What if loving America meant less shouting in parades and more kneeling in muddy gardens, less blind adoration of flags and more sharp, shining gratitude for the gifts given and the responsibilities laid at our feet? In a voice both playful and penitent, explore how Fulton Sheen, the Church, and a few wild sparrows teach us to tether patriotism to faith—and why only such a tangled, luminous loyalty can save both souls and the country.

Your story is what’s going to separate this one from the rest.

Be clear, be confident, and don’t overthink it.

Prayer is the sword, the shield, the battered old helmet of this kind of battle. But not the kind of prayer that booms or thunders or postures—no, not that. The kind parents love is more slipshod, more heartbeat-like, stitched of the ordinary murmuring, the thousand whispered thank-yous and help-mes and please God, let my children be safe.

This balance of compassion and truth flows directly from the family’s call: to help every child discover and accept the gift of their body, to encounter their deepest meaning not by inventing an identity but in receiving themselves as known and loved by God.

Hatred is not always a violent word hurled or a fist clenched; sometimes it is slighter and slipperier—a sidelong glance, a muttering to oneself, the way a man can close the door of his heart, inch by careful inch, against another. It grows almost unnoticed, watered by old fears, disappointments, by the suspicion that one is under attack, that goodness is scarce, that wounds must be avenged.

Your goal should be to make it feel right for right now.