2026 Column
Lesson from The Crown
May 2026 - Moultrie News
For the past couple of months, my husband and I—a little late to the party—have enjoyed watching “The Crown,” a Netflix series based on the life of Queen Elizabeth ll, and world events taking place during her reign. During the first two seasons we can clearly see the role God plays in Queen Elizabeth’s life, but we do not see it as much in the life of her husband, Prince Philip. But smack in the middle of Season three we see how God was shifting his outlook. As the episode unfolds, it is the year 1969 and a new Dean of Windsor has just been hired by the Queen. Shortly after this priest arrives, he asks Prince Philip if he may use one of the many buildings on the residence for a retreat center. He wanted to have a place for spiritual growth where priests “of a certain age” can come visit so they can “recharge, reflect, and raise their game…by talking, reading, and thinking.” Prince Philip quickly rebuffs him, “You raise your game through action,” but allows him use of the property nonetheless. As all this is taking place, something big is unfolding on the world stage. The United States is about to put a man on the moon. As an airman himself, Prince Philip is fascinated and begins to question his own worth and accomplishments, especially in light of his backseat role to the Queen. We see his frustration when he is doing mundane events, such as presenting an award to the British Concrete Society. He then goes home and—utterly transfixed—watches every minute of the moon landing. One day the new Dean of Windsor asks Prince Philip to say hello to the visiting priests. Reluctantly he agrees and soon finds himself in the center of a group of clergymen. One of them starts lamenting about his sense of under achievement—how he always wanted a bigger congregation, and how is losing the one he did have to the world. He wonders where people are getting their spiritual needs met. “The moon?” Prince Philip suggests. To which the Dean of Windsor contrasts the riches of Heaven to the bleakness of the moon. Prince Philip, agitated, admonishes the group, telling them to go out in the world and “DO SOMETHING,” achieve something “SPECTACULAR,” instead of being a group of “Navel Gazing Underachievers.” Later, when the famous astronauts are touring the world, Prince Philip asks for a private audience with them. Sneezing from colds, they answer his question, like what their thoughts were “up there,” by explaining they didn’t have much time to think because they were busy with procedures and checklists. Prince Philip is left unsatisfied and as the astronauts leave, he sees them taking multiple pictures—clearly enamored by the palace and his lavish lifestyle. The “grass is greener” concept plays out beautifully, and we see that even the shiny things of the world— like the palace itself—cannot fill the ache in Prince Philip’s heart. As the episode draws to a close, Prince Philip is back again in the circle of clergymen, this time opening up and admitting he is in a crisis. He tells them he has tried to make himself feel better with “the usual things,” but nothing is working. He admits he has lost his faith and asks for help—humbly saying that he was more scared to come to the meeting than he would have been going up in a rocket. This touching episode shows how certain people can enter our lives at just the right time. Sometimes we may resist these nudges, but if we open ourselves up, they can often steer and guide us to a deeper place of faith. Enabling us to “up our game” in ways we might not have been able to do on our own. It was also beautiful to witness Prince Philip’s change of heart as he comes to the conclusion that his faithlessness is indeed like the moon—dark, gloomy, empty, lonely—and that the solution to his problems isn’t necessarily in science and technology, but in the place that faith resides. He then goes on to touch his head, and then his heart. The episode ends with Prince Philip and the priest walking together and chatting, with a footnote saying, “For over 50 years St George’s House has been a centre for the exploration of faith and philosophy. Its success is one of the achievements of which Prince Philip is most proud.” A beautiful reminder that some of our greatest accomplishments might not be what the world would consider.
Surviving the eye prob
March 2026 - Moultrie News
I recently had to have a test on my eye called “probing and irrigation,” something I had been putting off for months. It basically involved inserting a needle like probe down my tear duct to see if 1.) there was a blockage and 2.) if it could be flushed out. Most of what Google said about the procedure was okay, but of course I happened to stumble upon the website that seized me with fear, making me doubt if I could ever sit still for such a procedure. As my epiphora (constant tearing) continued, I knew it had to be done. Hopefully, if there was a blockage it could be flushed, enabling me to go on my merry way. So I called and made the appointment with a doctor who had been recommended. Maybe I wouldn’t even need a probe, I thought. Maybe there would be some cutting-edge technology where they would wave a metal-detector-like wand over my eye and it would beep like crazy if something was amiss. If there was a blockage, maybe they could heat the wand and melt it away. They might even throw in a head massage at the end for good measure—from all the stress of having to deal with something involving the eyes. I tried to focus on positive thoughts as I waited over three months for my new patient appointment. Even though I was terrified of the probe, as time passed, the tearing was getting worse, so I started calling the office weekly to see if there were any cancellations. There never were. By the time the day came, I could hardly wait to go. I couldn’t believe that the person who was so squeamish about eye stuff could now hardly wait to have her eye probed! I think God had been slowly preparing me. When the doctor looked at my eyes, he said it was a two-part problem. 1.) that they were dry and overproducing tears and 2.) there might be a blockage in the tear drainage system. He said that we could do the probe and flush or we could start with moisturizing drops for a couple of months in hopes to break the cycle, but gosh darn it I wanted that probe! After months of tearing and discomfort I needed answers. I was not about to waste my courage. Guess what? The procedure, which involved numbing drops, wasn’t even that bad. I couldn’t even see what the doctor was doing (one of my fears) because he made my eye look in a different direction as he worked. It also only lasted a few minutes when I thought it was going to take at least twenty minutes. And my biggest worry of all—that I was going to have to sit with some contraption on my head and forced to keep still—was all for naught! I simply had to lay back in a chair as he did the work. The only real discomfort was the bright light shining overhead. Unfortunately, while the procedure was simple, the results were not. I could not feel the liquid going down my throat as I should have. The tear drainage system connects to the nose, and then to the throat. So if you have ever used eye drops and can taste them—hooray! Your tear drainage system is probably flowing freely. Mine, not so much. I will not go into the possible “next steps” of my journey at this point, but I will say that never in a million years did I think I would make it through the eye probe, but I did. In fact, when he finished, I practically begged him to do the left eye, (which occasionally waters as well), and lo and behold that eye was blocked in the same exact spot! (At this point I basically did break down in tears—the doctor none the wiser—he probably just thought it was the epiphora.) Despite not having the situation remedied by the probe and flush as I had hoped, I still found myself flexing my muscles when I walked past a mirror. Because in those few minutes I was braver than I thought I could be. For now, I will rest in that small victory.
Light in the darkness
February 2026 - Moultrie News
“It almost made me lose my faith.” She was speaking about a recent visit to Auschwitz. She said the energy there was so dark, so oppressive, that she couldn’t reconcile the fact that a good and loving God would allow such atrocities to happen. These thoughts are certainly understandable. So many things can shake our faith: babies dying, animals being abused, terrifying diagnoses, murders. The list goes on and on. I think about the heavy crosses that people carry: the loss of a job, a child, their health. Whenever I have been going through a trial, and have questioned the character of God, my husband always reminds me that God is everything good in the world. He is the person who visits you when a loved one dies, or organizes the meal train when someone gets sick. He is the friend that prays for you and sits with you in your pain. He is “the light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it” (John 1:5). This bible quote perfectly sums up a man named Maximillian Kolbe, who she would later learn about on her tour of Auschwitz. Maximilian Kolbe was a priest during World War II that lived in Poland. He provided care and shelter for people fleeing Nazi persecution and even hid Jewish men, women, and children. Eventually, Maximilian Kolbe was arrested and sent to Auschwitz. The guards at Auschwitz especially hated priests and treated them very badly. Kolbe could have hidden this fact, but instead he continued to pray, encourage, and counsel other prisoners. One day a man escaped from camp. As a result, a guard, wanting to set an example to deter others from escaping, chose ten men who would be starved to death in a bunker. One of the chosen men cried out for mercy, saying he had a wife and children. What happened next was nothing short of miraculous. Kolbe willingly offered himself up to take this man’s place. He imitated Jesus in the most beautiful way, by laying down his life for another. While in the bunker with the other nine men, Kolbe continued to pray and sing psalms, reminding the men that while their bodies could be killed, their souls could not. After two weeks of immense suffering, Kolbe was still alive. On August 14, 1941, Kolbe was put to death by lethal injection so the bunker could be reused. She went on to tell me that during her tour of Auschwitz, they were taken down to a dark and gloomy place where there was a row of cells. It was there she had heard Kolbe’s story. “In his cell there was a tall candle with a red cross. I was feeling so heavy and oppressed, feeling the weight of despair and doubt, and seeing that candle, that cross, gave me room to breathe. I could feel Kolbe’s strength and holiness. He had the incredible ability to turn away from the evil that was staring him in the face, and turn toward the light. He became the light. It was such a contrast between the dark, depressing energy I had just witnessed on the tour.” During the same trip she visited the church where Kolbe was taken away from. It was there she saw his face for the first time. She would also learn that the man whose place Kolbe took, Franciszek Gajowniczek, survived the war and lived until 1995. He was there at the Vatican in 1971 when Kolbe was beatified, and also present in 1982 when Pope John Paul II proclaimed Maximillian Kolbe a saint. Kolbe is known to be the patron saint of prisoners and drug addicts. He is a powerful witness that while there is evil in the world, there is also immense goodness. He also demonstrated a concrete example of how to fight evil —by being the light that shines in the darkness.
The Gift of time
January 2026 - Moultrie News
“You’ll notice a change in her,” the nurse said as my father and I made our way up to the continual care ward. “When was the last time you saw her?” My dad and I looked at each other. “Two months ago,” my dad said. “A year ago,” I replied. I tried to visit my 80-year-old aunt at her convent every time I went home to Connecticut for a visit. But this trip was only a quick three days. Should I still try to squeeze her in? I wondered. Plus, would she even remember me? Things had changed drastically since the summer of 2022 when she was zipping across the freeways of New Haven, meeting us for lunch at Pepe’s pizza. Not even a year later her license had been taken away and she could not answer questions coherently. But she still remembered who I was at last year’s visit. When we got off the elevator my aunt was already approaching us at the front gate. She looked at me first. Nothing. But then she saw my father and immediately her face lit up. She recognized him fully. “Look who I brought,” he said, “It’s Deana….Deana!” She turned back at me and a look of recognition came across her face. We all hugged and teared up as we made our way into the communal room. “I’m just so excited,” she kept saying, looking from me to my father. “What a surprise!” I thought of how rarely my aunt gets visitors. My dad is 83-years-old and can’t make the hour plus drive as easily. As we talked, my aunt was so positive, never complaining. Always a work horse, she showed us how she had set up tiny Easter baskets along the window’s edge, even though it was the end of July. “Sometimes they fall, and then I pick them back up,” she said, laughing. Her heart was so pure. So full of gratitude. A couple of times during our conversations she would become confused, then she would pause and look down to the table and, as if reassuring herself, would say, “Everything will be okay.” Yes, just as she had taught me all these years whenever I needed her wisdom. “Don’t worry, Trust God. Everything will be okay.” “Show me your room,” I said after we had been sitting for a while. She walked me down the hallway and went straight for her door. Once inside I was surprised by how stark the room was. There was a bed, a reclining chair, and a desk with a couple of pictures. The walls were bare except for a large crucifix to the right of her bed. That crucifix was her everything, it always had been. On the way back to the communal room she introduced me to all the nuns and nurses. It was interesting to see the contrast between who my aunt had always been—the ‘Mother Superior,’ the one in charge—and what she was now. She had been the head of a school for decades, and in her later years she took care of the older and dying religious sisters. She had also tenderly cared for my grandmother, who had Alzheimer’s, and for my uncle when he was dying of prostate cancer. Now she was the one being taken care of. I could see how all the love and care she had given to others was now coming back to her full circle. That thought gave me peace. Before we left that day, I asked her if she remembered the Our Father prayer. “Oh yes,” she said. She didn’t, not fully. But we still said it together. She, my dad and I stood in a circle, holding hands as we prayed. As I left, I thought about how I had almost skipped the visit, but was so glad I didn’t. In our culture of business, I have to remember that we have choices in how we spend our free time—and it is never wasted when we spend it being present with others, especially our family. A couple of weeks later, after my dad saw her again, I asked him if she had remembered seeing me. She hadn’t. But I will not let that stop me from visiting her in the future, God willing. Because for that 90- minute visit she had remembered me in the moment—even if it was just her soul recognizing mine. And I have no doubt it was still recorded in her overflowing heart.