Teaming Up With Monica

Question: I have two young children, and I worry about how to keep them in the Faith. In our world that seems to be growing more secular by the year, is there any way I can instill the Catholic Faith so deeply within them that they will stay Catholic as they grow older? This is indeed a difficult situation for so many parents, as our culture is often openly hostile to our Catholic Faith. How to keep them Catholic when it seems that the deck is stacked against them? Part of the challenge is that God’s grace is a mystery. A hundred people can hear the same talk or homily, and for some it will change their lives and others will find it boring and meaningless. In my own family, I have a brother who identifies himself as an atheist—both a priest and an atheist from the same family, with the same parents and upbringing! So, we must acknowledge that grace is a mystery—but we are also convinced that God loves your children more than you ever could, and He is doing everything possible to win their hearts and lead them to salvation. With that said, there are some things that parents can do to help kids encounter Christ and stay faithful to Him. Although I do not have children, I have worked with thousands of kids and teens over the past seventeen years of youth ministry, and I have seen a few successful strategies that families employ to keep their kids faithful. First, make Sunday Mass a non-negotiable. I remember my parents taking us to Mass on vacation, and they would never allow one of our sports games to interfere with Mass. The Mass-going example of a father on his children is especially critical. There’s an adage that says, “If a mother goes to Mass the children will go to Mass, but if a father goes to Mass the grandchildren will go to Mass.” My dad used to make special trips to our boy scout campouts to take me and my brother to Mass, and then return us back to the campsite when Mass was over! It made a huge impact on me and it taught me that nothing, absolutely nothing, came between us and Sunday Mass. That was the real cornerstone of our family. If you are ever on vacation, you can visit www.masstimes.org which lists all the Masses in the entire world—so whether you are in Paris or Buenos Aires or Disney World, you can still find a Sunday Mass! Second, pray together as a family. My family used to pray the Rosary on the way to Mass, and we had special devotions around the Advent Wreath. We would attend Stations of the Cross together during Lent, and my parents took us to Eucharistic Adoration frequently. Although there were times I complained about being dragged into these things, they also introduced me to a personal relationship with Christ, one that has stayed strong to this day. Also, never forget to pray and fast for your kids—daily! Third, keep sin out of your home. If you allow your kids to have a smartphone, put a filter on it. Make sure the TV shows and movies they watch, the music they listen to, and the books they read are wholesome. Although your kids may complain, parents should be more concerned about their kids’ eternal happiness than a quick temporary pleasure of watching a bad movie! Another good thing to do is to make your home a sanctuary. Fill it with crucifixes, holy pictures, statues of the Saints, and books about the Faith. The old adage is true: “Out of sight, out of mind.” The more we can call to mind eternal realities, the more we will stay faithful to them. Fifth, surround your kids with a good Catholic community, both peers and adults. They need good friends who have similar values, so perhaps have them join a youth group or go to a Catholic summer camp. They also need adult mentors who love the Faith, so befriend other good Catholic families. Invite your parish priest over for dinner. Get together for a party with other parishioners. When I was younger, my father sometimes took me to his men’s group on Saturday mornings, and I will never forget the impact of seeing these men—men I knew and respected and liked, who were plumbers and lawyers and sports coaches—praying and singing and passionate about Jesus. It made me realize that it was cool and normal to have faith in the Lord! A related question is where to send your child to school. The answer is quite simple: who is changing whom? If your child goes to school and brings the light of Christ there, then it is a good environment. But if your child starts to adopt the values of the world, then perhaps it is time to switch schools. Sadly, many Catholic schools do not provide a truly Christ-centered environment, so be careful even if you choose Catholic schools. Finally, the best and most effective way to pass the faith on to children is to be a parent who is seeking the Lord in their own personal life! My father has always prayed the daily Rosary from before I was born, and both my parents comfortably discussed their faith life at home. I could see them studying the Faith on their own, reading books about Saints or spirituality. As the old saying goes, “Faith is more caught than taught”—and our actions speak louder than words. That does not mean we are perfect, but we do have to be sincere in seeking the face of the Lord in our own hearts. None of these are guarantees, of course, as our kids have free will and are able to choose whether or not to follow the Lord. But in doing these things, we are giving them the foundation, and allowing God the opportunity to win their hearts. It is His grace alone that keeps kids Catholic—we are only conduits of that grace! Never forget that as much as you love your children, God loves them infinitely more—and desires their salvation!

Shocked by his words, I stared at him... It was a perfectly beautiful beach day, not a cloud in the sky. I settled back into my beach chair and sunk my feet deep into the sand, wiggling my toes, hoping to feel a tinge of cool sand between them. It was a sizzling hot July day on the west coast of Florida. My friend and I were enjoying the day together, watching as my three year old son, rode on the back of his twelve year old cousin while he crawled through the shallow, green water. The tide was low next to the causeway where a little inlet gave the boys hundreds of feet to play in the cool waters off the beach. The perfect spot! I took a deep breath, opened the water cooler, grabbed my ice-cold water bottle and drank a huge gulp. I needed to stay cool and hydrated because I was almost nine months pregnant with my third son. I shut the cooler and focused back in on my son in the water. He and his cousin had separated and he ran, laughing and splashing through the water. Then it looked like he sat down, but he seemed to be sitting too low in the water. It didn’t make sense. “What is he doing? Why isn’t he standing up,” I cried, pushing myself up out of the chair. “I don’t understand…” “That’s weird,” my friend said. I felt a panic rip through my body, “Hail Mary Full of Grace, the Lord is with you, “I prayed as I bolted into the water, eyes locked on his little head, “Blessed are you among women, and Blessed is the Fruit of your womb, Holy Mary Mother of God…Hail Mary Full of Grace, the Lord is with you…” Treading through the water I wondered, ‘Why isn’t he standing up, please don’t let his head go down under, please Jesus.' Out of breath and full of fear, I arrived at the spot to discover that he had walked into a hole in the sandy bottom that wasn’t visible from the beach. He was frantically treading water, trying to keep his head above the surface. Terror struck through me like a lightning rod. I grabbed him and pulled him close as I clambered out of the hole. “Hail Mary Full of Grace the Lord is with you, Please Mary, Please, Save Him, Please Mary, Jesus will listen to you. Blessed are you among women…” His breath was labored. “Call 911,” a man called out. I turned and looked at him in astonishment. “What? His head never went under water,” I replied, wondering where he had appeared from. “Call 911. If he inhaled water, he could drown in the parking lot! Call 911,” he stated boldly. I turned and shouted at my friend to call 911. At the same time, I distraughtly wondered what he was talking about. My son threw up over my shoulder. I screamed again, “Call my husband.” “Hail Mary full of Grace…” The man moved a little closer. “I was on the other side of the causeway and God spoke in my heart. He told me to pray intensely and immediately run to the other side of the causeway. I saw you in a panic and knew this was where I had to go and he was the one I had to pray for.” I stared at him, shocked by his words and the gravity of the situation. I held my son close, “You’re okay buddy.” Silently, I continued, “Hail Mary full of grace, the Lord is with you…” My husband arrived, took our son and put him over his shoulder. He threw up again. I wiped his mouth, leaned in close to his face and said, “You will be okay buddy. It’s going to be alright,” trying desperately to mask my mounting fear and anguish. “Hail Mary…” I continued as I tried to soothe him. The ambulance arrived. The paramedics took over. “We are calling the chopper to Bay Flight him to All Children’s Hospital,” they said. “What? Why? His head never went under,” I said. “It doesn’t matter, we need to be sure he is okay,” they said. I stared at them in shock. This could not be happening, I thought. “Blessed are you among women…” My husband and I stared at each other. The man next to me broke the silence. “I won’t stop praying.” The chopper landed. The paramedic got out of the chopper and approached us, opening his arms to take our son. “I’m going with him,” I said. “I’m sorry but you can’t come in the helicopter with us. We can’t take care of him and you too. You might go into labor with the stress. We will take good care of him.” “I’ll go,” my husband declared. “No, we can’t take you either, sir, only him. We have to focus on him,” they affirmed. My husband and I watched helplessly as they carried our son into the helicopter. “Hail Mary full of grace, Please Jesus, Mary, Please…” “Let’s go,” my husband said. We jumped into the car and sped down the causeway to All Children’s Hospital. “You can’t go into labor,” he said. “I’m fine,” I said, “Just get us there fast,” as I continued silently, “Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb.” We pulled into the Emergency Room lot and ran into the hospital. They directed us through the tunnel to the children’s wing. My husband ran and I followed, out of breath, shoeless and clothed in a wet bathing suit. “Hail Mary full of grace…” We were ushered into his room. I climbed into his bed and held him close. The doctor came in. “He is stable and in good condition, but we will keep him in overnight as a precaution,” he said. I sighed in relief, then silently continued praying while my thoughts scattered in bewilderment as I wondered how this had all happened. My son fell asleep in my arms and I felt thankful, but guilty. I was a bad mother who almost let her son drown. Washed in shame, I let the tears flow in the dark, quiet hospital room. Sobbing with distress, I picked up my phone and called my spiritual father, a holy priest. It was 9:30 at night, so I had little hope that he would answer… His voice broke into my troubled thoughts. He answered! I poured out the whole dreadful tale of what had happened that day. “Pray for him Father, please,” I begged. He prayed with me, but I still felt upset. “My son almost drowned because of me,” I confessed. “No! You saved your son’s life,” he said reassuringly. Sobs of relief mixed with the tears of fear and worry. “God is with you. It’s going to be alright,” he said. “Thank you Father,” I said. My gaze fell on my little boy, peacefully sleeping away the trauma of the day. I nestled in close while my lips continued to beseech Our Lady’s intercession until I joined him in slumber. “Hail Mary full of grace, the Lord is with you…” The next morning we gratefully left the hospital with our happy, healthy son. No sooner had we arrived home when my husband turned to him saying, “It’s time to go swimming buddy.” Fearfully, I stared at my husband. He whispered, “Let me do this.” With my heart in my mouth, I watched as my husband coaxed him into the water and they swam happily around together. At his next swimming lesson, his teacher confided that only last week she taught him how to tread water. I wept. Thank you Jesus, thank you Mary.

It was supposed to be a good old-fashioned birthday party. What we weren’t prepared for was God surprising us with His present! Birthdays are a big deal in my family, not just because there is yummy cake and an abundance of presents. It is because we get to celebrate the day that God blessed the world with a new life.  It is the day God chose to bring this unique person into our lives.  I have always thought that was something worth celebrating and I wanted to pass that value onto our children. It was important that our children knew they were not only loved by my husband and I, but more importantly, they were planned and loved by God! From time to time, we would give our children a good old fashioned birthday party.  We would hold the event at our home, complete with vivid decorations, party hats, noise makers, games, prizes and presents.  Then we had top it off with ice cream, a homemade, decorated cake and parting goodie bags.  Their parties were not necessarily extravagant, but they were well thought out and took many weeks to organize.  While all the parties we planned were fun and special, there was one party in particular that none of my family will ever forget. It was the party when God surprised us with His own present! Birthday Galas Our third son turned 12 years old in the latter part of May 2002.  Our children were raised in northern Massachusetts, so by the time May appeared, everyone longed to be outdoors enjoying the spring weather. Our son was an athletic boy and with his input we decided on an outdoor basketball themed party  Everything about that party was revolved around that theme, including a real game of basketball to be refereed by a couple of basketball playing, whistle blowing adults.  The invitations were sent, uniforms were created, the basketball-themed cake was baked, food was prepared and the balloons were blown up. Although the decorations were ready, we planned to put them in place the next morning before the wonderful bunch of spirited boys arrived Having orchestrated a number of these birthday galas in the past, the evening prior to the celebration, I felt very confident that everything was in place and ready for a wonderful, festive, energetic day until...a tiny thought way, way, way back in my mind began to steadily creep forward until the horror of it bubbled out into a disturbing question aimed straight at my husband. “Honey, what is the weather supposed to be like tomorrow?”  The question hung in the air, like a lingering stench. We both knew that if anything but blissful sunshine and cool breezes were forecast, the outcome of the party would be at stake. These were the days of slower internet and we still relied on The Weather Channel for our forecast.  My intense stare and panicky breathing set him fumbling for the TV remote.  His face went ashen. Then he turned slowly to me. Carefully enunciating every word, he announced that steady rain was predicted for the entire day. I gasped! I had planned every single detail of that party and scheduled every event down to the minute, but I had forgotten to factor in the unpredictable, spring, New England weather! What was I going to do? Sweaty Palms It was 8pm and I did not have a plan B for tomorrow morning. The interior of our house was not at all set up to handle all those energetic boys. Suddenly, a thought crossed my mind. I could get on the phone and call every possible facility in the area that might have an indoor gym, explain my situation and humbly beg to use their basketball court for a couple of hours. However, the late hour meant that either no-one answered the phone or the gyms had already been booked for weekend events.  I had called every location I could think of, with the exception of one gym. This one gym belonged to the local elementary school which my children had attended. On several occasions, the Principal and I had certainly not seen eye to eye and I did not cherish the idea of humbling or indebting myself to her.  However, it was clear that there were no other choices.  It was a small town, most people knew each other and fortunately, I had her personal number.  As her phone rang, my pulse raced, my throat tightened and I verified that women can indeed have sweaty palms.  She answered. As I explained what I wanted and why, there was a significant pause on the other end of the line. Finally, she said she would check to see if the custodial staff could let me in, but she would not know until after 9am the next day.  My mind raced. I felt unable to relax without knowing, right then and there, that a successful Plan B had been orchestrated. The party was scheduled from 11am-2pm, so there was not much time to alert the party-goers of a change in plan if she did not call until after 9am.  However, her tone warned me that I needed to be cautious in pressing the issue if I wanted to successfully appeal to her.  Repeatedly and humbly, I thanked her before hanging up the phone. We rechecked the weather forecast numerous times that evening hoping the unpredictable New England weather would fare in our direction, but there was no sign of hope…until…another, more positive thought popped into my head.  “Perhaps this might be an extremely good time to pray.  After all, wasn’t God in charge of the forecast?”  Oh, I prayed and prayed and prayed.  The party was only to last from 11am- 2pm, so I desperately pleaded with God for a break in the rain for those 3 hours. The next morning started with drizzles and overcast skies.  I had 3 more restless hours to wait before I would hear back from the school principal.   My other options had run out, so I dejectedly continued to pray, not in faith, but in desperation.  “Please Lord”, I begged. “Please don’t let it rain between 11am and 2pm”.  The adrenaline was the only thing that held back the flood of tears behind my eyes.  The phone remained silent as the clock steadily ticked past 9am. I asked my husband, “Do I call her or wait a bit longer?”  Before he could reply, the welcome ring of the phone echoed through the stillness as we held our breath in anticipation.  My voice shook as I tried to calmly answer the phone, I am sure I tripped over every syllable in greeting her.  Without much ado, she told me we could use the gym for the party, but we were to clean it as if we had not been there.  I wanted to thank her profusely, but she cut the conversation short and abruptly told me to be at the school gym around 11:15 am, where we would find the doors unlocked. A Surprise Gift My mental wheels began to turn, because there was now a solid Plan B to orchestrate.  Although I still hoped and prayed that the steady rain would stop for those 3 hours, we had to move forward with the alternative plan for the day ahead of us. It seemed like only moments passed before it was time for the boys to show up.  We were as ready as we could possibly be under the circumstances.  Ten minutes before the first car pulled up, I peered out the window, and could not believe my eyes! I called my husband and directed him to look out and confirm what I had seen. We stood there together and speechlessly gazed at the sight before us.  God had answered my prayers.  It had stopped raining, just as I asked and just in the nick of time. However, an uncommonly odd thing happened that we could never have anticipated.  Although it had stopped raining, unpredictably, it had started to SNOW!!!!  I am sure I heard God laughing and laughing.  We stood there in momentary awe and wonder.  We had never seen it snow that late in May in all the years we had lived in Massachusetts.  We laughed at the sight, but could not linger on its meaning as the boys were starting to arrive for the party. Surprisingly, the Principal herself met us at the gym and told me she would work in her office for a couple hours, until the game was finished. Everyone had a great time then helped us clean the gym so it looked even better than we had found it. We thanked the Principal and brought everyone back to our home for cake and presents. Before we knew it, 2pm came round and the boys’ parents began to slush up the snowy driveway to collect their sons.  However, God was not finished with His joke and was about to present His grand finale. He made it clear that He had heard my prayers because at exactly 2:10 pm, the unforeseen snow turned back to a steady rain.  The tears that I had held back earlier came flooding past my eyes. Had God been attending our party?  Had He shown that He answered my prayers by not allowing it to rain between 11:00 am and 2 pm?  Had God been the orchestrator of Plan B, not me?  Was it God who provided a place for us to have a great party while giving me a lesson on humility?  Did God have a sense of humor?  The answer to all those questions and more were YES, YES, YES, YES and unequivocally YES!!! God teaches lessons in layers sometimes. When I look back, there were so many mistakes made when planning that party.  However, God used my weaknesses to gently but humorously realign my thinking and conduct. Everything I do is accomplished through God who gives me strength. (Philippians 4:13*)  Initially, almost everything about that day seemed to be accomplished through my own strength and pride. I never even thought to invite God to that party or into the planning process. How shameful I felt when I reflected on the role my Creator had in bringing our son into our lives.  He should have been the first invited guest and as it turned out, He was by far the most welcome guest.  God answered my prayers, not in exactly the way I imagined, but in a clear manner, leaving no doubt that He intended to teach me something. God taught me that He’s always with me—listening, providing and wanting to be a part of the lives He created. He bestowed graces of humility, forgiveness and gratitude upon me in answer to my prayer. That party turned out to be extremely fun and memorable for everyone.  After all was said and done, it did not rain between 11:00 am and 2:00 pm, just as I asked in prayer.….. Instead, God brought His own present: SNOW!!!  I am going to say it again…... God has a sense of humor!

You may be feeling lost and alone. Take heart, for God knows exactly where you are! Alone in the shower, I could scream and not be heard. The water pelted the top of my head as anguish wracked my heart. My mind imagined the worst, a tiny coffin and a loss too great to bear. My heart ached, as if squeezed in a vice. It was more than a physical pain but I felt tortured with an oppressive sinking feeling. It pervaded my being. Nothing could alleviate the pain and no-one could comfort me. Suffering is part of the human condition, unavoidable. A particular cross is fashioned for each of us to carry but I didn’t want this one. I whimpered beneath its weight. “Please God, give me a different cross, not this one. I can’t carry this one. I will take any pain, disease, anything, but not this, not my son. This one is too big. I can’t, please,” I begged. Nausea swept over me. I vomited and then slumped to the floor of the shower, sobbing. My ‘No’ was futile. Surrender was the only path forward. Spent and exhausted, I prayed, “If you won’t change this cross God, please give me the strength to carry it . . . (the image of a tiny coffin flashed into my mind again) . . .  no matter where it leads. Help me. I cannot do this without You.” My sweet, little boy had been admitted to the hospital in a serious condition. For eight days I lay next to him in his hospital bed. His spirit was undaunted by his illness but he no longer looked like himself. Bright pink and purple blotches spotted his cheeks, ran across the bridge of his nose and over his arms and legs. The medicine that would offer him a reprieve bloated his face and body. When he slept, which was hardly at all, I sobbed myself to sleep. Prayer, distraction and rocking his frail body were the only contribution I could make in his battle to survive. I read to him and drew cartoons on a magna doodle he had been given before he was hospitalized. It was therapeutic for both of us. Although I had never been able to draw before, in my efforts to give him some small joy, I suddenly found that I could draw with ease. Finally, he was released from the hospital with a treatment plan, hope and a prayer for remission. Our new normal set in. My mom suggested that I explore my new ability to draw. We took an art class together at the local fine arts studio. The art teacher asked to bring in a picture that moved us. I chose a Christmas card depicting the Blessed Mother holding the Infant Jesus. The art teacher thought because I lacked experience and training, I should draw something simpler, like a flower. I turned my stool to face her, declaring , “My son should be dead but he is alive. Jesus and the Blessed Mother are all that matters to me. They move me.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, I had no idea about your son. I am sorry. Just be sure to watch your values.” I was confused. “What do my morals have to do with my picture,” I asked. “Light and dark values,” she said gently. “Oh, okay,” I said, somewhat embarrassed. I turned to my easel, closed my eyes and prayed, “Come Holy Spirit, help me draw a picture that will help others love and need Jesus and Mary the way I do right now.” As I drew, I relied on the strength, love and wisdom of Heaven to carry me through. My desire found expression in my art. Each new piece was a prayer and a gift from God. One morning, as I left the church after Mass, a visiting priest approached me, saying “When I was at your sister’s house, I saw the picture you drew of Christ and the angel in the Garden of Gethsemane during His agony. It moved me deeply. Your sister told me about your son and how you unexpectedly discovered your ability to draw in the midst of your anguish. Your art is truly a blessing born of suffering, a gift.” “Thank you.” I replied, “It is. Looking back I feel that this artistic gift was a foreshadowing.” “Why? What do you mean,” he asked. “Drawing taught me to see everything differently. I discovered that the contrast of the dark and the light in a picture creates depth, richness and beauty. Without the light, the darkness in a painting is an empty abyss. The darkness of suffering is like the darkness in a painting. Without the light of Christ, suffering threatened to swallow me into the depths of despair. When I finally let go and surrendered my pain and my circumstances to Jesus, I fell into His loving arms and submitted to His plan for my life. Then Christ, the Master Artist, used the darkness of my suffering to tenderize my heart making room for faith, compassion, hope and love to grow within me. The light of Christ illuminated the darkness and brought untold blessings from our trials for my son, my marriage and our family.” “Now I understand. It really is true. Art imitates life and suffering united to Christ brings great blessings. Praise be to God,” he exclaimed. “Amen,” I agreed.

Can your brokenness bring great blessings? Recently my husband and I had a school appointment to assess our 6 years old son Asher’s inattention and performance issues. The assessment went on for over two hours and included separate counselling and Q/A sessions for me and my husband.  We badly needed the assessment to help us understand Asher’s challenges and help him improve and perform well in his activities. I sat at the assessment centre with my daughter on my lap as my son played in a room filled with toys and puzzles. The assessor brought in questionnaires and began asking me questions. She asked about the family history, pregnancy complications, medications, challenges at home, Asher’s performance at home and school, difficulties he is facing, family support etc. She recorded all my responses. After completing the questionnaires, and perhaps getting a glimpse of the depth of my emotional state, the counsellor said she couldn’t keep from asking me a very personal question – “How are you coping emotionally with all these challenges? What is the source of your strength?” I said that I have a faith in God and I believe He gives me strength to face each day. I wondered how much sense that secret of my strength made to her. All she knew of me was that I was a complete mess—holding a four-year-old daughter in my lap who is almost in a vegetative state, another child struggling to fit himself into a world which doesn’t function the way he does, and me a clearly worn-out mom sitting in the assessment centre hoping they track my son’s uniqueness not just his flaws and give me some handy parenting tips to take home. But to my surprise, the counsellor nodded her head with a smile and with tear-filled eyes she agreed with me about what I claimed to be my source of strength. I thought my complicated life would disqualify me from sharing my faith in Jesus. But I have found that sharing my faith through my brokenness reveals Christs power in my life.  As Saint Paul rightly says, His power is made perfect in our weakness (2 Corinthians 12:8). Usually, we want to glorify God through our strength and successes and so we wait till things are running smoothly in our lives to give witness. But God also wants to use our brokenness for His glory. He wants us to share our faith right in the middle of our trials. In his book “The Purpose Driven Life” Rick Warren shares words that give me great comfort: “Your weaknesses are not an accident. God deliberately allowed them in your life for the purpose of demonstrating His power through you. Other people are going to find healing in your wounds. Your greatest life messages and your most effective ministry will come out of your deepest hurts.” If you find yourself in the middle of pain and in the midst of darkness, don’t waste those experiences. Use them to glorify God. Don’t wait till everything improves so you can say, See how I got through it! Consider letting God minister to others through your very chaos. Let His strength be manifested through your brokenness as you lean on Him for courage. The very thing you feel disqualifies you from sharing your faith can be the one thing that most clearly proclaims your faith and witnesses to God’s love.  I hope my experience encourages you today.

Grieving over loss of a loved one? Here is a mother’s heartfelt account of how she found hope even in the darkest valley. We were blessed with two sons. David the oldest had golden blonde hair. Our youngest son, Chris, had dark hair.  David's blonde hair would get even lighter during the summer months when he’d been out in the sun. Our boys were the joy of our lives. When David was seventeen, life handed us a devastating blow. A catastrophic car accident killed him and a friend. Our hearts were shattered into a million and one pieces. We were in shock for weeks. Suddenly, our family of four was reduced to three as one was violently ripped from us.  My husband and I and our 15-year old son, Chris, clung to each other, our friends, and our faith. Taking it one day at a time was even too much, I had to take it minute by minute and hour by hour. I thought the pain would never leave us. Visiting David's grave provided some relief from the deep sense of loss. I would visit his grave at least once a week. The cemetery in our small town is beautifully maintained. Lovely grass and trees enhance its quiet tranquillity. The road into the cemetery follows a circular path. You can see anyone leaving or entering from any vantage point. One day, as I sat on the grass beside my son's grave, the tears began to flow down my face. I was very concerned about his brother, Chris who was having a very difficult time coping with the loss of his only brother. After pouring out my heart, I wiped the tears from my eyes and looked around the cemetery. A young boy, in a white tank top with very blonde hair, was riding a bike around the cemetery. He rode his bike so smoothly and effortlessly that I was captivated. I idly wondered why a child might be riding a bike in a cemetery? For an instant, I glanced down at my son's grave, then looked back, but the blonde boy on the bike had vanished before my eyes. I kept searching around for him, but he was gone. I sensed, from the depths of my soul, that it was my son, David. The white tank top the boy wore was identical to one David had worn all the time.  It felt like David had visited me that day at the cemetery, to comfort me and let me know that he is at peace. To this day, I cannot explain the encounter, but the memory is engraved on my heart forever by the Holy Spirit. I believe that God granted this heavenly encounter to assure me that I am not grieving alone. Jesus weeps with me and the Holy Spirit wipes away my tears, one day at a time. “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.” Psalm 46:1. After this mysterious encounter, my heavy burden lightened a little.  Even though many years have passed since our David died, the sorrow of losing our child lingers in our hearts. Grief has no time limits. It lessens with time, but mothers and fathers mourn forever. I find comfort in the hope that we will see our precious son again one day. When tragedy and death strike a family, everyone can become overwhelmed with grief. Processing loss is challenging, plunging us into deep, dark valleys; but God's love and His amazing grace can infuse rays of sunshine and hope into our lives again. “Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed,” says the Lord, who has compassion on you.” Isaiah 54:10

Your dreams might have shattered, but there’s still hope. Years of Heartache When my wife and I married, we couldn’t wait to start a family, but month after month, we were saddened to find that Johanna hadn’t fallen pregnant. After a year or so, we visited a doctor who ordered some tests. Johanna had an operation to check and it confirmed she had medical issues which would make falling pregnant very difficult. I was also diagnosed with sub-fertility. Although we lived in Darwin, we crossed the continent at least once or twice a year to visit my eye doctor in Melbourne. Since his clinic was just across the road from St. Patrick’s Cathedral, we would always go there to pray. As we knelt in front of a statue of Our Lady, we prayed for God’s will to be done, but we prayed, with hope, that His will would be for us to have a child. After many years of trying different treatments, Johanna finally fell pregnant with Gabriela. We were overjoyed and gave thanks to the Lord for answering our prayers after eight years of heartache. On our next visit to Melbourne, we lit a candle in front of Our Lady’s statue and prayed in heartfelt thanksgiving for her intercession. When Gabriela was born in perfect health, we delighted in God’s generous blessings. Then at four months, we were shocked when she had a convulsion during a swimming lesson. Although the doctors initially thought it was just a febrile convulsion, Gabriela kept having seizures whenever she had the slightest cold. Eventually, she was diagnosed with Dravet’s syndrome—a type of Epilepsy with seizures which are difficult to control. We should have been shattered when we received the diagnosis, because the possibility of receiving a severe brain injury was quite high, but we felt that the hand of God was never far from us, even in this moment. As she grew, she began to run, dance, sing and play, snuggling up to us to say, “I love you.” Her laughter as she told me, “Daddy you’re funny,” still resounds in my ears. Miracle Baby We had hoped that Gabriela would not be an only child, but we hadn’t fallen pregnant naturally. So we returned to the doctor to seek the same fertility treatment which helped us conceive Gabriela. To our surprise, we discovered at the appointment that God had already blessed us. We didn’t need to start the treatment since Johanna was already pregnant with Sofia! We call Sofia our ‘miracle baby’. In the midst of our trials, we felt so blessed to have conceived her without any intervention. After reading Pope John Paul II’s beautiful explanation of the unitive and procreative purposes of marriage in his Theology of the Body, we had taken our wedding vows seriously and been open to the life that God wished for our marriage. However, Gabriela and Sofia were the only children that God chose for us to conceive. Since Gabriela kept bouncing back from her seizures, we were hopeful. But when she was 3 ½, while we were still in the midst of the excitement and hard work of cherishing our new baby, Gabriela went down with gastroenteritis. We were accustomed to her suffering seizures every time she became ill, but this time the seizures continued for four days. Placed in a medically induced coma in intensive care, we weren’t sure whether she’d make it through. We were in shock, but God’s love sustained us through the long hours at the hospital and the sadness at seeing our bright, beautiful child deteriorating. We saw every moment, each day as a blessing. If we could only have her with us for another year or two, then this moment was good enough and we would surround her with our love. Supported by prayer, she surprised her doctors by her will to survive, but the ongoing seizures had caused a severe brain injury which would eliminate her ability to walk, talk or eat, so she ended up spending 3 months in hospital. Roller Coaster The next challenge was bringing her home in a wheelchair, totally dependent on us for everything, while we had the baby to care for as well. Gabriela cried all the time, day and night, but when she received medication to ease her constant crying, she would sleep all the time. We weren’t sure what to do with this child that was either crying or sleeping all the time. It’s hard to see an innocent child suffering so much when she’d done nothing wrong to anyone. How was it possible? Why her? And why us? We were on an emotional roller coaster, seeing her so unwell and not being able to help her. So, we entrusted her to God who answered our prayers with love. We felt Him saying, “I am your Father. I am the Lord that leads your life.” Although it is was well beyond us, He gave us the strength to travel this journey with her. We felt assured that if God wanted this from us, He would stay and fight alongside us. It was difficult, but having this child with a disability enabled us to rely on one another and move our focus from our own problems and weaknesses, so we could put all our energy into this child who needed us so much. We could never have done it without each other and the support of our community. When we made the big move to Brisbane to have access to the therapies that have helped Gabriela, we were supported by our Neo- Catechumenal community. Their help, and the fundraising support of the wider Catholic community was critical to the challenges that lay ahead. Gabriela has 100% reliance on other people to be able to complete tasks and cannot be left alone. She is unable to brush her hair or teeth, feed herself or go to the bathroom. She is non-verbal and unable to walk. Johanna and I are grateful that we get some assistance with her care and therapies through the National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS). Besides the therapies, Gabriela needed operations to realign her hips. When she was seven, heart failure after an operation left her battling for her life again. The doctors told us to get our family to come down to say goodbye. We were heartbroken. Once again, we weren’t ready to give up our long-awaited daughter. I asked St John Paul II, St Mary of the Cross (MacKillop) and Our Lady for their intercession. It was a moment of intense and unceasing prayer—praying for God’s will to be done, but also praying for a miracle. Through God’s grace, He had sent us messengers in the form of our brothers and sisters in our Neo-catechumenal community. It was like Isaiah 50:4 “Lord you have given me a disciple’s tongue, so that I may bring to the wearied a word of relief”. Our brothers and sisters in Christ prayed the Liturgy of the Hours and the Rosary with us. As we commended her to God, we also prayed with trust and hope. We had been told at the start of that day that Gabriela’s life was ‘hour by hour’. Evening Prayer that night was poignantly accompanied by the short reading from Job 1:21 “the Lord gives and the Lord takes away”. I was struck by the meaning of those words right in that moment, asking God to have mercy on us and to prepare our hearts. Our priest joined us at the hospital to anoint her and pray with us by her bedside. He advised us to pray, each hour, a word that the Israelites had prayed in the desert—”Dayenu”. This word, linked with the Passover and the History of Salvation, says ‘God, you are to be praised for everything you do...if you had only taken us out of Egypt, it would have been good enough...if you had only brought us through the sea, it would have been good enough’. This is the song that I sing at the end of the Shalom World TV interview and it was a powerful word for us in that most difficult moment of our lives. About 3 AM, she suddenly began to improve and continued her recovery until she was well enough to leave hospital. I believe it was a miracle that Gabriela survived. None of the medical staff in the intensive care unit had expected her to live. Favorite Things Despite her disabilities, Gabriela loves life. She delights in joining her friends at a Special School with a great sense of community, where she enjoys activities such as painting and switching—by lifting her right hand to press a switch, turn pages on an e-book on iPad. She communicates with a blink and slight nod of the head for ‘yes’, and looking away for ‘no’. Specially structured questions assist this process. Gabriela revels in activities with her sister, cousins and friends. Her favorite things include music, movies, musical theatre, bright lights, colour and food. She can eat thickened soups, icecream, sauces and chocolate. She really enjoys going out into the sun and visiting the herb garden at the Botanic Gardens where she can smell different scented plants. Gabriela loves to dance and has been part of Superstars, a mainstream dance group, for over six years. They help her participate by moving her arms and moving her around. The other girls dance around her to include her in the dance routines. A Prayer Giant Gabriela knows that God loves her and helps her with the many crosses and difficulties she faces. One of the biggest highlights of her week is going to Mass. She adores receiving Holy Communion and participating in the music at children’s liturgy and in our prayer at home, with her sister helping her play percussion instruments, like the drums or xylophone. Prayer is a big part of Gabriela’s life. She has a photo of St John Paul II at the end of her bed, alongside icons and a colourful traditional cross from El Salvador. Gabriela knows many prayers off by heart, such as the Lord’s prayer and the Shema (Deuteronomy 6:4-10) which we recite with her before she sleeps and when she wakes. Even though she doesn’t speak, her eyes light up with acknowledgment. If a family is struggling with disability, they can still praise God, and keep walking towards Him. Because of all we’ve been through, we’ve been able to counsel and guide couples having problems in their marriage. Despite our struggles, we didn’t abandon God. Daily prayer at home and with our church community has helped us to put God first and trust that there is a purpose for everything in our lives. Throughout our lives, there have been many crosses, but Jesus said, “Take up your Cross and come, follow me.” (Matthew 16:24) It’s been possible for me to see the difficulties in our life—such as Gabriela’s frustrations when her brain injury prevents her from doing things she used to do—as opportunities to carry the Cross. We don’t know what God has planned for our future, for her or for us, but we can see each day as a blessing. I see Gabriela’s purpose in her connection with God. She is very aware of God in her life and her role as a messenger to witness God’s love for her. People are drawn to her, wanting to know more about her story and He continues to answer her prayers in profound ways.

It’s no easy task to bring up children in faith. Lots of surprises await those who really try! Bubbling Joy “Children come into my life with their laughter and their song. When will I become like them? Teach me Lord to sing along.” Whenever I sang these lyrics from the song “Living waters flow on” my heart longed for children of my own. As an only child I was always drawn to children and nothing could beat the joy I experienced in their presence. As a matter of fact, I chose the vocation of married life to have the privilege of bearing bubbling bundles of joy. I remember writing in my diary about the songs I would teach them and the Saint stories I would tell them. I yearned to nurture my little ones in the way of holiness, teaching them to love Jesus and Mama Mary with all their hearts. I even bought a children’s Bible storybook before my wedding. From the very beginning of my first pregnancy, my heart was stirred to surround my little one with prayers and songs of praise to God, as I made numerous sign of the Cross over my womb. Being put on bed rest only doubled my fervor to pray more. I never suspected that God planned to bring my baby into the world at 27 weeks of pregnancy. When I held my first-born daughter in my arms, my joy overflowed into hymns of praise. Even as she spent her first 45 days strapped down in the NICU with needles and cannulae in her body I rejoiced in the gift of my daughter. I spoke constantly about Jesus to my little Anna. Even though I had only a few minutes with her each day, I never forgot to trace the sign of the Cross wherever I could find her skin free of plaster and tubes, whispering that she was not alone and that Mamma Mary and Jesus were right beside her. Sometimes when I hummed a hymn for her, the nurses sang along and the NICU turned into a house of prayer. When I could finally take my baby home my joy knew no limits. Through the Tears About three months later, we came to know that our little Anna would be unlike other children. In addition to physical disabilities, her intellect was severely affected. The doctors said her brain was shrunken due to lack of oxygen during birth. I kept praying and singing hymns for her. Strangely, though she never looked me in the eye, there was a joy on her face that was contagious. Whenever I recited the Holy Rosary, all her whimpers and cries turned to peaceful bliss. It felt like we were surrounded by angels who prayed along with us. I never got tired of telling her Saint stories, not knowing if she understood any of it. There were days I wept while praying the Rosary with her, wondering if little Anna ever would be able to pray with me. Four years went by and three miscarriages added to our pain. The doctors said it would be impossible for me to have healthy babies. It would take a miracle! In His infinite love and mercy God blessed us with two cherubs, Issa and Aaric—two years apart. Now my little Anna is 6 years old with a little brother and sister to join the ranks of her crying symphony. After the births of Issa and Aaric I returned to praying and singing just as I had with Anna. But I couldn’t get the spiritual vibe which had been so strong around Anna. When I tried to bless Aaric with the sign of the Cross or tried placing my hand on his head, he would flee like a vampire at the sight of a Cross; Issa would simply stare at me and blink as if to say “Are you serious?” It was painful to realize that bringing up children in faith is no easy task after all! You might think it is a joke that I worried about the faith formation of a 2-year-old and a 5-month-old baby. No joke! I seriously began to ask myself, “Am I doing it right? Are they moving away from Jesus rather than toward him? Am I too compulsive in trying to teach them to love God? My Heart Skipped a Beat One evening, as I pondered these questions while baby Issa was drooling over a teether, Aaric climbed onto the bed, stretched his hand toward a framed scripture quotation hanging on the wall, and then moved his hand to baby Issa’s lips. Suddenly it dawned on me. He gets it! I regularly bring Aaric to our image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, place my hand on the image and then touch his lips. I realized that Aaric was not only imitating my gestures, he understood that what he touched on the wall was no ordinary picture but something Holy. I was reminded of Jeremiah 15:16 Your words were found, and I ate them, and your words became to me a joy and the delight of my heart; for I am called by your name, O LORD, God of hosts. From that incident I got the clear message that I didn’t have to stress about my children’s faith. In fact, my children would be teaching me about faith. When the children constantly cry for my attention and won’t let me out of their sight I remember how often I try to get God’s attention and make him look at me. I’m forced to ask myself, “Am I as persistent in trying to be close to Him all day as my children are in getting close to me? When I discipline my son for his mischief, he never wastes a second before coming to hug me and make peace. But when I’ve made a nasty comment or overreacted in some way, how soon do I turn to God to ask forgiveness? God too disciplines us and then waits for us to hug him and make our peace. If I love these children who contantly create such messes for me to clean up, then how much more must God love us even when we make our own messes? Impenetrable to the Eyes Sometimes while watching adoration streamed on live TV I glimpse Aaric raising both his arms and baby Issa swaying to the songs of praise. I realize that our children imitate our expressions of faith. I know that no matter how well I speak of Jesus or try to inspire them with stories of Saints, what they look at most is what I do. Am I gentle and humble like Jesus? Do I love those who don’t love me as Jesus instructed? As they grow, children are more aware of what we do than what we say. I am always fascinated when my little Anna turns up during Holy Mass. She is always peaceful. While at Holy Mass, her usual thrums that turn into her high-pitched glass-breaking screams are completely absent. Such is the vigil she keeps. At the point when the priest says, “And so, with Angels and Archangels… with all the hosts and Powers of heaven, we sing the hymn of your glory, as without end we acclaim: Holy, Holy, Holy Lord God of hosts…” little Anna’s big bright eyes dart about as if watching flying objects. She gets excited and her countenance turns so celestial that one look at her would convince you that Heaven is real. The ecstasy on little Anna’s face convinced me that the angels and Saints are with us celebrating Holy Mass like a real party. My children remind me of the words of Jesus, “…unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the Kingdom of Heaven.” Let us then with great simplicity and child-like faith offer our prayers which will pierce the clouds and reach the Heavens.

Facing a Dilemma Many couples today are perplexed by a fundamental question. Is it essential to introduce faith in Jesus Christ to my little child? More precisely, is transferring faith necessary? The influx of secularism creates a further dilemma. Should we bring up our children in our own faith? Why not leave it to the children to choose their own faith and way of life? Before we consider the question more deeply, wisdom directs us to look to the natural world. A crow protects its nest and feeds its chick until it can fend for itself. A calf suckles from its mother until it can survive entirely on grass. Not only do crows and cows teach their young how to feed, but they also introduce their little ones to social norms. So what makes humans different? Has God not given us the ability to think and exercise free will? Then how could anyone leave their young children drifting without physical or moral direction? If animals and birds teach their young to follow their ways so they can avoid danger and receive nourishment, humans—created in the image and likeness of God—have an even greater responsibility to nurture our children to do the same. This is critical, not just for their lives on Earth but for their eternal destiny. Christian parents are called to help develop their children’s God-given gifts so that they can reach their fullest potential and serve God and neighbor. Responsible Parenting The Church is unequivocal in its teachings, reminding us that “Parents have the first responsibility for the education of their children. They bear witness to this responsibility first by creating a home where tenderness, forgiveness, respect, fidelity and benevolent service are the rule. The home is well suited for education in the virtues” [“Catechism of the Catholic Church” (“CCC”), 2223]. Moreover, parents have a moral responsibility to give good example to their children. By their example, children should see and learn how to subordinate material and impulsive desires to interior and spiritual ones. Further, “Through the grace of the sacrament of marriage, parents receive the responsibility and privilege of evangelizing their children. Parents should initiate their children at an early age into the mysteries of the faith, of which they are the first heralds for their children. They should associate them from their tenderest years with the life of the Church” (“CCC,” 2225). Whose example can we follow? When we have the exemplary case of the Holy Family of Nazareth, should we look any further? In the Scripture, we see that the child Jesus “grew in wisdom and in stature and in favour with God and all the people” (Luke 2:52). Jesus learned from the daily witness of His Blessed Mother Mary and foster father, Saint Joseph. Their simple prayerful lives—carrying out religious duties like visiting the temple and memorization of scriptures—shaped His life. Sowing the Seeds of Faith From our own experience, praying grace together at meals was a simple way to plant the tiny seeds of faith. Calling on our guardian angels and Saint Michael the Archangel to guide and protect us on the way to school helped to foster trust and faith in our little ones. It is easy to practice such simple acts of faith, yet their fruits are abundant, just like the seeds that fell into the fertile soil (Matthew13:1-23). What a child has not received from home is almost impossible to gather as richly from another source. Although others may complement what is lacking, the fullness of life comes from a proper orientation of faith within the family. A prayerful family environment teaches a child to trust, to hope, to feel secure, to give and to know where to seek support when needed. Even when they are just listening to the family pray in the church or at home, a child learns how to pray and recognizes that sense of unity in faith we share. Modern psychology has thrown a lot of new light on how a person develops mentally. Most of this development occurs between conception and the age of six years. The thoughts and feelings experienced by a mother during her pregnancy affects the child’s development. A child who learns to pray within the family (the primary school of virtue) and is also raised in communion with the Church naturally grows up to have a sense of belonging, hope and trust. Therein lies the significance and necessity of family prayer. The pressures of modern life sometimes make it all too convenient to avoid gathering together for evening prayer. However, in a day there are plenty of opportunities for a family to pray and give thanks to our Creator. Prayer before meals is a good opportunity to teach our children the value of gratitude. Just Passing on Faith is Enough? It is therefore critical that faith transfer starts in the family. The Church, the school and the wider community add to the beliefs a child has gained from the family. Pope Saint John Paul II testified that the sight of his own father kneeling to pray the rosary in the middle of the night powerfully aroused his faith. He is a notable example of a saint in our own times, showing us the strength and fruit of faith developed in the family. Is it enough to just pass on our Christian faith? Parents must continue to pray for their children without fail, like Job of the Old Testament. Fearing that his children may have sinned after their days of celebration, he offered sacrifices for them. The prayers and offerings of Saint Monica of Hippo gave the Church Saint Augustine, a doctor and father in faith. The choice is ours. Do not be afraid. Keep the faith and share it with your children, so that you may all run the race to the end together and receive the crown reserved for the righteous.

We were all shocked and shattered when my brother announced he wanted to become a priest. It was not just that he wanted to become a priest, but he wanted to become a Cistercian priest. That meant that once he left home, he would never return. My mother was totally bereft. She was proud that her son wanted to be a priest, but why, oh why, did he want to become a monk as well? She did not know what to do, but fortunately, she did know who to turn to. She turned to Gus, a friend since childhood. He himself had left home to become a priest and a monk and was at the time the Abbot of Belmont. The Meaning of Motherhood Gus told her that a mother only really fulfils and completes her motherhood when her love is so great that she allows her child to both choose and follow his own chosen vocation in life, whatever that may mean. He told her this was the sacrifice Mary made when she allowed the Son she had given birth to go His own way and respond to the vocation to which He had been called. My mother felt much better after talking with Gus, or Abbot Williams as he was then. After all, he was a priest and a monk himself and so was able to console and encourage her better than anyone else. Although my brother had been accepted as a prospective monk at Mount Saint Bernard’s, the Abbot asked him to finish his studies in Paris, where he was studying at the Sorbonne. Naturally, he was delighted he had been accepted, because he thought his handicap would have prevented him from becoming a priest—one leg was shorter than the other as a result of polio when he was six. A Terrible Accident Unfortunately, my brother had a terrible accident on the way to his final examinations. Partly due to the iron calliper on his leg, he slipped down the escalator on the Metro, hit his head and was killed instantly. He was only twenty-two. I was seventeen at the time and called out of the school study to be told of the tragedy. When I got home it was to find my mother all but inconsolable. She had already come to terms with the sacrifice she had been asked to make when he chose to become a monk, now she was asked to make another, more complete and final sacrifice that she never thought for a moment would ever be asked of her. Once again, she turned to Abbot Williams for spiritual help. Like Mary, My Mother Became a Priest Abbot Williams told her she was now being asked to be the priest that her son never became. He told her Mary had been a priest and the greatest sacrifice she made was the sacrifice of her own Son. All of Mary's life revolved around selflessly giving her all for the dear Son she had born. Everything had always been for Him and then she had to give absolutely everything, even Him. This was the most perfect and complete sacrifice any mother had to make, and she made it as she stood there at the foot of the cross. My mother never forgot what Gus said to her. It did not take away all the pain, but it did give meaning to it and made it bearable. What helped most was seeing that the sacrifice she had to make was exactly the same sacrifice Mary had to make on Calvary. A Lesson Learned from My mother There is only one true priest and that is Jesus Christ, who made the most perfect sacrifice anyone can make, the sacrifice of Himself. We are priests to the degree in which we share in His priesthood. Throughout His life He offered Himself unconditionally to His Father and for the people His Father had sent Him to serve. We share in His priesthood when we also offer ourselves to the Father, in, with and through Him and offer ourselves to the same family of man He came to serve. That is what my Mother came to see and understand more clearly than anyone else I have known, not just in the way she thought, but in the way she acted. It was a lesson she had to learn at the most painful moment of her life, when she had to share in the sacrifice of Christ in exactly the same way as Mary had. Lessons learned in such moments are never forgotten. They indelibly stain the memory and determine the way you think and act for the rest of your life, for better or for worse. In my mother’s case it was for better not worse, as it was for Mary. For both of them it meant that through their terrible ordeal their motherhood had somehow been refined and deepened to the benefit of other children who looked to them for the motherly love that was always given without measure. I for one know this because I have experienced it for myself and still do. As I look back at the past, it is the more dramatic demonstrations of my mother’s self-sacrificing that stand out in my memory. However, the more I reflect the more I see that her whole life was a continual selfless sacrifice for her family, just as the life of Mary had been. Every day of her life and every moment of her day was given for her children, in a hundred and one different ways, through which she exercised her priesthood, as Mary did in her life on earth. It was little wonder that her three sons all wanted to become priests; after all, they had been living with one all their lives! Selfishness and Sacrifice When the family went to Mass together each Sunday, they saw my mother totally absorbed in what they took all too easily for granted. Their selfishness meant they had too little to offer while she was offering a thousand and one acts of self-sacrifice, made for them during the previous week. This meant my mother received to the measure of her giving, for it is in giving that we receive, and she received in ever-greater abundance with each passing week. This gave her the help and strength she needed to go on giving in the forthcoming week, go on sacrificing for the family that took her all too easily for granted. Without any formal theological education, my mother discovered for herself that the Mass is not only a sacrifice, but also the place where we offer ourselves in, with and through Christ to the Father and something further. It is also a sacred sacrificial meal where we receive, from the One through whom we have offered our sacrifices, the love that He is endlessly pouring out on to, and into, all who are open to receive it. Motherhood was for her, as for so many other selfless, self-sacrificing mothers, a way of participating in the central mystery of our faith. If her daily dying united her to the dying of Christ, it also opened her to receive the love that raised Him from the dead on the first Easter day, empowering her to share what she had received with the family for whom she had given everything. The son she always mourned may never have become the priest he desired, but she more than took his place. The priesthood she exercised would not only inspire her own family but other families as well— families who are still inspired, as I am, by her shining example that will never tarnish. My Brother’s Death Was Not In Vain The death of my dear brother affected me deeply, but his death was not in vain. It inspired me in such a way that I have spent my life writing about him and using him to spread the profound spirituality that attracted him to the monastic life, to inspire others as well. I have spent much of my life writing three major spiritual works. The main protagonist in each work is the hermit, Peter Calvay, who is entirely based on my brother, Peter Torkington. In my imagination, instead of entering the Cistercian order, as he had intended, I simply transferred him to the Outer Hebrides, where he became a hermit. Then, as his spiritual life deepened, he began to help others. If Peter had become a monk his spirituality would have been monastic. However, living as a lay-person enabled Peter to develop for himself a profound lay spirituality based on the spirituality that Jesus Himself lived with His disciples, through whom this spirituality was bequeathed to the early church. This is, of course, of particular help to a modern reader trying to live the Christian life while outside the context of the religious life, like yours truly. If these books help you, as they have helped more than 300,000 readers over the years, then my brother’s death will not have been in vain, nor will the simple spirituality we both learned from our mother.