Each year, we celebrate the most momentous week in all of history, a week filled with turmoil and triumph: Holy Week.

Every day during Lent we pull a slip of paper out of our prayer basket and read the name of the person or people listed there.We’ve prayed for cousins and grandparents, deceased family members and living friends. We share stories about the people we’re praying for, and—when I think of

It was a typical Saturday in late January. My best friend was helping me install a laminate floor in our living room. We took a break to have lunch together, and chitchatted for a bit before he left. Four days later, I received a series of frantic text messages and

Bedtime at the Barberrys is nothing short of a production. There are bathtime adventures, pajama races, and our own version of “circle time” where we discuss the events of the day and our dreams for tomorrow. This is followed by stories, including: perennial favorites like “Goodnight, Goodnight Construction

My grandmother, Marion Thuma Snyder Johnston, told me this story many years ago and said that she wanted to write it someday. She passed away peacefully on March 30, 2017. She didn’t get a chance to put it into writing, so I’m going to make sure that her

I live in a small city outside of Baltimore called Aberdeen. It’s a modest town, born of the canning industry and railroad, where most people work hard to live peaceful lives in little neighborhoods. Unfortunately, just under two hundred of our neighbors are unable to afford homes for a variety

This Lenten season, as we fast and serve and pray, I hope we can try to find moments just to be with God.

Last Sunday,  the “midway point” of Lent, we heard the beautiful, amazing account from the Gospel of John of the “man born blind” (John 9:1-41.) In it we see a beautiful progression of faith, not so much unlike the one of the Samaritan woman who earlier proclaimed Christ to her

If ever there were an aunt who deserves to be celebrated, it’s Aunt Shai. She gives her nieces and nephews her undivided attention, plays with them for hours, reads to them, and teaches them how to make up stories with their toys.So even though it wasn’t clear that she wanted

I’ve never paid much attention to what greeters do before Mass. I always smile at them and say hello, maybe compliment a scarf or comment on the weather. Still, I hadn’t really considered it a significant job.At our parish’s Scout Mass this week, though, Daniel was a greeter, and he