In May of 2001, my husband, myself and our three boys could not have anticipated the intensity of the trial our family was about to be confronted with.  Without  warning, our oldest of three sons(then a Sophomore in high school) was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia.  Overnight, life went from your average trials, difficulties and challenges, to being entirely turned on it’s head for each and every one of us. 

In the initial weeks, events unfolded in very rapid succession with scant time to process anything emotionally or physically. All kinds of adjustments had to be made at the speed of light.  Things got from bad to worse. What started out as a situation with a 96% positive prognosis, escalated into grave critical complications.  

Backing up to Day Two of the reality we were confronted with, my husband and I waited and prayed as the doctor and anesthesiologist readied Michael for a spinal tap that would determine the extent of the spread of the cancer.  If there was infiltratioin in the spinal column, the prognosis would be far more bleak as this would involve invasion of our son’s brain. 

We were permitted to sit and observe.  As they prepped for the procedure, I briefly exited to make a call to the President’s office at Chaminade High School to inform the school about the situation.   Michael attended an all boys Catholic high school, in Mineola, NY run by the Marianist order of Fathers and Brothers.  In this mother’s view, there can be no more exemplary and solid men on God’s earth.  At that time, I only had a limited awareness of these ordinary men who daily live out the call to extraordinary service. 

Father James Williams, the school’s president, was suddenly on the other end of the line. I began to ramble about what was taking place with the intent of simply giving him the ‘head’s up’ and attempting to set up an appt to work out the gameplan for our son’s school situation.  I can still hear Father’s confident voice cutting past all that.  “Where are you now?”  A bit caught off guard by the question, I responded “At the Winthrop Cancer Center For Kids”.  He shot back “I’ll be right there.”  As he hung up, I looked in disbelief at my cell. 

 It would have been more than enough if he had said that the Marianists would pray for our family and to keep him posted. [One only has to observe one day in either of our local Marianist high schools to realize that the Marianist Community never sleeps!  Though they make claims that they do, it's beyond me where they fit it in. The operation of their schools, the outstanding service to their students and the parents, as well as their extensive Alumni communities is unmatched. Those are only the things we know about.  To say they go 'the extra mile' is a radical understatement. Whenever you see them in action as they serve others, there is not even a hint of weariness.  Fr. James is the ultimate personification of that resilience and fortitude.] 

Back to Michael.  I returned to my son who was starting to go under the anesthesia.  I can vividly recall the pit in my stomach and the clenching of my heart.  This thread ran through every fiber of my being as I moved into deep prayer: “Oh my Lord, what are you going to be asking of us?”   I turned to Peter and relayed the exchange with Father James. “He’s coming here?”  “Yes, I think that’s what he said.”   The needle then entered Michael’s spine.  I choked up and went more deeply to my God. 

Suddenly, from a distance, we heard a chorus of female voices:  “Father James!! What are YOU doing here?  So good to see you!!”   We could hear his very distinct and bellowing laugh. (It never once seemed inappropriate. Rather, all by itself, it  ‘called us’ to the Christ. And it would do so throughout the very tough times to come.)  We looked at one another. “They know him?”  Then it fell into place.  

In Michael’s freshman year, I was at a Fall Parent Luncheon when I learned of Father’s own extraordinary story.  With the enormity of what was transpiring, I had somehow lost sight of it.  Diagnosed with Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma  on May 8th right before his entrance into Chaminade, Fr. James was most personally aware of the challenge Michael was now up against. Throughout his freshman year, Jim Williams was still receiving daily  treatment with challenging side effects and many extended difficulties. I now recalled his telling us how tough it was contending with the  situation while also attending school.  As his tall cassocked figure entered the procedure room,  Peter and I were bewildered as he and Michael’s doctor gave each other a grand hug. In seconds I realized that this, was in fact, the same oncologist that saved the life of this incredible priest!   

Father James quickly turned to us and enveloped us in an embrace. The medicinal value of that alone cannot be expressed in human language at a moment like that.  A nurse brought him a chair and he propped himself squarely in front of us entirely blocking our view of Michael and the medical staff.  Nothing could speak more to the reality that priests are “other Christs” for, all at once, what had been beyond overwhelming just minutes before and consuming every part of me had quelled.  That’s no little thing all by itself.  Truly.  Yet it was only the beginning of Christ helping us ”walk on water’ and face this trial with Father’s constant support and the support of “his army of Marianist men”. 

Eyes piercing through us, he asked us how we were holding up.  I wanted him to understand quickly what we were about.  We shared with him that our faith is extremely strong and is ‘our whole life’.  We told him that we were involved in catechizing adults in the Catholic Faith for many years and that Michael and his brothers were saturated ‘from birth’ with conversations on the meaning and value of trial, pain and suffering.  With this perspective, Father James  began the process of raising us up to endure the roller coaster ride our family was about to be challenged with. 

 More than any words Father James said, the greatest hope and calm God  gave to us in that moment was posturing this incredible priest between us and our son as we awaited Dr. Weinblatt’s verdict on the spread of the cancer.  A “larger than life” figure in every and all ways, looking back at us was a man who,  not only survived his bout with cancer back in the 80′s in his own days at Chaminade High School , but went on to become  President of this massive  operation!  God wasted no time in ushering this ‘message’ to our side because He had a lot of work to do in our souls and the souls of the many friends and relatives who would encounter Christ in the trial that was to come. Quickly He drew our attention to the fact that, as always, He was permitting this trial to do a great work in us and in His plan of salvation.  In other words “It’s not about the cancer!”  

As we continued to soak in Father’s presence,  I recalled his sharing at the Luncheon ,that right before his own trial with cancer, the biggest challenge he was ironically  experiencing was feeling ‘forced’ to attend Chaminade by his good parents. The trial with cancer and his altered encounter with all things around him, and-most especially-his own witness of the Marianist Community helping him through his own trial- transformed his entire outlook.  If I remember correctly, the last thing he thought he was going to become was a priest, let alone the president of this school he was not happy to be enrolled in!   As that memory came to my heart, I looked past him and wondered what God might be doing with Michael’s story. Father’s taking his personal time to be present to us afforded me the ability to “step back  in the moment”  and reach for God’s heart in total trust.  And so the roller coaster ride began. 

Though Michael’s cancer had not spread to his brain, one month later, over the course of the weeks to come, Michael nearly died three times due to critical complications. Though he survived, he ended up temporarily paralyzed, trached, bald and ematiated. [Lying motionless and crumpled over in an ICU bed at Columbia, it suddenly struck me that he looked like a concentration camp victim....a striking moment as my own mother lived through the devestation of Auschwitz at his very age. ]  Added to the initial diagnosis was the fact that he now had to restore all his weight and re-learn how to walk, talk and eat again.  God was moving our faith and the faith of Michael and his brothers  through a great and  radical transformation. 

He had asked the extraordinary and He sent these extraordinary ”men who never sleep” to sustain us in a million ways.  With countless acts of unexpected or unrequired service,  they helped us to remain in hope while always steadying for the worst.  To the extent that they can give in any particular crisis at any given time, they are an overwhemling presence of the Christ to all that experience or witness their love.  I have witnessed Father ‘and company’ carry many others through unspeakable suffering over the last ten years that the boys have been in the Marianist schools.  They lead. They compel. They raise up. They guide.  Their hearts are strong enough to exercise tough love. They inspire radical courage.  They teach the Truth about our God inside the classroom and out.

So now, I direct my words to Fr. Williams:

Dearest Father James,

When I was approached about the writing of this book there was no question that I would make a contribution.  My love of the priesthood is all encompassing and there is nothing I will not do to contribute to restoring focus on the incredible acts of sacrifice, service and love that I have experienced and witnessed throughout the course of my Catholic life on the part  of countless priests.  That is the experience of a vast amount of the Laity throughout the world and throughout time. So many of us feel called to “shout it from the roof tops” and it’s time that we raise our voices most especially in the Year For Priests.    So extraordinary have these good men been throughout the many trials of my life’s story, that it was not an easy task to select one man.. 

So understand, when I single you out, that you and the Marianists will forever hold a profoundly special and deep place in my heart.  As long as this piece was, it doesn’t begin to capture the memories of those days in witness of your countless acts of kindness and concern. And none of it was for the asking.

I would like to single out two moments that will remain impaled in my heart to the end of days.

It was the second roller coaster plummet and possibly the worst. Even the brilliant, prayerful, and ever positive Dr. Weinblatt had a tear in his eye earlier that morning as he indicated ‘between the lines’ that we were losing the battle. It truly looked like in just six short weeks from diagnosis, Michael was probably going to slip out of our grasp and home to God. I can still see Michael lying there in the induced coma. Lifeless.  With full heart, I believed the hour had come to gather all of my strength to trust and to say good-bye to my  child. I don’t know that I could have moved so rapidly towards trust had you and the Marianists not been so overwhelmingly present in that moment.

 What were our last spoken words to one another, my son and myself ? I struggled so hard to remember.   As you lead us into the Anointing of the Sick, I was in a state of disbelief and almost numb.  I can still hear you saying the “Our Father” with us.   When we got to the words “Thy will be done”,  I was entirely unable to get them out.  You and the Brothers said the words for us and I clung to Peter and we wept.  On this day, your bellowing laugh had come to a hault. In it’s place, I looked up and caught one single tear that dropped down your face as you placed a fraction of a Host in Michael’s lifeless mouth.

The contrast of that tear to all of the laughing and the strong and compelling words of encouragement landed right in the center of my heart and has remained there since that hour.. You climbed on the Cross with us and though miraculously our God ultimately spared us the crucifixion, it would have been that tear that my heart would have clung to if I had to offer a radical “yes” to my God.  God used your Priesthood to make Christ, HImself, manifest to us in that grave hour and ,through you, I felt His immense love for each and every one of us in our sorrow.

The other most pronounced moment was roller coaster plummet #3.  One week after that Our Father, Michael was still somehow with us.  The doctor’s were stunned and Michael was still hanging in there but  you might remember that he had been transferred to Columbia because fluid had collected around his heart and (for both the procedure to extract it and the continued battle to get to the root cause of his sepsis) our barely living unconscious boy had made the rough ambulance ride from Long Island to Manhatten in rush hour traffic as we followed wearily behind.

 One of the greatest difficulties of the transfer was that we thought we were leaving you and  our Marianist army behind.

 Not so.

A day and a half later, on the afternoon of my 45th birthday, I had an extraordinary surprise. We were sitting in the 9th floor lounge because the nurses needed to do something with Michael.  We were in a holding pattern and somewhat numbed and “peaceful” despite the continued gravity of our situation.  (ll is relative when you’ve managed to cling to a lifeboat on the Titanic.) My only somber thoughts were that this might be the last birthday on earth with my son.

Suddenly, the elevator doors sprung open and, much to our surprise, our two younger boys burst into the lounge with big grins and carrying balloons and cards!!  You were pulling up the rear with three of the Brothers who were carrying a huge birthday cake that the boys had helped make in the Chaminade kitchen earlier that day. Never ever was their a happier birthday even though I was still on the Cross!   After a rousing chorus of “Happy Birthday”, you guys whipped out the plates, the forks the napkins…..It was too much. I was handed the cards. One from each of our boys. One from the Marianists. Then you handed me the last one.  On the envelope, it didn’t say who it was from. Just “Mom”.

Unsure, I struggled to open the card.  It was ‘from Michael”.  In your handwriting. Telling me that I was the best mother in the world and thanking me for everything I had given and done for him in his life.  Telling me that I had done a great job.  It was the very best thing you could have done. How did you think to do that.   It will forever remain one of my most treasured possessions and beautiful memories. 

Father James, I could have never known, as you sat ‘between us and that spinal tap’ that May morning in 2001 and in the very rough years that followed, that our Michael would be in Medical school nine years later, readying to serve the world hopefully a fraction as well as you have done. Then and now, when people learn of our family’s trial, they will often say “Those must have been the worst days of your life.”  Peter and I concur that in a paradoxical way, the Marianist Community made it one of the best years of our lives.   It is the memory and witness of your extraordinary acts of service that has inspired each and every one of us to more boldly serve a world in need with all of our strength.  There is no question that we are better people for having had all of you by our side. 

God Bless you dear Priest.

All of our love forever-

Peggy Clores

Huntington NY 

By Anne Hughes, Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Letters to Priests, Thanking The Men of the Catholic Church is an interactive book designed to provide support for Catholics. The book is a collection of inspiring stories from around the world. The stories highlight the significant role a Catholic Priest played in the lives of Catholics who felt honored and compelled to share their stories with others in hopes of encouraging and promoting Vocations. Contributions of letters are still being accepted.

You may submit a letter to www.letterstopriests.com and will receive an email back from Anne Hughes. Anne and her sister Teena will help you edit your story and encourage you to share details of your struggles so that Catholics and non-Catholics may share in your recovery from grief to joy.

You may read several stories on the website. The letters are testimonials of the often overlooked benefit of providing your children with an opportunity to turn to their faith in every corner of the world. Stories of college students facing surgery alone and scared pick up a phone and call a priest who stays at their bedside, half a world away from their family.

Stories of priests who listen to our pain, and reach into their soul for words to relieve us of guilt, shame, anger, and disappointment in ourselves. These healing words are being shared, often years later, in a testimonial of their strength and healing kindness.

Please share your story and thank the priest who reached into his soul in an effort to heal you. Your healing journey during a divorce or grief from the loss of a loved one my provide inspiration to those not ready to talk with a priest about their own pain. Your story may encourage someone considering the priesthood. Your story may save the life of someone who has traveled in your shoes, but does not currently have the strength of the Catholic Church behind them.

Join us, write your story, and share the strength of our faith during such dire economic times. Our friends and neighbors need encouraging words. Priests need to be reminded their efforts have impacted our lives. This is a gift from the laity. We are the strength of the Catholic Church.  Live up to it.

Barely 29 weeks pregnant with my second child, my membranes had ruptured and I was soon on my way to the hospital. For days I laid in a bed at St. Mary’s Hospital, hoping to delay my baby’s birth as long as possible. The doctors told me that every day I could put off delivering was crucial to my baby’s development.

Cole James was born 10 days later, 3lbs 9 oz and 30 weeks old. We were allowed to hold Cole for 30 brief seconds before he was taken from our arms and whisked away to the NICU for evaluation. Two hours later when we saw him he was on a ventilator and we were unable to hold him, being told that even touching him could cause him distress and make his breathing more difficult. It was hard to believe he was the baby I had carried for so many months. He seemed so distant on the Plexiglas “bed” hooked up to so many monitors and IVs they were difficult to count. My husband and I decided to have Cole baptized as soon as possible, a way to bring some hope and faith to this little being who was out of necessity being denied so many things that could comfort him and make him more a part of our world. 

The NICU can be a very lonely place, even though you are surrounded by doctors and nurses offering their help and care. I was often seated a few feet away from another mother, also grieving over the difficult way her child had come into the world. No words would pass between us, they would be too painful to speak. I noticed that parents of the other babies would avoid eye contact, the idea of social niceties seeming frivolous under such dire circumstances. Often, parents were wondering whether their babies were going to make it, whether they would ever be able to hold them. My husband and I were blessed to know within a few hours of Cole’s birth that he would survive and probably thrive, eventually. Many parents in the NICU were not as lucky as we were. 

My son’s baptism was one of the few pleasant memories that I have of the first six weeks of  his life. The priest who performed the baptism, Father Ayub, was a kind and gentle man who stood with us at Cole’s bedside and baptized him that day, when he was 36 hours old.

Father Ayub was a Catholic priest from Pakistan. That day he said to us, “Someday, you will have to tell your son he was baptized by a priest all the way from Pakistan”. At the time I thought, what a neat thing to tell my son when he is older. It is true that the majority of the priests we knew were of the German or Irish variety. Who would’ve thought that in a few months the country of Pakistan and the entire Middle East would take on such a new significance to the world. As we walked out if the NICU that day many mothers and fathers were smiling at us, having overheard the ceremony we had just held at Cole’s bedside. I am still struck by the difference our demonstration of our faith made in the atmosphere in the NICU, a warmth in that room that I felt for the only time during our experience there. 

We finally were able to hold Cole when he was five days old. It was a moment I will never forget, although I was only able to hold him for a few minutes. With my first child I took that privilege for granted, holding her was just something I did as a mother, among the other tasks of mothering. I will never again take being able to hold one of my children, or any of my loved ones, for granted. 

On September 11th as I watched to events in New York, and Washington D.C. unfold, I sat on the living room floor holding my children. I gradually became aware that there were many people who were never going to have the chance to hold their children again. Since that terrible day I have read the stories of newborn babies and other children that would never be held by their fathers and mothers, brave people who lost their lives trying to save the lives of others. I constantly realize how lucky we are to be able to hold Cole, now nearly 15 pounds and smiling and laughing all the time. The public demonstrations of faith and patriotism have been so powerful to watch and so uplifting at during a time when there is so much to feel sad or frightened about. 

I look forward to telling Cole the story of Father Ayub, this man of faith who is one of many people from a part of the world whom we need to pray for. I am sure these are also very difficult times for people of Pakistan and other places in the Middle East, where many innocent people are suffering from the wrath of a few fanatics who have gained too much power through their terrorism. We need to encourage and reach out to Middle Eastern people in our communities, regardless of specific denomination, and let them know that we are praying for them too. And we need to remember that there are mothers in the Middle East that are holding their children and loved ones a little closer, just as we are doing here.

by Laurel Grimes Horman

Father Roderick Vonhogen, is the founder of EQPN broadcasting. He blesses Anne Melissa Hughes, Letters To Priests, Thanking The Men of The Catholic Church, project. Father Roderick had interviewed Anne earlier in the day at the Catholic Writers Guild.

Join us by sharing your story of how a priest guided you to joy. How has a Catholic Priest supported your family in a time of need?

Submit your letter, we want everyday stories to share in hopes of healing others.

Artist Paul Collins from Grand Rapids, MI

Finding out we were expecting twins was the greatest joy imaginable, going into labor at just 23 weeks gestation was beyond devastating.  Without warning and any expectation, I felt something wrong.  My doctor thought I was reading too much into things and told me to relax.  His nurse suggested just going in to the hospital to be sure.  I did.  When I arrived at the hospital, it was a whirlwind for the next few hours.  I was immediately given drugs to stop the contractions and slow the labor.  This was only able to hold me over for 15 hours.  I called my church first thing in the morning.  

Our Lady of Grace in Edina, Minnesota was proactive and sent their Priest right over.  His name is Father Beaudet.  He showed up and looked at me with peace and a kind heart.  He didn’t know the panic I felt inside of me.  I was fearful that I couldn’t hold the babies in.  I was sick to my stomach and my vision was completely blurred from the drugs.  I was loopy and groggy and honestly felt that something bad was looming.  Father Beaudet calmly came into the room, looked at me and smiled.  I held in the tears of relief to see him for only a short time.  It was odd to see him out of context.  I had only seen him behind the pulpit, or in the vestibule or occasionally in the lounge during coffee and doughnut day.  He was there that day just for me.  He wasn’t looking at the rest of the church.  He was looking at me; in that sickened condition.  He wasn’t wary or disturbed by what he saw.  He was loving and serene.  I can’t, to this day, tell you exactly what all was said during that short time.  I was incoherent most of the time.  Words poured out of me.  I know I expressed my fear for the babies, I told him I thought I needed my last rights, or at least the babies did.  I was confused and disoriented.  His words were quiet and reassuring.  He smiled when I asked for my last rights.  He said he knew I would be fine and he would administer a prayer for the sick.  He explained that when the babies came, and however the babies came, they would be baptized immediately.  I just didn’t understand what I was supposed to do. 

While Father was there I felt my heart rate slow, I felt more relaxed and at ease with the scary, intense situation.  I knew I was in God’s hands.  The fear slowly turned to peace; I accepted the situation and started to think positively (the best I could in my delirium).  After Father Beaudet left, my husband walked in.  He knew I was in bad shape and distracted me by asking how my visit was.  After a short while, my water broke and within 7 minutes I was wheeled into the operating room and the first incision was made.  

Our two baby boys weighed exactly the same 1 pound 6 ounces.  That was big for twins born before 6 months. Father was right.  The hospital priest was there and baptized the boys immediately while the NICU doctors worked feverishly on each baby.  The doctors wheeled the incubators by my bedside so I could see the babies, but I was still too out of it to recognize what I was looking at. 

When I was able to see them for the first time, I cried uncontrollably.  They were so tiny.  They didn’t have skin yet so they looked translucent.  You could see their organs through their bodies.  Their eyes were still fused shut.  They had tubes down their throats, wires and needles in their arms, on their legs and machines hooked up everywhere.  They were curled up in the fetal position and still looked like they should be in utero.  Monitors and IV’s were everywhere.  Nurses were attending to every detail.  

On their 6^th day of life, the boys both had complete stomach surgery while weighing only 15 ½ ounces. This left them with an illeostomy bag for 10 full months.  They also had heart surgery on day 12 when they still weighed only 15 ½ ounces.  

For the next four months our lives revolved around the NICU and our 18 month old daughter at home.  My husband and I were exhausted.  We went to church and heard the boys’ names announced when praying for the sick.  Our church prayed every week for these two real life miracles.  We were told by the NICU staff that Father Beaudet stopped in from time to time to see them.  We missed him every time.  He would stop by to see the boys after he visited other sick parishioners. 

We made it through the 4 long months in the NICU and finally brought the boys home.  It was October in Minnesota; the heart of cold and flu season.  We called it “lockdown” in our home.  We didn’t have people in, and we didn’t go out unless it was necessary.   We didn’t sleep.  The boys needed to be fed every 3 hours because of their illeostomy’s.  We had to wake them up through the night.  We administered their medications, tended to their cares while keeping a constant eye on their monitors at home.  We were also tending to our daughter.  We tried to make her life as normal as possible.  This left little time for prayer.  We couldn’t go to church because of the germs.  When summer came we would only go to Saturday evening mass when it was less crowded. 

Slowly, the boys grew.  Slowly, our lives steadied.  That first year was the hardest on our marriage, and our family.  The church truly got us through.  Without their prayers and thoughts, we would have been lost.  We were so preoccupied with day to day survival and chaos we didn’t take time to say anything but quick prayers.  We believe that while we were too busy keeping our boys healthy and our family together, our parishioners and priests and church were doing our praying for us.    

Here we are 7 years later.  Our daughter is in 3^rd grade and the twins are healthy, strong, happy, 1^st graders.  They are rambunctious, creative, curious and athletic.  They are in studies to help other 23 week babies.  The odds were against them from the start and they blew them away! 

Father Beaudet your strength and kindness has not been forgotten.  You may not remember our conversation or the fear in my eyes the day you visited me in the hospital, however, I remember your kindness, love and positive mental attitude.  These are all special gifts that you have been given.  They gave me hope that we would all three survive that day.  My boys were baptized like you promised and next year will make their First Holy Communion.  Thank you, Father, for being the man that you are.  Nothing is more important than having someone you respect on your side.  Thank you for praying for me, my boys and my family.  You have helped us all heal as a family.

Elizabeth Burnham Tsironis

One day I stayed after Mass and was praying for Rita.  I didn’t know Fr. David that well yet and he noticed my “sad” look, I guess.  He approached me and asked if everything was ok.  I told him about Rita.  She hadn’t been to Mass for many reasons and it worried me, she was such a really good person, had been through two unsuccessful marraiges and here she was so very sick.  Without hesitation, he offered to go see her that very afternoon.  I had mentioned to Rita about our sweet new priest on one of my previous visits.  I picked Fr. up and I will never forget the look on Rita’s face when we walked into her room.  She raised both arms to give him a hug. He annointed her and she could barely speak in her responses.  When she went to make the sign of the cross after touching her forehead her hand fell and Fr. David so gently lifted it and helped her finish.  As she was saying the Our Father in barely a whisper tears were flowing down her cheeks and by now mine as well.  What a priviledge for me to witness this miracle.  Little did I know how close Rita was to death.  She died on Christmas day one week after Father was with her.  I will always be eternally grateful to Father Sizemore.  Our Lord gave us such a gift that day through him, His beloved priest. 

Debbie Westbrock

There are many times I feel  as though I fall short of who God is calling me to be. I constantly question whether or not I can handle all that has been put before me. I struggle with how I was raised and with how quickly I had to grow up because my parents never could. I have 4 younger siblings, but they are more like my kids. 

Jeanette Brinkmann
(Oxnard, CA)

Note from Anne, I am so proud of Jeanette, it sounds like the greatest gift her parents gave her, was Catholicism.

When I began my Catholic publishing company a few years ago one of the first books I published was Joseph’s Hands. It is the beautifully written and illustrated story about a young boy who looks at all the gifts that his older brothers have and wonders about his own talents—not apparent to him in his day-to-day living when compared to the skills his siblings. But as Joseph grows up he sees that God has called him to the priesthood and so responds to his vocation. Recently, Joseph’s Hands received Apostolic Blessings from Pope Benedict XVI. 

Since then, I’ve published a second vocation-awareness book called Where Do Priests Come From? It is a wonderful book, also beautifully illustrated, and answers the title question in a truly blessed way. 

People think I’m crazy in this day and age to publish books for children about the priesthood; other publishers have turned these books down.  But I feel called to do this because of my experiences with you. You have shown me the real dignity of the holy priesthood. 

Truly, I have been blessed by your work, your words and your kindness and if even one boy is able to answer God’s call because of a book I’ve published, I want you to know how you impacted my decisions about these books. And if, by reading these books, many people begin to see the priesthood in a new and honorable way, then I have served God well with my resources. 

It is quite simple, really. These books have been important for me to publish for one reason: you. You bring honor and dignity to the priestly vocation through your passion to know, love and serve Jesus. 

You have inspired me to do my part in helping young children (and the adults who read to them) look at a priestly vocation in a new and fun way—maybe even looking at the vocation for the very first time. And just as important, you inspire me to uplift the dignity of the priesthood so that everyone will see it with a new set of eyes—filled with respect and understanding. 

I admit that I don’t really know what a person should expect from a priest. Should it be an amazing, even entertaining, sermon that speaks to the heart and soul of the listener? Maybe it should be someone who is passionate about Christ and whose passions ignite the same in others. Or is it important that a priest is politically aware of the world in which we live and is able to help us maneuver through it? Should a priest care about each individual person or only be concerned with the whole flock? 

You are all these things, and more. 

If I had to list or identify traits that a priest should have, they would be modeled after you. Even saying that, I know that you are probably feeling uncomfortable because at the heart of who you are, I know, is a humble man who is simply doing what God has called him to do. But when I think of the times you’ve allowed me to make requests of you—demand even more of your time than you already give, you have responded with a wholehearted “How can I help?” I’ve interviewed you for an article, I’ve asked you questions to help me conduct Bible study and I’ve asked you to write a letter to my son for his college graduation. It is always clear to me that you do not want to miss one opportunity to serve Christ by serving others. 

And so it needs to be said: your passion for Jesus inspires me to know Him and love Him and serve Him every single day in every way possible. Your words make me think, every waking moment and even in the still of the night, about Christ. Because of your words, your kindness to myself and others, your understanding of life, I am able to understand that the only way I can be what God has called me to be is to live as a daughter of the King. 

You have taught me, in no small way, that Christ is the answer. He is always the answer, regardless of the question—which you like to always say! 

And because of you, I want to make sure that every young person understands the dignity of the priesthood and that the men who answer God’s call are men truly set aside in a special way. 

Forgive me if this sounds selfish but every day, Father, I pray that you are blessed with God’s grace and strength and mercy to live out your vocation so that people like me can continue to be fed by your knowledge, your passion and your words. 

You have brought Christ to me in such a profound and personal way and I am forever grateful. In turn, I will do all that I can to bring the holy priesthood to others. 

Cheryl Dickow is a Catholic author, speaker and publisher. Her company, Bezalel Books, where her focus is to publish great Catholic books for the home, school and parish. The website is www.BezalelBooks.com.

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