It's not the flu. Couldn't be.
I got my vaccine at the end of October. And a tetanus shot. And went to Panama.
Medical science says I can't get the flu and science is never, ever wrong.
It's not spinal meningitis. At least I hope not.
That's what little Guzmán has. He's from Chiautla, Puebla. 'Swampy place'.
Little Guzmán was baptized on Holy Innocents in a squeaky-sterile setting.
But I was sick before meeting Guzmán so I think I can safely rule out a bacterial infection of my membranes.
My guess is that this lingering illness of mine - which I am sadly getting used to - has something to do with moose poop.
Because that's what I feel like. Moose poop.
And feelings are never, ever wrong.
Anyway, sick or not, I've been silently celebrating today.Sixteen years ago, under the soaring dome of St. Peter's, I was made a priest by Pope John Paul II. Sixteen years of largely unnoticed but - I like to think - not unfruitful ministry.
Unnoticed is good. Fruitful is even better.
I want to thank everyone who has been there along the way.
I ask forgiveness from anyone who got hurt or got less than they hoped for from me.
The future looms full of unexpectedness.
Of course, that's just a hunch.
But hunches are never, ever wrong.
