cover story As Dale McKay was facing death, he spoke to writer Nancy Schertzing about his feelings and his hopes for heaven. Later, Nancy spoke with Dale’s widow, Ellen, who shared the joy of their marriage and the moving experience of Dale’s death. Their story is filled with love and hope that speaks to all of us. A vision of heaven By Nancy Schertzing
	profile Greg Meyer is the last American male to win the Boston Marathon. Read his story, and find out how faith impacts his life. You may even get a running tip or two! Greg Meyer won the Boston Marathon By Bob Horning
	profile Taking the job as pastoral coordinator for youth ministry at St. Patrick Church in Brighton meant a pay cut for Martha Goode – and it sometimes means workings 70 hours per week. But, as she says, “I’ve never been happier in my whole life for having said ‘yes.’” Here are some of Martha’s reflections from years of work with youth. Will Smith: Interviewed by Father Joe By Father Joseph Krupp
	culture A hearty soup to honor a strong man Michele draws on her husband’s Italian heritage to celebrate the Feast of San Giuseppe on March 19. Her mother-in-law’s delicious soup is a meatless Lenten treat – and a wonderful Friday night meal. hearty soup Michelle Sessions DiFranco
	exclusive Katherine Paterson, author of the Newbery Award-winning Bridge to Terabithia, talks with FAITH about the new Disney movie based on her book. Rooted in a real childhood tragedy, Bridge to Terabithia is a story of loss and redemption for all ages. FAITH talks with Katherine Paterson Interview by Elizabeth Solsburg
	exclusive Read about Marybeth’s adventure with her daughter A glimpse into my future – my time alone with ‘baby’ By Marybeth Hicks

A Vision of Heaven
What Dale learned before he died
By Nancy Schertzing | Photography by Jim Luning

Dale McKay hasn’t completely formed his vision of heaven, though he’s thinking about it a lot now. He sees the popular images of angels peering over clouds, but that doesn’t seem to fit. He’s reading a book about how heaven’s government and technology compare to earthly versions, but he’s pretty sure there’s no real comparison. He’s trying to explore different possibilities, but loneliness pervades every vision.

“I think it will be lonely,” Dale explains. “Like when Ellen goes away for the weekend. I’m home all by myself, eating a bowl of cereal for supper and thinking, ‘Only 37 more hours until she comes back.’ I don’t know if I want to sign up for that.”

Dale has loved Ellen since they met at Duck Lake. She was nearly 16 and he was 18. By summer’s end, they promised they would marry each other six years after finishing college. She went back to school, had boyfriends and fun times. He attended a different university and kept in touch, usually ending his letters with the phrase, “To God through each other, and through each other to God.” It became their motto. In Ellen’s junior year, Dale surprised her by hiding behind a tree outside her workplace. Reunited from then on, they married one week after her graduation.

Forty-three years, five children, seven grandchildren and two successful careers later, Dale and Ellen live at Duck Lake. They bike together, laugh with each other and savor summer days when their family gathers at the lake. Life’s challenges – law school, five babies in seven years, two cancer surgeries, radiation, children’s divorces, sick grandbabies – they faced together. Ellen retired in 2005 and they booked an Alaskan cruise, looking forward to the good times.

In July of that year, Dale’s doctor told him he had another cancer in his abdomen. Dale didn’t flinch. “Mind you, I had the kidney out, the prostate out, 36 doses of radiation – all with no significant effect. I thought chemo would be the same. You sign up. You lose all your hair. (I had already acquired two baseball caps.) You go for a couple of months and it’s over,” he says, looking back. “Imagine the shock when the doctor said ‘Your condition can’t be cured, only suppressed. If you check the literature, you will find you have 12 to 18 months to live.’ In the same conversation she said, ‘We might be having this conversation 10 years from now. But for planning purposes, it would be unfair to tell you anything more than 12 to 18 months.’”

Shaken, Dale and Ellen cancelled their trip and began to grasp the enormity of the doctor’s words. “Someone saying ‘You have 18 months to live,’ has significantly changed the dynamic of our marriage,” Dale explains. “It has taken us to discussions we never had before and caused us to draw on the faith we developed over our years of marriage. That faith enables me to look with some measure of comfort, even humor, at what lies ahead.

“I have been blessed with my oncological urologist, who has been a truly caring physician and friend. During a regular visit, I told him I was discouraged that my cancer cannot be cured, only suppressed. He kind of leaned back, pondered a moment and suggested I think of the cancer as a hamster in my pocket. ‘If the hamster isn’t biting you,’ he said, ‘just take it with you and ignore it.’ This has been my mental compass for dealing with my cancer. He could not have done more for me than to offer this simple wisdom.”

Since that visit, Dale’s mythical hamster (he’s named him Roadster) has featured prominently in e-mail updates Dale writes to keep friends and family informed and entertained through his treatments. His renderings of Roadster and other cancer-related fictional characters leave readers clamoring for more. He ends each report with updates on another painful subject – the gin rummy games he and Ellen play during chemotherapy.

“For the treatments,” Dale writes, “I just sit in a chair for about five hours [while the chemotherapy drugs drip through my port]. All is well until Ellen pulls out the cards and the gin rummy begins. She shows me no mercy. She leaves me long enough to go to noon Mass at the cathedral. You’d think there would be some part of the Mass that would at least dampen her urge to wallop me and show me just a little consideration. I was ahead one week and went into the hall. I announced – for the nurses to hear – that I was ahead. They said, ‘Well, we’ve never heard that before!’” Since then the walloping has only gotten worse.

“It goes without saying that a new chapter in our lives has arrived,” Dale explains.

“Together we are doing things we should be doing anyway. Now for the first time, there is a new element in our decision-making – that of time. We have purchased a cemetery lot and settled our legal affairs. We went to Hawaii and are on a waiting list for that Alaska cruise we cancelled after my diagnosis.

“That which was so important yesterday no longer is. Issues of family, reconciliation and peace-making occupy my thoughts much more now than before. I ask, ‘Is that the legacy I want to leave?’ Sometimes I struggle.

“I have always had a suspicion that someday I would die. I’d just never had anyone put some numbers on it. I am trying to accept this fact, trying to be open with this process so it will be easier for my children and grandchildren to face. I want them to be comfortable with the end of the show.” Dale coughs to clear the emotion from his voice. Red rims his eyes.

“I hope when my children and grandchildren think of me they will laugh. I’m really enjoying my funeral preparation. I’ve written the responsorial psalm and have composed the music for the refrain. (I hope whoever says the Mass will be flexible if I don’t get everything quite right!) It should be a celebration of change – termination of the old and going on to the new. Like a graduation.”

Dale McKay hasn’t formed his vision of heaven yet. For now he lives his remaining moments with Roadster, savors time with Ellen and their kids and reflects on a precious life well-lived. Perhaps one day Dale’s vision of heaven will include a tree – a comfortable spot where he can wait until his beloved Ellen graduates and they reunite once more.

“To God through each other and through each other to God.”

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Care given with the greatest love

Mother Teresa House is a home for people with terminal illnesses.

People of any faith, culture or background are gladly welcomed, with priority given to those in greatest need.

For more information or to make a donation, contact Karen Bussey at 517.484.5494.

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On Aug. 31, Dale McKay died. His beloved wife, Ellen, reflects on Dale’s final days and the comfort she and Dale found in their faith.

I was looking through my journal back to the previous March when Dale had finished radiation and we thought we were home free. We were looking forward to this time of blessing

Then the tumors returned. In July, when we got his terminal diagnosis, I wrote “I cannot imagine life without Dale. I can’t fathom what my life will be like, and I just pray that God will give me the strength to be for Dale what he needs.”

It’s been Dale-and-Ellen, Ellen-and-Dale from the time I was 16. I thought after he died I would be under a bed with a pillow over my head, needing someone to come pull me out!

But for over a year I prayed for strength, and we prepared. Now it’s amazing! I really do feel strong.

Back in May, when we received the first draft of Dale’s story from FAITH, we were having dinner. Dale brought the article out, and I was sitting there reading it. Of course, I started to cry. Our daughter Sue was visiting, and she didn’t want to read it. It took her a long time. But Dale told her, “I need for you to really be on board with all of this.”

We were able to use this article with our kids and close friends to open a whole avenue of discussion that was really good. When I shared it with others I wrote across the top “This is another dimension of Dale, and of our story.” It became a great tool we used in this amazing journey.

Dale was so open about his cancer. His article and his Chemo Reports helped him prepare and gave him ways to get others ‘on board’ – as he put it to Sue.

The power of this was really clear when Dale e-mailed his last Chemo Report at the beginning of August. He followed his usual nutsy stories about his cancer and everything that goes with it. But he knew his time was getting close. He wrote:

I’m really feeling great, eating well, getting good sleep and especially enjoy the built in excuse for an afternoon nap. We’ve pretty much finished the funeral planning and so I’m left with getting myself spiritually ready for the journey. Just like an intermission, we are together today, we will have a short intermission apart from one another and then I will be rejoined for the final part of our lives as children of God.”

“I’ve been given a thought to ponder as I prepare ... ‘When I first encounter Jesus, what will he say to me?’ Great thought, not only in contemplation of death, but how, today, we will treat our brothers and sisters here on Earth.

The e-mail responses to this one were amazing. People responded in ways you could just tell they were touched really deeply. Many wrote that Dale had taught them so much about dying.

Some of our friends decided to organize a celebration of Dale’s life. When our Sue heard they were celebrating her dad, she decided all his kids had to be there. Everyone came home, and Dale got a leave of absence from the hospital.”

So on Aug. 19 we had about 60 people gathered at our house. There were roasts and toasts, tears and laughter. Dale was just so fully engaged! He kept saying “How can I be dying when I’m feeling so good?” It was just an amazing time, though it was his last visit home.

We had planned that Dale would die in our house overlooking the lake, and had everything set for him. But around the time of the party, Dale’s doctor recommended Hospice House because his cancer demanded lots of care. We agonized over this, but in the end I’m so grateful we chose to go to Hospice House! The wonderful, loving people there took care of his needs so I could focus on being Dale’s wife, not his caregiver.

To see his soul emerge was just amazing! When time came to move from the hospital to Hospice House, Dale’s condition was so fragile he had to travel in an ambulance, rather than our van. This was different from our plan, so I went to his room to break the news. He looked up from his bed into my teary eyes and without missing a beat said, “Do you think they’ll turn on the overheads?”

His first two days at Hospice House, Dale delighted in exploring and leading tours through the beautiful place. On his third day, his feet and legs were becoming unreliable, so our son, Jim, found him a wheelchair. Dale took advantage of this opportunity to tour around the block with anyone who would accompany him.

Once, in a quieter moment, I asked what he was thinking. He said he had accomplished about 90 percent of what he had been sent here to do. “But what do I do with the 10 percent of the mission I haven’t accomplished?” he asked. I told him our faith gives us the wonderful gift of reconciliation for just such questions. He met later that day with a priest, and I know he felt better after that.”

By his fourth day, it became clear Dale had begun working on the other side – as the Hospice workers described it. He was still engaging us, but sometimes his words didn’t make sense.

The last two days, Dale was working on the other side. He spoke sparingly, sometimes talking to or about people we didn’t know. I asked him once what he was thinking. He said “I’m looking for Jesus. There are so many poor people! I have to do something about that.” I told him to think of his search as if he was walking down a road in one direction and Jesus was walking toward him. When they met, it would be a wonderful, joyful occasion.

On Aug. 31, Dale was mostly unconscious. The kids and I were around him, but he didn’t seem to see us, and he didn’t speak. Every so often, he lifted his arms up off the bed as if he were reaching out to someone we couldn’t see. That afternoon Dale died peacefully.

Dale often said his funeral was to be a celebration, and it was amazing. He had written the words and music for the refrain and responsorial psalm, and we had chosen the readings for his funeral. It was so beautiful! It felt like Dale was present because he had done so much of the preparation.

After the funeral, Dale’s body was in the hearse ready to be taken for cremation. Standing outside the church, I had a hard time, knowing this was really it. None of us was sure how to say goodbye.

As we stood there, Dale’s brother leaned over and said, “You know, I think that thing has overheads.” As we watched the hearse pull away with Dale inside, overheads shining out, we were all smiling through our tears.

When one is as blessed as I am, there are always reasons to smile. Have I loved and have I been loved? I never had to guess. I know. Dale was a happy man and we loved each other very much. His amazing journey these past months was so full and so blessed! It has deepened my recognition of the goodness within each of us.

Dale wrote in his final Chemo Report, “We will have a short intermission apart from one another then I will be rejoined for the final part of our lives as children of God.”

However long their “intermission,” Dale’s and Ellen’s love and openness strengthened them through the end of this journey together. As Dale put it, “Great thought, not only in contemplation of death, but how, today, we will treat our brothers and sisters here on Earth.”

Greg Meyer won the Boston Marathon
his training for races mirrors his training for life
By Bob Horning | Photography by Tom Gennara

At one time, Greg Meyer held several American and world records in distance running, and he is the last American male to win the Boston Marathon, in 1983. He talks about parallels among running, Catholicism and life; and even offers some tips for those who would like to run more for fun and exercise. Greg attends St. Joseph Church in Dexter.

Running is a sport of fitness. You have to do the work, and you can’t cram it in three or four weeks before a race. It takes months and years. For seven years before winning the Boston Marathon, I had been running 100 miles a week. Before the race, I raised that to 130 miles.

I loved the training even more than racing. I gained my confidence by working harder than others who I felt were better runners. To be competitive, I had to stay at it every day, even on those days when it was hard to get myself out the door. I might change my routine some on those days, but I still plowed through it.

Training helped me become the runner I wanted to be; Catholicism helps me be the person I think God wants me to be. If I don’t practice my faith, I won’t ever get good at it. I’m not good at it – my friends will tell you that I’m certainly not a poster child for the church, but I am “practicing” to get better. I desire to be a good person, and Catholicism shows me how to do it.

Growing up in the Catholic community at St. Adalbert Basilica in Grand Rapids helped me feel good about myself, and that helped me to run well. The coaches in all the sports, who were volunteers, taught us fundamentals and sportsmanship, and we prayed before every game. It’s easier to do what you do well when you feel good about yourself. That’s why, later in life, when I had a job selling equipment to companies that really didn’t need it, I eventually had to leave. I got to the point where I didn’t feel right about it or about myself. Now I have a job in which that’s not the case. (Greg is the regional director for major gifts and planned giving for the University of Michignan).

In high school, I ran cross country and the events between a quarter-mile and two miles in track. At the University of Michigan, I was an All-American three times in cross country, once in track, and won Big Ten titles in the steeplechase and the 10,000-meter run. After college, there was a time when I was the American record holder in the 5, 10, 15, 20, and 25 kilometer runs, and world record holder in the 10 mile and 15K.

I always felt blessed and extremely happy that God gave me the talent to run, that I could do it well, and was even paid to run for many years. Here I am, the son of blue-collar parents, able to see the world because of my ability, and make wonderful friends who I still stay in touch with. I was home with my family during their early years, which many dads never get to do, and now I have the joy of being involved with some of the area high-school runners. (One of those involvements is helping to coach the Dexter High School cross country team, winner of the state championship for the past four years).

Winning the Boston Marathon was nice, but not what I consider my top achievement. Maybe because I expected to win, and everyone else expected me to. I had won the Chicago Marathon the previous autumn, and was running well. A race leading up to Boston, in Washington, D.C., was probably my most satisfying, when I broke the world record in the 10-mile. I felt as if I could do anything I wanted that day. Being the first Michigan native to break the four-minute mile just after college was a real highlight as well. But my fondest memories and strongest emotions always came from winning team championships, both in high school and at the U of M.

On the other hand, my biggest disappointment was not making the Olympic team in 1984. I was ranked No. 1 going in to the qualifying race, was running fine at 18 miles into the race, thinking, “great I’m on the team,” then a mile later I’m limping home with a bad hamstring muscle. I ended up seventh. I took two months off to heal, both mentally and physically, and only started running again at the encouragement of friends from around the country who helped me see that my running was more than just making an Olympic team.

It might sound selfish, but being a Catholic gives me comfort and makes me feel good. It’s where I feel I am supposed to be. Walking into a church is a bit like walking into your parents’ home. You will get nourished no matter what. You may get yelled at sometimes, but never thrown out. I can say that I am more patient and understanding than I was three years ago because of my faith; like running, there is always room to improve.

Do I feel God’s presence when I’m out running alone? Some days. But there are also days at work when I’m driving across the state that I feel his presence. I’ll shut off the radio just to be alone with my thoughts. Another place I feel his presence is at Mass, of course. Mass is not a burden for me because I choose to go. I accept being Catholic as part of my life. Every day I make the decision to be Catholic. I get out of it what I put into it.

I still run 45 minutes a day – an hour on weekends – and lift weights, to stay in shape. But I don’t run competitively. Unless, as recently, when I was in the Dexter-Ann Arbor run for fun, one of my former classmates began giving me grief at the starting line, so I had to beat him.

When I run every day at lunch, I enjoy being by myself thinking about good things that are happening – or the challenging things. When life is good, the run seems easier. I enjoy the feeling of moving over the ground, especially on trails in the woods. However, if someone wants to run with me, I prefer that. Being in shape enables me to run and talk at the same time, and go at whatever pace they choose. I’m fortunate to be in the position that if they start saying things I don’t like, I can just run ahead of them and don’t have to listen. (Just kidding).

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Tips for running

What do I tell people who want to run for exercise, or just plain enjoyment? Three things:

• Set a realistic goal. Don’t assume that more is necessarily better.
• Make it manageable so that it fits into your life. Ask yourself where the half hour or hour to run will come from in your day.
• Find a way to make it fun, whether you run by yourself or with others.

The "Goode" life
How Martha is God’s gift to teens
By Bob Horning | Photography by Tom Gennara

Taking the job as pastoral coordinator for youth ministry at St. Patrick Church in Brighton meant a pay cut for Martha Goode – and it sometimes means workings 70 hours per week. But, as she says, “I’ve never been happier in my whole life for having said ‘yes.’” Here are some of Martha’s reflections from years of work with youth.

Everything I have learned, every skill I have gained since receiving my master’s degree in religious studies from Marygrove College years ago, I get to use at St. Pat’s. My whole life has led to this. That’s why I can honestly tell our high school people that this is not only a great job, but that I’ve been called to serve them.

Working with youth requires time, commitment, faithfulness. I learned some of that from my mother, and while helping care for her when she had senile dementia of the Alzheimer’s type from 1999 until she died in 2004. My father had died in 1977. It was work to serve her, but a joy. She loved us seven kids so much, and was always faithful to her family and church. I say to people that I have been touched by God, and God’s hand was my mother.

I am drawn to the teenage group because I have a clear memory of how joyful and painful it can be to figure out the details around who we are, where we are going and why. I was in high school with my two older sisters, who were lovely and well behaved. I wasn’t. I was a cross for my parents to bear. Finding my place in the family and the world was very complicated for me. My choices were usually for as much fun as possible, which sometimes created problems for my poor parents. About 15 years into my ministry with young people, I started thinking that God was keeping me in high school until I got it right.

High school people are making the transition into adulthood, and are beginning to make their way in the world. Their independence is emerging, yet they feel powerless against the challenges in the world outside of themselves.

Lots of them feel like they have less faith now than when they were children. That’s because for the first time they are owning from the inside out the faith they will try to live for the rest of their lives, instead of living from the outside in the faith of their parents. That is a heavy burden, but one that is made lighter when shared with a faith community which is struggling together. They are looking for fun, to hang out, laugh and play, but they also want to do things that have meaning, that give hope, that call for sweat and sacrifice. They want to love and value each other, to give and receive. What more is there?

I can touch those needs because I am old, and not only have I walked this way, I have walked with many in this way. I can help them find, and trust, their voice. I can also connect them to many, many parish adults who are willing to help them. I can help them feel welcome in the church so they are inside it, not bored and distant from it. Mainly, I can help them discover that what they really love is being the body of Christ together.

The only strength there is in this world is love. One Sunday night at youth group, 70 kids were playing human tug of war. Suddenly someone started singing, “We are one body, one body in Christ and we do not stand alone.” They hooked their arms and legs to make them stronger in pulling the other team, and the song just began like a cheer. How crazy is that? We do love and treasure each other. Who can resist love? God is love. At the end of the evening, the lights went down and they all prayed a blessing over each other. My guess is that most of us walked away from that evening feeling pretty hopeful. Can you blame me for loving this work?

The center of our youth ministry at St. Pat’s is justice and service through Young Neighbors in Action, along with local cross-training service. During the summer, we have at least five week-long programs working in the inner city, from helping with children’s activity programs to preparing and serving food for the homeless at soup kitchens. The young people, and some of the adults, have their eyes opened during that time to the way many other people live. They meet people who have great faith, hope and love despite their adversity.

Once they are involved in action, like any of us, it changes their faith. They never see things the same as a result. The kids ask themselves why there is so much poverty, of all kinds, in one place and not another. Then they ask what they can do about it locally, at church, in the school cafeteria, or wherever. They begin to put their faith to work.

For example, 20 of our high- schoolers and parish adults will be helping those with special physical or mental needs to walk, play tennis, frisbee or golf, and cheer them on. Others go to the senior assisted-living locations and play cards with the seniors or do manicures. They learn how to interact with people, which is the essence of life.

Where does the desire to serve come from? When I started working here, I made a commitment to attend four liturgies each weekend, because it seemed like the best way to be together. It is a blessing. And it is there that we become the body of Christ. Flowing from the prayer and worship is an experience of community that the teens want in their youth ministry, whether it’s Sunday night youth group, Wednesday night Bible study and faith formation, leadership events with the middle-school youth, or the other activities I mentioned. They want to participate in the life and mission of the Catholic Church. And this is the vision of church we hope they carry into adulthood.

Being involved every single day in the lives of the young people, and all the people of God, is the definition of meaning. Church is about ultimate things, like sickness, death, joy, baptism, marriage, and simply becoming who we are created to be. It’s dynamite to be part of that exchange of life, possibility, and hope. These are the things that matter.

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What’s a teen to do?

The Diocese of Lansing Middle School Rally at Lansing Catholic Central High School: March 10. Keynote speaker is Jesse Manibussen. Contact your parish’s coordinator of youth ministry for more information.

Our diocese and the Archdiocese of Detroit are sponsoring a young adult conference on March 31 at the St. John Center in Plymouth. Keynote speaker is Bob Rice. Contact prinker@dioceseoflansing.org for more information.

Hearty Soup
To honor a strong man
Michelle Sessions DiFranco | Photography by Phillip Shippert

Lent is upon us, and I once again have that $64,000 question on my mind: What alternatives are there for dinner on a Friday other than the usual cardboard cheese pizza? I will say that I have been blessed to marry into a nice Italian family which came with bunches of meatless recipes. One in particular that immediately comes to mind is perfect for the month of March. It’s a “kill two birds with one stone” concoction that has you covered for both Lent and another important day that most of us don’t quite think of immediately: The Feast of Saint Joseph. Yes indeed, leave it to those Italians to have come up with a delicious ritual soup (among other recipes) to honor our beloved San Giuseppe on his feast day, March 19.

Italian soup and tradition aside, no one showed greater faithfulness and self-control than St. Joseph, husband of Mary and foster father of Jesus. This was a man who didn’t give-in to worldly desires and passions. Rather, he fully submitted to the Lord by being a faithful husband to Mary. His feast day just happens to fall during Lent, a time when we all should practice our ultimate God-given self-control – which can sometimes be very difficult to do. Thanks to our secular conditioning, we are more proficient in saying “no” to authority and very reluctant in saying “no” to ourselves. What may help out is to look to St. Joseph as a rock-solid example of obedience and spiritual strength.

To honor such a man, enjoy this hearty minestrone-like soup recipe my mother-in-law was so gracious to share. It is her version of an age-old Italian recipe (Maccu di San Giuseppe), which is rooted in a custom of clearing out the pantry of leftover, dried harvest in the expectation of the new harvest to come. She makes it annually for her husband (who is coincidently named Joseph) on the actual feast day. “Saint Joseph’s Day Soup,” as she calls it, can remind us of the patient and self-sacrificing role model we have in Saint Joseph. It also provides a meatless dish that assists us in our Lenten sacrifice.

And thankfully, it tastes a great deal better than cardboard cheese pizza.

• 1 package of mixed soup beans (contains a variety)
• 1⁄2 cup canned chickpeas
• 1 package of Ditalini Pasta (Any small pasta shapes will work)
• 1 large onion (chopped)
• 2 cloves garlic (minced)
• 2-3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
• 2 celery stalks, chopped
• 2 carrots, chopped
• 3⁄4 cup diced potatoes
• 3⁄4 cup zucchini, chopped (green and/or yellow)
• 3⁄4 cup diced tomatoes (canned is fine)
• 3⁄4 cup Swiss chard (roughly chopped)
• 1⁄4 cup chopped parsley
• vegetable soup base or bouillon, to taste
• water
• salt and pepper, to taste

Directions:

Soak the dried beans the night before (following the package directions).

On the day of cooking, sauté the chopped onion and garlic in the olive oil in a medium to large stock pot. Add the rinsed beans and chickpeas, celery, carrots, potatoes and zucchini. Pour in water until it is 6-7 inches above the level of beans and vegetables. Give pot a quick stir and boil on a low to medium heat for about 30 minutes. Reduce heat to a gentle boil and add tomatoes, Swiss chard, parsley and vegetable soup base/bouillon (to taste) and salt and pepper (to taste). Finally, add approximately one cup of pasta (give or take, if you prefer) and continue to boil until vegetables and pasta are tender. Before serving, top with grated parmesan cheese and croutons for extra flavor.

Note: You can add, subtract or substitute beans and vegetables of your preference. Also, add more water (and adjust vegetable base accordingly), if you prefer soup with more broth or if you plan to eat it the next day (since it tends to thicken).