Faith, hope and charity, I remember chanting obediently as a child, responding to a second-grade catechism question about virtues. I recall the nuns delving into elaborate detail about faith and charity, but barely skimming the surface of hope. If I were teaching a catechism class today, I would byp

Are you somebody’s mother? the little girl asked. I paused from cutting pizza slices in the school cafeteria, where I was volunteering for the afternoon. Not really, I said, and the child looked a little crestfallen and wandered away. There wasn’t time to explain that I had fervently pon

I remember my first clumsy efforts at cutting hearts from red paper to create a valentine for the person I loved most in the world, my mom. No matter how crooked the edges, she always praised my efforts as if they were priceless pieces of artwork. Although my mom died over 20 years ago, each Valenti

I dreamt I was standing at the pearly gates, clutching a handful of coupons. What are those? St. Peter asked. My volunteering coupons, I replied, placing them in his hand. Then I explained how I had earned them: all the times I had pitched in at church answering phones, singing in the choir, volunte

I went to visit my friend Isabelle the other afternoon. All smiles, she kissed me, grabbed a slice of bread and rushed into the yard. Before I could stop her, Isabelle was on her back, hurling tidbits of bread at the sky. Isabelle, I cried, What are you doing?Feeding the birds, she chortled, as the

When I walk into the side garden and spot my three rose bushes, their branches tangling merrily in the wind, I’m reminded of how precious everyday faith is. Especially faith in our own capabilities. Faith in renewal. And faith in doubtful outcomes. When my husband and I first moved into our ho

When I asked my friend’s little daughter what her dad enjoyed doing in his spare time, she didn’t miss a beat. Anything to do with me, she beamed. I rejoiced for her, of course, but I also felt a stinging regret. My dad’s free time rarely included his two daughters. And although he

I was a melancholy child. The photo albums show a toddler with a woebegone expression peeking at the world through the bars of a playpen. My earliest memory is trailing my mom around the house as she vacuumed and asking her over and over, Do you love me? Silencing the roaring machine momentarily, sh

The voice startled me. I was driving down a busy street in Atlanta on my way to the grocery store, when a little voice told me to visit the ornate church on the hill. I had attended a festival at the church, St. John Chrysostom Melkite Church, many years ago. I knew the congregation was Catholic, bu

I spotted the woman the moment I walked into the hospital lobby. Shaking and sobbing uncontrollably, she was talking to someone on the phone. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, yet I felt a strong urge to comfort her. But something stopped me. She’s a stranger, I reminded myself, and i