Master, bless.
I do not write in order to teach others -God forbid!- but in order to reprove my unhappy soul, so that, shamed by my own words, as St John Klimakos says, I who have done nothing but speak may begin to act.
~from The Philokalia, Volume Three
What can I say? May my nonsense be transformed by God into something of use.
I keep thinking of Archbishop Seraphim's blessing. It gives me courage. And, in all truth, I do not worry when I write. I try to do God's will, to obey His commands, and I put myself in His hands. Everything I do is for Him.
I love virtue, but I am not virtuous... I doubt I shall ever be. Yet, emboldened by His gracious love, I sing the praises of virtue. It is like a sweet odor that emanates from the goodness of God. It is my Beloved's intoxicating wine... To delight in His presence is to drink deep of virtue.
I am weak and ignorant. I cannot partake of more than a drop, otherwise I would be overcome. Still, in my folly, I yearn for the whole cup... At the same time, I am content and dare not ask for more: my lips are unclean.
The Lord's mercy is infinite. His wisdom is unfathomable. His beauty drowns my senses.
