It has been some time since I have felt compelled to write. I can feel the skill slowly slipping from my fingers, and so I should write if for nothing else than to preserve my ability to express myself diligently into the future.
I have given up two years of my life pursuing a woman so tepid that one measured rebuke of her careless manner of speaking can send her into a fit of doubt, confusion, and insult. In nearly two years of a relationship a period longer than a week has never passed without an argument. As Christ calls me, I am in this world, but not of it. I am not above the desire for a family, nor should I be. But truly are things as bad as pagan times. So difficult is it to find a woman committed to her family above all else that one must settle for gently guiding the only slightly confused woman off the path on which the culture of death has placed her. Habits and thoughts formed through public school and even through as insidious a thing as a Novus Ordo parish - which teaches a lighter version of the same cultural tendencies as public school but with the facade of theological and moral legitimacy - are apparently tremendously difficult to break, such that two years of extreme effort has yet to dig away enough of the crud so as to find a stable foundation on which to build and rear a family.
I must turn again to the search for someone else. This is her choice not mine, as she has demonstrated time again that while she has the ability to speak as though her thoughts are upright, consistent action directed towards the same end (i.e., uprightness), again for a period longer than a week, is too much for one such as I to ask.
I need now the faith of Saint Anne, whose earthly desires were fulfilled in a way incomparable to all except the mother of God herself. In long-suffering was a child delivered to her. The spiritual and physical fulfillment which the delivery of the this child gave Saint Anne must have exceeded anything she could have wished for in her many years of childlessness.
Hail, Holy Queen, Mother of Mercy, our life, our sweetness and our hope, to thee do we cry, O poor banished children of Eve, to thee do we send up sighs morning and weeping in this valley of tears. Turn then, most gracious advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward us and after this our exile show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb, Jesus. O clement, O loving, O sweet virgin Mary.
Pray for us O Holy Mother of God that we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.