WHEN A PRIEST READ MY SOUL AND TOLD ME I'D WRITE A BOOK ON ANGEL RAPHAEL

My dear friend, Alvaro invited me back on Uniquely Mary to hold forth on my devotion to St. Raphael, and how Padre Pio's reliance on him led me to trust him all the more. 

We have had heatwave after heatwave here in Los Angeles, it feels like one has multiple hairdryers blowing at all times, and I did the interview with Alvaro mid-morning on a day that was expected to be cool, but it suddenly turned blazing, and I began melting like a wax candle. 

I can be so vain. During the interview my hair got sweaty and looked bedraggled, even after all my efforts to tame it. My hair is turning copper in the sun, and I got my feet burned when taking a walk in the sand. 

Saint Jerome translated the Book of Tobit from Aramaic into Latin for the Vulgate, and he wrote using his feather-quill pen while living in a hut in the desert. I'm not fit to re-fill Saint Jerome's pot of ink, but he was, like me, a desert hermit. And Jerome's pet peeve was women who are overly concerned with their appearance; I'd have been the object of his most stinging condemnation. 

Below is a classic painting of Jerome, bother by his memories of dancing girls. Executed by Francisco de Zurbarán.