Two children, ages eight and 10, went to school this morning.
They won’t be going home.
Somebody decided that this would be a good morning to spray bullets into a church full of people. Why the 20-something (probably) man made that decision is an open question, and may remain so. He killed himself after committing murder.
This happened in Minneapolis, Minnesota, near West 54th Street, where it becomes Diamond Lake Road. (Google Maps)
That’s the gist of what I saw in the news around noon today:
“Two children are dead, two other children are in critical condition, and a total of 17 people are injured following a Wednesday morning shooting at Church of the Annunciation in southwest Minneapolis, according to police.
“Police say the shooter, a man in his 20s, opened fire during an all-school mass held at 8:15 a.m. Wednesday, when dozens of Annunciation Catholic School students and other worshippers were gathered in the adjoining church….
“…During a news conference, MPD Chief Brian O’Hara confirmed that an 8-year-old and a 10-year-old were killed and two other children are in critical condition. He said 17 people were injured, in addition to the children who died….” (“Live updates: 2 children killed, 17 injured as shooter opens fire at Minneapolis church” , BringMeTheNews (August 27, 2025))
“…’This was a deliberate act of violence against innocent children and other people worshiping,’ [Minneapolis Police Chief Brian] O’Hara said. ‘The sheer cruelty and cowardice of firing into a church full of children, it’s absolutely incomprehensible.’ …” (“Annunciation Church Minneapolis: What’s known about shooting suspect” , Megan Ziegler, FOX 9 KMSP (August 27, 2025))
“…Dating to 1923, the pre-kindergarten through eighth grade school had an all-school Mass scheduled at 8:15 a.m. Wednesday morning, according to its website. Monday was the first day of school….” (“Annunciation Church school shooting: What we know about the victims” , Chris Williams, FOX 9 KMSP (August 27, 2025))
I’m not, putting it mildly, happy about this. I’ll probably be angry, as soon as the disgust I’m feeling eases off.
As for what I think about what happened:
Human life is precious, a gift from God
Murder is a bad idea and we shouldn’t do it
Suicide is a bad idea and we shouldn’t do it
Attacking places of worship isn’t nice
I’ve talked about that, emotions, and trying to make sense, before:
It’s early days, a few items about the person who committed murder and suicide are popping up.
My guess is by tomorrow news coverage, if it continues, will focus on the weapons used, rather than the perpetrator’s possible motives.
I’m also guessing that he was not thinking straight: or maybe was under the impression that the Catholic Church is part of a Jewish plot. That’s assuming that any thought was involved.
Anyway, here’s a sample:
“…posted two YouTube videos, one ten minutes and the other twenty minutes long, showing writings that reference suicide, depression, ‘extremely violent thoughts and ideas,’ as well as an apology addressed ‘to my family and friends’ and a drawing of the layout of a church. A video also showed a number of guns, bullets and magazines. Messages were written on the guns, including antisemitic, and racist phrases and a message saying ‘Kill Donald Trump’. The channel was taken down shortly after the uploads….[33][34]” (Annunciation Catholic Church shooting, Wikipedia (copied August 27, 2025) [33 “Alleged attacker uploaded videos earlier today”. BBC News. August 27, 2025. Retrieved August 27, 2025.][34 “Suspect identified as Robin Westman, multiple sources say”. NBC News. August 27, 2025. Retrieved August 27, 2025.])
Liechtenstein (upper right), Sion (inset, lower left); north side of the Alps.
It’s been about a half-century since I worked for the Red River Valley Historical Society. Articles I wrote for their Red River Valley Heritage Press are in the MSMM Archives, and that’s another topic.1
Something I liked about that historical society is that it focused on what I think of as my ‘home turf’: the Red River Valley of the North. It’s some of the flattest land, and best farmland, on the planet.
When it’s mentioned at all, it’s in the context of 19th century treaty violations. Or the latest spring floods.2 And I’m drifting off-topic again.
The point is that while I was working for that outfit, we had a meeting with folks in Winnipeg, Canada — and got a tour of one of Winnipeg’s old houses.
After a half-century, all I remember about it — in any detail — is our tour guide’s account of how a stained glass window narrowly escaped destruction.
I don’t remember his name. But I do remember that somewhere along the line he said that he was, thanks to his ancestors, the 12th baron of Shaan. Or maybe Schön — there are a few places in Liechtenstein and Switzerland with names like that.3
He described the ‘barony’ as a few blocks in some town: his title gave him no economic benefit, but allowed him a few minor ceremonial perks. Which may explain why he was living in Winnipeg.
Anyway, here’s what he told us about his interest in a particular stained glass window.
Initiative, Theft; Tomayto, Tomahto
A few years earlier, this historic building had been in bad shape. Worse, from the viewpoint of folks who were trying to restore it, it was scheduled for demolition. I don’t remember details, but I think there was a hold-up in transferring ownership.
Was tearing the house down a good idea? Depends on how you look at it.
It might have been more cost-effective to tear the old wreck down and replace it with something blandly contemporary.
But Winnipeg would have lost one of its historic landmarks, and a beautiful stained glass window would have been destroyed.
Gran Vitral Tiffany del Hotel Ciudad de Mexico (Great Tiffany Stained Glass Window at the Hotel Ciudad de Mexico). Octavio Alonso Maya’s photo.
Considering the value folks put on stained glass art, that last bit — destroying a work of art — struck me as odd.
My guess is that someone figured there wouldn’t be enough profit in having the window removed and sold.
I think spending time and materials to preserve the window would have been a good idea. But I’m emphatically not involved in urban development.
Although I think life’s financial side matters, I also think there’s more to life than a high profit margin. Much more.
Seizing an Opportunity: and a Window
As our guide told it, with one day left before demolition, he unobtrusively slipped into the condemned building, removed the window, and took it to a nice, quiet place.
Within 24 hours, the building’s ownership SNAFU got resolved and its new owners noticed that they were one stained glass window short.
Being reasonable people, they said ‘we want our window back, no questions asked’. Communication followed, and the stained glass window was returned as quietly as it had been extracted.
Was removing that window illegal? Almost certainly.
I don’t know much about Winnipeg’s, Manitoba’s, or Canada’s law. But entering a building you don’t own and leaving with one of its windows without getting permission sounds like theft to me.
Was it wrong?
That’s a good question.
Theft: Getting Technical
There are a few actions that actually are wrong. Theft is one of them.
Theft is wrong. (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2408)
But — we’re talking about humans here, so it’s not quite that simple.
For starters, there’s “the reasonable will of the owner”. And sometimes theft looks like good, or clever, business. Shortchanging employees, not delivering goods or services that were paid for — basically, “theft” comes in many shapes and sizes, and it’s complicated. (Catechism, 2407-2414, for starters)
Now: was our tour guide’s removal of that stained glass window wrong?
“Legal” May Not be Right
“Fighting crime and/or evil”: Dick Orkin’s Chickenman. (1966-1969)
I don’t know if it’s growing up in the Sixties, or my Irish heritage: but I’m not horrified at our tour guide’s flagrant disregard for law and order.4
Particularly since his intent was preserving the window: and that he returned it to its now-legal owners as soon as there was a reasonable chance that it wouldn’t be destroyed.
On the other hand, the odds are that if the old house had been demolished, he’d have found a buyer for the window.
Like I said, it’s complicated.
Thinking that something can be legal and still be wrong, and that doing something illegal may be right, started making a lot more sense in the Sixties.
Now that I’m a Catholic, I have to believe that what’s right and what’s legal aren’t necessarily the same thing. (Catechism, 1954-1960, 2273)
But, since I’m a Catholic, I should show obedience to, and respect for, authority. Reasoned obedience: not blindly doing whatever I’m told. (Catechism, 1900-1903, 2242-2243)
Again: complicated.
Believing that what a government says is right may be, in fact, wrong was counter-cultural in my youth. It still is.
All that’s changed are the details, and that’s yet another topic.
Detail, Gentile da Fabriano’s “Valle Romita Polyptych.” (ca. 1411)
I’ve talked about natural law, principles that are part of reality; and positive law, rules that we make up,5 before:
Stearns County Fair, Saturday afternoon. (August 9, 2025)
Stearns County Fair, concessions between the Midway and the barns. (2012)
I took that picture of the Stearns County Fair while coming back from an errand last Saturday.
It’s about as close to being there as I’ve gotten in the last several years.
But since this household isn’t much more than a thousand feet from the fairground entrance, I get to see folks parked on the side street. Or, rather, I see the vehicles they’ve parked there. Sometimes my timing is right and I see them heading toward or returning from the festivities.
My favorite memory this year was seeing a young family — dad and a little girl — heading back to their car. It was late Saturday afternoon. My guess is that the little girl would have been okay with spending a few more hours at the fair. Holding at least two balloons, she hopped every second step or so. The dad proceeded at a more measured pace.
Friday evening usually brings a great many folks to the fairgrounds, but I didn’t notice as much traffic this year. That could be because the day’s forecast included storms. And, sure enough, later that evening a line of thunderstorms started heading our way.
Sauk Centre’s warning sirens went off about 10:25 p.m. — so we headed for our bad-weather positions. Which, in my case, is at the foot of the stairs leading to the second floor.
The storm that clipped Sauk Centre’s west side didn’t look all that perilous on radar, so we figured that sounding the sirens was ‘out of an abundance of caution’. That much lightning, and any amount of hail, could be bad news for anyone out in the open.
Later, when the sirens stopped and the storm was obviously missing us, I checked out what the Weather Service said about the situation. Looks like our spotters noticed something that wasn’t obvious. Which is why we have spotters.
TORNADO…POSSIBLE HAIL THREAT…RADAR INDICATED MAX HAIL SIZE…1.00 IN WIND THREAT…RADAR INDICATED MAX WIND GUST…60 MPH (National Weather Service information, weather.gov (August 8, 2025)
Scenic, no. Good farmland, yes. Red River Valley, near the Goose River, looking south.
My oldest daughter suggested that I start telling ‘family stories’ about eight months back: which struck me as a good idea.
This week’s, involving a door and — I think — showing where I get some of my attitudes and priorities, got me started looking for places in one of my ancestral homelands.
I’ll be talking about that; and, eventually, what happened when a husband’s idea of what’s good enough didn’t line up with his wife’s.
Most folks on my father’s side of the family had been in this country for generations when my mother’s grandfather and grandmother came over.
That may account, at least partly, for how easily I sorted out the Arba Zeri Campbell >Floss (née Campbell) Gill > Bernard I. Gill > me line of descent.
Besides being more recent immigrants, My mother’s people were from Norway: Norwegians, but not those blonde giants.
I’ve run into a few versions of how we handled surnames, but will talk about what I’ve gathered: without diving down assorted rabbit holes. The way it worked was apparently that daughters would be [given name] [parent’s name + datter]. The parent being the father. Don’t quote me on this: I’m just dipping into my memory.
I’m not sure, but I suspect that an “Ole Olsen Sr.” I found may be my great grandfather, Ole O. Hovde Sr. — if that’s the case, the one-year difference in birth date might stem from a typo.
One reason I suspect those are two names for one person is a few coincidences: the “Olsen Sr.” has a brother Lars, he came to the Goose River area at the same time as my great grandfather: and is related to someone I knew as Aunt Mattie.1
My guess is that historians run into this sort of thing fairly often, when hunting facts in source documents.
At any rate, I’ve got a family story to share this week: involving, maybe, my great grandfather Ole O. Hovde Sr.
A Place in Ottertail County: Scenic, But Not Practical
Scott Backstrom’s photo: Maplewood State Park, in Ottertail County, Minnesota. (2003)
Before that, though, a little clarification about what what I posted earlier this week:
“…Finally arriving at Ottertail County, Ole didn’t like the area and so decided to go on to the Goose River valley with some of the group. Mari and some of the other women stayed behind while Ole and the men went on. They hit the Goose River about a mile west of where Hillsboro [North Dakota] is now….” (“Four Generations in America” (August 6, 2025)) [emphasis mine]
My guess, and it’s just a guess, is that Ole Sr. liked the land in Ottertail County just fine.
My folks and I found the place: not in Maplewood State Park, but the same sort of land you see in that photo. I don’t remember what year. It’s something of a Minnesota beauty-spot, with picturesque hills. And trees. And rocks. Lots of rocks.
Probably looks like the part of Norway he came from.
But it’s not good farmland.
So I figure Ole Sr. preferred land where growing crops wouldn’t be as challenging.
Now, another point or two about names.
Names, Language, Accents, and Legacies
Nordre Land Municipality (including Hugulia, Aust-Torpa) and Gjøvik area, Norway.
From “Four Generations in America” (Aug. 6, 2025): Hovde, in Beridalen, Nordre Land, Norway: about 110 miles north of Oslo.
I mentioned “Gjørvik, Nordre Land, Norway” in that 1972 paper. Just one problem: there is no “Gjørvik” in Norway, not that I could find.
“Gjørvik” may be how my part of the family pronounced Gjøvik, a town in Norway that’s east and a little south of where I figure my great-grandfather grew up.
The Nordre Land municipality is still there, but Oppland county isn’t: the folks in charge merged it and Hedmark in 2020, giving us Innlandet.
Next, about language and accent.
I grew up in the Upper Midwest, but speak with something close to what used to be called broadcast standard. I gather it’s General American English now.2
That might be partly because my folks and I lived a block or so away from a college campus. But I figure it’s also because both my parents were slightly deaf: and didn’t realize it until I was grown. Speaking clearly was a high priority for me. Still is.
Changes — or — Seeking Lost Branting and Beridalen
Another thing or three about names —
In “Four Generations in America” I said that my great-grandfather Ole O. Hovde Sr. was born in “1840 at Hovde, Branting in Beridalen, Gjørvik, Nordre Land, Norway”.
Clear enough, right? Well, maybe.
I found a whole mess of Hovde-something place names; including a Hovdevatnet lake, and a hill/mountain called just plain Hovde. But didn’t find a Branting, Beridalen, or Gjorvik. Gjorvik I’ve already talked about. But, again, I couldn’t find a place called Branting.
There’s a Swedish politico whose surname is Branting, which might have been a toponymic surname, like Hovde almost certainly is. “Toponymic surname” is academese for a family name that’s based on a place name. Maybe there was another place in Norway called Branting, and it’s been re-named.
I couldn’t find a Beridalen, either. But I did find Biri, a village that’s east of the area with “Hovde” place-names. Maybe Biri is how Beri’s written these days. And maybe that village was in Beridalen, and still is. Or would be, if the names hadn’t shifted a bit in the last couple centuries.
Speaking of which, there were and almost certainly still are a great many versions of the Norwegian language. But these days only Nynorsk and Bokmål are official: for written Norwegian, at any rate.3 Those are rabbit holes that I’ll ignore this week.
“An Interesting Pattern”
Something that struck me as I was looking for places, based on names my family remembered from the mid-19th century, was how many details can get lost in the shuffle — and how much I don’t remember.
That, and maybe some insight on why my folks encouraged me to speak clearly.
I was going to ramble on about that. But this excerpt from a chat my oldest daughter and I had Tuesday evening covers the important points:
[oldest daughter] “…I hadn’t heard that Ole Jr. was particularly interested in Grandma speaking ‘unaccented’ English. I’d heard that Great-Grandma Gunda had been teased at school for not knowing much English, so she very much wanted to make sure her daughter was fluent.” … [me] “Oh, yeah – – – both sides were highly motivated to have Dorothy ‘speak American’ 😉 ” [oldest daughter] “To Grandma’s annoyance. “It’s an interesting pattern. The immigrants and their children are all too eager to drop their native language and culture like it’s radioactive. The following generations profoundly wish they hadn’t. “I wish I had a tape recorder going every time Grandpa Gill talked….” (Discord chat (August 5, 2025))
Priorities and a Door
Finally, the ‘family story’ that I planned to share this week.
I’m not sure which couple this was: they were on my mother’s side of the family, and might have been Mari and Ole O. Sr. — but I can’t be sure. Not now.
Anyway, they’d both moved into a house — residence, at any rate — near the Goose River. The place was habitable, but lacked one of the modern amenities: a door.
He apparently had thought, probably with reason, that whatever makeshift arrangement he’d made to keep weather and critters on the outside was good enough: particularly since he hadn’t built a permanent house yet.
She had an alternative viewpoint. They were living there, this was their home, and she wanted a door. A door. Not whatever he figured was good enough for now.
So he went back to Ottertail County and got a door.
These days, that’s a drive: something like 105 miles, 170 kilometers: an hour and 45 minutes, give or take, in good weather.
Getting there and back 1871 or 1872 took longer.
The way I remember it, her husband walked to the nearest store — in Ottertail County — and back. Carrying the door.
I believe it, since wasting a valuable horse’s time — time that could have been better spent cultivating, or hauling, up in the Red River Valley — wouldn’t have made sense.
Besides, she wanted a door. So he went and got her a door.
Family, Names, and Links
Wrapping things up this week —
Families matter. Names are a cultural, and sometimes a political, thing.
Hovde, in Beridalen, Nordre Land, Norway: about 110 miles north of Oslo.
I wrote this paper in 1972 for Dr. K. Smemo’s History 349, The Scandinavians in America.
I’m planning to share a ‘family story’ or two about this side of the family in Saturday’s post: which will be both shorter, and easier to read than this.
I’m using a different format for footnotes this time, reflecting which page each one was on: [page number]-[footnote number]. Finally, I’ve added some extra information in square brackets [] — since some of what seemed obvious a half-century back probably isn’t today.
Four Generations in America: From a Gaard in Norway to a Farm in North Dakota
In this paper I am going to follow four generations of Norwegian immigrants in this country and try to show how each generation became increasingly ‘American’.
My great-grandfather, Ole O. Hovde, Sr. was born October 23, 1840 at Hovde, Branting in Beridalen, Gjørvik, Nordre Land, Norway [about 110 miles, 176 kilometers, north of Oslo]. One of six children of poor parents, Ole’s education “didn’t amount to much”.1-1 He could only attend a few weeks in the coldest winter, most of his time being spent making a living by working in neighboring gaards [farms]. He learned to read, but not write, Norwegian. However, “his lack of formal education never seemed to have handicapped him in his figuring as he [was] able to compute figures in his head at a more rapid rate than most people figuring on paper.”1-2
Left to his own devices Ole probably would have remained in Norway, as four of the six children in the family did. However, his brother Lars “was very anxious to go to America to see if the country was as good as he had been told.”3 Lars’ sources of information may have been America letters or statements by a man named Lundsaetter, a Norwegian who had gone to America and returned as an agent for a navigation company specializing in carrying immigrants to America. Lars and Lundsaetter persuaded Ole to go with Lars to America and in 1867 Lars, Ole and Ole’s fiance Mari Gulbrandson and about one hundred other Norwegians left for North America. Landing in Quebec, Lars, Ole and Mari went to Chicago. Ole and Mari found work in the Chicago area and stayed there for several years before moving west.1-4 During this period Mari worked as a maid in Beloit, Wisconsin, and learned English there.2-1
Ole and Mari were married May 1, 1871, at Rock Prairie, near Beloit, by the Lutheran minister Rev. I. Juller Eggen. The brother of the minister’s wife induced Ole to go to Ottertail County [Minnesota]. Ole took out his first citizenship papers at Janesville, Wisconsin, in May of 1871 and2-2 shortly thereafter Ole and Mari Hovde started toward Ottertail County in a covered wagon pulled by two horses, “accompanied by a number of friends with a similar aim.”2-3
Finally arriving at Ottertail County, Ole didn’t like the area and so decided to go on to the Goose River valley with some of the group. Mari and some of the other women stayed behind while Ole and the men went on. They hit the Goose River about a mile west of where Hillsboro [North Dakota] is now. The land was not yet open for filing and the others decided to quit being pioneers, and went back to Wisconsin. Ole stayed on, squatting in the covered wagon until he could get a small log house built for winter. There were only two other settlers there at the time, living about three miles east of where Ole settled. As time went on other people came, including Ole’s brother Lars. Ole Hovde Sr. was “one of the first road supervisors of the township as he was well acquainted with the stakes set by the government surveyors.”2-4 I take this to be an indication that Ole had become sufficiently ‘American’ to cooperate with the local government. After coming to America Ole Sr. learned English, retaining a command of the language in the 1920s. However, he preferred to speak Norwegian, using English when necessary.2-5 While living in the Goose River area, Ole Hovde Sr. was converted to (or led astray by) Methodism. His son, Ole Hovde Jr., learned both Lutheran and Methodist catechisms and was a Methodist.2-6
Ole Sr. retired from active farming early in life, turning the farm over to his son Ole Hovde Jr..
Ole Jr. was born on the homestead May 11, 1874,3-1 and took over operation of the farm at the age of eighteen. He spoke and wrote both Norwegian and English fluently, preferring English to Norwegian, and had the equivalent of an eighth grade education in the local school, plus short courses intended for farmers at North Dakota State University.3-2
In 1905 he married Gunda Olson, who had been born in Norway but had arrived in America as an infant. Her parents had left Norway because her father “had broken away from the state Lutheran Church and was a ‘radical’ Methodist.”3-3
Ole Jr. did not want his child, Dorothy Marie Hovde, to have a Norwegian accent (he himself spoke accentless English) and so after Dorothy was born Norwegian was not spoken in the Hovde home except when relatives or visitors arrived who did not speak English. Because of this, Dorothy speaks only English, although she learned some Norwegian and think could re-acquire it if necessary.3-4
Dorothy Hovde is the first ‘all American’ Hovde. Her only working language is English, and when she thinks of it she regards herself as an American. She moved into Hillsboro with her parents in 1918. After high school she went to the University of Minnesota, receiving a BA and completed work at Northwestern University, receiving a Bachelor of Music degree. At the University of Illinois she got a graduate degree in Library Science. While there she met Bernard Gill and they were married August 24, 1949.
Me, at my desk, about a half-century after writing “Four Generations in America”.
I was born September 30, 1951 and am the fourth generation of Hovde to live in America. In addition to being ‘American’ in language and custom, I represent a further loss of Norwegian culture by being Irish- Scotch-Irish in background, I enjoy lefse, identify to some extent with the vkings and their accomplishments and wear green on St. Patrick’s Day.
These four generations show a pattern of assimilation which has been fairly common in the United States. Ole Sr., who came over during the first major wave of Norwegian emigration, retained much of his cultural identity although he acquired a foreign language, English, and a foreign religion, Methodism. His son, Ole Jr., was also bi-lingual but preferred to use English and was concerned that his daughter speak American English. In addition, he had some American schooling, which probably contributed to his Americanization. The third generation, Dorothy Hovde Gill, speaks only English and is quite American. She received even more education in America, which probably helped to reduce some Norwegian traits.
Assimilation has gone even further in the fourth generation. In addition to speaking only English I am only half Norwegian, the other half being mainly Irish and Scotch-Irish. This loss of native language and the mixing of ethnic backgrounds is a process which has contributed to the formation of what we call the American culture. This process is still going on, and eventually a person may be able to look back through his or her family tree and select the ethnic background which he wants to display as “his”.
Footnotes
1-1 Ernest Oliver Nelson, July 31, 1924, A Biographical Sketch of Ole O. Hovde, Sr., p. 1
1-2 Nelson, p. 1, 2
1-3 Nelson, p. 2
1-4 Nelson, p. 5
2-1 Unsigned typewritten sheet in Hovde History file
2-2 Nelson, p. 6
2-3 Unsigned typewritten sheet in Hovde History file
2-4 Nelson, p. 9
2-5 Interview with Hazel Ebeltoft, May 21, 1972
2-6 Interview with Dorothy Gill, May 21, 1972
3-1 Nelson, p. 9
3-2 Interview with Dorothy Gill, May 21, 1972
3-3 From a letter from Florence Feehan to Dorothy Gill, May 9, 1972
3-4 Interview with Dorothy Gill, May 20, 1972
Bibliography
Nelson, Ernest Oliver. A Biographical Sketch of Ole O. Hovde, Sr. The material in this paper was mostly assembled through a personal interview between Mr. Hovde and his grandson,Ernest Oliver Nelson, who was then attending the University of North Dakota. (1924)
Unsigned, undated typewritten sheets giving some biographical material on Mari Gulbrandson and information on the first years spent by Ole and Mari Hovde at their Goose River farm. These sheets, and the paper by Ernest Nelson are kept in a folder marked Hovde History at my family’s home at 1010 South 16 Street, Moorhead, Minnesota.
Something new each Saturday.
Life, the universe and my circumstances permitting. I'm focusing on 'family stories' at the moment. ("A Change of Pace: Family Stories" (11/23/2024))
I was born in 1951. I'm a husband, father and grandfather. One of the kids graduated from college in December, 2008, and is helping her husband run businesses and raise my granddaughter; another is a cartoonist and artist; #3 daughter is a writer; my son is developing a digital game with #3 and #1 daughters. I'm also a writer and artist.
I live in Minnesota, in America's Central Time Zone. This blog is on UTC/Greenwich time.
Support this Blog:
More Perspectives From the Catholic Laity:
Blog - David Torkington
Spiritual theologian, author and speaker, specializing in prayer, Christian spirituality and mystical theology [the kind that makes sense-BHG]
