For my prayer buddy on the Eve of His birth

Dear prayer buddy,
My prayer for you and for me, over the past few weeks, has been that the Infant Christ would fill our hearts as a baby would fill our wombs. That He would be our source of fulfillment and joy in this difficult season.

I know you have had it very rough these past weeks, and my heart is aching for you. I hope that the season of Christmas will provide peace, if nothing else. Please know that I am praying and fasting for you, and loving you from over here in my corner of the blogosphere.

I hope you will be comforted by this, and I hope that in our hearts, we might bear the Lord joyfully and in the spirit of Mary's Fiat during this season of Christmas.

O Magnum Mysterium
O great mystery,
and wonderful sacrament,
that animals should see the new-born Lord,
lying in a manger!
Blessed is the Virgin whose womb
was worthy to bear
Christ the Lord
Alleluia!

Jesus Christ the Apple Tree

A few weeks ago I referenced what might be my favorite Christmas song ever. On this last Sunday of Advent, I want to share another one of my favorites. I find it so fitting for the final week of Advent because the entire song--its poetry and its melody--speaks of this longing for Christ, a longing which no other thing can fill.

I loved this article about the song, which reflects my own love for it. I'm hoping to make some time to reflect with this song today, in order to prepare my heart for the coming of our Lord.

The Robin

Last weekend I had a rare few hours to myself while my husband was going to pick up little A from her Oma's house. I decided I had better get some gifts wrapped while I was alone, so I turned on some Christmas music and set to work. Our apartment is on the third floor of our building and so, even in the end of December, it can be pretty hot in our living room. I opened the window just a small space to let some cool air in (I think it was less than 20 degrees outside). 

All of a sudden, in the middle of winter, while I wrapped Christmas gifts, a little red-breasted robin perched on our balcony railing, just outside our living room window. He whistled a little song, and I noticed him, thinking how strange it was that in this cold the robin would be perched there, exposing himself to the snow and wind. He seemed to be listening to the Christmas music I was playing. I went on with my wrapping, thinking about how oddly special it was to have him there quietly keeping me company. I expected him to fly off any moment. 

Yet, twenty minutes later, there he remained, listening to my music. He was even so still and lingering that I was able to snap a picture of him. 

It's a very far-away picture, but I didn't want to scare him by getting too close.

I went back to wrapping, and about ten minutes later the playlist I was listening to was coming to and end on this song:

When the song ended, I looked up and the robin flew away. 

Now, I'm not suspicious, and I am skeptical of "signs" most of the time. So I'm not taking this as a life-changing event. I did look into the symbolism of the robin, however, and I found a few interesting insights:

First, this short one. 

Then this from Catholicism.com: 

There is a legend that the robin received his red breast as a reward for protecting the Christ Child from the sparks of a fire, which he caught on his breast, while the Holy Family rested on their flight into Egypt.

Then I encountered this explanation, which does not come from any creditable source, but it did seem to pertain to my ongoing efforts in detachment and starting afresh with the Lord's vision of my life. 

The robin redbreast is a bird of Spring, a time of new growth and new beginnings. It flies into our lives on the winds of change asking us to weed our personal gardens and plant new seeds for our future. Rebirth and renewal require changes in all areas of life that have become stagnant and outdated. The robin redbreast teaches us to how to make these changes with joy in our hearts. Its song is a happy one reminding us to let go of our personal drama and learn to laugh with life...Learning how to release our attachments to the old is one of the life lessons the redbreast helps us master.
This bird packs a powerful punch. It holds strong significance in ancient myth and lore. One legend had its origins in European mythology, in which the bird of Spring was associated with the New Year and represented divine sacrifice and the rebirth of the spirit. In Medieval Europe the robin redbreast was often depicted attending the Christ child, an emblem of the Passion to come. It was told how, at that fateful hour, it was the tiny robin who flew to Jesus' Crown of Thorns, striving valiantly to pluck the spines away with his beak. Unfortunately the bird succeeded only in tearing his own breast on the thorns. Ever since then it was thought that all robins wore red feathers on their bosoms as a badge of honor. The robin redbreast is a bird of divine service... (emphases mine)
I'm not confident that I know what any of this means for me, and honestly, I'm content not to try to extract meaning from it. What I do know is that I was comforted and that all comfort comes from Christ. A couple of posts ago, I concluded that my longing to hold my baby in my arms is, at its root, a desire for the infant Christ. I think this is why this moment with the robin inspired me so much. The robin, in the dead of winter, comforts the Christ Child, and tends to him, as I wish to do.  

The Stranger's Unseen Wounds

I have a boss who likes practical jokes. He likes doing small things that bother people to tease them. I am usually very good about playing along and not taking his jokes personally. They aren't meant to really hurt; and usually they are funny. Except one time.

When we lost RG, I had just started a new job. I had not yet accrued any vacation or sick time, and I was trying to make a good impression. So when he died, I did not take any time off of work at all. In hindsight I probably should have just explained the situation and taken some time for myself. I'm not sure which scenario would have been better.

About three days after he was gone, I was at work, sitting at my desk, trying to focus on my work (really, I was just trying not to cry most of the day). My boss came by my desk, and, seeing that I was focused intently upon something, he slapped his hand on my desk really hard, making a very loud noise. Of course, I jumped out of my seat, and tried my best to laugh it off as he walked away. But then I went into the bathroom and cried. It left a great impression upon me.

I have read that, post-miscarriage, women can have symptoms of PTSD, including sensitivity to sound and the tendency to be easily startled. I don't fault him for playing a joke on me; he couldn't have known that I had just been through a seriously traumatic event. But I wish I could tell him that you never know what someone's story is. You never know what she might have just endured. You never know when it might take someone her utmost effort to just show up that day.

Aside from the spiritual fruits of this cross, this is probably the most practical of the lessons I have learned from this experience: empathy for the stranger's unseen wounds.

The Holy Innocents

I have not written of them yet.

It is not because I've been living under a rock or because I'm insensitive to the affliction that has occurred in Newtown, CT. It is because I can hardly think of the killing of children without feeling the reopening of the wound left by my own child's death. I know it may seem hyperbolic--perhaps overly dramatic--to think of a miscarriage in comparison with the immeasurable pain of these children's deaths. And maybe I am way out of line--for some, my making this association is probably hurtful. But I can't see it that way. I know that my words will probably seem trite to those so closely connected to this outrage. I only hope that my reflection here breathes empathy, not false comparison, because when I think of those poor babies in Newtown, I think of my own.

What I see is the wound in my heart which is identifiable with those parents who have lost their children due to this evil. What I see is the injustice of this, the unfairness, the horror, the trauma, the inconsolable grief of these parents, which are akin to my own suffering. The circumstances are very different, but they were our children all the same.

"Then was fulfilled that which was spoken by Jeremiah the prophet, saying: A voice in Rama was heard, lamentation and great mourning; Rachel bewailing her children, and would not be comforted, for they are not."  Matthew 2: 16-18.

The prophet, Jeremiah, was a "youth" himself, asked by the Lord to witness to His Truth. It was into his mouth the Lord literally put His words (Jeremiah 1: 4-10). It was to Jeremiah that the Lord revealed His providence and omniscience: "Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you." How chilling it is that this young prophet would reveal the horror of the slaying of the Holy Innocents. And yet, how perfectly fitting it is that he would be one to reveal the Lord's promise of hope in this darkness:

"Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you to deliver you."

***
Oh, you darling babies. You beautiful, innocent children. May your lives be witnesses to the gift of life which is so much taken for granted here on earth. May your eternal lives comfort the hearts of your parents and heal the wounds against life in our society. May you, along with our massacred unborn, and all the saints in heaven help us to repair those wounds for the sake of His sorrowful passion. Holy Innocents, who died for the life of the infant Jesus, pray for us. Lord, have mercy upon us.

I highly recommend this article by Dr. Gerard M. Nadal.

Volta

In poetry, the word "volta" refers to the turn in the poem, the moment of insight wherein the meaning is suddenly changed or realized. It is different from the common concept of "eureka!" and closer to the true meaning of "epiphany" because it is revealed to the reader by the clever workings of the poet; thus it is not a concept of self-discovery.

Over this past week's hiatus from my blog, while many things stole my attention--from the mundane (work) to the horrific (the tragedy of Sandy Hook Elementary), to the really joyous (watching little A help her Oma decorate the house for Christmas), I experienced volta. I haven't written of it until now because it still deserves some thought. I'm not quite ready to process it (and part of me doesn't want to claim it as such because I'm also afraid it's not really happening).

Let me be a little less cryptic: over the past two weeks I have had a sudden moment--perhaps over the span of 24 hours--that has brought utter peace to my restless heart. I can only think the Lord has heard my prayers for consolation--that He has made my faith True in His goodness.

I have been praying so much for consolation and He has provided it in abundance. Over the past six months I have not conceived a child, and I have not forgotten the pain of losing RG. To the latter, I never will. But the Lord has provided me with answers to the deepest questions of my heart. This is truly what people mean when they say that He answers prayers, but not always in the ways you anticipate.

Do You exist? Yes.
Do You love me? Yes. Even though I haven't always trusted You in my heart? Yes.
Will You provide me with the Grace to trust? Yes.
How do I move forward? Small acts of faith, one at a time.
What is my deepest desire? The Lord Himself.

I still miss Romeo Gerard. I still feel anxious about becoming pregnant again (if the Lord should will it). I still feel intense pain over the trouble we are having conceiving. I am still dealing with negative self image.

But.

But the Lord has provided me His peace. And on this Gaudete Sunday, in this week of rejoicing, I praise Him and thank Him for the great things He hath done.

My first Friday Quick Takes

Well, here goes nothin'! Thank you, Jen, for hosting!

1. Today is the 6 month anniversary of RG's birthday. Half a year without him. And everyday is getting closer to what should have been his birthday. My dear friend H is due then, and I'm afraid of that day. I pray I will have peace in my heart when her son comes, that my love for her and for her son will not be clouded by my sadness for RG.

2. A coworker of mine was talking about the show, "Two and a half Men" (a show that is NOT allowed in my house) and how one of the characters made a joke that "God gives you children so that you're less afraid of death." She had meant that having children makes you look forward to death because they are so difficult.

This idea is disgusting. And it is such a reflection of our anti-child culture of death. For me, and maybe for many of us struggling with fertility and/or miscarriage the statement is exactly the opposite. God gives us children because they remind us of His precious gift of LIFE. They remind us to cherish this gift. They remind us of His life, incarnate, and His eternal life. I don't want to die because I have children, even if their lives bring suffering, I want to live for them. Having your child die pretty much flips that anti-child perspective on its head. I wish my coworker had never shared that with me.

3. I have been thinking that if RG's life and death had a purpose, it was for my salvation, and possibly the salvation of others. I have truly been trying to offer up my daily suffering to Jesus, and it is making me think about little A. Why shouldn't little A's life also lead me to Him? When I have difficult moments with her, or when I am up in the middle of the night because of her, or when she is ill and I must put off everything to care for her, those moments ought to be offered for Jesus too.

4. My life is not about me.

5. Every night I rock little A in the glider and sing to her until she is asleep; then I put her in bed. Starting on the first Sunday of Advent, I sing Christmas songs. I didn't tell her I was going to do this, I just did. Last night she looks up at me as we sit down in the rocking chair, and she says, "Sing?" I say, "yes, of course." And she says, "Sing abouta Jesus?" Heart = melting.

6. I have been struggling a lot with self-image since the miscarriage. A lot. But if this is enough for Him,

then I am enough for Him.

7. My seventh quick take is an act of Hope. 

St. Nicholas Day

Happy St. Nicholas Day!

In college I formed a beautiful friendship with a fellow Catholic whom I still love to pieces. She is my dear friend, M, who is now the godmother of little A. Somehow or another we were talking, one day, about Christmas traditions. She mentioned that her family always celebrated St. Nicholas Day as part of their Advent preparations. My family certainly celebrated Advent and a truly Catholic Christmas, but never St. Nicholas Day. I knew who the real St. Nicholas was, but we never celebrated his feast day as children.

I was inspired by her fond memories of that celebration. In my mind, I resolved to celebrate it--somehow--when I had my own children. It is so important to me that our Christmases be truly Christ-centered, so when we think of Santa Claus, I want A to understand that the reason we receive gifts on Christmas is that it is a reminder that Christ is God's gift to us.

I am pleased to report that I have begun to follow through on that resolve as of this year. Having done a little research into the various traditions of St. Nicholas Day, I decided on the following tradition as the way we would celebrate it:

First, on the eve of St. Nicolas Day, little A wrote a letter to the Christ Child (well this year, I wrote it with her help).

We wrote about how much we love Him and included a prayer request. The sections in quotes are directly from A.

Then, we put the letter in her shoe...

...and prayed, asking St. Nicholas to intercede for us, and take our letter to the Christ Child in Heaven.

Then we went to bed and waited for St. Nicholas to come and get it.

When we woke up on St. Nicholas Day, we saw that he has left us a small gift in place of the letter.

I hope A will love this tradition as much as I already do.

A Contemplative Study: Part 6

Part 6 ("Goodwill, a Necessary Condition for Peace") of this Contemplative Study is from Fr. Jacques Philippe's Searching for and Maintaining Peace.

In part six, Fr. Philippe meditates on the unsurprising principle that peace can only be found if our own will is united to the Will of God. "Goodwill," or "purity of heart," is defined here as a disposition of fiat. That is, it is the willingness of the individual to, at the very least, attempt to align his will to God's, saying yes to Him in all things small and large. Fr. Philippe is careful to point out that goodwill is achieved, "not [in] perfection, nor in sainthood," but rather, it is evident in the constant reordering of the individual's will toward that of the Lord's, even through failure.

My favorite part here is when Fr. Philippe affirms that "the man who has given his will to God has, in a certain fashion, already given Him everything" (17).

What reassurance for someone like me! In such times of darkness, in feeling alone and inconsolable, God is pleased with my small efforts, be they ever so little. This is what I meant when I wrote that my small actions were acts of faith. They are precisely that, because even in suffering, and even though I sometimes want to curl up in a ball and fall asleep, if I make one such small action, God makes it so much more significant.

My younger cousin, with whom I am very close, had her first baby boy in October. Before RG died, we had spoken of how close our children would be, how they would play together, how they would be so close in age. When he was born, three months after RG died, I wanted to cry and not come out of the house. I just wanted to turn off my phone--which was buzzing off the hook that day with pictures of the new baby--and hide in my bed. I was so so sad. And I did allow myself to be sad, and angry, and a little bit crazy that evening when I was alone. But as an act of faith, I went to Tar.get and bought some nursing covers for her, wrapped them up in blue paper, wrote my congratulations and love into a card, and sent it 3-day air.

I had wanted to do so much more for her, but in my sadness, I just couldn't. I just...it was a lot for me to stand in the baby aisle in Tar.get. And the Lord knew that, I think. He knew it took a lot for me to go out of the house, to buy something for her little one, to write my sentiments down in a card, and to send it all, when I could have allowed my sadness to make me withdraw. He knows I love her, and I'm not angry with her--I'm not even jealous of her. And He has protected my heart from that.

In those acts of faith, I am trying desperately, even if my heart doesn't feel it, to give the Lord my fiat. I know this is only through His grace. Lord, for that, I thank You. I thank you for Your protection, and for Your part in disposing my heart toward Your Will. How blessed I am that You do this for me!

For my Advent Prayer Buddy

I want you to know that I am thinking of you and sending love from over here.

I am praying St. Gerard's prayer for you.

I also pray for peace in your heart. May this season of Advent bring you closer to Him.

In the Bleak Midwinter

This is easily one of my very favorite Christmas songs. It is based on the poem by Victorian poet, Christina Rossetti. For me, the words capture the moment of the incarnation perfectly--the awe, and at the same time, the humility of the reality of Christ's coming. It also speaks of the gift that He is to us, and the sacrifice of our own hearts that we are  to give back to him--even if that is all we have to give.

It reminds me that even if I do not have what the world would deem a proper gift, or even the gift I would like to give to Him, what he desires most of all is so simple and so pure.
I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

A Contemplative Study: Part 5

Part 5 is from section one of Searching for and Maintaining Peace, by Fr. Jacques Philippe.

In part five, “The Reasons Why We Lose Our Peace are Always Bad Reasons,” Fr. Philippe reminds me that the peace of Christ and the peace offered by the world are different things altogether. Specifically, he writes that even when things are going well for us in life, or our days go by smoothly, these are not automatic indicators of the peace of Christ in our hearts. My hunch is that this is because the world offers a kind of peace that doesn’t involve the cross, whereas Christ’s peace necessarily involves the cross because it is victory over the cross that produces the peace we understand to be His.

Fr. Philippe suggests that the peace of Christ is found by the man who has many an arrow in his quiver (13). These “arrows” are the “solid convictions, based on faith, that nourish one’s intelligence and fortify one’s heart in times of trial” (13). These convictions are the consolations of Christ. Thus, “if we seek peace as the world gives it [as opposed to Christ’s], if we expect peace in accordance with the reasoning of the world…then it is certain we will never know peace” (14). Instead, we must be firmly convicted of Christ’s Truth, and believe Him when he promises His Peace to us.

And here is where I praise God for His great mercy and love. Glory be to Him, the Almighty!

You see, in the midst of my most intense grief, my heart felt so abandoned by the Lord, but intellectually, I knew He would not leave me. I still struggle with this paradox, and sometimes, the conflict between my head and my heart is irreconcilable for a time. But it is for this paradox that I find myself thankful today. I am thankful for it because it is so painful that it forces my heart to struggle until it comes into unity with my mind.

The Lord has not, will not, never did abandon me. All while I struggled with this conflict, He remained faithful, and He brought me His peace of conviction. Every time my heart doubts His Love for me, my mind reprimands my heart, reminding me that what it feels is not True. The Lord granted that my mind should always remind my heart that what I have always known about God’s love and mercy is the Truth. And so, verily, God’s peace comes through the Cross in these moments of struggle.

***

Lord, your ways are profound; thank you for allowing me this insight, that which further convicts me of the Truth of your Word. Thank you for inspiring my heart to love you, even in struggle. Thank you for the firm foundation I have in this faith, a foundation which grounds me, even in the most severe moments of doubt. Thank you for your consolation.

Lord, I accept all things, good or bad, bitter or sweet, joys or sorrows; and for all these things I thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

Preparation

In the spirit of Advent, coming quickly upon us, I find myself thinking today about the way the Lord prepares us for things in His Holy Omniscience. Because of the fall, our hearts are closed to this preparation much of the time, but one's lack of faithfulness does not cause that lack in the Lord. For, though we be of little faith, He is ever faithful.

Growing up, I very seriously studied ballet for 13 years--half of my life at my present age. I went to classes, workshops, boarding school--the whole shabang. In all those years, my mental toughness was constantly tested, constantly needing fortification. Why, you ask? Because that stereotype about crazy ballet teachers is not unfounded. Many are crazy. Most are a little bit mean. Some are ruthless. But for the love of the art, ballerinas learn to deal with it. They do some crazy things to themselves, and stretch themselves--physically and mentally--beyond capacity. And they learn to tell themselves something:

"At least Ms. Ballet Teacher cares."

The thinking behind this is that if Ms. Ballet Teacher didn't care about you, and didn't care that you were getting better and better in your technique or artistry, she wouldn't bother to criticize you or give you correction, albeit humiliating and cruel in many cases. This mentality helps the ballerina cope with the suffering of public criticism because it is seen as a form of love. And indeed, it was. Some might call it "tough love."

We Catholics know what this is about. And we find value in it, just as ballerinas do. The value, we know, is that, having endured such criticism, and used it to become closer to Him, our performance will be pleasing in the sight of God. Having borne the cross in faith, the Lord makes available His eternal reward.

I can't help comparing God's love of me to that of those crazy ballet teachers. Now, no metaphor is perfect, and I'm not saying God is crazy or mean like a ballet teacher. What I'm saying is that at least God cares enough about my salvation to allow an affliction so painful, and then by His Grace, to guide me through it. Perhaps in those many years of fortifying my mental toughness, He was preparing me to face this crisis.

Is not advent a time of preparation? Does it not involve some pain? The pain that is purification? Is it not a time of measured penance? Is it not the time of tough-love before the reward? Isn't this the place from which we get the lyrics of O Holy Night*?
Long lay the world in sin and error pining, till He appeared, and the soul felt its worth.

We live in a time of preparation, of pining and purification, wherein the crosses we bear are the "tough love" that prepares us for the coming of Christ. Should not my own pain be used for this purpose?

***

Lord, help me to unite the cross You gave me to Your own. Help me to appreciate your Love in whatever form it comes--though it causes me temporal pain. Help me to realize, in every moment, that You have allowed this for my salvation, and that You are with me, Emanuel. Help me to make this a holy Advent.

*Incidentally, these boys singing are the most beautiful things, aren't they? :)

Psalm 25

III.
Look upon me, have pity on me,
     for I am alone and afflicted.
Relieve the troubles of my heart;
     bring me out of my distress.
Put an end to my affliction and suffering;
     take away all my sins.
See how many are my enemies,
     see how fiercely they hate me.
Preserve my life and rescue me;
     do not let me be disgraced, for I trust in you.
Let honesty and virtue preserve me;
     I wait for you, O Lord.
Redeem Israel, God,
     from all its distress!

A Contemplative Study: Parts 3 & 4

Parts 3 & 4 are from section one of Searching for andMaintaining Peace, by Fr. Jacques Philippe.

Part three (“Peace and Spiritual Combat”) and part four (“Peace is Often at Stake in the Struggle”) describe the nature of spiritual combat, “a war without mercy,” and role peace plays in winning that war. My own particular moments of war, in its intensity, tend to occur when I am nearly asleep; the evil one makes me anxious, causes flashbacks of the miscarriage, and attempts to make me feel culpable and guilty for RG’s death. Sometimes, he attacks my marriage, making me resentful toward my husband or irritable and angry at him.

And in these moments, I truly understand what Fr. Philippe means when he writes that “this combat…is the place of our purification, of our spiritual growth, where we learn to know ourselves in our weakness and to know God in His infinite mercy” (9).

Fr. Philippe speaks of a “total adhesion to Christ” as the way to maintain interior peace in these moments. Further, he writes that it is most often this very peace for which we are fighting, for (he quotes St. Francis de Sales here) “The devil does his utmost to banish peace from one’s heart, because he knows that God abides in peace and it is in peace that He accomplishes great things” (11). And so, Fr. Philippe continues, we must be aware of which battles we are fighting with the devil. In its most concentrated form, war with the devil is usually fought over this peace, the very presence of Christ in our hearts: “this is one of the great secrets of spiritual combat—to avoid fighting the wrong battle” (11). He identifies the real spiritual battle as the one in which we “learn to maintain peace of heart under all circumstances, even in the case of defeat” (12).

Fr. Philippe is principally addressing the cases of defeat in which we sin—our own failures to attain perfection in the spiritual life. Still, I think this principle could apply to situations in which we don’t necessarily fall, but those in which something devastating happens to us, as in the case of losing RG. There come from an event such as this, many many occasions of sin, and so, of course, Fr. Philippe’s central meaning is not obscured by my own internalization of this discussion.

The concept is applicable to my situation as it was to Job’s. The occasions which tested Job’s faith began with tragic losses—not just of his possessions, but of his wife and children. These horrible losses, in total, caused Job to lose his own inner peace—his faith in the Word of God—such that he lamented, and ultimately questioned God. The occasions for his sin quickly followed.

The same has been the course of events for me, and I thank God I have the example of Job from which to learn. Here I have learned, and continue to comprehend, my own weakness, my smallness, my lack of control. And in place of my past-perceived greatness, intelligence, and “handle on it all,” I have received sight of God’s sovereignty and mercy. He has granted me great mercy in my struggle to trust Him over the past six months. And though the temptation to be jealous or to be angry over this is still so palpable, He has answered my pleas for the grace to trust in His will and His timing.

***

 Lord, I beg you to continue to have mercy on me. I beg you to increase my faith in Your Word, in Your Will, in Your Timing. You are holy. You are my Light in this darkness. Do not hide your face from me; do not allow me to be disgraced. Jesus, I trust in you. 

To RG

12.1.12

My baby boy,

I wear a necklace with your name on it now. It has a ruby bead for your birthstone. It is red, and it makes me think of the way you were "born." As sorrowful as that makes me, I like that it is a ruby, because it reminds me of the pierced heart of Mary. 

Soon, we'll be upon the 6th month after you were born. It doesn't feel like that long to me. As I watch my friend H's belly grow, I know you would have been just that big in my womb, and I long for you there. Instead, your poor mother is just fat. I miss you so. 

Just now, I had a thought that you must see me from heaven, and beg me to rejoice that you are with the Lord. I can't picture what you look like anymore. Maybe it would be too painful, and God is sparing me that pain. Darling boy, I do rejoice that you are with the Lord. I know that is the goal in being a mother anyway. 

You, who never arrived,

like ephemeral words,

I remember you.

Yet there is so little

to remember

that I am left

desperately trying to salvage

legitimate thoughts of you

which makes me feel crazed.

Don't let me 

go crazy, darling boy;

remind me that

"the counsel of the Lord

belongs to the faithful;"

I refuse to give

anything but Fiat

unto Him

who hath done great things for me.

I love you, darling boy.