To elaborate on that comment in the last post, that I feel like myself again now that I'm writing: I'd love to say that's an exaggeration. Perhaps the proper thing to say is that writing just makes me happier but even without it I am happy. I mean, I have a whole heck of a lot of good things in this little life of mine. Between the family, the friends, the stable job, the work in the Church... am I being ungrateful to set such stock in writing? Maybe. I don't know what kind of analysis should made. All I know is that I feel most alive, most engaged with life, when I am writing. Do I need more of a reason for this desire to write or for my efforts to get published or for my restlessness when I have to set aside the writing for other responsibilities?
The other night someone asked me what is most important to me about writing. It took me a few tries to really hit on what he wanted to know and it came down to this: God made me a writer. He knew all along I'd be a writer. When I began to write it was not a planned change for my entire life. It happened during a period when my plans were falling apart and I had no idea what I ought to be doing or could expect to be doing in the future. I was unhappy, to put it nicely, and in need of something to satiate the frustration. I can't even identify the starting point for what became Full of Days, my first novel. I don't remember exactly how the idea formed or how seriously I took it at first. By God's grace and encouragement, I did not ignore the notion of writing that book. As I proceeded with the attempt (honestly, until it was more than halfway finished I only considered it an attempt to write a book without any particular expectations for it), my whole self became engrossed in the work. There was joy in the hours I dedicated to writing, while there continued to be disappointment in most of the other hours. In hindsight, I think it was by God's great wisdom that the beginnings of my writing endeavors were in the context of all that frustration and disappointment. The roots were able to take hold and grow strong so that even when other things changed for the better and life brought new and good opportunities, the writing wasn't forsaken. I had too thoroughly tasted and loved the experience of writing to deem it a temporary occupation now that I had other things to do. It stuck. The desire is not lessened; the satisfaction continues to sustain me; the determination and hope remain.
When I began writing, I couldn't have known what would come of it or what else my life would include. Heck, I still don't know what will come of any of it. As I write at present, I still wonder what else will enter my life - what jobs, what relationships, what experiences - but I don't wonder if I will continue to write. I am me and I will be me, no matter the setting or circumstances. I am a writer.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Living It Up
Oh, where to begin. This whole vacation thing is really treating me well. Better than I even could have expected. At the moment, I am sitting in the morning sunshine in the kitchen of a chalet in Breckenridge, CO. The boys have just left for a day of skiing, the mom is still sleeping and I have been proofing the rough draft of my chapter-by-chapter summary for a publisher submission. Yesterday I finished that rough draft. The summary is something I've picked away at for the last five months or more. It's been pathetically slow-going. But yesterday, I put in at least four hours, maybe more, and finished the rough draft. Now that is what I'm talking about! That is why I was so eager to take this vacation! I feel like myself again. A writer.
I did take a break in the middle of the afternoon yesterday and wandered around downtown Breckenridge. My first experience of the Rocky Mountains took my breath away. I felt like a child, so excited by everything I saw. Each corner I turned meant another picture to take because it was a fresh angle on the views. The peaks surrounding us are topped with pristine snow, glinting in the sunshine and shrinking the sky. The sky is always the biggest part of the landscape where I come from, but not here. It is the diminutive background to the mountains here.
Being the only "morning person" in the house, it's easy to include silence and prayer first thing upon getting out of bed. Today I cooked breakfast for the rest of them and it was plenty rewarding to see the happiness of three men stumbling down the stairs to follow the smell of food before they're even fully awake. I keep thinking of how God didn't have to do this. He didn't have to make it possible for me to go on this vacation. He didn't have to give us a week of sunshine. He didn't even have to design the landscape to fill us with awe. But He did because He loves so well.
I did take a break in the middle of the afternoon yesterday and wandered around downtown Breckenridge. My first experience of the Rocky Mountains took my breath away. I felt like a child, so excited by everything I saw. Each corner I turned meant another picture to take because it was a fresh angle on the views. The peaks surrounding us are topped with pristine snow, glinting in the sunshine and shrinking the sky. The sky is always the biggest part of the landscape where I come from, but not here. It is the diminutive background to the mountains here.
Being the only "morning person" in the house, it's easy to include silence and prayer first thing upon getting out of bed. Today I cooked breakfast for the rest of them and it was plenty rewarding to see the happiness of three men stumbling down the stairs to follow the smell of food before they're even fully awake. I keep thinking of how God didn't have to do this. He didn't have to make it possible for me to go on this vacation. He didn't have to give us a week of sunshine. He didn't even have to design the landscape to fill us with awe. But He did because He loves so well.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Crazy Person
Everyone knows the definition of a crazy person. Doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result, yada, yada, yada. And you know, even the most sane, reasonable, practical person can occasionally slip into genuine craziness.
I'm slipping, to be sure. Enjoying the fall, awaiting the crash. I can never decide which hope requires more of: courage or foolishness. I am a fool with courage and that's a risky little combo. Goodness, it's a thrill though when just a smile, a particular smile, can make going crazy sound like exactly what I want to be doing.
I'm slipping, to be sure. Enjoying the fall, awaiting the crash. I can never decide which hope requires more of: courage or foolishness. I am a fool with courage and that's a risky little combo. Goodness, it's a thrill though when just a smile, a particular smile, can make going crazy sound like exactly what I want to be doing.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Come True
A few posts ago, I was tossing hypothetical coins into a hypothetical well, making what I acknowledged to be largely self-serving wishes. Among them was the desire for a whole month of Saturdays in which I could write my new book. Maybe I should voice my wishes more often!
Rather unexpectedly, a friend invited me to join a small group on a trip to Breckenridge, CO. As it was a somewhat last minute invitation, my first instinct was to not give it any serious regard. But my friend's generous offer occupied every other thought in my head for the remainder of that day, so the serious regard couldn't be avoided for too long. As the group is traveling there for skiing, of course, and I haven't skied in over 10 years, I thought it'd be silly to tag along but not participate in the fun. And then I thought, "What a great idea to tag along but not participate in the fun!" Translation: for at least part of each of the five days in CO, I could have the chalet to myself while they are skiing. I could write! It might not be a month, but suddenly I was faced with the offer of five "Saturdays" for writing. Once this dawned on me, I could not put aside the idea of accepting my friend's invitation. I told myself not to get my hopes up since there were several obstacles that would need to be overcome if I were to go. One by one, each obstacle worked out smoothly. I was left without any valid reason not to go.
So here I am, six days away from my first visit to the Rocky Mountains; plane ticket purchased; arrangements made; anticipation building. The others in the group are likely wondering if they should feel sorry for me when they're heading out for some adventure on the ski slopes and I'm left to amuse myself at the house. I don't know if I'll be able to convince them not too offer their pity. I only know I won't be in need of it.
Another friend, when I told him about the trip and my excitement about having the time to write, asked why I needed to go away to write. Couldn't I just stay at home and do the same thing? Maybe I should be able to do that, but I just can't. When I am at home, I have other responsibilities, other priorities with rightful claims on my time. It's not as if the only incentive for going to Colorado is the writing hours. There is also the chance to see a breathtakingly beautiful area of the country which I have yet to visit. There's the time that will be spent with several wonderful people (when they aren't on the slopes). There's the fact that the chalet we have for five nights is free of any expense to ourselves. But the writing hours do count as one of the incentives, without a doubt. After months of setting my book aside, of taking it off the priorities list (sometimes with and sometimes without complaint), I feel as if the Lord is saying, "Here you go. Here's a little time for you and your pen and your paper. Take it. Enjoy it. Use it well. And while you're at it, soak in some of the beauty I created in this world and have a grand time with some of the people I've placed in your life."
Maybe my hypothetical wishing well wasn't so hypothetical after all.
Rather unexpectedly, a friend invited me to join a small group on a trip to Breckenridge, CO. As it was a somewhat last minute invitation, my first instinct was to not give it any serious regard. But my friend's generous offer occupied every other thought in my head for the remainder of that day, so the serious regard couldn't be avoided for too long. As the group is traveling there for skiing, of course, and I haven't skied in over 10 years, I thought it'd be silly to tag along but not participate in the fun. And then I thought, "What a great idea to tag along but not participate in the fun!" Translation: for at least part of each of the five days in CO, I could have the chalet to myself while they are skiing. I could write! It might not be a month, but suddenly I was faced with the offer of five "Saturdays" for writing. Once this dawned on me, I could not put aside the idea of accepting my friend's invitation. I told myself not to get my hopes up since there were several obstacles that would need to be overcome if I were to go. One by one, each obstacle worked out smoothly. I was left without any valid reason not to go.
So here I am, six days away from my first visit to the Rocky Mountains; plane ticket purchased; arrangements made; anticipation building. The others in the group are likely wondering if they should feel sorry for me when they're heading out for some adventure on the ski slopes and I'm left to amuse myself at the house. I don't know if I'll be able to convince them not too offer their pity. I only know I won't be in need of it.
Another friend, when I told him about the trip and my excitement about having the time to write, asked why I needed to go away to write. Couldn't I just stay at home and do the same thing? Maybe I should be able to do that, but I just can't. When I am at home, I have other responsibilities, other priorities with rightful claims on my time. It's not as if the only incentive for going to Colorado is the writing hours. There is also the chance to see a breathtakingly beautiful area of the country which I have yet to visit. There's the time that will be spent with several wonderful people (when they aren't on the slopes). There's the fact that the chalet we have for five nights is free of any expense to ourselves. But the writing hours do count as one of the incentives, without a doubt. After months of setting my book aside, of taking it off the priorities list (sometimes with and sometimes without complaint), I feel as if the Lord is saying, "Here you go. Here's a little time for you and your pen and your paper. Take it. Enjoy it. Use it well. And while you're at it, soak in some of the beauty I created in this world and have a grand time with some of the people I've placed in your life."
Maybe my hypothetical wishing well wasn't so hypothetical after all.
Friday, January 29, 2010
As promised...
Well, I promised pictures from the trip but it's hard to capture the amount of fun we had in only a few shots! So, here's the link to the album of pictures I put up on facebook. This should allow anyone to look at them even if they're not on facebook.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=193459&id=727037570&l=4690e829f1
It truly was a 5 day blessing. And God's been blessing me in odd, surprising ways since then. He keeps catching me off guard and I'm learning to just go with it.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=193459&id=727037570&l=4690e829f1
It truly was a 5 day blessing. And God's been blessing me in odd, surprising ways since then. He keeps catching me off guard and I'm learning to just go with it.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Side by Side
If you're hoping for a detailed summary of the March for Life excursion, please don't be too disappointed. Certainly, there are plenty of details I could share and anecdotes I could tell, but those are not what is on my mind. I do promise to post some pictures from the journey and event, just not in this particular post.
What is filling my head and heart for the time being is grateful amazement. The goodness of God, His generous heart, continues to catch me off guard. This trip to the March for Life reunited me with some traveling companions of my youth. The experience of partnering with them once more for a faith-based event brought about an eyes-wide-open perception of God's goodness toward me. My teenage years were filled with normal, average teenage experiences for the most part, but they were interwoven with the out of the ordinary as well. The out of the ordinary came in the form of numerous travels, retreats, conferences and gatherings with my fellow Catholic teenagers from the Diocese of Marquette, MI. While I've always known that these contributed a great deal to my formation, I have still managed to underestimate their effects.
For one reason or another, it hit me this past week how much I owe to the Lord for placing me amongst the people and providing for me the experiences of my youth. I grew up with my very own "cloud of witnesses" running with me on every side. What courage was gained from the relationships forged by faith! What might have been different if that faith hadn't been rooted, nurtured and solidified at such a young age! In the last week, as I was plopped into a scene so closely resembling my past, the Holy Spirit opened my eyes to the beauty of my friends.
Beauty.... The joy it effected thankfully had an outlet in the laughter and prayer we were continuously engaged in for the last five days. I ought to give those friends credit for that aspect of my life, too. Learning to laugh, to simply tumble about in humor and enjoyment of each other, came through this group of friends. Then to have these friendships not be merely a memory but a blessing that continues to braid itself into my life with all the other things I am caught up in as an adult, for that I am grateful, to say the least.
"My cup runneth over..." I kept thinking of the Kingdom of God parables that liken the kingdom to a buried treasure or a perfect pearl. Worth everything, priceless, abundant, beautiful; the kingdom of God includes the people in it.
What is filling my head and heart for the time being is grateful amazement. The goodness of God, His generous heart, continues to catch me off guard. This trip to the March for Life reunited me with some traveling companions of my youth. The experience of partnering with them once more for a faith-based event brought about an eyes-wide-open perception of God's goodness toward me. My teenage years were filled with normal, average teenage experiences for the most part, but they were interwoven with the out of the ordinary as well. The out of the ordinary came in the form of numerous travels, retreats, conferences and gatherings with my fellow Catholic teenagers from the Diocese of Marquette, MI. While I've always known that these contributed a great deal to my formation, I have still managed to underestimate their effects.
For one reason or another, it hit me this past week how much I owe to the Lord for placing me amongst the people and providing for me the experiences of my youth. I grew up with my very own "cloud of witnesses" running with me on every side. What courage was gained from the relationships forged by faith! What might have been different if that faith hadn't been rooted, nurtured and solidified at such a young age! In the last week, as I was plopped into a scene so closely resembling my past, the Holy Spirit opened my eyes to the beauty of my friends.
Beauty.... The joy it effected thankfully had an outlet in the laughter and prayer we were continuously engaged in for the last five days. I ought to give those friends credit for that aspect of my life, too. Learning to laugh, to simply tumble about in humor and enjoyment of each other, came through this group of friends. Then to have these friendships not be merely a memory but a blessing that continues to braid itself into my life with all the other things I am caught up in as an adult, for that I am grateful, to say the least.
"My cup runneth over..." I kept thinking of the Kingdom of God parables that liken the kingdom to a buried treasure or a perfect pearl. Worth everything, priceless, abundant, beautiful; the kingdom of God includes the people in it.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Marching
I'm a pretty big Third Day fan. I've seen them in concert at least five times, own several albums, can sing along to many of their songs, etc., etc., etc. Even so, perhaps my favorite moment in their concerts is when they perform U2's "When Love Comes to Town." They rock that song. But you know who else rocks that song? U2. Yeah. Anyway, I was thinking about the March for Life coming up on Friday in our nation's captiol. What should pop into my brain but that classic rock & roll tune, "When Love Comes to Town."
When I explained where I was going this week, my 13 year old niece asked, "But why? What's the point of that?" What's the point of over 200,000 individuals of all ages, races and creeds marching through the streets of D.C. to the steps of the Supreme Court on the anniversary of that court's devastating decision in Roe vs. Wade legalizing the more than 49 million murders of unborn children? Does it accomplish anything? Well, I don't know if I can sum up what it accomplishes in the statistical, tangible terms people prefer because the reality is that the positive impact of any public display of pro-life principles is largely unseen. In hidden ways, God uses the willingness of people who make a stand and sacrifice for the culture of life. Can I count up the number of people who, once they witness the March for Life, realize that the number of pro-life Americans is not miniscule? Do I have any clue as to the men and women who might have chosen or encouraged abortion somewhere down the road if not for the seed of truth planted by the sight of the March? Do I have means of knowing if a congressman, a senator or a judge is given a boost of courage to stand their ground in favor of life in their realm of influence?
I don't have numbers or names or exact answers to the skeptical question raised by my niece. I wish I did. I only know that when the streets are flooded with prayerful objectors to the widely accepted culture of death that is plaguing America, it is a matter of Love coming to town. Do we ever have an excuse not to take up an opportunity to bring love to our communities? I hold no doubt that God, who is Love, works in hidden and mysterious ways to filter that love into the hearts of all who participate or witness the March for Life. I cannot speak for their responses to that outpouring of love. I can only hold myself responsible for whether or not I brought any love to town.
Third Day with the brilliant help of Dan Haseltine, Jon Foreman & Robert Randolph
When I explained where I was going this week, my 13 year old niece asked, "But why? What's the point of that?" What's the point of over 200,000 individuals of all ages, races and creeds marching through the streets of D.C. to the steps of the Supreme Court on the anniversary of that court's devastating decision in Roe vs. Wade legalizing the more than 49 million murders of unborn children? Does it accomplish anything? Well, I don't know if I can sum up what it accomplishes in the statistical, tangible terms people prefer because the reality is that the positive impact of any public display of pro-life principles is largely unseen. In hidden ways, God uses the willingness of people who make a stand and sacrifice for the culture of life. Can I count up the number of people who, once they witness the March for Life, realize that the number of pro-life Americans is not miniscule? Do I have any clue as to the men and women who might have chosen or encouraged abortion somewhere down the road if not for the seed of truth planted by the sight of the March? Do I have means of knowing if a congressman, a senator or a judge is given a boost of courage to stand their ground in favor of life in their realm of influence?
I don't have numbers or names or exact answers to the skeptical question raised by my niece. I wish I did. I only know that when the streets are flooded with prayerful objectors to the widely accepted culture of death that is plaguing America, it is a matter of Love coming to town. Do we ever have an excuse not to take up an opportunity to bring love to our communities? I hold no doubt that God, who is Love, works in hidden and mysterious ways to filter that love into the hearts of all who participate or witness the March for Life. I cannot speak for their responses to that outpouring of love. I can only hold myself responsible for whether or not I brought any love to town.
Third Day with the brilliant help of Dan Haseltine, Jon Foreman & Robert Randolph
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Tossing My Coins
If I had a wishing well, I'd wish for three things:
1. Moody Publishing to publish Full of Days
2. A month of Saturdays to write The Mercy Hour
3. A Mr. Knightley to be "my Mr. Knightley"
I know, I know. Couldn't I be a tad less selfish in my wishes? Don't I want world peace and a cure for cancer and the unity of the Church? Yeah, of course I do. But I'm figuring that with a purely hypothetical wishing well, it's only hypothetical selfishness. So please, bear with me.
Wish #1... Can I rant for a moment as a completely inexperienced author? Okay. Why hasn't a decision been made by Moody Publishing? Does it seriously take more than 9 months for the editor to reach my manuscript in that pile on his desk? More than 9 months to give me a smiling nod of the head or a frowning shake of the head? I am tired of opening my mailbox each day with baited breath only to find another shopping flyer, electric bill or magazine issue. I am tired of checking my email 57 times a day because I keep believing that one of those times I will see a new message from the editor at Moody. Because I don't have an agent, I really haven't sent Full of Days to all that many publishers. The lack of an agent equals a lack of options. The confidence I have in that book means I am willing to seek an agent if all else fails. However, the lack of response from Moody means I am not yet to the point of all else failing. Occasionally I'll slip into the start of a daydream of the reading that letter or clicking on that email, then I stop myself, afraid to imagine it all as it seems to me that imagining a much hoped for event decreases the chances of it becoming reality. Please, Mr. Editor, please read that manuscript that you apparently have neglected for the better part of a year.
Wish #2... A month of Saturdays for writing the second novel: doesn't it sound heavenly? No? Maybe it's just me. Quite randomly last weekend, I grabbed my copy of the chapters I have written and brought them to the gym with me. Yes, to the gym. Time on the treadmill or elliptical is normally time to peruse a good magazine and rest my brain. This particular morning though, it was time to reread the chapters. I have set aside this novel in the last several months for the sake of RCIA, a rather time-, heart- and mind-consuming ministry. Sadly, I was beginning to forget the story. Not the general gist of the story but the details I had plotted out in my mind and the twists and turns and developments I anticipated in my imagination. So I read my chapters. And I fell in love. I am in love with this story. Perhaps the time away from it has proven the old adage because I am undoubtedly fonder of the story now than when I last worked on it. This, quite naturally, causes me to wish for the time to write it well. I keep telling myself that time will come but I'm not always the most convincing person.
Wish #3... Maybe I shouldn't even get started on this one. Considering that Persuasion is my favorite novel (tied with I Capture the Castle - seriously ladies, read that book!) and Pride & Prejudice is a close second, it is funny that the hero of Emma is to blame for so much disappointed yet unshakable expectation.
Yes, if I only had a wishing well, who knows how different life would be. Of course now I just have Sinatra's "Three Coins in the Fountain" in my head.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
To Her True Country
"I must keep alive in myself the desire for my true country, which I shall not find till after death; I must never let it get snowed under or turned aside; I must make it the main object of life to press on to that other country and to help others to do the same." (C S Lewis)
This is the post I never wanted to write. Having written these posts: Please? and Joy Has Come, I knew I'd committed to writing the necessary follow up. What that follow up would be was known only to God. He has carried out His will. Amy died on Friday night, January 1st after slipping into a coma for a brief time.
I hadn't seen Amy since June but from the bits shared with me by others, it was easy to piece together an image of her last weeks here. It is an image of faith and constancy that has repeatedly brought me to tears, challenging me to believe there truly is nothing that can, of its own force, separate us from the love and joy of Christ. As her brain was finishing its work on this earth, Amy's mind was caught up in anticipation of eternal life. Her ability to communicate was dwindling, yet she repeatedly took up the topic of her Lord. She spoke of Him, she spoke to Him. She worshipped Him. She prayed to Him. She witnessed His miraculous presence in the Eucharist. I have a feeling that when she couldn't communicate much else, Amy still managed to communicate her joy to her family. She looked forward to her true country, her home prepared tenderly for her by the Lord.
There are some beauties that overwhelm. They are almost painful to endure for you know that you are seeing beauty in its truest form and you cannot hold onto it. You cannot grip it and restrain it. This beauty must be released, trusted to continue on to thence from which it came. You must go on with the image of it ingrained in your heart's memory; the experience of it drawing you toward more beauty wherever it can be found and making you willing to sacrifice anything that would mar its presence in yourself.
For numerous people, God provided this glimpse of beauty, a beauty shaped and molded for heaven, in Amy. I was able to hold in the tears until Mass this morning. As I worshipped there, knowing that my own meager devotion was joined with the perfect songs and prayers of the saints in heaven, the awareness that the beauty of heaven had, in a way, increased while the beauty of this earth had, in the same way, lessened could not be avoided.
I wanted to thank all of you who prayed for Amy and ask you to continue to pray for her husband, Todd and her family, Frank and Nancy, Michelle, Angie and Mike.
May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Joy Has Come
"You will show me the path to life, abounding joy in your presence, the delights at your right hand forever." (Psalm 16:11)
Christmas has come. The simplicity and quiet of the celebrations this year (compared to how it is normally when the entire family gathers at my parents' house) is lending itself to being more Christ-centered and reflective. I'm enjoying that a lot. It can be a difficult enough task, so any help is welcome. Fr. Mark's homily on Christmas Eve was a compelling call to strip away all the wants of this life and want, above all, a "happy ending" to this life, or more truly a "happy eternal beginning." Then yesterday, my friend, Erin, shared a little with me from Fr. Mike Chenier's Christmas morning homily.
Fr. Mike is my friend, Mike, whom I mentioned previously in the post asking for prayers for his sister, Amy. That post can be found here. Excepting a miracle according to God's great will, Amy is expected to live another one to three months. She is confused a lot of the time and has difficulty communicating now. The whole thing continues to break my heart. I have wept for Fr. Mike, who has been dear to me for so long, and for Amy, who ranks among the sweetest and most good-humored people I've been privileged to know. All of it breaks my heart in a way that tears away any pretense I might hold onto of knowing what this life will or won't bring for me or my loved ones. The sense of vulnerability, our inability to sustain our own lives, and the prevailing authority of God as the Author of our lives is strong. I haven't been able to shake it from my mind in the last few weeks.
What Erin shared from Fr. Mike's homily has provided some necessary rounding out of these contemplations. I do wish I could have heard his sermon but the bits of summary have given me ample mental soil to work with this Christmas. He preached on joy, on the joy of Mary and Joseph and his and Amy's joy, too. Joy instead of bitterness; that's what was chosen by the Holy Family in the face of unavoidable suffering, certain hardship, and disconcerting mystery. Total entrustment of their lives to God's Providence allows for this joy. The loss of all the plans and expectations for their personal lives; facing the unknown of what God was asking of them, taking from them, and giving to them, all of it could have led to fear and bitterness, even self-pity. Sorrow over the losses could take hold with no release; surely we all know people for whom this has been the case. This was not so for them. The sorrow and grief may be real but they are not the highest powers. Instead there is joy. True joy that comes from peace; true peace that comes from hope; true hope that comes from faith in the God who promises to never leave us, to always carry us back to Him, to be our "fullness of joy" for all eternity. Fr. Mike shared that in this most harrowing of times for his family, there is joy. Amy has joy; he has joy. I don't know if I can think of another example that more effectively teaches me of the difference in depth and worth between joy and happiness. What a glorious sign of holiness when a soul still genuinely rejoices in the Lord when all sources of happiness are stripped away. I am humbled by the sight of this holiness in my friends.
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