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Padraigh of Erin
A profound pity that the feast day for the patron saint of Ireland, Saint Patrick, is known more for drunken revelry and boorishness than for holiness and piety, especially since the feast in smack-dab in the middle of Lent. Reflecting on the saint’s life, I am grateful for men like Patrick, men who were brave and self-sacrificing and single-minded. How few of them there are today, and even fewer on the horizon and in the cribs. Ah, for a man to drive the serpents from the land, eh? And though it has nothing to do with Saint Patrick’s Day, I thought I would share one of my favorite Irish folk…
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Last Weekend in Standard Time
Jinx didn’t let us sleep in too late today, which was a pity because I was still exhausted from yesterday’s little stroll. But spotted dogs with small brains and enormous personalities cannot be denied, and we laughed together as he bounded around the room, growling and moaning. Yes, moaning. Jinx has a peculiar noise he makes when he’s trying to provoke us into playing with him, a noise that sounds quite a bit like the timbers in the HMS Indefatigable with HH on the bridge during a storm. A deep, creaky, groany glissando up and down three octaves. Moaning will have to do as the noun here. The moaning. Oh,…
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Faith In Exile, Part I
I’ve never until this moment written the following words down, and I’ve only spoken them aloud to my wife. I consider myself a Catholic. I was raised in a non-religious home, although my mother taught us to believe in the God of the Bible, and in His son, Jesus. She allowed us to attend church with friends if we wished, and she prayed with me at my bedside when I was a little fellow. The doctrines — if they can be called doctrines — that I was taught were standard but elusive. The Ten Commandments, and the Sinner’s Prayer, and Jesus waits to be invited into our hearts. But even…