By Elissa Bjeletich, Raising Saints
Within a week of the day my son died, my priest’s next door neighbor, an old Baptist preacher, also died. His widow was a good Texas Baptist lady, and she was never seen without her makeup and her hair perfectly in place — she was always pulled together. Father would see her in the yard and ask her how she was, and she would insist that she was fine. After all, she would confidently declare, her husband was in a better place; the Bible calls us to rejoice at a death and to cry at a birth. Her stoicism drove my priest crazy. He knew she was suffering, but she would never admit it.
Unless otherwise specified, the articles here are posted by Father Aleksey, who has no sense of humor and is extremely straight forward.