Advent is one of my favorite times of the year. There’s something deeply comforting about lighting the candles on the Advent wreath, week by week, as we draw closer to the holy days. The soft glow of the flames feels like a small yet powerful reminder that even in the darkest nights, light is never far away. It’s a time to pause, to prepare, and to remember that hope is a promise. This season always gives me a chance to breathe and reflect on the incredible gift of Christ’s coming—both in Bethlehem and in our hearts today.
The world feels heavier these days. It’s difficult to hear national and international news or scroll through social media without seeing so much brokenness. It’s easy to feel overwhelmed or even a bit cynical about it all. But Advent calls us to something different. It’s an invitation to step back and remember that God’s plan is still unfolding, even when we can’t see it clearly. That’s what I’ve been holding onto this year. The first candle of the Advent wreath represents hope, and I’ve been clinging to that hope like an anchor. No matter how chaotic the world becomes, the promise of Christ’s light breaking through the darkness gives me peace.
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The Eucharist is the cornerstone of our worship. It is more than just a ritual; it is the literal reenactment of the Last Supper, the moment when Christ instituted the sacrament of His body and blood. Catholics, Orthodox Christians, and even many Protestants hold this sacred act in deep reverence. Yet, in the wild world of modern, ungrounded worship, we have encountered an absurdity that can only be described as blasphemous: a church using Oreo cookies as communion bread.
In the quiet stillness of the hermitage, where my life is centered on prayer and reflection, the tools that guide me through study and contemplation, along with the Holy Spirit, are more than just books—they are companions on my continuing spiritual journey on this earth. Each one plays a vital role in grounding me in the Scriptures, tradition, and the cycles of daily devotion. Here, I’d like to share the essentials that I rely on for my quiet time, study, and prayer.
There is a sacredness in the stillness of the day’s early hours, a kind of peace that envelops the soul as the world begins to awaken. In the quiet of the morning, before the day’s demands rush in, there is a rare opportunity to simply be—to rest in the presence of God and listen for His voice in the silence. I find that these moments of stillness are some of the most precious times to commune with the Creator. As the light of dawn gently touches the earth, I am reminded that each new day is a gift, an opportunity to draw closer to Him. The silence isn’t just the absence of noise—it is a space where the heart is more open, more in tune to the divine presence that surrounds and sustains all of creation. In these quiet moments, I am often drawn to ponder the teachings of Christ. His words, so often spoken in the simplicity of nature or the calm of the early morning, seem to resonate more deeply for me in this stillness. The Beatitudes, the call to love our enemies, the invitation to take up our cross—all of these teachings come alive in the silence, as a personal call to live in the light of His truth. 
Living the contemplative life as a hermit is a serious and unique calling, marked by simplicity, solitude, and a constant turning toward God. While it may seem unusual to many, this life offers deep spiritual rewards for those who embrace it. It is a path of quiet transformation, where the heart is gradually shaped and refined by daily prayer, silence, and the experience of living in isolation. I would like to expand on some of the highlights of this life, at least from my point of view, sharing the blessings, challenges, and fulfillment that come with walking this solitary path.