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“God enriches the soul which empties itself of everything.”
~Saint Pio of Pietrelcina
Keefe leaned his weight into the dresser and pushed, struggling to slide it across the hardwood floor. He’d managed to pull it away from the wall on one side, but now he needed to keep it at an angle so he could maneuver it around his bed. He’d put t-shirts under the feet, thinking it would move more easily across the hardwood floor. Didn’t seem to help. Maybe he should rest and wait for Jarret to get home. Meanwhile, he could take care of that email he’d been putting off.
Turning his head, he glimpsed his laptop out of the corner of his eye. No. He wasn’t ready for that.
Keefe renewed his efforts and shoved again, grunting as he slid the dresser several feet. He probably should’ve removed the drawers, but he hadn’t wanted to make extra work. It had taken long enough to clear all his new books off the top.
Not new. Old. But new to him. He’d spent the last few weeks searching for anything on St. Francis of Assisi that he could get his hands on. His favorite was the 2000-page Omnibus of Sources. The readings really spoke to him, took him back in time to the little town of Assisi and the sandaled, brown-robed saint.
Sweat dripped down his back, between his shoulder blades. Halfway to the adjacent wall, he stopped pushing, scratched his back furiously, and wiped his sweaty hands on his sweatpants. Then he lifted the hem of his rock-band t-shirt and wiped his face. If Jarret were home, this would go much quicker. It had taken him half an hour to box up all the junk on the old entertainment center. Then another ten minutes to move the awkward thing out into the hallway. Moving one of the two armchairs out hadn’t taken much time, but boxing up his old toys and moving his desk had. He’d be glad to finish.
As Keefe leaned into the dresser again, Papa’s bedroom door creaked open.
Papa clomped out into the hallway. For years, the distinctive sound of his old cowboy boots had served as a warning when he and Jarret had been up to no good.
“What’cha doing in here?” His father stopped in the doorway, rested a shoulder on the doorframe, and adjusted his Stetson.
Keefe wiped his forehead with his arm. “Oh, just rearranging. Getting rid of a few things.” They both looked at the clutter of boxes and furniture in the hallway. “Can I borrow the car to drop that stuff at the thrift shop?”
Papa’s brows drew together. Squinting at the pile, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Naw. Let’s hold onto it. You boys are nearly grown. You might want it when you move out.”
“Uh...” Keefe wasn’t going to want it when he moved out. He wasn’t going to want anything. The desire to give it all away grew inside him daily. He wanted to be like St. Francis. But he couldn’t tell Papa that. Papa had grown up in a tiny ranch house. They’d never had money to spare. He’d struggled to make college happen. Then he struggled to find work as an archeologist. Years later, his determination and hard work paid off. But it had turned around only after a series of fortunate events that had little to do with hard work or determination and everything to do with the generosity and blessings of God. Papa was a poor man in a rich man’s house, a cowboy in a mansion. He wouldn’t want to go back.
“Sure, okay,” Keefe said, resigned. “What’ll I do with it then?”
Papa lifted the flap of one of the boxes. He pulled out an action figure, The Doctor, and smiled. “Getting rid of everything, huh?”
Keefe shifted, the heat of embarrassment warming his neck and cheeks. “Well, it’s not like I play with that stuff anymore.”
“You told me they’d be collectibles one day.”
Keefe shrugged. “Maybe they are.”
Papa dropped it back in the box. “Put it all in the basement, behind my field gear.”
“Okay.”
“Maybe you can get Jarret to help you.” Papa glanced at Jarret’s closed bedroom door. “He home?”
“Uh, no. He went out this morning.”
“Where to?”
“Uh...” Years of making excuses for Jarret had him struggling to think of an answer that Papa might like. Better to go with the truth. “He didn’t tell me. I saw him with his keys around nine or ten. He said he had things to do, that he’d be back before lunch.”
Papa gave a single nod. “Hmm.”
“We’ll probably take the horses out later. Roland’s too.”
“That’s good. No reason that Roland can’t clean out the water troughs and feed buckets.” With a final nod, Papa moseyed down the hall and thumped down the steps.
Keefe turned back to his room and the mess he’d created. Books sat stacked against the wall by his desk, a broom and dustpan by the window, a pile of dirty laundry between the closet and bedroom doors. He might need to move the pile to get the dresser past. He sighed. Simplifying was hard work.
Unintentionally, his gaze turned to his laptop, his thoughts to the email that he should’ve responded to. Would his delay make the Franciscans doubt his sincerity? He wouldn’t be able to go there without permission. Maybe he should mention it to Papa first and see what he thought. Was Papa open to one of his boys becoming a Franciscan Brother?
Lord, what should I do?
Waiting for the answer, he made himself aware of the presence of the Lord. At the same time, he kicked the laundry pile aside, shoved the dresser the rest of the way to the wall, and eased it toward the desk in the corner.
Still waiting for an answer, Keefe stripped the sheets off the bed, tossed them into the dirty laundry pile, and slid the mattress off the bed and onto its side. He wanted his bed against the wall with the door so he could have plenty of space for a prayer area by the window. Wrestling with the mattress, trying to walk it toward a wall, he stumbled on the sneakers he’d kicked off earlier. He lost his grip on the mattress and his balance, and he tumbled to the hardwood floor. The mattress fell over him at an angle, landing partially on the bed and partially on his legs.
Lying on his back, Keefe caught his breath and stared at the satiny blue mattress balanced a few inches above him. He should’ve waited for Jarret to help him. Jarret wouldn’t have wanted him to rearrange his room in the first place, but he would’ve wanted to help if Keefe was determined to do it anyway. Keefe considered crawling out from under the mattress and leaving his room in its present state of chaos until Jarret returned home.
Keefe chuckled, imagining how his twin brother would react. Then he thought of what Jarret would say, questions laced with curse words. Keefe laughed harder. Jarret would think he’d gone off the deep end. Then he’d get distracted by the boxes in the hall, his sentimental side not wanting Keefe to give away anything. His control-freak side wouldn’t like that Keefe had started this without consulting him first. But his new “struggling to do the right thing” side would try to let it go.
Keefe’s laughter bordered on hysteria now. Tears dripped from the corners of his eyes and his chest hurt. He took a deep breath to force himself to calm down, and then he slid out from under the mattress.
Not wanting to put Jarret to the test, he decided to move the bed and carry the boxes and unwanted furniture to the basement himself. Jarret had really been trying. He didn’t need the extra trial.
As Keefe grabbed a corner of the mattress and prepared to heft it, his thoughts returned to the email. He needed to reply. And he should stop putting it off.
He dropped the mattress and stepped to his desk. After wiping his hands on his sweatpants, he opened his inbox and reread the message from Brother Lawrence.
Hey Keefe,
Just sending a quick note. Our new monastery in Arizona is keeping us all busy and coming together slowly, but all in God’s time. Would love for you to come down one day and check it out.
For now, thought you might be interested in a discernment retreat. You can learn a lot about our community and the Franciscan way of life. The retreat is in the middle of September and it’s in Minnesota, which is much closer for you than Arizona.
If you can’t make it, don’t worry. Remember the steps of discernment I told you about in a previous email.
Keep in touch.
Pax et Bonum,
Brother Lawrence
Hesitancy overtaking him, Keefe rested his elbow on the desk and combed his fingers through his hair. He’d put off replying for so long; maybe he’d missed the registration date. Maybe they’d have another one in a few months and he could catch that one. It would give him time to talk to Papa.
In the meantime...
Keefe clicked through emails until he found the steps of discernment that Brother Lawrence had sent. The first step had inspired him to simplify his room and set up a prayer corner.
Step one: be quiet
Moved to rest in the presence of the Lord, Keefe closed the laptop and shuffled to the area that he planned to turn into a prayer corner.