I was born two weeks late during a hot, humid St. Louis summer. My
mother, who never complains of physical discomforts, claims that she
does not remember being particularly uncomfortable during that time of
waiting, but perhaps she just has forgotten. I was stubborn from the
beginning. My mother had hoped for a family birth, but I waited to be
born until my two older sisters were taken out of the delivery room by
my grandmother for a snack.
I took my first breath on the Nativity of St. John the Baptist, and
was given a name that my parents had prayed long and hard about. Because
of this I have long been devoted to my “birthday buddy” relating to his
call to contemplation and prophecy. When I followed my call into the
married life I realized that I while I had not chosen the “better part”
of Mary, even my life as a Martha made way for a closeness to and
constant companionship with God with a irrepressible desire to bear
witness to God.
Rest the rest at the National Catholic Register...
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