May your kingdom of beauty, peace, love and joy come to alleviate the suffering of all, and may I seek to desire your peace, through my faith, with my family, in my vocation and as I journey this hidden, obscure life of prayer.

It's 20 degrees outside; the ground is frozen and covered with frost. I'm standing in my pajamas with a heavy coat and hooded sweater on in my woods. I prayed for 15 minutes inside the warm house, and could quite easily return there, but walking out the long driveway to get the paper I got distracted.

There seem to be quite a few absurdities in my life. Why did I move from sunny Orlando Florida to Indianapolis only to get laid off from my job 3 years later? Why did I move to Indy instead of Denver or Phoenix? Why did I live 7 years in a dangerous inner city with my family? Why did I foster parent and then adopt so many children? WWhy do I attempt to run/hike marathons and half marathons when I'm so sickly and definitely not athletic? Why I am I standing here freezing in my pajamas in the middle of a clump of trees?

The woods drew us to this house. Living on a heavliy wooded acre, with other large wooded lots all around us near the Fall Creek/Ft Ben state forest sold the deal. Yesterday we had 5 deer in our back woods. When we moved here, I started clearing the underbrush from the woods. Didn't really have a plan, but 5 years later there is a trail/labryinth, icons in stands, a grotto with Our Lady of Grace, a planter with the Sacred Heart of Jesus, and tiles buried in the trail to make a rosary. I could almost feel the neighbors staring as we worked on this. Some would come over and ask what we're doing. Making a go cart path for the kids? Setting up deer feeders? Planting grass to make a nice yard?

But I was making a prayer garden, a meditative woods, a sacred space, a peaceful place. Oh, don't forget the 4 x 4 cedar peace pole we made and planted.

I think the line between absurd and obscure has just narrowed.

Why can't I just read my bible and go to one church like a normal person? Why can't I live such a hidden life of prayer it's hidden even to me, because maybe it doesn't exist?

Some days I feel like Richard Dreyfus in Close Encounters, when he's making a design out of his mashed potatoes or turning his living room into an mountain. I sense such a pull or draw to live simply and adore Christ; to seek silence and solitude in the woods; to acquire inner peace; to pray in whatever tradition or manner I can for the peace of the world.

I could stop being absurd and be normal. I could devote my life to a career and lie on my deathbed thinking how much money I made or how much my portfolio returned. I could spend hours smacking a little white ball into a hole until I became utterly proficient at it. I could drink beer and watch TV and hang out at strip clubs. I could be dignified and obtain letters after my name to prove my knowledge.

Or I can stand in my pajamas when it's 20 degrees out, and watch a bright orange ball of fire emerge from the horizon. Trees stand at attention while the mist from my breath slowly ascends. Silence on a Sunday morning so profound it's deafening. Feel sub-freezing air on my skin as the sun thaws frozen dreams and illusions of what life is supposed to be about. The symphony of life is tuning up; preparing to launch another days concerto in the woods with no one watching, no one listening. At least, not normal people. Only those absurd enough to seek peace, to desire beauty, to find true joy in obscurity.

"Deep calls unto deep at the noise of your waterfalls. All your waves and breakers have gone over me." Psalm 42

Hiking at Ft. Ben this afternoon, I stopped at the boardwalk by Fall Creek. There is a good stream of water, and with a few rocks and trees down in the creek, it creates a rippling sound with little mini waterfalls. This verse came to mind. I looked at a few of the crevices and small burns that feed the creek. They are mostly dry this late in the year, especially with as little rain as we've had.

My imagination followed a raindrop landing in the forest, eventually finding it's way down a cliff into a crevice, then into Fall Creek. Downtown another 10 miles or so Fall Creek feeds into the White River. The White River goes another 40-50 miles where it empties into the Wabash river, which eventually flows into the Ohio River, which is the largest tributary of the Mississippi River, which of course flows into the Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic Ocean. Talk about nature running it's course. Water seeks the lowest place, and joins with other water to form creeks, streams, and rivers to flow where it desires. The large rocks and boulders may create some minor detours, but it can't stop the river from achieving its goal and reaching where it desires.

What a picture of the spiritual life, captured so well by the Psalmist. If we, if I, would just seek the lowest place and allow the Spirit to run its course, I would find God, my ocean. Might not be overnight; might be some turns and bends and rocks and dams, but eventually, as I keep seeking the lowest place, I will find what I desire. Joining with other like minded seekers, together we create power that will become unstoppable. A drop of water doesn't make an ocean, but an ocean is made of many drops of water.

Deep calls unto deep.
Raindrop, snowflake, river, stream.
Ocean destiny.

"Believe one who knows: there is something greater in woods than in books. Trees and stones will teach you that which you can never learn from masters." St. Bernard of Clairvaux.

I hate my house. It's a 60's tri-level. Some rooms are freezing while others are hot. There is almost no closet space, one bedroom without one at all. The hard water from the well smells and leaves rust rings, even with a filtration system. The rooms are fairly small, certainly by todays standards.

I love my home. An acre of woods, with all the lots around us 1-2 acres of woods. Watched two big bucks running in our back woods, several times yesterday. Been praying on our rosary trail and walking the labyrinth daily. This morning sat in silence looking out our big windows and watching the rain come down, bringing with it hundreds of leaves. Sunday mornings there is virtually no noise, just beautiful silence, inside and out. With the Sacred Heart statue in the planter with hostas, and Our Lady of Grace deep in the woods, I can see the love of God piercing through the majesty of the seasons. Brilliant colors, trees swaying and dancing high in the wind, squirrels playing and running preparing for winter, birds saying goodbye till spring, a chill in the air signaling the dark night of the soul coming, the warmth and smell of a fire.

The desert fathers say "flee to your cell and your cell will teach you everything." This week I heard "flee to the forest, and the forest will teach you everything." In two hour hikes in the woods every day, it has.

Detachment: from things, people, good and bad, noise, ambition, career, failure, depression and attachment to illusions of God.
Desire: one thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after. To dwell in the house of the Lord, all the days of my life. To behold his beauty, inquire in his temple.
Mindfulness: be aware of what I'm thinking, saying, doing. Abide within. The desert fathers say one should be like the seraphim, all eyes. Observing life with a patient, keen look.
Meditation: Think. Don't think. Sit. Practice. Nada.
Simplicity: Less is better than more; clarity in narrowing one's focus. Seek that which fulfills and dispense of the rest.
Adoration: nothing is more necessary than adoration.
Humility: The Lord is near to those who have a broken spirit, and saves such as have a contrite heart. Ps 34
Contentment: Find rest O my soul, in God Alone. Ps 62
Gratefulness: Bless the Lord O my soul, and all that is within me bless his holy name.
Silence: Truly my soul waits silently for God; wait silently O my soul, for God alone.
Solitude: It is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord...let him sit alone in silence. Lamentations 3.
Stillness: Be still and know that I am God. Hesychia can be desired by us all. In our hearts, in our homes, in old, cold houses, or deep in the woods sitting on a rock looking over a creekbed.