Good morning, Digital neighbors! Blessed Easter to all, especially to my fellow Disciples of the Risen One! Happy Bunny Day to all the rest of you.
I hope you all had a wonderful time during my Lenten absence. While I missed visiting my communities on Locals and SubStack, I did not miss my usual habits of doom scrolling on X or other websites I typically frequent. I have not missed the news and its emotional drama, which for many is the only real substitute for meaning in their lives.
My fasting was not total; I did visit Substack from time to time and dropped a post here and there. It will be good to return to some routines and carefully discern which ones I want to do less often. It was a very prayerful, reflective, and happy Lent. I did much more reading than I anticipated and went for more drives with Rylee-girl, my dog, listening to music or simply enjoying nature. Well, enough babble for an Easter Sunday. Off to prayer and the rest of the day. Please know that for the communities where I share these morning musings and ramblings, you have been missed and have been in my prayers.
Lord Jesus Christ,
You have told us
in no uncertain terms
what is expected of us
when we say we love You.
You have made it clear
that if we want to serve You,
express our love for You
and give joy to God,
that we shall do it
in our neighbors
wherever we find them,
by meeting their needs.
We will find You in Church
and in the streets;
We will find You
on the bus
and in the train;
We will find You
in the office
and the shop,
in the hospital ward,
in prison,
in places
where we would never think to go.
For every foolish word,
every malicious thought,
and every godless act,
every neglect of human need,
every arrogant assertion
of our own goodness,
Lord, forgive us.
So work in us
that each of us
in our own small way may be a refuge,
a refreshment
and a sure support
for the anxious,
the weary
and the weak;
in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord.
- Alan Gaunt
Today marks the three hundred and thirtieth birthday of the Frenchman François-Marie Arouet, better known by his nom de plume, Voltaire (1694-1778).
Born into a bourgeois family during the reign of Louis XIV, the “Sun King” (r. 1643-1715), Voltaire suffered tragedy at a young age when his mother died. Never close with his father or brother, Voltaire exhibited a rebellious attitude toward authority from his youth. His brilliant mind was fostered in the care of the Society of Jesus, who introduced him to the joys of literature and theater. Despite his later criticisms against the Church, Voltaire, throughout his life, fondly recalled his dedicated Jesuit teachers.
Although he spent time as a civil servant in the French embassy to the Hague, Voltaire’s main love was writing—an endeavor where he excelled in various genres, including poetry, which led to his appointment as the royal court poet for King Louis XV. Widely recognized as one of the greatest French writers, and even hyperbolically referred to by ...
Padre - Tom Miller invites you to a Coffee Talk, Speakeasies, Schmoozes, Tea Times, Afterhours and other gatherings.
https://teams.live.com/meet/93792382189049?p=DiBHsYfuECPgDrG7vO
2026 Coffee Talk with the ADD Irregulars
Thursday, January 1, 2026
6:00 AM - 8:00 AM (CST)
Occurs every day starting 1/1 until 12/31/2027
Coffee Talk - Daily beginning at 6:00 AM Central Time Zone - USA
White Pilled Wednesday - A break from the heaviness of news and current events to focus upon things more personal & positive for the first hour of Coffee Talk.
Afternoon Chats - Most Tuesday, Friday & Sundays 2:00 PM Central
Other chats as posted in the community.
Don’t argue with people over sixty.
Just don’t.
It’s not just an age; it’s a masterclass in survival.
They grew up without Google, without DoorDash, without therapy podcasts, and without an "undo" button. If something broke, they grabbed duct tape, WD-40, a hammer, and a look of sheer determination that made even the broken appliance second-guess itself.
As kids, they knew exactly what kind of mood their mom was in just by the sound of how hard she slammed the cast-iron skillet onto the stove.
They were the original latchkey kids — walking home from middle school with a house key tied around their neck, with strict orders to heat up lunch and not burn the kitchen down. By the time they were ten, they could bike to the corner store, buy a gallon of milk for the neighbor, feed the family dog, and still have time to play freeze tag in the yard until dark.
Their knees were a permanent canvas of scrapes, bruises, Mercurochrome, and rubbing alcohol. Their universal first-aid kit was just ...
