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

My sister and I spent some of our downtime during college watching the emotionally charged LifeTime movies. Back in the 90s, there seemed to be numerous movies about surrogacy and IVF. We agreed, sitting on our coral-carpeted bedroom floor, that we would be surrogates for each other if we ever found ourselves not being able to conceive.

But we couldn’t really even imagine that. We had 9 children in our family and we were convinced that our challenge would be limiting the size of our families one day. My mom walked in as we were watching one of these movies and casually told us, “You know, that is against Church teaching.”

Our young adult selves were appalled. How could something good, like creating a family, be against Church teaching? How could the Church be so cruel that it wouldn’t allow something like IVF or surrogacy when there was no other way a woman could have a baby?

That just didn’t make any sense.

My eyes scan the familiar open interstate and then turn to the young man driving me. I quickly turn back to the road so he doesn’t see my glistening eyes.

Ebenezer stone I think as my heart skips.