He said to them, “Come after me, and I will make you fishers of men” Matthew 4:19.
Today is a joyous day for our family as we witness the coming into the Church of my grandson, Tucker David. How blessed we are to have the readings today telling us of the baptizing of the new Christians and the call of Peter, Andrew, James, and John.
In the first reading, Paul admonishes new Christians for arguing over whether they belong to Paul or Peter or to another in baptism (1 Corinthians 1:12). Paul reminds them that Christ cannot be divided (1 Corinthians 1:13), and they belong to Him. Through baptism, we become part of the Church, God’s body here on earth. Though my grandson can’t possibly grasp it’s meaning, today is one of the most special days of his life. Today is the day he will be called by the Lord for the first.
Throughout our lives, we must make the choice, to whom do we belong? Many voices will call us. Many will try to steer us away from the Lord, to cause division among us, to lure us from the path God has planned for us to be “fishers of men.” There will be times in Tucker’s life when he will be tempted to follow those other voices. There will be times when the Lord’s voice will be drowned out by the cacophony of the world, but I will pray for Tucker every day as he grows and learns to become the man God is calling him to be.
This past weekend was a bit surreal to me. My oldest daughter, Rebecca, moved out of our house three years ago after graduating from college. Together, 
“In every age and in every country we find many “perfect” women (cf. Prov 31:10) who, despite persecution, difficulties and discrimination, have shared in the Church’s mission…the witness and the achievements of Christian women have had a significant impact on the life of the Church as well as of society…Holy women are an incarnation of the feminine ideal; they are also a model for all Christians”
The summer of 2016 will soon come to a close, and a chapter in my life will end. For almost my entire adult life, I have been the mother of three school-aged children. While all of my children will still be in school for a few more years, the dynamic is shifting, and my world is changing. This was possibly the last summer that our oldest, Rebecca, will be living at home. She will graduate from Mount St. Mary’s in the spring and go on to law school. She is already looking into the cost and availability of apartments in Washington, D.C., and she reminds me often that she will not be returning home after graduation. Of course, I remember telling my mother the same thing when I was at this stage, but desire is often met with that brick wall called affordability, and I ended up living at home another year until I married. But the reality is that she will still be in school, and she will need to live close to the city, so I will have to get used to one of my children no longer being a resident of my home. As Rebecca embarks on her senior year of college and her sister, Katie Ann, starts her senior year of high school, here are some things that I have realized every high school graduate should know how to do:
had no pump or filter and no ladder, but it was spring, so those things were readily available. Ken went the very next day to pick up the pool, and I scoured Craig’s list for the missing pieces. By the time Ken got home, I had secured a filter and pump, and a few weeks later, Ken’s sister had located a ladder. 
Yesterday I saw yet another article about why parents should not be friends with their kids. I see memes all the time warning parents about this, and it seems that every magazine, parenting blog site, and advice column rails against the pitfalls of being your child’s friend. While I do understand where they are coming from, I have to respectfully disagree. You see, I am living proof that it’s not only possible but beneficial for parents and children to be friends, even best friends. 
Earlier today, I saw something that said “Keeping your mouth shut is the hardest thing in the world when you know something needs to be said.” I could have this tattooed on my arm and still not pay any attention to it. All of my life I have felt compelled to speak up when I shouldn’t. Does it really matter if someone is wrong when they are never going to see the truth for themselves? Will it truly help me or anyone in my family if I speak up when the best course of action is standing down? Do I really think I can win an argument with someone who has no common sense or will never see the forest for the trees? Somehow, in my mind, the answer always seems to be yes. 
“No man or woman really knows what perfect love is until they have been married a quarter of a century.” Mark Twain
I’ve heard the question asked many times. I’ve felt it in the disapproving looks and seen it in the shake of a head. I’ve read it on social media in the form of memes and comments. Many of my friends ask it. “Why is a nice person like you so fanatical about a violent, physical game like that?” I have to smile when confronted with the question. You see, for me, it’s only partially about the game. As the NFL has touted all season, “Football is Family.”
I’m going to do something today that I never thought I would do. I have the privilege of aligning myself with one of my greatest idols, master story-teller, George Lucas. This morning, I re-watched Lucas’ interview with Charlie Rose; and for the second time, I was mesmerized by his story and struck by his priorities. When asked why Lucas walked away from directing for fifteen years, he said “I wanted to be a dad.” Wow. One of the most successful movie makers in the world, and arguably the most successful story-teller of our time, walked away from it all to be a dad; not a politician, not an actor or a rock star, not some other avenue toward greater celebrity, but a dad.
It’s almost funny, the things we will do to spend just a small amount of special time with the ones we love, and how we truly come to appreciate those times over the years. Christmas is one of those times. Christmas in our house was always special, always a wonderful get-together with our large, extended family. When I was very young, my parents and I would spend the entire Christmas holiday with my grandparents on the Wicomico River in St. Mary’s County, Maryland. We always attended the Christmas Eve vigil at the church where my parents were married (which was built by my grandfather). While it was just the five of us there on Christmas morning, throughout the day, family would arrive until the tiny house was bursting at the seams with all of the people, presents, and holiday cheer. Dinner was a festive event with family from all over Southern Maryland popping in and out to exchange gifts and greetings. 
I know that when it comes to taking pictures, I drive my family crazy. Countless times I have heard the phrase, “Another picture?” or “Haven’t we taken enough?” or “Can I go now?” They can keep complaining. It doesn’t phase me. I will continue to take their pictures, their friends’ pictures, our pets’ pictures, our family pictures, our vacation pictures, our holiday pictures, and any other photos I feel like 
taking because it all boils down to one thing – this event, this memory, this small moment in time will only happen once and only last for an instant, and I want to remember it forever. 
age, my mother included me on her girls only weekends and day trips with the ladies. I suppose it was because it was just the two of us in a house full of men, but I always looked at it as our time as friends and not as mother and daughter. I called Mom’s friends by name, and they treated me like one of them. In my teen years,I knew that I could talk to my mother about everything and that somehow she would understand. As a wife and mother, my Mom is my rock, my go-to, my wise sage. I don’t know how I could have gotten this far in life without her. 
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