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The most amazing aspect of being touched by a saint is not that you’ve met him but that in him, you’ve met God. -Kathleen Swartz McQuaig

The assembly room of our military chapel on Caserma Ederle in Vicenza teemed with people. Several women wearing cheerleader-smiles approached me. “Kathy, want to go with us to a conference in Rome…?”

Most people would have jumped at the chance. Here we were stationed in northern Italy, less than a day’s journey from Rome, and I had never been there. Still, with two little ones and my husband commanding an airborne unit, our days were already busy. At that point in my life, I relegated religion to a few hours a week—meal and bedtime prayers with kids, and then church on Sundays.

No, I wasn’t ready for Rome! ...
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  The maple sapling with burlap-covered root ball sat atop the grass in our front yard while Daddy repeatedly plunged a spade into the soil and heaved the dirt to one side.
 
“Please, Daddy, I wanna help!” I couldn’t even lift the almost-as-tall-as-me shovel.
Glancing long at my high ponytail, zip-up hoodie and sneakers, Daddy cracked a smile—then more sternly asked, “You’ll do a good job?”
Vigorously I shook my head...
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