Category: Personal

This week, Paige and I announced to our families and friends that we’re expecting a baby next summer, right around Independence Day. For those of you keeping score, the next one should be a girl, since the pattern has been boy-girl-boy so far.
When we made the announcement last night at Thanksgiving dinner, Charlie, our older boy, thought it was great. Our daughter Anna didn’t take it very well, asking if we could give the baby back. Christopher, the toddler, asked for more pie.
Paige’s dad, ever the planner, was concerned about how tired she would be, the impossibility of paying for four college educations, etc. I would be lying if I told you that the same things didn’t cross my mind. We have a general idea of how we will manage these things, but we hardly have things planned down to the last dime.
This year, I got a new job with a significant (though not gigantic) raise, and we bought a bigger house. Career-wise, I seem to be several years ahead of my contemporaries — during meetings at the Nameless Entity, I often look around and see no one without a few gray hairs.
I’m confident that God didn’t provide these things because he wants me to ditch my crappy 14-year-old car for a Miata, or so Paige can start spending more money on clothes. I figure if we keep cooperating with him, he will continue to bless us. That’s the way it’s gone so far, and I don’t see any reason to stop now.
Anyway, if you could spare a prayer to St. Gerard on behalf of Paige and the baby, I would greatly appreciate it.

I received a picture of the rifle scope that saved Sgt. Bowers’ life in Iraq. Thought you might want to see it.

Here’s another post about one of my Marine friends. At first, I didn’t think I liked Todd Bowers because I thought he was a showoff — he was always clowning around and making jokes (though never at the expense of others) — but I came to see that I was wrong about him. He was constantly trying to improve people’s moods, in his own weird way, and he would quietly help people out if they were having problems of any kind.
Some evenings, he and I would sit and smoke on the big ramp above the well deck, where dozens of tanks, artillery, and assorted vehicles were parked. We would talk about everything, and nothing in particular; often, other Marines would join our languid conversations.
He was on a different eight-man civil-affairs team than me, so when the war came, he went out with 1st Battalion, 2nd Marines, and I went out with 2nd Battalion, 8th Marines. During the conflict, as I listened to the regimental and battalion radio networks, I paid close attention anytime 1/2 was mentioned. I couldn’t wait to see Bowers again, so we could compare notes.
After the war, when he moved to Kuwait, he began taking instruction for Catholic baptism, and asked me to be his sponsor. Unfortunately, I left the country before he did, so I couldn’t continue with him.
A friend sent me this article. I pray for my fellow Marines and soldiers every day. Maybe you should too, if you aren’t already — I like to think my prayers might have helped a little bit. Read on.

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Rifle scope stops incoming fire, saves Marine’s life
Submitted by: 1st Marine Division
Story Identification #: 200411271358
Story by Lance Cpl. Miguel A. Carrasco Jr.
CAMP BAHARIA, Iraq (Nov. 1, 2004) — A rifle-mounted scope designed to enhance enemy visibility on the battlefield saved the life of a Marine during a Sept. 17 firefight on the outskirts of Fallujah, but not the way intended.
Sgt. Todd B. Bowers, a member of the 4th Civil Affairs Group, I Marine Expeditionary Force, spotted enemy snipers during a security patrol outside the restive town of Fallujah. While returning fire, a sniper-fired round hit Bowers’ advanced combat optical gun site, mounted on his M-16A2 service rifle. Fragmentation from both the ACOG and the bullet were peppered across the left side of Bowers’ face.
“It was about a four-hour firefight. Bullets were flying everywhere, and as I returned fire, it felt like my weapon blew up,” said Bowers, 25, a native of Washington, D.C.
A Navy corpsman removed a piece of fragmentation and applied a pressure dressing to his left cheek.
As the corpsman began calling for a medical evacuation, Bowers refused and kept on fighting alongside his fellow Marines.
“After he was cleaned up, I knew he would be okay, but I was surprised that he didn’t want to leave on a medical evacuation,” said Sgt. Jung Kil Yoo, a member of 4th CAG. [He shouldn’t have been surprised. -Eric]
Small pieces of fragmentation can still be seen on the left side of his face.
“Luckily, I had my ballistic goggles on to protect my eyes, without them I probably would not be able to see out of my left eye,” said Bowers.
He can still see the bullet lodged in his scope, which was given to him by his father, John Bowers, two days before leaving to Iraq.
“The last time I saw my dad was the day he handed me the scope,” said Bowers.
His dad was a former sergeant in the Marine Corps, who didn’t want to see his son go into combat without a useful piece of gear.
“The ACOG was the best purchase I have ever made in my life,” said John to his son during a phone conversation.
Bowers’ heroism and loyalty to his unit impressed even those who knew him well.
“I knew he was a good Marine,” said Yoo, 28, a native of Neptune, N.J. “Where some would freeze up, he stood his ground and continued to press forward.”
“Sgt. Bowers was able to keep a cool head about the whole situation,” said Lance Cpl. James J. Vooris, 20, a native of Albany, N.Y., and a combat photographer with Headquarters Company, Regimental Combat Team 1.
With all that was going on around him, Bowers did not have time to stop and think about what happened.
“I didn’t realize how lucky I was till later that day when I sat down to think about it,” said Bowers.
As a constant reminder of how the scope possibly saved his life, Bowers plans to keep the scope and mount it on his mantel when he returns home.
“It’s (the bullet) there and I am glad it stayed there,” said Bowers as he pointed to his ACOG still mounted to his weapon.
Bowers, who has been in Iraq since August, is currently serving a seven-month deployment, his second tour in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom.

Charlie, my five-year-old, has become interested in the presidential election. The only thing I’ve told him about it is that President Bush wants to fight bad guys, and John Kerry wants to talk to bad guys, even if the bad guys just want to hurt people.
“Does that mean people who vote for John Kerry are bad people?” he asked.
“Not necessarily,” I replied. “It does mean they’re making a bad choice.”
My words seemed to have had more than a slight effect on him. Yesterday, when the kids were out trick-or-treating, my wife reported that Charlie saw a yard sign and sounded out the words on it. “K…eh…r…ee…Kerry. Those people are voting for John Kerry!” he exclaimed.
Meanwhile, all the kids he was walking with started walking up to the front door. “Hey, don’t go up there!” Charlie yelled. “Those people are voting for John Kerry!” My wife tried to explain that this really wasn’t the time for arguing. Besides, wouldn’t he at least like some candy from them?
“No,” Charlie said. “It might be poisoned!”

An American living abroad recently contacted me to say he has located a statue of St. Lawrence for my newly-renovated kitchen. But first I’d like to tell you about a trip to Europe I took with four friends 14 summers ago, after we all graduated from high school.
I don’t remember why we ended up in Lugano. I think Mike had been to Switzerland when his father was stationed in Europe, and remembered it was beautiful. It couldn’t have been any worse than what we had experienced thus far.
We had slept in a churchyard in Wimbledon, in a grimy industrial area, the second night we were there. Mostly, we had slept on trains and marginal hostels. In Ireland, we stayed at the Kinlay House, where we discovered that the Irish government warehoused homeless drunks in youth hostels. One of them woke up Mike at 2 a.m., asking him if he wanted to share a shot of whiskey. Mike declined.
After leaving Paris, we planned to stay in Rome, but we couldn’t find a room because the city was hosting the World Cup, and apparently soccer tournaments are quite popular with Europeans. So we had been traveling for about 24 hours straight without hardly any sleep when we dragged ourselves and our backpacks from the train station to the hostel.
Things were certainly looking better for us. It was a brilliant, sun-soaked day, with mild temperatures and a cool breeze coming from Lago di Lugano. The hostel rooms were sparse but clean, and since we were with about 10 other backpackers in bunk-beds, the place was cheap, too. That day, we all walked to the shopping district, and bought bread and cheese to eat while we strolled. For dinner, we splurged on a restaurant with outdoor seats, where we could eat our pizza, laugh and argue, and revel in being 18 years old.
I remember that a bunch of obnoxious Germans stole 80 marks ($50) from my wallet when I left our common room — or at least I assume it was them, since nobody else was there.
I remember eating in a Burger King near the lake, and being shocked that a meal cost $10. Just outside the restaurant, I called my parents collect and talked to them for about three minutes. The call cost $37.
I remember Denis and Mike thinking it would be funny to jump out of the little boat we rented, even though it was forbidden. When he saw them swimming, the guy who ran the boat rental place yelled for us to come back. On the way there, the boat’s propeller struck a rock and nicked one of the blades. The rental guy called the Swiss police, who calmed him down by having us write our U.S. addresses on a piece of paper, and promising we’d pay for the engine if it was broken. I remember the officers had Glock 9mm pistols in their holsters.
There is one last, luminous memory I have of Lugano. My friend Andy, whom I had known since the fourth grade, wanted to go to daily Mass near the hostel the next morning. I think they were having daily Mass, but I’m not sure. At the time, I was Lutheran, but I was happy to tour any church, particularly during a liturgy. That’s what the building was built for, right?
I don’t remember the Mass itself or the interior of the church, but I do remember it was one of the string of aesthetic experiences that lead me ultimately into the arms of Holy Mother Church. I have a vivid mental image of the emerald trees shuffling their leaves in the gentle wind, including the palm trees which seemed out of place, and the church’s bell tower pointing skyward with its pointed dome, a suitable compliment to the green-carpeted mountains in the distance.
When I started typing this post, I was just going to post the images below of the St. Lawrence statue, and ask everyone your opinion about it. After shipping it to the U.S., this statue will cost about $400. It looks like a high-quality piece, but I wanted to ask people if they thought that was too much to spend. After spending $9,000 modifying our kitchen to accomodate our growing family of five, what’s another few hundred dollars?
Then I was looking at the name of the place Jeff said he found the statue: Lugano. It took me a while, but I finally remembered that I had been there before. I wondered what the cathedral, named after St. Lawrence, looks like? Google showed me:

It was the same church, unless there’s an identical one in the same town of 52,000. I looked up hostels in Lugano, and found the Hotel Montarina, a few minutes from the train station. A map of Lugano showed that it was close to the cathedral. The interior pictures showed it was the same place where we stayed in 1990.
To summarize: a kind stranger thousands of miles away sees my post on an obscure blog. He checks his cathedral, and sure enough, they have a 12-inch statue of St. Lawrence, the perfect size for the wall niche I’m going to build. That cathedral was one of the beautiful things God showed me as I turned toward his Church. (Incidently, the statue has been there for 12 years, unsold.)
I don’t think I need your opinions — I pretty much have to buy this thing, don’t I? I mean, it’s not exactly miraculous, but I did pray for guidance about whether to spend the money. If this isn’t one of God’s small signs, then tell me I’m crazy. Meanwhile, check out the statue: