Hidden Blessings

Jan. 23, 2026
By: Bob Wondolowski


My friend Dennis and I were reminiscing and sharing stories about our mutual friend, Samuel Dougherty from Milford. Sammy, as he was called, was a Black man born in 1911, a time when Black people were treated particularly horrendously (though that fight for racial equality continues today). Sammy was born with Down syndrome, was almost blind, and had other physical disabilities that gave him a distinctive gait. Sammy was also born with one of the kindest hearts in the world.

Sammy was left at an early age at Wrentham State Hospital where he grew up, took care of other people there, and washed cars. While he was in his mid-50s, the powers that be recognized that Sammy could function rather well independently and sent him out into society. Sammy ended up in Milford.

Dennis recounted his experience of sitting behind Sammy at a prayer meeting Mass and then inviting him to his home to eat. Dennis and his wife, Donna, immediately became Sammy’s friends. On one occasion Dennis had stopped into Johnny Jack’s, a local eatery on Main St., and found Sammy treating someone in need to a good meal.

Dennis recounts that when Sammy saw him, he got up and announced, “This is my friend Dennis,” and gave him a big hug, all the while having a big smile on his face. Dennis says that he truly felt like a king. When people told Sammy that he should be careful and watch how he spends his money, Sammy always replied, “When I die it is not going with me.”

On another occasion, when Dennis asked a woman how she knew Sammy, she recounted the tale of her son, who on first becoming an altar server was extremely nervous. Sammy heard about it and told the boy, “When you’re up on the altar serving Mass, and you get nervous, you look into the front row at Sammy. (He always spoke of himself in the third person.) And when you see Sammy, you will know that Sammy is praying for you.” Sammy never missed a Mass that this kid served.

I knew Sammy, the “Mayor of Milford” as people dubbed him, from St. Mary Parish but more so as a friend. I was asked to be his conservator – to help him take care of his money – and I agreed. One day while we were walking to the bank to pick up some money for Sammy, an angry driver blew his horn. Sammy immediately turned, smiled, and waved.

In the course of our relationship, I too had to talk to him at times about how he spent his money. “Sammy, you’re going to run out of money and not have enough for food.” Sammy replied, “Then we go back to the bank and get some more.” I wish it were that easy. I also had to talk to Sammy about not letting others stay in his apartment because he would run the risk of being evicted, since Section 8 recipients were not allowed to display this kindness.

Sammy died in 1988. He knew how to use his gifts. Dennis recounts that the undertaker asked him to be a pall bearer, a task which he readily accepted. Dennis expected only a few people at this poor man’s funeral, but when they opened the back door of the Church, he saw that the Church was packed. There were the poor, street people, selectmen, different races and creeds, all people who had experienced Sammy’s kindness. I had the privilege of delivering a eulogy. I reiterate with heartfelt gratitude my last line: “I love you Buddy, I’ll always love you.”

Nov. 7, 2025
By: Bob Wondolowski


My mother left this earth to meet Jesus three years ago. She had been in a nursing home for nine years. Throughout those years we emptied the family house – dad had died in 2009. Some things went to my sister’s house and some came to ours. A few weeks ago I decided to look through the boxes that had been sitting there untouched for nine years. Among other things, I found many prayer books, some in English, some in Polish, some from Ma, some from Dad, some from my maternal grandmother in whose house we lived. There was also one book from an unknown, a Polish prayerbook, with the name Ignacy Ptak from Bellows Falls. Bellows Falls in Vermont was where my Mother’s parents met and were married.

One other book had my name in it. It was my first communion prayer book. As I leafed through it, many memories flowed through my mind, memories of how things were different then in the Church, memories of my avid openness to learning about the faith, and the memory of how seemingly nothing happened to me the day I received my first communion.

As I pondered these things, I rejoiced that the Church had grown past where it was in 1957, how lay people are now more involved, how the Mass is now a dialogue between the priest and people in an understandable language. The temptation is to look down on the “old Church” but that is wrong. Whatever its imperfections, it brought us to where we are now.

I often draw an analogy with running. I used to run in the only sneakers I knew – high-top Converse canvas sneakers that we would buy at an outlet in Hudson. The first time I ran in running shoes, it felt like they were running by themselves, so light and comfortable were they. But the old high-top Converse canvas sneakers kept me running until the fancier sneakers appeared.

The prayer books and Bibles triggered other thoughts. One Polish Bible was from 1895, my grandmother’s. I hadn’t even known that she had a Bible. Others were the newer English Bibles of the 1960s, the Jerusalem Bible. And then, still newer, the New American Bible. The sequence of Bibles and prayer books made me think of my family’s genealogy in faith. Around Christmas we usually hear the Genealogy of Jesus, whose point is to show us that Jesus is a descendant of David’s house. That’s when the priest gets up and butchers names like Shealtiel, Amminadab, Eliakim, and others, and the congregation dozes off while standing up. The genealogy that I found down my cellar – my family – was certainly more relatable to me and it taught me a lot about the biblical genealogy. My family members were not necessarily saints. But they were good people, and they handed their faith down to me. They lived it the best way they knew how.

Up in the attic, a similar experience, with the addition of my boxes of books and spiritual magazines and memorabilia which at one time had a great influence on me and my life of faith. I have now shared in this genealogy of people in my family who have handed down their faith, both in what they practiced, how they lived their faith, what they taught to their heirs, and what materials influenced them. I didn’t know Shealtiel, or Aminadab, or Eliakim, but I knew Teofil, Marianna, Antonina, Helen, and Walter, whose faith sharing still lives.

Cellars and attics can hold many more blessings than just heirlooms.

Oct. 10, 2025
By: Bob Wondolowski


When the idea of writing on hidden blessings thought it was kind of trite, contrived. But as I thought and prayed about it, I realized that there are some good lessons.

We have a bug zapper, two forty watt UV bulbs, in our backyard, near the woods. Every day as I sit on our deck under the gazebo, I see the lights. A few years ago I decided to let the lights burn 24/7, all year round. The lights remind me of Jesus, the light of the world. If I wake up at night and look out the window, I am reminded of Jesus.

The other day the lights shut off. We had had some rain and a little wind, which made me think that moisture had gotten into the unit, or into the extension into which it is plugged. As I gazed upon the dark bug zapper, I definitely felt something missing. It just wasn’t right. It made me sad. Upon examination I found that moisture had gotten into the seemingly tight connection between the plug and the extension. I dried it off, plugged it in, and it worked again. I covered the connection with the ever reliable Gorilla duct tape.

The next day we had a deluge, for many hours. As I sat on the deck, happily seeing the bug zapper lighted, I thought of the 30 or so homilies I’ve heard about Jesus in the midst of the storm – the storm of our personal lives. It rang very true. I considered many instances when Jesus had come through for me and my family over the years – in illness, depression, financial concerns, concerns about a test and on and on. My reflection reminded me of one of my favorite scriptural verses, Psalm 81:6c-7 that states, “A voice I did not know said to me, I freed your shoulder from the burden.”

The other thing I became aware of was how a small little sin in our lives, a slight, unheeded lack of focus on our spiritual life, an act of unforgiveness towards another, a discrimination against a group of people, an attitude of selfishness and not sharing, and on and on and on, could get in the way of our sharing in the Light. Small attitudes, unattended, can become big attitudes. Small prejudices can become big prejudices. Small acts of selfishness can morph into big acts of selfishness, and small acts of turning inward upon ourselves can, over a period of time, erase the light of Jesus in us without our realizing it, until we find ourselves far away from the Lord, unable to connect back to him without a lot of effort and help. Erosion in the spiritual life, just as erosion in the natural order, starts with small things that eventually grow bigger and out of control.

The bug zapper attracts bugs and makes them one with itself by destroying them. Jesus attracts us and in our union with him, turns us into light. None of this is trite. If this column makes even one person more grateful for realizing the hidden kindness of Jesus in his or her life … if it makes even one person aware of some small or big thing separating him or her from the light of Jesus, and gives that person the impetus to work on it, to get help in the sacraments and among those close to Jesus, then my writing about the hidden blessings in bug zappers is not trite. It is well worth it.

Sept. 26, 2025
By: Bob Wondolowski


For context, there was a discussion about a woman to give up her child because she could not take care of him. She gave birth to her child against the advice of physicians who wanted her to have an abortion. A young woman remarked that the Catholic Church says it’s pro-life, but so many Catholics support policies and those who promote them that cancel help for the poor and the needy. She stated that the Catholic Church was really anti-abortion, and not pro-life. She doesn’t attend church because she doesn’t want to worship with “hypocrites.” (That would be another discussion in itself).

I thought about that conversation. My response would be multi-faceted, but space limits. I would, in part, agree with her. I myself have engaged many Catholics who hold these opinions. Pro-life is more than anti-abortion. It is supporting children and their parents, especially the needy, the special needs children, and the poor. This means getting to know some of these people and their situations and questioning. What do I really know about the lives of the poor?

It brings to my mind a parallel issue – immigrants. Many people have a very negative view towards immigrants. They call them criminals, some say they are taking benefits and jobs away from Americans, and don’t belong here. There is almost a hatred towards them. I have to ask myself, in view of the constant teaching of the Church and the Gospels on love of God and love of neighbor, “Why do these attitudes prevail?”

My answer is that many people do not question enough, especially about people and situations that they have no personal encounter with. They accept some of the stereotypes that we hear day after day. Here are some of them … “The poor are poor because they are lazy and they don’t want to work.” ... “The poor enjoy living off of others.” … “The woman is alone and she shouldn’t have children.”

I have witnessed many types of poverty, through my work with the St. Vincent de Paul Society and by being around this earth for 75 years and having seen a lot. Today, many of the poor are hard working people who are one pay check, one special medical bill, one accident, away from being homeless. Today there are many single moms who need help because the father doesn’t stay around to help raise the child. The moms are too embarrassed to ask for help.

But some people have to depend on help. I volunteer for our local food pantry, the People First Food Pantry, picking up food from the Worcester Food Bank. Since the budget cuts, what the USDA has to offer has dwindled from a selection of 20 plus products to about 6. This hurts people.

I have worked with immigrant families for several years. They are not all criminals. They work hard, often from 5 a.m. to 8-9 p.m., at jobs that pay low wages. They pay taxes and fees for limited health services. Their legal fees are high and they do not apply for federal benefits for fear of jeopardizing their asylum status. Many labeled as “criminals” have applied for asylum legally and kept all of their appointments, hearings, and have no criminal record.

Honestly questioning things can bring us to the truth. Jesus tells us that the truth will set us free. Not free to do whatever we please, but free to be the children that God created us to be. Honest questioning can change us and our misled values.