One month into my junior year of high school and four months after my dad’s sudden death, I declared to my closest friends over school lunch mystery meat that I was quitting church, and, by extension, God.
Hurrying around the parish campus, trying to get ready for our patron feast, Saint Michael’s Day, I would have easily missed something wonderful!
As a child, my understanding of Lutheran theology was informed at least as much by its distance from Roman Catholicism as it was by anything we did in worship itself.
The idea of being wrapped up, especially as the nights grow colder here in Maine, evokes a sense of coziness and warmth.
I read somewhere that Saint Mark the Evangelist is the patron saint of people dealing with insect bites.
When I was 11 years old, I began having head splitting aches.
I am the oldest of three children in my family. My two sisters are my best friends, though for many years before I came to see them that way they were also my worst enemies.
I first learned of Brigid a few years ago while researching Ireland, and discovered that Brigid was another much beloved patron saint of the country, alongside Saint Patrick. I
I didn’t realize I knew Amelia Bloomer even before I read about her for this post. Growing up in a cluster of all-girls, uniform-enforcing schools, I was introduced to one of her lasting gifts to the world first hand: the bloomer.