My husband and I were sound asleep that morning, oblivious to the nightmare unfolding in New York City on September 11, 2001. Pounding on the front door sent us stumbling from our bed to find a neighbor, a World War II combat veteran, looking extremely agitated.
“We’re under attack!” he shouted. “Turn on the TV!” With that, he hurried back across the street.
A likable woman who’s running for local office was lamenting the fact that knocking on doors in neighborhoods to share her message with voters just wasn’t working out as well as in previous races.
If your journey through life takes you enough times around the sun, eventually it happens. And when it does, your heart just might break.
I can still picture the middle-aged man, Stephen, standing in our driveway, a huge grin on his face.
“I knew it!” he exclaimed. “I just knew it. Catholics do know Jesus! They’re not bad people!”
What an unforgettable conversation that day. Stephen had been our bug guy for several years, coming out every quarter and helping to stem the tide against scorpions, black widows and other nasties that tended to disrupt the harmony of the Soulful Catholic’s humble homestead. The outline of the fish on the back of his mini Toyota truck gave evidence of his Christian faith and, impressively, he usually found a way to bring Christ into the conversation. Every. Single. Time.
The happy news came, as news of this kind frequently does, through a social media post.
Crimson rose petals shaped the words: Will you marry me?
Susan was doctoral candidate with a bright future the night her life changed forever. The evening bicycle ride with her husband was something they did regularly but would never share again. After the freak accident in 1994, her entire left leg had to be amputated.