Poets and monks... We're both sort of peripheral to the world.

Over and over again mediocrity is promoted because real worth isn't to be found.

If grace is so wonderful, why do we have such difficulty recognizing and accepting it? Maybe it's because grace is not gentle or made-to-order. It often comes disguised as loss, or failure, or unwelcome change.

I am learning to see loneliness as a seed that, when planted deep enough, can grow into writing that goes back out into the world.

Acedia is a danger to anyone whose work requires great concentration and discipline yet is considered by many to be of little practical value. The world doesn't care if I write another word, and if I am to care, I have to summon all my interior motivation and strength.

There are men I could spend eternity with. But not this life.

For grace to be grace, it must give us things we didn't know we needed and take us places where we didn't know we didn't want to go. As we stumble through the crazily altered landscape of our lives, we find that God is enjoying our attention as never before.