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Waking in the middle of the night last night, I remembered my Lententide vow in the previous post to roust myself for prayer, no matter what the hour it might. It turned out to be almost exactly three o'clock, which is not an unusual hour for me to awake, and moreover for many, as I learned from a Youtube video of the late Fulton Sheen. This automated reader version of Sheen's words I found last week does not do him justice. Who sh'd?
I think of how good it will feel to deny myself the pleasure of staying under the covers. To deny one's appetites is to be able to step outside them, and see how much--at least in my own case---that I have gone through my life as a slave to my appetites, pulled by them by impulse, one to the next, to satisfy them like an animal roughing to a trough. I lack patience, discipline, a sense of duty and obligation. I am disgusted at myelf.
I sit in my office chair without turning on the space heater. I would hardly need it anymore at this time of spring, so that is hardly a deprivation. Without a kettle of water heating for coffee, I struggle to keep from falling asleep in the chair. I direct myself towards prayer, towards love of God.
It doesn't feel particularly rewarding this morning, the whole thing. It is not about feeling. Feelings will lead one right into the abyss.
It is not about self-improvement. Can something be about other than your own life pursuits, sweetheart? For once, can you put aside your postmodern need for Me-Me validation? Can you just fulfill your duty to render justice God (i.e. give God what is due Him) by worshipping, praising and adoring Him?
I am dust.
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