a true story
about a vision of the late Sarita Kenedy East, her mother,
and the Blessed Virgin Mary
links to additional conversations with Sarita
Another Conversation with Sarita Kenedy East
+
Near Final Message
From Blessed Virgin Mary
received on August 8, 2008
received on July 8, 2008
Message from Virgin Mary about Marc Anthony Cisneros
received on July 6, 2008
Sarita's Last Message – July 1, 2006
"Dissolve My Foundation!"– June 10, 2006
Sarita Speaks Again – June 8, 2006
Sarita Speaks About Her Family and Her Brother - May 23, 2006
Sarita Speaks Again - May 18, 2006
Statement by Tony Hearn Regarding Supreme Court Case
Conversation with Sarita on Tuesday, Oct. 11, 2005
+
by Tony Hearn, M.A.
A number of years ago, while on a retreat, I experienced a vision of
three women - the images of a deceased millionairess, her mother, and a
startlingly beautiful and serene Blessed Virgin Mary.
This surprising vision was burned into my soul, and the experience,
ever fresh, continues to guide my reflections upon the meaning of life and my
obligations to others.
The vision was similar to an oval cameo in which the two women and the
Blessed Virgin were situated. The images were in cascade with the Blessed
Virgin behind. During the vision which lasted for, perhaps, two minutes, the
millionairess spoke to me and the mother and the Blessed Virgin nodded to me in
affirmation of the millionairess' message. The image and the message were so
moving that many tears formed in my eyes and rolled down my face. I never shall
forget the experience.
Sarita Kenedy East
The image came to me while I was visiting the grave of the late Sarita
Kenedy East, the heiress of the 400,000-acre Kenedy La Parra Ranch in South
Texas and a vast fortune which ultimately became the charitable trust known as
the John G. and Marie Stella Kenedy Foundation. This trust, exceeding
$190,000,000 by 1997, became, indirectly, a coveted asset of the Roman Catholic
Church of Texas.
The message to me from the millionairess concerned her spiritual
awakening in the several years before her death in 1961, her remorse over her
lack of wisdom regarding the use of her material wealth before her death, and a
request that a message be given to the bishop and others who had won control of
the fortune which she had bequeathed to the Catholic Church through the foundation
which she had established in her parents' name.
Before I share the message which Sarita Kenedy East gave to me, I will
explain how I happened in the summer of 1985 to be at her grave on the grounds
of her lifelong home at La Parra. I was making a spiritual retreat at Lebh
Shomea (Hebrew for "listening heart"), the eremetic site under the
direction of the Oblates of Mary Immaculate, a religious order within the Roman
Catholic Church. The vision occurred in the morning of the second day of a
seven-day silent retreat.
It was my first visit to Lebh Shomea. After leaving Highway 77 some 75
miles south of Corpus Christi, Texas, I crossed a cattle guard at a manned
checkpoint and was told to drive another five miles. I was told I would then
see a large wooden cross and a further road which would take me to an imposing
mansion both the size and color of the nation's executive residence. In this
huge white house, Sarita Kenedy East grew to maturity. The grounds around the
mansion were shaded from the South Texas sun by palm trees and a few other
trees not native to the land. At a distance, to the west the featureless
ranchland became a tangle of mesquite trees, an effective cover for wild turkey
and other range animals. To the east, the grounds had been tamed for several
hundred yards and turned into a formal garden with shadeless walkways out to a
sizable stone chapel and a shaded grotto adjoining the graveyard in which
Sarita and members of the Kenedy family had been buried.
After studying for a time the layout of the grounds, I parked my car
and entered the mansion to sign in as a guest. To protect the silence of the
center, a religious sister guided me quietly through the process and took me to
a sparely furnished guest room, St. Joseph's, a floor above the ground floor,
which was to be my personal space throughout my retreat. Hot and totally tired
from my long travel from Austin, I welcomed the opportunity to shower and take
a short nap before the evening meal.
That night, I took a walk along the entrance road. The silence grew
more profound as the sky became a vast, black expanse with countless celestial
lights. The flashlight I had been encouraged to bring helped as I made my way
back to my room for a peaceful sleep.
What I am about to relate may disturb some or all who read this story,
causing them to doubt its credibility or my sanity. Some may charge that I am a
tale-telling opportunist with a dark agenda. To those who take offense, I
apologize. However, this is a story which I believe, at last, needs to be told
publicly to more than the few with whom it has been shared.
It was my understanding before the summer of 1985 that visions of
persons in the afterlife or hearing so-called words from heaven were not
reserved for the purest of heart. My experience at Lebh Shomea confirmed that
notion for while I was there I heard voices of persons beyond the grave and I
had the vision of Sarita Kenedy East, her mother Marie Stella Kenedy, and the
Blessed Virgin. You, the reader, must judge for yourself whether my story has
the ring of truth.
Photograph of the author while on retreat at Lebh Shomea.
After I had readied myself for bed and turned out the light, the
silence again impressed me. It was impossible to hear anything else. I strained
for any noise. The stillness was in such contrast to the noise, day and night,
to which I was accustomed. At the time I was operating a social service
ministry for homeless persons who lived on the streets of downtown Austin or
who were passing through on Interstate Highway 35 less than a block from the
Angels House soup kitchen where I lived and supervised the feeding of noon
meals to several hundred persons each day. While I was engulfed in the
stillness in that room within that stately mansion, though, I became aware that
I was not alone. It started ever so softly. It was the sound of sobbing, of a
young woman crying. In the darkness there was nothing to see but more to hear.
I listened intently. The sobs relented and then I heard the voice of the young
woman. She spoke to me. Most of what she said was in broken English with a
Spanish accent. I soon discovered to my amazement that she was speaking to me
from the dead, that she was the ghost of a person who had lived in the room in
which I was staying and that, in fact, I was in the space previously occupied
by her own bed. She explained to me that St. Joseph's guest room had been the
private quarters of the upstairs maid. For what seemed like a long time, this
young woman told me about her life as a servant on the Kenedy ranch, of her
longing to be able to live with her own people, of how others on the ranch -
the field hands - worked and suffered many hardships under their bosses and
head of the Kenedy family. What she related to me caused increasing aggravation.
While she continued her story, I fell asleep, regaining consciousness from time
to time, to hear episodes of life on this ranch, as if I were a fly with human
hearing, buzzing around years earlier. I was glad when dawn came for it had
been a miserable night. What I had heard so disturbed me that I wanted to leave
and not come back. I was angry with the Kenedy family and I wanted out of their
mansion. I was certain that they were in hell for the sufferings they had
either caused or permitted to occur on their property. It was in this frame of
mind that I entered the dining hall. It was my plan, so to speak, to eat and
run. I knew no one would believe my story even if I were permitted to break the
silence and tell it. While I mused over my coffee, I resolved to make one
charitable act. I would go out to the grave of Sarita Kenedy East and say a
prayer for her soul and then depart. That is how I came to be at the grave of
this millionairess.
As I stood outside the steel fence that surrounds the graves of the
Kenedy clan, I began to pray for Sarita's soul. I confess that I was full of
anger over how this wealthy family had oppressed their servants and those who
lived within the perimeter of the huge La Parra ranch. I was certain that where
they now were the earthly privilege they had enjoyed afforded them no
protection from God's just judgment. As an act of reluctant generosity, I
prayed that Almighty God would have at least a bit of mercy upon their souls. I
was bitter. It was at that moment that I experienced the vision of Sarita
Kenedy East, her mother Marie Stella, and the Blessed Virgin Mary.
When this deceased millionairess began to speak to me, as I experienced
the vision, I had only disdain for her and her family. She was, to me, just
another rich woman (in my life I had known quite a few) who had left what she
could not take with her to an institution of dubious reliability for holiness.
As she spoke, my heart experienced a profound change. As I listened, I began to
cry, for what she told me turned my heart around and gave me a completely new
respect and reverence for her. From that time on I have always regarded her in
my thoughts and prayers as Saint Sarita.
Here is what she told me. I cannot remember all of her words exactly.
Some I do; some I must paraphrase. She said:
Certainly I understand why you are so upset with me. Your prayers give
me great comfort. I was upset with myself, too. I discovered too late what I
should have done when I was where you are now. I can no longer accomplish what
I should have when the opportunity to do so was mine. While I was on earth, I
lived by the knowledge which I had gained from my father and his father. They
were powerful men. They were ranchers building a cattle empire. When they gave
orders, they were obeyed. Sometimes they put ropes around cattle and sometimes
around men. I grew up astride a horse, reins in my hands and a bit in its
mouth. I learned to give orders, too. It was for me to tell others what to do
and how to do it. I believed that some were born to live well and others, most
others, were born to be servants, to be among the poor. My mother, here,
believed the same. It was a man's world at La Parra, and, as my father's
beloved daughter, I knew I had to act like a man. I played my part with all my
heart. You see, I did not know that a woman does not have to act like a man to
gain respect. I did not know until it was too late that a woman can and should
let her own nature influence what goes on around her. I did not know what it
was to be a gentle, caring woman and a mother. Now I know. When I realized how
I had missed the opportunity to truly care for those who had suffered while I
had lived such a privileged life, it was too late to make amends. Please,
though, I ask you to go tell the bishop and the others that they must not make
the same mistake now that they have the means to help those whose needs I so
long ignored. Tell them that the wealth that I did not use to be a generous,
caring mother to all must be used by them to help the poorest of the poor.
While I listened to Sarita, I saw her mother Marie Stella sobbing
quietly as she nodded her head in agreement. The Blessed Virgin Mary appeared
to me to listen reverently without a word. It was as though she was there to
give comfort and assurance to Sarita and the same to me. It was the most
beautiful moment of my life. And then the vision ended. There I, a grown man,
stood crying. Rather than leave Lebh Shomea abruptly, I had a week to ponder
alone and in silence this experience.
As I walked back to Sarita's mansion, I felt a strong urge to visit the
library which filled the main floor. It housed an impressive collection of
works on contemplative prayer and mystical theology. It had been named the
Roncalli Library, after the secular name of Pope John XXIII. As if by an unseen
hand, I was led to a glass-enclosed bookcase which contained two scrapbooks
crammed with newspaper clippings and other material. I took them to a reading
table and began to examine them, again, responding to my unseen guide. Throughout
the morning, until lunch, I poured over the material, astonished by what I was
reading. It was the story of Sarita Kenedy East's final months of life on
earth, her decision to change her will so that her fortune would help the
poorest of the poor, and the legal storm which broke out when the directors of
her foundation learned that they had been replaced and were no longer to
control her wealth. It was a story of how Sarita had come to know a simple
Trappist lay monk, Brother Leo Gregory, and how she had written a codicil to
her will in her final weeks, giving him and a wealthy shipping magnate friend,
Peter Grace, a devout Catholic, authority to appoint a new, more compassionate
board of directors to have control of he fortune. It told the story of her tour
of poverty in South America, led by the president of the continent's synod of
Catholic bishops, and how she became gravely ill during the tour and was flown
back to the United States to a New York hospital where she suffered a very
painful death from cancer which had invaded most of her body. It told the story
of how the Catholic hierarchy from the Pope on down, in league with Texas
lawyers and bankers and resolute relatives, fought to keep the money under
their control. It was a story that explained what Sarita had told me during the
vision at her grave. It gave me the name of the bishop - the Bishop of Corpus
Christi - to whom I was told to deliver her message. I was dumbfounded.
In the days following while I was immersed in silence, Saint Sarita -
as I began to regard her - became my companion during the many hours of
meditation I spent before the Blessed Sacrament in a small chapel off the
library in her mansion. In these times, she revealed to me much more that was
on her heart. She told me that during her life on earth she had been much in
the company of powerful men who were the friends and associates of her father.
In addition, the Kenedy ranch was a popular destination for members of the
Catholic hierarchy. Archbishops and bishops traveling on the Gulf of Mexico
often arranged their travel plans to spend time at the Kenedy mansion where
their purses were enriched, their stomachs filled with roasted meats, and their
personal needs were met by Kenedy servants. For these favors, the Kenedy family
earned impressive papal indulgences inscribed on parchments complete with wax
seals which were displayed on the walls of the mansion's formal rooms. Sarita
heard many stories of how the Catholic church guarded and guided the lives of
countless millions of people around the world and how the Pope, his Cardinals,
and the other members of the hierarchy needed help from other powerful men so
that these people would not be led astray by Protestant heresies or left to
pagan beliefs. Sarita and her mother listened to this talk and nodded in
agreement when the men looked their way. She learned that the Kenedy family
fortune belonged in the hands of powerful men - men wearing either spurs or
pectoral crosses.
Sarita told me much more of her life, of her marriage, of the death of
her parents and her husband and her brother who had fought alcoholism
throughout his life, and how she had the burden of ruling over La Parra and the
fortune she had inherited. She told me how one day, very late in her life, a
simple monk from the Trappist Abbey in Spencer, Massachusetts, came to visit La
Parra to ask for financial help in founding a new monastery for the growing
number of young men returning from the Second World War who were seeking
religious vocations after the violence of warfare. This monk, Brother Leo
Gregory, had been sent out by his abbot because he seemed to have an unusual
ability to gain the interest of potential donors to Cistercian causes. Brother
Leo did indeed gain Sarita's attention and, in time, her total confidence. She
invited him to stay and stay. With permission from his abbot, Brother Leo
became Sarita's spiritual mentor and a frequent companion at La Parra and on
travels, schooling her in Trappist contemplative spirituality, the same path
which the Trappist writer Thomas Merton was making famous in his spiritual
writings. In appreciation for this guidance, Sarita sent significant sums of
money to help Brother Leo's abbot establish a new monastery in Colorado. During
this time, Sarita began to experience a conversion of her heart, away from
notions of power and privilege and towards the concepts of brotherhood and,
yes, motherhood.
Sarita revealed to me that during this time she developed a strong
devotion to the Blessed Virgin who before, though present in her religious
thoughts, had been somewhat of a shadow behind the men of the Gospels and New
Testament stories. She had always been preoccupied with the lives of men like
Saints Peter and Paul and later saints like Augustine of Hippo, Ignatius of
Loyola, and Thomas Aquinas, men of faith and action.
Sarita told me how she began to discover that the ways of men, of
powerful men, of men who sought control and domination over others were inconsistent
with the ways of holiness, of humility, of service, and that this false notion
of manliness was in stark contrast to the ways of nurture and, yes, of true
womanliness, of motherhood. She told me how she became much more aware of the
holiness of the Blessed Virgin Mary.
Sarita revealed to me that she learned that many men seek control and
leadership for the wrong reasons, even men who seek the priesthood. She told me
that many young men talk of becoming like Christ in roles as pastors. What Sarita
said surprised me. I had not thought of these things before. She said that
young seminarians should talk of becoming like the Blessed Virgin Mary,
submissive to the Will of God so that the Holy Spirit could come forth in the
lives of men and women. She told me that only those who had learned well how to
be submissive to the Will of God, not of men, could ever become either
trustworthy spiritual or secular leaders. She told me that the model for all
humans should be the Blessed Virgin Mary, not the Christ of the Gospels. She
said that Jesus could not be our model. He is our savior. No man can be like
the Incarnate Son of God, the Christ, she said. Every man should be, Sarita
told me, like Mary. Every man should learn the lessons of holy motherhood, she said.
Then, by the grace of God, she taught me, a man might become a worthy father
and, possibly, a saintly leader. There was no other path to authentic
manliness, she explained. I marveled at her wisdom.
(See email exchange during February, 2004, between the author and
Brother Leo Gregory who is now living again at the Trappist abbey in Spencer,
Massachusetts. Brother Leo and the author discuss what the author claims Sarita
Kenedy East told him regarding Mary rather than Christ being the model for all
humans. Discussion
between author and Brother Leo Gregory.)
In the course of our
conversations before the Blessed Sacrament, Sarita told me how Brother Leo had
told her of the merits of holy poverty and the frightful perils of unholy
penury. She told me that before Brother Leo had opened up to her such
knowledge, she had not been sensitive to the needs of those around her who were
beneath her in social class. She told me how it stung her conscience and how
she craved the chance to make amends for her earlier lack of concern. She told
me that Brother Leo suggested she see for herself how people suffered while
others, of the ruling class, enjoyed the privileges of wealth.
Her desire to see the
results of unholy penury at its worst led her to use her influence to arrange a
tour of South American to be led personally by the president of the synod of
South American Catholic bishops. She took Brother Leo along as her companion
and teacher. What she saw and heard on this tour turned her heart to the cries
of the poorest of the poor.
Sarita told me that before
she completed the tour of South America, she resolved to put her wealth at the
service of the poorest of the poor. Knowing that her own health was failing,
she decided to wait no longer to make the necessary change. She had a codicil
to her will drawn up. In that codicil she removed all previously designated
trustees of the Kenedy Foundation which was to inherit her wealth. In their
stead, she named Brother Leo as a new trustee because she knew he understood
how her heart had been turned to the poor. She trusted that he would be a
faithful steward of the great wealth she was soon to leave behind. She also
knew that he was not sufficiently knowledgeable about legal issues and the ways
of finance to be able to manage the wealth alone. She named Peter Grace to be a
partner with him in ultimately naming new, compassionate persons to the Kenedy
Foundation's board of directors.
Sarita told me that she then
had great misgivings about the men she had named previously to the Kenedy
Foundation. She knew that it would be very difficult for Brother Leo and Peter
Grace. All she could do was pray that they would be strong in carrying out her
new desire to truly help the poorest of the poor.
Sarita told me that she felt
a heavy burden over what was to become of the wealth after she was gone. This
burden sapped her strength which was already lessened by the journey throughout
South America. She knew she was failing.
Sarita told me that she and
Brother Leo prayed much for the help of the Blessed Virgin as her health ebbed
from her. On her trip back to the United States, she prayed to the Virgin that
her prayers would bring divine aid to Brother Leo as he attempted to carry out
her last wishes. Sarita told me that she is still praying that her last wishes
would be carried out. She told me that she had asked to appear to me because I
was the first man who had visited her home since Brother Leo who had the same
burning concern for the poor she had learned to have from Brother Leo's
counsel. She told me that she asked the Blessed Virgin to appear with her in
the vision to give me the message for those who controlled the vast wealth of
the Kenedy Foundation that she wanted her last will to be followed.
I had learned from the
scrapbook that Brother Leo had been threatened with excommunication by the
Vatican if he did not renounce his position as a trustee of the Kenedy
Foundation. I learned that he had been ordered under holy obedience by his
abbot to renounce his role and thus to break his promise to Sarita. I learned,
too, that Brother Leo had been labeled by church leaders as an evil man who had
preyed upon Sarita. Through all of that, Brother Leo had struggled to keep his
commitment to Sarita. The clippings told me that Sarita's wealth had been tied
up in legal wrangling for years. Finally, Peter Grace gave in, agreeing to a
settlement. Brother Leo sent his submission to the Pope, telling him he would
agree to the settlement if the Pope took the responsibility for Brother Leo's
breaking his promise to Sarita. At the Vatican, Brother Leo's message to the
Pope was intercepted and discarded. The settlement was finalized and a small
sum was put in Peter Grace's control for use in another Catholic charity. The
vast bulk of the inheritance was regained by the original set of trustees.
Seeking asylum, Brother Leo left the United States and settled in a remote
monastery in Chile.
My conversations with Sarita
continued while I was at Lebh Shomea. After several days, I asked to speak with
the priest director of the center. Awkwardly, I attempted to describe what I
had experienced at the grotto cemetery, and of my conversations with Sarita
before the Blessed Sacrament. While he listened intently, I could tell he gave
what I was telling him no credence. When I was through, he suggested that what
I was experiencing was some sort of psychological phenomenon, probably induced
by fatigue and impressionability. He told me that while my concern for the poor
was commendable, rather than share the story of the vision with the bishop of
Corpus Christi and others, I should become involved with the work of men like
social activist Sol Alinsky whose followers were active in South Texas. I
thanked him for his advice.
When my time at Lebh Shomea
was completed, I drove back to Austin, pondering the substance and the meaning
of my conversations with Sarita. I was not eager to carry out her instructions
to give her message to the bishop of Corpus Christi. It had been my experience
that Catholic bishops do not like to be told anything by a lay person except
"Here is a check, Your Excellency!" Within the first week of my
return to Austin, I was scheduled to give a talk on social justice to a small
group of women who were members of a ladies' guild of an Episcopal Church. They
had consistently made donations to the soup kitchen. I recall that I shared
with them the gist of what Sarita had told me about choosing Mary as the model
for our lives and how her life and motherhood were the best lessons for
leadership. I kept to myself that I had just been taught this by a dead
millionairess while the Blessed Virgin nodded in agreement.
Shortly after my return to
running the Angels House soup kitchen, one day a young man, who had been one of
my students at Southwest Texas State University in San Marcos where I had been
a journalism teacher several years earlier, appeared in the soup line. He
explained that while he had money in his pocket, to my relief, he had only a
menial job, steam cleaning carpets, and wanted to find work for which he had
training. In a moment, I had an inspiration that would set this bright young
man to work for at least several days. I told him I would pay his $5 an hour if
he would do some library research for me. He agreed. I sent him off to the Hogg
Foundation at the University of Texas at Austin where records are kept of the
activities of all of the non-profit corporations and foundations operating
within the state. I instructed him to document for me all of the expenditures
of the Kenedy Foundation since its inception. I explained to him that I wanted
to know if the proceeds of the foundation were being spent on projects to help
the poorest of the poor. Because I had trained him in the techniques of
investigative reporting, I had confidence he would do a thorough job.
Within the week, this young
man returned with a bundle of papers on which was recorded all of the
expenditures including grants made by the Kenedy Foundation. Trustees had
donated millions to build the Sarita Kenedy East wing of a Catholic hospital in
Corpus Christi. They had also given the money to build the law school library
at Saint Mary's Catholic University in San Antonio. They had paid for the
construction of buildings at many Catholic churches throughout Texas. I was
surprised to learn that the trustees had made large donations to the National
Cancer Institute and to the Red Cross. No funds, however, had found their way
across the United States southern border to the poor in Mexico or in Central or
South America.
I paid my former student for
his work and helped him obtain a job as an editor of a local business
publication. I filed away his research and mused over what it had taught me.
After a time, I sent a
letter to the bishop of Corpus Christi, revealing to him in humble assertions
the story of my vision of Sarita Kenedy East, her mother, and the Blessed
Virgin Mary. In faithfulness to Sarita, I conveyed her message. I did not
receive a reply.
At about that time, a famine
in East Africa was capturing the attention of persons concerned about hunger
and, with the media focusing on starvation abroad, it was having a disastrous
impact on donations to the Angels House soup kitchen. My mind turned to
immediate needs to feed those who appeared daily at my door. I put the Kenedy
Foundation out of my mind. Within the year, for lack of consistent funding, I
had to shut down my efforts to minister to the urban poor. For the last dozen
years, I have spent my energy in education, remembering though what Sarita
shared with me about true manliness being so akin to motherhood and the graces
of the Blessed Virgin Mary. I should confess that I had need to learn this
lesson from Sarita because I had not measured up to all of my responsibilities as
a man in previous years. As time went on, I pondered much about what she told
me of the qualities of leadership. I have meditated for long hours about the
desire for power and its abuses and the difference between paternity and
paternalism. Often I think about the Kenedy Foundation and the Catholic leaders
who I know are using its funds to build things with brick and stone. I think of
how Sarita came to understand that the Church is not buildings but communities
of human beings joined together by the desire for justice and mercy. I pray for
the trustees of wealth including Sarita's legacy that they will learn, as she
did before her death, that money should not be accumulated by oppressing others
and that if it was so gained it should be given back to those who did the
back-breaking work to amass it. I pray, too, that every person, whether poor or
of considerable means, may be guided by the spirit of philanthropy and of
maternal love. I pray that each will learn to follow the model of the Blessed
Virgin before he or she attempts to tell others how or where to walk.
While the memories of many
adventures of my life have faded and the details have grown dim in my mind, the
vision which I experienced at Lebh Shomea beside the grave of Sarita Kenedy
East is easy to recall. That vision turned livid anger into loving admiration,
disdain for a rich woman into devotion to one who found true wealth and wisdom
in the company of the Blessed Virgin Mary.
I often pray with all my
heart, mind, and soul to the one I have come to know as Saint Sarita:
"Pray for us, Sarita, especially for those of us who are merely men. Pray
for us that we may grow in wisdom and in mercy and that those who suffer from
our lack of it may find aid and comfort."
This is the surprising story
of my vision of a deceased millionairess, her mother, and the Blessed Virgin
Mary. I have no mantle with winter roses and the likeness of the Virgin upon it
to lay before the bishop of the diocese named for the Body of Christ. I have
neither the simplicity nor the virtue of a now Saint Juan Diego. But in
faithfulness to the saintly deceased millionairess, I am delivering her message
to him again and to you, my reader.
I hope the powerful man who leads the Kenedy Foundation and the church in the city with the beautiful name - Corpus Christi - and all others who may read this story may receive Sarita's message. I hope that you will take her message to your own mind and heart and act upon it, and, please, you, too, go tell the bishop.
+
+
Return to Tony's Journal Home Page
+