, not to mention the present culture. Yet, amidst this context, many of us persevere in our preferences of what is real- as opposed to the virtual, in terms of friendships, faith, creativity, and craft. Indeed, many of us must reconcile an increasing array of contrasts, and such reconciliation is a contemporary survival skill.

There is a future of ideas and adventures yet to discover and document. Similarly to my numerous visits in libraries, there are always and ever more tomes I’ve still to read. There isn’t a deficit of horizons, anywhere as much as a shortage of time. Navigating through narrow passages of hours causes me to work with pinched parcels of time for reading and writing. If I could exceed more essays per month, without hurrying the creative process, I certainly would do so. But as with journal writing, there are neither deadlines nor rigid rules. So, continuity and commitment will have to suffice, albeit at occasionally slower paces. On with year number eight, and here’s to reading, writing, kindredship, and craft. Pencils are sharpened, pens are freshly inked, and typewriters are calibrated.

　

　

habitude

“The way you wear your hat
The way you sip your tea
The memory of all that
No, no, they can't take that away from me.”

~ George and Ira Gershwin, They Can’t Take That Away From Me.

routine

With my bedside clock attesting to something between half-past five, and six a.m., I wake to open the bath taps and switch on the percolator. With coffee mug aperch on the tub’s edge, I hear the morning news from the small radio atop the hamper. My tendency, as usual, is to look at the radio, as though to listen more carefully. Washed and dressed, following my emergence is a second cup of hot coffee, whose succeeding landing place is not a bathtub ledge, but a glass coaster on my desk. Awaiting from the previous night’s writing- precisely where I’d left it- is my journal. Nearby are the accompanying pencils and pens. This time, the radio is a larger one, and the tuned broadcast is classical music. Current events were washed down the bath drain with the old water. Behold, things must become anew.

With book open, some recollection proceeds, wavering between the journal, some variety of reflective reading, and tastes of coffee. I could never quite get into the habit of solid breakfasts. My mother would insist that I eat something, while she would sip coffee. Long into adult life, she toldme that my grandmother insisted upon the same, all the while sipping coffee. So the continuum carries on. With notations, reading, radio listening, and a third cup, I habitually hurry out to my scurried commute. In my journals, this is begrudgingly called the slippery slope to the grind, and I tend to just get to my indentures on time. When life is so very interesting, interruptions obstruct trains of thought. As a result, a compensating habit is to recollect the morning’s thoughts during lunch hour, with yet another writing routine.

The other day, during one of my coveted lunch hours, the topic of routines reached my written thoughts. Personal routines, wherever we are in our homes or occupations, have their respective rituals that run deep. These are so profoundly embedded that we only notice them when brought to articulate our own actions and rhythms. Very likely, each one of us will step into the tub or shower the same way each time, with the same leading foot, day after day. The way and methodology of how you wash your dishes or laundry will be as unique as mine. I recall marveling at how, during a power outage, I instinctively bathed by candlelight, while sipping cold chocolate milk from a coffee mug. The radio, of course, is battery-operated. The show must go on, after all!

transition

Our natural devotion to routines persists through the reality of constant change. It seems the very human ways in which we develop our own comfortable patterns exist in the context of transition. Establishing individual procedures and familiarities seem to create encampments for personal strength. If not personal strength, then at least as refuge and as a fixed point upon a map that grows gradually outdated by the day. Years ago, I had a neighbor who’d sit on the front steps with a cigarette, a coffee, and a newspaper just about every day. Coughing through her own smoke, she would say, “I can’t give up my cigarettes; they’re all I’ve got.” I think each of us can enumerate ingredients in our days that help us reinforce our sense of being. Small and portable keepsakes accompany me to work and on longer travels, reminding me of my roots. My habit has long been to wear blue, the color of trust and honesty, on days with workplace meetings, and this reminds me of how persistently we refine and build layers upon familiarities. We count on what we’re used to, and what puts us at ease.

Generating a sense of security parallels a subconscious comprehension of the undeniable constancy of change. We’re indoctrinated to expect transition, and taught to believe that changes are in the natural course of living. Developments and dissipations occur before our eyes. We visit new places, and watch as old buildings are torn down. Nostalgia challenges the accuracies in our perceptions. When portions of the past are preserved, the initial reaction is amazement. All the while, we’re told that change is part of life, it is to be expected, managed, and that everything we see is temporal. But in actuality, I dare say that we don’t really want things to change- and as they do, all those superficially understood axioms slip out of thought. In our thirst for constants, our stabilizing routines fly in the face of time’s advances. The proverbial carrying on provides a stationary ledge from which transition can be witnessed.

As involuntary as perpetual motion proves itself to us, this needn’t imply perpetual trepidation. The prospect of change is certain, but that need not constantly imply fear. Transition usually has us thinking of what we don’t want to experience, or lose; these tend to be the changes frustratingly beyond control. The natural response is to resist. But in so doing, there is missed momentum. The good in transition is in transfiguration, when changes are refined into something transcendent of circumstance. No easy matter, indeed, amidst an abiding bewilderment with realizations that our constants are nowhere as permanent as we think they are.

Navigating terrains of time, carefully negotiating cliffs of compromise, the controllable changes are to be discovered. Which transitions can be influenced by the individual human soul? How does an individual make sense of the unsympathetic constancy of transition- and even obsolescence? Perhaps the popular concern with appearance is far less critical than transcendent aspects of essence. This refers to what we are beneath and far above our physical and logistic limitations. We can surely affect our own essence, though our cultivation, through transition within. Rather than to view the soul as a spoke emanating from the hub of experience, consider the soul as the junction that draws together the spokes of an individual’s many experiences. Keeping in mind how we connect to the ultimate hub of creation, it is indeed the individual soul that is capable of connecting spectra of disparate influences and ideas.

Through the balance of the habitually persistent and the relentlessly changing, dreams transcendently continue. At least that is the hope. The desire to see vision fulfilled has a drive that is stronger than the taxing toll of time. Vision demands vigilance, and as truly as routine and change coexist, aspiration must transcend. Through storms and tides, the heart’s sense of direction must not be lost in defeat. Ceasing to dream is a great danger along the voyage through our earthly years. I’ll admit to savouring old familiar tastes and scenery, while simultaneously attempting to will improvements into existence that may not happen. Improbability, even at this stage, does not deter my wishes. And though I’ve had to reconsider definitions of success and accomplishment, I also know enough to persevere. That’s an old habit I haven’t lost.

meaning in the raining

as is

“Being, in all things,
is that which partakes
of the Divinity.”

~ St. Dionysius the Areopagite

intrinsic value

Simply by our very being, we are part of our respective contexts. It is for us to determine our levels of involvement. By virtue of living, an individual is inherently qualified to participate. While indiscriminately serving a public diverse in experience and age, through years of employment, there have been countless and daily personal instances to observe. Serving and observing happen quite naturally, though it remains essential to reserve judgments- or at least to keep them minimal and discreet. But we navigate complex paths, and none are without intersections. I also try keeping in mind how much I dislike the undue judgements of others.

Yet, still, there are evident types among those who most frequent the cultural institutions designed for one and all. There are project-researchers, and those who self-educate (and I am among them), along with those who are simply inquisitive. Open doors and alacritous assistance are invitations in themselves. Then there are the many who long for company, or for stability, or for some sort of human acknowledgment. Not everyone is conscious of this, or gracious about it, but that is outside of my control. Listening to their stories teaches me a great deal about the broader community and its visitors, as well as about a great many individuals. This is pastoral work, but without the divisive connotations of sectarian clergy; the interactions are daily and pedestrian, rather than weekly and by isolated commute. And it is humbling. I see, over and again, how the love of reading and a fascination with history transcends economic boundaries. The sheer spirit of inquiry is cause for gratitude.

The desire to be respectfully acknowledged is more universal than you may think it is. Who among us doesn’t relish the chance to have our complaints heard? Who doesn’t find consolation in validating witness to their lives? During a workplace breather, I went to a window to rest my eyes with some natural light. Looking at the traffic and human activity, I remembered some of the jobs I had while in high school. As a deliverer of groceries for an inner-city supermarket in New York, I’d navigate a dense neighborhood, strategizing high-rise service elevators and apartment blocks for my destinations. Elderly customers would regale me with their stories, passing along otherwise forgotten wisdom from long ago, and launching it into the future with a young person. Even back then, I recognized loneliness and treasured the histories recited to me. Significance in the humbled state, mine included. Returning to the fray, it came to mind there is an essential challenge in looking to others (and self) without the outward trappings that obstruct souls from view.

Even in compromised situations, such as with employment, unemployment, communities, and social status, our lives do remain profoundly meaningful. There just isn’t much to remind us of this. Prestigious titles and wealth are not required- as much as ameliorations of both would solve many serious problems. To live and to contemplate are the merest necessities for creativity and constructive participation in the world. As we live, we are each significant, and each with prospects. In the previous essay, I looked at the natural striving for rewards as a kind of self-justification. By contrast, the intrinsic value of the soul, the true and created self, is discovered in being. Achievement isn’t necessary for our living, but surely living is necessary for our achievements. If we continue living and thinking, our very being is the undergirding meaning- it is our intrinsic value. Hence, we mustn’t lose heart and concede defeat in a culture that too freely informs us of our successes and setbacks.

safe harbors of thought

To be able to reconsider the patterns and types recognized within myself, and in front of me, there must be safe harbors for thought. I refer to those “window moments,” as mentioned above, if not lengthier respites that allow for the completion of an idea- or the questioning of notions. When there isn’t time for retreats in the wilderness, or silent sanctuaries, there is always my journal notebook or some excuse for car rides and evening strolls. Noticing trends and drawing in strength can really take place with some form of recollection. As recorded in the ancient compendium, The Philokalia, Saint Barsanuphius (6th C.) wisely observed and advised:

“While the ship is at sea, it is a prey to dangers and winds. When it reaches a calm and peaceful harbor, it no longer fears dangers, calamities or winds, but remains safe. In the same way, while you are among people you must expect tribulations, dangers, and mental buffetings. But when you reach the harbor of silence prepared for you, then you will have no fear.”

Among our endeavors, one of the worthiest is the cultivated skill of balance: listening and speaking, accepting and pursuing, reading and writing. The wider the spectrum of interests, the easier it is to divert by balance. Variety of perspective can be a great antidote to tunnel vision. Of late, the matter of teaching handwriting in elementary schools is being debated. Many believe that penmanship is an obsolete skill, and the craft should no longer be integral to primary education. But there are many others, myself included, that see every good and practical reason to teach the forms of cursive writing en route to developing one’s own mature style, and to be able to interpret handwritten text. It is very much a parallel to the cultivation of visual perception and manual skills. Learning to write by hand amidst a present culture that is thumb-operated, bears similarity to learning how to cook despite the ready availability of fast food. Quick fixes rarely endure; history proves this time and again, along with the very real way perseverance is always twinned with practice.

Balancing a sense of time and the human journey requires ability to see beneath and beyond the immediate. While inhabiting this very moment in time, each one of us extends some form of the historic, and we are each on our way to an unseen destination. With these things in mind, our actions and intentions carry potential influences which we may not ever see in our tenures or lifetimes. We cannot yet see the extents of our present actions. Similarly, our very being- just as we are- represents some form of fulfillment our ancestors could not have seen. We are uniquely able to realize what has come to us, and which of these things we’ll bring forward, or refine, or finally set aside not to make the voyage. The individual, in the present, must make such judgments. Considering one’s being- as is- with what is known and held, we come to recognizing meaning beneath and above things and ideas.

In his major work, De Divisione Naturae, Scottus Eriugena (9th C.) wrote, “We cannot know what things are in themselves, but only what they appear to us to be and that the whole fabric of nature can only be successfully investigated through the medium of time and space.” There is more to what is real than is evident. Time brings us to comprehend that no strengthening nuance is insignificant. None of us can know the reach of our energies. Indeed, much can be made of legacies of distrust and destruction. More than enough is easily available to devalue the human spirit, and thus vigilance is needed. For this illustration, consider the constructive, life-bearing legacies of grace. I was reminded of small yet meaningful gestures of kindness when I saw a person affectionately attend to a cat. The cat’s obvious gladness showed me that subtly great gifts were being exchanged. Anyone that can improve any other life has done something truly magnificent. Even if for a small cat. And the caring human that clearly felt the little animal’s gratitude demonstrated a heart enhanced by those few minutes. I saw how being, because it is participatory life, has enormous intrinsic value. In our simplest absorption of grace, we are completely able to reciprocate. Without accolades and trappings, perfectly equipped as is.

an enjoinder

Now I want to encourage each of you, holding forth on your respective courses. Your turns and straightaways imply more than you presently perceive. Generosity and genuineness of spirit, as well as action, form the path of best investment that dispels disingenuousness. In some demonstrable and disturbing ways, these are darkened times fraught with violence and complacency. But the will to persevere and to carry the Light must stand in opposition to cynical resignation. Spiritual life ever straddles the rational and the miraculous. The latter assures a persistent opening to pleasant surprises.

Among my cherished friends is a policeman who happens to be a great bibliophile. In an off-duty moment, he stopped in to my workplace with a surprise of a gift of calligraphy pen-points and wooden holders. I was heartened by such thoughtfulness, yet even more by his request. He wants me to teach him the basics of calligraphy. Of course, I will, and he’ll do great because he wants to succeed. For me, it is a double gift. The tools are fine, a bit fancy for me, but with meaning beyond the materials. The second gift is the request to provide a gift. Within the gift is a reclamation of the endangered skill of handwriting, and the action is steeped in the pursuit of conscientiousness. Going forth, in any season, is to be a torchbearer of grace and to make note of what is good. Trying to keep in mind the purposes of these present trials, I return to Saint Barsanuphius’ words in the Philokalia:

“Do not lose heart in sufferings and in labors of the flesh, which you bear for the sake of the community, for this too means ‘to lay down your life for the brethren,’ and I hope the reward for this labor will be great. As the Lord placed Joseph in Egypt in the position to feed his brethren in time of famine, so God placed you in the position to serve your community. And I repeat to you the word of the Apostle: ‘Thou therefore, my child, be strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus.’”