A few months ago, I made all kinds of plans for late November and early December. A day trip to the pine trees. Thanksgiving plans bouncing between my mother’s house and my mother-in-law’s house. Selling my novels at the Our Lady’s Guild Christmas Bazaar next Friday and Saturday.

Oops. I ended up having invasive back surgery on Nov 15.

I had to scrap the pine trees. I had to let the grandparents know that I’ll be spending Thanksgiving recovering in bed. And I had to get other people to sell my books at the Bazaar if I haven’t recovered in time. (Please pick up a copy!) In fact – I wrote quite a few of these articles in advance of the surgery, so I hope I’m still around…

Being an adoptive parent is a strange and wonderful rollercoaster.

Few people know that in the state of Arizona, the birthmother is required by law to wait three days after giving birth to sign the paperwork. Let me tell you, those three days are incredibly emotional. Every time the phone rings, you fear that it will be someone notifying you the birthmother has changed her mind and wants the child back. Meanwhile, you are trying to protect your heart, but holding your new baby makes that an impossible task.

This Tuesday, I’m expected to be going under the knife. It will be my first surgery since my tonsils were removed in childhood. This time around, a neurosurgeon will be drilling a hole into my spinal column. In preparation, I had to watch a video that described the procedure in detail along with the odds of every possible thing that could go wrong.

It ended by saying something to the effect of – “…and while incredibly rare, death has occurred in less than 1% of patients during the procedure or resulting from the procedure.”

This weekend’s first reading is both one of the most heroic and one of the most tragic passages in all of the Old Testament. It tells the tale of seven brothers who were all willing to die, rather than forsake their faith.

They weren’t killed at the same time. No. It was worse than that. It happened one by one. Each seeing the torture of those proceeding them. Still, they refused.

For what would you willingly die? For your spouse? Your children? Parents? What about your Faith?