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Those Nostalgic Hard Times

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  Last year we went on an epic family vacation . At least it was epic to us, seeing as we don't get out much. We hit up the Rocky Mountains and spent a glorious week and a half camping.  I love the mountains. I frequently dream about the mountains. When I'm not at the mountains I want to be at the mountains. But I also could never live at the mountains. It sounds like some tragic Shakespearean love story. However, you may as well bury me in an abandoned mine a mile below ground if I were to live by the mountains, cause that's how my head would feel without an open prairie sky to look at. Nevertheless, the mountains are the best place to visit. They called us over last year, and we gladly obliged.  It was hard. Very hard. Borderline too hard. At the time our four children were ages 1-9. The daily temperature hit well above 30 degrees C (which is a nightmare for Saskatchewanians). There were long drives, troubles with food (never expect me to remember to pack frozen meat at 4

The Greatest Evil to Befall a Soul, Except Sin, Is...

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I once went to a look-out spot which presented a stunning view of the Saskatchewan River. However, before I could get to the actual look-out spot, I had to stroll pass a fenced-in storage area. At that moment, there happened to be a deer within the fenced in area. Amused, I stood and watched. The deer looked up and saw me, and then utterly freaked out. In desperation to escape, he started ramming himself against the chain-link fence. With great violence he smashed his body towards the metal, harder and harder, all to no avail. Not wanting the animal to kill itself (which it surely would have), I quickly went out of sight. What happened afterwards? I imagine the deer calmed down, remembered where it was, and sheepishly walked out of the fenced in area by using the massive opening just a few feet away. * * * The deer story provides an example of what, according to St. Francis de Sales, is the greatest evil to befall a soul (besides sin). He is speaking of disquietude . Disquietude is as

"You're Not a Mother Yet!"

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  Some eleven years ago my wife Becca and I entered a church on a fine Sunday morning. It was Mother's Day, and the local K of C were passing out carnations to all the moms. It was sort of a big moment for us. You see, Becca was obviously pregnant. There was no hiding the fact. It was her first Mother's Day as a mother. We approached the man passing out flowers in the back foyer. I asked for a carnation for Becca. The man looked at Becca, at me, and then back at Becca, before shouting, "You're not a mother yet!" No carnation for Becca. Whatever. This man was a nut, and certainly didn't represent the church we were attending. The blame is on him.  I can imagine this man as the Gospel is read by a priest:  A pregnant Elizabeth comments to the pregnant Mary,   "Why am I so honoured, that the  mother  of my Lord should come to me?" The man shouts out from the pew: "She's not a mother YET!" Never mind.  We are approaching another Mother'

Free Printables for Disconnected: The Broken Path

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  “ This story came as a wonderful surprise—I was expecting a children's story (which I got), but the truths it touches on brought me to tears several times. The ending was special and beautiful.” - From a review of Disconnected: The Broken Path To purchase Disconnected: Canada: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/1778052509 USA: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1778052509

A Song. Just Because.

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Lake Jesper Hasnaoui

Disconnected Adults - Maybe It Begins with Us?

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I write this "safely" from the welcome home of my own personal blog. No expectations to fulfill here. No wait times for publishing. No need to use every word perfectly and without a hint of waste. No worries of vitriol or going viral; of enduring fame, infamy, and everything in between. Just writing. Writing what's on my mind. Writing words... for the sake of writing words. And the word that's on my mind today as I write is disconnected . No, I don't exactly mean my book. I refer to what it truly means to be dis connected , and then  connected. Disconnected. The great doubled-meaning word. To disconnect from screens is to connect with reality. To connect to screens is to disconnect from reality. It's perfectly simple. It's perfectly impossible. You know, I've quickly found out what I hate the very most about being an author (not that I consider myself an "author"). It's the self-promotion. More specifically, it's the self-promotion on

Please Pass On: Free Novel Study for My Book

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I have a small favour to ask...  If you have any teacher friends, please pass on the following: I have created a novel study for my book, Disconnected: The Broken Path . The novel study is for grades 5-7. In it I have grammar work, comprehension questions, author insider-information on the book, a health action plan, enrichment activities, crosswords, word scrambles, word searches, and much more! The best part is... it's FREE. Simply go to TeachersPayTeachers to download the novel study. https://www.teacherspayteachers.com/Product/Disconnected-The-Broken-Path-Authors-Own-Novel-Study-7998771?st=9e55143e201f1d795a106a02cd0ffeeb

Stu as in Stupid?

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  There are at least two reasons why I'm not the right person to slam the new movie, Father Stu . The first being that I don't really like movies. Not many, anyway. I haven't stepped foot inside a movie theatre in nearly twelve years. I believe that was to see Toy Story 3 . Nor do I have any of those Netflix Prime Plus Disney Stack Amazon subscriptions, or whatever they're called. I'd rather watch a football game, or an episode of Alone .  The second reason I ought not to slam Father Stu is because, well, I have never watched it. Nor will I. Why do I say this? You need to check out Austin Ruse's critique of the movie over at Crisis Magazine . The review was... shocking. A few brief snippets: "I cannot express how much I hated the new movie  Father Stu , at least up to a point . Up to that point, I really hated it. I emailed friends how much I hated it. I railed at my wife and children how much I hated it. I shouted down the hallway how much I hated it. Dow

Word of Mouth

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  My initial two-week book launch is completed. Thank you all for your tremendous support. It means the world to me. However, things are far from over… Here’s a little hint of the back-end of selling a book from an indie perspective. You write the book (and get it professionally edited/formatted). Done. Then you release the book with a launch team and try to attain as many Amazon reviews as possible. Done. But then for most authors, you hire ads such as Amazon, BookBub, TheFussyLibrarian, etc. in order to sell as many e-Books as possible. In a sense, they play the market to see which ads work, and which ones tank. I am over-simplifying the process, but you see what I mean. Again, it’s all about the e-Book. But for me this final step is far different. With a youth novel (again, grown-ups will love it as well), it’s mostly about organic growth with a good ole physical copy of a book. Parents need to trust the authors of books for their kids. So it goes as such: A person reads the

Why I'm Leaving the TLM [UPDATED]

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  UPDATE: Well, today someone tried to grab my hand while praying the Our Father. This person didn't sanitize three times first. I was horrified, and felt unsafe! Needless to say, I will be running back to the TLM. At least there is no hand-holding there.  See you next April Fool's Day... * * * Months in the making for sure. Particularly since Pope Francis' motu proprio which took a fatal shot at the traditional Latin Mass. Agree or disagree. Whatever. What's done is done. The fact is that since last July I've been to just one traditional Latin Mass. It disappeared on me. God clearly has been calling my family to a different style of worship. Otherwise he would provide the TLM! There are consequences to this. By that I mean, if one is called to a different style of worship, then it is important to embrace it. How else can one find peace? And so, we are back with the folk music, felt banners, and emphasis on active participation. Only this time everything is differen