Catholic. Pastoral. Trusted.
I wanted to be a writer when I was still a little girl. Dad was a newspaperman and, longing to imitate him, I learned to type on his old manual Royal typewriter. I still cannot set down a drink to the right of my keyboard because, as I learned the hard way, the carriage return would send it flying. (I can just hear my children: “Carriage return? What’s that?!”)
A friend, widowed and with no children at home, has a house that’s too big for her. She dreams of a small, economical apartment, but she won’t move. Why? Too much stuff. Her attic and garage and basement are full, her closets and drawers heaping with old clothes and handbags, dishes, tools she never uses, and books she’ll never read.
I remember very lonely Christmases, when I was too old for a child’s Christmas and too young to have a family of my own. Then in my early twenties I happened upon The Wounded Healer by Father Henri Nouwen, which inspired me to consider what was missing in my life as the very source from which I could be a blessing to others. I talked to a friend who was also without family, and we decided to spend Christmas providing meals to shut-ins who lived in our downtown parish.
Iwas thirteen when The Byrds released their recording of Pete Seeger’s song “Turn! Turn! Turn! (To Everything There Is a Season).” It was a hard time in our family, and I sang this song with little understanding. I thought I’d always be sad.
October is Respect Life Month. I’d like to avoid this subject. I’d rather write about something we all agree on—like the beauty of fall foliage or the importance of regular exercise or the sweetness of my growing grandchildren (ages five, three, and one, thank you for asking).
We adopted our sons from Guatemala. First, Philip; when Philip was two, his baby brother, Nate; and six months after that, Dan, a ten-year-old I met at the orphanage. And so it was that Philip, once an only and for a brief time the oldest, became our middle child.
“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.”—Matthew 11:28Reading these words of Jesus during July, the month we celebrate American Independence Day, I’m reminded of Emma Lazarus’ poem “The New Colossus,” which is inscribed on the Statue of Liberty:...
[On Pentecost] devout Jews from every nation…gathered…and each one heard [the others] speaking in the native language of each.—ACTS 2:5–6We adopted our sons from Guatemala. Two of them came into our family as tiny babies, and I find it amusing when people ask if they had trouble learning English (they...
Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?—LUKE 24:32 In my part of the world, April is not a time to think about self-improvement and other interior matters. We do that in January, in...
Every year on the first Sunday of Lent, we hear about Jesus preparing for his ministry by going into the desert and arguing with the devil. One of my sons, upon hearing that Jesus was offered the power to turn stones into bread, mumbled under his breath that Jesus should...
Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be done with me according to your word.—Luke 1:38 I wish I could always muster a classy yes like Mary’s. “Let it be done with me according to your word” is a far cry from my usual “OK, if you...