Last fall, I wrote a chapter in the book Cloud of Witnesses about one of my Heavenly friends, St. Gerard Majella. Today is his feast day.

I met him on my infertility journey as the “mother’s saint”. I share in the book how he wove his way into my family’s story. He may be a special patron for mothers and those praying to be mothers, but he is truly a saint for us all.

Bear with me as I reboot my brain and summarize what’s been swirling around my head lately. If you have a midlife brain, you know this swirl and fog and….pause….pause….pause………………… But here goes…..I hope you find it helpful.

One day he’s grabbing my hand as we gingerly dodge the cars in the Target parking lot. I didn’t realize how quickly it would change.

The days are long and the years are short, “they” say.

#Cliche...#Truth.

I awoke today to the wind whipping and heavy rain falling outside. Were the tarps holding? We cautiously opened the door to the room that still - three months past Hurricane Helene’s visit- has a gaping hole reinforced with a patchwork of boards and tarps. Sure enough, water was dripping down the wall. The ladder came back out, and we unwrapped a new tarp. With a hammer, some roofing nails, and a little marital teamwork, the rain was rerouted back outside.

We are not alone on this morning I know. Many of our neighbors are worse off than we are. Many Augustans are still not living in their homes. I am starting to think that blue tarps and piled-up tree trunks by the curb may be around for the next year. And when I look at the naked landscape all around me I get overwhelmingly sad. But why?

I’ve done a lot of pondering over these past few months on the meaning of home, the importance of home as I try to understand why this has shaken me so deeply. For one, the restoration is not in my control, or on my own timeline. But I think it’s a lot more than that.

Cosmas and Damian are names that, if you’re Catholic, you’ve probably heard in the Canon of the Mass and the Litany of Saints. But did you know they were twin brothers? I didn’t until we read Ethel Pochocki’s Once Upon a Time Saints book when my own twin sons were 6 years old.

On a cool September morning fourteen years ago we first encountered the story of these twin saints. My energetic boys  were intrigued by their heroic deaths.  Friendship and conflict, fire and arrows and cliffs - what boy wouldn’t be intrigued?

Deep breathing

At His Eucharistic feet

An untypical labor

The silent groans

Of an aching heart

And empty arms

God fills to overflowing

Through another’s  sacrifice

Doubly blessed

Labor pains

As answered prayers

That rip open A new family