The views expressed here are my own and do not represent Domino’s Pizza LLC, Elevation Church, The Detroit Pistons, or Pistons Sports Entertainment.

We all want to think that we have the courage to drop everything to follow Jesus when he calls us by name. Some of us actually experience the chance of reaching out and stepping on the water with him as he tells us not to be afraid. Resigning from a job that provided for your family, with nothing much than a couple thousand dollars to your name, equates to that moment. The storm around you, the outside influences whether political, health, family opinions, and the negative job market are all legitimate concerns to second guess stepping out of the boat. They are the winds that distract us from looking at Jesus, and yet, somehow I made it through that moment.

When I resigned from the Detroit Pistons, it was a drastic leap of faith that I didn’t realize was needed or even that I had the fortitude, until it happened. Yet, it was a time to separ…

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Or, maybe it’s just ramblings like the crazy man yelling gibberish at the sky. A lot of Substack feels like that in the end. It feels like you are talking to the world, and only a few people actually care to stand around you, while even a few select people actually care to listen. That’s the 30 people who actually open each article I write. 60 people subscribe and about 50% of them actually take a look at the article. Whether they read it or not, that is another question, isn’t it? The truth is, they could just open the newsletter in the inbox, not actually read any of it and close their inbox. I wonder if Substack has a way to determine if that is the case or not.

I digress... Substack has a funny way of making us feel like our writing matters, when in reality it doesn’t even scratch the surface of what people really care to read about. I think that most people want to read nothing more than 1500 words. If it starts to go over that, then you lose the attention span of the current population. Most have the attention span of an Instagram reel. Yes, even those people who claim to be above the societal norms with their pocket notebooks, reading physical books, and only listening to classical music while cooking an exquisite meal.

Can we just be real here for a moment? Even if you appreciate the long form essay, if the essay isn’t about something you already have a deep desire to read about, you will move on quickly to another piece. More than likely a shorter piece because your attention was already taken by another well written piece by your favorite philosophical long form essayist. That’s ok. It’s also ok to admit that sometimes, Instagram takes over your scrolling. This is proven through how successful substack notes is compared to actual long form written articles. It’s ok to admit you are bored of this platform. You’re not alone. Substack serves a purpose to tease your brain with a thought that you are somehow different than everyone else who doomscrolls through X and watch short reels of comedic genius--sharing with their friends and people they rarely see in person anymore.

That being said, I am not sure I want to continue doing monthly complines for the audience anymore. What I want to do instead is focus on one topic every month. Read, watch, listen and digest as much as I can about that topic, and write a long-form essay about it. Whether it is philosophical like Ascetics, contemplative living, a church that has captured my attention, the history of the Norman conquest, or why Western civilization as we know it is doomed. Ok all of those topics are fairly well covered--but you get the idea. So, this is going to be my last intentional rant and contemplation over the past month. You will still learn about me and what I have read, or am reading through out the month. It just won’t be in such a structured state. It will be spread out through the rest of the month’s articles. If you use this time to say your prayers while you contemplate your own life and read about mine. I am sorry, I do hope you find time to pray with me in other ways. Perhaps through the chat (another tool on Substack that doesn’t seem to quite get going for me, probably my own fault there too).

What I’m Reading

Let me first caveat this. It has been a busy past couple of months through Summer and on into the end of September. Despite being busy, I did move a few things from my TBR to my Read pile. Even if some of those books were “read” or listened to via audiobook. Don’t judge. We already established it’s ok to admit that we aren’t as all high and mighty as we may claim to be just because we are on Substack and not Instagram or X. Here is a list of those books, I will note the ones I listened to with an asterisk, because even though I am not claiming moral high ground-- I am also not a monster and like to differentiate between the two.

The Law Student by John Grisham

* Listened to

This wasn’t really worth listening to, to be honest. I much rather have read it. I have always been a fan of John Grisham. I have read his books since I was a preteen and have fallen away from reading his work since becoming an adult. However, I know that his latest book was getting ready to come out, or it has since the time of me writing this. This story is a short story that builds into his new novel, The French Illusion. I am excited about The French Illusion, so much so, when I was driving down to Tennessee from Michigan this month, I ensured I listened to the prequel. The set up is great and in true Grisham fashion. It made me long for the days of my youth when I would stay up all night reading The Pelican Brief.

There is something so special about the way he writes lawyers, judges, into his legal thrillers all surrounding a small southern town, most likely somewhere in Louisiana. It’s methodical and predictable. So, predictable that it almost catches you off guard, ruining the predicability and throws you off.

That being said, I wish I would have actually read the story because listening to it doesn’t do it justice. I want to go back and reread parts, I want to linger over certain word choices, but can’t because I listened to it while driving through the dark somewhere in Southern Kentucky and a part of Tennessee. I won’t make the same mistake with The French Illusion, when I get a chance to read it.

How to Disappear and Live Off the Grid: A CIA Insider’s Guide by: John Kiriakou

* Listened to.

Kiriakou is a former CIA agent and is giving you tips about ways to stay off the grid and disappear.

Spoiler alert: it means giving up all the amenities you live so dependently on today--especially your close friends and family.

I mainly wanted to read this one because I am looking at different ways to incorporate ideas into my writing. Characters I am writing in my upcoming novel. Hint, I may have a character that needs to get off the grid, not be contacted, and still be able to survive in a modern world of surveillance.

This was great book to listen to as I am researching and plotting my novel. If you are a writer in any sort, you should always find things to read or listen to that help you write. Especially books, shows, articles, or just eavesdropping conversations in public. Reading books like this, even though it isn’t specifically about the craft of writing, is good for character development, plot setting and will set your story up to be 3D and realistic. Tom Clancy once listened into so many stories from Sailors in a bar, read news articles and read different books that the book, Hunt For Red October was initially deemed classified. Not because what he was writing was actually classified, but because the information he collected when researching put together became classified. Now, that’s the kind of story I want to write. One the Government says... “No, Mr. Gardner, we are going to pay out your contract and take all these books off the shelf for National Security. Thank you for your service.” That’s publicity you can’t pay for, and who knows maybe made into a great blockbuster hit afterwards.

The Safe Cracker by: Jesse DeRoy

Another thriller, espionage type book. What can I say, I am a man of habit. I love what I love. This book was a great read, I especially enjoy how DeRoy writes his character’s past. With snippets of flashbacks, opinions and thoughts that make no sense until it is fleshed out in later parts of the story. This main character, is one to follow. I would say Duke Ducain is the next Robert Langdon, but that really doesn’t do Duke justice. He’s the man who can walk through walls. Robert Langdon should stay in the classroom and teach the FBI how to catch Duke, because Duke Ducain, truly is unmatched. Even Duke’s bedridden sister has more swagger than Dan Brown’s lead character. Jesse DeRoy is a great author and I am glad I was able to catch this on the come up, before Hollywood makes it into a best selling movie starring Shia Lebeouf as Duke, and Anya Taylor-Joy as his love interest.

Can’t wait to start the sequel.

If you enjoy reading, these books piqued your interest, or you just want to follow what I am reading more closely, please be sure to follow me on Fable.

Past Articles

I normally leave the rest of the compline to showcase a few of the pieces I have written this past month or even a couple that are headlining in the past. However, I am not going to do that tonight. Quite frankly, my Sangria is gone and I don’t really want to draw attention to articles that are going to require all the current free subscribers to articles that require a paid subscription. I appreciate those who are subscribed and I want to keep you here. Please do consider a paid subscription, not because it gets you access to past articles, but because you are helping support this newsletter.

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Ending Prayer

Thank you God for a great month. You have shown yourself to me in various forms of mercy and light. I pray you watch over my family, my friends and the transitions we are going through.

Lord grant us a quiet night and a perfect end.

Amen.

Depending on when you grew up, you may remember summer reruns. The time of the year where the channels would replay reruns of your favorite shows because they were still filming the next season, or the actors were on their own break. Summer vacations could seem so long without your favorite show.

How did you get through the Summer without your favorite show? I know I usually stayed busy outside playing until the street lights came on. It was a season of internal and external change. As Summer went on, tans would form, different friendships would form, we became bored, we actually contemplated in our own youthful ways of life, and as much as we hate to admit it—we missed school. We couldn’t wait to get back and see the friends we had there, you would walk into the first day of class a different person, and so would they.

By the end of summer, with each groan of not wanting to go back to school, you secretly couldn’t wait to reconnect or for your favorite tv show to come back on. Summer vacations had a way of slowing down life as a kid and creating a natural pause. This Summer was one of those; a deliberate restructure of how we live, where our focus is, and who we are becoming. Our family has had a Summer that we are still trying to wrap our brains around, but we know God has something big in store. I am excited to finally come back to Faithful Quill, to see all my friends and show them how much life has changed.

A Mission To Believe In

When I was a young Soldier, deployed and even just stationed in various locations, I would make a safe place at the USO. Traveling through airports, a friendly USO always made the travel easier. I could stop in for a cookie and a soda, relax if I was on a layover, or just converse with fellow military members and veterans. It was a place that shut out all the noise.

With Katie’s experience in event planning, community building and our equal passion for supporting our service members, she was awarded an opportunity to serve in the USO at the Nashville Airport. The USO is an organization that serves our nation’s service members all around the world. A lot of people think of Bob Hope delivering shows to the troops during World War II; an important part of its history. A history Katie actually has through her great-grandfather who served in WWII and met her great-grandmother where they both utilized the USO to find each other and marry. So we both have a history with the USO that helped make who we are. Mine was using the computers in the USO to call home on deployment, hers helped literally create her existence. Either way, we wouldn’t be the people we are today without the USO.

Today, she welcomes a group of new recruits that come through her office almost every day and sends them off to their respective branch training. So far she has only dealt with Army and Navy, but I know she will experience so many more. These young recruits are going through their own season of change that only about 1% of Americans experience. A feeling I know all too well and I am so happy that my wife is able to help them overcome some of their nerves as they take on this major journey.

Operation New Setting

Because it is at the Nashville Airport, this required us to put our house up for sale, pack our house up, and make a fairly large move. We are still in the process of moving at the time of writing this. Though our house is up for sale, we maintain a residency in my hometown in Michigan. This isn’t the kind of move I am used to in the Army, where the Army takes care of most everything and all I have to do is get on a plane. No, there were deep logistical barriers that we needed to get through this time around.

When I was in the Army, it was a quick motion for me to move. A moving company would be paid for by the Army, come grab my life which fit inside a small room in the barracks, deliver it to another location, while I boarded a plane and flew to said location. Today, I have my wife, myself and two kids to move. That means, school records need to be transferred, housing needs to be researched, vetted and acquired, and of course we need to make a determination on where to attend Mass. We are still working on that, as our plans didn’t go exactly how we would have liked.

This move happened so quickly. A month is not a lot of time to completely uproot our lives and get situated comfortably. The kids would have to get down here quickly because school starts earlier than it does in Michigan. So we raced to find a house that would accommodate what we needed in a school district. We needed our new school to have good ratings with reputable staff and student population, one with an orchestra, and stability to replant ourselves.

What many may not know is my daughter is quite the accomplished cellist. We are proud of her accomplishments as she has grown through the years playing in an elementary orchestra and now through middle school. We absolutely needed an orchestra for her to continue her growth. Looking into the school district, we found one close enough to the USO for Katie and one with an orchestra—so we thought. Turns out there is an orchestra in the school district, it starts at a different middle school and then continues on through the High School. You would think Music City would have more opportunities to grow in music, that’s not necessarily the case when it comes to classically trained musicians. For now, our daughter must practice on her own and keep up with her skills until she can play in High School.

Along with our daughter’s musical talent, we have our son who is an avid athlete. If there is a way to turn something into sport, he will do it. If it involves a ball, he can play it. While in Michigan, we were not planning on making such a drastic move so quickly. We signed up our son for his first season of Soccer. We paid for it and little did we know we would have to race him down to Nashville and get him signed up and paid for in a different league. He was practicing his first week in Nashville, while I stayed in Michigan to handle different logistics. On top of Soccer, he is a great mixed martial artist in Brazilian Jiu-jitsu. So we needed to find him a gym that we can continue his BJJ journey. It took three different gyms and me traveling back and forth from Michigan to Tennessee to finally find the gym we are excited to get him in. We are looking forward to the growth of a new gym and our kids’ continued growth in their respective sports. Just didn’t think it would take so much work to reestablish our roots for those activities.

Locked out

Our number one priority to find some kind of stability in our new environment was to find a church. Our family thoroughly enjoys the Traditional Latin Mass and we especially appreciate reverent masses when not in Latin. Though the Liturgy of the Mass is the same everywhere—after all, we are Catholic. That doesn’t mean all Catholic Churches are the same. Universal still has local vibes to it, if you know what I mean. We thought we found a Church to attend the TLM at. However, when we arrived for the Holy Day of Obligation, we were left standing at the front doors looking at scaffolding and a closed building. Traditional Latin Masses are somewhat hard to come by. All over the country they are being suppressed by different Bishops. It’s the same here, in Tennessee. There are limited locations offering the TLM. So, for now, we are still on the hunt for a Church that meets our criteria of being reverent at the very least, and offers the TLM at most.

I have covered change here on Faithful Quill before. Specifically the seasons of change and this particular season for my family has been a time to uproot and a time to plant. This is a time to break everything down that we once knew and rebuild. During the summer of uprooting, the writing stopped and our developed routines were thrown out. There were moments that felt like we were standing at a closed door, staring at the scaffolding and waiting for whatever was happening on the other side.

That is what Summer does. It slows everything down. It forces us to weed out what is left in the garden as we quietly prepare for the next season.

Here’s the deal: it was quiet for an entire Summer and while we stared at the scaffolding, we did it together. The reruns are over; the new season of The Faithful Quill is back. While I am still finding solid ground to stand on, our family is still searching for a church, and the kids settle into their new lives, we recognize we are exactly where God intends for us to be. In Acts 14:17 God provides the rains and fruitful seasons. He is the one that nourishes us and brings joy to our hearts. We know and we trust in God to lead us through this journey.

If you have been in a season of uprooting, a change you didn’t plan, or a summer that left you different—share it in the comments. I genuinely love to hear from you all. If you know someone going through a crazy change—share this with them. Let them know they are not alone and we will pray together.

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For us, my son had to slow down on his Jiujitsu, though we still go twice a week, and he picked up baseball once more. We started planting our garden, which is important because we don’t have much of a window to accomplish gardening in this state. Usually the last week of May, any earlier and frost will kill it off, any later and you won’t have anything to enjoy in the summer. It’s a tough timeline to nail just right. Especially when you are busy with other family obligations like baseball, jiujitsu, Parish activities, end of the year orchestra concerts, Mother’s Day, the end of Eastertide, and the catapult into The Octave of Pentecost. It is a very busy season. My wife keeps calling it “Maycember”—which I have also recently heard on Hallow’s “Detachment Series”. The phrase lands pretty well. It is a major busy season with the end of school, and all the things I just mentioned; it could very well feel like Christmas season. It makes the Detachment series that much more intriguing.

Here we are, just looking for a slow down. I can’t wait for June, where we can rest in the back yard and enjoy the fruits of the Spring planting season.

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What I’m Reading

If you are familiar with how I have these structured, I usually have something about what I have read, as in the past tense, to encourage others to read. However, I want to give you a little more into what I am currently reading. Not everything has been read and re-shelved. This is what I am reading, considering, and actively working on.

Please note: The fiction I am reading are short stories that supplement the main books I am reading. I may have talked about it before, but this is something of a “Personal Curriculum”. That term has become fairly popular recently, it is a learning method that removes the traditional education, but is fulfilling in other ways. If you are interested in the concept of “Personal Curriculums” you may want to check out my friend, Mariella Hunt. She mentions how Marilyn Monroe had some form of this concept, along with Abraham Lincoln, in her latest piece about Marilyn Monroe:

The Tearoom

The Literary Life of Marilyn Monroe

The Value of Self-Education…

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5 months ago · 22 likes · 6 comments · Mariella Hunt

You can also check out other sources about how to set up your own “Personal Curriculum”, you can read April Edward’s advice on the concept here:

April Edwards [Embracing Home]

How to Design Your Own Personal Curriculum

It was a summer evening after the kids had gone to bed. When our college students are home, my husband and I have a routine of lounging on the couches with books or scrolling on social media for a bit. We often share what we read or whatever random video we find…

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a year ago · 399 likes · 13 comments · April Edwards

The following books and stories belong to my own “Personal Curriculum” which is covering the concept of writing. Though I have been writing for years, I want to become a better writer. I hope that with more personal studying and exercising the writer’s mind, I may bring better things for my readers to enjoy. This is especially true as I am currently writing a novel.

Steering the Craft by: Ursula K. Le Guin

When I was in college reading the mandatory reading list for my Fiction Writing class, or my English Classes, some of the best books were the books about the writing craft as a whole. We are talking, Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird, or Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style. They are tools that every writer, in my opinion, should have in their back pocket. Regardless of what genre you are writing, be it fiction or academic. One of my favorite books reading was Bird by Bird. Lamott has a great way of defusing the ticking time bomb your brain becomes while staring at a blank page, waiting for your great masterpiece to come along.

Because of this experience, I want to continue building my own curriculum and keep studying the craft of writing— not just because I am writing my novel, but because it is important to find topics you enjoy and learn all you can from different people, genres, times, and lives.

Steering the Craft is right up there in some of the greatest craft books. What I am thoroughly enjoying is the writing exercises she has throughout. It gives me a moment to pause what ever project I am working on in, to reset my mind and build the concepts and understand what works and doesn’t work.

The Art of Fiction by John Gardner

Not any relation, that I know of. If he is, then I am in for a treat. His style is spot on. Another one of those craft books that helps get through the blank page and build an entire world ready for print. This is another one of those books I am reading in my own self-built personal curriculum. I am calling this curriculum “Personal Masters in Writing”. I may not get a formal paper with my name on it to land the best Journalism job ever, but I will have the basis and understanding of writing and storytelling. I hope as I get through these books, you see an improvement in my writing style.

Writing Fiction by: Janet Burroway

Digging into this to cover the concepts I need to finish my novel in progress. I will be writing my novel in conjunction with reading Writing Fiction, to give my story more depth. It’s always good to learn from the masters on building depth and meaning in our writing.

Supplemental Reading:

These short stories listed here are supplemental to the personal curriculum I have built for myself in my “Creative Writing Degreeless Master’s”. Some you may notice are Catholic in nature or have Catholic undertones, such as the Flannery O’Connor story. I want to ensure my own personal curriculum gives me things to think about within the ecclesiastical sense.

• Girl by: Jamaica Kincaid

• Sticks by George Saunders

• Hills Like White Elephants by: Ernest Hemingway

• Shiloh by: Bobbie Ann Mason

• Cathedral by Raymond Carver

• The Lottery by Shirley Jackson

• Everything That Rises Must Converge by Flannery O’Connor

• The Dead by: James Joyce

• Beginners by: Raymond Carver

• What We talk About When We Talk About Love by: Carver / Lish

• Bullet in the Brain by: Tobias Wolff

Faith and Culture

Instead of a Bible Scripture or Catechism of the Month. I think I would like to discuss the latest Encyclical; published this month on May 25th.

As an IT professional, I find this Encyclical intriguing. It covers a large portion of what my life consists of, as a writer I don’t like how AI has removed the ability for people to tell a story. I don’t like how LLM’s are using our story telling capabilities to write stories for people who aren’t putting in the work. On the other hand, as an IT professional I use AI to work on code with me and help me learn concepts quickly. So, what does the Pope have to say about this pivotal time in our society?

Quite a bit, actually, and not really anything definitive. Bottom line, I think what we need to remember when it comes to AI or ANY technological advances. We have an obligation to ensure the technology doesn’t interfere with human dignity. We didn’t do so great with the advancement of nuclear energy. What we found to be useful for producing energy has also been used to divide the world further. It has been used in destruction of life, and it continues to be used as a threat to other countries.

This encyclical is a call for all Catholics, Lay and clergy to rise above the machines and remember our calling to Christ. One thing a computer can never truly understand. We are not products with flaws that need to be debugged—we are humans with lived experience.

Lived experience has been hijacked by the age of digitalization. I actually was reading a fellow substacker about this very concept recently when it comes to social media and the effects deleting our social media accounts have on our psyche.

Returning to Beauty

What Nobody Tells You Before You Delete Social Media

I deleted social media for good almost a year ago. And the thing that shocked me wasn't how much better I felt — it was realizing that what I'd been doing to myself was worse than gambling…

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5 months ago · 497 likes · 49 comments · Magin Mills

Imagine if we use social media for the original intended purpose, we wouldn’t have doom scrolling and we wouldn’t have addiction to the dopamine that spikes for the use.

I am looking forward to reading Pope Leo’s Encyclical in a little more depth and understand how it affects me most personally. As an IT professional, I have seen jobs go away because of automation. Using AI must be used in a responsible manner as any technology should be used in order to promote human experience—not detract from it. We don’t have to go too far to see how technology is changing our job market. Go into Mcdonalds and order your food, you will likely only see one person by the counter, while there are three to four computers with touchscreens directing you to them to place your order. Technology has helped work people out of a job and it will continue to do so in my career— specifically AI.

As a writer, I have seen poorly written pieces take off, while they have been written entirely by AI. This disheartening trend is not likely to stop. I equate the AI boom in the writing and publishing industry to the popularization of such commercialized books by V.C Andrews. You know the ones, they are somewhat the same story masked by character name changes. My mom used to read them when I was a kid. Though the process is low tech, it is still a form of technology using the template writing method.

It’s smart in a lot of ways, to mass produce as many stories you can in a rush, or for what I do with these Compline Quill articles. I have a general template designed for these so that I have an idea of where I should start and where I should end. The only difference is, the meat and potatoes changes—unlike the regurgitated work by V.C Andrews.

As technology continues to get smarter, growing rapidly around the world, building more connections than could have ever happened a decade ago;

we need to learn from our past about future technology. How Social media took our own personal cognitive capabilities is a prime example of what is likely to occur with AI. I pray we still use it as a tool and not as a replacement for something else that would otherwise have us more present in our friends and families lives.

Past Articles

Lord grant us a quiet night and a perfect end.

Amen.

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In the second grade, I learned my four-year-old cousin had died. I was too young to really understand what leukemia was. I remember having to wear a mask during her treatment. I remember her angelic smile, even though she had lost her blonde hair. It didn’t really hit me until late that night, being kept awake by Happy, my hamster running on his wheel in the glass tank next to my bed. The realization hit me in the face… if Emily could die, so could Happy. I didn’t want him to die. I didn’t want to die.

The sobs and wailing came just as quickly as the realization.

Mom came in with her quiet, soothing voice. I don’t really remember all she said. I only remember how her presence consoled my troubled heart. My pain as I processed what death was for the first time as a seven-year-old. The comfort only she could give me that night, just by being there. Regardless of how ruthless and cruel the world can be… a mother’s love lights up a room in the darkest of nights.

Only a year or so after this encounter, I was brought into the Church. I found solace in praying this cheap plastic bead rosary in my room. I had a prayer card I could read while navigating each bead. I never did memorize any of the prayers except the Hail Mary and the Our Father. Some nights I would just say the prayers I knew by heart and skip the others.

There was always a comforting feeling when saying these prayers. Or even hearing the song Let It Be by the Beatles play over my speakers. I can distinctly remember visualizing a serene blue auric light washing over me, as Paul McCartney’s voice carried away, “Mother Mary comes to me…”.

On Sunday, when sitting with my mom and grandpa, I would stare up at the Marian statue. Feeling so small in the presence of the church. Everything seemed so large, the future was so far away, and any worries I had would disappear in those moments. I loved the Blessed Virgin Mary and her tender motherliness.

Over the years, and after my grandpa’s death, we left the church. We started attending a General Baptist church with my step-dad’s mom and her entire family. It was a slow process, but it started out with me just going to youth group and getting to know the kids at the church.

I would eventually end up attending this church every Sunday and going to the Wednesday youth group more often. A place I would find some kind of belonging, surrounded by kids my age. Something my parish didn’t have. In fact, it appeared there weren’t any teenagers or even young adults in the parish—only gray-haired and older generations. It was great to attend a church that did fun things like go to concerts, jam sessions in classrooms, and youth conferences. Things that spoke to a younger generation. Things that spoke to me.

My first youth conference took our entire church youth to the south. It was either Missouri or Tennessee. Prior to this experience, I never realized how others thought of Mother Mary.

In a casual conversation with one of the youth pastors about some key moments in the Bible, under the wooden spiral stairs leading up to the second floor of the cabin-like common building, I spoke of Mother Mary. As someone I loved and admired. Completely unaware of how everyone else in this conference felt about her.

“Mother Mary? You must have been Catholic.” His words felt more like an accusatory jab.

I didn’t shy away from it at that moment. I told him I came from the Catholic Church before attending this new church. He asked questions, which at the time, I had no idea, were designed to disarm me about my position on the Blessed Virgin. I was young, not well catechized, and just trying to fit in. I learned that Mary was a sinful person, just like the rest of us.

Soon after that, I realized she wasn’t ever spoken about. Sometimes you would hear the song, “Mary Did You Know?” at Christmas services in church, but she was very rarely mentioned.

Upon coming home to the Church and returning to what I remember, I picked up an old rosary I had. One I picked up while stationed in Italy. I started praying the prayers I remembered over each bead. Much like riding a bike, the words rushed back. I spent so much time without her. I feel robbed of my youthfulness and eagerness to know the Mother of my Savior.

As it is May, our parish had a beautiful rendition of Ave Maria sung from the choir loft. The melody of the Tenor’s voice surrounded me with that familiar feeling of her hug. Reminding me of the visualization I had as a child, when I first heard “Let It Be.”

I think of that boy under the spiral stairs. How little it took, a few well-placed questions, a desire to belong, and fear of being different. That boy didn’t defend the Mother of God. Nor did he know he had to. As I have started to learn about her, once more, and come to love her more deeply, I can’t help but feel remorse for others who are being robbed of their relationship with the Mother God gave us. When Jesus hung on the cross and said…”Behold, your mother.” He gave her to us. Why do so many not behold?

As she clung to the feet of the cross, watching her son through His Passion, we too must cling to her. Who better to show us the way to Christ than His mother? When the world feels so big, the night feels long, and the weight of the world presses down, may Mother Mary come to us, speaking the words of Wisdom and leading us to Christ

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I did it again. I forgot to pray my novena.

I am 9 days into it and forgot for the second time in a row. So, realistically, I have only prayed on seven of the nine days. I love taking the time to pray with my wife, yet it would be more conducive to pray on my own. I would love to be on the same page with the Bible in a Year plan, but we both have external lives outside our home. Life is full of movies never finished, books just started, projects in limbo, and incomplete novenas

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I have started the Bible in a Year. I forgot about it a week in. I started the Catechism in a Year in an ambitious attempt to do both simultaneously. My wife and I started the Rosary in a Year podcast, too—hoping to expand our love, knowledge, and passion for the devotion. She started reading Scott Hahn’s book, Hail Holy Queen…, then I took over. The list goes on of all the good intentions, both my wife and I have attempted to become better people, more studious Catholics, more holy examples for our children. If I am going to be honest, my wife is better about keeping with the prayers and bible studies than I am. Worse about keeping up with the latest TV show series we started— speaking of which, does anyone know what’s happening in Ted Lasso?

It just seems that life throws so much at us, it’s hard to stay caught up on whatever process we are going through. If it can’t be done in one setting, it might as well not be done at all. At least, that’s how I feel about it. I still have boards outside in my garage that need to be used to frame our chicken coop addition.

Even with all the failures to try and stick with a plan and keep the momentum, especially a momentum together. We still try to pray together. We took on the Divine Mercy Novena. It’s nine days. It shouldn’t be that hard to build momentum together and become each other’s accountability partners, right?

Wrong.

We were so close to finishing the novena on the set date of April 12th, this year. We started out really strong out of the gate. Much like most gym memberships last at the beginning of the year. You know the ones, they show up on January 1st. They are there until January 14th at the least and February at the latest.

That’s how we were. Full of zeal to pray the novena. We would go to bed saying the novena just before closing our eyes, or we would take a few moments in the afternoon to pray together. That’s the key. We want to do this together and hold each other accountable as husband and wife.

Then… It’s not an instant force that slams you away from the prayer habit you are building. It is the gradual busyness that occurs over time. The kids need extra time; the wife is ready for bed earlier than usual; I am ready for bed before the kids are even in bed themselves. Sports. Friends. Other hobbies. At first, we were able to juggle it. Then, we had to start praying the novena on our own time.

Ok. It’s ok once or even twice every now and then. But then you miss your partner. They didn’t get a chance to pray it today, and you are now ahead, or vice versa. Next thing you know, it’s April 11th, and you are two days behind. The streak has been broken. It’s just not the same without your spouse praying next to you. Even if she falls asleep in the first decade, it’s still better to be praying it with her and for her than to pray it alone.

Two days. We were so close.

Despite the disappointment over our incomplete novena, I decided to pray the St. Joseph Novena nine days before May 1st. I have been feeling a pull toward St. Joseph since February of this year. Not sure why, but I feel I need St. Joseph’s intercession the most right now.

I had great intentions. I set the date on my calendar. Wrote it in black ink and put it on my iCal so I see it on my phone.

I started two days late.

Now, I did start. I am still getting through the novena today as I write. I am almost there. I actually have been able to keep up with the prayer, but I am not completing it on his Feast day.

So close. If there is ever a day that my name is brought forth in the Holy See for canonization… That would probably be the words out of the Holy Father’s mouth, “So close.” Just to stop me at Beatification.

Starting a project, a prayer, a bible study, or anything isn’t really the hardest part of the task. It’s getting across the finish line. We did end up finishing the Divine Mercy novena— two days later than we would have preferred. But we still did it. That’s what needs to be done with anything we put our hearts, minds, and souls into.

Saint Paul describes life like a race in his letter to the Corinthians. It’s not a mud run where everyone gets a medal or participation headband. I think about that as I see my iCal event for a novena I started two days late and chuckle a bit. We don’t come up short on tools to help make us holy. Apps, books, podcasts, devotions, pamphlets. I have downloaded most of them. We use these tools to make our prayer life more accessible. Then we forget to pray.

It is good to shut out the world and just go in silence for a while. Jesus did. He very often left everyone to be alone with God. Everyone is going to tell you to use this app or that one. This AI will help build your prayer; this book has the most prayers for the laity.

Pause. Breathe. Pray. You can’t win the race St. Paul speaks of if you don’t even put your foot on the start line.

If you start a novena, it’s ok if you drop the ball one day. Finish the novena as you remember. God isn’t keeping track of how many days you failed to pray a novena. But you know who is? The deceiver has been watching and is gleeful when you stop praying. He is excited when the habit you built becomes a forgotten part of your life.

Yet, the moment you pick up where you left off. You start praying. The Eternal Father welcomes you back with open arms, and Satan is left screaming at another loss. That’s the kind of win I want.

I don’t want the Pope to say “So close.” I want the Father to look at me and say, “Welcome home.”

If you’ve ever gone to bed realizing you forgot to pray, started a novena two days late, or have a Bible in a Year app you haven’t opened since February — you’re in the right place. These are the honest conversations about still figuring it out, still picking up where I left off. If that resonates with you, consider subscribing. It’s a simple way to stay in this race together.

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April— Wholly Yours

This month was a month of firsts for our son. After we returned from a much needed vacation, he stepped into the confessional for the very first time. Let me tell you, when working with him over his confession, it is the cutest thing anyone could ask for. There is a lot of naivety and uncertainness there when doing your first examination of conscience. Yet, also so much realization of what your sins are actually costing at the same time.

Watching him walk into the confessional for the very first time brought me back to my first time after returning to the Church. Consequently, taking me back to when I was just a little bit older than him giving my very First Reconciliation to my confessor, Father Ray Urbanek. The weight that was lifted off my soul when I stepped out both those times and continue to be lifted each time I go step foot into the confessional.

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Sometimes we need a break from the world around us. Regardless of the industry you work in, it is imperative to take a breath and relax. Otherwise, the world starts to always feel like it’s demanding more from you with every ticking second. We can see how Jesus actually finds time even in the busiest times of his ministry and his Passion. He would take time to go into a private, secluded place to pray, relax, and prepare. Luke 5:16 specifically mentions how he “withdrew to deserted places to pray”. This was after reports were spreading about him and his ability to cure diseases, and before the description of the paralytic man being lowered on the stretcher.

Quick side note: How awesome are those friends? They cared not what the crowds were doing; they could only care about getting their friend to see Jesus. That is the dream friend, someone who cares more about your relationship with Jesus than about the obstacles that stand in the way.

I digress. While many people were still working and publishing articles during Holy Week, you may have noticed I was pretty quiet. Almost silent, even. I didn’t comment on much here on Substack. I secluded myself with my family on a trip to Nashville and Florida. I busied myself with family rather than work, and with the constant feeling of needing to keep up.

This was the first time I actually shut down my computer and didn’t open it to even read an email. I have taken vacations before, but I always worked or at least kept tabs on what was happening at the office. As someone who works in Information Technology for a pretty decent-sized company, opening a computer every day and keeping my phone on is a must. It felt foreign to turn on my “Out of Office” message, not respond to Teams messages, or even comment on Substack posts. Yet, I managed to make it for a whole week, focusing on my family and our needs during a well-earned vacation. As our road trip started, it felt like an entire weight was released off my shoulders to cross over the Michigan-Ohio border. I could feel the guilt of missing things fade with each mile marker.

There were some things I still felt guilty about during the vacation. It was Holy Week, and we weren’t observing the way we normally do by going to church practically the whole week. Instead, we spent Saturday in a Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu competition for my son. Which I am happy to report, he crushed it and came back with a Gold belt and a Silver medal.

The following Sunday was Palm Sunday. We started driving toward Florida early, with a tight deadline to make it to my wife’s grandparents’. I can’t and won’t pretend the guilt isn’t there. Palm Sunday carries a Sunday obligation, and spending the entire Sunday in the truck, meant Mass wasn’t going to happen. I wish the timeline would have allowed for a visit to one of the beautiful churches calling Nashville home. For the rest of the week, to include Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, we enjoyed the sun in Florida and were happy to fall asleep reading a book on the back porch and listening to the birds. Though it was super relaxing and beautiful, something was missing. Holy Week isn’t just a backdrop for a good vacation. It is sacred. Next time we plan a trip, the liturgical calendar gets planned into it—before the miles.

One great thing about traveling the country is not only what you get to see, it’s who you get to see. A visitor from my Army days stopped by our cabin. It was a welcome visit, almost a decade overdue. We discovered a deeper connection between us, beyond our military roots. We found out we share a common regret. We always wonder how much deeper our experience while stationed in Italy may have been if we had prioritized our Catholic faith over the temporal pleasures. Our conversation strengthened my reasoning for taking the vacation. Picking presence over productivity.

The return home began with a sharp reminder of how much I have changed. That young soldier who once drove straight through the night now plans rest stops for his family. The constant projection of movement is becoming intentional pacing. The exact reason I needed the vacation, to help slow me down in my professional life, needs to happen in my personal life. I am embracing the changing seasons rather than just pushing through. As we neared Augusta, Georgia, where my military career began, I felt the familiar weight of responsibility return with each mile marker.

This relaxing Holy Week has taught me something Jesus modeled in Luke 5:16: withdrawal isn’t abandonment. It is a preparation for what is to come. The weight I was feeling with each mile marker wasn’t just my work and responsibilities piling up. It was the tension between rest and the relentless demands of the world. As I started my daily Lectio Divina through the Deuterocanonical books this week, I recognized that my complaints for what Wisdom 1:11 calls out as “useless murmuring.” I am not returning with the same overstimulated energy I had before. Instead, it is a deeper understanding of my vocation as an IT professional, a writer, a parent, and a husband. Faithful Quill hasn’t moved in my absence, and the community is still here. Reminding me that God continues to work, even when we step away.

I am excited about what we have in store for Faithful Quill’s future. Before I left, we launched the community chat. Where I plan to engage with paid subscribers over the articles, prayers, and life’s happenings. The vacation didn’t destroy my mission. It only helped bring light to it. I am looking forward to sharing this project with you and all others who are finding or renewing their faith. If you haven’t taken a break from the world, and you feel called to do so, please take this as your calling. Get out of the office, go to your favorite place, and shut it all down. Come home refreshed and with a vigorous determination to work, praise God, and slow down your rhythm.

If you have found value in this reflection on faith and rest, consider becoming a paid subscriber to Faithful Quill. You will have access to the community chat, where we can discuss these articles more deeply, share prayer requests, and support one another on our spiritual journeys. Your subscription also allows me to continue creating content that helps us integrate faith into our daily lives.

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“Did you go to West Point?” His gruff voice came from beside me as I checked the time on my phone.

“No, but I served with quite a few West Pointers, and I will always support the team that represents me on that field.”

His audible grunt indicated he understood the meaning.

“I wasn’t smart enough for West Point. But my son gets it and wants to go do bigger, better things than I ever did in the Army.”

His chuckle roared as the joke landed, “Me either. I volunteered for the Marines in Vietnam.”

More laughter from both of us, and a smirk from the younger bald guy next to me.

We sat there for 10 minutes chatting about our service. Mostly him telling me about his. How his dad thought he was an idiot for volunteering for the Marines instead of another branch, or just waiting for his draft card to be called. He told me about a friend who was an officer in the Army, who led from the front and stepped on a landmine, and we joked about some of the stupid stuff we did in combat that make us question how we ever made it back.

If it’s one thing we all have in common, regardless of branch of service, the war we fought in, or the place we came from, we can tell stories. Stories of the glory days in combat, the people we met, the drinks we drank, and how we ended up sharing a room in a VA clinic halfway around the world from where we became men. The memories fade over time, and they become dusty. Yet we still share them with one another; it reminds us we are still human and that we are building connections.

After returning home from the appointment, I was struck with a sudden thought. I connected with this man through our shared military experience, but I wonder whether he knew God. I wonder if he thanks God for getting him through the rice patties of Vietnam. We made a connection, but God calls us to something deeper. He calls us to fellowship. St. John the Apostle reflects on fellowship and shared experiences in 1 John 1:3.

He is declaring the reasons he is sharing his experiences with us, so that we can know Christ ourselves. In the same way, we speak of our experiences in war with other combat veterans. We are different people on different battlefields and at different times, but we share one common goal. To come home in one piece.

That should be our goal spiritually, too. The Saints have long discussed the unity we have with their lives. The consecration of the host in Mass connects us all even more. We are celebrating the Mass in a way that defies our human knowledge and understanding of space and time. Service members serve in wars and share experiences defying the laws of physics.

I can’t help but think in my head and my heart… I should’ve told him about Jesus.

It hurts.

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My goal for this Substack is not to write about current events. However, sometimes current events speak to what I am already writing about. Especially since I am writing from the perspective of an Army Veteran, that served in the Middle East, returning to his faith. I would like to take this opportunity to address some issues regarding developments in the Middle East.

First and foremost, we now have a confirmation, as of the moment I am writing this, there are 6 US Service Members that have been killed in the conflict. This is a sad reality of armed conflict between nations. People get hurt, and people die. Military members, especially, are often at the center of this reality. The other casualty of armed conflict isn’t just the actual lives of those lost. It’s the causality of young men and women’s innocence. They have now lost a friend, a coworker, a leader, and they will more than likely experience some deep feelings about their role in this loss.

Families have now lost spouses, children, uncles, and aunts. The damage that occurs affects everyone. It affects the coworkers of the family members who are now in grief. The theory of six degrees of separation is at play here. Of course, as you get further away from the deceased service member, the effects change and lessen slightly. But the trauma is still there.

There is also the school that was bombed. Whether it was a mistaken target or strategic doesn’t matter. It isn’t beneath the Ayatollah to use an all-girls school as a cover for evil. Evil is evil, and unfortunately, in the US’s attempts to squash the evil, more innocent lives were affected. The girls who were killed, their parents, their teachers, and the teachers’ families. It is all connected. While I served, and I am sure still, we used a phrase about when a combatant or even a noncombatant was killed, what it did: “We made another terrorist.” It is like the hydra in Greek Mythology. For every head we chopped off, two more grew. It’s part of how ISIS was founded—we allowed for a power vacuum to take effect.

It is easy to get caught up in the drama and emotion of the conflict—who is right, who is wrong, and whether it is legal. So, whether you agree or disagree with the conflict in Iran and the surrounding areas, one thing we can agree on is that souls are affected, innocent and guilty. Even if we are spiritually at other ends of faith with those killed or grieving, their souls are affected, and we must take them into account. In C.S. Lewis’s wisdom and experience of war, he wrote in The Screwtape Letters that Satan will use such events to wage war for our souls. Do not allow our preconceived understandings of the world destroy our own humanity. Pray for even those perceived as the enemy. As mankind, we only have one enemy and he isn’t as powerful as Our God.

Our servicemembers’ souls are also at stake. We must do everything possible to ensure our servicemembers can receive the sacraments. I wrote about this in an earlier issue, when I discussed a lost opportunity to return to my faith. Satan is using the lack of resources our military members have to keep them agnostic, indifferent, or plain rebellious against God. Please give that issue a peek; it will offer you a little insight into my experiences in combat and how I eventually came home by the grace of God. You can find it here:

As we wait for more information and the conflict to either escalate or resolve, we must remember to keep everyone involved in our prayers. We must pray for our leaders as they make these decisions. Pray for the service members in the heat of the battle, pray for the perceived enemies, pray for the families, and pray for the departed. Pray for the civilians affected in their homes, and pray for peace in the region.

Prayer in a Time of War

God our Father,
Maker and lover of peace,
To know you is to live,
And to serve you is to reign.
All our faith is in your saving help;
Protect us from men of violence
And keep us safe from weapons of hate.
Grant this through Christ our Lord. Amen.

Prayer for Military Chaplains

Heavenly Father, bless and protect Military Chaplains and fill them
with the joy and courage of their vocation as personal ministers of
Christ in preaching your word and nourishing us with the Sacraments.
Grant this through Christ our Lord. Amen.

Prayer to Saint Michael the Archangel

Saint Michael, the Archangel, defend us in battle,
Be our protection against the malice and snares of the devil.
We humbly beseech God to command him,
And do thou, O prince of the heavenly host,
By the divine power thrust into hell Satan
And the other evil spirits who roam through the world
Seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.

If these reflections resonate with you, I invite you to subscribe. All new posts are free for the first 6 weeks, so you can read along at no cost. If you’d like ongoing access to the full archive—including all posts older than 6 weeks—and want to support this work, please consider becoming a paid member. Your support helps sustain this community and keeps these stories and reflections coming. Thank you for being here.

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Or is it Agape?

What kind of February would it be if it wasn’t about love? First loves, puppy love, the loss of love, the gain of love. It is all something a part of the human experience. Something, I am sure, we have all experienced at some point in our lives. How often have you sat at a restaurant and seen the young man taking a girl out for the first time? You know it’s the first time because of the dizzying spell they both have. The awkward movements they make, seemingly stepping over each other in order to pull the chair out or get the coat. The bursts of laughter-filled discussion give way to awkward silence as the discussion moves from common niceties to topics just under the surface. I know you have witnessed it, and if you haven’t, you will. You probably have been a part of those moments. I know I have. Eventually, those moments fade, and they mature. It goes from awkward stepping on each other, to the nauseating puppy love, where they can’t keep their hands off each other. Sometimes, expressing a complete lack of self-control. It all eventually matures, however. You end up knowing how the person butters their roll, so you maneuver differently without so much as a peep or a glance at one another. Conversation becomes more about utility than it does about feelings. You can almost have a conversation with the person you love without making a noise. This maturity is inevitable. Yet sometimes we look back and wonder what happened. As a young couple, we were so giddy and excited; it was fresh and new, and you are reminded of what it used to be when you see that young couple in line at the movies. It’s fun. It’s also fun to be that mature couple when you meet the young couple. You have more experience, and they have fresh ideas.

There are, of course, more kinds of love that are expressed throughout life. The love of books (bibliophile), or the written word (logophile). Of which I possess these kinds of love. The love for our children and family (storge) and the love of friends (philia). The Bible uses storge, philia, eros (romantic love, and agape (sacrificial) to describe the various kinds of love we may experience in our lifetime.
Over the past month, I have witnessed many of these kinds of love. Obviously, my wife and I have expressed romantic, or eros. However, we have also been able to express sacrificial love for one another. Unfortunately, we went to a funeral of a police officer, to support my friends who were hurting, we witnessed the philia expression of love for their friend in blue. What is unique about my military background and all of my friends who are veterans and still serving while wearing a badge, we all express and carry this kind of love for one another. When a brother in uniform is hurting because he lost another brother in a different uniform, we all feel that pain.

Jesus taught us the greatest kind of Love we could express ever. It isn’t a coincidence that we celebrate the Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ during this time. Even as we celebrate St. Valentine’s Day in the spirit of Eros, or Romantic love, we are also celebrating the Sacrificial love of Christ. For he laid down his life for you and me. Now, that is an Amazing love to emulate with one another. I think if we did that more often, we would have a lot fewer problems with one another. We might stop to think about how what we are saying, thinking, and doing to one another is hurting that sacrificial love we should express to each other.

What I Learned

This month was too short for me to take on many learning projects. Though I am still enrolled in the New Saint Thomas Institute, run by Dr. Taylor Marshall, my endeavors have taken me elsewhere.

Something I did learn, and along with the theme of love, is the concept of romance. I think it is common knowledge that a Romance language is one influenced by the Roman world. You have languages like Italian, Romanian, Spanish, Portuguese, and, of course, French.

I didn’t know that Romance stories originally featured Roman influence. Which is why you have stories of knights and dames, and the idea of knightly courtship, in many romance-style novels. It wasn’t until the 18th Century that Romance stories became known for their focus on love.

In March, I will focus on learning more about Our Blessed Mother. I will be taking the courses offered on NSTI, and when I finish the course material, I will share the certificate here.

What I Read

Books

Ministry of Time

I am not for romance novels. I think the last one I read, I literally threw across my office in Fort Benning, Georgia. Mainly because the character broke a Soldier’s heart while he was deployed. Permitting the title of the well-known moniker for letters used to break up with military members, “Dear John”. That was a horrible book, I hated it, but I read it because my girlfriend at the time told me to. I think it was her way of writing the letter herself.

Regardless, romance novels are not my forte, and when I bought “The Ministry of Time”, I didn’t realize it could be classified as a romance. I liked the concept of time travel, its use in modern times, and the idea of immigration. Some hot-button modern conversations are happening in today’s political climate. The author, Kaliane Bradley, nails the genre blending. I quite enjoy her vocabulary throughout the story. Normally, I don’t like to be jarred out of a story to research a word and its uses. However, I found Bradley’s British-language acrobatics compelling and worth the mind-bending effort to understand them.
“The pigeons took off, their wings making a noise like a swallowed laughter.”
That phrase stuck with me through the whole book. The way she describes things with her analogies. I had never thought of the sound of pigeons until the day I read that phrase. Now, I can’t forget the sound of swallowed laughter as associated with wings fluttering away.

Though I enjoy Bradley’s linguistic style. I am not a fan of the storyline itself. I find myself dragging through the book. I unfortunately must say this is going to be my first DNF of the year.

I don’t usually like to give up on books. Even if they take forever for me to get through. I need to be easier on myself about these scenarios. I want to give the author a shot, and really, it didn’t connect with me, and that is ok.

The Lord of the Rings and Catholicism

My wife just returned home from her cousin’s bachelorette party. It turns out her cousin is an avid Lord of the Rings fan, and the inner hobbit starts speaking out to me every time Lord of the Rings comes up. To help my wife navigate conversations with her cousin, I made Katie watch The Lord of the Rings with me. I then started mansplaining how there are so many different Catholic references to the storyline. Considering Tolkien’s great love for his faith and its integration into his daily life, it felt necessary to discuss with Katie.

This started me down a whole other level of reading, as I began this book to build my knowledge of something I already knew and appreciated.

Articles

Embodied Faith

Brief thoughts on why Jesus didn't lead with "God loves you."

Ok, I’m just trying to sneak this one in before I get back to the “Having a Faith Crisis on the Road to Emmaus” series. And please be sure to subscribe and get these posts, podcasts, and announcements in your inbox or on the app…

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9 months ago · 39 likes · 12 comments · Geoff Holsclaw (PhD)

This article nails God’s love and why we resist it.

Short Stories

I started reading a serial by another great sub stacker. She hasn’t released them to the public as of the time this will be published. However, let me say, when they are published, you are in for a treat. I will definitely share them here with every iteration. Or even better, you can subscribe to The Tearoom by , and get the releases published firsthand.

The Tearoom

This is a quiet literary space for readers who love books, slow reading, and reflective writing. Here, stories are allowed to steep, attention matters more than speed, and even the smallest moments are treated as meaningful. The kettle is on—come in!

By Mariella Hunt

What I watched

TV Shows

There is something about the Kennedy family that makes them feel relatable to the everyday American. Despite being one of the most influential and wealthy families in the country, it appeared like royalty. My Grandma will tell you where she was the day JFK was assassinated. She remembers watching it on her TV. She can tell you about the poise Jackie held herself as “America’s Widow”. It is a sort of elegance that permeates the Kennedy household. It’s one that was shown in “Love Story: John F. Kennedy Jr. & Carolyn Bessette”.

This show reminded me of how I first met my wife. To be honest, I could never forget the day I met my wife and how we fell in love. I was a broken soul who just returned home from Active Duty. I was going to school to be a police officer, but somehow found myself in the honors program. I wasn’t an honors student in High School. In fact, I barely made it out of High School. I only did what I had to in order to graduate and leave for the Army. Yet 8 years later, I was sitting in an honors class, and this beautiful, quiet, and seemingly respectable lady sat a few desks ahead of me. The complete opposite of the self-aware, overly confident clown, I was. I was hoping to be partnered with her for the introduction exercise. I am not quite sure how it happened, but we were. We learned a lot of surface-level things about each other that day. It was priming a great friendship–eventually budding into a love and relationship that will lead me home to the love of God.

Movies

Of course, as I mentioned earlier, I made my wife watch The Lord of the Rings with me. She hasn’t made it through entirely yet, but it will be waiting for her when she is ready.

I also took my kids to see GOAT at the movies. What a cute movie about sportsmanship, being a good team mate, and sharing the love of the game. Steph Curry helped produce it, and you can tell he has a great passion for his game.

Bible Scripture / Catechism from the Month

CCC 2282 Grave Psychological disturbances, anguish, or grave fear of hardship, suffering, or torture can diminish the responsibility of the one committing suicide

I have lost quite a few friends to suicide. It hurts every time someone else commits suicide. It pains me when I know that the demons they were facing were able to push them to the limit of taking their own life.
This Catechism reference is something I take a look at often. It is a reminder for me that my friends may not be suffering in Hell just because they committed suicide. In fact, it reminds me that I need to pray for their souls. Continue praying for their souls. CCC 2283 continues on to say that we should not despair of the eternal salvation of someone who has taken their own life. Because their salvation could still be provided an opportunity through God and his eternal agape love for man.

Articles / Quotes that stood out

I mentioned this in my ‘What I Learned’ section. But this Quote is where I originally learned it, and I had to start digging deeper into it.

This one hit like a ton of bricks. Many of the problems we face are due to the actions we take. The idea of building our own crosses means that we suffer because we refuse to give up control of everything. We need to stop and just let God deal with it. Jesus already died on a Cross for us. Let’s stop making another one for ourselves.

“You can’t control the wind, but you can adjust your sails.”

I don’t know why this quote hit me this month. It hit me with a realization that life is all about perspective. We can allow the wind to control us and blow us around, or we can adjust the sails. We don’t have control over everything in this life, but we can just look at things differently.

Miscellaneous

This month, I launched paid subscription tiers. I am learning how to work with it and build this platform into something that will pay for itself. I hope and pray that you find my writing worth reading and that you decide to financially support my endeavors. However, I am not restricting everything as of right now. I want to ensure everyone has a chance to read what I post in a reasonable amount of time.

Therefore, I started putting paywalls up on articles older than 6 weeks. I think this gives everyone ample time to read, share, and comment. There are other perks to becoming a paid subscriber, of course. If you would like to take advantage of those benefits, or just support my work, please consider a paid subscription.

Faithful Quill

Faith, resilience, and the stories that rebuild us. Reflections on returning to the Catholic Church, the quiet grace of everyday life, and the journey after war.

By Aaron Gardner

Previous articles and stories

The Time Between

The Courier

When I first wrote this flash fiction piece, I expected it to be published elsewhere and hoped it would find a home there. Although that didn’t happen, I still believe in its message and want to share it with readers. I hope you find something meaningful in the story below…

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8 months ago · 1 like · 4 comments · Aaron Gardner

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The message arrived from a faceless LinkedIn profile. Just a location of a military base in East Georgia and an email address. Something was off, it’s not every day you receive a cryptic message from a friend you haven’t seen in over 16 years. When we first met, we were both dealing with the heartaches and pains of divorce. My ex-wife and I separated during my tour in Iraq, and Schyler’s situation was similar. Honestly, it was a similar story for most everyone who put on the uniform. The divorce numbers for Service Members are somewhere north of 27k. Which is about 3% of Service Members that are divorced. It fluctuates from year to year and across different branches. As the saying goes, “If the Army wanted you to have a spouse, they would have issued you one.”

Because of our similar situations, we became friends quickly. I learned quite a bit about him from hanging out in the smoke pit behind the barracks. I knew his mother passed away when he was young--mainly because we were kids and stupid jokes were funny to us. Except Mom jokes to him. He would never speak ill of anyone else’s mom, even jokingly, because of his own experiences.

Overall, he was a good friend to have in your corner. When I left for Italy, he left for Texas, and we lost contact. I didn’t know he had gotten out of the military until much later in my career, even in my civilian career. I don’t think I had contact with him. We were friends on Facebook, but we didn’t talk much. I didn’t realize the struggles he was facing when he moved home from the military, and he didn’t know mine.

The Army teaches you how to survive the chaos of war, but it doesn’t really prepare you for life on the outside. You go through some harder things in the military than most civilians can even cope with. You learn quickly the power you have over someone else’s life, even before you turn 20 years old. That’s a kind of power most civilians can’t grasp until they have a child. So, when you get out, you return to a world that you once knew, but you don’t really know it anymore. You can’t return to the naive ignorance you had about how the world worked when you were a teenager. But you are expected to reintegrate into society. That’s a mind game nobody really gets. For my friend, that’s a mind game that broke him. He ended up going back into the life he joined the Army to escape.

I drove West through a Michigan snowstorm to see my friend get his life back. He found himself at a place in the middle of nowhere working on a church-oriented ranch and doing what he could to stay clean from drugs. When he graduated from the program, I was invited to attend the church service and his graduation program.

The church is a small building with a house-like feel. The moment I walked in, I was greeted with a smile, a handshake, and questions about who I was and why I was there. It wasn’t an interrogation, but it was definitely a protective measure. The service started late because the guys weren’t there yet. They were up early getting the pig they cooked ready, and just didn’t make it by the time service was supposed to start.

When the service finally started, they sang songs like any other Protestant church would and prayed before opening the Bible to read. As a revert to the Catholic Church, it very much reminded me of the non-denominational bible study they called service. Besides the story that was told in the context of the scripture reading, the opening prayer really stood out to me. The leader prayed that the words of the songs being sung would be like incense to the Lord. The prayers would be lifted up to Him in a cloud. I am paraphrasing from what I remember, but it really stuck with me because this small church recognizes the significance of incense in worship but doesn’t actually use it or anything found in the Bible for worship.

The sermon felt even more like a Bible Study. He asked people questions, people asked him questions during the speech, and ultimately, I felt like the sermon was more of a personal narrative about the leader’s experiences and how God uses the everyday person to speak. I tried to find the sermon after the service to better understand what he was trying to say and how he was reading into the verses, but I couldn’t find it, unfortunately. His main message or points felt convoluted with so many other things.

When the service ended, we were introduced to two graduates of the program. My friend and one of the others in attendance. The entire congregation stayed for this ceremony, which made me realize Schyler was in good hands. He spoke about the trauma he lived through and how, after getting out of the Army, he felt lost again. A feeling very commonly expressed by veterans. It broke my heart because he mentioned that he and I haven’t seen each other since Fort Gordon, about 16 years ago. Not only that, but he brought it up that I was there when he was dealing with his divorce, and now I am there as he is getting sober. I was able to spend time with him afterwards while eating some of that pulled pork he helped cook from the pig he helped raise. I am proud of him for finding the help he needed and getting through it.

Overall, some key takeaways I gathered from this day were that the Wesleyan denomination is doing great work in evangelism, outreach, and spreading the Good News to those who truly need to hear it. Though we disagree on a number of doctrinal points, there is no doubt that they love God and they love Jesus with all their hearts. They take His calling very seriously.

As Catholics, we can do better. Too often, our parishes feel cold towards newcomers. Our evangelizing efforts are... meh. Our doctrine and scriptural understandings are bar none. There’s a reason Catholic is literally translated as “Universal.” We are the true Church — we just need to work on our hearts a bit. We need to be in the pits with those who need to hear the Gospel. We need to welcome people with smiles and not demand anything from someone who may be just getting to know Jesus for the first time. Make our parishes feel like home rather than utilitarian. Hang up pictures of your parishioners in community buildings, show up in the community, have prayer and bible studies, do things together outside of the pews. A lot of what we do can feel transactional — especially to those looking in.

In my parish, we are trying to get things moving. We attend a weekly Bible and Catechism study with my wife. Our youth group is ever-growing, which is so necessary for helping teens grow and develop in their faith while remaining youthful and full of fire. Our youth group has been to the soup kitchen to help serve food to the hungry and the homeless. Our men have gotten together for steaks, bourbon, and cigars at least once a quarter. The pews are overflowing with parishioners at every mass, so much so that we needed to add an extra mass in the morning. In between the two main masses, we have donuts and fellowship time--which is crucial for that time together. My family doesn’t always make it to the donuts, but when we do, it is a great time for the kids to hang out and play together.

Though we have so many things happening in our growing parish, there is still so much more we can and should do as a parish. Some parishes will have different needs, and others will grow into new ones as they grow. We must treat our Church and our homes as living, breathing beings. It has the breath of the Holy Spirit and will need to change locally over time. Perhaps your parish has more older retired men with a handful of younger men-- try a Mentorship Program and call it St. Joseph’s workshop. Where men come together and learn from each other with the tools of the trade. Or, maybe you have more babies than you do adults. If that’s the case, congratulations, you will have more growth to build from. Try a nursery with lots of toys. There will, undoubtedly, be older women who look forward to stopping in and getting baby cuddles.

Of course, all the parish activities mean nothing if we aren’t doing what we are told to in the conclusion of Mass. We must “Go and announce the Gospel of the Lord.”

If we aren’t spreading the Gospel, then it is falling on deaf ears every Sunday. When someone new comes in, smile and make sure they know where the pew missals are; maybe invite them to sit with you to help them navigate the Mass. Yes, you’re there to worship and to prepare your heart to receive the Holy Eucharist, but how would Jesus treat the stranger who comes in off the street, who knows nothing about the Church? He would smile and welcome them home.

Don’t overstretch yourself or your talents. Not everyone is called to serve God through prison ministry or singing in the choir. Some are called to walk the cemeteries with a rosary in hand, praying for the departed souls. Use your talents in accordance with a resounding joy for the presence of the Lord. Whatever you are feeling called to do, all of our callings involve love

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Here’s what I mean. I walked away from my Catholic faith as a teenager. It wasn’t completely in my control, but I still did it. I walked away from my faith completely as a young soldier in Iraq. Screaming at Him, facing the sky, lost in the world without a compass. Then, after a couple of years of my faith sitting in a block of ice, I was stationed just a 4-hour train ride from the roots of my faith... Rome, Italy. 

What if I were walking by the burning bush? God was calling me, right then, right there, to revert back to being the Catholic I was supposed to be. I can still feel the rain dripping on me as our unit ran to the Church on the top of Mount Berico. I felt a distant, familiar feeling while wandering through the Vatican, and I can still taste the coffee from the cafe down the path from St. Mark’s in Venice. I even attended mass in Italian. I was in great awe over the magnificent architecture, the paintings, the icons, and the statues. I promised my cousin I would get a rosary for her newborn while I was in the Vatican. From my conversation with her recently, he still has it, and he is now attending a Catholic High School. While getting him a rosary, I got one for myself, and it now sits on a shelf next to the picture of my grandpa and me outside the church I was baptized in.  In my kitchen rests an icon of the Blessed Virgin I bought while drifting through the streets of Rome. 

My platoon sergeant was very connected to his faith. I even attended church with him, albeit it being Latter-day Saints. I was asking all the questions and was surely millimeters away from returning to the Church I was baptized in--where I came to know Jesus in the Eucharist.  While serving, I spent countless days speaking with my chaplains about various ideas and questions I had about faith. Imagine if one of those Army chaplains had been Catholic. They would already know my roots and be able to send me on the path necessary for me to return home. Not saying the chaplains I had were inept or incapable of doing such a thing. However, due to their primary function as the unit chaplain, they would only dive into the secular side of conversations and be there for deeper theological discussions around their own held beliefs. 

Today, our chaplaincy faces a huge dilemma. Not only are we on a downward slope for those called to the priesthood-- the Catholic Church isn’t represented nearly as much as it should be in the military. A quarter of the United States military identifies as Roman Catholic. Whether they are practicing the faith or not is a moot point, because 8% of the chaplaincy is Catholic. That means there are about 350,000 service members to about 200 Catholic Chaplains. Even if those who identify as Roman Catholic wanted to practice their faith, they may not be able to. They lack having a priest to receive the sacraments. If they don’t have a Catholic Church off base, they likely will not receive the Eucharist regularly, nor go to confession, for that matter. 

The Church understands this and has made it more forgiving in receiving the sacrament of Confession. Once per year in order to be considered valid within the Church. But what about those Soldiers fighting overseas in our nation’s wars? Shouldn’t they have more access to the sacraments than just the Soldier who is home at Fort Benning? They are unable to have their sins absolved, receive the Eucharist, or receive the anointing of the sick before they die of combat injuries. 

I understand this isn’t just a dilemma in our military. The military is a microcosm of our greater society. I just wonder how different my life could have been if I had come across a Catholic chaplain who helped call me back home. What about those Catholics in the military who have stepped away for similar reasons? How many of them would come home?

This month has been an amazing journey toward the goal of writing twice a month. So much so that I have met some great authors in the community who have inspired me to do other things. One thing I want to incorporate into my writing habits is a monthly roundup. I got the idea from Lauren Montgomery, who writes The Catholic Commons. First, let me say, what an amazing, devout person she is. I had a conversation with her after she shouted out my article on sin and blessing my children. That is actually how I found this practice. I can already tell she is going to be a force to reckon with in this space. Such heartfelt and real moments in her writing. That is an inspiration in and of itself. So thanks to her for this great idea of a monthly roundup-- I told her I would have to use hers as a template for some of my future writing. I will do my best to do that starting tonight.

This series I am calling “The Compline Quill”. The main idea is to invoke evening prayer and reflection of the entire month and see where it lands. This isn’t going to be an article that I write and put in the queue for later. It will be published as soon as I finish writing it. I will write it on the last day of every month, at or near the Compline prayer. A traditional prayer said closest to bedtime at night. We will see how this grows and morphs into what it will be. I am excited to try this, and we will adapt as needed. I am thinking we will have a thematic title for the month. Something that explains what we are discussing and provides an introduction to the theme.

Since this is the first time I am starting this, and there are a lot of new things I am starting this year, especially in reading and writing, within the first month of the year. We will call this theme “New Beginnings.”

What I Read

There isn’t anything about new beginnings without first closing out the old endings. It has been a slow start to reading this year. I am not going to be one of those people who tell you, we need to read as many books as possible in a year, or that you should slow down and read as few books as possible. I will tell you that we just need to read. It is important to read; it doesn’t really matter if it is fiction or nonfiction, historical or futuristic, what matters is that we read.

That being said, I started a book around Christmas. When I say I started a book, I mean I got more serious about it. The truth is, this book doesn’t resonate with me, and it is very easy to put down. I usually love all of Dan Brown’s books and was extremely excited to start Secret of Secrets. I can typically get past his oozing disdain for the Catholic Church because he is an excellent storyteller, and his remarks, though I disagree, usually propel the story forward. Not so much in Secret of Secrets. I have found many remarks that are distasteful, colorful, and don’t drive the story in any direction. It really pulled me out of the story, made me sit down, and question why I even care what Dan says about my faith.

Albeit, I still have soldiered on through this book, and eventually I will finish it. I don’t back down from a challenge. I will more likely finish it this weekend, so I will count the book here as what I read.

I can’t wait to finish Secret of Secrets because I am begrudgingly making my way through it, and the quicker I can put this one on the shelf, the better. But I also have a new book already on the table, ready to go. I look forward to starting February with shelving Dan Brown and opening “The Ministry of Time” by Kaliane Bradley. So, new beginnings start with ending old chapters.

Bible Scripture / Catechism from the Month

In this monthly reflection, I want to capture something that stood out to me through Bible Study or in the Catechism. A lot of my Bible study, prayer, and Catchises are done on my daily 1.5 to 2-hour drive to the office. So, I get some good time listening to homilies and other commentators much smarter than I.

This month’s scripture verse that has stuck out to me is actually from this past Thursday’s Daily Mass.

In the responsorial hymn, we said: “The Lord God will give him the throne of David, his father.” (Luke 1:32b) This is part of the message to the Blessed Virgin Mary.

A new beginning that has no equal in greatness. King David was a new chapter for Israel, and Jesus is the new chapter for mankind. He truly is a King and heir of the David Kingdom, a heavenly kingdom of the New Israel. How I long for that day when we can all walk together with him in that kingdom and leave the Old World behind. The sin, the torment, the pain, and the suffering. That is the old world, that Christ has come to not just redeem, but make new.

Though I can’t wait to be in that New World, it doesn’t mean we can wait. We are called to be the lights on a hill. We are already redeemed in Christ, and it is our job to shine like a lamp—not hide it under a basket.

In the Hallow App, Jeff Cavins discussed how we have dimmer switches for the light we receive from God. We turn it down in some settings and turn it up in others. It made me wonder how often I been less than generous with the light I am supposed to be shining on those that I am closest to? If I am truly redeemed and belong to the King, I should put the Old World behind me today-- and shine that lamp as bright as I can. I own the disgruntled veteran mantra, so I will let you know how that goes–but I will start today.

Articles / Quotes that stood out

This Substacker wrote a note about her rebranding to a “nonbrand”. As we, too, rebuild the brand here on Substack, it screams new beginnings. I loved what she had to say because it mirrors my exact sentiments about rebranding to Faithful Quill. What I want is messy words out into the world. Not AI slop, or well-groomed thoughts. I want to write without worrying about what others think of what I have to say. As long as I am speaking Truth and it aligns with God’s message, what do I have to care about?

This article is exactly what I have been looking for in Substack. A community of word lovers. I want to be exposed to words I have never heard of before, roots of words I couldn’t dream of actually using. I have longed for the art of writing and not the business of writing. Though both are equally important. I want to build a community of etymologists and beauty.

Athenaeum of Hope

letter no. 1

“To all who read this letter, may hope fill your hearts.” –Pope Francis, Spes Non Confundit…

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10 months ago · 14 likes · 14 comments · Alyssa Christine

I would be remiss not to mention my new friend Lauren Montgomery, from whom I am stealing this template, and one of the articles that helped introduce me to her. Using candles is something I truly enjoy, and her humorous depiction of them, with her reference to how she thought she would use them, stands out. Of course, we all imagine ourselves as some form of hero or heroine using candles to write our magnum opus. Lauren imagined herself as Jo March in Little Women. I imagine myself as St. Thomas More writing Utopia. Spoiler alert: I am not, nor will I ever be as ingenious as my Confirmation Saint.

Lauren Montgomery

The Sacred Use of Candlelight

Welcome to the third installment of my monthly essay series! This month, we’re exploring the theme of Darkness & Light. Each week, I’ll be reflecting on this theme from a different lens—Interior Life, Beauty & Culture, Formation in Ordinary Life, and Sacramental Living—culminating in a Common Threads letter at the end of the month…

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9 months ago · 14 likes · 11 comments · Lauren Montgomery

Past Articles

If you missed this past month’s articles. Then you missed the whole relaunch and rebrand. So please be sure to give these a chance, and even a few from before the rebrand. You can see where we were, and where we are going.

Of course, if you find this Substack personally beneficial, please subscribe and share it with your friends, family, and coworkers.

In Closing

I know this article has been a bit long-winded. I can see it as I finish it up. I also don’t think I have covered everything I want to cover in these monthly reflections. I didn’t even tell you about the Certificate in Philosophy I studied for. I am sure the process will get easier and the writing smoother. If there is something you think can be better said, or if you enjoyed any portion of the article. Share it with me. Share with your friends, family, and coworkers. I am looking forward to growing with you, and I pray for you every day, as a subscriber and as a friend.

Lord grant us a quiet night and a perfect end.

Amen.

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I am a wretched man, a sinner, saying a blessing over such a fragile soul. That feeling of unworthiness is a physical weight, a presence in the room more real than the candlelight. Some nights, the words catch in my throat, and I just sit there in silence, listening to his small voice recite the prayers I should be leading. When I finally lean in to trace the sign of the cross on his forehead with my thumb, the feeling intensifies. *How can I lead this child to the Lord when the path inside me is so overgrown with my own failings?*

He looks at me with an awe that is both a treasure and a terrifying responsibility. He doesn’t see the man who came home from war carrying ghosts. He sees his father. He marches around the house singing cadences I taught him from the Army, because he wants to be like me. He wants to join the Army, to be strong like me. He knocks out an entire workout regimen before school and before bed, making sure I am watching his form, his face a mask of fierce concentration. Little does he know the war that still rages in my head after 14 years of service and multiple tours. He doesn’t know the people I hurt, the friendships that went awry, or the words I screamed at God in anger and hurt on sleepless nights.

One day, he may know those things. I have to be acutely aware that he is his father’s son, and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. That same fierce drive that fuels his workouts might one day curdle into pride. That righteous anger I feel about injustice could one day become an unjust anger directed at those he loves. I am not the first imperfect soul in my bloodline, and I will not be the last.

This is the paradox of parenthood: we are called to be guides, yet we are lost ourselves. We are asked to be lights, yet we feel shrouded in darkness. We are told to be shepherds, and we are just as prone to wander as our sheep. I am not called to be perfect for my son and daughter. I am called to be their father through all the brokenness, hurt, and pain. I am meant to show my children the reality of God’s grace, not some cleaned-up, Hallmark-card version of it. The reality of grace is messy.

We recite the Lord’s Prayer every night: “Forgive us our trespasses.” And even when I am not feeling worthy, I need to cling to that promise. But the feeling of unworthiness doesn’t vanish with a simple recitation. It lingers, and I am beginning to think, perhaps it should. Maybe that feeling is a gift, a holy humiliation that keeps me humble and dependent on a mercy I can never earn.

The other night, my wife handed me a deep realization, disguised in a simple action. I like to burn taper candles at night, turning off all the harsh electric lights to let the room glow with a soft, living flame. A while back, I blew them out without thinking, and a spray of hot, red wax splattered across the white marble of the Pietà statue she had received last Christmas. She had been working on it for a while, and last night, I found her with a toothpick, patiently and methodically chipping away at the hardened drops.

“It’s almost clean,” she said, but then she pointed. “See this? There’s a slightly pink stain where some of the wax settled. I can’t get it out.”

Her next thought was a slap in the face. “That’s our sin,” she said quietly. “We go to confession, and God forgives us. The wax is gone. But the residue... that stain is the temporal punishment. It’s still there. But with each prayer I say while working away at it, it fades, little by little. So you keep going. You keep praying for it to be renewed.”

That was it. That was the answer I had been searching for. The way to bless my children isn’t to pretend I’m unstained. The best way I can bless them is to let them see me chipping away at my own wax.

Just because I am imperfect doesn’t mean I can’t bless my children. In fact, it is that exact imperfection that makes my blessing possible. An angel didn’t come to me and call me “Full of Grace.” There are definitely days I am not within grace, and it’s important to remember that God wants me to live through my pains and sorrows to help my children navigate theirs. I can show them how confession works. I can show them what it looks like to be the prodigal son, constantly returning home.

This is where blessing becomes action. It is not just a prayer said over a sleeping child. It is the life lived in front of them.

When my son asks to play one more round of Uno, and I am exhausted, and it’s long past his bedtime, and I have a hundred other things I would rather do. The blessing is to put the work aside and say yes. The time to write can wait. Personal reading time is unimportant. Even in the midst of rebranding and relaunching my Substack, it is all unimportant next to that one round of cards. That act of presence is a love he can understand. Dinner with the whole family at the table is a tangible expression of the love God offers us in the celebration of the Mass. And there is nothing in the world that can replace the feeling of seeing his smiling face as the game ends.

That Uno game is me chipping away at the wax stain of my own selfishness. When I make the sign of the cross on his forehead, I am not acting as a perfect example of God’s holiness. I am acting as a fellow sinner, pointing the way to the only one who can *truly* wash us clean. I need to imitate my Lord in front of my children. I need to show them what it looks like to struggle, to fail, and to keep getting back up. The pain and hurt of our sins may never fully go away this side of heaven, but through these small acts of love and devotion, they begin to fade.

Focusing on just being there opens up countless ways to show love. It shows them that their presence is more important to me than my plans. And in that, they see the face of a God who dropped everything to come be with us.

If you are a parent who feels unworthy, be easy on yourself. You don’t need to be a saint to bless your children. You just need to be their parent. Show up. Be present. Let them see you chipping away at your own statue. Let them see you pray even when you don’t feel like it. That is more than enough. It is everything.

If this message found you at the right moment, consider sharing it with another parent who might need to hear it today.

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If you have been subscribed for awhile, thank you for your patience. If you’re new, welcome. You may have noticed this space has been really quiet since the first “soft” launch. I intended to build up a month’s worth of material before having an actual launch, but life had other plans.

The original name “Brick by Brick”, was meant to capture the journey from deserts in Iraq as a skeptical deist back home to a devout Catholic. The truth is, that story, while it needs to be told, was too heavy to lift. I intended “Brick by Brick” to make the load lighter. It didn’t. It felt like I was lifting the whole village.

I couldn’t get the words on the page, while other parts of my faith needed to be addressed and I didn’t have an outlet to discuss them-- other than “Brick by Brick”. The name became a trap. I was so focused on telling my past that I couldn’t write about living in my present. My life was moving forward while I was trying to write a memoir.

That is why I am no longer trying to rebuild “Brick by Brick”. I am now simply going to try and be faithful. Faithful to God and His unchanging truth. I will discuss my journey to Him, which involves some story telling of the past, but isn’t the past. This story of faith isn’t mean to be in the past, it is an active, living and breathing story that grows every day. It writes itself every minute that I find myself looking to and away from God in my struggles.

The new name, Faithful Quill is on a new mission. Anchored in God’s unwavering truth and committed to showing up. Writing about what matters in the moment, not what mattered back then.

You will notice older articles are still here. They still have meaning and “Brick by Brick” isn’t gone forever. It might reincorporate as a series in this newsletter. But, for now... this is a new beginning. This is the true launch: Bi-weekly articles exploring faith, resiliency, and the stories that helped rebuild me into a Faithful, God-fearing Catholic standing here today. No more long silences, or timid “soft” launches.

If you ever felt like you were in a season of silence, or you are just ready for a new chapter, this space is for you. Whether you’re a Veteran, On Active Duty, a Civilian, laity or religious, protestant or Catholic, welcome and thank you for being here.

Let’s begin again.

“Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”
— John 15:13 (RSV-CE)

The United States Army lives this verse out every day. In combat, we don’t debate the mission—we focus on completing it and keeping our brothers alive.

The political back-and-forth in Congress doesn’t reach us in the field. What matters most is simple:

“Stay alert. Stay alive.”

And yet, every soldier I served with would give their life for the person next to them. That kind of loyalty—that brotherhood—is hard to come by anywhere else.

The First Time I Stepped Into a Lodge

Veterans will tell you—we don’t miss the weird rules: no hands in pockets, matching PT jackets, the post-service “freedom beard.”

But what we do miss is the connection.

You were a family. You lived together. Fought together. Sometimes, died together.

“There is nothing on this Earth more prized than true friendship.”
— St. Thomas Aquinas

Some vets join the VFW. Others join fraternal groups. One, in particular, is often misunderstood—and frequently criticized by the Church.

I became a Freemason while still in the Army.

The interest first sparked at my going-away party in the basement of the Flushing, Michigan lodge. My cousin and I snuck upstairs into the dark lodge room. The atmosphere was mysterious, almost sacred.

The names echoed in my mind—Washington, Franklin, Revere, Burr. American founders. Patriots. Freemasons.

National Treasure and the Door That Opened

Years later, I was in Italy, watching National Treasure at the USO. I made a smug comment about how Hollywood got some things right and others wrong.

A man nearby smiled and said, “Let me know if you want to learn the truth.” His Masonic ring gleamed in the sunlight.

That night, I dove into research—philosophy, history, Masonic structure. The deeper I went, the more I wanted to know.

Eventually, I contacted that same lodge from my teenage years. I took the video interview from a friend's car outside a club in Vicenza, Italy.

“Do you believe in God?”
“I believe there is a God. I’m just not sure how involved He is.”

They scheduled my degrees. When I returned home, I received all three Blue Lodge degrees in one sitting—then went straight to Fort Sill, Oklahoma.

A New Brotherhood, A New Voice

While stationed at Fort Sill, I couldn’t stop reading. I got deep into logic, reason, esotericism, and Masonic rituals. I finally felt intellectually alive.

More than that, I found a community that reminded me of the military.

I started writing—quietly at first, for myself and a few close friends. Then the Midnight Freemasons blog invited me to contribute. From there, I published in magazines, attended degrees in Guthrie, and became a 32nd Degree Mason.

I was invited to speak in lodges across the country—Illinois, Ohio, Texas, New Jersey, and beyond.

I never thought I was a writer.
I never thought I was a public speaker.
But now, people were listening.

I published my first book—not a great one—but it was mine. A detective novel set in Grand Rapids. Then came my second: Snapshots of War.

Freemasonry showed me something in myself I didn’t know was there. The motto “Making Good Men Better” rang true for me. But even then, something was missing.

Marriage, Church, and Searching for More

After marrying Katie, lodge life faded into the background. We joined a non-denominational church. Our daughter attended Sunday school. Our newborn was loved on in the nursery.

If I wasn’t running tech in the back, I sat beside Katie. If I was, she’d be volunteering.

Then came politics. I got involved with the Libertarian Party, writing op-eds and engaging in policy. That interest in structure and governance found a new home.

Between my work at the Detroit Pistons, political involvement, and family life—my days were full.

In 2020, my daughter danced at a Pistons halftime show. We were all there—her, Katie, the family.

Then Rudy Gobert ran out of the locker room.
The next day, the NBA shut down.

Isolation and the Breaking Point

At first, it was just two weeks at home. Then two more. Then two more. It was like Groundhogs Day. Finally after awhile we could have games again. I was tasked with working EVERY home game in a dystopian, empty arena.

Walking through the locker room with no one around.
COVID tests before every game.
The court felt like a ghost town.

I was recognized as Employee of the Month. Nominated for Employee of the Year. Gave up working in my church, gave up quality family time, was tested twice before every game. But that same year, I was pressured to resign or compromise my values. I walked away. I can still remember my boss’s phrasing: ”You have to understand the predicament you’re putting me in.”

But what about the predicament the company was putting me in— putting my family in?

Not long after, I was interviewing with both Domino’s and Elevation Church. Both seemed promising. Elevation even hosted a family-style virtual dinner with Katie and me. Where they Door Dashed Qdoba for Katie and I.

It all felt like what we’d prayed for. A Christ-centered job. A fresh start.

But something wasn’t right.

Brick by Brick—Returning Home

Domino’s, a company founded by a devout Catholic, started looking more appealing. The church we were attending felt less like home.

More Catholics entered my orbit—mentors, coworkers, candidates.

My world was becoming Catholic again.

I told Katie: “I think I’m supposed to go home.”

The Elevation offer faded. The Republican Party aligned with my values— where I could unashamedly be Christian. Our church felt like it was no longer where we belonged.

The signs were everywhere. God was softening my heart from the moment I met Katie. He introduced the non-demonational churches to us to bring me closer to understanding Him. He used Katie’s determination for my soul to save it.

After years of doubt, pain, and searching—
He was guiding me home.

Image credit: Wikimedia Commons

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The Return

Going back to the confessional for the first time in over two decades is quite the experience— almost like going for the first time as a child.

That same mix of fear, excitement, and sorrow I felt as a third grader came flooding back.

You never forget that early memory: a mysterious, looming feeling that you're about to do something extraordinary. As a third grader, I didn’t have the words to describe it (I was a little older for my first reconciliation—but more on that later).

Whatever that feeling is, it’s probably a blend of fear, anticipation, and sorrow for the sins you've realized you’ve committed against God.

St. Mary’s, Mount Morris

My first reconciliation took place at St. Mary’s in Mount Morris, Michigan. Our entire catechism class lined up outside the confessional. It was a large, wooden space with two side doors for penitents. Inside, you’d kneel before a screen. When Father Ray Urbanek was ready, he’d slide it open. You couldn’t see him—but he could hear you.

I always imagined there was some silent signal letting him know I was ready. In front of me was a laminated guide to help navigate the sacrament.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been over 20 years since my last confession.”

The words echoed. The emotion surged.

That old feeling from childhood? Still there.

What I Carried

Now, I was confessing decades of sin.
In the military, we called that the pucker factor—when your body’s overwhelmed by adrenaline and emotion. The sins that I have committed over 20 years will finally be acknowledged. The shame I have hid from and refused to acknowledge will now be brought forth to God. That image of Adam and Eve hiding in the garden comes to mind the best.

“Deep down, you know God will forgive you… but you also know you’re not worthy of such love.”

I didn’t leave the Church entirely by choice. Life shifted. My grandpa who started going back to Mass with us at St. Mary’s passed away, The Twin Towers came crashing down, and my parents began attending Faith United General Baptist Church with my stepdad’s mom, who had moved from Texas. I was around 12. Some people like to blame the death of Harambe for sudden shift in the world— I blame the Dale Earnhardt wreck which happened the same month my Grandpa died.

I remember Jim didn’t attend Mass with us. He only went on days of importance, such as my baptism or first communion. So, attending a church he was willing to go to mattered. I made friends there. Good ones. A youth group that loved God, played Christian rock (Kutless was my jam), and gathered at a place called The Alley—a faith-based Friday hangout spot. It was edgy, but It felt authentic. People brought other secular friends to the hangout— so it was a blend of both worlds. It felt like what my soul needed.

Shame in the Sanctuary

Before I left for the Army, the church held a graduation send-off. My mom had to pick me up from a friend’s house because I hadn’t come home the night before. We were celebrating our graduation from High school, I’d blacked out—polishing off a bottle of Jack Daniels. At church they were so proud of who I was and what I was going off to do in the military.

They clapped for me, cheered for me… and I couldn’t walk straight.

There I was, walking up the steps to the stage, hiding behind a hat and wearing the same clothes from the night prior, probably covered in grass stains. My youth pastor handed me a book:

The Purpose Driven Life.

I didn’t feel driven. I felt ashamed. How selfish.

War and the Word

Fast forward: Ramadi, Iraq, about a year later. I was in a bunker during a mortar barrage. Wearing “Full Battle Rattle”.

When the dust cleared, I planned to change into PTs, grab chow, and call my wife—my new wife, stationed in Germany. We didn’t even get a chance to be married before I left for Iraq. I remember the call I got saying I was leaving right after the wedding.

Iraq is interesting. You are surrounded by the ancient world with modern technology. The unforgiving sun breathing down your neck, death all around you while patrolling next to the Euphrates. It seems like a place furthest from God, but so close as well. I remember watching people swim and bathe in a river that biblically flows from the Garden of Eden.

I’ve been in Iraq for about 4 or 5 months now and the routines were starting to set in. It gets to the point where you don’t even bother crawling out of bed when the next mortar hits. The jokes become darker and morbid. Who cares if it hits you in the bed or the bunker… at least I die somewhat comfortable. All you truly care about is getting your job done and calling home.

The next phone call, however, would be different:

“Aaron… I’m pregnant.”

She’d skipped PT. She was at a Sergeant’s house that she was calling by his first name. And now she was pregnant.

I lost it.

I was kicked out of the phone center for smashing the receiver against the counter. Here I am in a place where people are trying to kill me, life feels like it’s almost stopped for me, and she’s in Germany expecting a child that isn’t mine. I stormed back to my CHU— a metal box that is luxurious compared to the old blown out Iraqi barracks we were sleeping in with sandbags for windows, and sand fleas crawling through our sleeping bags. I pulled out my green Army logo embossed Bible, and for the first time in a long time—I cried out to God.

“Show me what I need to do.”

I opened that Bible, and it fell on Ephesians 4:32:

“Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.”

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The Joseph Moment

“Even if that means I have someone else’s baby?”
Her voice cracked.

“Yes. And I will raise that baby as my own.”

I imagined how St. Joseph must have felt. No words in Scripture—but surely, his heart had something to say. I mean he was listed by an angel for comfort in this matter… maybe that should’ve been my first sign— no angel appeared to me.

I called her back. I apologized. We agreed to meet in Michigan and try to rebuild during my R&R at the end of September. But then—she had a miscarriage.

My heart broke for her. But in my selfishness, I saw it as a sign. Maybe God was wiping the slate clean.

The Second Goodbye

When I finally got home for R&R from Iraq, I went straight to my in-laws' house. My father-in-law sat on the back porch smoking a cigar and poured me a shot of whiskey.

“Where is she?”

“She’s in Texas.”

She left. Again. With the same Sergeant. Despite our promises. Despite everything. I pleaded with her to return to Michigan. I told her I was buying an airline ticket for her… she never returned.

Back in Iraq, as Ramadan began, I returned to my tour from R&R… I first called my mom to let her know I made it safely. Just before a litany of mortars came crashing around my building. When things calmed down again, I called my wife… She was still my wife after-all— even if she didn’t meet me in Michigan. She delivered another blow:

“I’m pregnant…again.”

I climbed to the top of Signal Hill, ripped my gold wedding band off, and launched it into the sands of Ramadi. Hopefully to be lost forever. How naive I was to think it would work.

That verse I read in grief wasn’t the solution to my problems. I was in a Biblical location, where God spoke to his people. Where Abraham counted the stars, where the soil called out with Abel’s blood… I wasn’t one of God’s chosen. I was the abandoned.

God doesn’t care about me.

I believed it.

Years of Numbness

I lost brothers in war and watched others lose to themselves. Relationships were fleeting— Trust evaporated. Nights blurred. Writing helped. Whiskey helped more.

Because God didn’t.

Losing friends to combat and to suicide, sometimes in the same year. They don’t really talk about all of these changes when you start the enlistment process. I mean I read about it, a little bit, in Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried. I even wrote about it in my story Snapshots of War. There is just isn’t words that can put into play that describe the feelings a Soldier feels when coming home— I tried.

I spent another decade drowning in sin and my own selfish desires, before I remarried—a devout Lutheran woman with a baby and a desire to get me to Heaven.

We agreed to attend church together—but not a Lutheran one. Something more familiar. She agreed because of the same ideas I had when I left the Catholic Church; going to any church was better than the alternative. Eventually, we helped plant a non-denominational church location. I worked the tech booth, she worked in the back with the kids. The first year of that launch was rough… it launched just days after Michigan shutdown over Covid. Our first service I held a cellphone feet away from the pastor to stream on Facebook Live. Nothing mattered more than spreading the Gospel.

I was on the path.

But I wasn’t there yet.

The Brick That Changed Everything

“May God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

Over two decades of wandering… and through those words, God whispered:

“Welcome home.”

The weight was lifted.

I walked out of that confessional feeling like a third grader again…

Full of grace and grateful for Christ’s passion. Though I am not worthy of His mercy, I am reminded that I am loved, and I am not abandoned.

Your Turn

How long has it been since your last confession?
Do you feel that weight?

Have you ever been to confession at all?

If it’s been a while… I implore you:

Go. This week. Don’t wait.
God is waiting to say, “Welcome home.”

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I turned 36 this past Sunday.

That number carries weight—not just in years, but in lived experience. It marks a journey not just through time, but through faith, failure, and grace. A journey away from God… and back home again.

Leaving, Not in Rebellion—But in Naivety

I didn’t walk away from the Catholic Church in anger or rebellion. As a young teenager, I left in naivety—chasing connection and community like any kid might. A Baptist youth group came into my life at just the right time. It was energetic. The music was alive. The people were kind. And most of all, I felt like I belonged.

My parents and grandmother were also leaning toward the Baptist church during that time, which made it even easier. I didn’t think I was leaving something sacred behind. I thought I was just growing deeper in faith. I thought I was moving forward.

What I didn’t realize was that I was stepping away from something ancient, beautiful, and rooted in the very ground my soul was formed in.

Faith Burned in the Fires of War

Then came adulthood. And the Army. And Iraq.

What I saw there—what I experienced—wasn’t something Sunday school prepared me for. I was angry. Angry with God, angry with the world, and angry with the silence I felt echoing back when I cried out.

That hopeful, eager teenager faded. Bitterness took his place. I didn’t just drift from faith—I deliberately walked away from it. With clenched fists and a wounded heart, I stepped into the dark, convinced that faith had no answers for the kind of pain I was carrying.

But God Is Patient

I’ve come to see that God doesn’t always chase us loudly. Sometimes, He just waits—steadily, mercifully—planting signs along the road for when we’re ready to look again.

For me, those signs came slowly. In the quiet strength of my wife. In the innocent wonder in my children’s eyes. In the smell of incense and the solemn beauty of the Traditional Latin Mass.

It wasn’t a sudden conversion. It was a stubborn, slow, grace-filled return. A memory that wouldn’t let go. A truth that kept whispering: You belong here.

I remembered what I had been given. What I had walked away from. And the Church—like a loving mother—had never stopped calling me home.

Why This Substack?

This space, Brick by Brick, is about that journey back through the stressors of life.

But it’s not just about me.

It’s for the veteran who feels numb in the pews. It’s for the dad who wonders if he’s too far gone. It’s for the Catholic who got lost in the noise of the world. It’s for the one who left, not in rebellion, but in quiet confusion.

This is a place for all of us who need to know: the way home is still open.

What You’ll Find Here

Each post will dig into parts of that journey—and the faith that’s still forming me. I’ll write about:

• Losing faith in war and rebuilding it through grace

• Living Catholic fatherhood and masculinity in a confused culture

• Using the saints, Scripture, and tradition as weapons in spiritual warfare

• Clinging to truth while never forgetting mercy

• How freedom and faith are not enemies—but allies in this fight

I won’t pretend to have all the answers. But I do have a story. And maybe it echoes something in yours.

Let’s Walk Together

If you’ve ever felt far from home—if you’ve ever wondered if you could come back—this space is for you.

Thanks for reading. I hope you’ll walk this road with me and rebuild, brick by brick.

– Aaron R. Gardner
Fortitudo in fide. Servitium in caritate. Constantia in veritate.