I would like to begin with an apology. I am sorry to all of my readers–few as they may be–for not having written for some time. You see, I am going through some big transitions in the Robbins home: my wife Laura is pregnant with our seventh (blessed be God!); and I am looking to get back into journalism with local job prospects which I hope to have finalized within the next week or so–either a news paper journalism or television news producer, which ever seems to be the best fit for the family; on top of that, Laura and I (mostly Laura) have our classical homeschool underway, which takes up most of the family’s time. These considerations mixed up with the fact that, as of late I have become disillusioned by the mission of this website, because it just seems to be having so little effect. I feel as though I should be reaching more and more people through the weeks, months, and, yes, years (going on two now), but my reader stats are just so very low. It can make me feel sad and not up for producing more content.
That is, until I get a little Christmas package (featured above) of spiritual and artistic goodies that warm my heart and remind me that I am not here for the numbers. Heck, if I wanted numbers alone, I would go and run a blog which speaks to the worldly-minded. But I run a Catholic blog, and that means setting myself apart from the world–where all the numbers are.
But what CatholicEclipsed lacks in numbers it more than makes up for in people like the Canadian Catholics whose heart and art I displayed above. I also recently received a heartwarming email from a good friend I found through this website who is very holy in my eyes and most assuredly on the road to sainthood. There are friends I have spoken with on the phone, texted, and emailed, who have been dear Catholic friends from afar, who I know pray for me and my family as I do for them. They read this blog, and so I must write with them in mind.
I guess what I am getting at is that this blog has been an opportunity to get to know good Catholics who have kept the faith and who have persevered during these days of evil. Though we are isolated and few, we true Catholics who keep the faith, who keep sacred the sacraments (and choose not to defile them by receiving them illicitly), who pray at home and pray the rosary, have a true Christian charity toward each other, which perhaps is best and most felt during this upcoming Christmas season.
As the New Year draws nigh, I would like to rededicate myself to providing content for you all out there who read this website, those who are my brethren in the faith. I would like to provide more valuable content for you, while at the same time most likely working outside the home on my journalism job. This would obviously mean that I could not provide valuable content on a very regular basis, as in every day, but perhaps on a weekly basis is doable. We will see what God’s grace has in store–for all is grace and we are but dust without Him. Besides, if Mr. Anonymous Introibo (who is–he tells me–a very busy lawyer) can produce very good and informative articles every other week (he has guest writers ever other week or so), I think I can manage something.
If you would like, I would love to hear if you have any fun or festive Christmas plans this year. Please leave your comments below. And if you haven’t subscribed to the CE Log, do so. Like I said, I plan to be producing some great content this coming year, so you don’t want to miss out.
I hope you all have a very merry Christmas. I leave you with a poem by one of my favorite Catholic writers/thinkers/mystics, the great GKC. Read the poem while meditating on the painting by John Singleton Copley, The Nativity.
The House of Christmas
There fared a mother driven forth Out of an inn to roam; In the place where she was homeless All men are at home. The crazy stable close at hand, With shaking timber and shifting sand, Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand Than the square stones of Rome. For men are homesick in their homes, And strangers under the sun, And they lay their heads in a foreign land Whenever the day is done. Here we have battle and blazing eyes, And chance and honor and high surprise, But our homes are under miraculous skies Where the yule tale was begun. A Child in a foul stable, Where the beasts feed and foam, Only where He was homeless Are you and I at home; We have hands that fashion and heads that know, But our hearts we lost – how long ago! In a place no chart nor ship can show Under the sky’s dome. This world is wild as an old wives’ tale, And strange the plain things are, The earth is enough and the air is enough For our wonder and our war; But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings And our peace is put in impossible things Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings Round an incredible star. To an open house in the evening Home shall men come, To an older place than Eden And a taller town than Rome. To the end of the way of the wandering star, To the things that cannot be and that are, To the place where God was homeless And all men are at home.