I have given my father many presents. The small bottle of fragrant bath essence I gave him last Christmas may be the most important one.
Without the rudder of memory, my father seemed adrift in a tiny boat on a wild, infinite sea, yet unconcerned with finding a way back to shore.
It’s been seven years, and I cannot access Jesus' word of peace. The tears still sting and slosh over my pail of remorse.
It's hard for me to watch as places become a blur for my elderly parents. It's as if each home they've had has merged into one great longing.
It’s an odd year for my family. My parents, 88 and 89, have lived rich and full lives, and my husband, children and I have shared holidays large and small with them. But this year they are confined to rooms in a nursing home.
My father was diagnosed with Alzheimer's at age 80. Had I read these three new books, I might have been more helpful to him in that difficult moment.
The language of vocation confirms that at no time in our lives are we exempt from responsibility for others. We never stop being called to share in the creative and redemptive activity of God through lives of discipleship.