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By: Padre Pablo Migone
Originally Appeared in : 9817-8/16/18

Unas semanas antes de completar mi asignación en la Parroquia San José en Augusta organicé un taller de preparación matrimonial en español para varias parejas. A las 6:30pm abrí el salón, encendí el aire acondicionado y confirmé que todo esté listo. Las mesas y sillas estaban en su lugar, la comida preparada, mis charlas listas, y la pareja que conduciría el taller ya había llegado. De repente era ya las 7:00, la hora de iniciar, pero ninguna de las ocho parejas había llegado.

By: Father Pablo Migone
Originally Appeared in : 9817-8/16/18

A few weeks before leaving my assignment at St. Joseph Parish in Augusta, I organized a marriage preparation workshop in Spanish for several couples. I opened the hall at 6:30 p.m., turned on the air conditioning, and made sure everything was ready. The tables and chairs were set, the food was ready, my talks were finished, and the couple I invited to lead the workshop had arrived. Suddenly it was 7 p.m., the time to start, but none of the eight couples had arrived. A few minutes past 7:30, as I was about to close the building, a young couple I did not recognize entered the room.

By: Jason Halcombe
Originally Appeared in : 9817-8/16/18

Magan and I have celebrated our wedding anniversaries at a variety of locations.

 

Our first anniversary was spent in Atlanta. Our second, in Savannah.

 

We’ve enjoyed fancy dinners at a variety of locales, taken carriage rides down Bay Street and shopped in boutique stores.

 

By: Rachel Swenson Balducci
Originally Appeared in : 9817-8/16/18

When our oldest son Ethan left for college (three weeks after high school graduation), it was almost more than I could bear. It wasn’t enough that my boy was no longer with all his brothers at the same K-12 school they’d all been at together. He was now leaving our nest, our neighborhood, our little part of the world.

 

By: Father Pablo Migone
Originally Appeared in : Father Pablo Migone

I recently visited a family devastated by the loss of their newborn child. As I entered the hospital room the mother lay in bed with the small child wrapped in a homemade, white blanket. She looked at him tenderly, and arranged his tiny red arms with the care only a mother can show. The small child had a little cute, white triangular hat covering his head. His eyes were shut. No word could fully console nor could any expression fully heal such a significant loss for the young couple.

 

By: Rachel Swenson Balducci
Originally Appeared in : 9816-8/2/18

For the sixth or seventh year in a row, my husband Paul was a “shepherd” for a summer league swim team. For those of you who have not enjoyed the complicated love affair that summer league brings, let me explain.

 

By: Jason Halcombe
Originally Appeared in : 9816-8/2/18

Common words that could be used to describe mornings at our house: Cacophony. Din. Racket. Bluster. Noise Commotion.

 

At any one moment, it’s not unlikely to have any of the following taking place simultaneously:

By: Padre Pablo Migone
Originally Appeared in :  9816-8/2/18

Hace poco visité una familia devastada por la pérdida de su hijo recién nacido. Al entrar al cuarto de hospital encontré a la madre en cama con el pequeño niño envuelto en una cobija blanca hecha en casa. Lo miraba con una ternura de madre mientras acomodaba sus bracitos colorados. El bebe tenía un sombrerito triangular blanco que cubría su cabeza y sus ojos estaban cerrados. Ninguna palabra podía consolar plenamente ni cualquier expresión podía sanar plenamente tal pérdida significativa para la pareja joven.

 

By: Rachel Swenson Balducci
Originally Appeared in : 9815-7/19/18

Last week I traveled to Atlanta and spent the week serving at a camp run by the Missionaries of Charity. A few weeks earlier, my friend Kim (who helps the sisters find volunteers) mentioned they needed helpers and when I found out I could bring a few of my children with me I decided to go.

 

By: Jason Halcombe
Originally Appeared in : 9815-7/19/18

“Look, I can pack all my clothes by rolling them up in rubber bands,” Noah exclaimed, with a week’s worth of “faster” shorts (a moniker coined by 4-year-old Noah a dozen years earlier, since he claimed they made him “faster”), T-shirts, socks and drawers rolled up on our kitchen table.

 

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