from GUIDEPOSTS, April 2004
"The Church Across the Street"
by Soledad O'Brien
Copyright © 2004 Guideposts

My parents named me Maria de la Soledad: Spanish for the Blessed
Virgin Mary of Solitude. It's really no surprise, considering that
faith has always been an essential part of my family's life. You might
even say that's what brought my parents together.

My parents were both immigrants—my mother from Cuba, my father
from Australia—studying at Johns Hopkins University. And they both
attended daily Mass at the church near campus. Every day my father
would offer my mother a ride. Every day, she declined. Finally she said
yes. One year later, the day after Christmas, the two of them were married.

My parents took care to instill their beliefs in my five siblings
and me. Every Sunday morning at 7:30 a.m. all eight of us would pack
into a pew at church. Our reward was Dad's breakfast special: eggs,
bacon, sausage, fresh orange juice and—my favorite—chocolate-covered,
cream-filled doughnuts from the local bakery. We would eat and talk,
then spend the rest of the morning together reading the Sunday
newspaper.

When I think about those Sundays with my family, I remember
how safe, happy and loved I felt. How good the world seemed.
My Sunday ritual changed dramatically when I began a career in
television news.

I worked most weekends. Occasionally I would get to
church on Saturday evenings, but it was never quite the same. I missed
the music and ceremony of Sunday morning Mass.

By the time I was coanchoring the Weekend Today show at NBC, my
husband, Brad, and I had two young daughters, Sofia and Cecilia.
Because of my work schedule, we were able to attend Mass as a family
only at the girls' baptisms. I wanted faith to be central in their
lives, yet logistically it seemed impossible.

Still, I felt a pull back to my spiritual roots, a yearning that
only intensified after September 11 and the war in Iraq began. Like
many people, I was searching for a deeper purpose in my life. Hundreds
of my journalism colleagues, including my cohost, David Bloom, were
embedded with coalition troops in the Middle East. Every day I read
about air strikes, ambushes, civilians and soldiers dying. What kind
of world are our girls growing up in? I wondered. How could I give
them the same sense of security I had as a child?

On Sunday, April 6, 2003, the telephone rang at 1:00 a.m., waking
me up even before my usual 3:30 a.m. alarm. I picked it up. An NBC
operator asked me to hold for my boss.

At that moment I knew. Something happened to David. All week long
we'd been reporting that the troops were approaching Baghdad. Rumors
that Saddam Hussein might launch a chemical attack had run rampant.
Everyone at the studio was worried about David and our other
colleagues on the front.

My boss got on the line. "Soledad," he said, "David is dead."

" What happened?" I asked. Did the tank David was in get hit? Had
his unit been ambushed?

" He had an embolism," my boss said.

David had been sitting in a tank for hours. Doctors thought that
may have led to the fatal blood clot.

Five hours later, Katie Couric, Matt Lauer and I were on the air,
telling the nation that David was dead. I could hardly believe what we
were reporting. David was my colleague and a friend. Memories of him
flooded my mind. The tireless journalist. His reports were clearly
some of the best filed from the front in Iraq. David often brought his
three young daughters to see him on the set. We had at least half a
dozen two-dollar bets we made over the most arcane facts. It was hard
to imagine someone so completely full of life suddenly being gone.
The only consolation was that David died doing something he loved.

At his funeral in New York at St. Patrick's Cathedral, one of his
friends read a letter David wrote to his wife just hours before his
death. "Yes, I'm proud of the good job we've all been doing here, but
in the scheme of things it matters little compared to my relationship
with you, the girls and God." David's words struck a chord in all of
us. It made a big impression to know that in the end he was thinking
about his family, his faith.

A few months later, when my contract renewal at NBC was coming up,
that thought came back to me. I faced a big decision. An opportunity
at CNN had presented itself. I was offered the weekday position
cohosting American Morning—a more challenging job, a longer day. I
spent several weeks weighing the pros and cons. Brad and I discussed
what impact the new job would have on our family, and what it would
mean for my career. I loved my job at Today, and the people I was
working with. Yet the job at CNN was a great opportunity.

After 15 years with NBC, I joined CNN. The first few weekends
after I started my new job were eye-opening. Brad and I spent those
days enjoying the summer in the city with the girls. Walking around
Central Park with my family I realized I wanted to find someplace
where Sofia and Cecilia could play outdoors, swim in lakes. A place
where we could take them on walks in the woods.

Upstate we found a beautiful little cottage with a wraparound
porch. Across the street was a lovely old church. Our first Sunday
there, we walked over and settled into a pew—Sofia leaning on Brad's
shoulder, Cecilia nestled in my lap. It reminded me of my own childhood.
At coffee hour afterward, the pastor gave us a warm welcome and
invited our girls to join the Sunday school class. I was thrilled to
hear about all the activities we could get involved in—feeding the
home-less, giving Christmas presents to underprivileged children,
building homes for the poor in Nicaragua. We met our neighbors. It
didn't take long for the girls to start running around with their new
playmates.

With two toddlers in tow, Brad and I joke that if the church
weren't right across the street, we'd always be late. Seriously
though, Sunday morning Mass is again important in our lives, and it
highlights exactly what's essential in life—my family and my faith. I
still worry about the world our girls are growing up in. But I know
they'll have a strong spiritual foundation to rely on—just as I had
all those Sunday mornings ago.