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Diamond Boy's avatar

OK, so I am a Trump supporter who is taking a terrible journey down into schadenfreude. it’s not nice of me, but I can’t resist.

Do you hate me? Do you feel sorry for me? Can you concede he’s doing the right things? Are any readers of this Substack with me?

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Amber Cummings's avatar

Expat Aussie, gen X, living in Canada, mother of 5 boys, Catholic convert here.

I have felt for several years a deepening concern for the developments in our world, in December it switched to a sense of urgency. This translated on a personal level to repentance and deepening of my faith, a letting go of a lot of things. I have been going to daily Mass as often as I can after dropping my kids to school, with a sense of standing vigil, and praying for the needs of the whole world. I am on day 46 of a 54 day novena to our Lady, and one of the intentions was for God’s help to live a simple, humble life, living within our means with enough to help others. If this means selling our home to downsize, and look for ways to form intentional community I want to be ready and able to do so. Last week I discovered your writing/talks along with Dr Martin Shaw and Jonathan Pageau, and it felt like such a timely gift and encouragement.

When I look at current events on a human level, my stomach lurches. But then I look at the history of the Church and its saints, and remind myself we have lived through the fall and rise of civilizations before, and to keep my eyes on Jesus, and look for ways to love and serve in my community. I think of a quote of St Avitus of Vienne (470-519 AD) “My political views are those of the Our Father.”

Finally, I offer this poem, Canticle for Ordinary Time, written about 8 years ago. It still feels true.

Wonders never cease-

this is what needs to be said

over and over to the desolate.

The murmuration of starlings

above a highway

the path of moonlight on water

the sweet unfolding of a woman

and a man in the night

the soughing of wind

in the deodar cedar

the human voice raised in song.

Night swimming in Howe Sound

like floating in a sea of stars,

where every stroke and kick

sparks blue fire.

The stillness of a heron

on his bank at daybreak

the sudden wet twisting

of a newborn’s body onto the bed

and first cry,

the soft red glow of the sanctuary lamp

patient beacon of a preposterous message-

that God hides in the most ordinary

of substances

and waits and waits and waits for us.

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