It's been almost three years since my last blog post, phew!
Lots has changed, and little as well.
I am still me. Yes, a few more gray hairs pepper my head. But I'm still writing and repairing broken things. I guess the two are very similar, since writing is basically throwing words onto paper and then repairing them until they make good sense. I am a handyman hagiographer.
I married my dear wife Maria. We have a little home in St. Louis near the woods where I grew up. It has a wonderful vaulted ceiling in the living/dining room, and the two of us have so many relics and statues you might mistake it for a chapel, happily so.
My second Saint book was published just before Christmas last year. Saint Kevin of Glendalough, Hermit, Abbot, and Miracle Worker was long in coming. Though not the most popular of saints, Saint Kevin is quite popular to me. I have longed to tell his story, and it was a delight "mining" so to speak, for the details of his life. You always seem to discover interesting connections when doing research. With Saint José, it was realizing that he was ultimately martyred for ringing the necks of three fighting roosters, roosters that belonged to the Jefe of the region. This man had had his roosters living in the sanctuary of the parish church, and to José, that was sacrilege, plain and simple. He killed them out of reverence for the house of God, and especially for the Eucharist. And this Jefe killed José for his reverence. That's why he is a martyr.
In researching about Saint Kevin, one of the most fascinating things for me was what I discovered on my journey in his footsteps from Ireland to Rome. The places with clear historical connections to him literally felt like him. Glendalough, the mountain valley where Kevin founded his monastery, is gobsmackingly beautiful. It's not just the ruins. It's the trees seemingly cascading down from the mountain tops. It's the calm deep blue lake with cliffs along its side. It's the magical mossy forest filling the valley. It's the roaring waterfall plunging down the hillside. It's the combination of these and so many other details that make Glendalough a gem of a place. Without a first-hand account of Kevin's character or mannerisms, I still feel like I know him because of the uniqueness of Glendalough.
On my hike, I discovered two places in Wales that also felt like Kevin, like the kind of places he would be drawn to. With one of them, I felt something so special I tarried for several hours, only to discover its connections to Kevin about ten miles down the trail. The other place was similarly Kevin-ish. I've written about both places in other blog posts, and I will write about them more in a new book I'm working on.
Yes, you heard me, a new book!
Every year, around July 12th, the day I started my pilgrimage, I find myself pulling out my old journal and rereading each entry as the days go by. I am glued to the pages. One night, as I was reading an entry aloud to her, my wife suggested that I write a book about my trek. I remember thinking, "well, if it's so interesting to me, it has to be interesting to somebody else!"
So that's what I'm working on right now. That, and another saint book, this one about Saint Faustina Kowalska, the messenger of Divine Mercy.
Wish me well!
