Hey out there. Sorry it's been so long since my last post, which was about 4,000 hits ago. (I hope it wasn't one person coming back 4,000 times, looking in vain for a new post!)
Lots has happened in the past month.
First the good: Actually great, the Lebanon Daily News posted a very positive review and profile on me that prompted a jump in sales. More important, I have heard from so many people I had lost contact with, all wanting to read Condemned to Freedom. So that's kind of a double plus, you know? Also, educators who have read the book are giving it high marks for authenticity.
Now the bad news, well, something that started as bad news, but turned out to be a lesson to me (how often that happens) and ended kind of amazingly:
Two weeks ago, a friend named Carolyn passed away unexpectedly. She was the sister of my sister-in-law, Theresa, and I had just had the pleasure of her company for an entire Sunday about one month prior to her death. Now, many of you don't know my background, but back when I was in high school, Carolyn's and Theresa's parents, Ralph and Eleanor, took me into their home twice, for long periods, when I had nowhere else to go. They had already raised six kids, so you'd think they would've had their fill by then, but this wonderful family treated me like a son, and their own son, Pat, has always been like a brother to me.
You might ask, why do I bring this up, and what lesson is there is in this? Well, the Ralph's and Eleanor's descendants comprise a very large and close-knit family that is spread across the country. Every summer, they have a reunion that draws over 100 relatives, no matter what part of the country it is held. They have a bond unlike any I have known--certainly the opposite of my own fractured and dysfunctional family.
When Carolyn died, shock ran through the family; the grief was palpable. John, Carolyn's husband, was devastated. That Saturday, St. Benedict's, a large Catholic church, was full; the first six rows alone were taken up by family who had traveled from the far reaches of North America to attend. And afterward, police had to help manage the traffic as the funeral procession traversed the two-mile route to the cemetery. All for Carolyn: wife, mother of four (Greg, Cathy, Barbara, and Marilyn), Eucharistic minister and church volunteer extraordinaire, and volunteer who had made the Girl Scouts a cause for forty years.
I was honored to spend that day with the family, whose members gathered afterward at Carolyn's house for refreshments and fond remembrance. Soon, the atmosphere changed from acknowledgement of the grim reality of death to the celebration of Carolyn's life, as the family pulled together and pulled each other up. The sheer synergy of a hundred loving souls drawn together brought a strength and spirit that was awesome to behold.
Around 6:30 in the evening, with the sunlight slanting out of the west, someone glanced up and said, "Would you look at that?" Soon, all eyes turned to the sky directly above us. There, among the wispy stratus clouds, was a rainbow. You have to understand, there had been no rain within a hundred miles. And this rainbow did not arc to a horizon; it just sat there like a smiley face, beaming down on us. Cathy broke into tears and said she had been hoping for a sign that her Mom was all right, and she just got it. The whole family got it. And I got it.
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