in the hands of God.  Whatever He wills me to do, I must do it.  My own will has become null, and all that is left for me to do is to wait on His good pleasure and His own time.  To act or not to act, to suffer or not to suffer, to speak or to keep silence, to return to my former labors or never to return, to live on or die, all have become indifferent to me.  I am in God’s hands, with no will of my own; for He has taken it, and it is for Him to do with me whatever He pleases.  If this be a source of pain to others, none but God knows what it has cost me.  There as nothing, therefore, left but to wait in trust on God’s will and His mercy and good pleasure.”

And again the darkened heavens are above him: 

“Death invited, alas! will not come.  What a relief it would be from a continuous and prolonged death!”

The obscurity of the drawing of the Holy Ghost, as well as of God’s designs, and his incessant fretting against this, partly involuntary and, as he confesses, partly voluntary also, “disturbs my health and reduces my strength.”

Next to the evil self-company of an unforgiven sinner there is no loneliness so sad as that of the invalid.  He needs company most who is worst company for himself.  Yet Father Hecker has not left a single word which would suggest that during more than two years of absence from all his life associates in religion, as well as from his blood kindred, whom he loved with a powerful love, he felt the lack of human companionship.  One reason for this was his contemplative nature, and this was the main reason.  He was born to be a hermit, and was an active liver only by being born again for a special vocation.  Another reason was that his mind was so constituted that, when subjected to trial, it rested better when quite out of sight of everybody and everything associated with past responsibilities.  He bade adieu to Father Deshon when the latter left him at Ragatz with sorrow, but without reluctance; and when a year afterwards at was suggested that one of the community should come to Europe and keep him company, he refused without hesitation, saying that his companion would be burdened with a sick man’s infirmities, or the sick man distressed by his companion’s inactivity on his account.  But towards the very end of his life there were times when he felt the need of congenial company and was extremely grateful for it.  But this did not happen often, and when it did it was because the waves of despondency which submerged him were heavier and darker than usual.

The following extract from a letter shows this state of mind: