[This column originally appeared in the Nov. 7, 2014 issue of Catholic East Texas.]

This is not my final column.

However, if you glance at the folio line above and to the left, you’ll see that today’s publication date is Nov. 7, 2014. Exactly 20 years and one week ago, I came on board as your editor, the third to have that honor. The founding editor of the Catholic East Texas, Robert Plocheck, joined the chancery staff just months after the announcement of the Diocese of Tyler in 1986 and served until mid-1994. His successor lasted only a few months before succumbing to the allergies of East Texas, and I succeeded her.

At the time, I felt the Diocese of Tyler had already gained something of the solidity of a long-standing organization, which as a part of the international Catholic Church is certainly true, but on looking back I realize that at age 7 (the diocese was formally erected in early 1987), it was still a youngling of sorts. That gave me something of a dual return. On the one hand, I had Robert’s fine work as a legacy to build on, and on the other, I had the opportunity to open new journalistic avenues. I also had the assistance of Susan De Matteo, a founding reporter, to keep me up on Robert’s ways and — after one month — newly-hired reporter Jo Anne Embleton to rejoice with me in new ways.

Together we plunged into the wave-lashed seas on the barque of St. Peter, unsure at that early time whether we went forth as the three musketeers or three men in a tub. At the time, I saw this as a new venture, but in hindsight, I see an interweaving of the threads of life, as the Holy Spirit casts the shuttle back and forth across the tapestry of my existence, the threads dangling blue and gold and crimson, forming a whole despite frayed spots and occasional knots. And I begin to see commonalities in the various stages.

And of course, the long, strong warp of my life first cast by my parents, is at times marred by the less-sturdy woof that the Holy Spirit, with my bumbling help, spread across the background. I have no idea, at this writing, how much of that you might see as great successes and how much miserable failure. Each throw of the shuttle, it seems, contains both elements.

I started my academic career at Our Lady of Perpetual Help Catholic School, two blocks east of Love Field, and switched to St. Monica Catholic School when that parish was founded in the mid-1950s. At OLPH, I received my first Communion, was confirmed and became an altar server. At St. Monica, I became friends with a bishop, continued —with that scoundrel Johnny and our older brother Joe — serving Mass and discovered that nuns have feet. Those long brown habits they wore had left the question in doubt for some years. They were like spiritual beings moving silently along on brown pedestals.

From there I went to Jesuit High School and then to the new Catholic liberal arts University of Dallas, from which I subsequently graduated in the seventh class. This gave me 16 years of Catholic education.

I went to South Carolina to begin graduate work in English literature, but the times were so tumultuous, between the controversial conflict in Vietnam and the ruckus arising from the 1964 Civil Rights Act, that I could not maintain my focus. One day in the third-floor stacks at McKissick Library at the University of South Carolina, I was drawn to a window, blazing gold in the afternoon sun. I looked down on the quadrangle and discovered people living lives, instead of seeking out the words of scholars disputing over the words of poets or writers who themselves had lived and written of their lives.

I left academia and went into journalism, the one professional field that paid less than teaching. Because I had little experience besides an English degree and a year as co-editor of the UD student newspaper, I started out at the bottom. It took me six years to become assistant night news editor of The State, South Carolina’s largest daily newspaper. Then I went to Myrtle Beach as managing editor of The Sun-News, an affiliate of The State. Three years later I became editor, and began to regret dropping out of graduate school. So I went back, studying journalism, but again dropped out, partly because of the 200-mile round-trip commute.

After five and a half years at Myrtle Beach, I took my new bride and three daughters to Van Alstyne, Texas, where I became editor and publisher of the Van Alstyne Leader. Eileen was ad director and we ran the newspaper for 16 years, increasing our family by three more daughters. When the eldest of the latter three neared high school age, we realized the closets Catholic high school was more than 50 miles away, in the Metroplex, and we sought other answers.

That’s when I heard Robert was leaving the CET, and I sent in an application. About that same time, I was nominated as an Outstanding Alumnus of the University of Dallas, and became the third graduate so honored, in 1994. As of last month, UD has recognized 45 alumni. Then Bishop Edmond Carmody hired me to come to Tyler and go to work less than a block from a Catholic high school. This part of the tapestry is very bright.

Again, facing new challenges, I felt a need to continue my education. I returned to the University of Dallas, commuting 240 miles round-trip on weekends for three years before earning a Master’s in Theological Studies from UD’s School of Ministry. This was so encouraging, I thought I’d try to finish the English degree I’d set out to earn back in 1966. I took my MA in English literature from the University of Texas at Tyler in 2001 and was a founding tutor of the UTT Writing Center. I continued studying, Latin and Spanish, tutoring on evenings and weekends, and eventually spending about 10 years as an adjunct professor of grammar and rhetoric.

But now we’re nearing the top of the warp, and the woof has begun to portray the sorts of flowers and foliage that marks the edges of tapestries.

So I’m going to say goodbye. Not quite yet — stop clapping. I’ll stay on through the end of this year, and then go looking for new challenges. I’ll write my final column then.