Full Force

There is an integrity to this life, which feels like nothing else yet...

So little writing, just journalling at the moment, it seems. I must make more of an effort, a habit. It really doesn’t take much, does it. Just to open Scrivener will be enough, if I’m honest with myself. Tinker with a short story that was well received, but needs work if it’ll see print. There is an integrity to this life, however, which feels like nothing else yet. In order to write, it’ll take a certain degree of ruthlessness, to put it crudely, although I must admit that part of the problem, a delightful part, has been more reading every evening.

I’ve been loving Christus Vincit, Bishop Shneider’s latest book with Diane Montagna, a humbling and sobering exploration of both his own faith journey, burdened by the childhood persecution of a communist regime, and the state of the modern church. This, broken up with Sense and Sensibility and The Autumn of the Patriarch, by Marquez. My capacity to read, and read, and read, has returned with full force, limiting of course, by own words on the page, which probably isn’t the worst of outcomes. Other disciplines fare well, and life flourishes in wonderful and surprising ways out here. Our work goes well, and it’s such a blessing to toil in the midst of my own children, whom I get to see throughout the working day.  And now, some sleep, before I’m no doubt woken and woken again. 

Some things take years to surpass, but having been through it all before helps.