De Omnibus Dubitandum Est.

In a culture that idolises autonomy and self-assertion, “Thy Will Be Done” asks a far more uncomfortable question: what if the deepest freedom we seek is found not in strengthening our own will, but in surrendering it? This reflection from Katherine moves from a deeply personal memory to a profound spiritual insight, exploring the tension between human determination and divine providence. It is not sentimental piety, but a sober meditation on what Christ Himself revealed — that true authority, true power, and true peace come “from above.” For those who have wrestled with suffering, disappointment, ambition, or loss, this piece speaks directly to the heart of the Christian life. It challenges modern assumptions, confronts the myth of self-creation, and reminds us that the most radical prayer we can pray is also the simplest: Thy will be done. If you care about authentic discipleship in an age of restless self-will, this is an article worth your time. Read it now on Catholic Unscripte...

Louise & I were recently interviewed for the One of Nine YouTube channel I blogged about here . The motivation is threefold: Encourage priests and bishops by sharing that living a Catholic life is beautiful and totally possible. You don’t have to compromise and lots of us are just getting on with it even though many of us feel undermined and abandoned by the hierarchy. Build community and reach out in solidarity to other Catholic families, share our joys and our struggles to encourage and help each other when things are challenging. Share our story of love and hope in order that it might encourage others who are going through dark times in their lives, help them to realise that Jesus fills our lives with His goodness and presence even when life seems impossibly hard.

"Did you have a good Christmas, Mark?" This is the question I have heard a hundred times since the 25th December and it is a question I find very difficult to answer, mostly because the answer is one that no one wants to hear. This is not because I am a modern day Scrooge, but perhaps best articulated by my oldest son, who, when I asked him if he was looking forward to Christmas on the 24th, said "thing is Dad, you just keep looking over your shoulder and wondering where Ruth is." Ever will it be thus. And though Christmas day was as happy as one might expect, there is always an empty place where my little girl should have been. There is also a shadow cast by all the Christmases of the past and the hopes and dreams they represented growing up. Faced with all that potent nostalgia, I cannot help but compare where I am now with the promise I held in my heart as a child: the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight . Christmas, then, becomes a...

One year on from the birth of Mary Thérèse, four years since we lost our Ruthie. It was suggested by several friends that I write something to commemorate the occasion. It was also suggested that the Catholic Herald might be interested in publishing the piece, which they were, and did! It is my hope that this will reach out to others who are struggling to deal with a bereavement and give them the confidence to put all their trust in God. Click on the image for full size This is the article as I originally wrote it: As we entered the month of July, my mind began to fizz and whir in an attempt to deal with the confluence of emotions which assail it. July is the month of the fatal car accident which killed my darling daughter Ruth in 2009. It is also the month Michael and John were born, and, on the 27th last year, my daughter Mary, the antidote to my devastation at the loss of Ruth, was born. I can't believe this year has gone so quickly, looking at Mary I feel so b...

This isn't going to be a long, torturous post. Just something little that happened to me this morning and smacked me right between the eyes. The point of it is to try and put into words the way in which we (people suffering a bereavement) cope. I mean when you loose a child, it just doesn't ever go away. Every day feels as fresh and as raw, as every other. Your loss feels just as immediate, just as visceral, just as poignant as it did yesterday, last week, last year. You might think you get over it, but I don't think that's true (or even possible). Rather you integrate the reality with your every day life. It becomes part of you, somewhat like the way a chronic illness, a scar, or a lost limb becomes part of you. Faced with the enormity of this you might wonder how it is possible to cope at all. To be honest, if one stops to think too long about it, one starts to wonder that as well. To address this, I want to speak honestly about the reality, but also to offer some...

I watched this film on Saturday night with some trepidation, as I knew it was about a little girl who is killed. Some things like that I just cannot watch, they are simply too painful, but sometimes, especially if they are well done, they can be cathartic, the medium can allow you to investigate feelings that you might be scared to think too much about, or it may express feelings that you would rather avoid, because exploration of those feelings may lead you to shut down, spiral into a depressive state and cease functioning productively. When my daughter died, there was a lot that I locked away in a box. I have to say I really enjoyed The Lovely Bones and I felt like watching it did me some good. It also got me thinking about a few things in my own situation which I thought I might share with you here. The title comes from a quote from the main character, a 14 year old girl called Susie Salmon, at the end of the film: These were the lovely bones that had grown around my absen...