Last week our youngest son started kindergarten. We watched him come into the world and since the beginning, I have taken him to work with me every day, including attending business meetings with me. At one such meeting, with a group from Finland, he sat in my lap and played happily with his toes. After the meeting, the Finns wanted to know if I was becoming eccentric.
Before the age of two, lunch time became an adventure for us, trying different restaurants, delis and cafes. Other than
We all have them. We always will as long as we live. In experiencing my own sorrows for the past couple of months, I find myself reflecting on all the joy I have, too.
One day this week, I witnessed joy and sorrow.
I texted my husband and told him I could sure use some alone time with him. "Lunch?" He texted back. "Yes!" I replied. "W.A. Frost?" he asked.
"Perfect" from me. I made reservations on the patio, the weather
Several people have asked about this particular blog. Originally, I said it was fact based fiction. That is not exactly accurate, I guess. The characters in this story and the events described are real. The names and some of the character descriptions have been changed or altered slightly.
I have been at JUB for over 10 years now and in that time I have wanted to discuss the topic of child abuse/molestation. I would write up my own story, only to not be able to press the submit button.
After my morning class I went for a hike along the river, to clear my head and maybe organize my thoughts for what I would share with Michael.
I decided to tell him the worst part first. Somehow my head and heart did batle with this. In my head I knew I was a victim, but I hated that word. In my heart, I felt ashamed and blamed myself for some things.
Growing up, there was so much physical and verbal violience in my family. Everyday, my parents seemed to be angry and if they weren't
As I sat across the table from him, I wondered what it was like to hear the secret confessions of those who felt guilty or sinful. I imagined that the confessions of the young were different than the older folks. I mean, 13 year old boys must reveal lustful thoughts and frequent masturbation, right? What do the elderly share? Bitterness, unforgiveness...? Were his experiences as a young priest hearing confessions different than an old priest? Were the older ones bored by it? I mean are there