PHILOKALIA MINISTRIES

The hand of God is on me, heavy, unyielding. Not cruel, but crushing in its love. He has opened something in me I cannot close. A wound that bleeds longing. A wound that makes every breath ache for Him. I feel my poverty like exposed nerve, raw, throbbing, alive. And in this cracked-open place, when I am soft and trembling before Him, the demons come like dogs to blood. They know where He touched me. They smell grace like a wound. They circle, patient, hungry. I do not fear t

The night was long, and the disciple sat in the doorway of his small cell, hands trembling over the beads of his prayer rope. He had prayed, fasted, kept vigil, yet his heart felt like a boat unmoored on open sea. He went to the elder, whose lamp still burned though the stars were nearly gone from the sky. Disciple:  Father, pray for me. I do not trust the steadiness of my own heart. I fear I may fail in what God is asking. Some days I feel strong, clear, called; other days I

The lamp burned low beside the small window of the hermitage. The disciple’s breath trembled like a man who walked long while carrying an unseen stone in his chest. In the quiet, a presence stood, not in vision, not in thunder, but like cedar smoke lingering after a fading flame. St Charbel spoke as one who had become silence. ⸻ Disciple:  Father, something within me is shifting. Not in rebellion, nor in doubt, but like a door I did not ask for slowly opening in the night. I

O Lord my God, though I grow faint, I remember your goodness. My heart is tired, yet I will bless the Lord at all times, for your mercy has walked with me even through the dim hours. When my strength is thin as morning mist, you remain my rock and my portion forever. I thank you for the breath that rises in my chest, for the light that still breaks upon the horizon each day. The Lord is my shepherd, there is nothing I shall want, and though I wander in shadows, you lead me be