Saturday, August 29, 2015



There was a time when Good King Wenceslas was trumpeted into my ear as I was cooking dinner. I'd send the loud and annoying boy into his room to practice so I could concentrate on what I was doing, but ten or twenty minutes later--when I was in the middle of everything--the Good King was blaring in my ear again.

How much emptier my life would have been during those lonely, insecure, and painful days without my young trumpeter.