On the day when the weight deadens on your shoulders and you stumble, may the clay dance to balance you.

John O’Donohue, in Anam Cara

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One of the reasons that I love being a Celt is that we do not fear death.  We scoff at it.  We think – So what’s new?  Is that all you got for me?  Is that your best card?

We are not for sale.  We understand a crucifixion.  We warm to the thought of living so we might warrant it one day.  Liberty is identity to us.  It leaves us a walk closer to God.  It means – we live no matter the obstacle.

If I gave my son Jared anything, it is this: fear not.  This is not the only game in town.  We play with “house money.”  Dinner on me.  Sing ’til the rafters roar.

This is Christ and we are His.

Our legacy – the love and laughter of our children … set in belief.

Yes, live right and the clay will dance under your feet.  Yes, in this you are a dread to those who dispense fear to the doubtful.  But you know – you trust … God prevails.  The clay moves.

That is how Believers live.  How Believers love.  Others do not understand.  In meeting and in memory they might learn – we lived as we believed.

Jolita’s Mom Emma died on April 17th.

Mid-April in Boston is a special time – when the Colonialists drove the British navy from Boston Harbor before the Revolution, and without firing a shot.  This: the convergence of faith, cunning and courage.  When the clay moved under foot.

My mother and my Uncle died then, too – and people sang in victory from voices of their loss.  I can, too.  That’s what we do.

Emma was, like Jo, a gentle soul.  Steady.  A lover.  Kindness flowed through her while we frolicked – one step short of conflict here or there.  She of the watchful eye, and loving heart.

Emma, like all the good ladies, loved us for who we were.  This holy disposition crosses ages. The “Emmas” teach of God’s love … as we face the wind blowing West off the ocean.

Yes, the clay does dance.  Rest in peace, Fair Lady.


Contrition is the salt of the Spirit.  Without it, there is no taste of goodness everlasting.

Bobby Sylvester