For a friendship more separate than equal, we don our funeral black, and sign the guest book on the way in, all our children watching and following our lead with solemnity.
Emotions stand at what feels like a mere blink away, always. I hear her message, that one I read just before a daughter was delivered weeks early and would need multiple surgeries before she and I finally got to sleep under the same roof of home…eucharisteo. Thanks in all circumstances, for all things.
Saint Augustine of Hippo writes of his mom’s persistence in her fight for his soul while he lived a life devoted wholly to his self and the fulfilling of its passions.
Whatever this seminary word may mean tomorrow, today ecumenical means that the Church universal served the church local, and everyone knew Love.
“Oh! There are gifts on the mantel!” She says as she drops her backpack and coat on the way in from school.
The people send for Peter, because Peter is friends with Jesus. We all do this, right? When I have a cold, I may text my friend with something like, “I feel miserable, say a little prayer for me,” but when I am having surgery, I want the priest there anointing!
What is going on in the world means something to me.
We have “wittingly” exposed our children to the lyrics and notes of the musical Hamilton.
They sit in their carseats, next to one another holding hands. The palest caucasion skin of anyone in the family, enfolding the brown hand of his Hispanic little brother. “Are they both yours?” The woman meeting us for the first time asks. “Yes,” I reply, but she wants more. “How did you get that black haired one?” “Same way I got the blond haired one.”
When we had our first babies, reading aloud was a way to pass the time, from Narnia to seminary homework.