John of the Cross was that he was difficult to comprehend, too deep, too mysterious and too focused on “the dark night of the soul.” John of the Cross’ collected works, I admit my apprehension and even formidability, for what I had heard about St. When my former spiritual director suggested I read St. But then I was introduced to a well-known saint – a Mystical Doctor of the Church – St. In years past, I wanted to hibernate along with the animals, to just sleep the winter away. Despondency seems to be a natural human inclination during this season in which two thirds of our twenty-four hour days are filled with the absence of light. Peering outside the numerous windows in our early twentieth century home, one would assume that all is lost, pointless, and hopeless.
Winter has always been the season I dread most: the perpetual grey skies, the cold and drear, no song birds, no color or flowers in bloom.
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