When my previously confident, vivacious 16-year-old daughter developed an eating disorder, our entire family was plunged into a frightening underworld. Darkness descended in the form of psychotic episodes, suicidal ideation, hospitalizations, and her paranoid conviction that we were conspiring to hurt her instead of help her.
In 1999 everyone thought that the world would end with the beginning of the year 2000 because of the Y2K “millennium bug” that threatened everything run by computers.
At the age of 21, Ray became the first African American elected to represent my city on my county’s commission. He ran against a politically experienced and divisive candidate, and no one thought Ray would win. But Ray did win—by three votes.
They were parishioners I had gotten to know well. After Mass, they stopped and asked me if I had ever seen the birth of a child. I hadn’t. I had just been with a dear friend of mine when he died surrounded by his family in his rectory room.
The day of my uncle’s funeral was met with many surprises.
Homesickness is a powerful disease for which there is no cure but going home. We may miss our own room or bed. Maybe we need the routine that we have grown accustomed to over the years
Joseph, husband of Mary, had guts. He had the guts to pay attention to his dreams.
A 6-year-old climbed into her mother’s lap the morning of Christmas Eve, and said, “Mommy, I’m afraid I’m going to die.”
Imagine Mary’s bewilderment when the angel Gabriel greeted her with the familiar words, “Hail, Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with you.”
There are two seconds left to play. The shooter is at the foul line. The game will be decided by his two free throws. He needs to make both of them to win the game. It is all on his shoulders.