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Showing posts from November, 2015

Homily for Sister Brigid

“For I know that neither death nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor present things, nor future things, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”           Whenever someone we love dies, especially a parent, all sorts of images and memories flood into one’s consciousness: for me at least, happy memories of past Christmases, shared vacations, various family celebrations, and the graced moments of support, encouragement, and love. Then there are the sad memories, of the various arguments and misunderstandings, the inevitable trials of family life, the examples of human weakness. At a time such as this, there is the temptation is to get stuck in the swirl and turbulence of memory and all the while miss the forest through the trees, to not see the overriding reality that was present in the loved one’s life.           I never asked my mother what she wanted me to preach about on he

Ombra Does It Again: Seven Puppies

By Brother Gregory Ombra was beginning to get really big, and time was getting very close to birthing her puppies. This would be Ombra’s second litter. She was bred to Kahn, and the two were a good match; Ombra took a liking to Kahn, and they got ties during the breeding. Her x-ray showed a possible seven puppies, but we were not quite sure about that seventh puppy. Going to bed that Saturday, I knew this was probably going to be a sleepless night, but off the lights went in my cell with Ombra and Lena, my other dog. Sure enough, Ombra would go in and out of her crate during the night, periodically scratching the crate, doing her nesting. Auntie Lena, as I called her, would come over to my bed to let me know what was going on, looking with her wet nose for my face or a foot or hand sticking out from the blankets. OK, Lena, I got the message! On the bedroom light would go, then off again, and this went on for most of the night. But at 2:30 Sunday morning I’d had enough. I got dres