Today we are talking about THE CROSS. "So they took Jesus, and he went out, bearing his own cross, to the place called the place of a skull, which is called in Hebrew Golgotha. There they crucified him, and with him two others, one on either side, and Jesus between them." John 19: 16-18 You can find the themes for every week here. Welcome to the #BISsisterhood link-up. Every Thursday, we get together as one community to share our hearts. Here's how you can participate: Link-up a post that goes with the weekly theme. Share your thoughts of the theme on Instagram/Twitter/Facebook using #BISsisterhood so we can see each other's posts. Comment below with your thoughts on the prompt. Basically, let's talk to each other. Remember to use #BISsisterhood so we can all communicate well with each other out in the social media world. Here is the button to our link-up that you are more than welcome to place on your blog, share on your social media, and/or save for a rainy day. An InLinkz Link-up

Good Friday...the day that started it all...our salvation and our great hope that one day we will be with Christ again in Heaven. How odd is it that every Good Friday I can remember has been a gloomy day? Today, the fog prevents me from seeing past our front gate, and mist drizzles in the air, reminding me that today, Jesus died for us. As the soldiers beat him and jeered, he never conceded to their demands. He never renounced His Father or relieved Himself of His suffering (something he could have easily done, being God). Instead, he prayed. He prayed for them...for those who were taking his very life. In essence, He prayed for us...we are the Roman soldiers; we are Judas; we are the very ones who nailed him to the cross. As we are called to fast and abstain from meat this last Friday of Lent, we cannot help but be reminded (as each hunger pain hits) of the ultimate sacrifice made this day so many years ago...for us. Did we deserve it? No. Do we ever? No. But, thank God for His mercy, for His grace offers us another chance at eternity with Him, every time we fail. And, now, as a mom, I have a tiny bit better understanding of Mary's perspective. She watched in horror as others humiliated her Son, as they ripped into His skin with every whip, as the blood poured from His brow when they mockingly placed a crown of thorns on His head. She knew that this was the purpose of His life, yet it did not take away the pain...the greatest pain as a parent...losing a child. Helpless, she had to trust in God's plan. Looking to Mary and Jesus today I am reminded of God's incredible work in our lives. Sure, there are times when it feels as if He isn't there. Times when we do not understand our suffering. Times when the world gets us down and our thoughts quickly turn to what others may think. If we are true to ourselves, those are not the times when God is far away. He never is. Those are the times in which He is strengthening our resolve...allowing us doubt, questioning, and suffering to share in the cross of Christ. And when we are at our worst, He gently reminds us of those who have come before, leaving an example for every generation...Mary and Jesus. Having been "one of those weeks," I can easily get bogged down in my own "pain." Never, though, does my pain entail watching my son suffer and die, as Mary did. Never do I have to physically carry a cross and be nailed to it in order to save someone else's life. My pain is almost comical comparatively. However, when I pull myself from my worry and anxiety, I can clearly see what this Good Friday is all about...a love that is anything but selfish, a total commitment to God, and a humble acceptance of His will for our lives. Mary and Jesus knew that their ways were not of the world and that the world would not understand; they knew His will would come at great cost; they knew that suffering would rip them apart. However, they also knew that to choose anything less than His total will for their lives would cost more. Good Friday is not good in the sense of a happy, giddy celebration. It is Good because it has forever changed the world, reminding us that unconditional love doesn't stop with wishing others well and offering an indifferent smile as we pass them by. It is Good because it reminds us that the Good is often painful; that God's will for our lives demands that we love until it hurts; that in order to spend eternity with Him, we often have to deny ourselves a "Good" life in the eyes of society. Good Friday is not the end. It is the beginning. Will I look to the sufferings of this world and wallow in self-pity? Or, will I look past my self long enough to see Mary and her complete acceptance of a life of suffering? Will I allow the ideas of the world to shape my own, hoping that I fit into the mold? Or will I look to the King of the World, breathing His last breath on the cross, not trying to convince the crowd of His royalty, but instead praying for those who persecuted him while so fervently living God's call. He gave everything so that we might have life. Good Friday reminds me that my very life must be completely His. Feel the Nails They tell me Jesus died For my transgressions That he paid that price a long, long time ago When he gave his life for me On a hill called Calvary But there's something else I want to know Chorus Does he still feel the nails Every time I fail Can he hear the crowd cry "Crucify" again Am I causing him pain Then I know I've got to change I just can't bear the thought of hurting him. 2nd verse It seems that I'm so good at breaking promises And I treat his precious grace so carelessly But each time he forgives What if he re-lives The agony He felt on that tree Chorus 1x Holy, holy Holy is the Lord Holy Holy Holy is the Lord Do you still feel the nails Every time I fail Have I crucified you Jesus with my sins Oh I'm tired of playing games I really want to change I never want to hurt you again Holy, Holy Holy is the Lord Holy, Holy Holy is the Lord Britt is a momma to four and a wife to one, raising cattle on the grasslands of New Mexico. This post originally appeared on The Fisk Files.

Today we are talking about OBEDIENCE. "I am the handmaid of the Lord. Let it be done unto me according to your word." Mary's unwavering obedience to God in carrying the life of His Son began with these words and continued throughout her whole life, from the moment of the Annunciation to the foot of the Cross. Let us, then, look to her when we struggle with obedience. She will show us the way. You can find the themes for every week here. Welcome to the #BISsisterhood link-up. Every Thursday, we get together as one community to share our hearts. Here's how you can participate: Link-up a post that goes with the weekly theme. Share your thoughts of the theme on Instagram/Twitter/Facebook using #BISsisterhood so we can see each other's posts. Comment below with your thoughts on the prompt. Basically, let's talk to each other. Remember to use #BISsisterhood so we can all communicate well with each other out in the social media world. Here is the button to our link-up that you are more than welcome to place on your blog, share on your social media, and/or save for a rainy day. An InLinkz Link-up

In 2012, if you began preparing for Total Consecration on Ash Wednesday, you would end up making your consecration on the feast of the Annunciation. In 2012, I had never heard anyone talk about this devotion in real life and I wasn’t entirely sure what it was about. But my internet research suggested it was legit and the coincidence of the dates appealed to me strongly, and so, on Fat Tuesday of 2012, I decided I was going to “do” a Total Consecration. Total Consecration is a devotion that was introduced by the seventeenth century French priest, St Louis de Montfort, and promoted in the twentieth century by St Maximilian Kolbe. By consecrating yourself to Mary, you offer her your whole self and everything you do so that she can teach you how to be one with Christ. After all, Mary is perfect because she only wants what Jesus wants. St Louis outlined thirty-three days of prayer, with designated themes for each week, leading up to the day of consecration itself, which ideally should occur on a Marian feast day. I am terrible at Lent, and I always struggle to come up with something “good” that I can stick to, but the combination of intensity and structure in the Total Consecration preparation seemed just right. So off I went to my nearest Catholic bookstore and bought the only copy of the prayers I could find. For the first week, I was on fire. Maybe that’s a funny thing to say about prayer but I bet you can relate. Every night, I looked forward to getting the book out and spending some time in prayer. I had no trouble connecting with the text or staying focused. Afterward, I would float down the hall to the bathroom to get ready for bed, feeling peaceful and accomplished. Finally, I was succeeding at Lent! I wasn’t just succeeding — I was crushing it! The second week, I flagged a bit. But it was in the third week that I totally beached. I was no longer excited to read the day’s reflection. Instead, I rushed through the reading so I wouldn’t fall asleep in the middle of it. Five minutes after I’d finished, I had trouble remembering what I’d read. I was definitely not crushing anything any more. One night, as I got into bed, I thought sadly about the contrast between that night’s boring and already-forgotten prayer and the authentic, loving evenings I’d enjoyed only a couple weeks before. The exact question that came into my mind was, Did this even count anymore? Could I even be described as “praying” when I was barely even reading the words? Maybe I should just give this up and try again prior to another feast day. I’m not sure why, but I decided to see it through. Perhaps it was because I didn’t know what else I would "do" for Lent if I gave this up. So I carried on with the preparation days, trying my best to be attentive, but never really connecting again with the prayers. Finally, March 25th rolled around -- the Feast of the Annunciation. I prepared a little card with the words of the consecration prayer and took it with me to church before Mass. I knelt at Mary’s altar, said the prayer, signed the card and lit a candle as St Louis de Montfort recommends. Then, I took my seat for Mass. The Mass I was attending that night was in the Old Rite, so shortly after the priest entered the sanctuary the congregation knelt. As soon as I hit the kneeler, I felt a wave of grace wash over me. I don’t quite know how to describe it. It was like standing in a literal wave. All I could do was pour out gratitude from my heart. It remains the most supernatural experience I’ve ever had. I felt as if my worry about whether or not my prayers had "counted" was addressed and answered. I offer this story as encouragement. Sometimes when you’re trudging along with unfulfilling prayers, it could mean you should follow your heart to something different. But I think Lent, or any other long-term commitment, is different. If you’ve committed yourself to Total Consecration, or a 54-day novena, or a regular adoration slot, or 40 days without red wine, it’s only human to get discouraged. There will probably come a point when you’ll be tempted to give it up for the best possible reasons. Who wants to offer God dry, un-heartfelt prayers? But He appreciates persistence, and He hears those prayers even when you barely do. So hang in there. See it through. It counts. Julie is single, has just finished a PhD in history, and aspires to teach at a Catholic college. She really hopes this isn't heretical. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter.

Today we are talking about TRUST. St. Joseph, whom we celebrate today, was a man of great faith and trust in the providence of God. We can look to him for example during those times in life when God calls us "to step out on a leap of faith," to trust completely in what He has planned for us even though we can't see a speck of it now. You can find the themes for every week here. Welcome to the #BISsisterhood link-up. Every Thursday, we get together as one community to share our hearts. Here's how you can participate: Link-up a post that goes with the weekly theme. Share your thoughts of the theme on Instagram/Twitter/Facebook using #BISsisterhood so we can see each other's posts. Comment below with your thoughts on the prompt. Basically, let's talk to each other. Remember to use #BISsisterhood so we can all communicate well with each other out in the social media world. Here is the button to our link-up that you are more than welcome to place on your blog, share on your social media, and/or save for a rainy day. An InLinkz Link-up

I've figured out that the key to living the life God has called me to live is believing everything He has to say about me. It requires me to believe in his promises and to believe God is who God says He is. Sounds simplistic, but, when faced with serious and emotional challenges it's not always the easiest thing to do. There's a difference between knowing something and believing it. We know what we've been taught, what we read, what we hear. We know a lot of facts and information. However, we believe in things that are a mystery to us. We don't know and understand them fully. Knowing God loves you and believing He loves you are two different things. The first informs, while the second transforms. Beliefs are transformative because they shape how we live and act. My husband loves me. I know that because he tells me and he shows me through his actions. This helps me to believe in his love and act accordingly. I'm affectionate with him. I share my thoughts and hopes with him. Since I believe he loves me, I want to respond in kind. I'm compelled by my belief in his love. My belief, then, begins to transform our relationship. In the same way, our relationship with God and, ultimately, how we live our lives is shaped by what we believe about God. Do we believe what God says, does, and has done? Do we believe He is who He says He is? If so, just as I act accordingly with my husband, we have to act accordingly with God and in life. If we believe God is the one true God, acting accordingly means giving Him praise at all times because of His great works and His love. If we believe that He is merciful, we should seek His forgiveness often through confession. If we believe that He "knows the plans he has for us” (see Jeremiah 29:11), we should be confident that our path has already been paved in the direction of success and abundance. We should do all this and more if we believe. But what happens when we don’t? What happens when we can't get from knowing who God is to believing who He is? We must ask for a greater faith. Think of faith as the bridge that spans the distance between knowing and believing. Faith stretches across doubt, despair, and the visible world and helps us believe when we're inclined to do the opposite. And just like all bridges, faith needs to be built and maintained. I implore you to tend to your bridges, my sisters. Surround yourself with the Word. Listen to Christian music that uplifts you. Speak to other Catholic women and support each other. Remember the last time it seemed hopeless and then remember that things got better, that your prayers were answered, that He delivered you. Go to Mass often. Receive the Eucharist. It is the very mortar that holds the bricks of our bridges together. Pray often. Mary is our mother, bringing our petitions to her Son. Whenever you feel doubt or fear creeping in, pray the Holy Rosary. Pray, confident in the answer to your prayers and in the victory that awaits you even if they aren't answered in your time or place. Ladies, we have a lot pulling on us daily: family, children, spouse, jobs, joblessness, illness, and so many responsibilities. Failure to tend to your bridge is dangerous. When you don't, you risk falling into the sea of doubt it spans. If you don't drown, swimming out of doubt is much more difficult than I can even express to you. The waters are rough because, in doubt, we are placing God at a distance. Tend to your bridges, ladies. And if you don't have one, spend some time building it up. After all, how can you step out on faith if it's not there? Stephanie is the wife of an amazing husband and mother of two equally amazing boys under age three. She is a full time attorney and lives in New Jersey. You can find her on Twitter and Instagram. MARY SHOWS US THE WAY Just as a mother might pass on a beloved family tradition to her daughters, Mary shares the recipe for growing in virtue with us. This study on Mary's Virtues will breathe new life into your everyday, beginning right in Mary's home. GET HOME STUDY

Today we are talking about RECONCILIATION. Lent is a perfect time to work on reconciliation. Most importantly, we achieve it with God in the sacrament of Reconciliation, where we are washed clean from our sins and receive graces to better combat our temptation. But let's also consider where we need to be reconciled in other places in our lives -- with family, with friends, with ourselves. Welcome to the #BISsisterhood link-up. Every Thursday, we get together as one community to share our hearts. Here's how you can participate: Link-up a post that goes with the weekly theme. Share your thoughts of the theme on Instagram/Twitter/Facebook using #BISsisterhood so we can see each other's posts. Comment below with your thoughts on the prompt. Basically, let's talk to each other. Remember to use #BISsisterhood so we can all communicate well with each other out in the social media world. Here is the button to our link-up that you are more than welcome to place on your blog, share on your social media, and/or save for a rainy day.   An InLinkz Link-up

Is there anything more beautiful than shimmering fresh snow on a sunny morning? I thought to myself. My next thought fast-forwards to Spring and an amazing thing I learned about gardening: Did you know most plant growth takes place in the dark? Plants spend daylight hours soaking in the radiation of the sun and its power, but it is during the dark of night when that power erupts and causes growth. Now - whether you're a gardener or not - re-read those few sentences above with The Son in mind. Think of His Radiance and Power available for our growth in those dark moments of life. Pretty darn cool how God works -- if we let Him. For me, it's often an act of will to not hop on that Pity Party Wagon of Pride that dangles a bogus sense of ease when life gets challenging. Thankfully, God is patient with me. Sooner or later, He lovingly knocks me off that wagon -- sometimes face-first into the dirt! After all, it is there I can best see and smell the thriving earth He created and be reminded what is available when I surrender to His radiation, to His power, to His will (not mine), while being enriched with the graces necessary for growth in the darkness. I recently shared with a priest in the confessional that my goal in life is joyful surrender (and how often I fail at it). He, in persona Christi, lovingly tweaked my perspective: my goal is heaven, and joyful surrender is one means to get there. What a difference the proper perspective can make! What a gift I received from Him! Forgiveness and a new beginning. From darkness to light. Ah, fresh-as-snow once again... Thank you, Jesus! Susanne Kain lives in Michigan where she attempts to gracefully transition to a more contemplative life while being present for her husband, her dad of 93 years, and her emerging adult sons. Her goal is heaven, but she is often found wrestling with Joyful Surrender on the trails of life. She shares some of these submissions through Behold the Beauty of the Lord, a ministry offering inspirational photography and writing. Her low tech e-log may be requested at beholdthebeautyoftheLord@gmail.com

Today we are talking about SACRIFICE. "More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope." (Romans 5: 3-4) To live a life in Christ, requires sacrifice, it requires suffering. But we need not be afraid, for Our Lord has gone before us and has shown us the Way. Welcome to the #BISsisterhood link-up. Every Thursday, we get together as one community to share our hearts. Here's how you can participate: Link-up a post that goes with the weekly theme. Share your thoughts of the theme on Instagram/Twitter/Facebook using #BISsisterhood so we can see each other's posts. Comment below with your thoughts on the prompt. Basically, let's talk to each other. Remember to use #BISsisterhood so we can all communicate well with each other out in the social media world. Here is the button to our link-up that you are more than welcome to place on your blog, share on your social media, and/or save for a rainy day. An InLinkz Link-up

The world feels so heavy right now. People, families, nations. Sickness, death, evil that reaches beyond all restraint. Each of them adding weight as the world bows under the heaviness of its collective suffering. Why, oh why, oh why do we suffer? Oh, how this age-old question haunts us. I doubt most of the time whether I am honestly "qualified" enough to ask it myself. I often debate with myself whether my garden-variety suffering is really suffering, with my series of mostly good days, happy moments, kid smiles to assuage the tantrums, and just an overall privileged, stable life. My heart often can't take the weight of the world and all its negativity and sorrows in contrast with my own rosy life. But if I'm honest with myself, I'm facing my own little battle. And it's one that gives me a slightly better glimpse of the bigger battles being waged all around me. This summer has been, in a word, tiring. It's taken its physical and mental and emotional toll. My physical pain has been evermore present. The future, evermore unclear. The questions of employment and my medical treatment and necessary therapies for my children hang in the air like a thick cloud that at any moment could break to reveal sunshine, or open the floodgates and pour down rain. It's a tricky place to be. I look at my children and want to be so much more involved than I have been, I wish I could regain the energy and patience and state of health required to be all they need me to be. Then I look out at our world balanced precariously next to my wondrously beautiful life and I'm gutted through and through. I'm broken for those staggering under their torments, I'm baffled by the state of humanity at its worst, I'm haunted by the images and stories of families, of children (children!) falling victim to the evilest of evils in this upside-down world; I'm crushed by the thousands of nameless souls throughout our country and world whose suffering is so inescapable that they can no longer survive it. I always find a way to get out of bed. I always find a way to push through the pain. It always passes eventually and I even get a good day in between. Even at my worst, I'm lucky enough to enjoy so many moments still filled with goodness or a reason to smile. But the more frequent the small sufferings in my own life, the more the fear and the anxiety also get to me; and some days, the suffering wins. And those days have been sneaking up on me much more often lately. I vacillate between "why me?" and "why not me?" On days when the pain is severe, I wonder that a diagnosis as clear as mine can continue to worsen after fifteen straight years of pain. I'm indignant that despite my access to advanced medical treatment and studies galore, I am no closer to relief, and beginning an emotional tailspin. Then I quickly wonder at myself and my selfishness: I think of all those with no medical care whatsoever, I consider how paltry my whining must seem next to the saints who endured the suffering of martyrdom, and I have to laugh at my self-pity next to the families clinging to the side of the mountain as we speak, doing their best not to starve to death. Who am I to complain? Yet here I am, still worn and wearing thinner, without the option to be all worn out. The cycle I go through has become like tired play in my head with its winding themes and predictable dialogue: I demand that God tell me why, I ask how I'm supposed to effectively live out my vocation with such suffering, I wonder what more I can do to help my children, I agonize over the next "right" step, I allow myself hope for what the future might hold, I give into fear of what the future might actually bring...then I serve myself a reality check as I dismiss my struggles and tell myself once again that this is nothing compared others' suffering. But dismiss or argue or accuse as I might at my lowest points, even when God seems silent, I know the truth. Even without formal theological training, and even without the direct answer I demand from God in regards to all of humanity’s aching question, I know deep down that the suffering does not--cannot--come from a God who is literally the definition of Love. I know it comes from evil. I do not understand why. But I very clearly understand its source. I even understand some of its intent. I know that evil wants to overtake Love. That evil wants to inflict pain and grief and destitution and suffering. I know that evil wants nothing more than to confuse us into believing its intent is opposite; I know that it will be completely unfair in its distribution of affliction and suffering across humanity, and will go to great lengths to attack us at our weakest. I know that evil loves to use our human imperfections against us, to numb us or bring about derision or anger or revenge or apathy. Whatever will trap us most easily, evil will try to do. It seems like a total setup. An awfully lousy setup. Still, even without that direct answer to the why--why, O God, must we suffer?!--God has set in front of us the raw, beaten, bloody sacrifice of his Son to hold up the astounding truth. God suffered. God didn't exempt himself from the effects of evil. God himself didn’t escape from suffering. On the contrary, Christ--the King--endured the very worst form of suffering and execution the world could devise. It’s not like he was asking for it. He literally begged to be spared if at all possible. God the Son, pleading with God his Father in an agony so intense that blood seeped through his pores. Pleading while his friends fell asleep and left him to suffer alone in his agony. It's an image so base and human that no one would deign to assign it to royalty, to associate it with the divine. But it was the reality that our God accepted. And beg though he did, he wasn’t spared the suffering. In the hours that followed it only got worse; he had more and more humiliation and suffering heaped upon him, one torture after another. Why? Why did God let his son save others but allow so much evil to befall his son? Why did it have to happen that way? Why does any of this in our lives have to happen this way? We still don’t know. But we know that our God understands. And we know that out of the suffering that the Son endured, God brought good. God opened the gates to heaven and saved the world. That even as evil attacked the human Face of Love and and tried to eliminate it, Love came back for us. Love survived. God won. That’s all well and good to hold up in hindsight, of course. It’s easy to crack open thousands of years of scholarly theology and point to “God’s purpose” for the suffering of that one singular event in world history. But what about us? What about that thing we can point to right now in our life that won’t let us go? It seems we can continue to ask God what the "purpose" of our suffering is until we’re blue in the face, but we still might get not get a straight answer until we see His face. I don’t know that any of our suffering could possibly have a point of origin in our God, despite a belief in "God's purpose." I don’t believe that our God who is Love could pinpoint a specific person and will that they should suffer in a certain way. Because suffering comes from the evil one, not from God. But I believe God can intervene in the evil thrust upon us, that when we give Him room to work he can reach into the storm of evil and infuse his Love, Love that can transform our experiences into something purposeful. Or help us ultimately even use them for good. I believe that even as evil works against us around the clock, God can work just as tirelessly to take what has been broken in evil and use that Love to make it new. It may be a different new than it once was, but the Great Restorer--our victorious suffering Healer with holes in his hands and feet--shows us himself that new life may shine brightest through the wounds that got us there. Yes, God suffered Yes. God lives. Forever. And so, as I go about in my continued cycle of ups and downs and lots of really good days peppered with those of suffering, I can in my toughest moments look at my crucifix and remember—yes, Jesus understands my physical suffering, far more intimately than I understand and experience it. I can look at his Agony in the Garden and know that he, too, felt the all-consuming dread of the unknown; he gets my fears and anxieties... and then some. I can look at an empty cross and trust that my God will reach in when I ask him to and bring some purpose, some redemption out of this--for me, for someone else, for the good of humanity. Because I know His love for every last soul he has created is powerful enough to prick even the blackest of darkness with a pinpoint of his Love and light. He'll literally do anything, even suffer the worst pain in the world, for a chance to give us his light. Finally, I can look at the ones who remained standing at the foot of the cross, and begin to grasp the singular most important lesson I think I'm learning in this whole business of redemptive suffering: We are not meant to do this alone. We are meant to come together with our collective wounds, be they shallow or grievous, and declare the truth that yes, the wound is there; it exists. In the anguish of each other's grief and pain and defeat, we are meant to reach out with a hand full of Love and grasp a hand that has no more strength to hold on. We are meant to sing the ancient Psalms of both praise and lament, remembering that the world has always been a broken paradox of both laughter and sorrow, praise and sacrifice--not because of us, but because of the sin that snuck in long before us. We are meant to help lift wherever we can the load of suffering that has been distributed so unfairly, so that the weight does not fall squarely on one. In the moments when our darkness lifts and we stand in the light, we are meant to seize without guilt the precious gifts of joy that Love bestows on us, because when joy coexists with grief, it becomes all the more precious. In joining together as one struggling, afflicted, limping, soul-seeking Body of Christ here on earth, in validating each other's truth instead of hiding it, we are meant to collectively generate the kind of Love so powerful that it can raise an irreparably broken Body of Christ to new life. I'm learning, slowly. In my weariness, in others' brokenness, by understanding that I shouldn't dismiss my truth any more than I should dismiss theirs, I am learning the value of what it really means to be part of this broken body of Christ. I would still gladly trade most of the suffering that has led me here to this point, but I know a God who also asked our Father to spare him the pain. I clearly still have so much learning and growing ahead, but I know a God who literally bleeds for me so he can meet me where I am. He loves me where I am. And he promises to get me there eventually, weary days and all. So though I might trade the suffering, and though I might still be tempted to compare, I don't know that I'd ever want to trade the beauty of some of these experiences that are leading me to this Truth. Maybe that's what the saints have been getting at all along. Whatever you're facing, I pray that you can allow yourself to acknowledge it without guilt or comparison. I hope today is extra gentle on you, and that you can feel the warmth of the Broken Healer's Love and light on your soul. Megan is a wife, writer, mother, faith and chocolate lover living in Colorado. She wears an Army uniform one weekend a month so she can be a Stay-at-Home-Mom the rest of the year. She blogs about it all at Positively (Im)Perfect. This post originally appeared on Positively (Im)perfect.

Today we are talking about FAMILY. February is the month in which the Church commemorates the Holy Family. As we close out this month, let's chat a bit about family and it's importance in our lives. As St. John Paul the Great often reminded us: "the future of humanity depends on marriage and the family." Welcome to the #BISsisterhood link-up. Every Thursday, we get together as one community to share our hearts. Here's how you can participate: Link-up a post that goes with the weekly theme. Share your thoughts of the theme on Instagram/Twitter/Facebook using #BISsisterhood so we can see each other's posts. Comment below with your thoughts on the prompt. Basically, let's talk to each other. Remember to use #BISsisterhood so we can all communicate well with each other out in the social media world. And if you are into planning ahead, we're happy to announce the themes for March this week! March 5: SACRIFICE -- March 12: RECONCILIATION -- March 19: TRUST -- March 26: OBEDIENCE Here is the button to our link-up that you are more than welcome to place on your blog, share on your social media, and/or save for a rainy day. An InLinkz Link-up

This sign sits in our front yard. Since it’s covered from view by a line of trees, I rarely glimpse it from the house. But whenever the boys want to walk down to the creek, I notice it while we wander at the edge of the road. The yellow steel diamond that screams this unmistakable truth in all caps: And it reminds me again. That everything certain ends. Everything that seems sure and steady, ends. Everything that spread out before our eyes, smooth and rolling, stretching on beyond our view – it eventually ends. Sending our wheels spinning and skidding as we scramble to reorient and remember how to travel this part of the journey. But so, too, the road that was twisting and turning, ends. Everything that was hard and unrelenting, packed down like pavement rolled by strong machines – it ends, too. And there can be something comforting in the crunch of dirt and rumbling gravel we will meet ahead. A road that leads to an unknown adventure or draws us back to nature. Back to the ground of our being. Sometimes I wonder what it meant when Jesus said I am the Way. Did he mean he is The Way: the one and only road; the strong, solid, shining, and certain street; the gleaming golden highway leading off into the sun? Or did he mean that he is the way, the winding and wandering path, the trail that seems to shrink in the overgrown woods, the dusty trace of footsteps that trudged before our own? Or did he simply mean that there Is the way, that light falls on our feet when we follow, that there is always something next if we keep going? Sometimes we fool ourselves that we know what path we are on. We’ve chosen this career, this spouse, this address. And so our days are going to unfold accordingly, neatly tipping in a row like dominos we lined up with a careful eye. But if the only constant is change, as the wise try to tell us, then the fact that pavement ends is the only sure truth. Today is a blink, this season is a phase. Tomorrow may be rockier or smoother, but it will not be exactly like now. Maybe Christ meant that all of this is the Way – that he is both the level ground and the rumbling gravel, the reliable street and the meandering road. Maybe he is there when we glide easily, assuming we’re in control, and when we spin out helplessly, remembering we never were. The kids slap the bottom of the sign, grinning at its metallic twang. They run to the brush to find sticks to see how wood will sound when it clangs against steel. When does the world stop seeming so simple and wonderful, like one great science experiment waiting for our discovery? This is the Way, too. Wonder. Listening. Joy. I take one small hand in each of my own and we start to walk back up the hill towards the house, our shadows lengthening like giants in late afternoon sun. Suddenly they do not look so small, to my right and my left; they seem to stand at my same height, all three of us together with the sun warm on our backs. This pavement, too, will end. But around the corner where I still cannot see, there will be some unseen wonder ahead. That is the promise of way. Laura Kelly Fanucci is a writer, mother of three, and Research Associate with the Collegeville Institute Seminars. She blogs about spirituality and parenting at Mothering Spirit, and her book Everyday Sacrament: The Messy Grace of Parenting is available from Liturgical Press. This post originally appeared on Mothering Spirit.

Today we are talking about MARRIAGE. The second week of February was National Marriage Week, a week in which the bishops of our Church called on us to promote, strengthen, and defend the gift of marriage as a lifelong union of one man and one woman. Every one of us -- married or not -- benefits when the truth of marriage is upheld and marriages are able to grow in love for family is the "basic cell of society." Welcome to the #BISsisterhood link-up. Every Thursday, we get together as one community to share our hearts. Here's how you can participate: Link-up a post that goes with the weekly theme. Share your thoughts of the theme on Instagram/Twitter/Facebook using #BISsisterhood so we can see each other's posts. Comment below with your thoughts on the prompt. Basically, let's talk to each other. Remember to use #BISsisterhood so we can all communicate well with each other out in the social media world. Here is the button to our link-up that you are more than welcome to place on your blog, share on your social media, and/or save for a rainy day. An InLinkz Link-up

When my husband and I were dating I can remember excitedly preparing for date nights, heading out and discovering the joy and simplicity of being in one another’s presence, becoming known and discovering love. Engagement brought grace and excitement. We were planning our life together entering into our vocation, where we would be able to give ourselves to one another, standing before God vowing to love forever in truth, in freedom, in totality, in sickness, and in health. When speaking to a gathering of thousands of engaged couples, Pope Francis illuminated the joy that can be found in life-long love amidst a “culture of the temporary.” The theme of their meeting: The Joy of ‘Yes’ Forever. He stated: “…love is a relationship, then it is a reality that grows, and we can also say by way of example that it is built up like a home…The family is born from this plan of love, it wants to grow just as a home is built, as a place of affection, of help, of hope, of support. As the love of God is stable and forever, so too should we want the love on which a family is based to be stable and forever.” (Address of Pope Francis to Engaged Couples Preparing for Marriage, February 14, 2014) Our “Yes” was refined in the grief and loss of our first pregnancy. It grew in the joy of welcoming our baby boy into the world. And, again, in the sacrifice of loving one another through sleepless nights and impatient tones. Security and acceptance found new heights as I was loved even amidst pregnancy hormones and cared for postpartum. It was molded as we learned a new way of making time for one another, of learning to offer ourselves to each other and to a new little life that needed our love and energy too. Our family continued to grow. As our nights were filled with the demands of little people, our 'Yes' demanded we turn away from ourselves and a dinner and movie out and towards an excitement over our DVR playlist and the purchase of a new washer and dryer. A 'Yes' to my biggest newlywed sacrifice required looking past messiness or habits like putting clothes away in a hamper. It required understanding his long hard day at work while little children pulled at my legs and I desperately attempted to assemble dinner, all the while feeling overwhelmed and having given all that I could for the day. It was a 'Yes' to keeping the bills tight so we could pay our way through grad school which became a 'Yes' to being, again and again, open to the gift of new life. It was meeting the demands of love and knowing that the gift is far greater than the physical, mental or financial sacrifice. We continue to choose love without the glamor of the many date nights or the free time soaking each other in. Our love grows rather as we drive our mini-van home so we can fit baby #3. It increases as my husband chooses to leave his hard day at work behind to enter full force into dishes and bath time and brushing teeth. And it enters in as we capture the quiet nights after all wild children have gone to sleep. Our 'Yes' continues to be refined. It is refined as we imperfectly, yet faithfully, continue to choose love. It is a love that continues to be "put into fire, refined as silver and gold." (Zechariah 13:9) My resolve to choose a selfless love becomes greater, my joy deeper, and my 'Yes' stronger as I continue to affirm that 'Yes' with love every day. Meaghan Hildebrandt is a stay at home momma to three sweet beauties, married to her high school sweetheart. She spent six years working in Marriage and Family Life and is a proud alumna of Franciscan University of Steubenville with her Masters Degree in Theology and Christian Ministry. She blogs at Live Simply. Live Fully.

Today we are talking about LENT. Lent is a time to stop and reflect. It is a time to grow closer to Christ, through prayer and fasting, through abstinence and almsgiving. The different ways to do this are as unique and varied as the individuals who make the practice. Let's chat about the ways we hope to draw closer to the Lord as we enter the 40 days leading up to Easter. Welcome to the #BISsisterhood link-up. Every Thursday, we get together as one community to share our hearts. Here's how you can participate: Link-up a post that goes with the weekly theme. Share your thoughts of the theme on Instagram/Twitter/Facebook using #BISsisterhood so we can see each other's posts. Comment below with your thoughts on the prompt. Basically, let's talk to each other. Remember to use #BISsisterhood so we can all communicate well with each other out in the social media world. Here is the button to our link-up that you are more than welcome to place on your blog, share on your social media, and/or save for a rainy day. An InLinkz Link-up

For some reason, I have turned my Lenten preparations into the sole practice of eating way too many pancakes in a Church basement and making my grandmother's Mardi Gras cookies. Last year, I gave myself a "Lenten pass" because I was pregnant and I couldn't possibly be expected to exercise self control over the spiritual warfare that is Mini-Eggs. Our society is so interesting. On the one hand, we are a culture that is the definition of self-indulgent -- we want what we want when we want it. And yet, we are simultaneously drawn to periods of self-denial when it will bring with it some kind of benefit to self. We do things like Whole 30. We drink nothing but juice for days and days. We follow ridiculous exercise regimens. We throw gluten to the wind. The list goes on and on. It seems that as society moves further and further away from naturally occurring times of feasting and fasting, we have had to create our own. Times of self denial are artificially inserted into the year all with one goal: make my life better. Make me skinnier, happier, nicer to my husband! How our faith differs from this is very clear: It's not about you. We don't give up chocolate for 40 days to lose weight. We don't turn off the TV, pray more and spend more time in front of the Blessed Sacrament all in the name of betterment of self. Yes, that is often the beautiful by-product, but it is not the end goal. It is done for God. It is done to glorify God and to die to self, to learn who the real Master is and to rightly order our desires. Our first desire ought to always be to please God. Sometimes that means walking past the Mini-Egg display. Sometimes that means waking up early to spend time in prayer. This year I'm making my Lenten sacrifices more about God. I'm making Lent about dying to my own selfish desires and putting God first in my life. I haven't decided yet what my sacrifice will be. Maybe it will be not grumbling when the baby wakes me up in the middle of the night. Maybe it will be not raising my voice at the toddler when she draws on the walls for the millionth time. Maybe it will be not acting like some kind of martyr when I do the dishes. Or maybe, just maybe, I'll say no to my most strong and deepest desire: Mini-Eggs. Janine Doyle is a Canadian mom to two and wife to one hard-working snow-shoveler. She blogs about Catholic life and motherhood at This Little Piggy Stayed Home.