“And Mary kept all these things, reflecting on them in her heart.” Luke 2:19
Most of the world will go about today wishing everyone a happy New Year, and that’s perfectly okay. Today is the first day of the new year, and everyone is more than welcome to wish others a happy one. However, the Catholic world will be celebrating something far more profound, The Solemnity of Mary, the Holy Mother of God.
A Thought-Provoking Visit
Today’s Gospel is Luke’s telling of the Shepherds who went to find the Holy family in Bethlehem. Wouldn’t you think the reading should be from the Annunciation in Luke 1 where the angel tells Mary, “Behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son… and the Lord God will give him the throne of David his father…and of his kingdom there will be no end” (Luke 1:31-33)? Instead, we read of the visit of the ones who have just been told, “For today in the city of David a savior has been born for you who is Messiah and Lord” (Luke 2:11).
These shepherds were among the lowliest people in the land. They were poor, they were not seen as important or powerful. They were humble workers who spent their days with sheep (and honestly, they probably smelled a lot like the animals’ cave where Mary gave birth). Yet they were set apart by God to receive this news, the news of the birth of the Savior, in the city of David, the one Gabriel said would have the throne of David. These were words of rejoicing for the shepherds because David was not only Israel’s greatest king; he started out as a lowly shepherd.
Food for Thought
Can you imagine what would be going through your mind at this point if you were Mary? She’s just given birth to a baby in a cave where animals stay. She wrapped the baby in swaddling clothes meant for a lamb and laid Him in the manger from which the animals ate. Then these shepherds appeared, asking to see the baby and telling of angels heralding His birth!
All this took place in the town of Bethlehem, a town whose name means House of Bread. Jesus was literally sleeping in a food trough. He was bound in swaddling clothes, which is not what you might think. This was not the Carter’s sleep sack young mothers of today put their babies in to sleep. No, swaddling clothes were meant to wrap the pascal lamb, to keep his feet bound and his body pure for sacrifice. Mary and Jospeh were not farmers and not herders, but their visitors were. To Mary, she was doing what was necessary for her child—keeping Him warm and giving Him a place to sleep. To the shepherds, she was preparing her son for sacrifice and laying Him out as a feast, as was required of the sacrificial lamb.
Something to Think About
Mary listened to the shepherds as they “made known the message that had been told them about this child” (Luke 2:17). As she gazed down at her sleeping child, did she make the connection? Shepherds, the followers of David the great shepherd, are witnessing the beginning of the Greatest Shepherd, yet that shepherd also took on the role of the sheep, the Pascal Lamb.
Mary was a good, Jewish girl. Some theologians even believe she was given to the temple as a child, just as Solomon was. She had already been told that her child would “be great and will be called Son of the Most High” and “of his kingdom there will be no end” (Luke 1: 32, 33), so she knew He was the Messiah, destined for greatness. However, the Jewish people clearly had a different view of the Messiah than the one we have of a man hanging on a cross.
Ponderings of the Heart
Luke tells us that “Mary kept all these things, reflecting on them in her heart” (Luke 2:19). And this wasn’t the only time. At the presentation, Mary was given some heavy news. Simeon foretold, “Behold, this child is destined for the fall and rise of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be contradicted (and you yourself a sword will pierce) so that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed” (Luke 2:34-35). We are told that Jospeh was amazed by what he heard, but Mary never said a word.
Later, Jesus was lost and then found teaching the leaders of the temple. Mary said nothing when Jesus asked why they would be looking for Him anywhere but His Father’s house. Instead, “his mother kept all these things in her heart” (Luke 2:51).The pieces are beginning to align for Mary, and she is becoming more aware of God’s plan for her son and for her.
Mary’s Heart and Mind
Mary spent less time talking and more time listening. She spent less time doing what she thought should be done and more time thinking about what God had planned. Pope Francis said, “Mary, the first and most perfect disciple of Jesus, the first and most perfect believer, the model of the pilgrim Church, is the one who opens the way to the Church’s motherhood and constantly sustains her maternal mission to all mankind” (Francis, Homily Of His Holiness Pope Francis On The Solemnity Of Mary, Mother Of God, XLVIIII World Day Of Peace).
Jesus Himself told us how special Mary is when a woman in the crowd said to Him, “Blessed is the womb that bore you,” and Jesus answered, “Blessed rather are those who hear the word and keep it” (Luke 11:27-28). Was Jesus saying His mother was not blessed? No! He was saying the reason she is blessed is not because she carried Jesus in her womb but because she heard His word, the word of His Father, and kept it. She kept it in the way she answered the angel, and she kept it as she reflected on the words of the shepherds, Simeon, and her Son, keeping all things in her heart.
Realizations of the Mind
We are to imitate Mary, the great model of Christianity. We are to learn from her, as the Mother of God, how we are to act and react. After Mary spent years pondering everything in her heart, she knew the will of God and was able to aid in His plan. When Jesus asked her the second most important question of her life, “O, woman, what have you to do with me? My hour has not yet come” (John 2:4), Mary knew how to answer. Just as with her first fiat, she didn’t hesitate. She had come to understand her place in Jesus’ life. She was His mother. She would do anything for Him, anything to protect Him, but she understood her mission.
There was no more wine, and Mary wanted Jesus to help. As Jesus looked intently into her eyes, speaking soul to soul, and told her his hour had not yet come, He was really asking, Do you know what this will mean?His expression read, Do you understand what will come next?
Mary’s mind raced back to the words of the angel, the strange visits from shepherds and kings, the words Simeon told her, and the day when Jesus was in His Father’s house. She recalled their many conversations around the dinner table, the times she read to Him from the Torah, and He explained to her what the words meant and how they pointed to Him. With all these things she had kept in her heart and pondered for thirty years, Mary nodded and gave the command that would set their undeterrable course as Mother and Son. This was part of her mission, and she knew her answer would forever alter the road they would travel.
A Mindful Lesson
May we all talk less and ponder more. May we all come to understand our missions and when we need to step back and let Jesus do what He must. May we all model Mary, the Mother of God, who is our Blessed Mother, too.
“She kept truth safe in her mind even better than she kept flesh safe in her womb. Christ is truth, Christ is flesh; Christ as truth was in Mary’s mind, Christ as flesh in Mary’s womb; that which is in the mind is greater than what is carried in the womb” (Augustine, The Works of Saint Augustine, A Translation for the 21st Century, Sermons III On the New Testament).
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”
I’m not talking about about being on guard, though that certainly applies, but about passing things down to our children. What a wonderful way to take the sour lemons we’ve been handed and press them into a sweet concoction of lemonade, made with family bonding and the sharing of generational history.
Earlier, I saw a meme online that said, “We are not given a good life or a bad life. We are given a life. It’s up to us to make it good or bad.” What a simple but profound statement. 
Earlier this week, my daughter told me that she had decided not to get her father a new wallet for Christmas. “It’s too personal, and I’m afraid I’d get him one he won’t like.” I started thinking about my own wallet. For many years, my wallet served a dual purpose. It held money and necessary ID cards, but it also held beloved photos of my family. As a child, this photo of my aunt and my grandparents was the first one I was given to put in my wallet, and it stayed there for the next thirty years. It was very special to me, a reminder of the special relationship I shared with all three of them (and still share with my Aunt Debbie today).
Of course, I have found plenty of ways to fill my time! And I can’t wait to share with you the best experience I’ve had in a long time. 
I’ve been thinking about these words as I help my girls prepare for their end-of-summer exodus. I know that, in many ways, the first days after my baby has left for college will be as solemn and quiet as those first dark days after a death. We will mourn the loss of our girls, long to hear their laughter, feel the sting of loneliness at mealtimes and evening family time. 
Father Early’s Homily really struck a chord with me. He likened life to a class in school. He said that, ideally, when we go to class, we work to achieve As; however, Father told us that we should work hard to achieve all Fs in the class of life.
We all know that Father’s Day in the United States is in June, but today I was inspired to move the date up a few months. While listening to the radio this morning, friend and talk show host, 
Over the past 55 years, my father has worked to provide for his family. He always puts us first, often taking a backseat to whatever mom or we children had going on. Like Jospeh, Dad was content to stay in the background, usually letting my mother take the spotlight. More times than not, he even shined the light on her himself, like the time he sent a letter about Mom to Paul Harvey who then did a 
When I got married, just before he walked me down the aisle, my father took me aside and held my hand. He said to me, “Amy, as a wife, and eventually a mother, it will be your responsibility to raise your family in the faith. You will need to make sure your husband goes to church and that your children are baptized and raised in our faith. It will be your most important job in life.” Of all the things my father could have said me at that moment, that’s what he chose to say. It made such a profound impact on me that I still remember it and adhere to it twenty-five years later. If my mother was the one who did that in our house, I don’t remember it. I’ve often wondered, when they first married, did she have to push my dad to go to Mass each week? Did she have to take the lead in teaching us about our faith? I honestly don’t recall. What I do recall is that all five of us attended Mass every single weekend whether we were at home or away. There was never, ever an excuse to skip Mass. It may have been Mom who chaired the church bazaar, presided over the PTA, served on the parish council, raised money to help those with cancer, and volunteered at all of our Catholic school events, but Dad was behind her every step of the way. Like Joseph with Mary, he was the presence that always allowed and encouraged Mom to be the blessed woman she is. He sings her praises every chance he gets, as I’m sure did Jospeh did of Mary.
Dad once walked across the field hockey field, minutes before the last game of the season was the begin, just to give Morgan a Hershey Bar and a hug.
This past weekend, our dear friend, 
Everywhere we went, the girls insisted that Helen be with with them – the car, the restaurants, the dinner table, everywhere. They wanted to hear the story about how she met and fell in love with her husband. They wanted to hear tales about her sons when they were young. Most of all, they wanted her to teach them about her favorite pastimes – crocheting, jewelry-making, and other crafts. The more craft projects she told them about, the more they wanted to learn.
Before the end of the weekend, our house had become a mecca of bead-making. Katie and Morgan invited their grandmother and their friends over to share in Helen’s wisdom of making paper beads. They sat together, for hours, making bead after bead, while George filmed the craft lesson and I took pictures. After a long while, Helen and George left to go back to their B&B (our two-level house not conducive to a walker). Katie and Morgan hugged Helen goodbye and went back to their work. When the sun hung low in the summer sky, and the kitchen began to grow dim, we insisted that they give up their work for the night and rest their fingers and eyes.
Of my three daughters, two of them are outspoken, free-thinking, and often exasperating in their insistence that they know best for themselves and others. But one daughter is quiet, introspective, and much more tolerant of everyone. She’s more emotional, more insecure, and more likely to see her own faults and weaknesses. She’s most certainly the tree that stands alone in the woods, the one that is struggling to reach the light, the one that needs its own space but is woefully dependent upon the others. That’s a thing, you know. Some scientists and naturalists believe that 
Today, I know that I am what I am. I am enough. I am exactly who and what God intended me to be. I suppose I am on my way to being like the oldest, tallest, and sturdiest trees in the forest. As Professor Suzanne Simard says, “Mother trees are the biggest, oldest trees in the forest…nurturing, supportive, maternal. With their deep roots, they draw up water and make it available to shallow-rooted seedlings. They help neighboring trees by sending them nutrients, and when the neighbors are struggling, mother trees detect their distress signals and increase the flow of nutrients accordingly.” Even having been a mother for over twenty-two years, I am still working on dispensing that flow of nutrients when and how they are needed, but I certainly see that that we are all–families, friends, communities–dependent upon each other. We were all created by God, and all are works of wonder.
I saw a quote recently that had me thinking back over the friendships I’ve had in my life as well as my children’s friendships. All three of my girls made friends easily. They’re kind, easy-going, and fun to be around. Making friends was never a problem. However, keeping friends was. What they all found out at early ages was that not all friends are real friends, and not friends want you to be the best version of yourself. I think it took me until after high school to learn this, but times were different back them. 
I recently heard of a 
Eighteen months ago, I introduced many readers to Chincoteague Island, a place long-known and loved by many in the Mid-Atlantic area. The response to the award-winning novel was overwhelming, and I fell in love with the characters as much as my readers did. In less than a month, on June 15, the sequel to 
Years ago, my mother wrote an article for a magazine about her grandmother’s kitchen table. The sturdy, wooden table, made by my great-grandfather, was used in their home for many years. When my mother’s sister married, the table found a new home in her house where it still sits today. Every scratch, every dent, every mark on the table tells a story. My mother remembers it as the place where all news was shared–both good and bad. It was where my great-grandmother sat each morning and said her daily prayers. It was the site of many rousing card games as well as where weddings, funerals, and other family events were planned. It was the one piece of furniture that truly evoked, and still evokes, the true meaning of a home–a place where everyone gathers to share the best and worst moments in life.
One person, known to live with a spirit of humility and sacrifice, was Saint Valentine, a third-century Roman saint whose feast day is celebrated on February 14. While not much is conclusive about this saint, legends abound about his acts and character. 
While most people associate Valentine’s Day with love, happiness, cards, chocolates, and flowers, for me there’s something much more important that takes place on that day. My father never fails to give me a gift on Valentine’s Day. This year, it was a box of chocolates and a rocking chair that he handmade for me. When my first daughter was born, two days before Valentine’s Day, my dad told Ken of his tradition and said that it’s very important to always tell your daughters how much you love them. And he insisted that, at least once a year, it’s important to show them. My father never fails to show his love for me in all that he does and says, the sacrifices he has made for our family, and his outward displays of love for us all. Like Valentine, and like Jesus, my father is a man of humility and sacrifice.
And most of all, the words that were read at our very own wedding over twenty-four years ago:
It’s snowing outside, and at last check, the temperature was 26 degrees and dropping. Yet, as I pass by the dining room, I have a reminder that the world will not remain dreary and cold. Outside, the snow lays on the ground, but inside, flowers are blooming on my table. Though we are entrenched in the shadows of winter, in time, spring will return as my father reminds me every day with his Facebook countdown (he reports that we have 62 days to go).
My dear precious Jesus, I did not mean to take your place,
A little while later, when I sat down to work, an article in the Washington Post caught my eye. Titled, 
We all need hope and goodness in our lives. Luckily, there are many of us out there, aside from Hallmark, working very hard to provide just that. There’s a whole category of fiction that is Clean and Wholesome Romance, or as it’s more commonly known, Sweet Romance. Sex, if any, is behind closed doors, foul language is kept to a minimum or nonexistent, and deaths, even murders, are not graphically depicted; yet the couple still finds their way to happily ever after.
What if? We ask ourselves that all the time, and so often it’s rhetorical, but seriously, what if?
I’ve had the pleasure and privilege of spending the better part of this summer with many amazing women. It started with my trip to Europe, with my daughter, Katie, to celebrate her high school graduation. On that trip, I had the privilege of seeing my daughter, the adult. I was awed by her, as I usually am by each of my daughters, and I reveled in the two and a half weeks that we shared together. While she still has some growing up to do, as all kids do when they leave for college, I saw many glimpses of the woman she is becoming. I look forward to seeing all that life has in store for her.
In July, the girls and I returned to our favorite summer event – a week of Girl Scout camp. While there are two men who volunteer, the camp is primarily run by women, and what a great group of women they are. Ranging from high school freshmen to women in their sixties, they are students, attorneys, teachers, nurses, a CNN camerawoman, business owners, troop leaders, and a host of other professions. They are all, young and old, women to look up to, if for no other reason than that they tirelessly give an entire week of their lives, every year, to ensure the happiness of 100 little girls. But that’s not the only reason. They are women who inspire and encourage other women, and that’s so vitally important in a world where so many women are determined to continuously put others down.
A week after camp ended, I found myself on a plane to Austin, Texas, to join 300 other Catholic women for a weekend of spirituality and fun. Joining me in Austin were thirteen of the women I met on our pilgrimage to the Holy Land almost two years ago. For some of us, this was a second or third reunion. For many, it was the first time we’d seen each other since February of 2016. There were tears, prayers, and laughter, much laughter. Each of these women has struggled with something – past regrets, infertility, divorce, health issues, rocky marriages, job loss, the death of a child, ailing and infirmed parents, or some other type of hardship. Each has her own cross to bear, and bear it she does, with dignity, grace, and beauty that cannot be measured by the human eye. Each loves without judgement, acts without selfishness, and relies on her faith to see her through the toughest of times. I look at these women and am overwhelmed by them, by all that they’ve done, by all that they have to give, and by their strength and determination. At one point, one of the women said to me, “When I grow up, I want to be you.” Those words will never leave me because I just want to be like all of them.
This week, I got to spend time with the women who matter the most in my life – my three girls. Along with us on our family vacation, is Rebecca’s life-long best friend, Bailey. It has been such a pleasure to spend time with them. Yesterday, we started the day by hiking Bushkill Falls. There were no easy trails for this crew. We knew that the harder and rockier the trail, the better the view, so onward and upward we went. The girls laughed at the warnings that the trails we had chosen would be strenuous, and even Bailey, not a fan of heights, tackled the mountain with grace and ease. It was another glimpse of the women they are and will be, and I marveled at the young ladies we had raised. 
In the afternoon, Morgan, her boyfriend, Katie, and I took on a five-level treetop adventure course. With each level, the challenges grew harder and higher. After the first three, Jacob decided he had spent enough time high above the ground (you’ve to hand it to a boy who is deathly afraid of heights but willingly takes on such a challenge). Katie, not one to give up, wanted to continue on to courses four and five, courses on which few people are willing to continue. In fact, she and I were the only females, in our group of two dozen or so people, to move on AND CONQUER the courses, and two of the small handful of women who even attempted the courses that day. As we were leaving, the men were offering us congratulations and compliments, and a woman waiting at the end, high-fived us, telling us that a man ahead of us had called us the Warrior Women. 
I would never have formed the bond that I have formed with my sisters in faith from all across the country if they hadn’t been so open and trusting with each other, so supportive, and such faith-filled, persevering women. There is no judgement there, no attempts to be better than anyone, no snarkiness or cutting each other down. There is just pure love and the understanding that each of us is here just trying to do the best we can in a world that is a never-ending challenge. Much like my day with my family yesterday in which each thing we did was harder than the thing before it. Each level was rockier, higher, more challenging, but we encouraged each other to push on. 
We all have the ability to be Wonder Women, to fight for justice, for truth, for peace, and for love. We all have the ability to encourage one another, to see each other for what we have to give and not for what we lack, to be there for each other in the good times and the bad, to inspire others to have faith in themselves, each other, and God. I learned all of that from the ultimate Wonder Woman, my mom. She is my inspiration, my ideal, that to which I aspire. I am who I am, and my girls are who they are because of her. Happy birthday, Mom. I love you. May we all be blessed with a Wonder Woman, or a group of Wonder Women, in our lives.
Over the past ten years, I’ve done more than my fair share of traveling, both foreign and domestic. With a husband who travels weekly, I often have my pick of getaways; and all the frequent flyer mileage adds up, meaning I can travel with Ken on business as well as travel on my own or with friends and family. I’ve learned a lot about traveling, sightseeing, and staying sane when all plans seem to go awry. Here are the most important things I’ve taken away from my experiences.
Be inspired. Traveling has taught my children to reach beyond their own worlds and eat new foods, learn about other cultures, and dare to try something new. This sense of adventure can often lead to new experiences even after returning home. After discovering foreign foods that we like, we often go home and attempt to recreate the recipe. More times than not, it works! Reeling at the expense of the Icelandic sweaters, Katie bought a kit with yarn and a pattern and is planning to knit one for herself. Ken’s cousin, Crista, came home from traveling and began brewing her own craft beer. We all took up kayaking after Ken and I paddled with the penguins off the south coast of New Zealand. And I’ve won two literary awards for my book, Whispering Vines, inspired by a trip to a small, family-owned winery near Verona. Be open to learning and to doing. Every trip has the potential to lead to something bigger in your life.
When I was growing up, it was pretty much known by all that my grandmother was a meteorologist. No matter the day of the week or time of day, she always knew what the weather was going to be, and she was always right. Today’s weather forecasters could have learned a lot from her. While we all made fun of Gram, we also understood that weather was extremely important to my family. There were always weather-based questions that needed to be answered. Was it going to be calm on the water that morning while granddad was out crabbing? Was hail going to fall on his crops? Could Gram hang her wash on the line? What would the temperature be when the fresh vegetables were gathered and the livestock taken care of? Their lives literally revolved around the weather, and both of my grandparents were quite adept at reading the signs and knowing what the weather would be like each day.
Where did the years go? It seems like just yesterday, I was being rushed into the operating room, Dr. Joe assuring me that everything was going to be okay. You’ve always had a way of doing things like that to us: changing the plot just when we thought we were all on the same page. You were due on March 3, 1999, but apparently, you weren’t ready yet. On March 2nd, Dr. Joe told me that you would not be making an appearance for at least another week. Of course, you do always try to be punctual, so whether my body was ready or not, you were determined to come on March 3rd. And you did.
It didn’t take long to realize that you had a strong will and an aggressive, but at the same time, sweet personality. You always seemed to be at odds with yourself: shy but gregarious; strong-willed but obedient; inquisitive and skeptical but trusting; outwardly radiant and happy but inwardly scared and insecure. As Winston Churchill said, you have always been “a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.”
Your father and I thought we would spend your life watching out for you, steering you in the right direction, worrying about your every decision. But you’ve taught us to have faith, in God and in you. While we saw dark clouds and ominous skies, you, to quote Louisa May Alcott, were “not afraid of storms, for [you were] learning how to sail [your] ship.” While we saw a path that led into a dark and scary forest, you saw “two roads diverged in a wood,” and you chose the one that “made all the difference” (Robert Frost). As we held our breath and waited for the floor to drop out from under you, you held fast to your dreams, closed your eyes, and took a leap, many leaps, challenging yourself to take the harder class, go for a lead in the play, run for the highest office, and venture into places others dared not go. And you did it all with grace and joy.
Strength is not about power. As we are told in the Book of Psalms, “She [a woman of worth] is clothed with strength and dignity, and laughs at the days to come.” Clothed in strength, not exhibiting strength, not showing power or aggression or loftiness, but clothed in strength. That’s quite remarkable when you think about it. Strength and dignity should be what we wear, what we exude, what we show others. It’s more than being strong or powerful. It’s letting others see what you’re made of, but in a dignified way. My mother is not only the matriarch of our family, she is the bloodline that gives us life literally and figuratively, the glue that holds us together, the giver of advice, and the pillar on which we lean. Everyone thinks that my father is the strong one, but, like the rest of us, all his strength comes from Mom. It always has.
Love has no bounds. St Paul tells us that “Love knows no limit to its endurance, no end to its trust, no fading of its hope; it can outlast anything. It is, in fact, the one thing that still stands when all else has fallen (1 Corinthians 13: 7-8). No truer words could be spoken about my mom. She loves her family fiercely and would do anything for them. The same can be said for her friends. My love for my family and friends is a direct reflection of the love she has always shown to me and my brothers. It’s a love without end, without restraints, without jealously. I think that the simplest way to describe the love that my mother gives is that it’s a direct reflection of the Father’s love for us.
So to all mothers everywhere, but especially, my own, happy Mother’s Day. Thank you for providing your strength, showering us with your love, showing us how to treat others, being there for your family at all times, and radiating the light of Christ for all to see, an example to us and the world. I love you, Mom.
A few years ago, our family took a vacation to Canada. While there, we visited the Basilica of St. Anne de Beaupre. Upon entering the church, the first thing one notices are the displays of canes, crutches, and other medical devices left behind by those who have been healed in the church. While standing and observing one such display, I watched as a man and woman, presumably part of a tour group, walked into the church. The man wondered aloud about the display. The woman read to him from a nearby sign that explained the significance of the objects. The man laughed quite loudly and said “what a joke” before walking away. I could have been angered, annoyed, or even offended by his reaction and words, but instead, I felt sorry for him.
I read a news piece recently that said that the majority of Americans believe that Easter has become irrelevant and that celebrating it is “a waste of time,” “meaningless,” and “completely unnecessary.” While I will not argue that too many people associate Easter with Peter Cottontail rather than Christ, I was surprised at the vehemence of some of the respondents. So I gave it a lot of thought, and I’ve come up with a Top Ten List of why Easter has become irrelevant in our present-day society. Counting backwards:
How deep is your love for your spouse? How far would you go to show them you love them? The Lord told us that there is no greater love than to lay down your life for a friend. I don’t think Jesus’ words refer only to physical death. There are many ways that we can lay down our lives for our loved ones. I would like to share with you the most beautiful example that I know.
Ash Wednesday is upon us, so for the next 40 days, Christians around the world will be fasting, praying (more), and giving alms. The last one, I believe, is the kicker for most people. It sometimes feels like I am always giving. Every time I turn around, someone has their hand out – a new organ for the church, new uniforms for the tennis team, fundraising for our girls’ mission team, a read-a-thon for a younger relative, not to mention the man on the street for whom I emptied my pocket that, for some unknown reason, happened to be full of quarters on that particular day last week. Giving is something that we are all asked to do on a daily basis, and I can understand why many people feel overwhelmed by all of the solicitations, as wonderful as some of the groups and circumstances are. But give we (Ken and I) do, and I feel we must; and I’d like to share with you two personal stories that explain why.
Over the weekend, my husband and I saw the new movie, 
As I’m finishing up our 2016 photo album, I’ve been looking back over the past year and thinking about all that we did and saw.
‘Tis the season… for exhaustion.
One year ago this week, Ken and I received the news that we were chosen to go to the Holy Land with a group of pilgrims.
Yesterday morning, I drove two and a half hours to the funeral of my friend’s mother. While on the phone, taking care of some business while driving, I was told, “It’s nice that you have the time to do that.” I assured the person on the other end that I did not have the time, but that I was raised in a family where attending funerals is just what you do. You make the time. People flock to showers and hospitals to welcome new babies into the world, but few people take the time to usher someone out of this world. I went because it was the right thing to do. And what did I gain from it? Simple; the joy on Anne’s face when she glanced up and saw me there. It’s all about spreading joy even in places where you expect to find none.
October 19, 1988 began like any other day. I was a Freshman in college, and I had a full day of classes. The morning went as usual, lunch was spent with friends, and then I moved on to my 1:00pm American Lit class. During the class, I was suddenly overcome with the most intense feeling of grief. It was all I could do not to cry, a feeling which many students studying Ahab’s quest for the mighty white whale may have felt, but one which I couldn’t logically explain at the time. For the rest of class, I had a hard time concentrating. All of my thoughts were consumed by the knowledge that my grandfather was starting chemo that day and the belief that something had gone terribly wrong. After class, I reported to my job at the campus library and began shelving books. Not too long after arriving at work, I looked up to see my roommate and one of my best friends from high school heading toward me, their expressions giving away their mission. 
My daughter, Rebecca, will be taking the LSAT this weekend and I’m sure you can imagine that she’s quite nervous about it. She’s afraid that she won’t get a high enough score to get into the school of her choice, but I’m not worried. I know that she’s going to do just fine. And if she doesn’t? What if she walks in there and completely goes blank? What if she forgets everything she has ever learned or studied about the law? I’m sure that she will see herself as a total failure. I’m sure that she will see herself as having made an unforgivable error in judgment. But we have heard time and again, and I truly believe, that failure is just the first step on the road to success. No, it’s not what she would want to hear, but it’s true. We all screw up. We all make mistakes. And if we take what we’ve learned, see through the haze of self-doubt and recriminations, then we can use our past failures as steps to success. 
We spent this past weekend on the island of Chincoteague, located on Virginia’s Eastern Shore. It was one of those rare weekends when we didn’t really have any plans. I had just finished the first draft of my next novel, which takes place on the island, and Ken asked if he could read it. Several chapters in, he told me that he loved the writing and the storyline, but I had many geographical errors. It has been years since I spent any time on the island, and to be honest, I never paid that much attention to which waterways were which or how much marsh there is instead of sand. His remedy? To pack up the camper and head to Virginia.
On Saturday, Tom gave us a tour of Chincoteague, a name taken from the Native American name, Gingoteague, which is believed to mean, “Beautiful land across the water.” It is indeed across the water, across the Chincoteague Bay from the rest of Virginia and across the Chincoteague Channel from Assateague Island, both a State and National Park. Many people my age and older will recall the beloved novel, 
After lunch, Ken, my mother-in-law, and I struck out on our own so that I could see everything through the eyes of Kate, my main character. We climbed to the top of the Assateague Lighthouse and visited the 
Later in the afternoon, Tom and his wife, Sandi, took us on a boat ride. We literally circumnavigated the entire island, and I was treated to a view of the island that I had never before seen. I also found the perfect location for Kate’s winter getaway. To wrap up the day, Sandi served us some of the best crab cakes I’ve ever had. We talked about my book and the island, especially the history of the island as it relates to the Coast Guard. Approximately 75% of the retirees on Chincoteague are former Coast Guard. Those valiant men and women play a large role in my book, and I was honored to spend the weekend of 9/11 in a place where those who serve are held in the highest regard. Banners honoring all of the young men and women currently serving in the Armed Forces are proudly displayed up and down Main Street, including one of my nephew, Ty.
I was blindsided last night by the outpouring of love and support that I received from so many people. I held a launch party for my newest release, 
I recently read an article about a particular college in which the author highlighted everything the school was doing wrong and the one thing that it could be doing right. In a nutshell, the author of the article gave the advice, “Be the Apple of colleges.” What does this mean? He went on to explain that Apple became the giant it is by finding something that it could do better than anyone else – that was the iPod. Taking the MP3 player to a level never before imagined, Apple won over buyers looking for something new, something better, and then held onto those buyers and increased their number exponentially by continuing to improve the iPod. Those advances led to the iPhone (don’t believe everything you read or hear today – experts are saying that the drop in sales have less to do with Apple and more to do with people’s satisfaction with their existing phones). The iPhone led to the iPad, and others have been copying those products and trying to outdo them from day one. Even if you aren’t an Apple fan, you must see the logic in the author’s advice. Simply said, discover what you do well, and show it to the world. 
A few years ago, I read a book called 
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