Sunday Morning at St. Patrick's

Last weekend, Jude's mother, Jane White, was in town for a visit and to spend some time with John Patrick. She stayed with us and we had a nice, family weekend together. Jude and I love to watch her with John Patrick, in part because it's readily apparent how much she loves him.

Sunday morning, the four of us went to church at St. Patrick's. Jude and I are still adjusting to life without our priest, Father Eric Fowlkes, who was moved to a church in Hendersonville by Bishop Choby a little more than a month ago. Anyway, after Father Perkin finished his homily, John Patrick began to get antsy. Jude was holding him when he started wriggling in her arms, then began to fuss. She handed him to me and I walked him to the back of the church. When he continued to fuss, I walked outside into the Sunday morning sunshine.

Carrying him in my arms, I walked to the left toward the Rectory, which is an old house next door to the church. I noticed a walkway that lead between the two buildings, which was shaded by a couple of small trees. We walked down the walkway and I noticed an old, cement statue of the Virgin Mary, in the shade, her back to the church. I stood there, gazing at the statue and listening to the congregation singing inside the walls of our venerable old church. Within a minute or two, John Patrick was asleep in my arms. I rocked him gently, back and forth, and just watched him sleep. It was one of those moments I don't want to forget, because he looked so peaceful and secure as I held him.

I walked back inside the church just in time to get in line to take communion, as John Patrick slept in my arms.