A Formation House for the Domestic Church
Last night I sat down with Suzanne, Joseph, and Andrew to walk them through what I've been working on - family meeting style. Thomas and Matthew are next.
Faith, family, work, and life — all intertwined
I'm a husband, father of four boys, Catholic deacon, and 30-year veteran of media, marketing, and tech consulting and leadership roles, including 18 years at Adobe. I write about the intersection of faith and every day life — because they were never meant to be separate.
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Last night I sat down with Suzanne, Joseph, and Andrew to walk them through what I've been working on - family meeting style. Thomas and Matthew are next.
On clarity, flywheels, and the formation house I didn't know I was building For months, I've been praying for clarity and courage.
Somewhere around mile eight, I hit the Presentation again. I run with a finger rosary. It's the only way I've found to pray consistently through a half marathon - my mind wanders, my legs burn, but my thumb keeps moving bead to bead.
It was the summer of 1994 when I kept my vigil in the Order of the Arrow. The OA is Scouting's honor society - you don't apply; your peers select you.
There's a moment at Disneyland that gets me every time. You walk through the tunnel beneath the train station, the sounds of the outside world fading behind you. And then you emerge onto Main Street, U.S.A., and the world opens. The castle rises in the distance.
I send at least one handwritten note every week. It's slow. It's inefficient. It can't be scaled. And it lands differently than anything digital ever will
I've been thinking a lot lately about the little moments that shape who we become. It started with a conversation in the car. My son asked me something from his Civics class about speeding tickets
In this Sunday's Gospel, Jesus walks along the Sea of Galilee and calls out to Simon and Andrew: "Come after me, and I will make you fishers of men." And then this line that stops me every time: At once they left their nets and followed him.
Eighteen months ago, I couldn't run a mile. Not “couldn’t” in the sense of some physical limitation - I just couldn't in the truest sense of the word. I was 46, mildly sedentary, and had never been a runner. When my son Andrew looked at me one day and asked if I'd start running with him to improve both of our health, I had a choice to make.
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