Columns

A friendly gesture by a couple of neighbors of bringing over a few bags of slightly fading vegetables, and then my swapping some back, has become a full-fledged food mini-ministry.

Not long ago, I was sorting through some of my dad’s old papers and I came across a candy wrapper and a Father’s Day card tucked into an envelope that bore a March 2001 postmark from Rome.

If you’re like me, you were impressed by the athletes of the Milan-Cortina Olympics. In them we witnessed both the rewards of hard work and the traumatizing effects of extreme expectation.

During Catholic Schools Week, my three youngest children, middle school students at St. Francis de Sales School in Spooner, were given a talk on vocations by Fr. Papi Yeruva Reddy.

Recently, my neighbor died. When I was at the funeral home and when I arrived at work late after his funeral, I was asked how I knew the gentleman who passed away. It was almost sheepishly, or with a note of apology, that I said he was a neighbor.

Some people are creative in beautiful ways. They make the art, music, literature, and drama that inspire and soothe the world. Others are creative in more practical ways.

I once had the privilege of visiting the Holy Land. It’s a strangely different place. Soaked in history, in struggle, in religion, in blood. Virtually every inch of its soil has been soaked in blood, including the blood of Jesus. History leaps out at you from every stone.