My friends, if you had asked me just a few minutes ago to do the program I’m about to do now, I couldn’t have. I’m saying this to you too, Vasilis, and to you, my dear friend, wherever you may be in the world. I had no desire or energy for it at all. I felt very low, very tired, disappointed, heavyhearted, and slow to get going. I’m searching for words to describe something we all experience at times, and you have experienced it too. If you haven’t, I hope you never do: these changes of mood. One moment we feel one way, the next moment another. Now I’m eager; later I can’t be bothered.

Here we are together again, my dear friends, on Divine Passages. I’m glad to be with you, and glad that right now I have the energy to make this program. Please, make up your mind to learn to bear with the people beside you, to be patient with them, to understand them, and to accept them as they are.

A little while ago I was speaking with several people on the phone. I heard their stories and remembered others you’ve shared in emails, letters, calls, and messages. They all point to the same reality: each of us is so different, and living together can be so difficult. Accept the person beside you as they are. We aren’t all alike. Someone told me, for example, about a visit from a close and much loved friend. He’s such a good person, he said, but he won’t do a thing, not even pick up a glass and put it elsewhere. ‘I love him, but I can’t bear some of these habits.’ You have to learn to bear with him. Not everyone is like you, so quick and capable, so...

Lively, creative, active, always at the top of their game, full of energy and drive. We aren’t all the same. What can we do? When you see something lying on the floor, your first thought is to bend down, pick it up, throw it away, or put it where it belongs. But other people see it and think first of lifting a foot, stepping over it, and carrying on.

I’ve experienced this in various places, including cells I’ve visited on the Holy Mountain. You see a napkin lying on the floor. Someone sees it, lifts his foot over it, and sits down. Later he gets up to get some water and steps over the napkin again. Another person asks him, ‘Can’t you see it lying on the floor?’ ‘I can see it. What does that mean?’

‘It means pick it up, my dear!’ But he doesn’t. It doesn’t even occur to him that someone has to bend down and pick up that napkin. That’s how different we are. The question, though, is whether we at least have a bond of the heart. This is how problems arise in Holy Matrimony and in monasteries too. Speaking of monasteries, a nun from a monastery somewhere in the world told me a story. I won’t say whether it was in America, Cyprus, Greece, on an island, or in the mountains.

‘We were expecting the bishop,’ she told me, ‘and I was beside myself with worry, preparing, cleaning, running around, coordinating everything, organizing, and going from one end of the place to the other. Meanwhile, some of the sisters were sitting upstairs drinking coffee as we waited for him. Seeing that drove me mad.’

‘I cannot get my head around how they could drink coffee at such a tense, anxious moment. I said to them, “You’re drinking coffee? Are you serious? Get up! We’re expecting the bishop.” And some of those sisters answered, “All right, why are you getting so worked up? Everything will get done.”’ To some people, ‘Everything will get done’ means, ‘Yes, we’ll do our very best.’ To others it means, ‘The bishop is coming, but do we have to drive ourselves mad over it? We’ll do what we can.’

Take things calmly and reasonably. We don’t need extremes that make us ill at heart and cause us to quarrel with one another. Different characters, eh? Which of these responses is right? I don’t know, because in the end each person thinks their own response is right. The nun drinking coffee while they waited for the bishop may have felt she was doing something good. She may even have had a spiritual motive: ‘Glory to God, the bishop is coming. Let’s have a little coffee to revive ourselves, so we’ll have the strength to stand and chant at Vespers,’ or whatever they were going to do. The others also had good motives. They didn’t want coffee precisely because the bishop was coming: ‘How can we think about coffee now? We’re expecting the bishop.’ The same situation, the same stimulus, the same occasion can produce

different results. We all have different characters.

Each person is different. Of course, we should also try to take a step beyond where we are now. I understand what you’re saying. You’re right to a degree: a family or a relationship cannot move forward like this. You cannot have three, four, five, six people, however many, living in one home while some do nothing, find everything ready for them, and won’t even move a glass from one place to another. You cannot keep sitting at the table saying, ‘Is there no water, everyone?’ Someone answers, ‘Get up and pour some. Get up and fetch it. Can’t you?’ Yes, I’ll get up and bring you water, once, twice, whenever it’s needed. I’m willing to do that. But shouldn’t you become more attentive too? Shouldn’t you say to yourself, ‘There are things I need to think about. I need to use my head’?

‘I need to remember what I’m supposed to do instead of forgetting.’ The mother of someone I know told me, ‘I asked my son to bring me some meat from his neighborhood, because he lives elsewhere. “Please bring me some meat. The butcher’s near you is known for good meat.” “Yes, Mother, yes, Mother.” He was always forgetful as a little boy, and he still is.’ He bought the meat, went home to get ready, then collected the others so they could visit his mother that evening. She was waiting for the good, lean meat from that excellent butcher.

They arrived at his mother’s house, but the meat was nowhere to be seen. ‘My dear, did you bring the meat?’ ‘Oh, Mother, I forgot it. I’ll go back and get it.’ ‘Go back where? You’d have to make a half hour trip to fetch it!’ ‘Mother, I’ll do it for you.’ But that isn’t the point. You’ll bring it. Why do you keep forgetting?

Why not stop and think a little: ‘Where am I going, and what do I need to do there? Have I promised anyone something? Do I owe anyone anything? Do I need to take something along? Is there something still outstanding between us?’ That’s the point. What can we do? Some people are like this by nature. It’s difficult; I understand.

Another woman says of her husband, ‘He does nothing around the house, nothing. He cuts himself some bread, then wonders why it has gone dry instead of staying soft and fresh. Once he’s cut it, he could put it in a bag and close the bag. Notice that detail: close the bag. But either he doesn’t put the bread in a bag at all and leaves it on the counter, thinking it will stay fresh

exposed to the air. Or he puts it in a bag but leaves the bag open. The bag sits there gaping, open to the air, and the bread does not stay soft. Then he asks, “Why isn’t the bread soft?” But don’t you think you should... In the morning, he takes the milk from the fridge to have a drink, unscrews the bottle cap, leaves the cap on the counter—the cap—and leaves the milk out, just where he left it. There is always someone following behind, tidying up, grumbling, and muttering. And there are always some who have a good time, who are comfortable, who enjoy themselves, who live in their own world. Then people say to them, “You’ll never die, you’ll never grow old, you’ll never get a wrinkle or a gray hair, because you do whatever you please. Whatever comes to mind, come what may.”

That’s how some people live. What can we do? ‘No, I can’t accept it. Something has to change.’ I understand, but how will it change? In my own life, I’ve seen it in myself too. Sometimes I’m very lazy and do nothing. I’ve also seen it among acquaintances and people I work with in the Church and elsewhere: people don’t change deeply with ease. Little things change, there is progress, and God helps. But how can I put it? God helps us at the core of our being, yet that core has its own particular character and peculiarities. What happens then? You might say, ‘Can’t God work a miracle there too?’ Where God wills, the order of nature is overcome. Yes, the order of nature is overcome, but...

Perhaps the time has not yet come for that victory over our nature, as we are now.

I’ve seen many cases like this, especially with people who forget appointments. You say, ‘I’ll be waiting for you; you’re coming at six,’ and they arrive at twenty to seven, smiling as though nothing has happened, with no sense that they’ve done anything wrong. You may have another appointment to arrange. You could have slept for half an hour between six and twenty to seven, and even that would be too little for some people. Yet they say nothing, offer no apology, give you no warning. Instead they say, ‘All right, so I’m late. What’s the big deal? How late am I? What time is it? Am I late? Oh, it’s twenty to seven, yes.’ But tell me! In those forty whole minutes the other person could have made calls, written emails, done chores, or cooked dinner and had something ready for the evening. They wouldn’t have spent the time thinking about you and the appointment that kept them on alert. They could have relaxed too.

You put someone in a position where they have to be ready and waiting. We’re different: one person is like this, another like that. Our characters vary so much. Being dependable about appointments is a big thing if you can manage it. These little matters become reasons for arguments and serious friction. Big problems begin with small things. Then, in a home, a parish, or a monastery community, some people start to feel that they’re always the ones taken advantage of, the fools who do everything while others do nothing.

Some don't just do nothing. They even cover up their failure to help with spiritual language: “Oh, don't complain. Do it for humility.” I can do it for humility, but will you never correct yourself? Must you never change, wake up, or admit it? Start by admitting it. Admit it.

Get up a little earlier, too. These are days of economic crisis and hardship, yet some people sleep for hours on end while those beside them—their friends, relatives, and fellow students—are studying, looking for work, looking for something useful to do. They see what life requires of them and take matters into their own hands.

They say, “I won't give up. I won't just let myself drift.” But others keep sleeping. They take it easy and find time to relax. The world is in turmoil, and there they are, settled on a sofa, a bed, or an armchair, sleeping endlessly, with the television on or off. Someone else carries the burden for them. “Where is he?” “Asleep.” “Where is she?” “In her room, asleep.” How can you sleep when this household has so many needs and so many bills to pay?

Of course, I have read that sleeping too much can sometimes be connected with a form of depression. Sleep becomes a refuge, a way to escape for a while, and that calls for understanding. You may see someone asleep and be ready to scold them, when they are sleeping to forget because they cannot bear to face their life. They are hurting; they have been wounded; they are afraid of facing life as it is. They think, “Let me go back into the world of dreams. Let me get away again.” Like a little child who keeps falling asleep and gives in to sleep, they want to enter that paradise of sleep. Meanwhile, people they know and their relatives have jobs, have found their footing, are starting families, while this person seems to be doing nothing.

The whole truth.

I have dozens of cases in mind; I'm not thinking only of you. Please forgive me. You may call and say, “How could you? You turned my life into a radio program and embarrassed me!” But I'm not talking about you, or about five people I know personally. I'm talking about many cases I've heard of from friends, monks and nuns, married and unmarried people, in Greece and abroad. There are many such cases. Vasilis, don't smile; it's true. Vasilis Chatzinikolaou, always there when we've arranged to meet, always disciplined and prepared. Well, you're not a saint; you make mistakes too. But compared with me, Vasilis, I thank you very much. For all these years we've worked together on this program, you've always done the best you could. I appreciate that deeply, and the result is wonderful. But what moves me even more is your willingness to give your best.

I'll hand over to you now. Put on some of your lovely music, and we'll continue afterward. First, let me give you the program's email address: atheata.perasmata@yahoo.gr. This program is rebroadcast online after a few days; you can find it by searching. We'll be back shortly.

See what I was saying—that sometimes you have no order or routine in your life? Now you're scrambling to find something to write with so you can note down the address I mentioned earlier, the email address. You haven't planned ahead and said, “I'll keep a pen, a pencil, and a notepad beside the telephone, for example.” At the last minute it's, “Come on, everyone, bring me a pen! Where is there a pen in this house?”

He searches the whole house for a pen because he doesn't know where one is. We don't know where things are in our own home. There's chaos and disorder, which I sometimes like, because it shows that this person isn't anxious. He's relaxed. He says, “Come on, my friend, we won't die over this. Life is short. Am I going to make myself ill because, say, there's a fingerprint on a glass, or because the doily in the living room is a little crooked and not at a right angle? We won't die over it.” That's true. We won't die, and we won't go to that extreme.

At this extreme of perfectionism, the whole thing can become an illness for us, revealing psychological troubles of our own. Someone who needs everything around them to be perfect loses a natural ease of manner. Nature doesn't have that kind of perfection. When autumn leaves fall from a tree, they don't fall in an orderly fashion. They land here and there, scattering across the ground; there is no geometry to it. The stars aren't arranged across the sky like bricks in a factory. They're scattered, as if God held a great many stars in His hands. Picture the scene: He spreads His hands and scatters the stars across the sky. He didn't put them in little boxes: one, two, three, and another one, two, three underneath. Sometimes that scattering reveals the order within disorder.

There is beauty in what is spontaneous and natural, in letting things happen as they come. “All right,” some people say, “let things unfold. We don't have to organize absolutely everything.” Sometimes we put it this way: a life that's too tightly organized can leave us unsettled inside. That's one extreme. The other is to organize nothing at all.

“What time will we have the lesson?” “We'll see, whenever we wake up.” “What time should we ask the tutor to come to the house?” “We'll see. First I need to decide whether I'll even have the lesson tomorrow.” “When will you decide?” “Let me wake up and see how I feel.” A complete lack of routine helps some people and throws others into confusion. Some people want to know what their whole week will look like.

They say, “On Wednesday I'll go to the dentist. On Thursday I'll shop for shoes. On Friday I'll go to a bookshop.” They want a plan that can shift a little, but they want to know when they wake up what lies ahead until evening. That's good. Others say, “We're not clocking in for work. We'll wake up and see.” They open the window and say, “Oh, it's raining today. We won't shop for shoes in the rain. I'm certainly not going out to buy shoes today, or do that other shopping, or take that walk.” They're more flexible. Which way is right, and which is wrong?

I'm not here today—and I don't think I ever am—to tell you which people are right and which are wrong. I'm simply describing how these differences can make it hard to live together and get along. If you want my opinion, what helps me is something in the middle.

I can change a plan if it isn't working out. Well...

But I also need some sort of plan. I want to know, for example, that something is going to happen. I might tell a couple I'm friends with, “I'll come and see you next Thursday.” But if Wednesday comes and I'm feeling very unwell, or by Thursday I can see I won't be up to it, I may call and say, “Would you mind if I didn't come tomorrow? Something has changed; I'm not feeling up to a visit.” Some things can change. But we cannot keep making plans with people and then taking them back. A routine helps us in life. Above all, it helps to have love for the people we work with. I've noticed that with people I work with...

when we connect spiritually, from the heart, and emotionally—when we get along as people—I can make allowances for their mistakes. One mistake, two, three, even ten. I say, “All right, they made another mistake. They broke a glass and missed an appointment, but they're a good person.”

You know they didn't do it out of malice. That's just the kind of person they are. Love, as Scripture says, “bears all things.” Love covers all these faults, if love is really there. If our souls are in tune with one another, let them be in tune through love. We may not be in tune when it comes to washing dishes—you may start washing and break them—but at least let us be in tune through love.

I might say, “You'd better leave the dishes. Sit down and watch television; I'll wash them, because I know you'll break half of them. Every time, another plate gets broken. So leave them—but I love you.” I may wash them with a little irritation, thinking, “Come on, can't you do anything?” But then I add, “I love you.” Because I love you, I let it pass. I bear it. My love covers it, and it doesn't tear me apart or put a crack in our relationship. Do you see? I understand that you have a different character, but that doesn't have to bring us into conflict. If, though, the person you're with has those difficult habits I mentioned...

He doesn't wash himself, clean, or put his things away; there's disorder everywhere. At the same time, you don't connect spiritually, emotionally, or from the heart. Then these practical problems can become a major cause of separation, tension, and distance between you.

When someone you do not love very much breaks a plate, for example, or misses an appointment, it becomes something more. Imagine a married couple: the husband says to his wife, “I’ll pick up our child from tutoring and wait for you there so we can go to the pediatrician together. Be there at seven thirty tonight.” But she does not come, or she is late.

That delay, or whatever else has happened, becomes a much bigger problem between them. Then emotional distance sets in, even aversion. You find yourself saying, “Come on! You’re late again, and I told you to be there for our child.” But if you can read what the soul is saying behind those words, you will see something else. The words are about an appointment and being late; underneath them is, “I don’t love you very much, and I’m looking for a reason for our relationship to crack.” And a reason always turns up. One day it is your lateness; another day it is the mess you made of a task I asked you to do. Then it is the laundry I asked you to help with, and you put in that...

bright red towel. Its dye ran, and all the clothes came out pink: pink trousers, pink undershirts, pink blouses, everything. “I told you not to wash that red towel with the others. The color runs!” I have made a blunder like that myself, mixing things in the wash and getting strange colors out. I was living alone then. Even there, I had to love myself and say, “All right, you have no idea what you’re doing, but you’re still me. I have to love you and go on living with you.” If the couple loved each other, one might say, “My love, you’re right. What a foolish thing I did.” And the other might answer, “All right, it’s okay. What am I going to do with you? We’ll buy some more.” There would be a smile and some warmth.

The trouble would melt away. It might even become something to laugh about. A woman I know laughed when she told me that her basement had flooded a few days earlier during a storm. It does not matter where it happened. She told me about it on the phone, laughing, while I was worried and felt sorry for her. I said, “Really? You’re laughing?”

She said, “Father, after all we’ve been through in life, what is a flooded basement? We spent two hours bailing out water, and we laughed. I got my children and some buckets, and we bailed out water together, laughing.” When you are beside people you love, you can even make a game of it while your basement is flooded. But if you cannot stand the people beside you, you may feel like putting a bucket over your head and saying, “Oh, what have I gotten into with you? The basement is flooded, and here I am with people I can’t get along with.”

“I love you, but I don’t respect you.” Words like these may be spoken, or they may be implied by our actions, behavior, and manner. You can feel them in the air. We call it a tense atmosphere. What does that mean? You may never say, “What have I gotten into with you?” But the way you pick up the bucket to bail out the basement shows anger and irritation. It says, “Let’s just get this over with. What have I gotten into with you?” Think of mothers whose children are sometimes late coming out of school, pushing back the mothers’ appointments. The children get in the car, and the way their mother drives them home after the delay says a great deal.

It may say, “It’s all right, my child. It wasn’t your fault. They kept you late, and now the whole schedule has shifted.” Or it may say, “As if I didn’t have enough to do, now I have the children to take care of too. I’m always running around and can’t live my own life.” The child receives one of two messages: “My mother sees me as a bit of a burden,” or “My mother’s love is overflowing. Even though I was late, she still loves me.” Then the problem can make their relationship even warmer. Do you see? Such important things happen in ordinary situations, even through accidents. Imagine a plate breaking and you burst out laughing because the person who broke it is someone you love.

Now imagine some tiny thing breaking, hardly any damage at all, or a strand of hair falling on the floor, or a drop of something making a mark, and someone turns it into an enormous issue. It is as though they were looking for a reason to start a fight, for something to point to and say, “I don’t want you. I can’t stand you.” How many unspoken messages we send through pots and pans, shirts and socks, appointments and outings, plans and keys: “Where did you forget it? Where did you leave it? Why? How?” Behind all these everyday, material, practical matters lie qualities of the heart that are either present or missing. Love may be there.

Whatever happens, that love comes through and says again, “I love you.” Or what lies underneath is weariness with life and irritation: “I regret being with you.” Then everything that happens reminds you of it. “There you go, you’ve made a mess of things again. I was right not to want you.” Each incident reopens the wound, as if to say, “There she is, the woman you married. You’ll be with her for the rest of your life, and she has blundered again.” Life keeps giving you reminders of what, deep down, you want it to remind you of. As the saying goes, “For those who love God, all things work together for good.” When you love God, everything can turn toward your good, because you love Him.

Everything. A woman’s child dies, and she says, “I love God. He must have intended some good through this. My child will be saved; my child is in Paradise.” You might say to her, “But you are facing death.” “Yes, but because I love God...” Even in death, she searches for life, for something that can still stand and live. The opposite happens when you do not love someone: whatever they do, you find fault. If they do something perfectly, you say, “Enough with your perfectionism. You’re exhausting us.” If they do it less carefully, you say, “Put things in order! What a mess. That plate is covered in splashes; clean around the edge.” And the other person says, “What do you want from me? Tell me what you want, and stop tormenting me over all these things.” The real issue is not whether the food was ready early or late, or whether it has too much salt or too little.

Perhaps it is the wallpaper: “We chose the wrong color. I didn’t want this.” Or the ceiling, or the lamp: “What kind of light is that? It’s blinding me.” These are not our main problems. They are things we seize on so we can say what we are afraid to admit.

You latch onto one thing and then another, finding fault and grumbling at the person beside you. In the end, you see that life brings you the things you are looking for. It gives you materials, and you use them to build the tower you want, the hut you want, the barn or the chicken coop you want. Life gives you the materials. If your hands are capable, hardworking, honest, willing hands, hands with skill, then whatever you pick up...

you will make something good of it. You will make lovely things. Even if life puts only a little stick in your hand, you will carve something beautiful from it. But if you are the sort of person who always finds something wrong, something that bothers you, then even if life gives you gold...

you will turn even the gold into a knife to kill someone. You will use that for harm too. Now, Basil, if you remember, I began this program by saying how changeable we are: one moment we are like this, the next we are different. That is part of our character. Learn to love yourself with your faults. Little by little, you will change as much as you can. I said that we do not change, but we do change a little. And a great change is to understand and admit what is true. Understand who you are. Admit what is not going well in you. At least do that, if you can. Admit that always being late for appointments or always forgetting things is not really normal. Everyone does not do it. It makes a relationship a little harder. Admit that...

when you are careless about how you eat and leave crumbs and bits of rubbish on the floor, that is a little messy. Admit that the undershirt you tossed onto the chair has been hanging off its edge for three days, just about to fall, though somehow it never does. If you do not pick it up, nobody will. Admit that something needs to be done about that too. And little by little, read books, read literature. Through stories you see the world and other people. You read about a couple who quarrel over something and realize, “Yes, this happens to others too. Other people have problems because of broken promises, messiness...”

Messiness, or a confused, disorganized way of being. They have problems too, and you recognize yourself in them.

This is the path millions of people have walked. What you are going through now, many others have gone through. The things I face, and the things you will face in the future, have happened to others too. It is a blessing, and a sign of wisdom, if we can learn from the mistakes and experiences of so many people around us, and...

ask Christ to enter into our frailty, our misery, and our mistakes. Yes, even our mistakes. We can say to Him, “My Lord, please help me concentrate the next time I wash the dishes, so I don’t break them. They slip out of my hands and fall on the floor. And if they do fall, help the people beside me feel how much I love them, so they won’t be angry with me. I may break a plate or mix colored clothes with whites in the washing machine and turn them all sorts of colors. Help them understand that I love them. I do foolish things, but I love them. I am messy and careless. I have much to put right and much to change. But I am not a bad person. Help them see that.” And in the end you see that our relationships have a path forward. They can grow; they can improve. We grow in faith, in life, and in our relationships. That is how life is: we begin as we are, we mature, we learn, and everything helps us. Little by little, these things too will change...

Everything I have said today is so passing. A hundred years from now, neither you nor I will be alive. I say a hundred years because you listening now may be young and have many years ahead of you. The tidy people, the respectable people, the people with schedules and systems and organization: all of it will pass. These things belong to this world, but this is the world we live in now.

So it is good to try to do better. My brother, you cannot sit drinking coffee when the bishop is coming if you can see everyone beside you rushing to get everything ready and looking its best. But if you are the one rushing around, you can smile and say, “My dear fellow, you’re drinking coffee? What’s going on? Are we waiting for a special occasion before we can enjoy life in our monastery?” It is the same at home. A little humor is a wonderful thing.

Take these things with good humor. I remember a monk on Mount Athos. After I had known him for years, he let me visit his cell. I expected something quite extraordinary, but there were piles of papers, rubbish, and napkins everywhere. I said, “What happened here? Did a whirlwind come through?” I bent down to pick something up, and he said, “Leave it there. It didn’t fall. That’s where it belongs.” “Oh, I’m sorry. So it isn’t a mistake. I thought it was.” He said, “It’s no mistake. Everything has been carefully placed just where it is.” He was joking, poking fun at worldly ideas of order...

Ideas that sometimes make life harder for us instead of easier.

Of course, most of us aren’t monks or nuns, though some of you listening are. Most of us live in the world, and we can’t live like that monk. If you have a child, you need to put the little clothes away: the underwear, trousers, dresses, shirts, and tops. You can’t just throw everything into a wardrobe and rummage around for what you need. Still, I like a little of that monk’s attitude. A bit of disorder won’t kill us. But some things do need to be done. That’s what I believe. When you’re given a task, or you take one on, and you belong to a group where what one person does affects everyone else, you understand? If I’m waiting for you to bring me something so I can cook it, and you don’t bring it, we can’t always laugh it off.

The meal depends on you, and whether the others enjoy their evening depends on the meal. Otherwise, we’ll all end up complaining. It’s a chain, and its links need some coordination. Of course there will be exceptions and difficult days. Let’s love one another. When we make life difficult for someone, let’s ask the question Christ asked Peter: “Do you love me?” Yes, I’m a difficult person. I’m rather odd. But do you love me? “How can I love you? I asked you to bring that thing, and you didn’t. I asked for a small jar of mustard, and you brought the family size. I live alone! I’ll be eating mustard for five years. Why did you buy that?” All right, I made a huge mistake. But do you love me? If you do...

Then you let the mustard go. I’d even say it doesn’t matter at all. Throw it away. Let the money go too, whatever it cost, however much I strained your wallet and your budget. Love remains.

Let love remain. Don’t let it slip away. That’s what matters in every relationship: learning to love people with all sorts of personalities. People who are orderly and people who are odd. Some make their bed as neat as an airport runway, with every fold just right. Others leave their bed looking as though a bomb went off, and you have to search to find...

Where the foot of the bed is, where the head is, and where the pillow has landed. They turn over in their sleep and end up upside down. All right, we’re different people, but let’s love one another. And now, Vasilis, as you can tell, my program couldn’t be orderly, because I’m not an orderly person. This program has never been orderly, today or any other day. I don’t go through point A, then its subpoints, then point B. I say whatever comes to me. But I ask the same question: “Do you love me?” So often, the answer you’ve given me—and I thank you for the encouragement—is, “Yes, I love you, just as you are.” All this disorder, this roughness, this lack of polish, this jumble of things...

As young people say, “It’s all over the place.” You can’t tell where it starts or where it will end. Well, that’s all right. Some people may be edified even by something so jumbled. Others are edified by a perfect schedule and perfect organization. That’s fine too; it’s all a blessing. There will always be souls who benefit from one kind of person or another, even from what we call a muddle. Isn’t that so?

Take care. I hope you don’t forget your appointments today, or your responsibilities, your keys, or your money. Don’t go somewhere without your wallet, arrange to buy a ticket, and then discover you can’t pay because your wallet is at home. Above all, I hope you don’t quarrel with the people you love over these little things. They really are little, aren’t they? And I thank God for giving me the desire to make this program, because, as I told you, I might not have felt up to it. We aren’t always the same. Sometimes your spirits and your energy sink so low that it feels as though something has drained all the strength from your soul. At other times, you feel ready to speak and share a few thoughts.

A little while ago I was on the phone with someone. I said, “I have to hang up now. I’m going to make the program.” He said, “Are you hanging up because you’re avoiding me?” “No,” I told him. “Quite the opposite: I’m hanging up because I feel ready to say a few words, and that feeling might pass.” Fortunately, I managed to say them. Now I don’t know what will happen. God knows whether I’ll still feel like talking or fall into a state of mental and spiritual shutdown. But I thank God for this hour we’ve spent together. The program’s email address is atheata.perasmata@papakyriakou.gr. Vasilis Chatzinikolaou will play the closing music for this program. Thank you for your kind words. Thank you for the very many—countless, I might say—emails that come in.

Thank you for your loving words and your gifts. I don’t reply, but please know that I receive them. Thank you for your kind words, and for the books we’ve published because of this program.

Many of these programs have been put into books, with the words in print and a CD, so you can both listen and read. They make gifts, especially for people abroad and for those who don’t have time to listen to the programs but would like to stretch out on the sofa and read something. We’ll be together again next time.

Well... I hope you’ll be happy. Know that the sorrow troubling you today will pass. It will pass. At least, that is my prayer. Within a few hours, may God send something to ease what troubles you: an angel, a caress, grace, a kiss, a touch...

A touch of God upon your soul, to take that sorrow away and carry it far from you.

May you smile again and live the life you deserve. Even through the blows you’ve suffered, the hardships and the sorrow you’re going through, you deserve better and happier moments. May all this leave you stronger and more mature, and may we glorify God together and thank Him that we are alive. Thank you. Strength for the struggle ahead, and until we meet again. Take care. May God give you strength.