THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK: Offaly columnist reflects as he celebrates his 59th birthday

I am experiencing a holy moment of stillness as I celebrate my 59th birthday this week. I find myself doing something I never did when I was younger. I am listening. Listening to my heart. Listening to my body. Listening to my soul. Listening to the quiet voice of God that so often gets drowned out by noise, busyness, and fear.

This birthday feels different. It does not shout. It whispers. It invites me to stop, to sit, to breathe, and to notice. It feels less like a celebration and more like a blessing or sacred pause gently placed in my hands. Fifty-nine years. Thirty-nine of them spent working and volunteering in the developing world. A life that began in a beautiful, fabulous little town called Clara and unfolded across Asia, Africa, and now the wide, faithful embrace of Galway Bay and still at times in the villages and communities of various countries in Africa.

I look back and I do not see a straight road. I see a winding path, marked by love and loss, hope and heartbreak, prayer and perseverance and resilience. I see a journey shaped not by perfection, but by mercy. “Be still and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10). Stillness, prayer and solitude have become sacred to me. It is there that gratitude rises. It is there that tears come without asking permission. It is there that I realise just how deeply blessed I have been, despite, and sometimes because of the pain.

The marks we carry

Fifty-nine years leave marks. Some are visible, scars, wrinkles, grey and white hair, a body that has slowed and softened with time. Others are invisible such as disappointments, regrets, griefs that still ache quietly when I least expect them to. But I have learned this, scars are not signs of failure. They are proof that we survived. Proof that we loved. Proof that we kept going. Life has taught me, sometimes gently, sometimes brutally, that everything does feel worse at night. That loneliness grows louder in the dark. That fear loves silence. That pain often waits until the world sleeps to make itself known.

And yet, morning always comes. “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” (Psalm 30:5). I have learned not to make permanent decisions in temporary pain. I have learned to breathe, to pray, to wait for the light. I think of nights alone, when despair whispered louder than hope. I think of villages in Asia, where a single glass of water, a blanket, or a warm meal transformed someone’s day and reminded me of the dignity in service. I think of people and children in Africa, some dying quietly, some living courageously, teaching me that compassion matters far more than convenience. I think of my family, friends, neighbours and colleagues who stood steadfast through my mistakes and failures, teaching me the quiet power of unconditional love. Each memory is a lesson. Each encounter, a sacred moment. Each heartbreak, a doorway to grace.

READ NEXT: THE LONG READ: Head chef at leading Offaly hotel notes people's dining attitudes have changed

The people who saved me

When I look back now, I do not count achievements. I count people. Family who loved me when I was easy to love and when I was not. Friends, neighbours and colleagues who stayed. Friends, neighbours and colleagues who returned. Friends, neighbours and colleagues who came for a season and taught me something essential. People who listened without trying to fix me. People who prayed when I had no words left. And I carry, very tenderly, those who are no longer here. My friends David and Donal and my niece Aoife who still walk beside me. Their words still echo in my heart: “There are no mistakes, only lessons to be learned. So keep trying and keep doing good.” Grief has softened me. It has taught me to say “I love you” without waiting. To show affection and give hugs without embarrassment. To be present, fully present, because tomorrow is never promised. “Love one another deeply, from the heart.” (1 Peter 1:22)

Lessons learned the hard way

As I step into my 59th year, I feel called to gather the lessons life has carved into my soul, not as rules, but as gifts purchased with tears. I have learned that life can be heartbreakingly unfair and still worth loving. Kindness matters more than being right. Forgiveness is freedom, even when it hurts it frees the soul, toward others and ourselves. Resentment poisons the soul. Time heals, but only if we surrender it to God. Gratitude saves us. We look too often for approval outside ourselves instead of going within, to prayer, to eucharist, to stillness, to God. Friends who truly matter show up when things fall apart and show up in your darkest hour. You cannot change people, only how you love them. Addiction, despair and abuse does not discriminate, and humility and prayer in action saves lives.

Work must never be king - family, friends, neighbours, colleagues and people must. Comparison steals joy. Silence, daily mass, prayer, nature, and candles lit in faith heal more than we realise. Giving is holy, but rest is necessary. Everyone is fighting a battle we cannot see. Forgiving yourself may be the hardest lesson of all. Love must be shown, not assumed. Saying "I love you" and “I'm sorry” can change everything and cannot be said enough. Life is fragile for tomorrow is never promised. Happiness comes from presence, not possessions. Dreams are to be held lightly and chased courageously. Compassion is the measure of a life well lived. Prayer is not a luxury, it is a lifeline. We must never let the sun set on our anger or on our love. “Above all, clothe yourselves with love.” (Colossians 3:14). I have learned that happiness is not found in possessions, perfection, or praise. It is found in presence. In service. In choosing love again and again, especially when it would be easier not to.

The quiet truth about time

There comes a moment in life when a quiet truth settles into your bones. There may be fewer days ahead than behind. This truth does not frighten me. It clarifies me. It reminds me that time is holy. That every day is a gift. That love is urgent. “Teach us to number our days, so that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” (Psalm 90:12). Wisdom, I now believe, is not about having answers. It is about living gently and humbly. About choosing compassion over ego. About knowing when to hold on and when to let go.

The cry we must not ignore

Our world is hurting. The poor. The homeless. The sick. The addicted. The abused. The abandoned. The lonely. The refugee. The elderly. The forgotten. They are not problems to be solved. They are people to be loved. “Whatever you did for one of the least of these, you did for me.” (Matthew 25:40). We cannot fix everything. But we can do something. And something done with love is never small. A listening ear. A shared meal. A prayer. A mass shared. A candle lit in hope. A refusal to walk past suffering. This is how love becomes visible. Fifty-nine years have taught me that life is about presence, compassion, courage, and love. So speak love often and without hesitation. Forgive quickly and fully, even when it is difficult. Serve humbly, without seeking reward. Walk with the weary and stand beside the forgotten. Nurture gratitude for every small blessing. Protect your own soul while giving to others. Be fully present in every encounter. Choose hope over despair, action over indifference.

READ NEXT: THE BIG READ: The spirited Tullamore woman driving volunteerism in Offaly

Thought for the week

As your thought for the week, I invite you, tenderly, to choose one act of compassion and do it with intention. Reach out to someone who has been heavy on your heart. Forgive where bitterness has taken root. Sit with someone who is lonely. Serve quietly, without recognition. Pray for someone who has lost hope. Let it cost you time. Let it stretch you. Let it soften you. Because love that costs nothing changes nothing. Let me leave you with my birthday prayer from a grateful heart - "Loving and faithful God, Thank You for the gift of life— for joy and sorrow,

for lessons learned through tears, for love that carried us when we could not carry ourselves. Heal what is wounded within us. Soften what has grown hard. Free us from fear, resentment, and regret. Teach us to love deeply, to forgive freely, to serve humbly, and to live gently. And when hope feels fragile, when the road feels long, when we lose our way— remind us that Your plans are greater than our dreams, Your mercy deeper than our failures, and Your love stronger than our fears. May we live the days we are given with faith, hope, and love—and may love always be our greatest lesson. Amen."