Exhaling

Comment by Littlestorms

April 11, 2007 @ 10:37 am

Father Abbot (often called “Fr. Rabbit”– and I’d be first in line to do that, but someone else got there first) is an exquiste. contemplative poet. He is an exquistely contemplative monk. He is an exquisitely orthodox priest with a sense of humor who (most importantly in this journey) says with every sentence, “We’ll go to Him together.”

Someday, I’d like to know the number of souls he has converted, simply by deliberately shoving himself aside and letting Christ live through him so humbly, so honestly, and so genuinely.

When people need a friend in the faith, they could do worse than run to Fr. Rabbit.

That line you’ve quoted is astounding in its depth as well as in its beauty. May God bless all poets who help flower God’s beauty, God’s beautiful intention for each of us, into fuller gardens. May God bless all poets who help flower vocations, too. I have no doubt that they do.

Thank you for bringing that line to us here, Kathryn. Just embracing the holiest of Mysteries, as you exquisite poets do, brings a greater peace into the world, heart by heart. We’re so lucky.

Comment by Carol

April 16, 2007 @ 7:09 pm

We’d be a whole lot luckier if you’d hurry back, lol.

Comment by kathryntherese

April 16, 2007 @ 8:00 pm

Hurry back? I don’t know if I’ve ever been missed by someone other than my own toddlers

Comment by OhJustHerAgain

April 16, 2007 @ 9:14 pm

Hey! Welcome back. I was playing with matches in here while you were away tending to God’s toddlers. (Trying to light a fire under myself, yep.) Glad YOU’RE back, tho’. What a delicious poem. And on my favorite beach, too.

Comment by kathryntherese

April 16, 2007 @ 10:22 pm

My favorite beach too! Though I’ve never put my physical feet on that sand.

BTW, if you want to know how to catch fire….
stand real close to the Sun.

Doesn’t that reading just make you want to eat baked fish?

In Galilee?

(now I’m giggling in front of the computer screen)

Comment by Carol

April 17, 2007 @ 12:02 pm

Indeed! And it makes me want to throw my arms around my baffled brothers there on the beach who have turned so pale despite their tans and say, “We must simply trust Him and His viaticum.”

I’m not always smart enough to stand real close to the Sun, but sometimes, like a beached fish, stare right into it, mouth gaping open, uncomprehending, waiting..

Numb as a plank, but filled with hope not the least bit fishy.

I came over here to get away from the sad madness or the mad sadness everyone is submerged in due to the most recent acter-outer who was so easily outfitted with a Glock… Our remedy is on the beach. Time to employ The Remedy more than ever, isn’t it?