Terrible insomnia. My head is troubled and on no good account. While everything is that beautiful, it is also that heavy. It's as if something attractive is missing, something incredibly familiar. So there was that blush to the roots about which I am clueless. Evidence of something I did: but what the heck what?
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"... but it's not a matter of reason, you see, it's a matter of love."
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"Contemplation: a real encounter with the other--an attraction to the other--a choice not based on fidelity but linked to the Father's gaze upon His Son. My own gaze at myself is perfectionistic. But understanding does not perfect me. Trying to be virtuous does not perfect me. It is His gaze that attains my goodness. We have a tendency to look at our faults, but we should strive to gaze at others (and at ourselves) through the gaze of the Father: an active receptivity, a constant vigilance, a trying to open the will to the one who calls, always in the service of loving, in the perfection in goodness, in love. We accept to be attracted, we accept to depend, and we try to cooperate with this attraction rather than try to be virtuous."
notes from "The Vocation of the Oblate," Fr Joseph Mary, fsj
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