Soul Seeing: I was in Paris the night of Friday, Nov. 13, 2015, and the corner of my brain that has time to think about eternity is asking why.
When my husband and I decided to build a small addition onto our house, I learned a new term: permeable. Permeable means capable of being penetrated, especially by water. It refers to the amount of square footage a property is required to have that is not cement or a solid, impenetrable surface.
Sept. 25 was one of those spectacular autumn days in New York. The heat of the summer had faded away, and a brilliant, blue, cloudless sky greeted the world.
At about 1 p.m., I walked out the door of the house I share with nine other Jesuits, and walked up Eighth Avenue to Madison Square Garden. I was asked to hear confessions before the papal Mass, and doing so was one of the most profound graces of my life.
Soul Seeing: Bishop Morrie has a story about meeting the pontiff during his U.S. trip.
Soul Seeing: I'm back from Beirut, where I presented a workshop on resilience to the Blue Marists, a group of laywomen, laymen and brothers serving refugees in war-ravaged Aleppo, Syria.
I slid into the fourth pew from the back on the left side of Dahlgren Chapel at Georgetown University. It was a 1975 summer evening with a soft sun backlighting the five-paneled stained-glass window featuring the Sacred Heart of Jesus behind the altar. It was quiet, a solemn quiet. I was on my knees and then, in a slow-moving but eerie transition, I was no longer in the fourth pew from the back on the left side of the chapel in Georgetown University.
Gene Conrad, 86, got up every morning at 5 a.m. to make breakfast for his wife, Reva. Before he shuffled downstairs, he cuddled next to her and began singing the song they had sung to each other every morning since they married in 1950: "You Are My Sunshine." Reva was diagnosed with Alzheimer's 21 years ago but she glowed as she heard the words Gene sang. Gene died last week after a brief illness.
Soul Seeing: Compassion, touch and starting over: This is what my soul sees when contemplating this story.
Soul Seeing: "Thank you," I wrote to my dying dad in 1976. "Thank you for raising me on the farm."
I remember the day I was afraid to leave the house. The 10 steps from my apartment to the elevator would be like walking on coals. I was only going to meet a friend for lunch but I felt anxious, and sorry I had suggested it. I wanted to stay inside, in familiar territory. What was wrong with me? It was an easy drive to the restaurant, a friendly place with a favorite table saved for me and my friend. But I wanted the security of my home. I needed to be within. I desired something I was not used to but could not describe.