There are several legends about St. Valentine, but as Pope Gelasius I indicated, his actual acts cannot be known. The most well-known legend of the saint’s life is also sometimes cited as the basis for the later card-sending tradition.

According to legend, Valentine, along with St. Marius, aided the Christian martyrs during the Claudian persecution. In addition to his other edicts against helping Christians, Claudius had also issued a decree forbidding marriage. Valentine, a priest or a bishop, defied this decree and he urged young lovers to come to him in secret so that he could join them in the sacrament of matrimony. When Valentine was discovered, he was arrested, but the emperor first attempted to convert Valentine to Roman paganism rather than execute him.

Of course, Valentine remained steadfast in his faith, and even tried to convert Emperor Claudius to Christianity, and so the emperor then condemned him to death. In the time before Valentine was executed, he was tended by the jailer, Asterius, and his blind daughter, who was very kind to Valentine and brought him food and messages. The legend states that Valentine became friends with and converted both Asterius and his daughter, and miraculously restored the girl’s sight.

The History of Saint Valentine’s Day

The romantic nature of February 14 seems to have been attached to the date long after it was recognized as the feast day of St. Valentine. Still, several centuries before pre-printed, mass-produced greeting cards existed, men and women sent notes, tokens, and cards to their loves on St. Valentine’s Day. The tradition certainly was in place by the late 15^th century, with French and English literature indicating the practice dated at least to the 14^th century. However it is less certain exactly how St. Valentine’s Day came to be recognized as the romantic holiday it is today. There are multiple ideas on how the custom evolved.

The legend that describes St. Valentine’s imprisonment mentions a letter he sent to the Jailer Asterius’s daughter on the eve before he was executed. According to the legend, the farewell message was affectionately signed “From Your Valentine,” a phrase now popular on Valentine greeting cards everywhere.

One aspect is referenced in the writings of Geoffrey Chaucer. It was a popular belief in the middle ages that birds would choose their mates mid-way through the second month of the year – the 14th of February – and that day was seen as consecrated to lovers. In Chaucer’s 14^th century poem Parliament of Fowls is the line “For this was sent on Seynt Valentyne’s day, Whan every foul cometh ther to choose his mate.” This is often recognized as the earliest known written reference to the sending of notes to a loved one on St. Valentine’s Day.

Some years later, the reference to Valentine’s Day and birds was mentioned again in one of the Paston Letters (a collection of letters and other papers exchanged among members of the gentry Paston family and their acquaintances between 1422 and 1509):

“And, cousin mine, upon Monday is Saint Valentine’s Day and every bird chooses himself a mate, and if it like you to come on Thursday night, and make provision that you may abide till then, I trust to God that ye shall speak to my husband and I shall pray that we may bring the matter to a conclusion.”

Since the 18^th century some historians, noting the obscurity of the holiday, believe that the current Valentine’s Day traditions (exchanging notes and trinkets) were adapted from older Roman pagan traditions. However this view is not held universally, as the note-sending tradition is not cited earlier than the 14^th century.

Adapted from the Catholic Encyclopedia, Wikipedia and the Patron Saint Index

A new Extraordinary Form. Where will this lead?

Rome – The religious education world is aghast today following the promotion of the new YOUCAT catechism to the level of an extraordinary form of religious instruction.

Following years of work on the new catechism in secret, the Opus Dei albino monks and Cardinal Schonborn announced the new catechism in a media blitz led by the endorsement and singular declaration of the Pope. The preface of YOUCAT contains the apostolic constitution Conscientia Dabo Vobis in which the Pope raises the new catechism to “Extraordinary Form”.

Fr. Joseph Fezzio, the president of Ignatio Press, the American publisher in charge of printing the English edition said that “The raising of a catechism to extraordinary form is, in itself, an extraordinary event. We are unaware of any other book in the history of the Church that has been given such status.”

The new catechism has already generated controversy from the expected quarters. Fr. Richard O’Brien, author of the only catechism in history to have its imprimatur revoked, had some harsh criticism of the new volume. “Today’s Catholic teens are universally aware of how special they are and they lead the world in the quality of their magazine collages. Who does the Pope think he is ruining an obviously perfect education system?”

Sr. Cheesesitter, head of publishing for the I Am Special Teen Workbook (part III) declared the new catechism “a travesty to American standards of religious education.” Her specific criticisms included:

• “…turning the clock back to the original 1992 Catechism of the Catholic Church which no one could read anyway.”
• “[The catechism contains] far too many words and not enough color pictures and group projects.”
• “The catechism expects far too much of our young people. This isn’t 1891, you can’t expect teens to learn so much stuff.”

In spite of the criticism, the Pope sees the catechism as a timely publication. Speaking directly to the youth in the preface the Pope said “Yes, you must be more deeply rooted in the faith than your parents’ generation, to be able to endure the challenges and temptations of this time with strength and decision.”

Fr. Y, a pundit of all things extraordinary in the Church, took time away from bird watching to lend his support to the endeavor. “I’m in favor of anything with the word ‘extraordinary’ in it. Hopefully this new volume will be the beginning of a renewal of all religious education in the United States and around the world. I am not expecting things to happen overnight. This is a ‘brick by brick’ type of project.”

Even as the ink is still drying on the first edition which is scheduled for release in March of 2011, Fr. Y sees many questions remaining. “Since the Pope has declared this catechism “extraordinary”, does that mean that there is an “ordinary form”? Perhaps the Baltimore Catechism? As the extraordinary form of the Catechism, will its use require a bishop’s approval or is there already a motu proprio in the works that will grant religious education directors freedom to choose the extraordinary form as they see fit?”

The term “Ember Days” is derived from the Latin term Quatuor Tempora, which literally means “four times.” There are four sets of Ember Days each calendar year; three days each – Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. Ember Days fall at the start of a new season and they are ordered as days of fast and abstinence. The significance of the days of the week are that Wednesday was the day Christ was betrayed, Friday was the day He was crucified, and Saturday was the day He was entombed.

According to the Catholic Encyclopedia, the purpose of Ember Days, “besides the general one intended by all prayer and fasting, was to thank God for the gifts of nature, to teach men to make use of them in moderation, and to assist the needy.”

The Four Occurrences of Ember Days are as Follows:

• Winter: the Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday after the Feast of St. Lucy.
• Spring: the Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday after Ash Wednesday.
• Summer: the Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday after Pentecost.
• Fall: the Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday after the Feast of the Holy Cross.

What is an Ember Week?

The term Ember Week simply refers to the week in which the Ember Days occur.

History of Ember Days

According to the Catholic Encyclopedia, the celebration of Ember Days derived from a pagan Roman practice. Before converting to Christianity, the Romans had performed pagan religious ceremonies on these days in relation to their agriculture.

These occasions were changed when former pagans converted and Ember Days became a part of Christian tradition early, as noted in the Catholic Encyclopedia:

“The Church, when converting heathen nations, has always tried to sanctify any practices which could be utilized for a good purpose. At first the Church in Rome had fasts in June, September, and December; the exact days were not fixed but were announced by the priests. The “Liber Pontificalis” ascribes to Pope Callistus (217-222) a law ordering the fast, but probably it is older. Leo the Great (440-461) considers it an Apostolic institution.”

As mentioned in the above quote, Ember Days were not set for a particular week in the early centuries. The timing for Catholic Ember Days was officially arranged and fixed by Pope Gregory VII, who was pope from 1073 to 1085.

Ember Days in the Liturgical Year Today

In 1966, Pope Paul VI’s apostolic constitution, Paenitemini, which addressed and altered feasting regulations, excluded Ember Days as days of fast and abstinence. In 1969, the liturgical reforms altered how they are observed in parishes:

“On rogation and ember days the practice of the Church is to offer prayers to the Lord for the needs of all people, especially for the productivity of the earth and for human labour, and to make public thanksgiving. In order to adapt the rogation and ember days to various regions and the different needs of the faithful, the conferences of bishops should arrange the time and plan of their celebration. Consequently, the competent authority should lay down norms, in view of local conditions, on extending such celebrations over one or several days and on repeating them during the year. On each day of these celebrations the Mass should be one of the votive Masses for various needs and occasions that is best suited to the intentions of the petitioners.”

-General Norms for the Liturgical Year Calendar, Apostolic Letter of Pope Paul VI

This article used information from The Catholic Encyclopedia, Wikipedia, and the Fisheaters website.

Today, we continue to unwrap our early Christmas present from bestselling author Katherine Valentine.  From now through Christmas, we will be sharing Katherine’s latest novel, The Christmas Journal, here in serialized form on CatholicMom.com.  Visit us each Wednesday for four new chapters as we journey through Advent to Christmas. To enjoy more of Katherine’s writing, visit her at www.KatherineValentine.com and please share your appreciation for her lovely work in the comments below.

Download each chapter in PDF Format:

• Chapter One – Christmas Banned
• Chapter Two – Heavenly Idea
• Chapter Three – Christmas Wishes
• Chapter Four – Coming Home
• Chapter Five – Eastwood Shelter
• Chapter Six – Memories
• Chapter Seven – A Neighbor in Need
• Chapter Eight – Griffin Corporation Headquarters

Chapter Five – Eastwood Shelter

School was delayed by two hours so town crews could remove the snow that had accumulated during the night.

It had also given Carrie the time to collate everything she needed to kick off the petition drive. Once the signatures had been collected, the School Board would have to reverse their decision to cancel the Christmas Concert. Even her mom said it was unfair.        Carrie explained the whole thing as soon as her mom got home, trailing her to the hall closet as she hung up her coat, then into the kitchen. She did notice that her mom was walking kind of funny.

“You kids put a great deal of work and effort in it,” her mom said, pulling a head of lettuce, tomatoes, mushrooms and some feta cheese out from the fridge crisper. “I only have the energy to make a salad tonight. That okay with you or should we order in?”

“Salad’s fine,” Carrie said, perching on one of the stools that lined the kitchen island. “So, you’ll help?”

“I’ll do what I can do,” her mother began, raffling through a drawer in search of a paring knife.   “Maybe the mayor could help persuade the Board to reconsider. In the meantime, I think your idea about starting a petition is a good one.”

So did Carrie.

She stayed awake half the night designing posters and banners and plotting out a strategy. She would start with classmates since they were the one’s most affected by the decision. Then she’d canvas the downtown merchants, especially the boosters who had paid to have their names in the concert’s program. Collectively, she figured to amass about five hundred signatures. That would make the school board sit up and take notice.

And if they didn’t?

She wouldn’t let her thoughts go there. They absolutely had to change their decision. Her singing career depended on it. She already had her signature outfits designed in her head. Since every big recording star had a ‘look’, hers would be tight jersey tops, mini skirts, thigh-high white leather boots. Very retro. And her hair….oh, my God…it would be fabulous. She’d been fooling around with a new style. Pulled back. Feathered sides and bangs that framed her face. Fans would all want to copy it.

She could see it now. Recognized wherever she went. People lining up for autographs. It gave her the chills just thinking about it.

And absolutely nothing was going to get in her way. Nothing! This was why she had called her neighbor, Mrs. Humphrey and let her know that the board’s decision was being overturned. No need for her to call her record producer nephew and cancel. She promised to save her two front row seats.

Carrie’s mom drove her to school with a short pit-stop at her office to collect a card table, boxes of pens, clipboards and pads of lined paper. Her mom was wearing a pair of worn brown loafers with an Ann Taylor’s suit. Pleaseeee.. Someone get the fashion police.  But since she was being so supportive of the petition drive, Carrie decided to hold back on the critique. Besides, her mom had gotten the principal’s approval for the petition drive. Mr. Newman liked her mom. She chaired most of the school’s fundraisers.

Carrie and her friends setup their table to the left of the front entrance. As soon as the buses came rolling in, the girls were ready, shouting above the din and waving clipboards.

“Sign our petition to save the Christmas Concert.”

Kids flagged around, wanting to know what it was all about. Carrie explained their goal was to collect enough signatures to make the school board restore the Christmas Concert.

“I’m in,” a senior boy said, who had always been sweet on Carrie. “Where do I sign?”

“Me too,” echoed his buddy. “My dad says this will be the first Christmas without a school concert.”

While her friends took care of the upper classmates, Carrie waylaid the under classmen.

“Here. Sign this,” she said, holding out a pen to a group of female freshmen who obeyed without question, feeling honored to have been singled out by the leader of the cheerleading squad. Carrie and her friends were wearing their lettered jackets.

They had only ten minutes before the homeroom bell sounded. She was determined to get as many signatures as she could.

“I’d like to add my name to that list,” Mr. Parson said.

She handed him the clipboard.

“I really appreciate your support. Most of the other teachers wouldn’t sign.”

“That’s understandable,” he said, handing back the clipboard and adjusting his shoulder bag. “They’re afraid the board might take offense.”

“But you’re not afraid.”

“I’m retiring in a few months,” he said with a sly grin.  “What can they do to me? Hey, Tamara.” He waved to a tall, thin girl with mocha skin, wearing a grey sweatshirt, baggy jeans and a mass of tight black curls piled on top of her head.

“Come here and sign a petition against the school board’s decision to cancel the Christmas Concert.  You’re in the choir, aren’t’ you?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, walking over. Seeing Carrie she nodded, shyly.  “Hi.”

“Every signature counts,” Carrie said with a winning smile while doing a full eye check. The girl was in serious need of fashion intervention. Where did she get those jeans? They’d go fabulously with her mother’s brown loafers. Ugggllly.

“Carrie has decided to use some of what she learned in civics class and put her citizen’s rights into practice, didn’t you Carrie?”

“I…er…guess.” Carrie spent most of his class writing song lyrics or secretly texting her friends. Who cared about government or policies or local issues? Boring.

“See you later, Mr. Parson,” Tamara said, slipping like liquid mercury into the stream of students.

“I admire that girl,” her teacher said, returning Carrie’s pen. “She has a hard life, and it hasn’t been easy fitting in here. The only African American student in sea of white faces. Yet, you have to give her credit. She doesn’t let it get to her. Still gets up at five every morning, so she can take two buses to get here. And from what I’ve heard from her other teachers, she’s a straight A student. I know that she never misses an assignment in my class. Speaking of which… have you chosen someone to help for your civics’ project?”

Carrie’s face went blank. “Civics’ project?”

“You were supposed to choose a person that needed help by today or receive a demerit. You do remember that this assignment is worth half of your grade.”

“Oh, that project?” she stammered. She had been so busy with the petition and everything, she had completely forgotten.

Mr. Parson was looking at her intently. She couldn’t tell him that she hadn’t given it a moment’s thought and now reminded, didn’t have a clue who she might choose.  It’s not like she hung around with losers.

Losers…

“Yes, I have,” she said, brightly, filled with sudden inspiration just as the homeroom bell rang. “I’ve chosen Tamara.”

Mr. Parson paused a beat, then broke into a broad smile. “An impressive choice, Carrie. An impressive choice, indeed.”

“Why thank you,” Carrie said, then quickly stacked the clipboards and papers into a cardboard box, shove them beneath the card table and hurried off to homeroom.

Bob was very encouraged by Carrie’s choice and surprised. Maybe he had misjudged her.

“All right, class, settle down,” Bob said, at the sound of the third period bell. “We’ve got a lot to cover, so let’s get seated. Jay, take that gum out of your mouth.  Heather, you know the rules about cell phones. You have five seconds to shut it off or loose it until your parents come to pick it up.”

While he wrote on the blackboard, the students eased into their seats.

“Tony launch one more spit ball and you’ll be visiting detention,” he said without turning around.

“You psychic or something, Mr. Parson?” Tony asked, slinking down into his chair.

A wave of laughter rolled across the classroom.

“Just experienced in moronic behavior.”

The laughter grew louder.

“Good one, Mr.  P.”

He pointed to the first item listed on the blackboard, ‘Choosing a Recipient.’

“By today you should all have chosen someone for the civics’ project. Now, who wants to start by telling us how they went about making their choice. Remember, no names. This will only be effective if these acts are done anonymously.”

He looked out into a sea of faces working hard to avoid eye contact. Some stared at the ceiling, others the floor tiles. The remainder were writing aimlessly on pads. He felt a sudden pang of disappointment.

He had hoped to find his students bristling with excitement, brimming over with stories of having found someone they could help and the joy that came knowing that they could make a difference in someone’s life. That’s what Christmas was all about. It was a season of sharing our gifts, our talents, but mostly our love. How could these kids be so dispassionate? Giving of oneself was the greatest gift of all.

The room remained silent. He leaned against the blackboard and folded him arms.

“Let me guess. No one has done the first leg of assignment? You do all know that you will receive a five point demerit off your final grade for not having been prepared, today, don’t you? ”

Alan McGowan, seated in the center row, raised his hand.

“Yes, Alan.”

“I don’t know a lot of people in town, so it’s been kind of hard. But I did ask Pastor Whitcomb at Abiding Faith Church if he’d help me. He said he would think about it and let me know. I’m supposed to meet with him today afterschool.”

“In your case, I’ll give an extension, but the rest of you don’t have any excuses. You’ve lived in Crutcher Pike all of your lives. I don’t understand why it is so hard to look outside of yourself and try to find someone who is going through a tough time and needs a little help. Are you trying to tell me that there are no needy people out there?”

“I tried to find someone,” Tyler complained. “But the only person that could use any help is my Cousin Mildred. She could really use a boyfriend, but I figured that fifty bucks wouldn’t be enough to fix that.”

The room erupted in laughter. Bob stood quietly, allowing the jokester his reward until an uncomfortable silence fell over the classroom.

“Carrie. Without giving away the identity of your choice, would you like to share how you came to your decision?”

Carrie shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I’d rather keep that to myself. You know, just write it down in my journal.”

“Okay, that’s fair.”  Bob attributed her reluctance to seldom having participated in many classroom discussions.  Carrie’s was bright and enthusiastic when dealing with her peers, but when it came to academics she was normally reticent.

“Carrie told me who she had chosen before class, and I have to say, I was surprised and very impressed. It showed a real depth of thought and commitment to this assignment. This individual had enormous potential, but because of circumstances, has challenges that make it difficult to succeed.”

He turned to Carrie. “I’ll be very interested in watching this assignment unfold.  All right, now…” he scanned the room. “Doug. Let’s hear about your choice.”

Doug had rushed out after class and was so deep in thought that he didn’t hear Carrie calling. He’d just had five points shaved off his civics’ grade for not having chosen someone. Great, just great. You idiot. You’re supposed to work on getting your grade point average up not get a demerit.

But Mr. Parson had showed no mercy. All those who didn’t have a recipient by Monday would loose another ten points. And he made it clear that the person chosen had better be well thought out. Not someone you just picked up off the street, he said.

“If you wanted to pass his class this semester, you’d better take this assignment seriously,” he warned.

Oh, he was taking it seriously enough, all right. His new set of wheels along with his social standing was resting on its outcome.

“Didn’t you hear me calling you?” Carrie asked breathlessly. She had raced the length of the hall to catch up with him. “You took off out of the classroom like a rocket. Are you okay?”

He paused by his locker. “I need to ace Parson’s assignment or my old man will be all over me.” He kept the car business to himself. He didn’t want Carrie making anymore threats about Tommy Hawkins.

“So, what’s the big deal?”

He spun the combination lock. “I can’t find anyone. I’ve racked my head and asked around and nothing. How does Parson expect us to find a needy person in this town? The only people who ever need help are the ones that live down by the river and Abiding Church has them covered. Of all the stupid assignments…”

He thrust open his locker and jammed his books inside.

“You’ll find someone,” she said, leaning in close. He could smell her perfume. Normally, the scent drove him crazy, but not today. He had other, more important things on his mind.

“There’s got to be someone you know that needs help,” she added, twisting a lock of golden hair.

“Easy for you to say.  You already found your person. By the way, who is it?”

“You know we’re not allowed to tell,” she teased.

He flashed a crooked grin. “You won’t even tell me? Your steady?”

“We are not going steady.”

“We’re not? Then I wonder who I’ll give the great gift to that’s sitting on my dresser.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” she said coyly. “I told you.  I’ll give you my answer on Christmas Day.”

Doug knew what that meant. She’d only say yes if he had gotten the car. Suddenly he was in no mood to play games. His grin shifted to a leer.

“Well, maybe by then I’ll have lost interest.”

He slammed his locker closed then headed out, enjoying the look of shock on Carrie’s face.  This darn assignment was putting a real drag on his Christmas.

Pastor Peter Whitcomb had sent Alan off to mail a letter while he tried to think of someone who might fit the parameters of his class assignment. The boy had come to him a few days ago, all exciting about the new civics’ project, explaining that he was to find someone whose quality of life would be improved by an act of kindness on his part. Peter had to hand it to Bob. He sure had come up with a great way to share the Christmas message without infringing on the school board’s ban.

“But I don’t know anyone in town,” Alan had said. “So I was hoping that, since you’re a pastor and all, you might help me find someone.”

Peter had promised to think it over, but so far, he hadn’t come up with a viable candidate. The few people whom he knew could use the help like Ivan Chapman had revealed their needs in confidence. Ivan’s health was rapidly declining, and he needed help in sorting out a lifetime of clutter. Peter had made a few suggestions, all of which, he had refused.

Who else? Surely, there must be someone out there he knew that wouldn’t object to a little intervention.

“I could use a little intervention here myself,” he told the Lord as the phone in the outer office rang. Seconds later, his secretary buzzed him. Ray McGowan was on the phone.

“Hi, Ray. How are things in your neck of the woods?” he asked, cheerfully. “I hear that corporation still hasn’t been able to root you out.”

“You heard right,” Ray said. “Their big shot lawyers were here a few minutes ago, trying to intimidate me with veiled threats of closing us down. Some fire code violations. The Fire Marshal is here now.”

“Well, you hang in there.”

“I intend to. But that’s not the reason for my call. One of the shelter’s guests is a student at Madison. She’s missed the bus. I’d come and get her myself if I didn’t have this thing with the Fire Marshal. Any chance, you might be coming this way and could give her a ride?”

“Sure. I have a box full of food stuffs that Sylvia Dickerson and her group have collected.”

“Sylvia Dickerson? Really? I thought that since she’s handling the Griffin account she would have given up overseeing the monthly donations. Conflict of interest.”

“Not Sylvia. She never lets business get in the way of her church commitments.”

“Well, good for her. Can you hold on a minute?”

While Peter waited, he stared out the window. Alan was just coming around the bend. There was something oddly familiar about the boy’s features, the square jaw, deep-set amber eyes, high forehead. He reminded him of someone, but he just couldn’t place who.

Ray was back. “Sorry about that. The Fire Marshal needs to talk to me. I have to go. Thanks’ for  giving Tamara a ride. I told her to wait for you outside the main school entrance.”

“Fine. We’ll both see you in about twenty minutes.”

Alan bound in, trailing the scent of clean air and freshly cut pine. The Crutcher Pike Garden Club had been decorating the downtown for days.

“I mailed your letter. Mr. Findley says to tell you that you owe him thirty-five cents.”

“Did you tell him I was good for it?” Peter joked and watched the boy smile. He rolled back his chair and went to grab his coat.  “I have to do a favor for the director of the homeless shelter over in Titusville.  One of his guests needs a ride. Why don’t you come along? Maybe we’ll find someone there that you might use for your project.”

“Sure. I just need to call my mom. I’ll tell her I’ll hitch a ride home with my dad.  He’s heading some downtown restoration project.”

Alan was the son of the man who was trying to shut down the shelter?  How could he have forgotten that?  Well, this should be interesting, Peter thought, following the boy out to his car.

“I’m sorry, Ray. I know that you’ve tried to comply with the Fire Codes and I’ve allow you to limp along, but this development group has the town officials all worked up. They’re counting on those new stores to raise the tax base. I swear, every time I look into their eyes, I see dollar signs. In fact, they’re so excited about all that extra revenue that they’re working double-time to make certain that I cross ever ‘T’ and dot every ‘I’. They want  this place closed down, Ray.  That’s the bottom line.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You know that if it was up to me, I’d work something out. You’re doing a great thing here. I hate to see this place closed down.”

Frank Cordin, the town’s Fire Marshal, had let the shelter slide in the past, but Ray knew that he couldn’t ask for anymore favors without putting his friend’s job in jeopardy.

“I understand,” Ray said. “Just tell me what absolutely needs to be done.”

Frank rubbed a thick black hand along his chin. “Well, for starters, you need to update the electrical. These old fuses went out in the fifties. Let’s face it. This system is more than antiquated. It’s a fire hazard. And speaking of fires…”

He pointed to a piece of water stained ceiling tiles. “And that sprinkler system only works in this portion of the building.  The other section has never been upgraded. You’ll need to install a whole new system to get it up to code and that’s going to cost a bundle.”

“I know,” Ray sighed. “I’ve gotten a few quotes. I’d need to win the Lottery to do it up right.”

Frank laid a hand on Ray’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. What you’ve done these last twenty years is nothing short of a miracle. Without this place, the town would have a greater problem on their hands with people being forced to sleep in the streets.

“But I hear that the Griffin Group has offered to help set you up in a new facility across town. Why not take them up on the offer? Anything would be better than this rat trap, no offense intended.”

“None taken,” Ray smiled. “I’ve thought long and hard about that. On the surface, it seems like a reasonable solution. But my people need access to public transportation to get around. It’s the only way that most can get to the health clinic. Several of our clients are diabetics who need monitoring and a way to get their medicines. Then there are the growing numbers of the working poor we service.”

His thoughts immediately went to Tamara and her family. “At the moment, we have five single moms who need the bus to get to and from work.”

“Have you talked with the transportation department?”

“Until I’m blue in the face. So has the town council. They’re state run and don’t give a hoot. They say they can’t justify opening up a new bus line just to service our clients.”

Frank shook his head of graying black curls. “It sure looks like you’re between a rock and a hard place.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Ray agreed.

“What are you goin’ do?”

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, dear friend. I’m going to lay the whole thing at the feet of the Lord.”
Frank nodded in full agreement. “No better place. He’ll come up with something. As my granny used to say,  the only reason the age of miracles stopped was because folks started believing that they should take care of things themselves.”

“Amen brother.”

“What’s this? A prayer meeting?” Peter asked with a smile.

“Just concurring that there are some things better left in the hands of our Lord,” Ray said, smiling.

“I wholeheartedly agree. Hi, Mr. Cordin. I met your wife this morning at the Piggly Wiggly. She told me she had come in to buy the makings for a pumpkin pie. Something about it being your favorite.”

Frank snapped close his pen and stuffed it in his shirt pocket. “That can only mean one thing. She’s getting ready to ask me if her sister, Hannah can stay awhile.”

“Is that a problem?” Peter asked.

“Not if she leaves her no account husband back in Mississippi. Never saw a man more practiced in the art of sponging off relatives.”
He clamped his thick hand around a metal toolbox. “Well, I’d best be going. Good day, Reverend.” He nodded at Peter and headed out.

“I take it the inspection didn’t go well,” Peter said, watching the Fire Marshal leave through a side door.

“The electric and sprinkler systems need upgrading,” Ray explained.

Peter let out a low whistle. “How are you going to manage that?”

“Don’t know, but then we’ve weathered dark storms before. We’ll weather this one.” He clapped his hands, dispelling the dismal mood. “Now, enough of this doom and gloom. Did you find Tamara?”

“She’s right over there,” Peter said, indicating where she stood talking with Alan. The pair had hit it off on the ride over.

“What a bright girl. She told me about how she invests her babysitting money and all about compound interest. She’s saving up for a home for her mom and siblings.”

“She’ss remarkable, isn’t she?” Ray said with pride. “Never saw a family stick closer than that one. Her mom works cleaning offices downtown. Sometimes, Tamara helps out. They lost their apartment when they started renovating the old hotel. Living mostly on the streets until landing here.”

“How long have they been guests?”

“Three weeks. The state won’t let me house them much longer. The terms of my license states that the shelter is to provide only temporary housing. Anything over six weeks is considered long term. They have until Christmas Eve to find a place of their own.”

Peter shook his head. “And in the midst of this, Tamara is commuting to Madison.”

“And getting straight A’s,” Ray added with a touch of  pride. “Who’s that with her?”

“That’s Alan.”

As the boy turned and waved, Ray felt a sudden jolt. The boy was the spitting image of his son, David when he was that age.

“He’s in Bob Parson civics’ class and needs help with an assignment. Bob has asked his students to find individuals that are in need of help and fill that need. It’s a lesson in how the collective small acts of kindness help to improve the quality of life for the greater good.”

“Bob thought this up?”

“Yep.”

“Wouldn’t have anything to do with the ban the school board placed on Christmas, would it?” he asked, smiling.

“It might.”

“Alan just moved here from out of state and doesn’t know a lot of people. He asked me if I might help find him someone to help. When you called, I figured, I’d bring him along. The shelter might be a good place to start.”

Peter called him over. “There’s someone I want you to meet. Alan this Ray.  He’s the director here.”

“Nice to meet you Alan,” Ray said, studying the young boy’s feature. Up close the resemblance was even more striking.

“Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Pastor Whitcomb says that you need to find someone to help for your civics’ project.”

“I think I might already have found someone, or maybe something that would make a difference.” Alan was all smiles. “I was talking to Tamara and she suggested that I ask Mr. Parson since the school board has banned the Christmas concert, it be given here as a fundraiser for the shelter. What do you think?”

Ray grasped the boy by the shoulders and gave him a hug. “I think that you’re idea is a gift fallen straight from heaven.”

“Looks like you might have your upgrade money,” Peter said, marveling once again at the providence of God.

“Then it’s okay if I ask Mr.  Parson if it’s all right?” Alan asked.

“If you like, I’ll call him myself right now,” Ray said, heading towards his office then stopped. “I don’t think, I got your last name in case Mr. Parson asks.”

“McGowan,” the boy said. “Alan McGowan. Maybe you know my dad. He’s in charge of the restoration project on Main Street.”

Ruth found Bob in the garage wrapped in thick strands of Christmas tree lights as he worked to untangle several lengthy cords.

She handed him the phone and refrained from her annual admonition that he should not just throw everything together into one big box.

He held the phone with a shoulder while continuing his work.

“Hi, Ray. I was going to give you a call later. I was going through our Christmas decorations and found the ones we stored here belonging to the shelter.  I thought I could bring them over this weekend. Get your guests to help out. I’ll have Ruth make some cookies. Maybe stop by the orchard and bring along some apple cider. The kids always get a kick out of helping. Ray…?”

He just realized that Ray hadn’t uttered a word. “You there?”

“I just met Alan McGowan.”

“Alan? Yeah, he’s a good kid.”

“Peter Whitcomb introduced us. He thought Alan might find someone here that he could help as part of his civics’ project.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bob threw down the mass of wires and sighed. It was hopeless. Maybe he should just chuck the whole lot and go buy new ones.

“He came up with a really good plan. I told him I’d pass it by you. He wants to move the Christmas Concert here and sell tickets. The proceeds would go towards some badly needed upgrades. The Fire Marshal just paid us a visit. He’ll have to shut us down if we don’t fix a couple of code violations.”

“Sounds like a great idea. Of course, I’ll have to pass it by Wade and Gloria, but I’m pretty sure they’ll be behind it. Since the concert will be off the school grounds, I don’t see how the board could object.”

“There’s another thing…”

“Oh?”

“Tell me more about Alan.”

Bob thought a moment. “He’s a good kid. Quiet. Transferred in about nine months ago. I keep meaning to ask if he’s related to one of the local McGowan’s. Wouldn’t by chance be related to you, huh?”

“I think he might be my grandson.”

Bob was stunned into silence.

“Alan is a dead ringer for David at that age,” Ray explained.” Same eyes, hair coloring. My wife’s family nose.”

“Just because he resembles David as a kid doesn’t mean he’s your grandson.”

“Alan’s father is heading the restoration project along Main Street.”

“So?”

“David heads that project.”

“David? Your David? You mean he’s come back and you never told me?”

Bob felt like someone had stabbed him the chest. He’d always thought they were best friends. How could Ray have held back telling him something of this importance?

“If you knew, I felt you’d want to start meddling. Maybe take it on yourself to set up a meeting. I couldn’t allow that.”

Ray was right, of course. But that still didn’t excuse him from not letting him know.

“You forgive me?”

“Yeah, but I retain the right to be really disappointed that you didn’t trust me for a while longer.”

“Deal.”

“So. Are you going to tell Alan that you’re his granddad?”

“Not just yet. I figured I’d get to know him first, then I’ll see how things go.”

“Makes sense.”

“Oh, and Bob, I’d appreciate it if you kept this confidential. I wouldn’t want word to leak out.”

When Ruth returned with Spareparts, she found Bob staring into space and the lights scattered on the floor. She gingerly stepped over the pile and handed Bob the leash.

“Spareparts needs a walk and I have to get to the church. Lily Hamlin can’t remember how many glass globes we used last year to light the stain glass windows. We need to do a count.”

The corgi jumped up and placed two stubby paws on Bob’s knees but was ignored.

“It’s the strangest thing…”

“What’s that?”

“I thought God had given me the idea for the civics’ project to teach my students the true meaning of Christmas. But now….”

“But now…what?” she asked, pulling out her car keys.

“Oh, nothing. Just an old man babbling to himself.”

She kissed him on the forehead and headed out while Bob wondered if the real the civics’ project was really about uniting a family?

Chapter Six – Memories

Ray sat alone in his darkened office lit only by the light flowing in from beneath the door. The dark was like a shield, blocking out distractions, better for thinking things through.

His fingers beat out a silent rhythm against his desk while he tried to digest the sudden turn of events. Above all, he must seek guidance from the One who had orchestrated all of this. How could he ever sufficiently express his gratitude? There were so many times that he had wanted to give up praying for David’s return. It had been over twenty years since he had left. Not a word since. Chances of him ever returning or getting in touch had grown less likely with each passing year.

But every time that Ray had been ready to give into despair, his Bible would seem to fall open of its own accord to Luke 18:1…

Then Jesus told his disciples a parable to show them that they should always pray and not give up.

He shook his head and smiled. And now God had honored those prayers in a way that he had never considered. Not only had he brought David home, but He had included a grandson that he didn’t know he had.

He wished that David would had tried to make contact by now, but Ray respected his reticence. But he figured God wouldn’t have brought him home if He didn’t have a plan of reuniting them. But like he had told Bob, he would not pressure his son. When David was ready to reconcile, he would allow him to make the first move. In the interim, all of the Griffin Group negotiations had been conducted through Jarrod Nelson.

That name drew his lips together in a tight line. He had Jarrod pegged the first time they met. When Ray explained the need for the shelter to remain on a main bus route, Jarrod reached inside his coat pocket and drew out his checkbook. “Here’s a twenty thousand dollar gift,” he said, holding out the check. “I’m sure it will help assuage your conscience.”

Ray had kicked him out and told his staff never to let him back in. After that, a team of lawyers had taken over. They had fared no better in convincing Ray to move the shelter. But Ray was no fool. He knew it was only time before the town would find a way to shut him down.

Ray rubbed his eyes. He was tired of the battle, but on the other hand, it had brought him his grandson.  I have a grandson…

The boy’s face had brought back so many memories of David when was a child. They had been so close then.

Ray chuckled remembering the many times he would be busy in his office and hear  the ‘cluck’ of David’s bike falling onto the grass, followed by heavy footsteps pounding up onto the wooden porch.  The screen door would screech under protest as David yanked it open and began yelling, “Hey, Dad! Dad! I’ve got something really cool to tell you.”

He’d dash through the office door and take a running leap onto the corner of Ray’s desk, his face flushed with excitement that bubbled over in a breathless monologue.  He’d seen a dog being chased by the dog catcher. Mr. Mellon had just bought a new car.  He had just won a place on the high school basketball team.

For over twenty years, Ray had hoped and prayed that David would return; his mind churning out scenarios where David would apologize for his anger and like the prodigal son, he would welcome him with open arms. They’d hug, make amends.      Of course, no reconciliation could erase the years of anguish spent pining his absence, but all that pain would be gone in a flash once he held him in his arms.

He had had such hopes when he learned that David was heading the downtown renovation project. For weeks after he arrived, Ray would begin each day with the prayer, “Let this will be the day that he walks through that door.” As the weeks passed into months, it was clear that David would not seek a reunion. He was here to do a job, nothing more.

His silence spoke more loudly than words that he still blamed him for not explaining himself to the Church Council and for his mother’s death. Even the passage of time could not temper the hot, piercing words flung the day of her funeral.

“The cancer didn’t kill her. You did. She died from heartache that could have been prevented if only you had just once thought more for your family than you did for your church,” David had raged. “You could have told them why you took that money, but no….not the great, holier than thou Ray McGowan. He’d rather make his family suffer than to divulge a confidence?”

David had been half right. He had loaned the money, but not to a crook. Johnny Chapman had been one of his dearest friends growing up and had been desperate for help. In good conscience, he could not turn him away.

He and Johnny had been friends since the sixth grade. Johnny was a year older since he’d been held back a year. Johnny had always been more interested in having fun than in school work. The other kids had given him the tall, angry looking classmate a wide berth, but not Ray. There was just something about him that made Ray feel that he desperately needed a friend he could count on. Besides, being with Johnny like grabbing hold of a rocket.

Johnny showed him how to hit the bubblegum machine outside the general store with the palm of your hand that made it release two pieces of gum instead of one. The fact that his family owned the store along with the bank, the railroad depot and the lumberyard, and that the gum was free for the asking never seemed like an option. Besides, what fun would there be in that, Johnny quipped.

Johnny was also worldly wise in ways that eluded Ray. One cool, summer night,  Ray and Bob Parson sat atop the town’s water tower pitching coke bottles on the rocks below while trying to act nonchalance as Johnny explained the physical changes that had taken place when he had French kiss his first girl.

But there was a darker side to Johnny that often worried Ray. He was always taking wild and dangerous chances. Like the time he laid on the railroad tracks, with a train roaring down on him, refusing to move until he had finished the final lyric to Palladin, singing in his falsetto voice, Have gun will travel reads the card of a man, A knight without honor in a savage land…” Bob Parson had been there that day and had thrown up all over his sneakers as the train roared past, unaware that seconds before, Johnny had rolled off onto the other side of the tracks.

Years later and several semesters of psychology behind him, Ray understood that Johnny’s destructive behavior was due largely to his dad’s rigid standards.  The family could trace their ancestry back to the Mayflower and included members who had fought in the the Revolutionary War, the Civil War and all the other wars that followed.

It used to pain Ray to watch Ivan Chapman ride Johnny about every facet of his life from what he wore, how he spoke, his friends; nothing passed the old man’s scrutiny or seemed to gain his approval. Johnny’s older brother, Samuel had died from influenza as a child, leaving Johnny as the heir apparent to the Chapman dynasty.

Then came the 1957 recession, a result of the tightened monetary policy of the Federal Reserve. As they entered the 60’s, the family fortunes had been reduced by nearly eighty percent. Chapman pressed harder for Johnny take his place in the family, making it clear it would be ‘his’ responsibility to restore the family’s monetary standing.

Johnny was sent off to Dartmouth, the family’s alma mater, directly after high school where he traded nights bent over a book for those bent over a bar. He managed to make it through two semesters before being expelled for burning an American flag at a rally against the Vietnam War. He later told Ray that he hadn’t been against the war. He had just the only one in the crowd with a match.

Johnny was sent home and subjected to his dad’s continual tirade that focused on having bore such a disappointing son. But the sentence that sent Johnny over the edge was when Ivan said, “I fear that God let the wrong son live.”

That night, Ray found Johnny with a near empty bottle of Seagram’s, standing on the railing of the expansion bridge that crossed the Kentucky River. Ray was home on break from college where he was majoring in psychology and theology. It had taken him every ounce of his newly processed knowledge to convince Johnny that he had a purpose and that his death would gain nothing.

Johnny disappeared after that night. The years slipped by as Ray followed the inner calling to become a pastor. He married, had a son and was pastoring the Abiding Faith Church when one night there was a knock on the parsonage door and there stood Johnny Chapman.

“I bet you never thought you’d see me again,” Johnny said, grabbing him in a crushing embrace.

It took him several moments to place this ruggedly handsome, man full of life and joy. “Johnny? Johnny Chapman? I can’t believe it. How are you, you old dog?”

He marched in, sank down in an overstuffed chair and suddenly, it was as if no time at all had passed between them. For the next hour, Johnny told him how he had wandered aimlessly around for nearly five years, driven only by the need to keep a distance between him and his father.  He slept in subways in New York City. Worked on cattle ranches in Montana and then one day happened upon a small cow town in Utah.

“And that’s when I met a man who changed my life.”

“Tell me about him.” Ray was anxious to learn what this man possessed that had brought about this amazing metamorphous.

“His name is Brad Simmons, Dr. Brad Simmons. I met him when he was getting ready to launch an American chapter of Doctor’s without Borders. I offered to go along. I thought maybe I could help tote their supplies, and he accepted.”

“I’ve heard of that group,” Ray said. “They do extraordinary work for the sick and disabled in undeveloped countries.”

“Exactly!”  Johnny’s eyes filled with passion. “Usually, we’re the only medical personal in a five hundred mile radius. People travel for days just to be seen. It’s like that everywhere we go.

“We’re stationed in Rwanda now. For the next three months, we’ll be traveling to native villages, offering wellness clinics and inoculations.” Johnny shook his head. “You know, that even after having done this work for nearly eight years, I still find it hard to believe that there are people dying from chicken pox and diphtheria.”

“Still toting packages?”

Johnny smiled. “No, in fact, I now have a someone who totes things for me.”

“Oh?”

“With Dr. Simmons’s help, I qualified for my para-medic certificate and now, I’m even thinking about going to medical school. Dr. Simmons says he’ll make some phone calls if I promise to return when I’m through.”

“I’m so happy for you, Johnny. This must be very rewarding,” Ray offered, still finding it hard to connect the man seated across from him with that of his old reckless friend.

They talked for a while longer. Ray filled him in about his life, family and the parish. Finally things wound down and he asked, “Have you seen your dad?”

Ivan Chapman had become something of a recluse since Johnny’s disappearance and the loss of his wealth. The Chapman’s large estate was about to be auctioned off. Ivan had been unsuccessful in reclaiming his family’s fortunes. Some said it was the final blow to the proud old man.

Johnny swung around and placed both feet on the floor. His voice sobered. “He and I had a long talk. I told him that this last year in the midst of poverty and degradation, I had discovered true wealth.”

“What was that?”

“Family. I owed my dad an apology I could have been a much better son. I told him that and asked for his forgiveness.”

“And did he grant it?”

A piece of dark brown hair slightly streaked with grey fell across his eyes. “He did and I cried like a baby. And more than that, for the first time he’s proud of how I’ve turned my life around and what I’m doing. I can’t tell you how much that means to me. To have him finally say that he approves of me is better than any fortune I might have inherited.”

Ray remembered how hard Johnny had sought to gain his father’s approval as a child.  He was thrilled for him.

“Speaking of your dad, I heard that he bought a cottage over on Spring Street.  That must have been quite an adjustment.”

“Yes, it was. My dad’s never had to fend for himself before either. There were always servants to do the cooking and cleaning. But we talked and I think I’ve convinced him to see it as an adventure. Something new to conquer.”

“Your visit must have been a real balm to his soul.”

Ivan was one of his parishioners and although he seldom attended Sunday services. When he did, Ray always felt saddened at the pain reflected in the old man’s eyes. He hoped that being reconciled with Johnny would help lessen that pain.

Johnny leaned forward and studied the floor

“Ray, I need your help.”

“Sure, anything.”

“I’ve done a stupid thing. Something that if my dad were to find out would ruin everything. A couple of nights ago, I paid a visit to Mack’s.”

“The bar on Cedar Street?”  That place was always being raided. Several of the town’s police officers were parishioners. Ray had a sudden sinking feeling.

“I just wanted to take a walk down memory lane. Reminisce.” He smiled that endearing smile of his.  “Not all of my childhood was bad. I had some good times.”

Ray nodded. Yes, there were those.

“I figured I might bump into some old friends. Catch up on old times. But I had a few too many drinks and when I was invited in the back room where a high stakes poker game was going on, I joined right in.”

“Oh, Johnny.” He knew what was coming. “How much did you loose?”

“Three grand.”

“Three grand?!! How did you pay it off?”

“I didn’t. I gave them a note.”

“Do you have that kind of money to cover it?”

“I can borrow it from Dr.Simmons once I get back. I’m returning on Friday.”

“Let me guess. The guys you gave the note to don’t want to wait.”

“I was hoping you could help me out,” Johnny began.

“Oh, John….”

“Just a loan. I swear.” He held up his hand. “I’m leaving Friday and can have the money wired to you by mid-week.”

“What about your dad?”

“He’s the last person I’d ask. First, I don’t think he has it.  He’s been pretty much financially wiped out. And second, it’s taken me all these years to finally earn his approval, I don’t want to loose it. If he finds out about this….” Johnny leaned forward, his eyes filled with desperation. “Please, Ray. I made a stupid mistake. You’re my only hope.”

“Johnny, I’m a pastor. I don’t  have that kind of cash. I suppose I could take a second mortgage on my house…”

“That would take much too long. I need the cash now.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I wish I could help.”

Johnny fell back into his chair. “It’s all right. I knew coming here was a long shot. I didn’t really think you could help.”

Ray’s heart ached for his friend. He had worked so hard to change the course of his life. He had a career and a future. In a flash of anger, Ray wanted to lash out.

You stupid, stupid, guy. Why have you allowed yourself to be drawn back into that lifestyle? You’re not a kid anymore. You’re in control of your actions. Can’t you see the damage you have done?

Ray got up and paced the room. He was about to let him know how he felt about his total lack of self control when he happened to glance at Johnny. He had seen men facing death less anguished. Clearly, no amount of admonishment was necessary. Johnny was already drowning in remorse.

“I don’t have that kind of cash, but….”

Johnny looked up hopefully.

“There is the church organ fund. The organ is being delivered at the end of the month. I guess, I could…borrow…it if you promised to return the money before it was due to arrive.”

Johnny jumped up and held up his right hand. “I swear on my mother’s grave, I will have that money paid back by next week. I’ll wire it as soon as the bank opens on Monday.”

And so, Ray had given him the three thousand dollars, knowing that his conscience demanded it . Insisting that Johnny make certain that the funds were paid back  well before they had been missed, he handed over the cash.

“I will never forget this,” Johnny said, crushing him in a tight embrace. “This is twice that you saved my life.”

Back in Rwanda, coffee prices had suddenly taken a sharp plunge. Small farmers suffered. Famine followed. Hordes of roaming bands of gunmen looted and pillaged villages, taking out their frustration on anyone unlucky enough to come across their path.  Johnny was one of the unlucky ones. He was killed on his way to the medical outpost and died before he could transfer the funds.

Ray’s prayers for guidance as the date of the organ delivery grew near. Should he go to Ivan Chapman and explain what had happened and hope that he would offer to repay the church? Or should, Ray keep silent so that Ivan’s memories would be one of pride in a son that had finally turned his life around and died a heroes’ death, having given his life for the common good.

In the end, Ray decided to take full responsibility for the missing funds which he would see were repaid in full. But the church members demanded an explanation which he would not give. Ray simply bent his head, but refused to defend himself. Finally, the church leaders asked him to leave. Some would later labeled him a thief, an embezzler.

More tragedy followed. His wife’s death. His son’s anger and disappearance. If it wasn’t for Bob Parson, Ray might not have made it through those tough times. It was Bob who convinced him that the call God had placed on his life could not be revoked. Regardless of the personal toll, he must go on.

Bob was right. He had made a commitment from which there was no turning back which included keeping a confidence regardless of the expense. Hadn’t Jesus told his disciples to ‘count the cost’ before taking a vow to follow Him? That cost had come dearly in Ray’s life.

A few months later, he decided to open a soup kitchen in the neighboring town of Titusville, knowing there was no better therapy during times of trial than in serving those who suffered more then you.

Beyond his closed office door were the sounds of guests settling in for the night. Volunteers were on duty to hand out blankets and assign beds which were becoming much too scarce as the need increased. Ray leaned forward and placed his head in his hands. What would these people do if his son succeeded in closing them down? Even a move across town would be filled with pitfalls. It would takes weeks, maybe months before the new facility was up and running. Where would these people go?

His thoughts turned to Tamara and her family. Good people doing their best to make it through hard times. He had been making calls all week, trying to find them a more permanent home since their time at the shelter was quickly running out. So far, he hadn’t had any luck. There just was no available housing for low income families anywhere to be had.

“This is taking forever, “he told Tamara, shifting nervously in his chair. They were seated outside Gloria Hopkins’ office. Principal Newman and Mr. Parson were inside discussing Alan’s suggestion. They had been in there for nearly an hour.

“I know. It’s making me nervous,” Tamara said.

No surprise there. She hadn’t stopped swinging her legs back and forth since Mr. Newman had told them to ‘take a seat.’

“They have to see what a good plan this is,” he said as though by force of will, he could make them agree. Mr. Parson was already sold on it and so was Mrs. Hopkins. Now if they could only convince Mr. Newman.

Outside the football team was warming up. Grunts and commands drifted through the partially open window. He studied the team’s formation, hoping the distraction would take the edge off the anxiety he felt waiting for their verdict. Tommy Hawkins, the team’s quarterback was leading the exercises which as usual had attracted a gaggle of girls. There were strung out alone the bleachers top row like birds along a phone wire, trying to act as though they were uninterested in what was taking place on the field. Only everyone knew that the only reason they were there was the hope that one of the boys might look up and wave, especially Tommy. Alan shook his head. Sometimes girls could be so lame.

From inside Mrs. Hopkins office, voices were raised.

“You think that’s a bad sign?” Tamera asked.

Alan shrugged. He had stopped trying to decode what adults would or wouldn’t do.

Take the conversation with his dad this morning. As usually, his dad arrived home late last night, so he hadn’t had an opportunity to tell him about his idea of moving the Christmas Concert to the shelter and using it as a fundraiser. He was especially anxious to tell him how well it had been received.  Mr. Parson had been so excited about his suggestion that he had called a meeting with Mrs. Hopkins and Mr. Newman for first thing this morning.

But instead of being pleased, his dad had jumped all over him, even questioning if the idea had been his alone.

“You sure the director didn’t plant this in your head?” His father’s voice had that steely edge it got when he was really mad about something.

“No, it was my idea.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“Like what?”

His father grew quiet, like he was thinking. “Never mind. Just drop it. I want you to stay away from there, you hear me? That place could completely undermine my restoration project.”

“How?”

“Because no one wants to spend top dollar for a piece of real estate next to a facility that caters to the homeless and indigent.”

“But they don’t have any place else to go.”

“That’s not true. We’ve offered them a new facility across town,” he said, turning into the school parking lot. The buses had already arrived. Students were piling out, congregating in small groups where they would wait until the first bell.

“If Ray said no, he must have had a good reason.” Alan had taken an instant liking to the older man. “Did you ask him?

His dad pulled up behind the last bus. “You’d better go, or you’ll be late for homeroom.”

Alan unbuckled his seatbelt. “But dad, I don’t understand why you’re so against this. You and mom always said that it’s our civic responsibility to help those who can’t help themselves.”

“End of discussion.”

But it wasn’t the end. His whole life had been dictated by his father’s projects, never staying long enough in anyone place to put down roots. Crutcher’s Pike was the first place that he had ever felt as though he belonged. It didn’t even matter that his classmates ignored him. Heck, he understood. They had grown up together. He was the outsider. He had found other ways to fit in.

He liked talking with Pastor Whitcomb and helping out at the church and playing checkers with the old men at the hardware store. Some of the merchants called him by name. As strange as it seemed, he felt as though he had finally come home.

So as far as he was concerned, his dad could make all the ultimatums he wanted. There was no way that he was going to prevent him from helping Ray save the shelter. That was if the three people locked behind that office door would only give their approval.

“They’re sure taking a long time in there,” Tamara said, casting a look towards the music room. “You think that Mr. Parsons and Mrs. Hopkins will be able to convince Mr. Newman.”

“Convince them of what?” Carrie asked towering over them, balancing an armful of signed petitions.

“If we can move the Christmas concert over to the shelter in Titusville,” Tamara offered.

“We asked if we could give the concert as a fundraiser to help save the shelter,” Alan explained, momentarily forgetting that he was addressing one of the most popular girls in school. “The director will use the money to make some upgrades to the building so the town won’t close it.”

“Oh….” Carrie’s face brightened. “Maybe I won’t need these after all.” She laid the papers on an empty chair and slid into another.  “I think I’ll wait and see what they say.”

The threesome grew very quiet. Alan shuffled his feet and Tamara stared down at her hands while Carrie played with a lock of hair while slyly studying Tamera. Why did she choose her as her civics’ project? If she was really going to help, it would take a lot more than the fifty dollars that Mr. Parson had allotted

The girl was a complete mess. Just look at the way she dressed. My Godddd. The shirt she was wearing was about two sizes too big and those shoes were so old they were almost retro. And the hair….double ugh!

She did have to admit that Tamera wasn’t completely hopeless. She had a cute face.  Nice rounded checks. Almond shaped eyes. If only she’d use a little makeup to bring out those features.

While Tamara and Allan talked about where they would set up the concert…in the dining room or clean out the cavernous storage facility filled with thirty years of cast offs next door, Carrie studied the girl, trying to get a feel for how Tamara might look if she was dressed in some layered spandex tees, a pair of good jeans with her hair brushed softly around her face. She could actually be attractive if only she’d put a little effort into how she presented herself. Didn’t she know that people formed opinion about you based on externals. She had tried to convince her mother of that and for a moment… as she purchased those adorable Jimmy Choos…felt as though she had finally seen the light. Her work was done.

Then yesterday as she was searching her mom’s closet for the cashmere shell her mother had bought last week on sale, she had found them stuffed at the back. The brown flats were missing. Her own mother, a fashion disaster.  It was depressing. Almost as depressing as having chosen Tamara as her civics’ project. She openly studied Tamara.  Goddddd she had a lot of work to do if she wanted get even a passing grade.

The music room door opened as Mrs. Hopkins voice, lightweight and joyous, sang, “This will be our finest Christmas Program ever! I can’t wait to tell the choir. Oh, would you look here… two members. Carrie. Tamara. The best of news. The Christmas Concert is back on!”

Mr. Parson and Mr. Newman trailed behind their faces radiant.

“Alan, it looks like your suggestion for the Christmas Concert benefit is a go,” Mr. Parson’s said.

“Can Tamara and I work on this assignment together?” Alan asked, hopefully. He liked spending time with her. She wasn’t like the other girls.  “It’s kind of a big project and I could use the help.”

Bob nodded. “That’s reasonable. I’ll grade the project as one assignment, so I’ll expect double the effort.”

“Oh, we will,” Tamara said, clearly relieved. “Can I call Ray. He’s going to be so excited.”

“You can use the phone in my office if you’d like,” the principal offered.

“I’d like to help, too,” Carrie chimed in.

“You’ve already chosen an assignment,” Bob reminded her, raising an eyebrow in Tamera’s direction.

“I don’t mean as part of my assignment, Mr. Parson.  I just thought I could help in other ways, like with programs. My mom will help with those, I’m sure.”

“And don’t forget selling boosters,” Mrs. Hopkins added. “That will bring in some nice extra money.”

Alan chewed on his lower lip. “There sure is a lot to do.”

“And only a few weeks to get it all done,” Tamara reminded him then turned to Carrie. “If you’re serious, we’d like to have you. We could use all the help we can get.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Let’s meet in the library afterschool and we can put together a plan.”

“I’ll bring the cheerleaders. I know they’ll want to help, too.”

Bob watched the threesome take off down the hall in a shower of excitement, interrupting each other with suggestions, the girls playfully shaking their head as Alan threw out his arms to express a point.

“That’s an interesting group,” Gloria commented. “You know, I think that this concert is going to be a success in several different ways.”

“I agree,” Bob said. For the first time, he felt that this plan of his actually might work.  “Yep, I agree.”

Doug held the cell phone to his ear and tried to reach Carrie one more time. They had plans to meet at Johnny’s Pizza Palace around five, but he had to cancel. His dad had picked him up early from school. One of his guys had gone home with the flu.

“I just hope that nobody else catches this,” his dad said, climbing into the cab of his Ford truck. “We’re already stretched to the limit on this job.”

Once again, Doug was dumped into voicemail. He snapped the phone shut, not bothering to leave a message. Carrie never checked her voicemail.

For the remainder of the day, Doug cleared away rubble from behind the hotel. Landscapers were coming in tomorrow to lay sod.

“Hey! Doug!” Somehow his dad’s voice carried above the roar of nail guns, generators and back hoes.  “Finish loading that stuff in the dumpster, then go help Hank up top. Take one of the wheelbarrows. Use the freight elevator.”

Well, there went his plans to still meet Carrie. It was nearly five. Of course, he could remind his dad that he had promised that he could leave at five, but decided against it.

He grabbed the wheelbarrow and pointed it towards a side door. It would only end in another lecture about the benefits of a college diploma versus being a blue collar laborer.

“Jack, you got a minute?” David asked. He wore a yellow hardhat and a nasty scowl.

“Sure, what’s up?” Jack anchored an elbow on a set of floor plans stretched over the hood.

“I just finished speaking with headquarters and they want to push up the date on the furniture delivery.” He consulted his clipboard. “They want to setup the two main lobbies and the bar area this Friday. I just took a tour. The ceiling molding isn’t up and the floor drains behind the bar haven’t been put in. I thought we agreed that that would be finished by today.”

“Yeah, we agreed, but nobody passed it by Jarrod. He took my guys off the trim work and put them on the coffered ceiling on one of the condos.”

David looked like if he had rope, Jarrod would be swinging from the nearest rafter. “I’ll see that they’re sent back downstairs. And the drains?”

“They’re in. Plumber finished up this morning.”

“The grates are missing.”

“They sent the wrong ones over. I called the supplier. New ones coming tomorrow.”

“I appreciate it if you’d stay on top of this.”

“Will do. You sure you don’t want to take me up on that offer. Most of my guys would love the chance to take care of Jarrod.”

David smiled. ‘Don’t tempt me. But seriously, give me a call when it’s done. I’ll give you my private number.” He padded down his pockets. “I must have lost my pen.”

“I might have one in the truck.” Jack slid into the cab, flipped down the visor then checked the center console without any luck. His son’s backpack was on the passenger side floor. He grabbed the nylon pouch, unzipped it and shook out the contents. Papers flew on the floor along with a several pens.

“Got one.”

David tore off a piece of paper and scribbled down the number “I’m flying to headquarters tomorrow and won’t be around, but I want to know the second these are done.”

Rich nodded. “What about the punch lists?”

“We’ll do that when I get back.” David paused. “You and your crews have done a bang-up job, Jack. I appreciate it. Not many people take pride in their work anymore.”

“The quality of the job reflects the quality of the man.”

David smiled. “Your dad was always saying that. He was a great guy.”

“So was yours,” Jack said, stuffing the slip of paper inside his shirt pocket.

“Yeah, at one time he was.”

“Still is,” Jack countered. He sometimes helped out at the shelter.

David turned without comment. Jack watched him head towards his car, thinking it was time that David got over his anger. Maybe even introduce his son to his grandfather. He wondered if Ray knew about Alan.

Look at me, a real Dear Abby.

The mention of the bar grates had reminded Jack that he should give the supplier a call. Make sure he was on top of things. The clipboard with the supply order was somewhere buried inside his truck. He slid into the cab and began to stuff the contents of Doug’s backpack inside the case, hoping it was buried somewhere beneath. A graded paper caught his eye. C minus?! And when was Doug going to tell him about this?

“Hey, Jack. The trimmers want you on the third floor,” Kevin Erwin said.

Jack swung around and shook his head. His boss was dressed in a tailor made suit and gold cufflinks, smelling like he had bathed in cologne. Did he ever know what ‘trimmer’s were?

Jack found the clipboard and slide out of the cab.

“I’ll get on it as soon as I make a call.” Jack said, pulling his phone out from its leather belt holster.

“A call?” Kevin chuckled and crossed his arms. “Jack, Jack, Jack…” He shook his head. “This is exactly why you swing a hammer and I sit behind a desk. You haven’t a clue about time management, now do you?”

He could feel the heat rise along his neck. How he’d love to remind Erwin that the reason why he sat behind that desk had nothing to do with his time management skills and everything to do with his daddy’s deep pockets.

“Seems to me that a call can be made anytime, but since this project has a very tight timeline, it might be better if you took care of the pressing business on the third floor. You can make a call anytime.”

How he’d like to haul off and cuff that smug face. The guy was a first class imbecile. He suspected that it was due to interbreeding. The joke around town was that the Erwin’s married their cousins because they wanted to keep their money in the family.

“I had to make a call to the plumbing supply store to trace a back order on the grills for the bar. And no, it couldn’t wait until later, not if the bar’s to be completed on schedule.”

Jack was pleased to see that the comment had help deflate some of Erwin bravado.

“Is that it?” he asked, grabbing the clipboard. He’d use David’s office to make the call.

“You can kill the attitude, Jack.  I was just checking on my employees. Making sure everything is being done in a timely manner. You know how I like to run a tight ship.” He adjusted his cuffs. “After all, I have a reputation to maintain.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jack walked away.

Maintaining a reputation, hey? This from the same man who once hired an electrician without checking out his credentials? After the guy had finished up the job, one of Jack’s crew had uncovered an electrical glitch in the main panel. When they took it apart, it was discovered that the security system had been rerouted making it easy to dismantle the system from outside. After doing some research, Jack later discovered that the guy had learned his skills while serving five to seven for burglarizing a string of homes.  Of course, Kevin later disclaimed of ever having anything to do with his hiring. No surprise there.

Jack hop-scotched his way around piles of debris, tools and machines enroute to a side door while doing a slow burn over Kevin’s me boss, you peon attitude. You’d think that after this many years, Jack wouldn’t let Kevin get to him, but he always did.

If only he had been able to find the money to start up his own company, he’d have left him years ago. But with mortgage payments, health insurance premiums, one kid going into law school and another son about to start in a few years, he had put the dream permanently on hold.

The thought brought on the familiar stab of anger laced with remorse. If only he had could have gotten one good break he might have been able to realize his dream. But there was always something that stood in the way, primarily the lack of money. Seemed that as the years sped by, the distance between that vision and its realization had grown larger. He was probably stupid to keep on dreaming. Maybe the time for making dreams come true had passed.

“Eddie wants you on the third floor,” Johnny Nelson shouted as he passed by with a stack of two by fours hoisted on his shoulder. The guy was a gorilla. “Erwin was looking for you.”

“Yeah, he found me.”

Jack took the stairs instead of the elevator, hoping to burn off some his anger. Kevin always rubbed him the wrong way. He took the stairs two at a time.

Well, one thing was for certain. Doug was never going to have to take this type of crap from idiots like Erwin. He was going to college and earn a degree. From the day they were born, Jack worked to build up their college funds. As long as he had a breath in him, his sons would never become common laborers. No, sir. They would be respected, white collar businessmen.

He was slightly winded when he reached the third floor. He really had to do something about that middle age pouch his wife was always joshing him about.

He pushed open the fire door and was greeted by the angry sound of men arguing. It was coming from the end unit. His guess was that they were ticked off because David wanted them to disregard Jarrod’s orders (another first class idiot) and stick to the original plans. That meant a decrease in overtime and costly add-ons. Some subs lived for add-on’s.

He headed in that direction, his footfalls sounding heavy against the wooden floors which he just happened to notice that no one had made the effort to cover them with paper. If they had to be re-sanded and stained that would delay the project further. His bad mood went up a notch.

He reached inside his back pocket for his copy of the job orders that would spell out the original agreement. Doug’s test paper fell to the floor. He stuffed it back and quickened his step. After work, he and Doug were going to have a little talk about his grades and his car.

Chapter Seven – A Neighbor in Need

Ivan Chapman heard his neighbor’s pickup truck pull into the driveway next-door and wondered if he should step outside and ask if he would take a load of boxes piled to ceiling alongside his back porch to the dump.  But the Richmonds and he had never been exactly friendly. An over-sized mongrel dog that used Ivan’s property as his private latrine and a teenage son who continually cut through his bed of prized roses saw to that.     He surveyed the ruins which had once been a tidy living room and felt suddenly very old and very tired. But time was running out. According to his doctor, the heart disease that had plagued him for years could no longer be arrested. He had been given two to three months tops before he would join the long line of Chapman ancestors buried in the family cemetery. The news had come as no surprise. He had expected it.  At 87, no one lived forever.

He scanned the stacks of leather journals whose spines were cracked and flaking, piled alongside boxes filled with memorabilia that charted the three hundred year old ancestral history. Sadly, when he was gone, so was the lineage that had seen the building of this proud nation since 1689.

Although at this point, he would have preferred to burn it all, let the past be buried along with him, his staunch, aristocratic upbringing would not allow his life to go uncharted. He was the thirteen generation of Chapmans to have made Crutcher Pike his home and up until the ill-fated economic downturn experienced by Ivan some years ago that had reduced the family fortunes to ashes, his ancestors had always held prominence within the town.

During the country’s Golden Era, the Chapmans held their place among society’s elite. They might not have been as rich as the Vanderbilts or Astors, but they possessed enough disposal income to afford a summer home along the coast of Maine, a small brownstone in New York and, of course, Wakefield the family’s two hundred acre estate that had once dominated the north side of Crutcher’s Pike.

Wakefield…

Hundreds of acres of rolling hills, sylvan forests and lacy steams. The Manor house sat atop a hill, a Queen surveying her fiefdom, an imposing structure built of stone walls and soaring turrets with expansive views of the river. Inside were twenty-seven rooms including a massive grand hall that had played host to lavish parties and legendary Christmas galas. Across the imported marble foyer was a two-storied library filled with rare books, including the law books once owned by Aaron Burke, a distant cousin to the Chapmans.

Ivan had been one of a succession of heirs born into a world of privilege at Wakefield and the legacy would continue with the birth of his two sons, Samuel and Jonathon.  Their mother died in a car accident when Jonathon was three. Ivan could never come to terms with her death.

Instead, he focused on building the family fortunes as his father and grandfather had done before him. Most of their wealth had been csonsolidated around Crutcher Pike. It included a bank, a general store and several building along Main Street. There were also shares in a trucking company, two steel mills and several large tracks of land that skirted the north side of town and were leased to farmers.

Then came the 1970’s recession. Oil prices soared and gas was in short supply. Less farm products were being shipped overseas. Both the trucking industry and the land leases were hit hard. Ivan tried to shift his money into more lucrative ventures, but no one was buying land or buildings. Banks were consolidating, combining resources. His was passed by and then closed.

Suddenly, he was a man fighting for his financial life. Unable to pay the huge properties taxes on his holding, one by one, they were sold off for pennies on the dollar. Meanwhile, Wakefield had grown too costly to maintain. The estate was auctioned off along with the furnishings.

To soothe his conscience, Ivan decided that a detailed record of the

family’s history would be just as a fitting legacy, perhaps even more so than a manor. So with the skill of a shipbuilder crafting the perfect seaworthy vessel to carry a precious cargo along the corridors of time, Ivan had spent countless hours meticulously logging every detail of Chapman’s history. He catalogued documents, like the original land grant presented to the family by King William III of England; sorted through awards for bravery of every major war fought by the United States and a few lesser ones in-between; but skipped over mention of the brothel owned by Lieutenant Phillips Chapman during the Revolutionary war even if the proceeds did outfit an entire regiment during one the coldest winters in recorded history.

Ivan shifted boxes, making room for another column simply labeled ‘Personal History of Twentieth Century Descendents’. Both he and his sons were included in this timeframe and included birth and baptismal certificates; academic records; and awards. It also contained the death certificate of his eldest son, Samuel.

Ivan studied the small metal box in his hand. Inside were letters that Jonathan had written while in Africa.  After a tumultuous childhood plagued by one embarrassing scene after another—incarceration by local police, drugs—Jonathon had capped his exploits by being thrown out of Dartmouth, Ivan’s alma mater. Furious, Ivan wrote and told him not to come home and for twenty years, he had not heard one word. Much to his shame, Ivan had felt only relief at the silence. Since Samuel’s death, he had so little emotional reserves that the thought of dealing with Jonathan was too exhausting to contemplate.

Then one day, he received an airmail letter with an African postmark. Ivan pushed aside several folders and gingerly lowered himself down onto an overstuffed chair. The metal box felt cold under his arthritic fingers as he unclasped the latch. Inside were six precious letters that Jonathan had written, detailing his work with Doctors without Borders and the untenable poverty of the village where he had been stationed.

Jonathan had never shown a propensity towards writing, yet his letters were just as lyrical and thought provoking as any poet laureate. Descriptions of the relentless sun scorched days; the dearness of a few drops of clean water tricking down one’s throat;  a mother’s searching eyes as she entrusted her child’s life into a strangers hands made him feel as though he were standing right there, experiencing every emotionally charged moment.

Jonathan surprised him with a visit the following Christmas. It  proved to be a wonderful reunion which made him regret that he allowed so much time to lapse between them.

Later, he took Jonathon out to the garage.

“I have a little surprise,” he said, throwing open the overhead door.
“You kept my ’64 Mustang,” he exclaimed.  “There’s not a nick or a dent on it. And look at the paintjob. It looks the same as the day I drove it off the showroom floor.”

“I had it detailed,” Ivan said, grinning at his son’s pleasure. “A man came from the Ford dealership and spent the better part of a week getting it ready. In fact, when he brought it back, he offered me ten times what I paid for it, but I refused. I know how much you loved this car.”

Jonathan choked up with emotion. “I used to think you didn’t care about anything that interested me.”

Ivan had hesitated. Part of what his son said was true, but the years of silence that ensued between them had made Ivan regret not being easier on the boy. He had forgotten what it was like to be young and coveting freedom. Instead, he had demanded allegiance to an ancestry that even for him at times was as weighty as Marley’s chains.

“I knew how much this car meant to you,” he said, clearing away the lump in his throat.

Jonathan threw his arms around him and buried his face into his neck. Ivan felt the tears damping his collar.

“Can you forgive me for all the hardship I caused?”

“Can you forgive me for not being more understanding?” Ivan echoed.

Dusk had fallen. The room filled with shadows. Ivan reached over and snapped on the table lamp.

He turned back to the metal box and removed Jonathan’s final letter, the paper had browned with age. His hands trembled a mixture of old age and the memory of the pain and suffering he had caused another in protecting his son.

He carefully unfolded the letter, laid it across his lap and gently smoothed out the crinkles. Reaching inside his shirt pocket, he removed a small, wire-rim pair of glasses, smudge with fingerprints and tiny white flecks of something he could not recognize. He took a large, monogram handkerchief slightly frayed around the edges and in soft, rotating motions, worked until the glass was clean. Then tucking the wire handles around his ears and adjusting them on the bridge of his nose, Ivan lifted the letter towards the light. He reached out at the sight of his son’s handwriting, running his fingers over each word as though he could somehow absorb his essence; his spirit contained within the curlicues of black ink and spaces.

January 5, 1989

Dear Dad,

Words can’t express what it meant to share these past weeks with you.         You were right when you said that there had been far too many lonely years     between us. I accept full responsibility for that time and distance. Please forgive           me and believe me when I state that I never stopped loving you as my father.

I wish above all else, that I could have been the son you hoped for and not the son   you received. I can only imagine the pain my rebellion and lack of good judgment      has caused you. How you value the opinions leveled at our family name and how       you held it illustrious heritage in high esteem.  It felt so good to come home to             find your approval at the way my life has changed which I credit to your good example.

It is in keeping with that thought that I am doubly grieved at having to         confess that I have failed you once again..

The last night of our visit, I decided to visit an old haunt, a bar that I used   to frequent. My intentions were only to relax, have a little fun before going back            to Africa and kind of recharge the batteries. Unfortunately, I had a few too many   beers and decided to join a poker game in the back room. When the evening was      over, I was three thousand dollars in debt.

I was too ashamed to confess what I had done and ask for your help, so I    went to my old friend, Ray McGowan. As you know, he’s the pastor at Faith      Abiding Church. He loaned me the money from a church fund. I promise to wire           the money as soon as I returned here to Rwanda.

But when I arrived, I was told that all paychecks were to be suspended.        Something about the fear that money might make us a target. Our salaries are             being held in escrow. Passports and personal bank statements have been   collected and are being heavily guarded for fear of kidnapping in exchange for        ransoms.

I know how disappointed you must be in me for gambling. I can offer no excuse. Still, I must ask for your intervention. Would you please see that Ray is repaid on my behalf. As soon as I can make arrangements here, I will wire you the money.  Ray is a good friend and you have no reason to fear that this matter will ever go any further.

With much love,

Johnny

Ivan removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He had planned to do as Jonathan had requested. He’d even written a letter, assuring his son that he would take care of it. He also assured him that everyone made mistakes. Even he had taken risks as a youth that he regretted. They would talk more when he returned home.

He remembered writing that letter now and how it had given him such pleasure to offer solace instead of condemnation. Above all, he was determined not to allow another incident to divide them.

But then, a few days later, he had received a telegram. Several gunmen had entered the small village where Jonathon’s medical group was stationed and began a killing spree. He later was told that his body was found draped over a mother and her child in an effort to shield them from harm.

He buried his son in the Chapman mausoleum next to the space that would one day be his and tried to take comfort in the manner in which Jonathan had died. His son had tried to save others at his own peril. He was a hero, a man of honor, no different than their ancestors who had given their lives down through the centuries for the cause of liberty.

Ivan made a pledge to his son’s memory. He would do everything in his power to maintain his son’s reputation as a man of honor. The years of disappointment were forgotten. So was Jonathan’s last letter and his confession of having once again fallen victim to his weaknesses.

Jonathon had said that Ray was a man to be trusted. That he would never divulge what had happened. But Ivan had lived in a small town all of his life and knew that the best way to insure Ray’s silence was not to acknowledge what had transpired between him and his son. Above all else, Ivan must protect Jonathan’s reputation.

He maintained that silence, even when Ray was accused of misappropriating church funds. Three thousand dollars was missing from the Abiding Faith Church’s organ fund, the exact amount loaned his son.  He reasoned that church people were a forgiving lot. He assumed the worse they would do was to give Ray a mild reprimand. But he had assumed wrong.

Several weeks passed. Ray maintained his silence, refusing to divulge what had happened to the missing funds. Finally, the church council dismissed him.

For a brief moment, Ivan considered paying a visit to the church leaders, pleading on Ray’s behalf. But such a confession would have made public Jonathan’s indiscretion. Instead, Ivan locked away Jonathan’s letter and decided the matter was closed.

He carefully folded the letter and tucked it into his sweater pocket. It would have to be destroyed, something he should have done years ago. When he died, everything in this house would have to be sold, handed over to strangers. He wouldn’t take a chance that it might be discovered.

Heaving himself off the ottoman, he collected several boxes of items he planned to donate to the Goodwill—desk pad, ink well, box of Bic pens, mechanical pencils, small picture frames—threw on a coat and headed outside. He’d burn the letter with the rest of the papers in the barrel outside.

As he opened the back porch door, the sun, poised behind a ridge of evergreens that edged the trail behind the house, caught him right in the eye. The sun was setting. It would be dark soon.        Balancing the box on his knee, he shielded his eyes to pause to enjoy the sun’s rays tipped in gold that fell across the trees to sparkle like glitter. In a rare moment of reflection, he realized that the small cottage with its postage size yard had given him a sense of warmth and well-being that Wakefield never had.

The small plot of land behind the house was now hidden by a hard covering of snow; yet he knew that in the spring, the gardens of soft pastels would awaken to edge the white picket fence. He had never taken much interest in gardening before moving here. There had been others to tend to those things. But Ivan worked these gardens himself, planted every flower, mulched and fought against insects and marauding deer with the zeal of a soldier defending against an enemy invasion. And he had loved every moment, which was why he resented the neighbor’s boy using precious gardens as a shortcut. His complete disregard for Ivan’s property had cost him a favorite Astilbe that he had raised from a root. He found it crushed beneath a thick sneaker print. And twice, his bed of roses had been maligned.

A brisk wind brought him back to the present and the task at hand. The boxes stacked along the length of his back porch needed to be removed. They were a fire hazard. He’d move them to the garage until he figured out how to get them to the dump.  Daylight was quickly disappearing. Soon the trek to the garage would begin to freeze. He must hurry.  He pulled on a pair of worn garden gloves just as loud voices sounded from the Richmond’s house.

“I didn’t tell you about the C minus because I was going to ace this new civics’ assignment and knew that it would bring up my mark.”

“If that was the case, then why did you hide it from me?” a man’s voice growled.

“I knew that you’d get upset, so I decided not to tell you.”

“Nooo…you knew that I’d cancel the car. I have a good mind to call the guy right now and tell him  to find another buyer.”

“That’s not fair! You said I have until mid-semester grades come in. That gives me three weeks.”

“You really think that you can turn this around in three weeks. Ha! I’d say that you don’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of bringing up that grade by then.  You’d have to get a solid A in this new project to pull that off. And I’m warning you, if you don’t buckle down and bring up your grade point average, the car won’t be the only thing you’ll loose. You need at least a three point eight to get into a decent college.”

“I keep telling you dad, I don’t want to go to college.”

“No, what you keep telling me is that you’re too lazy to work on bringing up your grades.”

“You never listen to me! I’m not my brother! I hate school.”

A door slammed, followed by the crunch of snow underfoot.

Ivan grabbed a stack of boxes and headed towards the garage, thinking that the father was right to insist the boy get up his grades.Halfway down the path, Doug Richmond flew over the fence that separated the properties and landed squarely in Ivan’s path. Startled, Ivan dropped the stack of boxes.

The boy froze in place. “Sorry, Mr. Chapman.”

“As you should be. You nearly gave me a coronary, whizzing over that fence.”

He was about to deliver his standard reprimand about trespassing and the need to respect private property, when he noted the boy’s crestfallen face. A sudden flash of

déjà vue. How many times had he seen that same expression on Jonathan’s face after one of their blows, a mixture of anger and hurt. His mood softened.

“Yeah, I know. I shouldn’t use your yard as a shortcut,” the boy said, looking down at the ground.

“No, you shouldn’t, but since you have, how about helping me get these stored in the garage?”

The boy studied him for a moment as though trying to calculate if this was some kind of trick. Finally, he shrugged and reached for the boxes. “Sure. You doing some holiday cleaning?”

“Holiday cleaning?”

“Yeah, my mom always tidies up around the holidays. You know, making room for the tree and things.” Doug hefted the box effortlessly onto his shoulder.

Ivan pulled out a keychain and pointed towards the side door of the garage.

“No, I don’t do much holiday decorating.  Just shifting through some things that I no longer have use for.” He inserted the key into a thick padlock, then swung open the door and flicked on a wall switch. “Just put that over there with the other ones.”

Doug was rooted in place, his eyes glued on the Mustang convertible covered in dust and cobwebs.“Oh, man….look at that beauty. It’s a classic!” Doug let the boxes slide onto the floor and rushed over. “Mind if I take a look, Mr. Chapman?”

“No, be my guest.”

“Whose is it?”  Doug asked, running a hand over the exterior. He opened the driver’s side and slid in. “Wow! This is like a time capsule. It’s in perfect condition.”

“It belonged to my son.” Ivan walked over and laid a gloved hand on the hood, releasing a rush of memories of that day so many years ago. Jonathan’s surprise at having found his father had kept it.

“Can I look underneath the hood?”

Ivan nodded. “There’s a flashlight over there on the third shelf on the left.”

With expert precision, Doug released the hood lock, slid out and reached for the light. The boy all but fell into the engine, his hand testing plug wires, the alternator then threading the wing nut atop the carburetor. He removed the air filter.

“Boy, these plugs look like they haven’t been changed in ten years.”

“Twenty,” Ivan offered.

“I can’t believe that you just let this car sit here all these years. You know if this was a child, they’d lock you up for abuse,” Doug quipped with such a note of seriousness that it made Ivan laugh.

“I’m afraid that the last time I took it out, I forgot to check the oil. The engine froze,” he said, joining him beneath the hood.  It was the day he received telegram that Jonathan had died.

“And you never got it repaired?” Doug asked in disbelief. “Gee, Mr. Chapman if this was my car, I wouldn’t let it sit around and gather dust. A car like this is meant to be driven.”

“Said with religious zeal,” Ivan said, laughing out loud.

The boy blushed. “I guess if you were to ask my dad, he might say that with me cars is a religion.”

“Was that who I heard you arguing with?” Ivan surprised himself by asking. He had never felt the need to intrude in anyone’s life before, certainly the life of this teenage nemesis.

“Yeah,” Doug grabbed a rag off a workbench and began to wipe away the smudges of grease. “I got a C minus on a civics’ exam. He’s kind of bent out of shape about it.”

“Wants you to maintain good grades so you can get into a good college, I suspect.”

“His plan, not mine.”

Ivan refrained from saying that he sided with the boy’s dad as he was seized by a sudden chill. “It’s getting cold out here.” He drew up the collar to his heavy canvas coat. “I think we’d better lock up.”

Doug reluctantly followed.

“So, if you don’t want to go to college, what’s your plan, if I might ask,” Ivan queried, resetting the padlock, then giving it a yank to make certain it was closed. Why was he asking? He really had no true interest in the boy.

“I want to work on cars. Maybe someday own my own garage.”

“That sounds like an honorable source of employment.’ And where did that come from?  He had always felt it necessary for young people to have a solid education. But then, where would we all be if everyone went to college and there were no more plumbers, carpenters or mechanics?

“Not with my dad, it isn’t. He wants me to get a degree, work behind a desk. That was okay for my brother, Terry. He’s heading to law school next fall. But I’m not interested in school. I mean, I know that I need an education, but I really don’t want to spend a large junk of my life in a classroom, studying things that bore me to tears.” Then with a wistfulness that was almost palpable, the boy turned and faced the garage. “I’d rather be restoring a car like that classic one in there.”

Ivan continued along the path that snaked its way towards the back porch. “I often thought about getting it fixed. My son loved that car. More than he loved me, I’m afraid.”

The boy stopped halfway down the path.

“Mr. Chapman, I have an idea.” The boy’s face glowed with excitement. “What if I were to work on it? Think of it as a kind of memorial to your son.  I know I could get it running again. I’ve replaced engines before. In fact, the car that I’m getting for Christmas needs the engine replaced. All I’d need would be a few pulleys to remove the engine. Friends of mine could help get it into my dad’s truck.  Then there’s a place outside of town that rebuilds them.

“I could do it, Mr. Chapman. Honest I could. I may be lousy at schoolwork, but I’m a whiz at fixing cars and that one….” he sighed like a lovesick calf. “That one would be a pleasure to work on.”

Ivan hesitated.

Doug hastily added, “Think of how much your son would enjoy seeing it restored.”

“It would have given him pleasure,” Ivan conceded. He rubbed the stubble along his chin, shocked to discover that he was actually considering the boy’s offer… this trespassing neighbor, killer of Astilbe’s, maligner of roses.

But there was something about the youth, his earnestness, his passion that reminded him of Jonathan. And like Jonathan, he had a father that was intent on transferring the father’s dreams onto the son.

“I have no doubt that you could restore it and do it admirably, but I don’t have a lot of money.” Most of what he had saved had been spent on doctors and tests.  “How much would something like this cost?”

“I’d work for free.”

“Yes, but I’m sure the people who rebuild engines do not.”

“Oh, yeah. That.”

“Yes, that.”

Doug hesitated as though calculating something in his mind.  “How much can you afford?”

Ivan pondered that. His financial reserves had taken a further hit this last fall with the collapse of the stock market. He must make certain that there was enough for any residue medical bills. Then there were the funeral costs.

He glanced back at the garage. He’d give anything to see that car working again in memory of his son before he died.

“I couldn’t afford more than two hundred dollars which I’m sure will never do.”

“If I could work it out so that it wouldn’t cost you more than that two hundred, would you let me fix it?”

The eagerness in the boy’s eyes tugged at his heart.

“If you can fix it for that amount, I will give you my permission.”

Doug threw out a hand. “Let’s shake on it.”

Doug helped the old man inside, even accepted a cup of hot chocolate. They talked for awhile, then he headed home.  It was getting late and there was homework.

Locked in his upstairs room with earphones screaming out the lyrics to Snoop Doggy’s ‘Drop It While It’s Hot’, he tapped a pencil to the beat as his mind wandered off the open textbook and onto the ’64 Mustang parked in the garage next-door.

He just couldn’t believe it. That car had been there the whole time he had been growing up and he’d never known it. He leaned back and studied the racing posters that ran along the opposite wall. Normally, he’d get lost in envisioning what it might be like to work on those beauties. But not tonight.  Instead, he did a bit of reflection.

Mr. Chapman wasn’t such a bad guy. He kind of liked him. He was just old and set in his ways like his dad.

His dad…

He leaned back, closed his eyes and groaned. He was really mad about the test paper and keeping the grade from him. Mad enough to cancel his car. There was no doubt about that. He had to get his grade point up and fast or loose the car and with it, his girl. Carrie had made that very clear. Oh, man. Sometimes life sucked. What was he going to do?

Then suddenly, it hit him like a thunderbolt.

“The Mustang!” he shouted, causing his father to bang on the bedroom wall.

“Keep it quiet in there! I’ve got to be up by five.”

“Sorry, dad.”

He jumped out of his chair and did a barefooted victory dance. This was it!  He’d use the Mustang as his civic’s project. By fixing up the car, he’d provide a service for someone who couldn’t provide it for himself. When it was completed, Mr. Chapman could sell the car and maybe use the money to buy something that he really needed. By the looks of the guy, he could sure use some extra cash. The coat he was wearing was ancient.

But a rebuilt engine cost five or six times the money Mr. Parson had offered. Where was he going to come up with the extra cash?

He’d find it. Somehow. Just the chance to work on that car was a once in a lifetime deal. He’d cross that bridge when he got to it. He pulled out the civics’ journal, flipped open to the first page and wrote: Recipient: Mr. Ivan Chapman.

This was guaranteed to get him an A. tucking his arms behind his head, he leaned back and smile. Yep, this was going to be a piece of cake and also a rare opportunity to test his skills on a classic automobile mechanic.

Even though the fifty bunks that Mr. Parson was dishing would never cover the cost of having the engine rebuilt, he’d work something out.  In fact, he’d do anything to get his hands on a Ford classic. God, he was pumped. He could hardly wait to begin.

His cell phone rang. It was from Carrie.

“Great news! Concert is on! I’ll tell you all about it later. Oh…Alan McGowan will now be sitting with us at lunch.”

Chapter Eight  - Griffin Corporation Headquarters

The five story glass and chrome office building that housed the headquarters of the Griffin Corporation was in stark contrast to the period architecture that had made Elliot Griffin a very wealthy man. This was due to his abhorrence to all things dated, including his most recent wife, who on her thirtieth birthday had received a divorce degree from her husband of five short years, along with an engraved Tiffany bracelet that read, Thanks for the Memories.

Elliot’s foray into the restoration business had been a fluke. He had just graduated college with a degree in finance and gone to work for Mr. Dunham Fillmore, small real estate developer, who had made a handsome profit in a string of strip malls along Jericho Turnpike on Long Island. He was looking for bigger and more lucrative projects. Elliot was hired to research, run numbers and secure financing, which he did for a number of years, making Fillmore a very rich man. In the process, he also married his daughter and was made a partner. The partnership didn’t last. Neither did the marriage.

Fillmore was not a risk taker like Elliot. Instead, he preferred to maintain his properties while Elliot wanted to sell and re-invest which he saw as a more lucrative paradigm.

Long Island taxes were stratospheric and tenant laws an albatross around landlord’s necks, taking six months to a year to evict deadbeat tenants while properties were often defaced and devalued. It was a windfall for renters, turned squatters and a financial drain on the landlords. If money was to be made, and Elliot intended to make a lot of it, there had to be a better way.

This was in the early eighties. People were moving out of the city in droves. With a rising crime rate and the desolation of the American family units, people hungered for the things of the past like established neighborhoods and a sense of community. They might live in an era of astonishing scientific breakthroughs, supersonic jets, instant communications and equal pay for all, but deep down they yearned for the simplicity of the Andy Hardy type moments portrayed on the big screen; those heartwarming encounters played out along downtown areas filled with people who knew your name.

Suddenly, buildings that would have been demolished without the blink of an eye were being labeled as historically significant. Downtown restorations were the new fad and town fathers saw an opportunity to turn abandoned main street areas into thriving, sought after hubs of commerce.

Savvy developers quickly joined the bandwagon, convincing town councils to sell these architectural dinosaurs for a penny on the dollar, back loans needed to restore and transform abandoned buildings into much sought after retail space, while providing tax credits for anyone willing to take on the challenge.

Elliot didn’t know a thing about historic architecture or reclamation but he was a savvy business man. He helped lead the charge on this rising new trend.  He began with the northern shore of Long Island once known as the ‘Gold Coast’, targeted waterfront towns like Cold Spring Harbor and Northport, and along the way established himself as the authority on downtown restoration projects.

He hired a restorationist architect to save the façades, then worked with reconfiguring interior spaces to best serve the needs of merchants. Trendy apartments and condos were fitted above the storefronts; many with small balconies so owners could sip their fifty dollar bottles of wine while looking down at the street crowds.

Marketing teams made certain that fashionable anchor stores were part of the mix, Ralph Lauren and Laura Ashley the favored choice. Word soon got around that trend setters, shopped along these tree-lined, architecturally reclaimed, litter free Main Streets, leaving the humble masses to shop at the malls.

The Griffin Development Group became the premier company in downtown restoration projects. Elliot’s picture appeared on Newsweek and Fortune. The rich and famous extended his fame by seeking his advice on restoring Chateaus in France and villas in Tuscany. These came with offers to stay on these private estates while he pondered how they might incorporate a full service spa and exercise room without denigrating the authenticity of the home.

Elliot seldom accepted the offers. He had no love of the past nor did he possess a need to reclaim historic buildings for future generations. Profits alone drove Elliot. He was notorious for keeping a tight reign on all expenditures.

“No one handles my money better than I,” he was found of saying.

The current focus of his attention was on Titusville. It had the highest projected capital returns of any of the projects he had ever undertaken and nothing made his heart race faster in anticipation than possessing all that lovely cash.

Part of the project’s charm lay in its history and the buildings that lined the main thoroughfare. Titusville sat along the Kentucky River midway between heavy forests laden with lumber and mountain ranges rich with coal. In its heyday, the town had been a hob of commerce and the buildings that had been left to time and disarray, reflected that wealth.

Experts on historic architectural design labeled these buildings as some of the finest examples of Victorian, Greek revival and early twentieth century Arts and Crafts style in the country. Once restored, it would draw architects from around the world to study their forms.

That was all well and good, but Elliot was more interested in the town’s close proximity to the Lexington Horse Park which had been chosen for the upcoming Equestrian Olympics. Nothing smelled more like money than the upper echelons of the equestrian crowd. Just the type of clientele that he was counting on to make this project a huge success.

There was, however, just one glitch that had begun to cause him some sleepless nights and if there was one thing that he wouldn’t tolerate (next to loosing money) was loosing sleep.

At the bottom of the newly restored Main Street sat the Eastwood Shelter—a repository of the homeless, the socially challenged, but more importantly, a giant threat to Elliot’s illustrious plans.

He had assumed it had been taken care of before the project began, but this past week, he had discovered otherwise when word trickled down that two high end tenants had threatened to cancel their leases if it wasn’t removed post haste. They explained that the close proximity of the homeless shelter would deter the clients they sought while drawing the type of people that would make security a nightmare.

Elliot had sent word to David McGowan that he wanted to see him immediately. His secretary announced his arrival.

“Send him right in.”

He watched the tall, broad shouldered man walk across the imported Brazilian tile floor while trying to formulate a plan. McGowan’s department continued to make Elliot an every richer man. He have a feel for these restoration project, coupled with a fine mind for finance, often bringing in projects way under cost while producing consistently large returns.

Elliot needed the shelter issued fixed, but he must be careful to do it in such a way as not to loose McGowan to a competitor. He had almost lost him once before over this project. Something about not wanting to move near his old hometown. David’s objection puzzled him. He had never faltered before when it came to a move, so what was the big deal about moving back home? It was temporary and then he’d be off to another project at another location.

But Elliot had sensed that if pushed, David might follow through with his threat and the last thing he wanted was to loose him to a competitor, so he tried a new tactic, one that seldom failed. He offered a new title, President of Commercial Development and a sizeable bonus. It had worked.

Elliot nodded towards one of Italian leather chairs opposite his desk.

David sat quietly, waiting for Elliot to begin. Once again, Griffin marveled at the man’s reserve. His father would have called it a ‘poker’s face’. Nothing that went on inside the man showed on the outside.

David knew why he had been summoned, the homeless shelter. He also knew that if Griffin hadn’t selected his son-in-law, Jarrod to head the project, this would never have been an issue. What kind of idiot begins a multi-million project without first making certain that the homeless center just a few yards away was removed?

David had told Jarrod that it was folly to begin without first having the facility moved. Any other executive would have agreed. But Jarrod was out to prove his worth to Elliot, probably hoping that one day he might pass over the reigns.

Fat chance. Under his command, Griffin Corporation would be bankrupt in five years. Elliot would never allow that to happen.

Meanwhile, David was saddled with an incompetent as a superior. While he had a degree in financing and twelve years of experience, Jarrod’s only credential was that he had married the bosses’ daughter.

Ignoring David’s warning, he had recklessly begun the restoration and with each completed phase, and no closer to having the shelter issue resolved, he had placed the company at greater and greater financial risk.

If the situation had been different, David might have quietly intervened himself. But since his father was the director, he had decided to let the situation ride itself out. Poor decision.

Now with the grand opening just three weeks away, Jarrod was panicking. Now he had a full staff of high-powered lawyers, (David wondered what that would cost the project in profits). He’s also taken to wining and dining the town’s council while hinting that cash awards were available to those who helped to close the center down.

This choicest piece of news was told him by Jack Richmond, who explained, “The town officers are livid at having been offered a bribe.”

Elliot leveled his eyes on David. He had seen that look before. It meant that the boss wasn’t pleased with the way things were going. David couldn’t blame him. Neither was he. He braced himself for an inquisition.

“What’s the problem?” Elliot began without preamble.

Before David could respond, they were interrupted by Elliot’s secretary’s voice over the intercom.

“The son-in-law is here,” she said with distain, knowing how it irked Jarrod to be referred to as ‘the son-in-law.’ David hid a smile. He wasn’t the only one in the Griffin Group who saw him as an opportunist.

“He insists that he be allowed to sit in on your meeting with Mr. McGowan.”

“Send him in.”

Jarrod, dressed casually in a polo shirt and kaki’s, strolled across the thick carpet as though the undisputed future heir of the Griffin Corporation. He completely ignored David.

“Hi, Elliot. I flew home to see my bride and she told me that you’ve been working much too hard.  I thought I might talk you into a round of golf.” He was all smiles.

“Maybe later. Why don’t you take a seat?”

“Sure.” Jarrod took the seat beside David, threw him a warning glare. “So…what’s up?”

“You know what up,” David said, not trying to hide his distain. The guy’s role as Project Manager was a disaster, everyone on the project knew it, and he would not pretend otherwise.

“Because of your decision to begin construction without first securing a new location for the shelter, we’re about to launch a multi-million dollar project that will probably fail when respective clients see a group of homeless people lining up just a few doors away.”

Jarrod stiffened. “You aren’t trying to place the blame on me, are you?”

“And where else should it be placed?”

Jarrod faced his father-in-law. “Elliot, I’ve told David for months now that he should force the issue with the Board of Selectman. After all, they’re counting on the tax revenue. They have the power to shut it down. But David, wouldn’t press them to act.”

“Is that right?” Elliot asked.

“I knew if this wasn’t settled amicably, the press would get wind of it and the last thing we wanted was see headlines that read “Homeless Evicted—Big  Corporation Puts Profits Before People.”

Jarrod humped. “No one is saying that they should be forced onto the streets. In fact, we’ve offered to move them at our expense to a new and may I add safer facility across town.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Elliot said.

“Except that the new facility is not on the main bus route needed by their clients,” David reminded him. “And the state run company refuses to establish a new line just for the shelter.”

“That’s a minor inconvenience,” Jarrod rebutted. “And one, I’m certain, the can be resolved once the town council puts pressure on their state officials. After all, our project will greatly increase revenue.” Jarrod leaned back as though that settled the matter, but not before shooting off one more shot. “If David had worked with me in this matter instead of against me, this would have been resolved months ago.”

“I wouldn’t have needed to work at all if you had simply done as I requested in the beginning and not have given the okay to begin work until the shelter issue had been worked out.”

“Elliot, you know my track record. The one I earned by working,” David fired back.

Elliot grinned.

“I would never have allowed the company to be put in this kind of risk if I had been project manager.”

Jarrod started to interrupt, but Elliot held up a hand. He fell silent.

“I’ve worked on dozens of projects for you down through the years, and I knew from experience that this could be our Achilles heal. It’s already having a negative impact on business leases. Three anchor stores are threatening to cancel their leases if we don’t have this resolved quickly. They know that it will negatively impact their Christmas sales.”

Elliot leaned forward. “Three?  I heard it was two.”

“Another threatened to cancel yesterday.”

“I don’t like this,” Elliot began. Then staring right at Jarrod added, “This has become a serious situation and needs resolution before the entire project goes under. Millions of dollars could be lost.” Elliot physically shuttered.

Jarrod knew enough to play it cool, not let the old man see that he was seething over David’s innuendos about his lack of experience, even though it was true. True, before his fortune and future had been enhanced by his marriage to Amanda Griffin, he had worked a string of meaningless jobs—car valet, window salesperson, pool cleaner. He had met Amanda when he was working behind the reception desk of a hotel that she had visited.

He donned a practice smile and casually leaned forward. “David is making more of this than it is.”

“You think the loss of several million dollars is a minor issue,” Elliot retorted, clearing annoyed at yet another of his son-in-law’s foul-up. His daughter’s unrelenting campaign that her husband’s be given a post in the company was proving fatal to the bottom line and Elliot was all about the bottom line.

“No…er…of course not. That’s not what I meant.”

“David, from here on, I want you to take over this project.”

“But Dad….I can fix this. Just give me a little more time…”
“Time we don’t have. The holiday kickoff is just a few weeks away.” Elliot addressed David. “I want you to find a way to settle this. Offer a cash settlement if you have to. Up to a quarter of a mill plus the new facility. If you have to, hire a private bus company to run his people around until the state thing can be rectified. I don’t care. Do whatever it takes, just get it done now!”

“There’s no need to hand this over to him. I can take care of this,” Jarrod insisted.

“You’ve already taken care of enough,” Elliot said with finality.  “Let David handle it from here on in. As he said, he’s experienced and his track record shows he knows how to get things done.”

Alan could hardly believe that Carrie Williams was texting him.

Carrie:            I asked my mom if her real estate company would pay for the                                   printing. She said yes! As long as she can do it anonymously.  So,                             that’s one thing we can mark off our list.

Alan:               That’s great! What about the boosters for the program?

Carrie:            Three of my girlfriends are soliciting downtown merchants.

Alan:               Sounds like you have it all under control.

Carrie:             Have you taken care of the chair rental?

Alan:               Mr. Newman says we can borrow the school’s. I just have to find                             someone with a truck that can help transport them.

Carrie:            I’ll talk to my boyfriend. His dad’s in construction and has access to                                    a couple of trucks. Gotta go. I promised to clean up the dinner                                     dishes.

Alan signed off and smiled. For the first time since coming to Crutcher Pike, he felt like he was part of something, no longer an outsider. And what really made it cool was that Carrie, the most popular girl in school, and he were now friends. Well, maybe not like close friends, but friends enough so that when they met in the school hallways she smiled or waved. He’d even been asked to join her table at lunch with her girlfriends as they went over their plans.

He owed Mr. Parson big-time!

This school assignment was working out to be the answer to his silent prayers. For the first time in his academic life, he looked forward to school.

Headlights arched across his windows, which meant that his dad was home from his business trip. His mom had been cooking for hours. She always liked to make a big dinner when he came home.  Instead of eating in the kitchen, the dining room would be set with the family’s best china. There’d be candles, cloth napkins and the monogrammed napkin rings his parents had received as a wedding gift.

Most of the time he enjoyed these welcome home dinners, especially his dad’s stories. He had a way of making every trip seem like a wild adventure filled with funny stories of near-missed connections; watching the captain of a plane standing on the runway, pointing to his jet and shaking his head ‘no’ to the mechanic; the time he nearly missed his connection and plowed into a group of nuns.

“They went down like bowling pins,” his father had howled with laughter.

But tonight, he couldn’t face his dad. Not after he had told him to ditch the Christmas concert idea. Alan had told his mom that he wasn’t feeling well. He’d eat in his room. It wasn’t that Alan didn’t understand his dad’s position about the shelter. Like his dad said, it would kill the sales on his new project. But Alan had seen the long lines of ragged people waiting outside for meals and later, tromping in, hoping for a place to sleep the night. It wasn’t like these people had chosen to be homeless or poor. Well…maybe some had.  But most, as Ray said, were just victims of circumstances. They needed compassion not condemnation.

When Alan had asked Ray why he had refused the Griffin Development’s offer to move the shelter to a new facility across town, he explained that area had no access to public transportation on which many of his people depended. That did seem unfair. These people already had several strikes against them. Why should they be further inconvenienced so that some rich development group could make more money? The query brought an instant sense of guilt since his dad worked for that company.

“Sounds like your dad is in a difficult position,” Ray said, when Alan confessed that his dad was heading the Griffin project.

“But there’s no reason that either one of us should loose,” he said, putting an arm around Alan’s shoulder. “God knows the way around this. Let’s lift up this matter to the Lord and ask that He make a way for both of our needs to be met.”

“Can He do that?” Alan asked.

“With God all things are possible, my boy.” He gave Alan a gentle squeeze, his voice sounding kind of funny when he looked into his eyes. “Yes, truly all things are possible with our Lord.”

The garage door opened making the floor beneath his slippered feet slightly vibrate, followed by footsteps entering the kitchen. Muffled voices sounded in the kitchen below. More footsteps. He knew that in a few minutes, someone would come up with a tray.  Probably his dad.

He hurried to shed clothes and quickly ransacked his dresser for his night clothes while wishing that Ray and his dad could be friends. Pastor Whitcomb said that Ray was the closest he’d ever seen anyone come to emulating Christ.

There was a short rap on his door.Alan dove into his bed and threw up the covers.

“You up, buddy?” his dad asked, entering with a tray.

“Hi dad.”

“Your mom said you’re not feeling well.”

“Just a little tired.”

“Tired, uh?” His dad set the tray on the night stand. “You’re awful young to be tired at seven at night. What have you been up to that would make you so tired?”

Alan shrugged. “School work, mostly.”

“I see.”

His dad’s eyes swept the room and rested on the computer screen and Carrie’s message.

“So, dad,” he nearly shouted, desperate to divert his attention. “How was your trip?”

“Same old, same old.”

“No new stories?”

His dad smiled. “A few, but I’ll save them until you’re feeling better. Now, I’d better leave you to eat your dinner before it gets cold. I’m afraid you mom insisted on chicken soup, but if you think you could make it downstairs, there’s large tray of lasagna.”

Alan smiled, feeling a deep love for his dad. Like Ray said, he was just doing what his boss wanted. He shouldn’t be blamed for wanting to close the shelter. It wasn’t his idea.

“I think I’ll just hang here and finish my schoolwork.”

“All right, but if you need anything, just give a call.” His dad ruffled his hair, started to leave then turned. “I’m really sorry about not having spent more time with you these past few months and canceling out on the tree farm. It’s just that….”

“I understand dad. I know that you have a lot on your plate with the opening and everything. It’s cool. We’ll spend time together when it’s over.”

His dad smiled with visible relief. “You’re turning into a great young man, son.”

“I had a good role model.”

His dad’s eyes grew moist. “We’ll cut that tree this weekend. I promise.”

“Thanks, hon. That was delicious,” David told his wife, pushing aside what was left of his second helping. He tucked his hands behind his head and leaned back.  “I miss these family dinners. I’ve had enough airport food to last me a lifetime.”

“And we miss them, too,” Marissa said, rising from the table and removing the plates.

“Here, let me help.” David pushed back his chair, grabbed the salad bowl and a handful of silverware then followed his wife into the kitchen.

“Do you know what our son said when I apologized for not being home more?”

His wife handed him a plastic bowl. “Put the rest of the salad in here. I’ll have it for lunch.”

“He said that he knew that I had a lot on my plate and he understood. You know, I keep forgetting that childhood doesn’t go on forever and that I’m missing out on a lot by not being around.”

“That will change once this project’s over,” Marissa reminded him while scraping off their plates into the garbage disposal. “With the bonus you’ll receive from this project, combined with what we have saved, there’s more than enough to tide us over while you establish your own construction business.”

“If there is a bonus.”

“What do you mean if,” she asked, rinsing the plates.

David leaned against the sink and crossed his arms. “Griffin made it very clear at our meeting today that he expects this opening to be a great success.”

“And? You’re not certain that it’s going to be?”

“That depends whether we get the shelter closed or moved in time.”

“But, did you tell him that you had nothing to do with that? Jarrod has blocked you on every front. He went against your advice, insisted on beginning the project before it was resolved.”

“Elliot knows.”

“Then how does this become your problem?”

“It becomes my problems because Griffin just made it mine.”

“Excuse me.” Marissa said, opening the door to the dishwasher. David edged back. “What happens if you can’t get it moved in time?”

“Then I loose the bonus.”

“Oh, David…” She paused from lining a row of glasses along the top tier of the wire racks. “I’m so sorry. I know how you were counting on this being your last job for Griffin.”

“It still might be my last job if I don’t get that shelter moved.”

“What are you going to do?”

David ran a hand through his hair. “I’m going to have to meet with my father and see if I can’t come to some kind of arrangement, although the prospect does not thrill me.”

“I know you’re not going to like hearing this, but I’m glad that you’re finally going to see him.”

“You’re right. I don’t like hearing it.”

“I also think it’s time that you told Alan about your father and your father about his grandson?”

David’s face grew hard. “The less our son knows about Ray McGowan, the better.”

Alan quietly made his way back up the stairs, the empty tray still in his hand while inside thoughts shot off like rockets.

Ray McGowan is my grandfather.

Join us next week at The Christmas Journal continues.

Copyright 2010 Katherine Valentine

Reflection on Today’s Daily Readings by Fr. Bertrand Buby, SM

Today’s Readings



Scripture: Lectionary # Genesis 3:9-15.20. Psalm 98:1.2-3.3-4. Ephesians
1:3-6. Luke 1:26-38:
What a wonderful help for continuing in the spirit of Advent–this Feast of
the Immaculate Conception of Mary, the Mother of Jesus. It centers on her
person who from the first moment of her conception was free from all sin
and would continue in that freedom by the grace of God through the
Incarnation of Jesus, her Son and her Redeemer. It happened in the “kairos”
time of God that she was preserved from all sin. We realize, in speaking
about Mary as Catholics,we should never separate her from the mysteries of
her son, Jesus the Messiah and our Lord.Mary is always to be seen with her
son as we learn from the whole of the Scriptures that reflect upon her
through the evangelists and St. Paul ( Galatians 4:4-5). She is associated
with Jesus in all of his mysteries as Blessed Chaminade says.

One of the most succinct insights gained from an exegetical look at Mary
and Jesus is found in the commentary by Benedict T.Viviano on Matthew 2:11.
It is the only reference to mariology or marian theology per se in the
whole of the New Jerome Biblical Commentary, but it says what we need to
hear and and ponder over:” the child with Mary his mother: The Magi offer a
model of sound mariology as worshippers in a Marian context.” That
exegtical comment gives us the way of properly approaching Mary in all of
her mysteries and of not failing her by minimalism or maximalism. Mary and
Jesus therefore are not to be separated even in the mystery of her
Immaculate Conception. At first, we may think this dogma separates her from
us and even from Jesus. Her sole purpose of existence was from the first
moment of her life wrapped in the mystery of God sending his Son to us
through a human person, a real mother. She was in the plan of God to be
that woman called Mary of Nazareth.

In Genesis 3 we have the persons of Adam and Eve who fail in their original
purpose of living always in obedience to God. The new Adam and the new Eve
would recapitulate what had failed through them.The failure is
recapitulated, that is, restored,by the New Adam born of the New Eve. It
was Irenaeus of Lyon who first gave us the theme of recapitulation in the
order of grace within God’s salvific plan for the human race. Cardinal John
H. Newman took as his starting point for marian theology this theological
statement and insight of Irenaeus. For the rereading of the Old Testament
in Genesis 3, we found that Patristic thought based on Irenaeus insight
continued to develop Mary as the New Eve. The first Eve in the original
plan was in a special creation immune from sin but had the capacity to
choose sin and did. Mary is the promised woman whose offspring will undo
the work of the serpent by having her son’s heel crush the head of that
snake that represented evil. Together then the Promised Woman and her son
brought the victory over the devil.

The reading from Ephesians shows us that all of us in the plan of God were
predestined for salvation. There is no negative predestination present for
anyone who reads carefully the word of God in the Bible. Our text says,
“God has bestowed on us every spiritual blessing. God chose us (and
certainly Mary) before the world began to be holy and blameless in his
sight, to be full of love.” Those words though not directly speaking of
Mary are a great insight into what the Immaculate Conception of Mary is all
about. (Ephesians 1:4). Even the word used for love and charity and grace
is bound up to what we will see in Mary’s call. She is given a new name in
the Annunciation of Luke. (Luke 1: kecharitomene ho Kyrios meta soul which
translates “you have already been graced by the love of God and the Lord is
with you.” The nobility of our calling and that of Mary is present in those
lines. She is the one who through her son’s redemptive love and actions
kept her always in the presence of God the Father. She was always present
with her son in those hidden years at Nazareth.

Just as a newness was found in Christ,the Church saw a newness in Mary by
calling her the new Eve. Mary is given a new name that unravels the
mysteries of her vocation and life–”kecharitomene”– the same word that is
formed from what Paul is speaking about in the love of God and the grace of
blamelessness meant for all of us. This newness is taken up in a beautiful
way by the Psalm when it speaks of a new song being sung to the Lord. We
sing that song in honor of Mary this day. (Psalm 98: “Sing to the Lord a
new song…the Lord has made known his salvation…Sing joyfully to the
Lord all you lands…Sing praise to the Lord before the Lord for he
comes.”).

Mary’s cooperation with God in the plan of salvation is the meaning of the
Annunciation Narrative and why it is told by St. Luke. Her paraphrased
name is an indication of who she is in the sight of God– “the one who has
been loved, graced already”. Even the grammatic meaning of the perfect
passive participle shows this to be the sense of her new name. We rejoice
that Mary said Yes to what Gabriel was asking of her. She does respond
after dialoguing and discerning as well as she could the mystery of her
calling, her vocation. Her rational consent is with a graced will and a
loving heart that exploded on the sins of this world.She accepted the
mystery of her vocation.

The reading from Ephesians has high praise for us, but Mary is the person
who first understood and fully lived out that grace coming from God that
made her blameless and full of love. Eve was first called to such a way of
life, but said a No to the Lord with Adam equally responsible with his No.
Mary is not the woman of paradise but of this world that is surrounded in
so many dimensions of sin and evil. She was born of human parents just
like the rest of us. She was gifted with the presence of the Holy Spirit
and through those gifts understood and was full of wisdom when she gave her
acceptance: “Let it be done to me according to thy word.” Her Yes was a
commitment to a life which she always lived in the presence of God and her
son.

We honor on this day the most noble calling of the Woman of Promise
(Genesis 3:15) who was full of the grace and love of God. She was blessed
because she believed in the mystery of God’s love for her. Her hope and her
love would continue to unfold each day in the presence of her Son and her
God. Today we ask Mary, our spiritual mother, to intercede for us before
God. We celebrate her and sing to her with our new song and we join the
poet who said of her that “She (Mary) is our tainted nature’s solitary
boast.” Amen.

In the process of searching for catechist resources, I have found the many Catholic homeschooling mom blogs to be a treasure chest of ideas. The many mothers sharing their experiences and ideas for creating fun crafts and activities have so much to offer catechists. One weakness I often fall into is that I can become so focused on reaching lesson objectives and lesson assessment performance that I forget that the kids want to have fun. The things I wrote about in my e-book, The Religion Teacher’s Guide to Lesson Planning, are essential but we can easily get lost in our lesson plans. If the kids are not engaged, they will not learn.

Like CatholicMom.com, these blogs are very well liked by catechists and DREs. They provide step-by-step instructions for creative crafts that any kids would enjoy. That is the key. The kids enjoy these things. Look at the pictures of the smiling faces of the kids on their blog posts. They love it.

Keep it up, moms. You are inspiring catechists like me to be better teachers.

Some of the blogs I have come across, follow, and enjoy are:

• Catholic Icing
• Catholic Mothers Online
• Waltzing Matilda
• Paper Dali
• JOYFilled Family
• The Catholic Toolbox
• Scrutinies
• Looks Good in Polka Dots

Copyright 2010 Jared Dees

I think part of my hesitation in writing this review is that Kevin Heider and his music strike a deep chord within me that I’ve had a hard time expressing. I am blessed to have the opportunity to hear lots of great music from a variety of artists, but “To Whom It May Concern” has stood out from the beginning. It is personal. I think that’s the best way to describe this album. Ever since my first listen – putting the CD on makes me feel like I’ve just invited Kevin into my living room, my cubicle, or the seat next to me on the airplane and am getting a personal performance.

Kevin’s lyrics are deep, he writes from the heart and he touches a wide variety of topics. I am very impressed with his songs that address topics that the current generation of musicians seems afraid to tackle. When one looks social justice concerns of the 60s and early 70s, many people believe that it was the music that changed how Americans felt about topics like race and the War in Vietnam.

You can’t help but to be saddened when you hear songs like “Christmas Without Brian”. Kevin’s tackles other social justice themes as well – the title track of To Whom It May Concern is an answer to John Mayer’s song “Waiting on the World to Change”. In his own words – Kevin states: “I wrote this song in response to John Mayer’s Grammy-winning song, ‘Waiting on the World to Change,’ which claims to represent the views of his (and my) generation with the defeatist and hopeless message that nothing we can do will make a difference. But I don’t believe that, not for one second.”

Now, I don’t want you think that this is a protest album, or that all the songs are depressing. There are plenty of optimistic songs – Kevin’s rendition of “An Irish Blessing” and “No More Tears” are both songs of hope with uplifting messages.

Overall, this album ranks high on my “must have” list. You will not be disappointed. Some listeners may wish that this album had a little more instrumentation and more variation in tempo. This album is exclusively Kevin and piano. When I first listened to the album, those were my thoughts as well. But then again, I feel like that simplicity is part of the appeal for this album. And, not to give any spoilers away, but Kevin takes the instrumentation up a notch in his next album.

I encourage everyone to go to www.kevinheider.com and check out “To Whom it May Concern”.

LINKS for this review:
Kevin Heider website



Copyright 2010 Jim Logue

The Rules*
*for now

On the Use of Headphones

1. Use of headphones is limited to bedrooms.
2. If headphones are worn in the living room, they must be removed when guests arrive.
3. Volume must be turned down so that guests seated in living room can’t hear music leaking from headphones.

On Late-Night Snacking
1. Paper plates must be used for late-night snacks.
2. Dishes used for late-night snacks must be washed by teens.
3. Teens must put dirty dishes in the sink before going to bed.

On PG-rated Video Games
1. Teens must not allow younger siblings to view PG-rated video games.
2. Children must not watch older siblings play PG-rated video games for more than fifteen minutes.
3. Children who stay up late watching teens play PG-rated video games must still get up at 7:00 the next day.

On the Use of Cell Phones During Mealtimes
1. Teens may not bring their cell phones to the dinner table.
2. Texts received at the dinner table may not be answered.
3. When texting at the dinner table, teens must hold their cell phones on their laps.

On Maintaining Clean Bedrooms
1. Teens are to keep their bedrooms in order.
2. Teens must help Mom to straighten their bedrooms.
3. When Mom straightens teens’ bedrooms, teens are not to complain that they can’t find anything.

On Gum-Chewing
1. Only teens are allowed to chew gum.
2. Teens must not share their gum with younger siblings until the school day has ended.
3. Younger siblings who get gum in their hair during recess will be punished.

On Training the Dog
1. Teens must not allow the dog into their bedrooms.
2. The dog may not sleep on teens’ beds.
3. After removing dog hair from bed pillows, teens must return the lint roller to its proper place.

On Curfew
1. Curfew is 11:00pm sharp.
2. Not one minute past 11:30.
3. Teens who are out past midnight will be locked out of the house.
4. Unless the weather is too cold, too hot, snowy, or rainy.


Copyright 2010 Celeste Behe

Reflection on Today’s Daily Readings by Fr. Bertrand Buby, SM

Today’s Readings

Scripture for Dec. 7, Second week in Advent:

Lectionary # 183. Isaiah 40:1-11. Psalm 96:1-2.3. 10.11-12.13. Matthew
18:12-14:

“Comfort, ye, comfort ye my people saith your God”. This version has more
of an Advent tone to it than some of the other translations and helps us to
enter more deeply into two of the great models for Advent: Isaiah and John
the Baptist. In the prophetic words, John’ mission is announced and
carried from Isaiah into the Gospels. John will indeed prepare the way of
the Lord and help them to hear and experienced the comforting words of the
Messiah Jesus. They need not look for another. John’s disciples will help
the master to realize that the Christ is now among his people and the
Baptist will fade into the background and soon give his life for the coming
of the kingdom.

The prophet, then John, and finally the confirming words of Jesus help us
to blot out the guilt of the past that often haunts us. The kingdom is
among us. Emmanuel is present in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. For us,
we need the daily reminder that we live in the peace of Christ, a peace
this world cannot give, and that all of our sins are forgiven. This is the
time for renewal and for a metanoia. For us who are sinners, changing one’s
mind or rethinking our behaviors involves repenting or changing one’s life;
for those who are religious people not conscious of sin the demand of
metanoia might be better translated literally as a change of mind,
attitude, and motivation. If we reflect on the opposition encountered by
Jesus’ demand, the Gospels record little rejection of him by sinners but
quite the opposite from those who considered themselves right.

Jesus acts as the good shepherd dor the little ones–the children. He
teaches us a lesson that we need very badly in our society where children
are abused at home, at school, and even by those who represent the Church.

The changing not only of our minds but also our hearts helps us to move
away from negativity, cynicism, and rash judgments. We then feel and
experience the hope, joy, and peace Isaiah prophesies for us. We hear
Isaiah pointing the way to the Good Shepherd by his own mention of a
shepherd who feeds his flock and gathers his lambs in his arms. Then in
the Gospel, we hear Jesus himself assuming the role of a shepherd who
searches for the lost sheep and gathers in the innocent into his arms. We
see this applied by Jesus to the children, the little ones who surround him
and felt protected and loved by him. He tells us that it is the Father’s
plan that not one of these little ones should be in any way harmed. His
words are of comfort to those who are parents and do show the love that
children need. “It is not part of your heavenly Father’s plan that a
single one of these little ones should ever come to grief.” (Matthew
18:24).

Psalm 96 assures us that the comfort promised by God through the mouth of
Isaiah is real and effective in those who allow God to work within them.
We are to exult in the Lord before he comes; he comes to rule the earth and
he shall rule the world with justice and the peoples with his constancy.
(Ps. 96:13). Marana tha! Come, Lord Jesus, come. Maran atha!
Amen.Scripture: Sat. of First week of Advent. Lectionary 181: Isaiah
30:19-21.23-26. Psalm 147: 1-2.3-4.5-6. Matthew 9:35-10:1.6-8:

Pathos and hope well up in our hearts and minds by today’s readings.
Pathos deals with the experience of our feelings in times of hardship,pain,
or disappointment. It is directly related to the word for suffering
(pathien in Greek). We are all afflicted by such sufferings and some are
almost paralyzed by them day in and day out. The readings then give us the
other side of the pathos by offering us God’s gift of hope. The two words
may be in tension with one another, but the Scriptures unravel and loosen
the hold of one over the other. Jesus shows his pathos for the ailing
people of the land in which he was born; he has mercy on them and sees that
the harvest is so many that he beckons the disciples to help him in what he
is doing for the poor, the blind, the lame, the deaf, the marginal.

We are startled to see that Jesus’ focus is exclusively on his own people.
He realizes that one–even if he be the Messiah–can only do so much. He
does not micro-manage what he is doing; he delegates the curing, healing,
exorcizing to his disciples, the twelve men whom he has chosen to help with
the harvest. There is more that enough to do even in his own land for all
of his disciples and followers. After his death, a universal sending will
take place through the downpour of the gifts of the Holy Spirit upon the
apostles and Mary.

We sense the same tension in Isaiah between pathos and hope. The prophet
however is offering more of a hopeful vision than one of pathos. In the
Gosplel we are in need of God’s mercy. Jesus had pity upon them and us for
he was merciful. The psalm likewise has the same message. God heals the
wounds of his people and gives them great almost idyllic hope through
Isaiah and the Psalmist. Patience, waiting, and trusting are offered as a
way of coping while believing these things will come to be real and a time
of peace and prosperity will follow.We too join in these tensions of pathos
and hope allowing Jesus to unbind our wounds without his worrying about his
own sufferings. Thus he is the wounded healer.

How do we handle our problems, our worries, our ills? There is another
message to help us answer, namely, God promises that a voice will tell us
what to do. Is this the voice of our heart, mind, and soul? Or is it the
Holy Spirit within us? ” While from behind you, a voice shall sound in
your ears: “This is the way; walk in it.” It is both our voice of
conscience and discernment as well as that of the Holy Spirit. This voice
helps us to make good choices about helping Jesus in his healing mission to
all peoples. We are the hands of the wounded healer Jesus. He it is who
heals the broken hearted and binds up their wounds. The reign of God is at
hand. We sense the presence of the Lord and continue to cry out, Come ,
Lord Jesus, come. Maranatha.
Prayer: Lord, strengthen me to wait upon you with courage and faith. Let me
seek one thing: to dwell in your house all the days of my life and there
gaze upon your loveliness. Lord, cure my blindness that I might see your
beauty. Yes, Come, Lord Jesus, and let us see your face and we shall be
saved. Happy are all who long for your coming. May each of us be your
instrument in stirring these desires in our brothers and sisters. Amen.
(Fr. C. Stuhlmueller, C.P.P. )

Then, the worst-case scenario occurs. Instead of a nurse arriving to escort you into the operating room, you receive a visit from the anesthesiologist who is there to inform you that your surgery has just been cancelled. You’re shocked and your immediate thoughts wander naturally through various possible snags. Is there a problem with the surgeon? The attending staff? Some type of equipment failure?  Maybe a sudden emergency situation that’s taken priority over your scheduled procedure?

Truth is, it’s none of the above. The unhappy expression found on the faces of your doctor, his surgical team, and the surrounding hospital staff, aren’t due to anything within the realm of their control. Rather, yours. What was once an isolated event has grown into a burgeoning problem in hospitals and medical clinics across the country. In more ways than one, a patient’s weight (excessive weight, that is) is causing more surgeries to be cancelled last minute because of the potential (and frequently life-threatening) risk to the patient.

Used to be when you heard the news that you’d need to undergo a surgical procedure, a patient would necessarily consider the who, what, where, when and how’s. Today though, it isn’t the physician, nor is it an insurance company, or even the technology that’s standing in the way of some surgeries. The question being asked nowadays is a weight-related one. It is troubling that for a growing number of patients the most problematic obstacle to getting better rests solely on their shoulders (and on the rest of their body). Unfortunately, it is their own excess weight that’s holding these overweight men, women, and children hostage from overall good health and even more criminally, from receiving urgent medical care of the direst lifesaving sort.

There are some individuals who naively voice minimizing this issue of epidemic proportions [Two thirds of Americans are now either overweight (defined as a body-mass index (BMI) of 25 or higher) or obese (A 30-plus BMI)], stating that it doesn’t affect them personally. These particular obese persons believe they can be simultaneously both overweight and healthy. However, no one can convincingly argue that if sudden urgent medical care is required that the obese are on a level playing field concerning surgical risks as their normal-weighted counterparts and the statistics prove it.

The fact is, none of us can anticipate when an emergency medical situation will occur requiring immediate surgery. Nobody plans on getting into an auto accident or injured on the job, but it happens every day, in every city across our nation. And in comparatively similar fashion, a frightening number of patient casualties occur when medical professionals are forced to refuse treatment to people because the risk is simply too great pre-operatively, during surgery, and post-operatively.

If you are now numbered among the two-thirds of Americans who are overweight, you’ll want to pay particular attention to the conversation you have with your doctor before scheduling surgery of any kind.  As you sit in front of your physician and he informs you that you’ll need to undergo a surgical procedure consider closely what he’s telling you as well as what he isn’t. Your surgeon will explain that because of your excess weight you are at an increased risk for anesthesia complications, blood clots, wound problems and your rehabilitation experience will likely be more difficult and longer in duration than normal-weight persons. If you’re having a joint replacement surgery, you can almost count on the appliance wearing out prematurely as well (anyone seeing a follow-up surgery in their future?).

As if these warnings weren’t tough enough to swallow, take this solemn conversation a step further and inside the real mind workings of your doctor. What he may not tell you because it’s so discouraging to him as the medical professional whose job it is to heal you (and as the primary directive from which he operates both literally and figuratively); is what he’s seen transpire in case after case in previous obese patients under his care. As your physician is speaking, remember he’s also running a mental dialogue though his mind of how your surgery (as an obese patient) will differ from a normal-weighted patient. He, as the operating surgeon, knows the difference and you, as the patient, should too because this difference is huge.

From your surgeon’s perspective, he has no choice but to accept the additional risks and challenges of operating on someone whose very weight makes it exponentially harder to perform his job (fixing you) from a purely technical standpoint. Doctors report that they frequently encounter morbidly obese people telling them, they (the patients), are willing to accept the increased risk for complication without a thought for the difficulty that their surgeons will encounter during the procedure as well as what this increased risk for complication means to the physician as the responsible party. There appears to be a mistaken assumption among some obese patients that their weight is not a factor that might affect their surgeon’s ability to perform the intricacies required during any medical procedure. Similarly, some other patients falsely believe that their surgery can be executed with the same ease as a patient of normal weight.

Patients must also understand that weight-related health risks are alive and well even before an individual enters the operating room doors. Excess weight puts a patient at a disadvantage even before surgery is scheduled as extra fat can render some clinical tests ineffective at detecting potential and existing health problems. Amy Parham, weight loss participant on The Bigger Loser television show, remembers her wake-up call after viewing her Dexa Scan for the first time. She recognized at that moment how her extra pounds were punishing her organs and lungs hour by hour, day after day. “It was eye opening to see that the fat was not something that was not only keeping me from buttoning my smaller pants, but it was also shoving my organs around and prohibiting them from working properly. Even my lungs were so compressed I couldn’t breath well.” Parham realized that as much as she hated how fat looks on the outside, “It is the fat that we don’t see, (on the inside) that is killing us.”

Beyond the above risk complications already cited, your doctor knows that your surgical outcome may not be what you’re expecting because even with the most skilled surgeon working on your behalf, your excess weight will continue to hinder mobility and range of motion post-operatively. No matter what side of the surgery table you’re on, both doctor and patient enter the situation at a disadvantage because both are fighting to overcome weighty odds of the most costly kind. Obesity isn’t a lifestyle gamble worth playing with; it’s a risky venture whose stakes will continue to rise to life and death proportions with every pound gained. A life and death risk Parham came to understand, “I believe that many times vanity is the motivation for wanting to lose weight, but people need to wake up and realize that they are playing Russian roulette with their lives by the choices they make. I was slowly killing myself and didn’t even know it.”

The Facts on Fat and Surgical Risks -

• Obese patients suffer from more postoperative infection, thrombosis (formation of blood clots), and other circulatory organ complications.
• Overweight individuals are at a greater risk postoperatively for heart attacks (5 times higher), wound infection (1.7 times higher,) peripheral nerve injury (4 times higher), and urinary tract infections (1.5 times higher), than their non-obese counterparts. [WebMD]
• Compared to normal weight persons undergoing surgery, obese and morbidly obese patients require roughly double the dosage of intravenous antibiotics during surgery.
• There is generally an increased length of stay in the hospital after surgery, which also adds to a patient’s financial costs.

Reasons to Lose the Excess Before You Need to -

• Surgeons use smaller incisions, thus less bleeding from the operative wound in lighter patients than obese ones.
• Potential problems with anesthesia are minimized because a lesser amount is required during surgery for smaller weighted individuals.
• Postoperative rehabilitation is shorter and easier on thinner patients.
• Joint replacement hardware such as knees and hips last longer on patients of normal weight.

Copyright 2010 Michele Howe

1. Shop early online, wrap the gifts, and forget about them. Consider doing a Kris Kringle (Secret Santa) exchange at the office, at school, or with friends to cut down on spending. Collect possible gifts at yard sales during the year, or save children’s art projects for family members.

2. Take a family photo and use a religious Christmas frame for your card this year. You can find them online at TrueChristmasCards.com

3. Make a Jesse Tree. On a bare branch, hang a different ornament (symbolizing the ancestors of Jesus in the Old Testament, such as Adam, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and David) each day of December, and then read a short Scripture reading.  At NCRegister.com click “Resources” to find helpful material.

4. Have an Advent wreath, the same as we have in church, with four candles: three purple and one pink (for the third Sunday of Advent, called Gaudete, which means “Rejoice”, Sunday, since Christ is nearly born). Sing an Advent hymn like “O Come, Divine Messiah” or “People Look East” each night as you light the wreath.

5. Keep an Advent calendar. Buy a religious paper calendar, or consider a fabric pocket calendar if you have young children, so they can place the items in the pockets for each day by themselves.

6. Fill Baby Jesus’ manger with straw. Ask the children to tell you about their good deeds, and let them put a straw for each one in a small manger at their bedsides. The goal: a comfortable bed for the Baby Jesus by Christmas.

7. Fast. Advent has always been a time of fasting. Although a bit less severe than Lent, it’s still a time to serve simpler meals, give up sweets, and to enter into a spirit of penance and recollection.

8. Visit the elderly in your family or neighborhood. Ask them about their Christmas memories and traditions on tape, and make a treasured keepsake for their families and yours. Bring a package of homemade Christmas cookies.

9. Celebrate St. Nicholas’ feast day on Dec. 6 by filling your children’s shoes with chocolate gold coins, reading a short biography of St. Nicholas, and watching the CCC of America cartoon movie Nicholas: The Boy Who Became Santa.

10. Teach your children how to pray a novena for the feast of the Immaculate Conception, and say the Rosary after attending Mass on Our Lady’s feast day. Wear something blue. Serve a special dessert when you get home.

11. Contribute to the Christmas of the poor. Sponsor a family in the parish; shop a catalogue of gifts for the poor in the missions; save change from fasting for the poor box. One of our family customs is to collect a box of unwanted toys to donate to our church thrift shop.

12. Attend a parish celebration of the solemnity of Our Lady of Guadalupe. In our parish, the entire congregation celebrates after Mass with a Mexican fiesta. Your family can have its own fiesta.

13. Wait to decorate the outside of your home with lights until the feast of St. Lucy on Dec. 13. Traditionally, girls dress in white robes and wear Christmas wreaths with candles on their heads and wake the family with coffee that day. Include the Irish custom of placing candles in your windows to welcome the Holy Family.

14. Teach your children to sing a new Christmas carol every week and have them practice the songs on their instruments. Give a concert to your Christmas dinner guests.

15. Buy a CD of sacred Christmas music in Latin to listen to as you bake, wrap and decorate. It will help to keep your minds focused on the Nativity.

16. Make your Nativity set the center of your home’s decorations. Consider buying an unbreakable collectable set and add a new statue each year. Let the kids play with the figures.

17. Watch DVDs of The Little Drummer Boy, The Small One, or The Fourth Wise Man.

18. Put a “Keep Christ in Christmas” magnet on your car.

19. Go to a local shrine to visit the outdoor manger scene, preferably at night. Serenade the Holy Family with Christmas carols. We like to do this on the Epiphany, when the Wise Men have joined the Nativity scene.

20. Go Christmas caroling with other families to your neighbors’ homes; have hot chocolate when you get back home. Sing carols at a nursing home.

21. Participate in a celebration of “Las Posadas.” This is a nine-day novena of preparation for Christmas; a statue of Baby Jesus in the manger is passed from home to home, beginning Dec. 15. The family whose home has the statue brings it to the next family on the list, with two children dressed in simple costumes as Mary and St. Joseph, asking for shelter in the posada(home).

22. Buy an oplatek, a blessed (not consecrated) white wheat wafer stamped with the Nativity to share with your family on Christmas Eve, in Polish tradition. At dinner, the oplatek is broken and shared with the family, along with special prayers.

23. Make a traditional Italian 12-fish Christmas Eve dinner — and invite a lonely family member who remembers this custom to share memories about it with the children. The 12 fish represent the Twelve Apostles.

24. Attend midnight Mass as a family, all dressed up in your Christmas clothes. Make a special visit to the manger to wish Baby Jesus a “Happy Birthday.”

25. Read the Gospel of St. Luke’s Nativity story as you place Baby Jesus in the manger after Mass, and thank him for coming to your family this Christmas.

Copyright 2010 Leticia Velasquez

Today, we are happy to share the next chapter in our online novel, Elizabeth: A Holy Land Pilgrimage by Cheryl Dickow.

• Chapter Twenty-Six
• Chapter Twenty-Five
• Chapter Twenty-Four
• Chapter Twenty-Three
• Chapter Twenty-Two
• Chapter Twenty-One
• Chapter Twenty
• Chapter Nineteen
• Chapter Eighteen
• Chapter Seventeen
• Chapter Sixteen
• Chapter Fifteen
• Chapter Fourteen
• Chapter Thirteen
• Chapter Twelve
• Chapter Eleven
• Chapter Ten
• Chapter Nine
• Chapter Eight
• Chapter Seven
• Chapter Six
• Chapter Five
• Chapter Four
• Chapter Three
• Chapter Two
• Chapter One

Elizabeth: A Holy Land Pilgrimage was a true labor of love for author Cheryl Dickow whose own passions for the Holy Land and the Jewish roots of the Catholic faith are almost unquenchable. Elizabeth is the first work published by Bezalel Books which Cheryl established in late 2006; it centers on a woman whose life is at a crossroads and her realization that the only way to get back on track is to get to the roots of her faith—in the Holy Land—if it isn’t too late. Since the release of Elizabeth, Bezalel Books has published 40 additional titles that are perfect for the Catholic home, school or parish. Elizabeth is available in paperback or in Kindle format. Cheryl is also the author of the recent non-fiction book Our Jewish Roots: A Catholic Woman’s Guide to Fulfillment Today by Connecting with Her Past

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I will live for the Lord; my descendants will serve you. Psalm 22:31

The last two days of Elizabeth’s trip were wonderful. On Tuesday, all four women spent their last day together in the beautiful hills and valleys by the Sea of Galilee.  It was in Northern Israel and filled with man-made and natural wonders. One of their stops was in the city of Safed. Rachel explained that during the middle ages it became a haven for Spanish Jews as a result of the Inquisition. “Many people consider this to be the most peaceful of settings that exist in the world.”

Beth had to agree with Rachel, as did Miriam and Sipporah. The mountaintop city and view was breathtaking. Everywhere they looked were streams running through the mountains, determinedly making their way to the sea.

“The Jews of Galilee used Mt. Arbel as a stronghold during their fighting with the Romans in the first century. But let’s not think of these things today!” Sipporah said, wanting to steer their last day together in a completely different direction than the endless fighting that seemed to be part of man’s inherent nature. “Let’s rent a kayak and ride down the Jordan River!”

Beth almost fell over at Sipporah’s suggestion. She had never been fond of boats and the only images she could conjure up regarding kayaking or rafting had to do with turbulent whitewater waves throwing all occupants into a rabid stream just waiting to plunge everyone to their death. Beth remained quiet to better hear all the other protests. To her dismay, everyone thought rafting or kayaking was a great idea and they were apparently on their way to some undisclosed kayak rental place with Beth trailing behind. Wouldn’t that be something if this was how I lost my life? Beth murmured to herself. Of all of Luke’s concerns, both spoken and not, Beth could bet on the fact that Luke never considered Beth would step foot in a kayak.

Within minutes they were gearing up for a boat ride and Beth felt that the whole thing had been planned. She knew she was right as Sipporah spoke, “I hope you won’t find us too pushy but we wanted to spend our last day together doing something a bit out of the ordinary so that when you thought of the Holy Land you thought of the times of Christ but also of today. Of all the things He has done for you, He has also brought you to us and made us feel as if we have always known you.”

Beth began crying and all four women hugged in one of those big, dramatic group hugs that are so often made fun of on television. But nothing was more appropriate, more fitting, than for these four friends to create a circle and laugh and cry for a few precious minutes.

“Ladies, let me just check your gear and you can get into the quad-kayak,” instructed their guide. Beth was relieved that they weren’t being left to their own devices and was the second to board. The boat was bigger than she had imagined. She looked around and saw assorted kayaks and canoes, all holding multiple occupants. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves and she decided to have fun as well.

She shared a bench with Rachel. They looked at each other and giggled. Beth asked, “Have you done this before?”

“Many times. It is truly a fun experience. One you will never forget. We have all done this together, quite a few times. Now, we will always be able to remember you as part of our kayaking stories!”

Once they were in, the guide instructed them on the proper principles of leaning and ducking but mostly stressed that he would be able to handle what was ahead and that they should all enjoy the ride. Beth was relieved because by the time he gave the third instruction she had already forgotten what the first one was. Apparently even time in the Holy Land couldn’t erase the symptoms of menopause! She laughed and Miriam asked her what was so funny. “Just an inside joke,” was Beth’s response and the girls nodded in agreement, apparently all understanding that inside jokes were best left, well, inside. They smiled as the kayak took its place in the river.

The trip down the Jordan River was just one more highlight in a vacation filled with unforgettable experiences. Beth got soaked on more than one occasion and could not stop laughing. Soon, all four women were laughing at nothing in particular. If a feeling, a moment in time, could be a magical elixir, then Beth and Miriam and Rachel and Sipporah had their fair share that afternoon. And if laugher truly is good medicine, then each woman stood up from the kayak healthier than when she entered.

They made their way back to the car and began their trip home. The smiles on their faces reflecting the beauty of their day together. Driving home they each simply took in the sights of men and women and children busy with their life’s activities.

Dropping off Sipporah, Beth got out of the car to give her a hug. “Thank you for all your time. Please keep me informed about your life and your studies and I will do the same.”

Hugging Beth, Sipporah responded in kind. Then they pulled away from each other and smiled. Beth got back into Rachel’s car and they drove away. As much as Beth wanted to look back, she actually couldn’t. Her throat ached with the tears that seemed to be erupting. Looking back at Sipporah would have unleashed emotions that Beth was afraid were far bigger than just their good-byes.

Rachel parked her car in the street in front of the apartment complex. They had eaten a late lunch and all had agreed that dinner was of no interest. Miriam, Beth, and Rachel would be spending Wednesday together. Thursday, Beth was returning home. Her short trip was coming to an end. And yet, in a very wonderful way, Beth felt as if she had been in Israel for months. She loved the familiar sights and sounds and realized that in her two brief weeks she had known the tragedy and triumph that made up the Holy Land.

Closing the car door, Beth said to Rachel, “Okay. We’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

“Around ten?” Rachel asked in agreement.

“Perfect,” responded Miriam. They had all found that mid-morning gave everyone a chance to get their day off without a rush and thus enjoy it more fully.

Rachel pulled the car out into traffic with the requisite honking and maneuvering. Beth and Miriam headed up the stairs in silence. They always alternated between the elevator and stairs, somehow remaining in sync with their steps, whichever route they were taking. Miriam broke the silence when she asked Beth, “Do you want to stop by to say good-bye to David?”

Beth had not anticipated leaving Israel to be an emotional venture and yet that was exactly what it had developed into. She had come to dearly care for the Goldfarbs and Rachel and Sipporah and now had to say good-bye, not knowing if she would ever see them again. It was an odd feeling, reminiscent of when she was a young girl and her father would be in town on business. He would take Beth to dinner and then drive her home. Inevitably he was catching a plane to some other city, some other state, forever building his business for himself and his wife and their daughters. But never Beth. She was never a priority. She saw him now and again and each time was like ripping the scar off her heart, only to have her build it back up again.

Her father would drop her off and she would walk to her front door. The same ache that she had in her throat when saying good-bye to Sipporah was the ache in her throat back then, making it almost impossible for her to swallow. She would never forget the physical pain she would feel as her heart raced and her tears became suffocating. She never knew if she would see her father again. Would he be back or would he be gone forever? If it wasn’t for his business in town, she now knew she never would have seen him. Period. Would that have been better? She would never know.

As it was, each time she saw him she went through the same pain. It was really too much for a young girl to bear and, now as a mother, she would never be able to stand the idea that her own children would be subjected to such emotional turmoil.

“Yes, I would like to say good-bye to David,” was Beth’s quiet reply.

Miriam opened the door to her apartment and Beth walked inside. Was it just a dozen days ago that I walked in here for the first time? Beth couldn’t believe how much two weeks could hold. She had been living in such a way that it seemed like her life held nothing new and here she was, two weeks in Israel, and she had more experiences than the past five years of her life.

“Please, sit down. I’ll put on a pot of tea. It will be nice to have some fruit and cheese and visit together.”

Beth agreed and made her way to the couch. The window was open and the breeze was refreshing. David walked into the room from the small hallway and smiled as he saw Beth. “Shalom! What a pleasant surprise.”

Beth returned David’s warm smile and imagined all the families he would counsel, guide, and know as a rabbi. Although most rabbis agree that their decision is one of great contemplation and prayer, that they are not “called” in the way that most Christians consider their pastors or priests “called” to the religious life, there had to be something along those lines nonetheless. Beth figured that the reality for both was probably somewhere in the middle. God did a little calling and the recipient did a little praying, and before long they came to an understanding of how to best glorify God’s kingdom here on earth.

“Do you want any help, Miriam?” David called towards the kitchen.

“No, I’m fine. Where’s abba?”

“He went out with some friends. I believe they are visiting and enjoying one another’s company.”

David explained to Beth that after Shivah it was a responsibility of someone close to the family to encourage them to take up the things of life: going out again and so on. Beth knew that Meir would have been surrounded by such people who cared for his well being and could easily say that Ayala would have wanted him to enjoy his days as well. She was truly special.

Beth stayed for about an hour during which time she and Miriam and David exchanged pleasantries. It was an easy conversation with Beth recounting their day’s kayaking experience. David laughed heartily as Miriam pantomimed the four women doing their best to help the guide keep the kayak upright.

All in all, David admitted, it seemed to have been a perfect ending for Beth’s vacation. At his words, her heart leapt with the knowledge that when she arrived, David had a mother and now that she was departing, he did not. She shook her head in dismay and David asked what she was thinking about. In all honesty she replied, “Your mother.”

David and Miriam exchanged glances and Miriam spoke up, “Beth, my father and David and I have something we would like you to have.”

Beth looked from Miriam’s face to David’s and then back to Miriam’s. David left the room and returned with a container the size of an old-fashioned hat box. He handed it to Beth who reached up her arms to receive it.

She placed it on her lap and looked at them again. “I don’t know what to say. This is very kind and, of course, I have nothing to give you but my gratitude for your graciousness, kindness, and friendship.” Tears welled up in Beth’s eyes as she lifted the lid. Inside, packed in blue and white tissue paper was a ceramic tea set. Beth recognized it immediately. It was the tea service with which Ayala had served Beth on Beth’s first night in Israel. It’s porcelain exterior beautifully decorated with roses and vines, hand painted, Ayala had said when Beth originally complimented it.

When Beth looked at David and Miriam, they, too, were crying. David spoke in such a soft voice that Beth had to strain to hear him, “Beth, as you know, my mother was a wonderful woman. She loved everyone and did her best to make all people feel welcome in her home. She was especially fond of you, Beth, and would have wanted you to have this set.”

Beth started to object but David raised his hand to quiet her concerns before he continued, “The interesting thing about this, Beth, was that my mother knew right away she wanted you to have the set. That was why she was going to purchase a new set. She had already told us she wanted you to have this one.”

Beth could not breathe upon hearing those words. She looked at Miriam and David and realized that they could have, and Beth would never, ever have blamed them, hated her. Groaning, Beth apologized profusely and both the Goldfarb children hugged her.

David comforted her, once again, with his words. “Beth, my father and I have already gone to the home of the Arab merchant who was also killed in the blast. He left behind a wife and four children. Like my mother, his wife is a loving, caring woman who holds no hatred in her heart. We hugged one another because in these deaths, we are more alike than different. Each of our families will somehow go on but will be very different than they were.

Our world is filled with much hate and bloodshed and my mother would never want someone else’s hatred to infiltrate her family. And so Beth and I want you to know that you will always be very special to us and that we could never harbor ill feelings towards you because nothing you did was wrong. You brought out our mother’s love. How could we hate that?”

Miriam’s silence was as powerful as David’s words, each contributing to Beth’s overwhelming understanding of love and forgiveness.

“We’ve packed the set in a way that it would probably survive the trip but thought it might be better if we shipped it separately. What do you think?” Miriam asked Beth.

Beth surveyed the tea set and knew that it was as fragile as life itself. “Please, let’s ship it separately and pack it with a bit more padding.”

“Okay, I’ll take this to the postal service tomorrow and you should be getting it in two or three weeks,” David said.

Hugging David, Beth said her good-byes and walked across the hall to her apartment. Standing in the Goldfarb doorway, Miriam called out, “I’ll see you tomorrow around ten. Sleep well.”

Join us next week for the next chapter of Elizabeth: A Holy Land Pilgrimage by Cheryl Dickow.  Can’t wait for more?  Check out Elizabeth: A Holy Land Pilgrimage at Amazon!

Joseph was in a difficult situation. The woman he loved and was supposed to marry was with child, and he knew that it wasn’t his baby. He was a good man who wanted to do the right thing. Under the law, she should be stoned, but he doesn’t want that to happen. Instead, he decides to divorce her quietly. Before he can do that, an angel appears to him in a dream. “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary your wife into your home. For it is through the Holy Spirit that this child has been conceived in her. . . When Joseph awoke, he did as the angel of the Lord had commanded him and took his wife into his home.” (Matthew 1:20-24)

In an instant, Joseph’s life was turned upside-down. Whatever he had imagined his life with Mary was going to look like, this wasn’t it. Like Mary, he had a choice. He could have said “No.” He could have ignored the dream, divorced Mary, and gone on to have a nice quiet life with another young lady from Nazareth. Sure, he would have had some challenges, but he could have avoided the need to flee from Bethlehem in the middle of the night. He wouldn’t have had to bear the responsibility of making sure that the savior of the Jewish people made it to adulthood. No doubt, it would have been the easier path.

Joseph didn’t do that. Instead, he took the message to heart and obeyed God without question. He had no idea where the path would lead. He was only given the next step – take Mary as your wife. He had to wait and trust in God to see how it would all turn out.

In Advent, we call to mind that unfailing trust that Mary and Joseph had in God’s plan. They were one-hundred percent willing to cooperate with God’s plan. They were human. They must have had fear and uncertainty. There were plenty of times when the road was hard. They must have had moments when they wondered where God was leading them. Yet, they trusted.

I have much to learn from that trust. Admittedly, God’s messages to me don’t come straight from an angel (at least not any that I am aware of). They come in quiet whispers in prayer, in God’s Word in scripture, in the words of a trusted friend or the guidance of my spiritual director. Still, I am much more likely to question then to answer with a trusting “Yes.” I debate, pray some more, think about it, try it my way, fall on my face (repeatedly), get up, try again, pray some more, and eventually come around to doing it God’s way. Perhaps you can relate?

During these days of Advent, I want to try to be more like St. Joseph. I want to trust that God has a plan that is better than mine, even when I can only see the first step. I want to believe that God will always keep me in his loving care and that faithfulness to God will always work for my eternal good. Lord, I believe. Please help my unbelief.

Copyright 2010 Patrice Fagnant-MacArthur

A new mom, my friend found herself drowning in marketing materials from unsolicited experts of every kind. It started even before her daughter was born, Doulas, childbirth educators, lactation consultants, parenting coaches, home organizers and child experts—my friend thinks she doesn’t stand a chance if she doesn’t read/use all of them.

Many moms and dads are so busy with their own individual lives that they find it much easier to simply hand their precious ones over to the “experts” – usually strangers – to take care of.  In doing so, they are missing the immeasurable joy that comes with truly getting to know their own offspring – through all the ups and downs. And they allow these strangers to mold the minds and souls of their sons and daughters instead of practicing the privilege to do it themselves.

Parenting desperation and lack of confidence seems to be reborn when our children become teens.

The experts and coaches claim to have the teen territory covered, too. The myth of “the expert” would have parents believe that they simply are not adequate to the complexities of parenting teens. One example captures the point: Sex educators and reproductive health “specialists” insist that their services—and propaganda–should be integrated into classroom programs, arguing that only they possess the expertise and the willingness to speak to young people about sex. However, a major study funded by the Department of Health and Human Services (2009) found that both parents and teens overwhelmingly identify a “family” member as the preferred provider of sex information. Professionals, teachers, and other “non-family” folks rank far behind.

How to Save Your Family Through Confident Parenting

Certainly some parenting situations require professional intervention. But if our priorities are right from the beginning, most moms and dads can raise their own children without all the “experts”.  It takes three basic stones to build the foundation for raising a child of character —preparation, persistence, and prayer.

First, prepare for the journey of raising a child (or if you are starting late, a teen) by having a vision for him or her. My young friend’s parenting confusion, like so many parents I hear from, stems from the dizzying number of child-rearing theories thrown at her that have one thing in common: mom isn’t good or smart enough to figure it out herself.  The first step is simple: shut out the experts and focus on the kind of young woman you want your daughter to become. Keeping that vision in mind, it becomes much easier to know who should be shaping her heart and what type of relationships will give her life meaning. Our vision for the adults our children will become offers a coherent set of principles and values that will guide our childrearing.

Secondly, be persistent in holding onto that vision no matter what the culture throws at you. Part of never giving up means finding allies in the battle. Identify others you trust – mentors, if you will – who have been there before; and people in your faith group who will enforce what you are teaching at home.  Surround yourself with people who understand that it is God who chose you to be the father of that particular son.

Third, but most importantly, pray for your child and for your own wisdom in parenting. A humble heart before our God opens our ears to hear His guidance. Pray for a heart that will love unconditionally—and then practice the virtues that express that love: generosity, patience, kindness, forgiveness.

Trust your instincts…and you just might discover you know more than you—and the experts—think.


Copyright 2010 Rebecca Hagelin

Spencer’s hands were dirty and cold and yet he held them open ready to hand me the simple treasures he found among the thousands of other stones and pebbles. He gives without thought, he loves without self preservation, he breathes without contemplation of the outcome, he lives as only a child can in the light of God with innocence and purity open, giving and kind.

What should we strive for in our life?

We should strive to recapture the innocence and purity of a child. We cannot go back or live through our children but we can listen, watch them and let them set the example of selfless living in our lives. We can allow them to show us the simple yet complex stones that build the foundation of faith that we have so often let slip beyond our grasp. It is in the simple stones that support his tiny feet that we can find the stability of life. We will not find the security in finances, material possessions or things of this world. The foundation that will secure our souls lies within the most simple grains of sand, in nature, one another, and in faith that there does exist a God who has created us and loves us beyond all earthly things. We have to go back to the earth, the dirt, the stones, the innocent purity of creation to find our breath, to listen to our purest thoughts, to open our hearts to love and kindness.

We have to deny the feelings of inferiority, fear and rejection. We have to live as if we are dying, love as if we will never be hurt, and believe as though our lives depend completely on our total faith in God. We think that these ideas are lofty, philosophical and unattainable in this modern culture that breeds selfish motives, defensive living and purposeful cruelty to get ahead of all the rest. We must strip away our culture’s coveted acts of living and put on the purity of a child. We can exist in this world without envy, an abundance of material possessions and a me centered attitude.

In fact when we decide to turn the other way and be kind to strangers and want nothing in return, when we choose to help our coworkers, take time to listen to our children, love our spouses without condition and search for a self less lifestyle we will then find the purest happiness that can exist because we are acting as God has intended for us since the beginning of time. When we seek God in the simple acts of kindness, unselfish giving, tender understanding and an unguarded heart we find a stability that is unshakeable.

Accept the simple stones from my child; pure kindness, time for others, empathy, giving without a need to receive, and unconditional love for all. These simple stones will lead you to a faith you have longed for yet never understood, they will make steady the path that you were meant to walk all the days of your life; the way to walk daily with God.


Copyright 2010 Lori Hadorn-Disselkamp

Today’s Readings



Second Sunday of Advent Scripture readings for Sunday, December 5, 2010,
cycle A. Lectionary # 4

Scripture: lectionary # 4. Isaiah 11:1-10. Psalm 72:1-2.7-8. 12-13.17.
Romans 15:4-9. Matthew 3:1-12:

Our saintly leader for this second Sunday in Advent is John the Baptist.
We recall how Mark, the Evangelist, actually starts his gospel with John
the Baptist as the voice crying out, “Prepare, the way of the Lord.” We are
to reform and renew our spiritual lives and discipline our bodies while
doing justice for others. The Kingdom of God is at hand. It is a Lenten
message, but also a call that sobers us to realize Advent is the time when
the King of the Kingdom comes among us and gets us ready also for his
Second Coming. Matthew has completed the first two chapters before he
comes to this scene. He is dependent on Mark for it, but he enchances it
with much more description about John the Baptist; it is thick description
and we get a picture of how the early Chritians envisioned John. John is
interested in preparing us for the coming of the Messiah who we believe is
Jesus,the Son of God and son of Mary.

The Gospel gives us the contrasting effects of the Baptism of John and that
of the Holy Spirit that the Messiah will give us. John invites the people
and even the Roman soldiers to receive a baptism of immersion in the Jordan
River. He is an apocalyptic preacher of strict divine judgment. Jesus, on
the other hand, is the one who will baptize in the Holy Spirit and that
baptism will be like a fire purging us from all of our sins effectively.
This latter baptism prepares us for the second coming of Christ the Lord
who also is the Messiah. We are thus made aware of the first coming of
Christ the Messiah through John the Baptist, then through the Holy Spirit’s
baptism we are made aware of the Lordship of Jesus and his ultimate coming
at the end times.

The other leading person for us is again the constant and classic prophet
Isaiah. He insists on the uniqueness of God, God’s oneness, and absolute
holiness. ( Remember his vision and the Sanctus ! Sanctus! Sanctus! Holy!
Holy!Holy! We Christians like that since it reminds us of the Trinity of
Persons in One God!) Isaiah helps us establish something about the Messiah
who descends from David and Jesse. Jesus is the shoot from the stump of
Jesse. The seven gifts of God’s Spirit are given to this Messiah: wisdom,
understanding, counsel, fortitude, knowledge, fear and reverence for the
presence of God, piety.

Psalm 72 is a messianic psalm praising the works of the Messiah King. It
complements what we have seen at the end of the passage in Isaiah: “On
that day the root of Jesse is set up as a signal for the nations; the
Gentiles shall seek out, for his dwelling shall be glorious.” (Isaiah
11:10). Amen.

It’s the time of year when the days grow colder and darker and I am prone to sadness. Yesterday it felt as if my efforts were futile, as if the forces working against my students are far stronger than my personal efforts to encourage them and to teach them.

When I arrived home, I was too fatigued and irritable even to cry. I fell into a heap on the couch and slept deeply for a couple of hours.

And when I awoke I called a dear friend from my parish. He’s also a teacher. He didn’t say so explicitly, but the conversation helped me to realize my efforts will not “rescue” these children. In fact, my job is not to rescue them. It is offer my talents to them and my struggles to God.

Christ knows that we’re only human, that sometimes we labor under the mistaken impression our efforts alone will change ourselves or the people we encounter. In a Gospel reading the Church offers during the Second Sunday of Advent, Christ reminds us we need to seek Christ and that He requires nothing of us except our desire for Him. These words only are found in Matthew’s Gospel,

Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for your selves. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.

Copyright 2010 Allison Salerno

The Bishop of Myra

St. Nicholas was a very devout man, who took Jesus’ words “sell what you have and give the money to the poor” to heart.  He was raised in a wealthy family, and sold his inheritance to help the needy.  St. Nicholas became the Bishop of Myra in a Greek region and was known for his generosity to the poor, and especially to children.

There are many stories and legends about the generosity of St. Nicholas.  The most famous one tells of his aid to a very poor man with three daughters, who had no dowries and were destined to be sold into slavery.  The legend states that St. Nicholas threw handfuls of gold coins through an open window, which landed in stockings hanging by the fire to dry; thus, the tradition of hanging stockings on Christmas was born.

St. Nicholas was also known for giving small treats to poor children, never asking for anything in return.  He dedicated his life to helping others and was a true servant of God.  It’s easy to see how this generous man became the model for the beloved Santa Claus.

Celebrating the Feast of St. Nicholas

St. Nicholas’s feast day is celebrated on December 6, and there are many different kinds of celebrations that take place all over the world.  Many families leave shoes on the doorstep on the feast of St. Nicholas, hoping for treats.  Some leave carrots and bits of hay for St. Nicholas’s white horse, in the hope that he will exchange them for presents.  Many people around the world hold St. Nicholas parties, festivals, or parades in honor of this special saint.

Candy canes are a symbol of St. Nicholas.  The candy cane is designed to look like a shepherd’s staff, the kind which is carried by all bishops.  A wonderful family activity to remember when decorating the Christmas tree with candy canes is the following blessing:

Good St. Nicholas, we honor you
on this your holy feast day.  We rejoice that you are the patron saint and the holy symbol of joy
for many peoples of many lands.

Come, great-hearted saint and be our patron and companion
as we, once again, prepare our homes and hearts
for the great feast of Christmas,
the birth of the Eternal Blessing, Jesus Christ.

May these sweets, these candy canes,
be a sign of Advent joy for us.
May these candy canes,
shaped just like your Bishop’s staff,
be for us a sign of your benevolent care.

We rejoice that you are the holy bringer of gifts
and that so many have been delighted
through your great generosity.
Help us to be as generous of heart.

Wherever these candy canes are hung,
on tree or wall or door,
may they carry with them
the bright blessing of God.
May all who shall taste them
experience the joy of God
upon their tongues and in their hearts.

We ask God, now, to bless
these your brightly striped sweets
in the name of the Father,
and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Relating Santa Claus to St. Nicholas

There is nothing wrong with perpetuating the idea of Santa Claus, since this is a beloved tradition that has been passed down through the years.  Nothing can compare with the joy of waking on Christmas morning to find a treasure trove of gifts left by the beloved jolly man.  However, we should help children to understand where this tradition originated and educate them about the wonderful man behind the legend.  After all, Santa Claus only comes once a year, but St. Nicholas can be our helper every day and throughout every season.

Reference: “Who is St. Nicholas?” http://www.stnicholascenter.org/Brix?pageID=38



Copyright 2010 Kristi McCabe

Today’s Readings

Scripture: Sat. of First week of Advent. Lectionary 181: Isaiah
30:19-21.23-26. Psalm 147: 1-2.3-4.5-6. Matthew 9:35-10:1.6-8:

Pathos and hope well up in our hearts and minds by today’s readings.
Pathos deals with the experience of our feelings in times of hardship,pain,
or disappointment. It is directly related to the word for suffering
(pathien in Greek). We are all afflicted by such sufferings and some are
almost paralyzed by them day in and day out. The readings then give us the
other side of the pathos by offering us God’s gift of hope. The two words
may be in tension with one another, but the Scriptures unravel and loosen
the hold of one over the other. Jesus shows his pathos for the ailing
people of the land in which he was born; he has mercy on them and sees that
the harvest is so many that he beckons the disciples to help him in what he
is doing for the poor, the blind, the lame, the deaf, the marginal.

We are startled to see that Jesus’ focus is exclusively on his own people.
He realizes that one–even if he be the Messiah–can only do so much. He
does not micro-manage what he is doing; he delegates the curing, healing,
exorcizing to his disciples, the twelve men whom he has chosen to help with
the harvest. There is more that enough to do even in his own land for all
of his disciples and followers. After his death, a universal sending will
take place through the downpour of the gifts of the Holy Spirit upon the
apostles and Mary.

We sense the same tension in Isaiah between pathos and hope. The prophet
however is offering more of a hopeful vision than one of pathos. In the
Gosplel we are in need of God’s mercy. Jesus had pity upon them and us for
he was merciful. The psalm likewise has the same message. God heals the
wounds of his people and gives them great almost idyllic hope through
Isaiah and the Psalmist. Patience, waiting, and trusting are offered as a
way of coping while believing these things will come to be real and a time
of peace and prosperity will follow.We too join in these tensions of pathos
and hope allowing Jesus to unbind our wounds without his worrying about his
own sufferings. Thus he is the wounded healer.

How do we handle our problems, our worries, our ills? There is another
message to help us answer, namely, God promises that a voice will tell us
what to do. Is this the voice of our heart, mind, and soul? Or is it the
Holy Spirit within us? ” While from behind you, a voice shall sound in
your ears: “This is the way; walk in it.” It is both our voice of
conscience and discernment as well as that of the Holy Spirit. This voice
helps us to make good choices about helping Jesus in his healing mission to
all peoples. We are the hands of the wounded healer Jesus. He it is who
heals the broken hearted and binds up their wounds. The reign of God is at
hand. We sense the presence of the Lord and continue to cry out, Come ,
Lord Jesus, come. Maranatha.
Prayer: Lord, strengthen me to wait upon you with courage and faith. Let me
seek one thing: to dwell in your house all the days of my life and there
gaze upon your loveliness. Lord, cure my blindness that I might see your
beauty. Yes, Come, Lord Jesus, and let us see your face and we shall be
saved. Happy are all who long for your coming. May each of us be your
instrument in stirring these desires in our brothers and sisters. Amen.
(Fr. C. Stuhlmueller, C.P.P. )