Joe and Jem have a new addiction: my 4:00 a.m. holy hour on Sunday mornings. First it was Joe who asked to tag along; Jem joined in the following week.
Apart from the weekend when we were up north, they have accompanied me every Sunday since.
Well, I’ll tell you. I cannot for the life of me discourage this new hobby. My boys are hooked! They beg to come! All I need do is poke my head in their door at 3:15 and quick-as-a-wink they are up and ready. (Truth be told, they go to bed already dressed.)
And with an insulated mug of hot coffee in hand, they are out the door and in the car.
This morning we were talking about today’s feast day and about it being the Year of St. Paul. We spoke for a bit about the martyrdom of these great men and how it’s a spiritual battle that we’re fighting.
“You know,” I remarked, “These holy hours are awesome weapons in your arsenal. Satan would just as soon drag us all to hell.”
“What’s an arsenal?” Jem wanted to know.
“It’s just another word for your store of weapons,” I responded.
We drove along in silence for a mile or so and then Jem piped up again. “My first holy hour was a pistol. My second was a rifle. This third one’s a machine gun!”
Got boys? Why yes, I do.
Ad Jesum per Mariam,
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