Last Call

Before I get to the heart of why I have decided to stop blogging I thought I’d write a few “odds-n-ends” that are on the top of my mind after a few weeks away. Forgive the randomness.

*****

It’s been over two months since we cut the cord to satellite television and I have zero regrets. I was worried that my two youngest children, addicts to all things Spongebob and Nick Jr., would protest the most. They rolled their eyes at PBS Kids cartoons or various movies I found on Netflix that, since they existed outside the realm of Cartoon Network, the Disney Channel, Nickelodeon or ABC Family, were obviously boring and uninteresting.

What a difference a few weeks makes. In a very short time they have forgotten all about Patrick Star, Mr. Krabs and the gang at Bikini Bottom. My daughter’s favorite is now Peep and the Big Wide World, and she and her brother love to watch Arthur both on Netflix and when it’s on PBS in the mornings or afternoons. They have become Jeff Corwin addicts and love to watch any and all nature programs we can locate, such as PBS’s Wild Kratts. We made it through the first Advent and Christmas in years without asking for an abundance of toys advertised on TV, and have branched out to watch a few shows that they would not have given the time of day to before. Off the top of my head I can recall (and recommend) a few of those rare things we used to call family movies. Below I’ve placed the links to a few of them and their trailers on YouTube.

• A Wrinkle in Time
• Cirque du Soleil: World’s Away
• The Magic of Belle Isle
• Joyeux Noel

True, we’ve watched a few stinkers, but I can only think of one or two. I recently decided to add Amazon Prime also. The costs of these two services and the HD over-the-air antenna I’ve put on my roof are equal to about nine weeks of my former satellite bill. The free time we’ve all freed up to read, talk and play are priceless. And I didn’t need to worry about boycotting A&E over Duck Dynasty, one way or the other.

*****

Is it safe to go back on to Facebook again? For over a week my screen has been filled with the bearded image of a guy who is not Jesus from a television show I’ve never watched. I have no desire to wade into that whole discussion. But I will say that it’s fascinating that so many got their knickers in a twist over A&E’s decision to suspend and then un-suspend Mr. Robertson. Would that a small percentage of them get just as fired up about the wholescale slaughter of Christians in the Holy Land. The burning of churches over Christmas. The continuing tragedy of human trafficking. Or Gitmo still being open. Or that we’re still waging war overseas. With drones. Without consent of Congress. That we are $17 trillion in debt.

Or that equal among the sins he mentioned were the greedy, those that slander their fellow human beings or those who cheat on their spouses. I guess there is no GLAAD-like organization to goose step for them.

“A&E suspended Phil from my precious “reality” show? I won’t stand for it! Maw, where’s a picture of Phil? I’ve got to post it to Facebook quick to demonstrate my outrage!”

My eyes ache from rolling them so much at both sides of this kerfuffle.

*****

“It’s ridiculous, isn’t it, to strain every nerve to attain the utmost exactness and clarity about other things of little value and not to consider the most important things worthy of the greatest exactness?” – Plato, Republic 504d

Wise man, that Plato.

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Believe you me I’d love to ignore this latest outrageously outrageous outrage in the so-called Culture Wars™. I’ve got a life to live, as have we all. But the hypocrites in the media and the shock troops at GLAAD have mandated that you will be made to care. You will not be silent from the sidelines. And so it goes.

Enough of that. Let’s move on, shall we? (Yes, let’s.)

*****

Back to Netflix for a moment. A few nights ago my ten-year old son and I watched a quiet little film called The Letter Writer. This production was obviously a labor of love for those involved and while it didn’t involve a single CGI-generated special effect that I can recall, no sex and no violence, it did contain a beautiful message wrapped inside a lovely story that I recommend for anyone who is looking for something to enjoy on a cold, winter’s night.

The song you hear at the end of that trailer is called Angel Bones. You can watch the performance from the film as performed by Aley Underwood, the lead actress in the film, here.

There’s a culminating action of us all
Sometimes there are miracles
And our hands do the job
For every action you move these thing along
Everything you do moves these along

*****

Ten years ago we hired Megan, the daughter of friends of ours and new high school graduate, to be a summertime “nanny” for our then only son. Tuesday night Megan performed as the soloist and cantor at our parish during Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve and did an incredible job.

Now this particular Mass is already my favorite and one that I find particularly beautiful and solemn, so perhaps I was already a tad emotional or simply moved with the joyful and hopeful spirit of Christmas. But after Mass was over I couldn’t resist walking up to Megan, take her by the shoulders and thank her for the gift of her singing. Then smiling I kissed the blushing girl on her cheek which she graciously accepted.

I’ve been prone to doing this more as I’ve gotten older. Friends and fellow parishioners at church are likely recipients. I’ve learned this action from my good friend and parish pastor Fr. Lyle over the years.

The world would be a bit friendlier if more people were open to this gesture of friendship and appreciation, don’t you think? I do.

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In the middle of this wonderful article on the beautiful burden that is friendship I found a terrific quote on prayer that I wanted to share with you all.

I don’t know if you are like me, but often I find myself praying—just because I can. I suspect that many of us pray this way at times. Whilst these prayers may have no specific object, they are nonetheless efficacious in that they give God the glory He is due and they serve to nourish the personal relationship we have with Jesus Christ. These prayers are not mere time-fillers, yet, paradoxically, they are nevertheless almost autonomic. They are said with a trusting heart, but they do not focus on any one particular need or intention. They sustain the daily conversation with God. These unattended prayers are simple, unadorned expressions of our need to communicate with our Maker. We say them because we can—and because we feel we should—yet they have no more specific purpose or intention attached to them. As such, I believe these prayers are latent with untapped potency. If they have not been dedicated to a particular cause then their full potential is yet to be released.

Glorious!

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Friendship truly is a burden when taken to heart. It is a heavy one that is rich with rewards. Anyone who has ever shared a long, deep and meaningful friendship will attest to this. They would also fight you if you tried to take it away from them.

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Three excerpts from my Facebook statuses during Christmas:

1. I never worry about the commercialism of Christmas because I don’t worry about something I cannot control. This year I have instead focused on the fact that this is the last year that I know for certain that all five of us will be home for Christmas, mentally marking every moment, conversation and meal. Christmas is a great time to love and that is something I can do.
2. When the holy Evangelist John was living at Ephesus and was far advanced in years, his disciples would carry him into church. Being unable to give a lengthy sermon, at each gathering he was accustomed simply to repeat the words, “Children, love one another.” His disciples and the brethren who were present, upon hearing these same words repeatedly, became impatient and asked, “Master, why do you always say the same thing?” John’s reply was wholly in harmony with his heart: “Because it is the Lord’s commandment; and if you did nothing more, it would suffice.” (from the Commentary of St. Jerome on the Epistle to the Galatians on this, the feast day of St. John the Apostle
3. “We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that. This enables us to do something and do it very well. It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way and an opportunity for God’s grace to enter and do the rest.” ~Archbishop Oscar Romero, El Salvador

Those paragraphs are microcosms of my thought process during the nine days I had off from work. On December 22 we journeyed west to my in-law’s farm to have Christmas with my wife’s side of the family. After a large, early-afternoon meal the grandchildren tore into their presents and delivered those they needed to deliver to their various godfathers and godmothers, as well as their grandparents. As everyone took a breath I asked my oldest son to join me for a walk outside to digest our meal. For the next ninety minutes we walked a few miles over the farm yard and country roads surrounding my father-in-law’s land. We talked about his turning 18 in a few weeks, the upcoming second semester of school, his final prep and summer baseball seasons, graduation, girls, finances, life, and of course his plans to enlist in the Marine Corps once he turns 18. It was a mature, sober discussion in which he reflected much on the recent years, lessons learned, and the fact that this would be his last Christmas with the family he’s known and loved his whole life. We wondered aloud where he’d be a year from now.

We shared many things, some for the first time, and I’ll never forget that walk and am grateful for it.

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In less than forty-eight hours I’ll celebrate my 46th birthday. During the past nine days that I had off from work I spent a lot of time cleaning in the storage room and my work bench in the garage, which led to more time thinking about the things I uncovered. Not just material/physical things, but hopes, dreams and goals of the past that I’d buried beneath the piles of “stuff”. I unearthed half-finished journals, intricately detailed plans for the future. In the garage were three large wooden figures from a set of five for a Nativity that I started to build for our front yard eight years ago. While teaching my younger son how to use a jigsaw as we build storage shelves I found them behind a stack of plywood that had been leaning against the garage wall. During the last week I found the hopes and dreams of my early-30s self, and at one point was overcome with emotion as I reflected over all I’d forgotten and set aside.

And set aside for what exactly? For a career? For a job that as I begin 2014 is in an unsteady state that may or may not involve my having it at this time next year?

Do not misunderstand me. I bear no regrets for the decisions necessary and those made over the past decade and a half regarding my work that has provided for me and my family. And in order for me to be able to comfortably forfeit my job (should it come to that) I need just one or two more things to fall into place before I’m ready to face it.

I wasn’t ready in 2000 to embark upon the waters of uncertainty. I had responsibilities and things that needed to be done. I still do. But I’m older, a little wiser, and in a place where I feel the time is soon coming when I will be ready to dust off those plans and set out on the journey.

Wanderer, your footsteps are
the road, and nothing more;
wanderer, there is no road,
the road is made by walking.

By walking one makes the road,
and upon glancing back
one sees the path
that must never be trod again.

— Antonio Machado (1875-1939)

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And this at long last brings us to the end of this post…and this blog.

In a recent post Heather King wrote that

…if you want to be an artist, you have to be willing to be totally ripped apart. Maybe that’s why we don’t have more Catholic writers (and painters, and poets, and composers, and musicians). Maybe we lack the willingness to be ripped apart…to let grace work its violence on us. To wait for a wedding that may or may not ever come, practicing, practicing, practicing. Preparing, hoping, praying, waiting.

In a culture of speed, control, choice, and instant gratification, to consent to the kind of waiting required of great art is a radical act of resistance. Instead, out of frustration, we perpetrate violence on each other. Instead of creating, we destroy. Instead of letting ourselves be killed, we kill others.

There is nothing more Catholic than letting ourselves be killed by love.

That is what Christ did in the Crucifixion.

Love has been the overwhelming message in all I’ve read or experienced this Christmas. I suspect it is the same message I’ve received my previous forty-four Christmases as well. It’s just that this year my inner radio was tuned to the right frequency.

After a detour of fifteen years I want to do what I love and that doesn’t involve my current employment, daily habits or even the subject matter on this blog. While I am grateful to everyone who has taken the time to read the words written here I have to tell you that you deserve better. Because I can do better and I aim to do so going forward. Should I blog again I plan to do so anonymously and well enough that you won’t know it’s me who is telling the stories you are reading.

The message conveyed by God through the Scriptures is love. Love through storytelling. I won’t return here again until I’m better at both. I know I’ve “stopped” on at least two occasions but always reneged. But this time I’m resolute. A change is called for.

God bless you all. And thanks.

*****

“Within every human being there’s a God given ability, and if you find it and nurture it, you’ll be able to bless the lives of others.” – From the movie The Letter Writer

Straining gnats

There was a time when we said “to each his own.” Or “you have a right to your opinion.” Or “we agree to disagree.”

But not now. Those times are gone. I wonder if we’ll look back and long for a return to the days before the times of The Perpetually Outraged About Something Or Other. The days before we looked for or manufactured grievances that led to an outrage and then the inevitable counter-outrage, both sides creating memes and images and endless Facebook or Twitter updates to display how outraged they are or support those who are outraged themselves.

What a waste of precious Time and Life and Gifts given by God.

In The Resurrection of Rome G.K. Chesterton said “It is the root of all religion that a man knows that he is nothing in order to thank God that he is something.”

Today’s man throws the weight of religion from his shoulders like a worn sweatshirt on a hot summer’s day because he thinks, no matter how contrarian, absurd or inane his outrage, he is something to be tolerated and stomps his feet and beats his fists in an epic tantrum in order to get his way.

“Tolerance” said Aristotle, “is the last virtue of a dying society.” History shows that it is often the vice that kills society as well.

I wonder…

Will we ever grow up?

Some of us call it it opinion.

Others call it diversity.

I thought those were good things.

*****

Each In His Own Tongue
by William Herbert Carruth (1859-1924)

A fire-mist and a planet,–
A crystal and a cell,–
A jelly-fish and a saurian,
And caves where the cave-men dwell;
Then a sense of law and beauty,
And a face turned from the clod,–
Some call it Evolution,
And others call it God.

A haze on the far horizon,
The infinite, tender sky,
The ripe, rich tint of the cornfields,
And the wild geese sailing high,–
And all over the upland and lowland
The charm of the goldenrod,–
Some of us call it Autumn,
And others call it God.

Like tides on a crescent sea-beach,
When the moon is new and thin,
Into our hearts high yearnings
Come welling and surging in,–
Come from the mystic ocean
Whose rim no foot has trod,–
Some of us call it longing,
And others call it God.

A picket frozen on duty,–
A mother starved for her brood,–
Socrates drinking the hemlock,
And Jesus on the rood;
And millions who, humble and nameless,
The straight, hard pathways plod,–
Some call it Consecration,
And others call it God.

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“Each in His Own Tongue” is reprinted from The Little Book of American Poets. Ed. Jessie B. Rittenhouse. Cambridge: The Riverside Press, 1915.

*Straining gnats taken from Matthew 23:24

An Epitaph of Trust

The other night I was reading Kristin Lavransdatter and came to the part of the story where Kristin’s father, Lavrans Bjørgulfsøn, begins to say his goodbyes to his family. Aged 52, he has begun to suffer from very poor health and having outlived his father and grandfather he knows the end is near. Throughout the book I’ve pictured this man of Norway circa 1300 as a cross between King Fergus (the father of Merida) in Disney’s Brave, and King Theoden from Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings movies. While riding through the countryside with his eldest daughter they share many things. He had strongly considered life in a monastery when he was younger, but his father bought him armor and the weapons of war (in those days they were fighting the Danes) and he chose to follow his father’s wishes.

In the excerpt I quote below, Lavrans speaks of something I think most of us do: look back. We look back when we find ourselves in a bind, or we perceive events have conspired against us. We reflect upon the choices we’ve made and the roads not taken.

“But I chose this world myself, and whenever things went against me, I tried to tell myself that it would be unmanly to complain about the fate I had chosen. For I’ve realized more and more with each year that I’ve lived: There is no worthier work for the person who has been graced with the ability to see even a small part of God’s mercy than to serve Him and to keep vigil and to pray for those people whose sight is still clouded by the shadow of worldly matters. And yet I must tell you, my Kristin, that it would be hard for me to sacrifice, for the sake of God, that life which I have lived on my estates with its care of temporal things and its worldly joys, with your mother at my side and with all of you children. So a man must learn to accept, when he produces offspring from his own body, that his heart will burn if he loses them or if the world goes against them. God, who gave them souls, is the one who owns them—not I.” ~Kristin Lavransdatter, Book II: The Wife. Part II: Husaby. p.542.

There are a lot of things left undone in my life if seen through the eyes of a teenaged me. I was going to

• pitch the Red Sox to their first World Series title since 1918
• play drums and go on tour with my band
• travel throughout this country and perhaps Europe as well
• be a successful business owner and make my first million by the age of 35
• be a husband and father
• be a college professor, author and lecturer and live a life of relative quiet except for the noise of inquisitive students in the classroom
• live life as a religious, perhaps a priest, more likely a monk, spending my days in service to God and without the burdens of the rat race that is modern life. Of course I wasn’t Catholic at the time, but I still leaned this way
• publish a book (or books)

I did become a husband and father, and there is still time for me to do most of the rest. Though I never pitched at Fenway, I can still see a game there (and they’ve won three World Series over the last decade). I’ve travelled throughout America and still plan to tackle Europe. I’ve been a small-time business owner, and while I failed to make my first million by the age of 35 the world didn’t end.

And on and on it goes.

Thank God for those swings and misses.

What I got be is a parent. The hardest, most difficult, time-consuming, frightening and rewarding profession or vocation known to man or woman. Along the way I’ve

• watched my oldest with pride on the ballfield, classroom, or interacting with peers, adults and children. If all goes according to his plans around this time next year I’ll be watching him graduate from basic training as a full-fledged member of the US Marine Corps. I’ll warn you now…I suspect my pride on that day will be stupidly-ridiculously off the charts.
• worried round the clock as my second son struggled to survive his first weeks of infancy in the NICU as some still unknown malady caused him seizures and fevers that could have killed him. I’ve watched him grow into a sensitive soul, follow his big brothers success on the ballfield and this year begin to tackle reading with gusto.
• melted into goo while having tea parties with my imaginative story-telling daughter, shared our first dance to “You Shook Me All Night Long” by AC/DC between innings at her big brother’s baseball game, and soaked in every hug, fist bump, and minute spent with her on my lap watching a movie.
• made too many mistakes to mention. Forgiven myself for most. Prayed for my children to forgive the rest.

With luck, and God’s grace, I’ll be around to watch them continue to grow into their own persons, leave the safety of their parental nest, and perhaps share their lives with spouses and children of their own.

I think that’s why the passage from Kristin Lavransdatter stood out to me. The more I think about it the more I lean towards having it written as part of my eventual obituary. I’ve been struggling more than I’ve let on with the reality of my first child leaving the next soon, and with the fact that the choices he is making for his future and his life are not those that I would have him make. In fact he is making choices that delve into the world of the unknown for me and truthfully ones that I lacked the courage to make when I was his age. And so I’ve had to re-learn to trust. Trust God (more) and trust my son as he begins to make his way into the world.

It’s not easy. As Barb Lishko recently wrote I’ve had to remind myself that

…this life is only the journey, but the journey that spans our lifetime and directs where we will end up for eternity. This is the proving grounds, the testing and the purifying of our souls to ready us for eternal joy and infinite love poured out from God.

Everything in this life is an opportunity to stretch our hearts to prepare them for more. More what? More of God’s love in heaven.

Along this journey I do afford myself a few peeks back at what might have been. It is near the end of this life that I a most looking forward to looking back at what was. I chose this life, or at least the bulk of it. I accept the sacrifices made and pray for the strength to endure those to come.

A few weeks ago I purchased a small wooden plaque carved with these words from Proverbs 3:5-6 and set it atop our piano:

Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not rely on your own insight. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.

After all God, who gave them souls, is the one who owns them—not I.

____________

©2013 Jeff A Walker. All Rights Reserved.

Random Thoughts from Thanksgiving weekend

My oldest son had as an assignment the task of interviewing someone who lived through the 1980s and chose me as his interviewee. I don’t recall much of the 20 minute interview conducted yesterday (Sunday) or its questions but I do remember addressing the subject of communication. I described for him the differences in my childhood and mine with regards to technological innovations such as cell phones, smartphones, texting, the internet and social media. As I described sitting on the stairs in the house where I grew up, stretching the phone cord as far as it would go so that I could sit higher on the stairs while talking to my girlfriend and eek out a little more privacy, I could see him chuckling in an attempt to comprehend my actions. Especially since he’d spent much of the extended Thanksgiving weekend exchanging texts with his girlfriend and as far as I know has never in his life seen a phone cord.

Remember these?

I closed that portion of the interview with words to the effect that while we have more quantity in our communications I’m not sure we have more quality. There are more means available than ever for us to access information and communicate with the world around us, but I questioned whether our ability for meaningful personal communication has suffered. I mentioned how we are more alone than ever.

And then this morning I saw this. I don’t post it to be a smarty-pants and say I’m prescient. I post it merely for edification. And for your information. We are together alone.

*****

How to counter this? Here’s a hint of what I use.

Prayer is man’s richest boon. It is his light, his nourishment, and his very life, for it brings him into communication with God, who is light, nourishment, and life.  – General Preface to The Liturgical Year, Vol. 1, by Dom Prosper Gueranger.

*****

As usual my plans for this time of year include a lot of reflection, study and prayer. I formed this habit fifteen years ago when I was a small business owner. Sales for my line of work (small business advertising) would slow down and allow me two weeks of unfettered review, planning, goal-setting, etc. For the last ten years I’ve been back in corporate America and no longer own my own business. While I don’t have all that free time I do still make it a point to reflect, to plan, and to pray.

*****

One of the ways I am doing this is by the use of three books and a journal. By combining The Better Part, the Catena Aurea and The Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture I plan to slowly make my way through all four gospels and write reflections and points of interest as I go. I only started a few weeks ago but in that short time have learned more about Matthew’s Gospel than I had before, and I’m only just finished with the first chapter of verse.

[I realized that the above paragraph and the books I cite make me appear a pretty stuffy dude. All that’s missing is a tweed jacket with elbow patches and a pipe, right? Actually, I’m just a guy who has invested in some good sets of books over the past decade and is finally figuring out how to use them. I mean, the Catena Aurea was written and compiled by St. Thomas Aquinas for Pete’s sake! While it ain’t exactly a page-turner or an easy summer read, it’s perhaps the “richest” set of books I own. It took me over six or seven years to acquire the full ACC 29-volume set as I did it via an installment plan. One volume arrived every 2-3 months until the set was complete. See my note on books as an investment at the very end of this blog. Now please excuse me as I light my pipe and look for space to build more shelves.]

*****

Maybe I am just a fuddy-duddy. A fuddy-duddy that reads good books and drinks good Scotch.

*****

I also plan to read the recent work of Pope Francis: Evangelii Gaudium or The Joy of the Gospel. I hadn’t thought much about it and almost missed its release in all the hub-bub surrounding Thanskgiving and a busy week of work leading up to the holiday. But anything that can upset persons from both sides of the political aisle as varied as Rush Limbaugh and those at MSNBC is worth reading. Pope Francis appears to be upsetting people left and right and brings to mind another figure from two thousand years ago, a man controversial in his time who said some rather uncomfortable things.

*****

Thanksgiving morning

Thanksgiving morning found me waking up at my in-law’s farm in south central Nebraska. It was an overcast morning, chilled by a wind that swept across the fields. I showered and dressed for Thanksgiving Mass, and afterwards went for a walk on the farm with my breviary. I stopped at a spot facing south across the fields and prayed Morning Prayer while watching my brother-in-law’s cows walk in for some feed. His daughter introduced my young daughter to some of the cows later that morning, particularly those she named. There was Buttercup, Cookie Dough, Ginger, Oreo and Minty. Samantha explained in great detail to Sophie how some of the young cows lacked manners and she was putting them through a finishing school of sorts to teach them to not be so pushy at feeding time. Then she walked us to the chicken house, introduced us to the group, and allowed Sophie to feed them as well. Being in an enclosed space with a rooster crowing every few seconds brought me back to a childhood morning when I was my daughter’s age on my first sleepover at a friend’s house in eastern South Dakota where I grew up. Terry’s chickens were loud, too.

*****

The four-day extended weekend went by much too fast. Friday we were back at home and visited with my parents who were in town. Since we were blessed with terrific weather overall and were able to spend time outdoors my boys and I raked leaves and filled too many recyclable sacks. At one point I paused to smell the unique aroma that is dead, dusty leaves and wished for another unique smell of autumn that is no longer possible due to city fire codes: the smell made by small piles of leaves as they smolder and burn.

We also disposed of all of the October pumpkins and gourds. They were getting a little soggy and soft.

On Saturday afternoon while playing football in the backyard with my three kids we saw several “v” formations of geese flying and honking overhead.

And on Saturday night while my oldest took a break from texting his girlfriend to treat her to a movie, a few of us had a movie night of our own at home. As you can see, Buster wasn’t really into the movie.

*****

We finished our weekend on Sunday in Aurora, Nebraska, to attend the confirmation of my nephew at St. Mary’s Church. It was the first Mass they’d had in their small parish in six months after undergoing a beautiful restoration and renovation process. It was the first time since his installation a year ago that I’d attended an event with our new bishop, Bishop James Conley, and I was unsurprised that I was as impressed with him in person as I’d been while reading about him.

Afterwards we drove to my brother-in-law’s home to eat still more food and visit with family. As we were leaving Jonah and Sophie noticed that some sheep had escaped their pen and were wandering in an open space in the yard. After my nephews rounded them back into their pen my daughter did what she’s learned to do best over the weekend: feed farm animals.

Feed my sheep

*****

I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving, however you chose to celebrate it. I can’t honestly say that I took time to reflect upon blessings or “count my blessings”, but after re-reading the few blurbs written above perhaps it’s because I was too busy living those blessings and sanctifying Time. As I move into the next few weeks of Advent in which I look forward to Christmas, I hope you will also join me in your own personal ways.

Reflecting. Planning. And praying.

*****

[Personal Note: When I bought the hardcover Jubilee Edition of Gueranger’s fifteen volume set in 2001 I did spend some coin. However the price on Amazon quite honestly shocked me. To see new and unused editions of the set selling for almost $3,000 seems ridiculous. I don’t buy books as a monetary investment but as an intellectual and spiritual investment. The publisher, Loreto Publications, is now offering a softcover set of all fifteen volumes for a much more reasonable price in case you would be interested in this very interesting work of a favorite monk of mine. Yes, I do have favorite monks. Go figure.]

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Photo credits: All are mine, except the phone cord. For that one credit must go here.