When we started packing to move, we often stopped to remember all the good times in our thirty-plus years there. At the bedroom with a bookshelf anchored to the wall, we smiled as we thought of Mike reading to all four boys. Our daughter Laura reminisced about the joy of finally having her own room, complete with pink carpet and wallpaper with colorful hearts. We groaned as we discovered Erik’s rock collection. We recalled Christmas mornings and favorite dinners. We talked, laughed, and were often teary-eyed. However, now that it’s been well over two months of cleaning, packing, and moving, I’m over it. This old house is no longer our home, and I’m ready to sell it. Four walls and a roof functions as a house, but a home is where love dwells.
My daughter greeted me at the door with great anxiety: “Mom, the worst thing was on the news. I mean, the worst thing happened. I can’t even imagine. I don’t even want to speak of it because it’s so horrible. Mom, a man snatched a five-year-old boy from his mother and threw him off a third-floor balcony in the Mall of America. The report said that everyone was frantic. There was blood everywhere. People who witnessed are in shock. It’s the worst.” It is the worst nightmare a mother or father could imagine. A person taking your child from you—from your hand—is almost unspeakable.
The blog on this page presents reflections on the Sunday readings through the lens of a parent/grandparent, aiding leaders of the domestic church in their vital task as “first heralds” or “first preachers” of the Good News in the home.