Postcard from Badger Country

We've been on safari this week in Wisconsin, where three of the six siblings-in-law still call home—they grew up on a hobby farm just outside La Crosse. We stay at a cabin on the Black River, and Leland starts and ends his day with his pole in the water. It's quiet, save for thousands of tweets coming from the trees rather than our screens. As Angelenos, you can definitely pick us out of the crowd.

Growing up a very independent city boy, I was not very involved in my own's family life—which was fine with me. In fact, for most of my teens and twenties, I proclaimed with no shame that I wasn't going to have kids. When I inherited an extended family of dozens and dozens, and we started spending summers in the Midwest—I sometimes felt out of place.

This year, there were only about thirty of us (not even half and the entire tree), and I immediately got a lump in my throat when we all joined hands to say grace. I felt a strong sense of belonging.

None of us are without struggle. Each of us brings a unique perspective to the vision and fabric of this nation. And yet, all are invited to the table. All share in the freedoms we, as Americans, probably take for granted a little too often. All are welcome.

Then I thought about St. Monica: it's easy to welcome. But not nearly as easy to transform that welcome into belonging. We hope that through our ministries of outreach, spirituality, engagement, prayer, and sacrament, each of you can have and share that sense of belonging. We strive to offer a deep sense of connection and acceptance. You, in turn, encourage us through your presence, service, and support. I am so incredibly grateful to you—thank you.