I was most definitely a daddy’s girl growing up.
I recall many moments of grace with him. My most immediate memory was at the end of the day when he would return home from work and I would greet him at the door by throwing my small arms around his wonderful legs.
Both my parents were ballroom dancers.
They danced simply for pleasure. Both were truly a graceful site to behold as joy and light filled their union of elegant movement.
Needless to say, both had beautiful bodies. But it was Dad’s legs which evoked a feeling in me, which still remains.
I can’t put in to words what that feeling is, other than to call it grace. Continue reading
One of my earliest recollections of the gift of grace in my life was an interaction I shared with Sister Catherine, my 1st grade teacher. I loved Sister Catherine in an all-encompassing way.