Lift up your eyes and see who made the stars.
Her son the priest will not be buried with his brother and parents, but will someday sleep with his brother priests in a field with a low stone wall, along which students walk back and forth to class. I have seen the field and the stone wall and I have seen students run their hands gently along the wall as they walk past the hundreds of sleeping priests.
I know you, I call you each by name.
I pray with all my heart that this is so.
— from Brian Doyle’s book Eight Whopping Lies, and Other Stories of Bruised Grace