Soul Seeing: A performer, "inhabiting" Frank Sinatra, captures attentions and lifts spirits at the River House Adult Day Care Center's recent Christmas party.
During a cross-country road trip, I stayed in a retreat house with shared bathrooms, and I almost instantly conceived a violent resentment against the person with whom I shared mine.
Soul Seeing: All he wanted to do was tell people about Jesus. That brought Fr. Joseph Girzone millions in proceeds from his Joshua novels -- money that he gave away.
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.