An Hour!

Twenty- one dollars!

That is not per month,

or per week

or even per day.

That is twenty-one dollars per hour!

That is what I heard the other day while driving to or from somewhere or other. The car radio was on and the current news was being broadcast and that is when I heard it. 

Some major  bank was offering twenty-one dollars an hour as the entry level wage. They were announcing that, at least for their employees, twenty-one dollars an hour would be considered the minimum wage!

Of course, with our current situation and so many hesitant for one reason or other, mostly fear of returning to on site workplaces in light of the still evident pandemic and others hesitant because of the difficulty of providing proper childcare and such, prospective employers are offering greater and greater incentives to recruit workers.

I have seen oh so many "Help Wanted" signs.

I have seen signs offering a starting salary of fifteen dollars an hour, eighteen dollars and hour and, of course, those offering to cover young workers' college tuition costs.

And now - twenty-one dollars an hour!

That took me back and perhaps I can even take you back a bit as I share my journey.

I started working as a delvery carrier for the Detroit Free Press. That was back in the early 1950's and my route, considered a rather large one for the time, involved delivering the evening edition of the newspaper. In addition to delivering the papers, weekly it fell to me to also collect from the customers. My pay for this work consisted of a percentage of what I collected plus any tips given.

A good week might bring me around $5.00, sometimes even a it better. That was for the week not the hour!

In high school I managed to get a part time and then summer job in a drug store. I was the stock boy and my duties mostly consisted of unloading deliveries, replenishing merchandise on shelves an occasionally, when busy, waiting on customers. That drug store was located a block from a local "stadium" and Friday evenings were especially tension-filled. The store had an ice cream counter and if a stadium game ended before closing time, fans flocked to the counter for a treat. That meant filling in as soda jerk to a mob of frenzied fans, working late but not for overtime.

Pay for that job, as I recall, was a straight twenty dollars.

Per week - not per hour.

Had a couple of other summer jobs - one year processing traffic tickets for the City of Detroit and another processing property tax payments. 

A dollar something per hour for that work, and a straight forty hours per week.

One summer I got a really good paying job!

I worked on the Wayne County Road Crew- tarring roads, painting weigh scales and  fun stuff like that while making the grand sum of $2.14 per hour!

That summer I was rich!

And I had a great tan!

There were also a couple of summers when I worked and lived on campus at Orchard Lake doing office clerical work. Didn't earn as much as that Road Commission job but there was that extra perk. I could "'sing" Masses early mornings.

In those days places like that had multiple altars and early mornings the priests on faculty would descend for their Masses. They were able to collect stipends for those Masses and the usual stipend was $3.00 for a Low Mass and $5.00 for a High Mass.

A High Mass meant a sung Mass and so the priest had to find someone to sing certain parts of the Mass. For that special service the singer received $1.00. And because altars were so nice and close to each other, it was possible to be present and singing for a couple of Masses almost simultaneously!

In an hour on a good day that could mean five/six dollars per hour! And that all before actually going to work.

When I was ordained, I arrived.

I now had a guaranteed, regular paycheck.

My starting salary was a whole seventy-five dollars.

Per month!

Ah! But there was a perks hidden here as well.

Those stipends for those daily Masses were ours. That meant an extra five dollars a day every day.

Add it all up!

And that was then.

This is now - twenty-one dollars an hour, fifteen dollars an hour, eighteen dollars an hour!

And here we are.

And you just might make the observation - Yes, but way back when, things were way less expensive than they are today. Just look at some prices - gas today is what? $3.29 a gallon? Back when - eighteen cents a gallon! Bread - back when twenty cents? Today - $3.00 and up a loaf! Back when a night's stay at the equivalent of a Motel Six was $18 but today, well, let's talk about pushing a hundred dollars and up just for a place to sleep for the night!

Yes, things cost more now, no question about it.

And we cost more - workers today expect more, request more, even demand more.

Is it that things cost more because we earn more or is it that we earn more because things cost more?

And which came first - chicken or egg?

Fact is that we probably did just fine back in the days when . . .

And we are doing just fine today as well.

The numbers may have changed but the basic human circumstances are rather the same today as they were back in the day.

We still can afford (even if we tend to complain about cost) and we still have a little to put away for that rainy day.

And very, very likely today, just like yesterday, we even have some extra to share with those who for whatever reason cannot possibly realize anywhere near twenty-one dollars an hour.

Of even a day.

Or sometimes even a week!

Times were good for so many of us back in the day . . . and times are good today.

“Getting vaccinated is a simple yet profound way to care for one another, especially the most vulnerable,” Pope Francis 

Words for Our Time . . . for All Time

Before I forget . . .  before I lose it . . .  which is all too easy to happen, I want to put these words down to be captured and remembered and, hopefully, treasured.

So, here it comes.

And the words inspiring this writing come from someone that you may admire, you may treasure or, conversely, you may despise, maybe even loathe.

So be it.

But heed these words.

Latch onto these words.

Even, please, treasure these words.

They are important, critically important.

They are words spoken by the Vice-President of the United States of American on this day, September 11, 2021, twenty years after that horrid and fateful day, that 9/11.

Kamala Harris spoke them today at the memorial service in Shanksville, Pennsylvania.

Please hear them with your ears, your eyes and most importantly, your heart.

This place, she declared, is sanctified by sacrifice.

Sanctified by sacrifice!

In the air above that field thirty-three, mostly strangers, who happened to be in the same plane at the same time, confronting the same terror at the same time, united, responded and sacrificed for the sake of others.

And now that field, that place, is sanctified by sacrifice.

And that is a truth that needs to resound loudly, so very, very loudly in our time, twenty years later.

Sanctified by sacrifice.

Is not that the lesson that that young Israelite caught to teach us all on that hill called Calvary some twenty centuries ago?

Sanctified by sacrifice.

That hill is now considered sanctified by the Sacrifice of Jesus Christ who gave His life so that we might truly live.

And those buildings that we call, sometimes, churches, sometimes synagogues or even temples, and sometimes mosques as well and all other such places, they are considered holy, sanctified by sacrifice.

And those places which we call "home"  are truly such when they are filled with the spirit of sacrifice - parents for their children, siblings one of each other - holy - sanctified by sacrifice.

And communities become special, yes, even holy, sanctified when the members are filled with that spirit that leads to thinking of one another, working with and for one another and sacrificing for one another.

Sanctified by sacrifice!

In this time when so many are bending to the temptation to think first and often only of themselves, when the rallying cry seems to be "freedom" at any cost, we need this reminder.

We are called first and foremost to holiness, to sanctity.

It is in this that our lives are truly fulfilled, made whole when we are becoming holy.

And, as that field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania, reminds us -

Sanctification comes through sacrifice.

Sanctify this land of ours by sacrifice.

And sanctify yourself by your willingness to sacrifice!

Meantime, 

Keep Praying

 . . . and Stay Safe!

Oh! And please  get your shot! It's the charitable thing to do.

Another Travel Trauma

 And so this time it was one named Ida.

And that ever lively, incredibly unique place known as New Orleans has been battered yet again.

Before Ida there was Katrina. And a year before Katrina there was little known, less remembered Ivan.

But there really was Ivan!

And I can testify to that confidently because I knew Ivan up close and personal.

Ivan was another of those Travel with me but first sign this "Hazzard-waver-declaration" stories.

Fortunately, the Ivan saga does not involve any sort of group travel, at least not on my part.

The year was 2004 and New Orleans was the venue for the annual International Catholic Stewardship Conference, an event that started on Sunday evening, rather informally with a "Taste of New Orleans" event and an opportunity to view and simply the wares of  numerous vendors.

The choice of New Orleans was most welcome for me as at that time I had a time share in that great city. That would mean no additional cost for accommodations and, the time share being used for the conference, the maintenance fees could qualify as a professional expense tax deduction.

I and our parish business manager signed on for the conference. It officially began on Monday morning and would end around noon on Thursday. The timing was perfect since I was scheduled to lead a retreat back in Michigan beginning on Friday evening.

To get cheap rates, we flew into New Orleans on Saturday and would return home Thursday afternoon.

That was the plan.

One small adjustment - the time share was undergoing some renovations and so we would be housed, not in the Garden District but rather almost downtown. We would still have a suite but now we would be within walking distance of the conference activities.

We were also directly across the street from the casino!

Now that did not draw my interest but it certainly caught the attention of the business manager. (Should I have had suspicions because of his job and this "attraction"?) Well, let's just say that we went to dinner Saturday after arriving and then I headed back to our suite while he headed , well, across the street.

Sunday morning we were at the cathedral for Mass and afterward, he announced that breakfast, or still better, jazz brunch was on him. His visit the previous evening had been rather profitable.

Sunday evening after the Taste of New Orleans, the previous evening's story unfolded yet again. I headed to the room and he to the - across th street. And frankly, I did not mind the time alone as it provided me an opportunity to review some of the content for the coming weekend's retreat.

Monday arrived and the working session got underway. However, a new item was beginning to capture attention and conversation - Ivan.

It was out there and it was intensifying and it could even be headed right in our direction.

Should we worry?

Seemed not - at least not yet then.

Monday's dinner was another treat since, once again, fortune had been good the evening before across the street!

And Tuesday arrived and with its arrival a new mood was in the air.

This Ivan thing was getting serious. A direct hit was looking more possible. Sesoned dwellers in the city were clearly making their moves and those moves were headed in one general direction.

OUT!

They were clearly running for safety, taking no chances.

Windows were being boarded and shops were being emptied.

When we got to the conference center, we could not help but notice that the scheduled speakers were arriving for their sessions with travel bags and luggage in tow. They were making their presentations and then heading out.

Not looking good at all.

Time to make a move.

Between conference sessions we headed to the phones. Call the airlines. Book a flight out - any flight and as it became clear that we were truly begging, any flight anywhere. Begger's can't be choosy and we could get somewhere and then worry about a connecting flight to Detroit.

But flights were being cancelled as soon as we connected with an agent. Houston? Sure? Two tickets? No problem.

Oops! That flight just got cancelled!

And so the story went.

Train?

Nothing available.

Rent a car?

None available anymore.

Just plan on bunkering down and riding things out and hope for the best.

Oh - and now Ivan is ranking as a category five!

Worst possible scenario!

End of the day Tuesday the announcement was made. The remainder of the Stewardship Conference was officially cancelled.

Go home!

Yea! Right! Good luck with that now.

We headed back to our hotel which, by time of our arrival, was something of a madhouse. All sorts for folk, mostly families with small children, were trying to get in, get rooms. Being suites, that meant every accommodation had at least a small refrigerator and stove and, thus, meal preparations would be possible. The hotel also had begun providing late afternoon finger foods and early morning light breakfasts. And the first four floors were now off lints. No rooms would be offered under the fifth floor just in case the water level . . .  well, you can imagine!

We were offered the possibility of moving down to the fifth floor. (We were on eleven.) We took the offer as we both thought of what life might be like if power was lost and elevators were not working and the only way down was the stairway - eleven floors! Not a chance!

Settled in our new accommodations, it was now time for some dinner. And that became a new discovery. In New Orleans - known for its cuisine - restaurants were closed and boarded up. However, some distance away we managed to find a TGIF still open and serving food.

Menu?

No!

We are cooking whatever is left so that it doesn't spoil in the storm. We will serve you dinner - certainly. You will get whatever the chef is able to put together for you.

Dinner had, we headed back to our hotel. No stopover that evening at the casino. It was closed and shuttered.

Ivan was bearing down on New Orleans.

Wednesday arrived and this great, never sleeping city was a ghost town- no traffic anywhere, winds intensifying, silence deafening.

We needed something to eat. The breakfast lite was sufficient but not totally filling. Only where might we find anyone still serving food?

I had an idea. A couple of blocks away was one of those super-fine, super-expensive hotels. They would certain feel obliged to provide food for their clientele. And I was right! Good food! White glove service and folks all round dressed to the nines!

It felt like we were on the Titanic - dining while the waters poured in.

And in a sense that was a correct assessment since, by the time we finished our dinners, the main entrances were now boarded up and impassable. We would have to leave through the service entrance.

The walk back was marked by blistery winds bringing stinging sand and dirt into our faces. Police cars were circling all around, loudspeakers announcing a total, stay in place, curfew. When we got to our hotel, we were immediately informed that, once in our room, we could not leave until an all clear was sounded.

And we were instructed to fill our bathtub!

Just in case the water was shut off!

And so we waited.

And watched the Weather Channel!

Who ever thought of spending an evening in New Orleans watching the Weather Channel?

But we learned something. 

A pivotal moment was coming soon - long around 10:45 PM.

At that time, with prevailing weather patterns and water temperatures and who knows what all else, it was possible that Ivan could ever so slightly change course. If that happened, New Orleans would be spared and the storm would move eastward.

And so we waited and watched and maybe even prayed.

And the patterns did their trick! And the storm ever so slightly changed course, slightly but still enough.

We would be spared!

The next day the city was still mostly a ghost town. We were finally able to book flights back home - not until Friday and not both of us on the same flight.I would take the earlier flight, early enough for me to get into a car and head on off to begin that weekend retreat.

We had experienced a city under seige.

The storm had been avoided.

But the next year New Orleans was not so fortunate.

And this year again - not so fortunate

For our sisters and brothers, suffering in whatever way from this vicious act of nature:

let us pray to the Lord!

Meantime, 

Keep Praying

 . . . and Stay Safe!

Oh! And please  get your shot! It's the charitable thing to do.

That Day in July . . .

 It was a Sunday . . .  the 24th of July, 1967.

And almost as usual, life began to unfold in the parish early on that Sunday morning.

Our schedules in hand, we, the clergy began to enter into our last minute preparations for the Masses over which we would preside on that Sunday morning.

The early Mass folk were already beginning to arrive at that modest sized, Westside, mostly Polish parish.

It was beginning as just another Sunday.

Or so most of us thought.

But that morning there was one difference.

There was a police car outside, directly front of the front entrance to the church. And a couple of the occupants were asking to speak to the clergy.

Alone . . .  apart from the gathering crowd . . .  somewhere somewhat isolated so that what was about to be said would be spoken in a degree of secrecy.

At least for the moment.

Clergy gathered (and remember, this was 1967 and many parishes back then had more than a single priest!) and the officers spoke to us.

No need for alarm and certainly there is no need to alarm the congregation. However, there is some "trouble" in the streets somewhat nearby. Because of that, keep things as brief as possible and simply, calmly at the end of the Mass encourage everyone to go directly home. Tell them not to linger, socialize or head out anywhere for breakfast. 

Straight home . . .  and immediately.

Some "trouble" in the streets somewhat nearby!

July 24 is the anniversary day of the founding, the establishment of Detroit. 1701 was the day. And here it was - another July 24 only this year, 1967, Detroit was taking a different turn in its identity.

Late night or early morning, depending on your sense of time, something had happened that set tempers flaring and unleashed long pent up frustrations.

And there was violence in the streets.

Some 'trouble" somewhat nearby!

Masses went on as usual and as scheduled. Folks were encouraged to not linger but rather head straight home. As the morning progressed, folks arriving were hearing something of the news of that "trouble" somewhat nearby.

And a bit later that Sunday, I had the opportunity of hosting a gathering of a handful of faculty and students from the University of Detroit. At that time I was a student in the graduate program there, taking courses in education and counseling. Our gathering consisted of some like minds, folks who could name trends and issues impacting society and analyze and speculate possible results.

One of the items that came up was the current condition of Detroit's black population. Several of the faculty spoke about how surprised they were that something had not yet erupted, given the prevalence of racism and its effects.

The discussion continued along those lines on into the evening.

The time came for my guests to depart. The sky was darkening. Night was descending.

And as we emerged from our gathering in that rectory, we could see something more.

Flames were tearing through that darkness.

Somewhere not too distant from where we were, neighborhoods were ablaze.

It was then that I remembered that early morning visit from those law officers. It was then that I realized that the time had, indeed, come.

A people had been dehumanized for far too long.

Now much pent up anger was emerging, erupting, tearing through the streets.

Langston Hughes captured it so very, very well. "What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up Like a raisin in the sun?... Or does it explode?"

Every human being has a dream, a God-given dream and that is to be treated as, respected as a human being, made in the image and likeness of God.

And when that dream is deferred . . . it does not dry up like some raisin in the sun.

July 24, 1967 - the results of a dream  deferred!

Meantime, 

Keep Praying

 . . . and Stay Safe!

Oh! And please  get your shot! It's the charitable thing to do.

And Yet Another . . .

I know! 

I know!

It has been a while but, well, sometimes that inspirational muse just takes a little time off and in such times it is better to be silent than to just dish out verbiage.

Or whatever!

Anyhow, while it has been a while, I think I have some words to put together for you now.

So let's get right to it!

And as I get right to it, notice again how I have titled this musing. I am calling this "And Yet Another . . . "

And that "Other" would be SS. Cyril and Methodius Seminary on the beautiful grounds of Orchard Lake here in Michigan.

This seminary is a part of my story, my history.

In 1956 I was sent, as was the policy back then, for my college studies to St. Mary's College on the Orchard Lake Campus. After two yers of liberal arts college, in Junior Year, I entered the study of philosophy, the first two years of actual seminary study. Those two years of philosophy would be followed by four years of theology studies but, for me, those four would happen in Plymouth, Michigan in what was back then our major seminary, St. John's.

However, I would live and study for my four college years at Orchard Lake and the seminary program there became a part of my history.

Some years later, ordained, working in a parish, I was also chosen to work on a new degree, this time in Liturgical Theology. Something known as Vatican II had happened and changes were in the wind and it was evident that there was a need for those who could provide resources and insights and education to help parishes, priests, laity and candidates for various ministries to adjust in a hopefully healthy manner to the changes.

I earned my degree from the prestigious University of Notre Dame and almost immediately I was recruited to be an adjunct faculty member in that seminary at Orchard Lake.

Once again SS. Cyril and Methodius Seminary became a part of my personal history and it remained so for a number of years. I continued as adjunct faculty into the 1980's and was called back into service several times after that.

And now this piece of my personal story is about to go away.

The announcement has been made and the decision is rather final - SS. Cyril and Methodius Seminary in Orchard Lake, Michigan will be closing its doors - permanently.

And that means that yet another part of my history disappears.

I say "Another" because it has been a number of years now since St. John's Seminary closed its doors. That was my home for my original theology studies. From its halls I emerged to be ordained for my years of ministry.

Closed . . . gone.

And I look at the parishes in which I ministered . . . 

St. Cunegunda - still around but a shadow, a mere skeleton of its former self.

St. Bartholomew - gone . . . another piece of that history no longer to be found.

And there was that gem of a parish right in the City of Detroit - Precious Blood, certainly one of the most beautiful of buildings housing some of the most beautiful People of God . . . it evolved into St. Peter Claver nd then . . . well, another void, yet another.

And my roots  . . . that part of my history that set the very foundation of my growth? Well, that would be SS. Cyril and Methodius Parish and School.

Also now gone . . .

Oh, true, there continues to be a SS. Cyril and Methodius Parish, now located in Sterling Heights, Michigan. And this new entity houses some artifacts from the original church, my home parish. Yet, truth be told, this is not the Home I knew growing up. St. Cyril was more than the place we worshipped and went to school. It was our community, our very identity.

And that St. Cyril is now but a memory.

And the Sisters who ministered in that original St. Cyril? Dominicans, originally the Dominican Sisters of St. Rose of Lime, also known as the Oxford Dominicans.

I led a number of retreats on the Oxford Dominican Campus and as a youngster, took part in any number of visits, pilgrimages and festivals there. In retirement I was driving out to Oxford to serve as part--time chaplain for the good Sisters weekly for some time.

I was there when they became the Dominican Sisters of Pece and I was there when . . . they became yet another!

Gone!

And now I am looking back at all so many parts of my life, my formation, my story and realizing that they live now, not as they once did, but they live only within me.

I am SS. Cyril and Methodius Parish and School and I am the Oxford Dominicans and I am SS. Cyril and Methodius Seminary and I am St. John's Seminary and I am St.. Bartholomew Parish and the Church of the Precious Blood.

The institutions are no more but their work, their beauty, their worth continues . . . in me and in folks like me.

Isn't that true of any of our stories, especially as the years roll on by?

The forces that formed us fade away but the work they have done lives on . . .

in us!

Meantime, 

Keep Praying

 . . . and Stay Safe!

Oh! And get your shot! 

The One "They" Didn't Get (Yet!)

Time to celebrate that One - The One "They" didn't get (yet.)

I am talking, here, to Catholics in particular, but also to Christians in general.

We are about to celebrate one of our Big Ones.

Pentecost is with us, one of our most major feasts and celebrations.

Actually, it is one of our Big Three in terms of historical and theological importance.

And it still stands as the One They" didn't get (yet.)

Among those top three stands Christmas, of course. Historically and theologically this is the least of the Big Three. Nevertheless, "They" got it.  Christmas  is rooted in religious meaning and significance but, let's face it, today one really has to dig deep to find that. Planning, shopping, preparing for Christmas begins, these days, when? Around Memorial Day? So much to do! So much to plan! Cards and presents and parties and gatherings and decorations, and . . . and  . .  and . . .

Oh, yes, and find the time to get to church! Squeeze that it, don't forget.

Yep! "They" got it.

OK, someone just might set forth the argument that Christmas really started out as a pagan feast  and then we, Christians, took it over and now, with the passage of time, the original owners are reclaiming it.

And an argument could be made for that sort of thinking but fact is, yes, there was originally a pagan feast centered around the darkest of days and the return of the great Sun God, but when Rome finally saw the Light and grew more and more Christian, that celebration no longer made sense but its meaning really did speak to one of our very basic tenets - that the True Light of the World has come to dwell among us.

And that deserves to be celebrated.

And for centuries, we did - at least until "They" got it and filled it with commercialism.

And  when "They" got Christmas, then there was Easter.

That one is the most important day in the Christian year, no question about it.

And it is so filled with theological significance that it presents a real challenge to those commercializers.

After all, how do you cutesy up something like death/resurrection, suffering to glory, redeeming love?

Well, it may have been a challenge and it may have taken it bit, but "They" did get it.

And now we have bunnies and chicks and all those cute little signs of springtime, because, after all, this really is all about springtime, isn't it?

And now those tasty Peeps are even appearing as soon as the Valentine chocolates disappear. (And, true, Valentine's Day is also one more of ours but Valentine's is only a rather minor player, actually not even on our official calendar of saints anymore.)

But as to Easter - now our young are being taught to assume that, just like Santa at Christmas, that Easter Bunny will be bringing not just candy treats but also more and more expensive, new toys and gadgets to celebrate springtime.That is what Easter is all about - springtime!

And so it is that "They" got Easter.

But "They" still have not found a way to get the one we are about to unfold again.

"They" have still not figured out how to get Pentecost.

And what do you do, what can you do with Tongues of Fire and that mighty whirlwind and those bold, very vocal proclaimers of the Good News of God's redeeming love, those folk who just days, even hours ago were shivering in their boots, locked behind shutters and doors. Something happened, seriously happened to cause them to break forth and speak out.

How do you cutesy that?

Well, maybe you do not even try.

After all, Pentecost is all about Church and Message and in today's world, who really wants the nuisance of Church and Message Especially that Message!

Church - you can whisper some prayers and mouth some hymns and spend your hour or so in your gathering.

But please, please - do not come bursting through those doors, shouting out your Message of that God and the power of that redeeming Love!

Just keep quiet, please. 

Pentecost will be ignored.

"They" won't try to get it. "They" do not want it.

And we can keep it just as long as we also keep our light under that bushel basket!

And leave "Them" alone!

But hopefully "We" know what to do with Pentecost!

Meantime, 

Keep Praying

 . . . and Stay Safe!

Oh! And get your shot! 

Saying It Out Loud!

Believe me.

I have thought long and hard about this writing. And, yes, I have even prayed over its possibility.

And I have gone back and forth. Should I write this? Or should I just let it go?

And, obviously, I have decided to write and not just let go. However, even as I write this, I want you to know that I am doing so not to garner some sort of "Poor you" responses or anything of the sort.

I have decided to write this because I hope that I am a person of faith and that faith colors my whole being. It tells me who I am and how I am and most importantly, how I should be.

And as a person of faith, I also hunger to see that gift and blessing in the lives of others, in your life. And I hunger to see the impact of faith in shaping the way you view your days and live your life.

And I also know that sometimes that can be difficult, sometimes even very, very difficult.

And I am thinking that maybe, just as in those days of old, when the likes of those first evangelists sought to spread the Good News, and when those words, mostly of personal testimony, enabled people of faith to live boldly even in the most trying of times, well, maybe, just maybe, words giving testimony of faith lived, can enable and embolden someone (you?) today in our times.

So it is that I have decided to share my today's story with you. And I hope and pray that, somehow, it may empower your faith as you seek to embrace what life is setting before you today.

The story I share really unfolded big time on March 30, 2021, although parts of it were already in play some time before.

March 30 - I had an appointment with my urologist. This was primarily a consult.

Some time before he was expressing suspicions about numbers and findings and stuff that fascinates those medical types. According to the things I was consulting, my numbers were just fine, expected and normal for someone of my age.  But he was not buying it. Something was looking suspicious and so he kept pursuing. Test and then still another test and let's take still another look.

And at that meeting on the 30th day of March he shared with me his conclusion. 

"We need to do a biopsy."

The numbers were not right and the indications were not right and we needed to check and see if, perhaps, something was hiding there, something we needed to face and deal with.

And so it was that a biopsy was scheduled. And we all know who comes to mind when we hear that word - biopsy!

But that was, on that day, only part of the story unfolding.

It seems that the evening before, thanks to the technology with which I choose to surround myself, my watch, yes! watch! signaled to me that it was detecting some sort of irregular cardiac activity and that, if not previously identified by my primary care person or any other, I should consult.

Now that is not exactly the sort of signal one needs before heading off to slumber!

But following through the next day I did call and inform my primary care person of that signal. Whereupon I was told to get into the office ASAP!

So from the biopsy consult, I headed off for still another adventure.

And the result of that one sent me to a cardiologist and that launched me into all sorts of testings and even today wearing one of those monitors and another test tomorrow and findings and results to be revealed likely at the end of the month of May.

Heart issues?

Well, who knows. Later on that one. But the possibilities are there.

And then there was that biopsy.

Initial results?

Stage One prostate cancer.

Yep! That word. Cancer.

We meet soon to discuss options and possibilities and courses of action.

And that at present is me - heart issues and cancer.

And I say that and share that because, as I said at the very beginning of this writing, I am a person of faith.

I am at peace and I am calm and I firmly believe that this is because, as a person of faith, i know that I am in the hands of One who loves me intensely. He takes care of me. He will continue to take care of me. No matter what direction things may take for me, I need not worry and, surprisingly, I do not worry. I am not worried.

Life is not about clinging to what we have right now.

Life, true life, is about being so truly free as to place one's self into the hands of the One who loves us and letting Him call the shots.

And doing that - one can find true peace.

And He did say, "Peace be with you!"

That is what He wants for every one of us.

I truly am at peace.

And I pray that you may you have that too!

Meantime, 

Keep Praying

 . . . and Stay Safe!

Oh! And get your shot!