✠ My life walking with Saint Francis of Assisi is not a short pilgrimage. It is not a season, nor a chapter. It is, in truth, a long road—stretching now across sixty-six years—quietly unfolding, step by step, often without my even realizing that I was already on it.
The journey did not begin with a grand calling, nor with a moment of thunder or vision. It began simply, almost humbly, as many true vocations do: in childhood.
I was a Wolf Cub.
In those early days within the Catholic Scouts of Canada, I was introduced to a figure who would remain with me for the rest of my life. Not as an abstract saint in stained glass, but as a living story—warm, vivid, and unforgettable. Saint Francis of Assisi was presented to us as the patron of Cub Scouts, a friend to the small, the young, and the searching.
And then there was the story.
The story of the wolf.
The tale of the Wolf of Gubbio, preserved in the pages of the Little Flowers of St. Francis, captured my imagination in a way few things did at that age. A fierce wolf terrorized a town—feared, hunted, and hated. Yet Francis did not meet the creature with weapons or fear. He approached with peace. He spoke. He listened. He made a covenant between man and beast.
And the wolf was tamed.
For a child, it was a story of courage. For a young soul, it was a story of kindness. But over the years, I came to understand it as something far deeper: a revelation of what it means to bring peace to chaos, to reconcile what is divided, and to see, even in what is feared, a reflection of God’s creation.
Those were small steps—almost invisible at the time.
But they were real steps.
And they led somewhere.
Life unfolded, as life does. There were years of growth, years of distance, years where the path seemed to wind far from that early encounter. And yet, looking back now, I see that the thread of Francis was never broken. It remained—sometimes faint, sometimes strong—but always present, quietly guiding, gently calling.
What began in the innocence of a Cub Scout gathering matured over decades into something deeper, more conscious, more deliberate.
Today, those small steps have become great ones.
I now walk as a member of the Order of Saint Francis. What once was a story I heard is now a life I strive to live. The simplicity of Francis, his love of poverty, his reverence for creation, his burning desire for peace—these are no longer distant ideals, but daily invitations.
And the walk continues.
Sixty-six years is a long road, but in the spirit of Francis, it is only ever today that matters. Each step is new. Each moment is an opportunity to begin again—to choose peace over fear, humility over pride, love over indifference.
In a way, I am still that child listening to the story of the wolf.
Only now, I understand that the wolf is not only out there in the world—it is also within. And like Francis, I am called, again and again, to meet it not with force, but with peace.
This is my walk.
A quiet, faithful, enduring walk with Saint Francis.
And by God’s grace, it is not yet finished.
