http://www.americamagazine.org/content/article.cfm?article_id=11896&comments=1#readcomments
I was reading the above-linked article in America magazine this morning regarding Catholic priests who leave the Church for another denomination, primarily because of the celibacy issue.
This got me thinking of my own vocation as a husband and father and "all-around Church guy" I guess you'd call the rest. In the past 5 or so years I have gotten involved in the Cub Scouts with my boys, the Secular Franciscan Order, Knights of Columbus, Ancient Order of Hibernians, and various ministries at my parish. In the back of my mind lurks the possibility of becoming an ordained deacon in the future. None of it feels like "enough", however. Please don't misunderstand; all of these activities and ministries have been thus far very rewarding. I love and am honored to work with fantastic, faith-filled, and in some cases mystical people.
I remember as a boy waiting anxiously to go to Mass. I admired the priest and what was going on up on the altar. I didn't fully understand the Mystery (and I still don't, really...I do get brief awesome flashes, almost like a deja vu. But I digress) but I knew I wanted to do what the priest was doing. It made my parents uncomfortable for some reason which I didn't get. Other kids wanted to be cops, firemen, doctors, nurses, etc. I remember when I was in 2nd grade, we were asked to draw a picture of who we wanted to be when we grew up. I drew a picture of me as a priest, holding up the Cup and the Host for consecration. I was the only kid I knew of who looked forward to CCD classes and actually was ostracized for it (beat up once for it as well) I didn't care...I loved my faith and wanted to grow up to be a priest. Then adolescence came along. Although I had been told much earlier in life that I wouldn't be able to be a priest and a father (how's THAT for irony?), I didn't understand or care about that until I was immersed in the swamp of puberty, awash in hormones and fantasies. I reluctantly gave up the idea of becoming a priest.
However, the fascination and...longing(?) has never fully died in me. Over the years, even the years I was not actively attending Mass, I still "saw myself as a priest" (I can't explain it any further than that). You can imagine how it mushroomed when I began practicing as a Catholic in earnest again. In the midst of my happy marriage with 2 great kids, my ministries with my parish, the Franciscans, Knights and Hibernians, there is still a hole, a longing, a yearning to serve as a priest. Yet, by virtue of my marriage, Church discipline states I can't become a priest.
I am forced to ask this question...why won't God stop talking to me about it, then??? Perhaps it's my ego, my pride, perhaps I'm not hearing it right, I don't know. I'm not considering leaving the Catholic Church - I just realized referncing the above article may have given that impression; I AM home in the Roman Catholic Church.
Today, however this particular instance of Church teaching is something I am struggling with. God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change...y'all know the rest.
Pax,
Thomas
Daily Mass Readings
First Friday
Feast of the Guardian Angels
Baruch 1:15-22
Psalm 79:1-5,8-9
Matthew 18:1-5,10
Friday, October 2, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
My Life List
“Some of the stuff I’d really like to do before I kick.”
-Travel the country. See Boston, Philly, DC, New Orleans, Vegas, Grand Canyon, Yellowstone, “The Four Corners”, Redwood Forest, San Fran, Los Angeles, Seattle, Alaska, Hawaii…etc., etc.
-Travel the world – See Ireland, Scotland, England, Spain, Italy, Czech Republic, Greece, Moscow, Tokyo, Great Wall of China, Australian Outback…etc, etc.
-Learn to ride a horse passably well.
-Go skydiving.
-Go white-water rafting.
-Take up the acoustic guitar or another instrument.
-Write and perform a comedy routine.
-Consolidate and edit all my journals/blogs and publish them as my memoirs.
-Sing in the choir.
-Become a professed Secular Franciscan.
-Get a muscular and fit body.
-Move to Smallwood, NY.
-Attend a Papal Mass.
-Hear the Dalai Lama speak.
-Buy a NEW car.
-Get tattooed.
-Get ordained a Catholic Deacon.
With the majority of these things, right now…what is stopping me??? Money can explain away the car, the ‘audiences’ with the Pope and Dalai Lama, and the travel (but it doesn’t take a whole helluva lot to drive to Philly, DC, or Boston for a long weekend, does it?). The Smallwood move is by necessity in the future – it is Lori’s inheritance. The Franciscans, fitness goals, horseback riding (received lessons for my birthday…thanks Lori!!!) and even the diaconate are processes which I have more or less begun – the trick is sticking to them.
Well, what of the rest? What is stopping me from going skydiving, publishing my memoirs, performing comedy, learning the guitar, singing in the choir, or getting a tattoo? Is it that I think I have plenty of time? Is it that I am afraid I might fall short of some/all of these goals? Am I waiting from someone to download these experiences into my brain?
It is time for me to stop waiting for things I wish to experience to stumble into my lap. To a greater or lesser degree, I want all these things. And most importantly, to a greater or lesser degree, they are all attainable! I do not want to lie on my deathbed with regret. Give me strength, Lord, to push aside fear of failure or apprehension and to go for it!
Pax,
Thomas
Daily Mass Readings
Feast of the Archangels
Daniel 7:9-10, 13-14 or Revelation 12:7-12
Psalm 138:1-5
John 1:47-51
-Travel the country. See Boston, Philly, DC, New Orleans, Vegas, Grand Canyon, Yellowstone, “The Four Corners”, Redwood Forest, San Fran, Los Angeles, Seattle, Alaska, Hawaii…etc., etc.
-Travel the world – See Ireland, Scotland, England, Spain, Italy, Czech Republic, Greece, Moscow, Tokyo, Great Wall of China, Australian Outback…etc, etc.
-Learn to ride a horse passably well.
-Go skydiving.
-Go white-water rafting.
-Take up the acoustic guitar or another instrument.
-Write and perform a comedy routine.
-Consolidate and edit all my journals/blogs and publish them as my memoirs.
-Sing in the choir.
-Become a professed Secular Franciscan.
-Get a muscular and fit body.
-Move to Smallwood, NY.
-Attend a Papal Mass.
-Hear the Dalai Lama speak.
-Buy a NEW car.
-Get tattooed.
-Get ordained a Catholic Deacon.
With the majority of these things, right now…what is stopping me??? Money can explain away the car, the ‘audiences’ with the Pope and Dalai Lama, and the travel (but it doesn’t take a whole helluva lot to drive to Philly, DC, or Boston for a long weekend, does it?). The Smallwood move is by necessity in the future – it is Lori’s inheritance. The Franciscans, fitness goals, horseback riding (received lessons for my birthday…thanks Lori!!!) and even the diaconate are processes which I have more or less begun – the trick is sticking to them.
Well, what of the rest? What is stopping me from going skydiving, publishing my memoirs, performing comedy, learning the guitar, singing in the choir, or getting a tattoo? Is it that I think I have plenty of time? Is it that I am afraid I might fall short of some/all of these goals? Am I waiting from someone to download these experiences into my brain?
It is time for me to stop waiting for things I wish to experience to stumble into my lap. To a greater or lesser degree, I want all these things. And most importantly, to a greater or lesser degree, they are all attainable! I do not want to lie on my deathbed with regret. Give me strength, Lord, to push aside fear of failure or apprehension and to go for it!
Pax,
Thomas
Daily Mass Readings
Feast of the Archangels
Daniel 7:9-10, 13-14 or Revelation 12:7-12
Psalm 138:1-5
John 1:47-51
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
The Son of Man - a man.
The Son of Man came eating and drinking and you said,
‘Look, he is a glutton and a drunkard,
a friend of tax collectors and sinners.’
But wisdom is vindicated by all her children.
I love when I am able to identify with Jesus! When I am able to grasp the notion that Jesus was not only True God but every bit a True Man as well, I feel a kinship with Him, somehow closer to Him.
Jesus was seen by a number of His contemporaries as a glutton and a drunkard. I love my food mightily and I loved my drink even more back in the day. John the Baptist is a great saint, the very herald of the Son of God. He also fasted, never drank and wore rough clothes as a penance for his sins and those of his generation. And yet Jesus - the man of whom John said he was not fit to unfasten His sandals - feasts and makes merry with His friends (and even in the homes of Pharisees from time to time) in a manner John would never dream of.
Does this mean Jesus was weak? Certainly not! It does mean that He, at one point in time, was a Man. He ate drank, slept, made merry, got angry, got aroused, wondered(and likely sometimes worried) where His next meal was coming from. He was a man. As such, He knows the daily joys and anguishes people suffer. I often grow frustrated with some flaw in myself, or in my inability to deal with or accept a situation as it is. In those cases, it helps me to think of Jesus the Man struggling in the dirt with me, as opposed to Jesus GOD ALMIGHTY, SECOND PERSON OF THE HOLY TRINITY, throwing me down a blessing from on high.
Peace,
Thomas
Daily Mass Readings
1 Timothy 3:14-16
Psalm 111:1-6
Luke 7:31-35
Thursday, September 10, 2009
My 9/11 - One of many stories
I realize the blogosphere is going to be teeming with tributes, memorials, editorials, opinion pieces about the attacks of September 11, 2001. And you know what? It should be. If you don't agree, oh well...surf away from this page for now. Here's how I saw the day:
*************************************************************************
"What do you mean, the Towers are GONE???"
My co-worker Scott said that when he was finally able to get through to his girlfriend on his cell. We'd just been evacuated to the far corner of the building on the 4th floor of the Federal Reserve Bank of New York. The foundations of our building had just been shaken for the second time in an hour, our windows blown out. A wickedly fast-moving thick gray-brown cloud made us feel we were enveloped in a huge dirty cotton ball - we couldn't see anything. We had no idea what was happening. We knew the towers were hit by planes. Now we thought our building was next.
I had been on the phone with Lori when the second wave hit us. That horrid rumble, that ear-shattering constant explosion of breaking glass began as I was trying to get the story that was unfolding all around me from my wife, watching on TV. As the wave of destruction washed over us again, the phone fell silent. It would be hours before I would speak to her again. I wanted to crawl under my desk in the fetal position and stick my thumb in my mouth. The fire warden for our floor rushed us into the hall where we would remain for 2 hours. I helped fetch water and plug holes in windows with wet towels. I did it in order to not go screaming insane. It kept my hands and feet moving. It kept me from thinking of my wife and my children. It kept me from thinking about dying.
Hours earlier, looking up at the first plane-sized gash in the Towers from the steps of the bank, I was wondering in an off-hand way how in the hell they were going to get Fire, Police and EMT's up that high? I was likely in a bit of shock...I, and most of the people I was talking to that morning, couldn't yet conceive of the idea of, well, THAT...being deliberate. Half-jokingly, we postulated it was some drunken fool in a Cessna. The size of the hole in the building told a different story, and as paper from the doomed tower started to rain down on us as we re-entered the bank, I think we all started down the path to fear.
When I returned to my desk I decided to call my father, to see if he'd been watching the news or listening to the radio. He answered the phone confused...I'd woken him up and my Mom was already at work. I began to relay the events as I knew them, when
{{{{{{{{BOOOOOOOM}}}}}}}}
The air...quivered. I was inside a fortified Federal building, and I felt that BOOM in my toes. My first thought was "My God, the Tower fell over!", remembering the deep gash. Only being 2 blocks away on the 4th floor, we couldn't see much of anything that was going on at the Trade Center, and Security wasn't letting us leave the bank, now.
A minute later, Vadim, a coworker and friend of mine came running down the aisle, top-speed. "WE'RE BEING ATTACKED!!!! WE'RE BEING ATTACKED!!!!", he screamed. I grabbed him by the shoulders and told him to knock it off, he was scaring folks (I didn't know about 'folks', but he was sure as shit scaring ME.). He continued screaming, "NONO! The OTHER tower's been hit by a plane too!!!" He ran off screaming his message like a demented town crier.
The next 7-8 hours zip by in my memory as a blur, like fast-moving photos barely glimpsed at. Running out into the hall. Trying to run down the stairs and being forced back up...the 1st collapse...breaking windows...coughing...panic...tears. Plugging up the windows, getting water to people who needed it. The 2nd collapse...more breaking windows...more coughing...more panic. Rumors of a truck bomb at the State Department...rumors of planes dropping out of the sky like dead gnats...The Pentagon is breached...talking to my wife for that brief moment - she was watching the tower come down on TV as our call got cut off. All the while being enveloped by that brown cloud that swirled like a solid soup outside the windows.
Leaving the bank in the late afternoon in what looked like nuclear winter. Walking through 2-3 inch thick pulverized powder in the street...I don't even want to think of what that powder was comprised of (I kept my dusty shoes for 5 years without ever wearing them again). Walking to South Street Seaport to escape by Ferry. Somehow, some way, not drinking that day after less than 2 weeks of sobriety.
Home. My son, hugging me and asking why I was covered in dust. My wife, shell-shocked as I was, looking at me with blood-shot and tired eyes. The baby sleeping in his car seat, not a care in the world. I look up to God and begin to cry.
I am a lucky, lucky man.
*************************************************************************
I've no solutions. I've no opinions I'd like to share about the events of that day. I only ask you to hold your loved ones closer, tell those you love that you love them. The crazed panic that goes through your mind when you think you're about to die "Jesus, did I kiss the kids today? Did I tell her I loved her today? Please let the last things I said to them be kind words!"
Cherish. Cherish. Cherish.
Daily Mass Readings
1 Timothy:1-2, 12-14
Psalm 15:1-2, 5,7-8,11
Luke 6:39-42
*************************************************************************
"What do you mean, the Towers are GONE???"
My co-worker Scott said that when he was finally able to get through to his girlfriend on his cell. We'd just been evacuated to the far corner of the building on the 4th floor of the Federal Reserve Bank of New York. The foundations of our building had just been shaken for the second time in an hour, our windows blown out. A wickedly fast-moving thick gray-brown cloud made us feel we were enveloped in a huge dirty cotton ball - we couldn't see anything. We had no idea what was happening. We knew the towers were hit by planes. Now we thought our building was next.
I had been on the phone with Lori when the second wave hit us. That horrid rumble, that ear-shattering constant explosion of breaking glass began as I was trying to get the story that was unfolding all around me from my wife, watching on TV. As the wave of destruction washed over us again, the phone fell silent. It would be hours before I would speak to her again. I wanted to crawl under my desk in the fetal position and stick my thumb in my mouth. The fire warden for our floor rushed us into the hall where we would remain for 2 hours. I helped fetch water and plug holes in windows with wet towels. I did it in order to not go screaming insane. It kept my hands and feet moving. It kept me from thinking of my wife and my children. It kept me from thinking about dying.
Hours earlier, looking up at the first plane-sized gash in the Towers from the steps of the bank, I was wondering in an off-hand way how in the hell they were going to get Fire, Police and EMT's up that high? I was likely in a bit of shock...I, and most of the people I was talking to that morning, couldn't yet conceive of the idea of, well, THAT...being deliberate. Half-jokingly, we postulated it was some drunken fool in a Cessna. The size of the hole in the building told a different story, and as paper from the doomed tower started to rain down on us as we re-entered the bank, I think we all started down the path to fear.
When I returned to my desk I decided to call my father, to see if he'd been watching the news or listening to the radio. He answered the phone confused...I'd woken him up and my Mom was already at work. I began to relay the events as I knew them, when
{{{{{{{{BOOOOOOOM}}}}}}}}
Author's note: There is no word in the English language that could adequately describe that sound/feeling. Comic book writers earn their bread and butter making up words to go with crazy sound phenomena (THOOM! KEEERRRACKKKK! Any lover of comics form the 70's knows what I mean) I could use one of those words right now...but the only word that I can come up with is BOOM
The air...quivered. I was inside a fortified Federal building, and I felt that BOOM in my toes. My first thought was "My God, the Tower fell over!", remembering the deep gash. Only being 2 blocks away on the 4th floor, we couldn't see much of anything that was going on at the Trade Center, and Security wasn't letting us leave the bank, now.
A minute later, Vadim, a coworker and friend of mine came running down the aisle, top-speed. "WE'RE BEING ATTACKED!!!! WE'RE BEING ATTACKED!!!!", he screamed. I grabbed him by the shoulders and told him to knock it off, he was scaring folks (I didn't know about 'folks', but he was sure as shit scaring ME.). He continued screaming, "NONO! The OTHER tower's been hit by a plane too!!!" He ran off screaming his message like a demented town crier.
The next 7-8 hours zip by in my memory as a blur, like fast-moving photos barely glimpsed at. Running out into the hall. Trying to run down the stairs and being forced back up...the 1st collapse...breaking windows...coughing...panic...tears. Plugging up the windows, getting water to people who needed it. The 2nd collapse...more breaking windows...more coughing...more panic. Rumors of a truck bomb at the State Department...rumors of planes dropping out of the sky like dead gnats...The Pentagon is breached...talking to my wife for that brief moment - she was watching the tower come down on TV as our call got cut off. All the while being enveloped by that brown cloud that swirled like a solid soup outside the windows.
Leaving the bank in the late afternoon in what looked like nuclear winter. Walking through 2-3 inch thick pulverized powder in the street...I don't even want to think of what that powder was comprised of (I kept my dusty shoes for 5 years without ever wearing them again). Walking to South Street Seaport to escape by Ferry. Somehow, some way, not drinking that day after less than 2 weeks of sobriety.
Home. My son, hugging me and asking why I was covered in dust. My wife, shell-shocked as I was, looking at me with blood-shot and tired eyes. The baby sleeping in his car seat, not a care in the world. I look up to God and begin to cry.
I am a lucky, lucky man.
*************************************************************************
I've no solutions. I've no opinions I'd like to share about the events of that day. I only ask you to hold your loved ones closer, tell those you love that you love them. The crazed panic that goes through your mind when you think you're about to die "Jesus, did I kiss the kids today? Did I tell her I loved her today? Please let the last things I said to them be kind words!"
Cherish. Cherish. Cherish.
Daily Mass Readings
1 Timothy:1-2, 12-14
Psalm 15:1-2, 5,7-8,11
Luke 6:39-42
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
The Wooden Bowl
I am usually not given to forwarding email chain letters, but this one grabbed me. I offer it to you here, with the promise that nothing horrible will happen to you if you do not pass it on.
It simply made me think of my Dad's recent medical difficulties and how I've centered on the outward annoyances of it...and how my reactions might be absorbed by my kids.
The Wooden Bowl
A frail old man went to live with his son, daughter-in-law, and four-year-old grandson. The old man's hands trembled, his eyesight was blurred, and his step faltered.
The family ate together at the table. But the elderly grandfather's shaky hands and
failing sight made eating difficult. Peas rolled off his spoon onto the floor.
When he grasped the glass, milk spilled on the tablecloth. The son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess.
'We must do something about father,' said the son. 'I've had enough of his spilled milk, noisy eating, and food on the floor.'
So the husband and wife set a small table in the corner.
There, Grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed dinner.
Since Grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in a wooden bowl.
When the family glanced in Grandfather's direction, sometimes he had a tear in his eye as he sat alone. Still, the only words the couple had for him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a fork or spilled food.
The four-year-old watched it all in silence.
One evening before supper, the father noticed his son playing with wood scraps on the floor. He asked the child sweetly, 'What are you making?' Just as sweetly, the boy responded, 'Oh, I am making a little bowl for you and Mama to eat your food in when I grow up.' The four-year-old smiled and went back to work.
The words so struck the parents so that they were speechless. Then tears started to stream down their cheeks. Though no word was spoken, both knew what must be done. That evening the husband took Grandfather's hand and gently led him back to the family table. For the remainder of his days he ate every meal with the family. And for some reason, neither husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped, milk spilled, or the tablecloth soiled.
Author unknown
Daily Mass Readings
Memorial of St. Peter Claver
Colossians 3:1-11
Psalm 145:2-3,10-13
Luke 6:20-26
It simply made me think of my Dad's recent medical difficulties and how I've centered on the outward annoyances of it...and how my reactions might be absorbed by my kids.
The Wooden Bowl
A frail old man went to live with his son, daughter-in-law, and four-year-old grandson. The old man's hands trembled, his eyesight was blurred, and his step faltered.
The family ate together at the table. But the elderly grandfather's shaky hands and
failing sight made eating difficult. Peas rolled off his spoon onto the floor.
When he grasped the glass, milk spilled on the tablecloth. The son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess.
'We must do something about father,' said the son. 'I've had enough of his spilled milk, noisy eating, and food on the floor.'
So the husband and wife set a small table in the corner.
There, Grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed dinner.
Since Grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in a wooden bowl.
When the family glanced in Grandfather's direction, sometimes he had a tear in his eye as he sat alone. Still, the only words the couple had for him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a fork or spilled food.
The four-year-old watched it all in silence.
One evening before supper, the father noticed his son playing with wood scraps on the floor. He asked the child sweetly, 'What are you making?' Just as sweetly, the boy responded, 'Oh, I am making a little bowl for you and Mama to eat your food in when I grow up.' The four-year-old smiled and went back to work.
The words so struck the parents so that they were speechless. Then tears started to stream down their cheeks. Though no word was spoken, both knew what must be done. That evening the husband took Grandfather's hand and gently led him back to the family table. For the remainder of his days he ate every meal with the family. And for some reason, neither husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped, milk spilled, or the tablecloth soiled.
Author unknown
Daily Mass Readings
Memorial of St. Peter Claver
Colossians 3:1-11
Psalm 145:2-3,10-13
Luke 6:20-26
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Working hard...for nothing
“Master, we have worked hard all night and have caught nothing,
but at your command I will lower the nets.”
Today's Gospel speaks about perseverance and faith. Peter's a professional fisherman. He and his crew have been out all night, applying their trade fruitlessly (fish-lessly?). Peter's tired, he's had it. He's calling it a night. How many times have I been there? Working as hard as we can, to seemingly no avail, where we want to call it a night like Peter wanted to. I can even imagine a tinge of exasperation in Peter's reply "Who is this flaky Nazarene...a CARPENTER, no less...to tell me where, when and how to fish??? I've been working these waters for years! Who does this guy think he is???"
But Peter does it anyway. For whatever reason, at Jesus' command, he lowers his nets, eventually swamping 2 boats to nearly the sinking point with fish.
I personally don't feel like lowering my nets right now. I got some news today that someone I look up to and have been inspired by is in trouble...the kind of trouble that will hurt her reputation and possibly detonate her life's work. She has meant so much to me (and many, many others) in my spiritual journey over the years. It is very difficult for me to see into the deep waters where Jesus is now asking me to cast my nets. My cynicism and knowledge of how the world is makes it extremely hard to trust.
May God grant Sister Lauren love, tenderness and a strong back to bear this cross. May she be encouraged and supported by all of her students that love her, admire her and have been inspired by her to serve our brothers and sisters in and out of the Church.
Our Lady of Sorrows, pray for us.
Peace,
Thomas
Daily Mass Readings
Colossians 1:9-14
Psalm 98:2-6
Luke 5:1-11
but at your command I will lower the nets.”
Today's Gospel speaks about perseverance and faith. Peter's a professional fisherman. He and his crew have been out all night, applying their trade fruitlessly (fish-lessly?). Peter's tired, he's had it. He's calling it a night. How many times have I been there? Working as hard as we can, to seemingly no avail, where we want to call it a night like Peter wanted to. I can even imagine a tinge of exasperation in Peter's reply "Who is this flaky Nazarene...a CARPENTER, no less...to tell me where, when and how to fish??? I've been working these waters for years! Who does this guy think he is???"
But Peter does it anyway. For whatever reason, at Jesus' command, he lowers his nets, eventually swamping 2 boats to nearly the sinking point with fish.
I personally don't feel like lowering my nets right now. I got some news today that someone I look up to and have been inspired by is in trouble...the kind of trouble that will hurt her reputation and possibly detonate her life's work. She has meant so much to me (and many, many others) in my spiritual journey over the years. It is very difficult for me to see into the deep waters where Jesus is now asking me to cast my nets. My cynicism and knowledge of how the world is makes it extremely hard to trust.
May God grant Sister Lauren love, tenderness and a strong back to bear this cross. May she be encouraged and supported by all of her students that love her, admire her and have been inspired by her to serve our brothers and sisters in and out of the Church.
Our Lady of Sorrows, pray for us.
Peace,
Thomas
Daily Mass Readings
Colossians 1:9-14
Psalm 98:2-6
Luke 5:1-11
Monday, August 31, 2009
Back to work...in more ways than one
It's been a restful vacation - perhaps a bit too restful. I let myself sleep or stay in bed until at least 10am most mornings during my time off. I made a commitment when my vacation was through to get back into shape (I am woefully overweight and have chronic back problems)
Getting up early this morning to hit the gym, I saw a most beautiful sunrise...pinks reds and oranges reflecting off the few clouds there were in the eastern horizon, the first blues of the day creeping into the still-black sky. It got me thinking - what else am I missing during this time of day? Now don't get me wrong. I love sleep as much as the next guy, maybe a bit more than the next guy. But this is as young as I'll ever be, and there's an early morning world that I am simply missing.
Back to work indeed!
Pax et Bonum,
Thomas
Daily Mass Readings
1 Thessalonians 4:13-18
Psalm 96:1,3-5,11-13
Luke 4:16-30
Getting up early this morning to hit the gym, I saw a most beautiful sunrise...pinks reds and oranges reflecting off the few clouds there were in the eastern horizon, the first blues of the day creeping into the still-black sky. It got me thinking - what else am I missing during this time of day? Now don't get me wrong. I love sleep as much as the next guy, maybe a bit more than the next guy. But this is as young as I'll ever be, and there's an early morning world that I am simply missing.
Back to work indeed!
Pax et Bonum,
Thomas
Daily Mass Readings
1 Thessalonians 4:13-18
Psalm 96:1,3-5,11-13
Luke 4:16-30
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