Curriculum Posted for The Broken Harp

Yes, it’s been quite a while since I last posted. Won’t make excuses. Won’t make promises. Please stay tuned. The writing proceeds.

Lord willing, more to come.

Thank you for staying.

Here’s the note to parents, teachers, and students that introduces curriculum for The Broken Harp posted on milicomathersreads.com:

In the summer of 2019, my husband and I traveled to Scotland and Ireland as a celebration of his retirement. For me, Scotland made good memories, but Ireland held a beauty like home. Not a home I’d ever experienced, but a home of my soul.

On the way to Belfast from Scotland, an Irish woman struck up a conversation with me as we traveled across the Irish Sea. She commuted via the waterway a few days a week to work in Scotland as a nurse.

She told me about her uncle who had joined the British effort during World War II and died in battle. “We were not allowed to speak his name when we were growing up because he was a Catholic who fought for the British. But I think that was wrong. He was a hero.”

That conversation produced the seed from which The Broken Harp sprouted. The sprout grew into a minor obsession with the history and culture of my Irish forebears.

Ireland is a country we often overlook in studies about World War II, what the Irish called The Emergency. That’s unfortunate because Ireland’s history during that time is fascinating.

Set in Ireland in 1941, The Broken Harp follows protagonist 12-year-old Brian as he strives to identify and pursue goodness during a time of great challenge. Brian’s father has been arrested, accused of belonging to the Irish Republican Army. Dad, a drywall stone mason, had been the keystone of the family, the rock that held the other pieces in place. Without their patriarch, the family struggles to find what is right and good.

Ireland’s government saw the IRA as a threat to the neutral stance the country was trying to maintain even as it behaved favorably to the British war effort. The government didn’t want to become embroiled in a war less than 20 years after gaining their independence from England.

Because Germany had assisted Ireland during the war for independence, many Irish citizens favored the German cause. Even so, many Irishmen joined the British effort.

Despite or, perhaps at least to some degree, because of the division among the people, the government decided to spend the war years preparing to defend the island from invasion by either side.

Ireland’s refusal to fight on the side of the British resulted in an embargo of necessary goods, gasoline, fertilizer, seed, and foods like flour. The Broken Harp illustrates the hardship the embargo caused as well as support for Germany among those still resentful of British abuse. I avoid any vivid description of that abuse, which would render the work unsuitable for young readers and most older ones as well.

The pages contain a sprinkling of American history and culture with the introduction of a crop duster/knuckle-ball pitcher from Iowa who joined the RAF to fight the Nazis before Pearl Harbor.

Inhabitants of the Emerald Isle immigrating to America represent a bigger version of “Go west, young man” than we Americans experienced ourselves. The Irish in America today outnumber the Irish in Ireland by seven to one. The primary characters in this book do indeed go west.

The American Dream is to make a better life, a free life, a thriving life.

No matter our nationality, we can find that life in Christ. To follow Christ, we seek truth, goodness, and beauty.

This book is the second in a series that began with Wandering Swallow, a story about a young girl attempting to escape North Korea during the famine of 1995. Her journey with her grandfather takes her through China to an unexpected destination, one of faith. Hana finds truth on that journey.

In The Broken Harp, our protagonist Brian seeks goodness.

The third book in the series Counting on Jude is currently in process with hopes of publication in 2027. That book marks the completion of the series encompassing truth, goodness, and beauty. That story is based on some of the descendants of characters in the other books and is set in current times.

The assignments are writing-intensive and are adjustable in depth and length according to a student’s skills and level. Writings may be shorter or longer depending on interest and time allotted for the activities.

In the meantime, enjoy this journey to World War II-era-Ireland. Learn about Ireland’s divisions (more than Catholic versus Protestant) and to a nuanced discussion of what deepened the divisions leading to The Troubles of the late twentieth century. Learn how bitterness divides people and how some choose to overcome division to pursue virtue.

Best of all, learn how goodness truly means following Christ for His glory.

God bless!

Milico Mathers

Cover and logo credit Lily Hildebrand.

Our new website milicomathersreads.com is accepting reviews for middle reader books–especially those written by middle school students. Message me at nancyehead@yahoo.com or in the comments below.

Permissions: You are permitted and encouraged to reproduce and distribute this material in any format provided that you do not alter the wording in any way, do not charge a fee beyond the cost of reproduction, and you credit the author.

Disclosure of Material Connection:  I have not received any compensation for writing this post. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

Milicomathers reserves the right to edit or reject any submissions.

The Broken Harp Has Launched!

Here’s the link on Amazon: Amazon.com: The Broken Harp: 9781966382690: Mathers, Milico: Books

Permissions: You are permitted and encouraged to reproduce and distribute this material in any format provided that you do not alter the wording in any way, do not charge a fee beyond the cost of reproduction, and you credit the author.

Our new website milicomathersreads.com is accepting reviews for middle reader books–especially those written by middle school students. Message me on Facebook or in the comments.

Disclosure of Material Connection:  I have not received any compensation for writing this post. I have no material connection to the entities I have mentioned. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

COVER REVEAL: The Broken Harp

The Broken Harp, set for release in time for Saint Patrick’s Day, is suspenseful adventure story with layers and tidbits of Irish culture and history woven throughout.

World War II has reached neutral Ireland where
loyalties are divided and secrets can be dangerous.
Twelve-year-old Brian McGrath’s world turns upside down
when his father is thrown into jail, accused of being
part of the Irish Republican Army. With their family shaken and
food growing scarce, Brian and his older brother Patrick are
struggling to hold things together.

Then they make a discovery that could change everything.
Lying on the shore nearby, a badly wounded RAF pilot asks them for help. He’s an
American who secretly left home to fight the Nazis. Helping him
could mean serious trouble with local who favor Germany in the war. But turning him
away feels even worse.

With no other adult they can trust, the brothers turn to Mary,
a quiet weaver shunned by the village. She is hiding secrets of her
own, including two Jewish children she has sworn to protect. As
danger closes in, Brian and Patrick must find the courage to do
what is right, even if it means risking everything they have left.

MILICO MATHERS is an award-winning author of Wandering
Swallow, A Young Girl’s Quest for Freedom
. Having spent more than
twenty-five years teaching students from middle school to college,
she is also a wife, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, and,
by family decree, the baker of cookies.

LILY HILDEBRAND is a college student who sings, acts, draws, and is studying physical therapy.

Stay tuned! Amazon link coming soon!

Image Credit: cover image and logo below by Lily Hildebrand

Our new website milicomathersreads.com is accepting reviews for middle reader books–especially those written by middle school students. Message me at readgoodbooks@milicomathersreads.com or in the comments below.

Permissions: You are permitted and encouraged to reproduce and distribute this material in any format provided that you do not alter the wording in any way, do not charge a fee beyond the cost of reproduction, and you credit the author.

Disclosure of Material Connection:  I have not received any compensation for writing this post. I have no material connection to the entities I have mentioned. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

Our new website milicomathersreads.com is accepting reviews for middle reader, YA, and literary books–especially those written by middle school and high school students. Message me at readgoodbooks@milicomathersreads.com or in the comments below.

Milicomathers reserves the right to edit or reject any submissions.

Signing the Contract for Broken Harp

Set in neutral Ireland in 1941, Broken Harp tells the story of brothers Brian and Patrick McGrath, their sister Nan, and their parents, Sean and Sarah, during days of great division on the Emerald Island.

During World War II, Ireland is torn between a government that is subtly supporting the British and a portion of the population loyal to Germany, the nation that helped them become independent of British rule almost 20 years earlier.

The Irish police arrest Sean, accusing him of having connections to the Irish Republican Army.

Without their beloved father’s wisdom, Patrick and Brian must decide what to do when they discover a wounded American/RAF pilot (Yes, that actually happened). They join forces with an outcast weaver who is harboring two Jewish children and ultimately work to return the pilot to his post.

The metaphor of a broken harp refers to Ireland’s national symbol–a harp–and a nation divided geographically and philosophically.

Lily Hildebrand has agreed to illustrate again. The image below is of Brian, the narrator.

I’m signing again with EA Books Publishing with an intended release date of March 17, 2026.

My website milicomathersreads.com is accepting reviews for middle reader books–especially those written by middle school students. Message me at nancyehead@yahoo.com or in the comments below.

Permissions: You are permitted and encouraged to reproduce and distribute this material in any format provided that you do not alter the wording in any way, do not charge a fee beyond the cost of reproduction, and you credit the author.

Disclosure of Material Connection:  I have not received any compensation for writing this post. I have no material connection to the entities I have mentioned. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

A Whirlwind Summer

Tomorrow becomes yesterday in a wink.

So a summer passes as a breeze blows in July, here and gone.

Two conferences, another round of COVID, a “mission” trip, and family milestones and accomplishments.

After a writing conference (Blue Ridge Christian Writers) and a teaching conference (Rooted, Colson Center and ACSI), quiet and solitude came as unexpected guests via my third round of COVID (my husband’s fourth). Even so, the timing was perfect for us to recover before I had to leave for two weeks in Rostrevor, Northern Ireland.

We had gone to Northern Ireland and saw a few sights in Ireland five years ago as a celebration of my husband’s retirement. Going to the Emerald Isle, both times I’ve gone, has given me a sense of going home–a sensation I’ve never felt on my way to anywhere else.

It wasn’t a vacation, per se, since my time there included working in a cafe for a Christian effort. I didn’t have a car, so I walked or took the bus to nearby towns. A little store in the village had all I needed for meals, and newspapers with crossword puzzles too difficult for me. A language barrier of sorts within the English language itself.

But oh, the landscapes!

The photo below shows the view from near the front of our building.

Across the way is Ireland. Two countries sharing the same island and culture. The argument over Irish versus English lingers.

My down time included rest at the slower pace of a place that inspired C.S. Lewis to create Narnia. The kindness of the people in the mission and the village, the sound of the water sloshing ashore, the history, the rain, the cool air, sometimes cold by their standards.

Residents expect visitors won’t enjoy the damp, cold weather. I loved it! Maybe it hit 70 degrees Fahrenheit twice during my visit as my hometown endured 90 plus degrees this summer–nineteen times!

When I mentioned how our section of America was suffering through a dry summer, an Irish acquaintance wished he could share their rain with us. Even so, precipitation happened with regularity but was by no means a constant.

One lady asked me where I was from. When I told her Pennsylvania, she said, “That’s a swing state.” News events from America often made the front pages of Irish newspapers during the last two weeks of July.

Like the United States, Irish, North and South, argue about increasing crime, legalized abortion, and immigration.

Protests over immigration in the UK heated up after I left. Northern Ireland had its own demonstration in Belfast. I trust that Rostrevor remained the quiet village celebrating Irish/Gaelic culture as the modern world buzzed around it.

I came home eager to resume my routine, yet hoping to tap the brakes to keep my pace less frenzied.

We’ll see about that.

As a remarkable summer winds down, Wandering Swallow: A Young Girl’s Quest for Freedom is in the hands of her editor. My granddaughter is developing illustrations. My experience with EA Books Publishing has been fabulous.

I head back to the schoolroom for in-service this week and classes next week. A glow of celebration follows the baptism of a granddaughter and a long-sought accomplishment for one of my sons.

Summer has already (thankfully) unwound into cooler nights and more comfortable days. The heat will likely return, but without the endurance, we hope, it had in July and early August.

One season melds into another as life unfolds.

We’ve entered a contentious election cycle. The news of it surrounds our days.

Yet, we can have peace in the promises of God. Even here. Even now.

Tap the brakes on your pace. Listen to the sounds of quiet and life around you.

Our peace is in Him, the only source of peace.

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. Philippians 4:6, NIV~

Photo Credit: My personal collection; logo by Lily Hildebrand

Our new website milicomathersreads.com is accepting reviews for middle reader books–especially those written by middle school students. Message me in the comments below.

Permissions: You are permitted and encouraged to reproduce and distribute this material in any format provided that you do not alter the wording in any way, do not charge a fee beyond the cost of reproduction, and you credit the author.

Disclosure of Material Connection:  I have not received any compensation for writing this post. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

A Saving Light in the Darkness

“We came from Caladan–a paradise world for our form of life. There existed no need on Caladan to build a physical paradise or paradise of the mind–we could see the actuality all around us. And the price we paid was the price men have always paid for achieving a paradise in this life–we went soft, we lost our edge.” Frank Herbert, Dune~

Imagine spending your daylight hours–most of them in an eighteen-inch tunnel shoveling coal out of your space by hand. Your son stands ready to fill a large bin on wheels just outside the small tunnel. You both get paid for production–not time invested.

You also provide the fuel to warm the homes in your community and beyond.

Boys go to school until it’s time to go to the mines. They grow up and raise families. Sons in the mines, daughters in the kitchens–all working to make life better for the next ones coming. That is the story of the Arigna Coal Mine–now a tourist site–in Ireland.

I grew up in a railroad town near the heart of America’s coal country. I remember the strip mines dotting our rolling mountains. Now restored, the mountains appear never to have been mined.

Yet, mining still happens around us. As my husband and I drove across a bridge in town the other day, we saw a long line of rail cars all filled to the brim with coal.

Mining still happens, but it’s no longer a lone man picking and shoveling out a tiny tunnel.

When machines came to Arigna, they had the opposite effect of what we might expect. Today when we consider robotics and technology in the workplace, we calculate how many jobs will go by the wayside as machines replace workers.

When mining found technology, the industry needed more workers to haul the greater bounty out of the mountain. And since production increased, and since the workers earned through production, both jobs and earnings grew.

Yet in Arigna, one thing remained. And it resonates in my heart every time I ponder it.

When we entered the mine–now a large, reinforced tunnel to accommodate tourists rather than miners–there was a picture of Christ. The tour guide–at a government-funded site, mind you–explained that workers prayed as they began their shifts–prayed for safety–and God answered and blessed.

Our guide credited Christ as the “safety officer” of the mine that produced, first iron, then coal for more than 400 years. In 400 years of mining–with no safety agency overseeing operations until the 1980s–only one man died.*

I’ve pondered the faith and devotion of those miners since my visit to Arigna. And I’ve pondered the life of unimaginable (to me) work!

Like us, they were imperfect. They had conflicts with neighbors and petty jealousies.

They had unmet dreams. In the 1960s, they staged a strike that lasted several months.

Yet overall, they seemed to have a kind of satisfaction we lack today. Life was hard but good.

That’s an idea that seems so foreign to us. We do all we can to resist it. We work with the expectation that life will get better and better. And that must also mean easier and more prosperous.

Easier and more prosperous came to the miners of Arigna through technology. But they never took the picture down of the One they believed kept them safe.

Life is hard. It’s easier and more prosperous for some. But there is meaning in difficulty. And the One who watched over the Arigna miners is faithful.

Republished from June 24, 2019.

Photo Credit: RTE Archives, Arigna Mine

*One website asserts that “five or six died” over the years. Another says, “Accidents were few and far between.”

Nancy E. Head’s Restoring the Shattered is out in paperback! Get your copy here!

Permissions: You are permitted and encouraged to reproduce and distribute this material in any format provided that you do not alter the wording in any way, do not charge a fee beyond the cost of reproduction, and you credit the author.

Disclosure of Material Connection:  I have not received any compensation for writing this post. I have no material connection to the entities I have mentioned. Restoring the Shattered is published through Morgan James Publishing with whom I do share a material connection. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

Mealtime–More than Food

Our trip to Scotland and Ireland earlier this summer was one of those tours where you ride a bus or ferry from one place to another. For the first few days, I noticed that people in our group were complaining that the meal service was bad–too slow.

I admit that at first, I was among the complainers. Our initial restaurant experience in Scotland was unarguably horrible. But after that, the service seemed to follow a particular routine.

It was slower than we’ve come to expect in America. But when the same pattern emerged from place to place, I realized that, aside from our initial experience, the service wasn’t bad after all. It was simply a cultural difference giving us time to enjoy the food and each other’s company.

We were Americans (for the most part) in a hurry. They were Europeans bred with the idea of not rushing mealtime.

The restaurant staff seemed to have the idea that mealtime is more than food consumption. A bit of extra time between courses encouraged us to enjoy an unveiling of the meal along with fellowship. The time between appetizer and entree, between entree and dessert, was time to get to know the strangers on the same adventure we were having.

There was a young couple apparently on a second honeymoon away from their three children, a retired teacher from Philadelphia, a couple who had traveled to Vietnam and other exotic places–two young women from Canada, a mother and four of her five adult daughters.

We ate amazing breads, drank tea, and relished unbelievable desserts. (A chocolate mousse with a honeycomb topper. (The chef mixes honey and baking soda together and bakes it–then breaks it up to adorn each dish of mousse.) The result resides on the memory of my tongue.)

We also ate a good many parsnips and turnips. That’s because they’re locally grown. We got a true sense of what it’s like to eat there–not the universal sense you get by eating pineapple in Minnesota.

Food and fellowship go together. They create bonds.

Once we got home, it didn’t take me long to get back into the habit of rushing through meals.

As I ponder time away from my habits and out of my routine, I want to slow down to savor the conversation at every meal–as much as I can.

It may be the part of a day from this summer we remember later on. Not just the baked beans, which by the way, in Scotland, come with breakfast–not with dinner.

No matter which meal you choose to enjoy your beans, linger. Converse. Savor. Remember.

Let God bless the fellowship as well as the food.

Photo Credit: Unsplash

Nancy E. Head’s Restoring the Shattered is out in paperback! Get your copy here!

Permissions: You are permitted and encouraged to reproduce and distribute this material in any format provided that you do not alter the wording in any way, do not charge a fee beyond the cost of reproduction, and you credit the author.

Disclosure of Material Connection:  I have not received any compensation for writing this post. I have no material connection to the entities I have mentioned. Restoring the Shattered is published through Morgan James Publishing with whom I do share a material connection. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

A Saving Light in the Darkness

“We came from Caladan–a paradise world for our form of life. There existed no need on Caladan to build a physical paradise or paradise of the mind–we could see the actuality all around us. And the price we paid was the price men have always paid for achieving a paradise in this life–we went soft, we lost our edge.” Frank Herbert, Dune~

Imagine spending your daylight hours–most of them in an eighteen-inch tunnel shoveling coal out of your space by hand. Your son stands ready to fill a large bin on wheels just outside the small tunnel. You both get paid for production–not time invested.

You also provide the fuel to warm the homes in your community and beyond.

Boys go to school until it’s time to go to the mines. They grow up and raise families. Sons in the mines, daughters in the kitchens–all working to make life better for the next ones coming. That is the story of the Arigna Coal Mine–now a tourist site–in Ireland.

I grew up in a railroad town near the heart of America’s coal country. I remember the strip mines dotting our rolling mountains. Now restored, the mountains appear never to have been mined.

Yet, mining still happens around us. As my husband and I drove across a bridge in town the other day, we saw a long line of rail cars all filled to the brim with coal.

Mining still happens, but it’s no longer a lone man picking and shoveling out a tiny tunnel.

When machines came to Arigna, they had the opposite effect of what we might expect. Today when we consider robotics and technology in the workplace, we calculate how many jobs will go by the wayside as machines replace workers.

When mining found technology, the industry needed more workers to haul the greater bounty out of the mountain. And since production increased, and since the workers earned through production, both jobs and earnings grew.

Yet in Arigna, one thing remained. And it resonates in my heart every time I ponder it.

When we entered the mine–now a large, reinforced tunnel to accommodate tourists rather than miners–there was a picture of Christ. The tour guide–at a government-funded site, mind you–explained that workers prayed as they began their shifts–prayed for safety–and God answered and blessed.

Our guide credited Christ as the “safety officer” of the mine that produced, first iron, then coal for more than 400 years. In 400 years of mining–with no safety agency overseeing operations until the 1980s–only one man died.*

I’ve pondered the faith and devotion of those miners since my visit to Arigna. And I’ve pondered the life of unimaginable (to me) work!

Like us, they were imperfect. They had conflicts with neighbors and petty jealousies.

They had unmet dreams. In the 1960s, they staged a strike that lasted several months.

Yet overall, they seemed to have a kind of satisfaction we lack today. Life was hard but good.

That’s an idea that seems so foreign to us. We do all we can to resist it. We work with the expectation that life will get better and better must mean easier and more prosperous. Easier and more prosperous came to the miners of Arigna through technology. But they never took the picture down of the One they believed kept them safe.

Life is hard. It’s easier and more prosperous for some. But there is meaning in difficulty. And the One who watched over the Arigna miners is faithful.

Photo Credit: RTE Archives, Arigna Mine

*One website asserts that “five or six died” over the years. Another says, “Accidents were few and far between.”

Nancy E. Head’s Restoring the Shattered is out in paperback! Get your copy here!

Permissions: You are permitted and encouraged to reproduce and distribute this material in any format provided that you do not alter the wording in any way, do not charge a fee beyond the cost of reproduction, and you credit the author.

Disclosure of Material Connection:  I have not received any compensation for writing this post. I have no material connection to the entities I have mentioned. Restoring the Shattered is published through Morgan James Publishing with whom I do share a material connection. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

Snakes Return to Ireland

“[G]hosts of dead men . . . have bequeathed a trust to us living men.” Patrick Pearse,

Patrick Pearse was an Irish Republican (one who sought independence from the British) during the Easter Rising–the failed insurrection in 1916 that preceded eventual independence for Ireland.

His full name–Patrick Henry Pearse–might lead us to assume that he is the namesake solely of the great American orator who called the Virginia Assembly to liberty or death. America’s Henry survived our rebellion. Pearse did not survive the Rising. He gave his all to it.

But there is an older Patrick of Ireland whom Pearse’s parents may also have had in mind as they named their new babe.

It was Saint Patrick who chased the snakes out of Ireland, the Irish say. But the Irish admit that serpents didn’t inhabit the Emerald Isle in Patrick’s day. The snakes in Patrick’s metaphor refer to pagan practices of ancient, pre-Christian days.

Among those pagan practices was human sacrifice.

Today, Ireland is a beautiful paradise for tourists. Small farms and large ones dot the countryside between a few big cities–growing cities as the young begin to abandon the rural for the urban and urbane–as the country reaches perceived heights of sophistication.

Ireland has come a long way from its pagan days and from its hungry days since the potato famine of 1845 and following. It’s now a land with a solid economy and a growing population. That growth is from immigration.

In 2017, the Republic of Ireland had the highest birthrate in the European Union–yet it was still below replacement levels. And that was before abortion became legal at the beginning of this year–an occurrence that seemed impossible to many even as it unfolded.

In Luck and the Irish: A Brief History of Change, 1970-2000, R. F. Foster includes a chapter entitled “How the Catholics Became Protestants.” That chapter explains the country’s shift from Catholic values to secular ones.

“The notion of Catholicism as indivisible from Irish nationalism and even from Irish identity might be counted as one of the casualties of the last thirty years’ cultural upheaval,” he writes.

Ireland has taken the same path other western countries have followed from a rejection of sexual license (including nonacceptance of contraception) to the embrace of LGBT sensibilities. From traditional marriage to a no-holds-barred free for all.

Legal abortion was another step on the path to today–although, unlike in America, abortion is limited to the first 12 weeks of pregnancy, barring a risk to the mother’s health and the euphemistic “fetal anomaly”–a death sentence for the challenged at every stage of development. A human sacrifice to convenience, cost-effectiveness–ultimately to self.

Foster: “[T]here is a point at which a la carte Catholicism becomes a kind of Protestantism” (57). It’s the same point at which any Christian decides he or she knows best. Whatever our denomination, it’s when we follow our own way.

Hence, legal abortion in Ireland and the rest of the West. And so we abandon some children to death and others to a different kind of desertion.

Michael Brendan Dougherty is an American-born man who grew up hardly knowing his father who eventually married and built a family in Ireland. Dougherty’s mother instilled in her son a deep understanding of his Irish roots. The boy grew into a man who would relish his Irishness and seek a deeper bond with his father.

In My Father Left Me Ireland: An American Son’s Search for Home, Dougherty explains the shift of heart that’s happened in the West. In the past, we revered and appreciated those who came before us. Our humility in light of sacrifices they made on our behalf “leads to self-sacrifice in the present and new life and regeneration in the future. . . .

“When we do have children we so often have them as consumable objects, as part of our life-style choices. We do not receive them as gifts, as living things, inviolate and inviolable. We calculate about them, not worried over what we might give them, but what they take from us. . . .

“We are great consumers. We are useless as conservators. Useless in this way, we deepen the pattern, failing to have children, or failing the ones we have” (205-07).

Dougherty, however, has found humility and respect for those in the past. He is breaking the pattern in which he grew up. He and his wife together are raising two young children. He intends to pass Ireland onto them. But he will pass along more than that.

He is chasing away the snake of selfishness and embracing self-sacrifice.

The ghosts of Ireland’s Patrick speaks through Dougherty. “[T]he past reproaches the present on behalf of the future. . . The ghosts of a nation reproach the living on behalf of posterity” (204).

Those same ghosts of Ireland speak to us today–even those of us an ocean away in Dougherty’s America. They call to us to chase away the snakes of selfishness once more–to cleanse our land by washing ourselves in humility and self-sacrifice.

Dougherty quoting Pearse: “There is only one way to appease a ghost. You must do the thing that it asks you” (213).

Photo Credit: Paul Head

Nancy E. Head’s Restoring the Shattered is out in paperback! Get your copy here!

Permissions: You are permitted and encouraged to reproduce and distribute this material in any format provided that you do not alter the wording in any way, do not charge a fee beyond the cost of reproduction, and you credit the author.

Disclosure of Material Connection:  I have not received any compensation for writing this post. I have no material connection to the entities I have mentioned. Restoring the Shattered is published through Morgan James Publishing with whom I do share a material connection. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

Deus Nobis Haec Otia Fecit

Translation: God has granted us this rest.

A great gift indeed.

I’m just back from a vacation in Scotland and Ireland. Still a bit jet-lagged. My mind is filled with a clearer view of the history of that part of the world.

One of my favorite parts of the trip was the ferry ride from Scotland to Ireland. There was a sense of transcendence with the journey. A compelling impression percolated through me:

I was going home.

With our ever present outerwear, I saved a table in the food court and got in line to buy some food. The table sat beside a window where my husband and I could watch the water go by. I imagined a quiet time of solitude to enjoy that transcendent peace and a portion of a book.

It was not to be. But something better came instead.

I glanced over from the food line to see a woman sitting at “our” table. I thought it rude, but there were few places to sit. And perhaps such a thing is common practice in that place. So instead of quiet, we had conversation.

She was a nurse–retired but answering a call to fill in once every week or two. She rode the ferry to and from work in Scotland and gave me my first lesson on the deep animosity that still abides in some places between the Irish and the British.

She’d had an uncle who died at Normandy. “When I was a child, we were not allowed to speak his name. He was a Catholic, and he went to fight for the British.”

This story illustrates that–as bad as the Nazis were–fighting them required allegiance to Great Britain–who according to Irish history had behaved much the same as Nazis. Alliance was a bridge too far for many.

I hadn’t realized that Ireland attempted to remain neutral during World War II. The woman on our boat said neutrality was embarrassing. She seemed proud of the uncle who fought. Perspectives change over time.

We landed in Belfast–a more industrial setting than we had seen in Scotland. The next day was Sunday, and our group was to see the Titanic Museum. I had not realized the Titanic had been constructed in Belfast–embarked from Belfast–and sank on a returning voyage from America.

But sink it did, and I imagined there might be something better to do with a Sunday morning. I investigated local churches.

The first one I found seem like it might have a universalist slant. One of the comments on its website said the church was good for people of any religion. I kept searching.

We decided on Saint Malachy’s– a short walk from our hotel. Recently restored, the church had been built in the early 1840s–completed just before the Potato Famine ravaged the country.

The church lost its windows to Nazi bombing raids. Neutrality? The Republic of Ireland is just a bit south of Belfast. Belfast is in Northern Ireland–the part of Ireland where Unionists–those loyal to the British–reside next to the Republicans–those yearning for Irish independence from the UK. Northern Ireland was officially supportive of the British during World War II–yet still hung on to neutrality.

If it sounds complicated, it is. Scotland and Northern Ireland use the pound for currency. The Republic of Ireland uses the Euro. The republic intends to remain part of the European Union. Northern Ireland and Scotland expect Brexit. Some want to stay. Joining the EU nearly destroyed the Scottish fishing industry, so many are eager to go.

But back to Saint Malachy’s.

That Sunday was Pentecost Sunday–the celebration of the apostles in the upper room when the Holy Spirit came upon them.

The priest said that life, energy, light, and growth are gifts from Holy Spirit–the Spirit we cannot see–as we cannot see the wind, but we see the effects.

The Spirit of God brings new life even in places that seem lifeless. The Spirit gives energy. Holy Spirit in us is a gift from God–at Pentecost–and every other day too.

The priest proposed a simple prayer: “Come, Holy Spirit.”

In Ireland, there is still much bad blood between the political parties–and between the parties’ members.

There is much talk about Catholics and Protestants attending schools together. There is growing secularization and shrinking church attendance. There is also talk of removing religion from public life–as if that will take away the purpose of the animosity. As if that will bring peace.

But the animosity comes from the perversion of those presenting themselves as religious, faithful people. It comes from political conflict–not with disagreements over doctrine.

It does not come from those willing to ask Holy Spirit to come.

Ireland is changing. I see that in the stained glass tributes in Belfast’s City Hall to the Irish who fought beside the British in both World War One and Two.

I see it on the television programs encouraging the removal of Ireland’s religious heritage from public life in politically slanted broadcasts.

But for a few potatoes, Ireland may have been my earthly home–rather than my home of heritage. The land is yet the home of my heart. A hurting land that needs healing and restoration from the unseen God who conveys life, growth, and peace.

Come, Holy Spirit. Come to Ireland. And shine light through her.

Photo Credit: Nancy E. Head, Saint Malachy’s Church, Belfast

Nancy E. Head’s Restoring the Shattered is out in paperback! Get your copy here!

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