I’ve been sleeping in a tent in my backyard for the past couple weeks. It’s my sacrifice for Lent: forty days and forty nights in a tent. Yesterday at dawn I woke up to helicopters thundering over my backyard. They were so close I thought they were going to land in my driveway. I was in a war zone.

I crawled out of the tent and spotted a half dozen choppers hovering a half-mile away. I ran inside and turned on the news. I listened to the news anchors tell the story of a two and a half-year old boy wandered off and drowned in the community pool. I could still hear the helicopters through my walls. It was a terrible place to be.

That was yesterday morning. Tonight after Mass, a few of us went over to the pool and prayed for the little boy and his family. They have to be suffering so much. The news was still there, a day and a half later.

I know our prayers will be answered in some way. But that time of prayer was more for me than anyone. I feel so helpless. I had to do something.

03-13-04, Saturday
I found out this morning that the little boy was murdered. The drowning was not an accident. The mother’s boyfriend was angry and killed her baby.

03-18-04, Thursday
Tonight at dinner, Monsignor Dale told us he visited the young man in jail. His family has gone to our church for years, and MD knew he had to do his part to help them. A security guard led Monsignor Dale to his cell. The boy knelt down, pushed his hands through the narrow slot, and asked Monsignor Dale to hear his confession.

04-04-04, Sunday
Tonight at Mass, we prayed over the parents. How does it feel to know your son murdered another person’s son? What is it like to see your baby locked in a cage, tied to a bed? I prayed hard.