You won’t change a thing voting present and Gerard Manley Hopkins.

The obsessive readers will have noted a bleakness creeping in around here. There are challenging things going on in real life. As Kea said, when this task is over and we are able to move on there will be more peace. But the task is not done, yet.

I read last night a discussion from a member of the working poor about the fact he’d rather keep his job than see a minimum wage greater than what his employer can afford. No argument. I have a well paid and very well taxed job in the antipodes, and I reflected to Kea that we still (praise God) have the health and skills to do that.

In the West, we have been given much, and we won’t be seen as deserving more unless we work like hell for it.

As a man, you were given much. It is natural and right, therefore, to expect much of you. Certainly this is terrifying. Most men ARE terrified of the thought of actually having to give account of themselves. Yet here you are, on this broken and burning Earth, for a reason. You were given great gifts of reason, intelligence, and the will to act. Use those gifts. Build up the men around you. Accept that you, and you alone, are responsible for your life, and all of the mistakes that stem from it.

But never stop seeking help, either. Ask, and you WILL receive it. God answers those who ask Him, because He understands who we are in ways that we do not and cannot.

Above all, learn to forgive and be grateful. These two things, above all else, will make all the difference in your life.

That’s true. What is not said is that even if you are honest and hard working and own our faults and pray fervently and nothing seems to be happening. The boss is still woke. The government still hates the church, and unless you have taken the ticket you don’t get beyond a certain level.

But this you also have to live with.

I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.
What hours, O what black hoürs we have spent
This night! what sights you, heart, saw; ways you went!
And more must, in yet longer light’s delay.
With witness I speak this. But where I say
Hours I mean years, mean life. And my lament
Is cries countless, cries like dead letters sent
To dearest him that lives alas! away.
I am gall, I am heartburn. God’s most deep decree
Bitter would have me taste: my taste was me;
Bones built in me, flesh filled, blood brimmed the curse.
Selfyeast of spirit a dull dough sours. I see
The lost are like this, and their scourge to be
As I am mine, their sweating selves; but worse.

Gerard Manley Hopkins

God does not count success as the world does. Hopkins was sent by the Jesuits — as an Englishman — to teach in Ireland, to an educated elite who despised the Church and hated the English. He died young, in harness.

They now retroactively, as woke pagan Irish, claim he was of the rainbow, and one of them. Not so.

He saw his suffering as worship for Christ. So should we.