Saturday, December 31, 2011


Chapter 1

Our house was shaped like a cube of butter and was even the same creamy, yellow color.  It had been built on the far left hand side of a corner lot on Fourth Street.  It wasn't just any corner lot either.  Adjacent to it was a gigantic dirt field.  At least it looked gigantic to me.  I was in the third grade.  The year was 1959.  Every Saturday afternoon, that field played host to every kid on the block.  We would play as many baseball games as the weather permitted on a field of rock hard dirt, surrounded by salt cedar trees.  Tall clumps of weeds with foxtails stuck to our white socks.  Our house was pretty modern. The outside walls were made of something called stucco, and the inside of the house had shiny hardwood floors.  I especially loved lying on the braided oval rug in the living room.  I would pretend like I was lying on the beach in the warm summer sun, compared to the coolness of...

Wednesday, December 7, 2011


Our vocation is an asset to prayer because our work becomes prayer.  It is prayer in action.  
The artist, the novelist, the surgeon, the plumber, the secretary, the lawyer, the homemaker, the farmer, the teacher, the student- 
All are praying by offering their work up to God.

Merry Christmas!  God Bless Us, Everyone!