Inspiration

This will not be a description of how or when I became a Christian; it will be sufficient to say that I accept and understand that I was born with original sin, but that I came to convert a good while ago now. The several prayers and hymns in which, in my time, I have said and heard during my lifetime did not always please me but did inspire me, for one reason or another; our lives need purpose, direction, and hope; but when, on a summer evening about seven o’clock, I first tried to read Seven Storey Mountain, with its spiritual call and response, this autobiography has been compared to St. Augustine’s conversion, encouraging an education in the Christ’s mercy, the story of the restless and vagabond travels, observing or living; the great power of the ruined life rising high into the melancholy sky, with a whole platoon of memories--blurry figures, soft voices--skimming about with questions and revelations and facts and figures and fissures;--when I first tried reading this book, I felt instinctively that my burdens might be removed from my shoulders, that my tired fingers might write no more, that at last, within my imagination, I had found inspiration in a book to read. Initially I tried to read the book, this autobiography explains one person’s private journey; Christian spirituality needs to be nurtured and developed; this is the power of vocation, purpose of discernment, so far at least as spiritual growth is concerned, to encourage movement closer toward God in all areas of our lives. After reading a couple of chapters, I put the book down, convinced myself that I would pick it up later on, and several days, then weeks, then months passed. The book remained untouched and unread. There, with the former inspiration of the book, I tried to read this book again and again; I thought about reading the book several times and I even told several friends that I was about to read the book.

And so now as Advent begins, I am about to read the book again.