There was a time after I finished school that I lived in a community of volunteers. We talked a lot about the potential for conflict, the importance of ‘I’ statements, and going directly to the source of the conflict rather than “triangulating” (gossiping with those who didn’t need to hear about it and thus creating the awful middleman). This all made perfect sense to me. I was sure I’d lean hard on these suggestions on the off chance that in our super-cool group, there might be any… conflict. As it turned out, conflict isn’t especially hard to come by, even amongst this super-cool group of volunteers (you could insert siblings, spouse, vowed religious, or roommates here). We had varying expectations on everything from bathroom cleanliness, to dibs on leftovers, carpooling, and prayer times. This would have been an ideal time to employ those tools for communication and conflict. But I didn’t. Counterparts Help us Grow Fortunately none of the issues that arose were big enough to do significant damage. But, for my own sake, I mourn the lost opportunities to have built confidence in my ability to articulate what really mattered to me, especially when that task is difficult. Because the counter-intuitive truth is that having hard conversations with one another is evidence of a deeply-valued friendship. Not its demise, as we might fear. I’m still guilty of surrounding myself with those who help me to stay comfortable. After all, it can be vulnerable and even frustrating to feel the need to articulate—or worse, defend—my opinions and beliefs to another. And yet, it is so vitally important to be able to forge and maintain friendships with another. It must be, for communication it is the fabric of our relationships. This is not to undermine the value of the relationships that do stem from a common experience or belief. These friendships can moor us in ways that few others things can. So it seems this is a case of “both and” instead of “either or.” Who models this well? One of the striking characteristics I notice about many of the Saints that I have come to deeply admire are the intimate friendships they maintained. The kind of friendships I observe are those letter-writing, spiritual-directing, counsel-seeking sorts of soul friendships that were maintained by occasional visits and exhausting conversation. These are the kind of friendships we all yearn for, I think. But perhaps we aren’t groomed to maintain them. Add to that the fact that these friendships each existed between men and women and you’ll quickly note what a treasure they are. These relationships were not (necessarily) built on the convenience of the same convent/monastery, religious order or gender, but a common vision. St. Scholastica and St. Benedict These twin siblings belonging to different monasteries, maintained a solid friendship and profound respect for one another. They frequently sought counsel and camaraderie from one another. St. Francis de Sales and St. Jane de Chantal These Saints influenced one another significantly—specifically through the role of spiritual direction. They attended the parish where St. Vincent de Paul presided (does that make you think twice about who could be attending your parish?). St. Louis Martin and St. Zelie Martin They are most remembered for their holy marriage and forming children who lived vowed, religious, saintly lives. St. John of the Cross and St. Teresa of Avila These counterparts were both mystics, writers, and reformers within their Carmelite order. St. Vincent de Paul and St. Louise de Marillac These visionaries and innovators worked among the rich and poor of Paris in an effort to best serve those existing on the margins. St. Francis of Assisi and St. Clare Co-founders of the Franciscan order, these two recognized the work of the Holy Spirit in their lives. They pursued simplicity and poverty in a way that attracted the people of their time (and ours). The Feast of St. Clare of Assisi Clare as a cloistered woman, and Francis as a mendicant preacher, exhibited two very distinct approaches to the Gospel Rule. Their distinct approaches send a clear message that they complemented one another and were likely able to speak words of wisdom and encouragement that the other would have needed to hear. As a dear Franciscan friend of mine put it, Clare was as much a support to Francis’ work as he was a support to Clare’s. Maybe we hear less of her because her abilities to communicate beyond her community would have been quite limited. From the beginning, Clare admired the simplicity of Francis’ call to live the Gospel with one’s life, and received Francis’ encouragement to do so. Yet as she began putting together her own Rule for the women in her community, she received little support for her simplistic idea from Rome. Clare maintained her devotion to the charism and vision that Francis had put forth in her own life. Rather than take up the charism of a previously-established order as she had been advised, Clare was adamant that her Rule be the Gospel. Through her wisdom and guidance, the Poor Clares integrated Francis’ Rule into their own practice—a rule that received papal approval days before her death. Saintly Besties Francis and Clare’s was a friendship that withstood the sands of time. When Francis died, Clare continued the vision he had put forth. Pope Francis’ grasp on the life of Francis from its emphasis on simplicity, reaching the marginalized, and caring for creation have brought renewed attention to the Franciscan tradition. It changed and continues to change the hearts or ordinary observers simply because it is the Gospel—the good news of Jesus. St. Clare of Assisi, pray for us! [bctt tweet="Counterparts: On the Feast of St. Clare of Assisi #BISblog //" via="no"]

Growing up, I remember packing my sit-upon and mess kit to attend Camp Sacagawea as a camper, and later, as a counselor each year through high school. My grandfather whittled Native American figurines out of bars of soap for my cousins and I on summer visits. Names like Mahtomedi, Minnehaha, Minnetonka, Kawishiwi, and Winnibigoshish are part of my geography. As part of J-term at my environmental high school, we rafted a portion of the Lewis and Clark (and Sacagawea) expedition through North Dakota and Montana. We grew up with an awareness of and a deep sense of respect for the Native American people. Tradition and Influence I’ve been thinking some about this influence recently. My daughters have discovered a story series about a Nez Perce girl growing up in the 1700s. Both girls are mesmerized by the life and rituals described in these stories. We listen to the stories on audio collection. I’ve been listening closely, too. The depiction of family, spirituality, adventures, and courage, are compelling. Imagine the excitement then, when our family drove through a part of the Mille Lacs Indian reservation in Northern Minnesota recently. It is a unique experience. Billboards advertising snowmobiling, fishing, colleges that promote language preservation, casinos, museums and historical markers, road signs in a foreign and beautiful tongue, all surrounded by forests and lakes. It is a unique place. Certainly it is not one without its own, difficult story. This is an interesting parallel to the life of St. Kateri ,whom we honor today. Set apart, beautiful, and part of a complex story. St. Kateri Tekakwitha Kateri was born to a Christian mother and a Mohawk chief. Her parents and brother died during the smallpox epidemic. She lost a great deal of her eyesight and scars covered her face. Because of her scarring, Tekakwitha wore head coverings and avoided social gatherings. The name ‘Tekakwitha’ is translated to “she who bumps into things.” "Kateri" is Mohawk for her Baptismal name, St. Catherine of Siena. She was viewed with much suspicion by her extended family and tribe after her conversion. Under the advisement of a Jesuit priest, Tekakwitha fled to a Jesuit mission in Canada where she was able to live her faith more completely. Tekakwitha is remembered for her deep piety and acts of suffering, which she would offer on her behalf or that of others. She died at the age of 24. At her canonization, Pope Benedict XVI declared Kateri Tekakwitha a model for young people in 2012. Modeling Her Spirit We all probably know a piece of a story like this. A single mom advocating for a co-worker’s well-deserved raise. A retired neighbor earning a high school or college diploma they didn’t have the opportunity to earn earlier. The parents of a special needs child, creating individual learning plans each year. A quiet force. Someone who finds themselves in circumstances that are less than ideal. Rather than being defined by them, they instinctively seek to make a more fitting and fruitful situation. This was the life of Kateri Tekakwitha. Remembering her mother’s devotion to God, she sought out opportunities for herself to grow in faith after her family died. This was at her own risk, given the period in history and the suspicious relationship between missionaries and Mohawks. She was ostracized. She walked hundreds of miles with limited vision to a community of believers with whom she could safely practice her Faith. Sent Into the Wilderness Several years ago, I heard a mesmerizing story-teller speak. Her grasp on the stories and the way she delivered them still can give me goosebumps. They were stories she’d collected from all over the world, and Scripture, too. One of my favorite prompts that she shared that day was something like this: After years and years of slavery, in service to Pharaoh, the Israelites are led to freedom by Moses. He parted the sea, led them across it and into a giant desert. They had no supplies and they didn’t know how long they’d be gone. They only hoped it would be better than where they’d been. With all these thoughts swirling in your heads, I’d like to ask…Who would you go into the wilderness for? Because in every sense, Kateri’s life and conversion were invitations for her to go into the wilderness. In reflecting on Kateri today, it is an important question for us, too. For whom would you go into the wilderness? Are you being invited into the wilderness? [bctt tweet="St. Kateri Tekakwitha: Lily of the Mohawks #BISblog //" via="no"]

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart form that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me. -Thomas Merton, Thoughts in Solitude Reflect All God wants for you is love. If you are bound by this love, you will do everything you can do to be of service wherever you are. St. Catherine of Siena Listen For musical inspiration for your restful Sunday, listen to our BIS Rests playlist. [bctt tweet="BIS Rests: Desire + Love #BISblog #BISrests //"] This post contains affiliate links. If you make a purchase by clicking through one of these links, Blessed is She will receive a small percentage of your purchase at no additional cost to you. Thank you for supporting this ministry by using our affiliate links!

Have you ever felt like you need a cheerleader? A friend who knows how to speak courage, hope, peace, and possibility to your troubled mind as you agonize over details beyond your control? (Yes.) This is the antithesis of the sometimes destructive inner-monologue we can have with ourselves when things get hectic. It is the peace Jesus wishes for us, and yet it can feel so out of reach. Unfortunately it’s not the first tool I reach for in my own toolbox, and I recognize the need to hear it from another source when I have to make that scary appointment, analyze the likelihood of reconciliation between family members, and assess how I’m parenting during a difficult phase of kiddos. The list goes on. St. Rita and Hopeless Causes In the month of May, we celebrate the feast of St. Rita. "Rita" (Margherita) has been a patroness on my journey since college where I became fixated on the word "hope". It was in the name of the organization with whom I finished my senior year internship, and it has followed me around, showing up when I’d least expect it, like roses in a novena to St. Therese. Ironically, St. Rita is the patron saint of hopeless causes (along with St. Jude). The intercessory yin to my yang. She earned this title in a myriad of ways. At her parent’s request, she entered an (unfortunate) arranged marriage rather than religious life. Later, after her husband’s murder, she prayed that God would take her two sons so they would not be tempted to perpetuate a feud and avenge their father’s death. Her sons each took ill and died within the year. This was a turn of events she both mourned and celebrated, as it meant her sons hands remained innocent of the evils she feared. Having lost both sons and her husband, she decided to return to the idea of joining the Augustinian monastery. Only after reconciling the feuding parties was she offered admittance to the monastery. St. Rita Can Relate to Us Rita was an eclectic mix of things in her lifetime: daughter, wife, mother, peacemaker, and nun. Spiritually, St. Rita’s deep prayer life is akin to many prayerful mothers, which is why she is known as the patroness of so many familial issues. The ones that feel hopeless. Rita is celebrated as a woman who persevered in prayer on behalf of her family and one who knew hardship. Her influence, it was believed, impacted her husband and sons for the better. At her husband’s funeral, she publicly pardoned those responsible for his death. For one waiting with bated breath for any variety of outcomes, St. Rita's prayerful reputation is added strength and nourishing balm to my waiting spirit in a handful of scenarios. St. Rita and Honeybees Once I began keeping bees, I was reminded that St. Rita is often depicted with bees in iconography. This imagery is due to an event where a swarm of white bees surrounded her on her Baptism day, some even in her mouth, yet she remained unharmed. Since her death, a colony of bees has taken up residence near her grave, and has been seen between Easter and her feast day. This is fitting imagery in a lot of ways. As a beekeeper, I have a soft spot for honeybees and the metaphor they provide for the Christian life. Turns out, the Church does too. From cathedrals to candles, from vestments to the Easter Vigil Exsultent, the church honors, depicts, and implements honeybees into its representation of life offered for others. Common words, like the "cell" in a monastery, derive from the cells of a hive. It's a group of celibate worker bees, supporting one another for the survival of the whole. The high altar in St. Peter’s Basilica is covered in bees. St. John Chrysostom once shared in a homily: The bee is more honored than other animals, not because it labors, but because it labors for others. This is especially true for all men and women living holy lives, whose example and spirituality are lives offered for others. It is life-giving, hope-sustaining nourishment when we offer ourselves for the good of another. That we might too, bear fruit. St. Rita, pray for us. [bctt tweet="St. Rita: Hope and Honeybees #BISblog //"]

Mother, Your voice learning to soothe Your new child Was the first home-sound We hear before we could see. Your young eyes Gazing on us Was the first mirror Where we glimpsed What to be seen Could mean. Mother, Your nearness tilled the air, An umbilical garden for the seeds Of thought that stirred in our infant hearts. You nurtured and fostered this space To root all our quietly gathering intensity That could grow nowhere else. Mother, Formed from the depths beneath your heart, You know us from the inside out. No deeds or seas or others Could ever erase that. Amen. -John O'Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us Reflect When you know how much God is in love with you, then you can only live your life radiating that love. St. Teresa of Calcutta Listen For musical inspiration for your restful Sunday, listen to our BIS Rests playlist. [bctt tweet="BIS Rests: Mother + Child #BISblog #BISrests //"] This post contains an affiliate link, which means Blessed is She will receive a small commission at no additional cost to you if you make a purchase through our link. Thank you!

The Annunciation is a marvel to me. As it should be, I suppose. You see, unlike so many women who hoot and holler with joy at the news of a pregnancy, I have received my own "mini annunciations" with tremendous trepidation. The Annunciation and Trust Within Pregnancy It has literally taken days for me to wrap my head around the news of each of my pregnancies. Not because I am not excited. Certainly not because I don’t appreciate the wonder of new life. But because at that point, I come to the very raw acceptance that whatever comes next, I will see it through to the end. The one unknown I’m confident in is that I am not the author of this story. Those pink lines signal that, on some level, I am ready to hand over control and accept whatever comes with this new life. And if I’m honest, that is where my confidence has teetered—at the very moment my heart has most desired safety, security, and stability. Will the baby be healthy? Will he or she make it full term? Will there be complications? Will the world be kind to him or her? How might his or her needs alter the course of life as I know it? Enter teenage Mary. Then the angel said to her, "Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. Behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give him the throne of David his father, and he will rule over the house of Jacob forever, and of his Kingdom there will be no end." But Mary said to the angel, "How can this be, since I have no relations with a man?" And the angel said to her in reply, "The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Therefore the child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God." I’d like to imagine that my questions stem, in some way, from the wisdom in the exchange between Mary and Gabriel. These are the kinds of questions one who’s heard Mary’s story asks with an awareness that one little "yes" at a time has the potential to turn our world on its head. I believe this world-shifting perspective is so often the nourishment we need for our (occasionally short-sighted) journeys. And yet, in that promise of provision and nourishment lies the promise that these little fiats will also lead to piercing, poking, and prodding of the very heart from which this love comes. Be It Done to Me So, on one hand, I appreciate Mary’s "yes" as a courageous example of trust when my own confidence has failed me. Particularly given the scandalous nature of her circumstances, the angel’s assurance that her child would indeed be different, and a hope that her betrothed would understand, she had every reason to be concerned. And yet, she wasn’t. Mary said, "Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word." On the other hand, I picture John Collier’s depiction of the Annunciation. Young Mary is on her front porch after school doing homework, wearing saddle shoes and looking about as surprised as I have felt myself by the news of new life (only, with a great deal more reason to be). Maybe this head-scratching announcement is how you’ve come to know annunciations, too. Maybe you had given up hope for a baby, or expected your child-bearing years were over, or found yourself pregnant with no husband, or thought you timed it differently…And yet, this unexpected calling is inviting you to bear something new to the world. Giving Our Fiats Mary has long been called the Theotokos which means "God-bearer." I love this name for Mary. She models perfectly what it looks like to bear Christ to the world. She is an inspiration to us who are looking for ways to bring Christ to a weary and worn world. Without question, Mary’s call as Jesus’ mother was unique and unrepeatable, but her witness as a Christian—and particularly as a woman—has a deeper invitation to each of us. We are invited to be bearers of Christ in all the ways in which we are in the world. We bring to birth the works of our souls, whether they be books, art, babies, lesson plans, garden patches, vocations, songs, or city planning. All of these have the capacity to convey Christ to the farthest imaginable corners. By its very nature, the Annunciation models at least two important truths. First, we may not feel equipped for the task before us to which we have been invited. Second, despite this reality, our little yeses to Christ are borne into the world in unimaginable ways. What have been some unexpected annunciations in your life? What happened when you gave your "yes"? [bctt tweet="The Annunciation: One "Yes" at a Time #BISblog //"]

In another lifetime, I spent a summer working in Yellowstone National Park. I lived with a park ranger, wore a wide-brimmed hat, a khaki button-up shirt with green forest service-issued jeans, and hiking boots. I was the one who got to drive a park service station wagon and collected the change from the visitor map purchase stations at first light. Otherwise, I worked with the Junior Ranger program at the visitor center. But I was exposed to all sorts of naturalist talks and events going on throughout the park. In Need of Fire It was the summer of 2001 and Yellowstone was on fire. Huge hillsides were charred from recent damage. I even remember driving by a wedding party having their pictures taken in a meadow, while in the background, blazes licked the sky. There was a steady presence of firefighters in all restaurants and roads, working to keep visitors safe. We had all learned to co-exist with the fire. The most pervading and bewildering lesson I learned from those who worked in the park was that, overall, fire is important. It's wild, dangerous, even frightening, but the heat is necessary. Take the lodgepole pine, for instance. Without the surging heat of a wildfire, its cones cannot open to disperse their seeds held tightly inside the cone, protected from predators. I wonder if this isn’t among the best illustrations of the Lenten experience—things held tightly to ourselves produce life only when circumstances allow for us to loosen our grip on them. We need Lent like lodgepoles need fire. An Emptying Last month, I was at Super Bowl party with our family friends. Because football is not my thing, I was talking with a friend of a friend whose job (among three other folks in the country) is to survey regions where wildfires have burned and assess the likelihood of/damage caused by mudslides. He was sharing pictures on his phone of some of the yards and local landmarks after his most recent job on the west coast. The scene was unrecognizable: boulders bigger than SUVs rolled through family homes, yards and amenities, submerged, surrounded by thick, brown, sludge. If this story literally hits close to home, my heart goes out to you. Gathered armchair analysts collectively sighed: Where do these folks begin? I can’t help but feel the response is a lot like the gathered faithful after a Lenten season where perhaps some of our own hearts, practices, even our sanctuaries are feeling a bit unrecognizable. Having moved through the drought, maybe even fire, we exist in the immediate floodplain, in danger of being flooded by the quick and abundant shed of grace that is about to gush forth. The Fire and Water of Holy Thursday Today, of course, is Holy Thursday. The water begins its trickle tonight. It is the day we remember Jesus’ gesture of humility toward His disciples in the washing of their soiled, dusty feet. In churches around the world, Catholics will bring forth the basins, and towels, roll up their sleeves and remember the posture of servanthood in a literal way. If there is a more spiritually-potent part of the year, I don’t know it. The culmination of our meaningful or mediocre Lenten experiences come to a head in these next days. Not that our preparation (or lack thereof) will alter the meaning which God will make in our hearts this season if we are open to it, only that our preparations have begun for the first, meandering waters of the flood into our dry and barren souls. What does this look like? Maybe you begin the evening by breaking bread at a traditional Seder meal, as our Jewish brothers and sisters do, celebrating our shared heritage and marking the beginning of Passover. It may be physically washing the body of a child, an aged patient, or ill relative. It might look like cleaning the toilet after the stomach flu has ravaged your household. Maybe you finally let someone into that place of hurt you’ve been holding onto, and through tears, experience relief, compassion, or forgiveness. Maybe Holy week will culminate with a Baptism—your own, someone you’ve sponsored, a familiar face in your parish—glowing with new and abundant life. Just like the topographical aftermath of a fire, tumultuous things follow extreme conditions. Opening Our Hearts on Holy Thursday Our hearts are in that precious, ripe, liminal time in which they are pulled between the harshness of what has been and the promise of what is coming. The word Lent, with its harsh and sometimes even dreaded connotations, appropriately means "springtime." What better metaphor for the re-imagining of life than by animating it with water? Regardless of where you live, if you have ever watched time-lapse photography of this change taking place, you know what I mean. The life force of springtime takes hold in our hearts in the sloshing of buckets, callused feet, the starchiness of towels, and our participation in this pouring out of water and of self. How will you let the fire of God's love open your heart through the remainder of Holy Week? [bctt tweet="Lodgepoles: On Holy Thursday #BISblog //"]

In my former job, I accompanied groups of young adults to the U.S./Mexico border each year. The point of the trip was to serve as a pilgrimage to learn what it looks like in the only place in the world where “first-world” and “third-world” conditions share a border. Our group spent time on both sides of the border and spoke at length about a variety of issues. One theme that consistently arose was the complex relationship between factories, their workers, and the market creating a demand for fast, cheap goods. The Dignity of Work and the Dignity of the Human Person Inevitably someone would ask the question: “Do we boycott the companies that pay unjustly and don’t maintain safe working conditions?” And always the complicated answer came back: “No. Call or write letters to the companies encouraging fair labor practices and support companies who support their workers. But we need the jobs.” There is an unfortunate but certain need for employment in areas where labor comes cheap that creates a sense of desperation in folks who wish support their families. This is particularly the case in regions where working conditions are poor and human rights violations are high. So much so that very often these folks will endure unsafe, unjust working conditions in hopes of a chance to survive and support their families. These are the types of circumstances that can cause individuals to fall victim to schemes of human trafficking (forced labor or sex). This is not unique to any one place on the globe. It is a weakness that has been exploited for millennia, no more profitably that it is at this point in history. It is estimated by the U.S. Department of Homeland Security that “human trafficking generates $32 billion in illegal profits per year around the globe, second only to drug trafficking" (source). St. Josephine Bakhita, Slave Today is the International Day of Prayer and Awareness Against Human Trafficking. It is intentionally combined with the feast of St. Josephine Bahkita, a native of Sudan who was bought and sold as a slave multiple times throughout her life. This is not a memorial that is remembered for its historical significance. Rather, it is because the practice of slavery remains as much or more of a rampant violation of human dignity to this day. St. Josephine’s story speaks hope into hopeless circumstances. Ironically the name “Bahkita” in Arabic means "lucky"—a name given to St. Josephine after her many abductions caused her to forget her own name. She took the name Josephine upon joining the Conossians in Italy—a group of religious women who Bahkita had stayed with while her owners moved to Sudan. When the family came to collect Bahkita, she refused to leave. The exchange between Bahkita, the family who intended for her to accompany them, and the sisters took three days. Eventually, an Italian court ruled that because Sudan had outlawed slavery before Bahkita's birth, and the Italians did not recognize slavery, by law Bahkita had actually never legally been a slave. In other words, she was free to speak for herself (and to join the order that she had chosen). What We Can Learn from Her Story I feel far from equipped to speak on issues of slavery or human trafficking, or what this experience of liberation must have been like for St. Josephine or anyone who has undergone such an exile. Without undermining the seriousness of her experience with a pat answer to a complex and heart-wrenching practice, there is a part of her story that feels like an invitation for further consideration. Where I resonate with this story is in her discovery and experience of finding herself freed from the clutches that never had true ownership over her, anyway. She must have felt so many intense emotions all at once: relief, gratitude, anger, joy, disbelief. For those who have had a life-altering conversion, who have attended a timely retreat, who have put in long hours with a counselor or spiritual director, who have faced an addiction head-on, you might recognize the wild freedom that is coming to terms with something/someone who has oppressed you, and finding they no longer have a hold in your life. Josephine Bakhita's witness is a lived metaphor for what Jesus has already done in us. There is no circumstance, habit, secret, or shame we may find ourselves in the clutches of that hasn’t already been satisfied by the Blood of our Savior. Our hope is in the One who has suffered, died, and rose out of love for us, who is inviting us into a place of freedom. St. Josephine Bakhita and Human Trafficking Lent begins in less than a week. Maybe the patroness of Sudan and of those affected by human trafficking is a fitting companion for this year’s Lenten journey. Perhaps something in her story has stirred a new sense of courage to journey into the desert and to acknowledge what has wittingly or unwittingly held us captive—that we might choose again for ourselves the One who invites us back into the freedom of unconditional love. Prayer and Action If you want to learn more about human trafficking and how you can help, here are some resources: This is a great visual to help understand the problem and our (unintentional) role in it. Support companies that make an effort to label their product that has been made justly. Check out the USCCB’s 2017 Lenten action for spotting slave-free seafood. 15 ways you can help fight human trafficking. Learn from the U.S. Catholic Sisters Working against Human Trafficking. [bctt tweet="Held Captive: St. Josephine Bakhita + Human Trafficking #BISblog //"]

Another morning and I wake with thirst for the goodness I do not have. I walk out to the pond and all the way God has given us such beautiful lessons. Oh Lord, I was never a quick scholar but sulked and hunched over my books past the hour and the bell; grant me, in your mercy, a little more time. Love for the earth and love for you are having such a long conversation in my heart. Who knows what will finally happen or where I will be sent, yet already I have given a great many things away, expecting to be told to pack nothing, except the prayers which, with this thirst, I am slowly learning. -Mary Oliver, "Thirst" Reflect But let us not put our sights too high. We do not have to be saviours of the world! We are simply human beings enfolded in weakness and in hope, called together to change the world one heart at a time. Jean Vanier, Becoming Human Listen For musical inspiration for your restful Sunday, listen to our BIS Rests playlist. [bctt tweet="BIS Rests: Growing + Changing #BISblog //"]

The first Christmas I remember receiving Christmas cards addressed to me personally was the year I moved to Denver. Delighted by this very adult practice of sending and receiving Christmas cards, I tore them open with delight when I got home from work each evening, savoring the familiar faces in the pictures and scripts in the margins. The only one I can remember anymore was a hand-drawn depiction of a young, brown family, holding their infant son under the shelter of a graffiti-covered bus stop. It was blank on the back, no further explanation provided. The friend who sent the card was living in the St. Louis Catholic Worker house. She shared that this was the image one of her youth group students drew when asked to create a picture of a modern-day Holy Family. An Unlikely Savior As Catholics, we lean hard into the story of the Incarnation — God made flesh, physically delivered into the muck of everyday life, in the midst of poverty and vulnerability. Perfection amidst imperfections. We reverence every aspect of this story: the Annunciation, the Visitation, Joseph’s dream, the stable, the manger, the swaddling clothes, the unlikely family who received the Savior into their lives with complete humility and trust. On the Feast of the Holy Family, our relationship with this family is certainly worth some further thought. Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and Us At this point, our churches are bedazzled with crèches, poinsettias, glittering gold and white garments, cloths, and vestments. Our noses detect the lingering smell of incense. Choirs are singing out the joyful news, all because our God chose us. He chose to come to us in a way that we might understand. Born in a body that we would recognize. Born into a family we could relate to. In our own ways, we re-create the beautiful scene of Mary, Joseph, and Jesus with live nativities, posadas, our mantle crèches, the carefully-chosen designs on our Christmas cards, and in our illuminated yard decor. This practice of remembering is the sacred, holy work of our souls. Our participation in these traditions put us back in touch with the story that reminds us who (and Whose) we are. And yet there is a temptation to perfect the scene, because we are talking about Jesus and family after all, and because we are uncomfortable with the idea that Jesus’ family might have had an un-photogenic moment. In our own ways, we dress up the one who arrived bare. We can focus only on the story’s beauty and neglect the coinciding rawness of the Christ-child’s arrival. In the same way that imagery can distract us from the core of the Holy Family, I have found that it can also call me back to it. Would We Recognize the Holy Family Today? Personally I have found that Salesian Brother Mickey O’Neil McGrath is an artist worth keeping an eye on during this season, especially when my own depictions of Christmas become too glamorous. A talented iconographer, Brother Mickey creates a new icon of the Holy Family each year, many based on events occurring within the year. Some of his most notable works are Syrian Mary, Joseph and Jesus or Resting in Flight. The images are both playful and stirring in their vibrancy and depth. They give a tangible identity to the vague characters we have imagined in our mind's’ eye. The question his work poses is an important one: Who is it that personifies a family on the move? Ostracized? One for whom we might just not be able to make an exception? How are we imagining Jesus’ unexpected arrival this year? Truthfully, I don’t know exactly who this is for me. Are they the ones closest to me in my own family, or those I’ve kept at a distance and struggle to see in a "holy light"? I have a hunch that follow-through on my part with any of these individuals would be both a welcomed gesture and an offering that the Incarnate God might find pleasing. We are only four days into the Christmas season. As we savor this week of celebration, the Spirit seems to be nudging each of us to recognize the Holy Family not in their perfection, but in their flesh. Are there people in my life toward whom I’ve struggled to make an exception? Extend hospitality? Who have arrived inconveniently? Unexpectedly? These are our opportunities for life-altering, unscripted, living nativity moments. Who are the unlikely blessings in your life? [bctt tweet="Unlikely Blessings: Looking for the Holy Family Today #BISblog //"]

She was five, sure of the facts, and recited them with slow solemnity convinced every word was revelation. She said they were so poor they had only peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to eat and they went a long way from home without getting lost. The lady rode a donkey, the man walked, and the baby was inside the lady. They had to stay in a stable with an ox and an ass (hee-hee) but the Three Rich Men found them because a star lited the roof Shepherds came and you could pet the sheep but not feed them. Then the baby was borned. And do you know who he was? Her quarter eyes inflated to silver dollars, The baby was God. And she jumped in the air whirled round, dove into the sofa and buried her head under the cushion which is the only proper response to the Good News of the Incarnation. -John Shea, The Hour of the Unexpected Reflect The incarnation began with Jesus and it has never stopped…God takes on flesh so that every home becomes a church, every child becomes the Christ-child, and all food and drink become a sacrament. God’s many faces are now everywhere, in flesh, tempered and turned down, so that our human eyes can see him. Ronald Rolheiser, OMI Listen For musical inspiration for your restful Sunday, listen to our BIS Rests playlist. I also recommend listening to "The Gift" by Aselin Debison. [bctt tweet="BIS Rests: Born + Transformed //"]

I've met my own modern-day St. Elizabeth of Hungary. Mary Jo Copeland is the founder of Sharing and Caring Hands, based in the Twin Cities. Mary Jo began serving the underprivileged on the streets of Minneapolis in 1985 once her twelve children were attending school. With her prayerful guidance, what began as a way to prevent people from slipping through the cracks of systems designed to help them succeed has become the area’s largest ministry serving those who are homeless, hungry, or disadvantaged. The hallmark of her noble work is the practice of physically washing the feet of those who come to receive services from the organization. A Full Life is One Worth Celebrating I met Mary Jo on a college service trip in Minneapolis. She is as sweet and unassuming as you might imagine one in her line of work to be: bobbed hair pinned back, long skirt, and walking shoes. She shared the mission of the organization, its evolution, numbers of volunteer services, and other pertinent information. But, I learned two important things about her in that meeting: Her day begins early with adoration and the rosary. She and her husband go out dancing. Weekly. Of all the life-altering and impactful work she has spearheaded over the last 30 years, her relationship with her husband is what is held most dear. What a witness. St. Elizabeth of Hungary: Wife and Servant to the Poor Today the Church celebrates the feast of St. Elizabeth of Hungary, another woman whose "yes" to the Lord resulted in radical service to the poor of her own time. From a young age, St. Elizabeth was influenced by the teachings of St. Francis of Assisi and is said to have spun wool to make clothes for those in need. Her best-known miracle occurred while she was secretly bringing the castle’s bread to the poor, hiding it beneath her cloak. On her way, she passed her husband’s hunting party. In an effort to dispel any idea that she was stealing from the castle, her husband asked her to reveal what she held. When she opened her cloak, rather than bread, red and white roses appeared, eliminating any suspicion of theft and confirming for Louis that her charitable work was blessed by God. Certainly within her marriage, Elizabeth is remembered for taking the lead in charitable giving, but was greatly supported by her spouse in so doing. After she was widowed at age 20, she continued to serve by building a hospital and personally attending to its patients. Elizabeth’s life was quite short. She died at the age of 24. Nonetheless, she is remembered for her unlikely tendency toward charity and service, precisely because of her nobility—to which, she responded: How can I bear a crown of gold when the Lord bears a crown and thorns and wears it for me! Women Worthy of Imitation Of all the stories of those who have lived holy, God-honoring lives, the stories I like best are the ones no one saw coming. Those people from whom the world believed it knew what to expect. Each of these two women's service to God through service to those on the margins far outweighs what anyone might have imagined them capable of - whether as a mother of twelve or a young widowed princess. These women are kindred spirits. The give of themselves in both the role of the served and the servant. They see an unmet need and they meet it. We recognize these women among us. Maybe it’s your mom, sister, grandma, aunt, neighbor, best friend; maybe it’s you! Maybe it’s the kind of meaningful work you are praying for. Maybe it feels laughable that God could be calling you into the deep waters to do important work. It may have felt laughable for Mary and Elizabeth as well. It is worth mentioning that each woman is known for the groundedness they describe within their marriage. It isn’t that their husbands work(ed) by their side and gave it all up for the greater glory; but that they each recognized and honored the sacred work God had invited their wives to take part in. This is important because there are countless examples of vowed religious women who have worked tirelessly to change the world by their charism, zeal, energy, and enthusiasm. The collection of married women who serve, and serve better because of their vocation as married women, are a quiet minority, and they are worth celebrating. Is your spouse your greatest sideline support system? Do you offer the same support? Perhaps this is the type of marriage for which you are praying—either within your current relationship or a future vocation. What kind of fruits might we see on behalf of the Kingdom if we were to follow the lead of women like Elizabeth of Hungary and Mary Jo, to encourage and be encouraged by those closest to us? [bctt tweet="Celebrating St. Elizabeth of Hungary //"]

Just these two words He spoke changed my life, “Enjoy Me.” What a burden I thought I was to carry – a crucifix, as did He. Love once said to me, “I know a song, would you like to hear it?” And laughter came from every brick in the street and from every pore in the sky. After a night of prayer, He changed my life when He sang, “Enjoy Me.” - Saint Teresa of Avila (source) Reflect When I was six or seven years old, growing up in Pittsburgh, I used to take a precious penny of my own and hide it for someone else to find. I was greatly excited at the thought of the first lucky passerby who would receive a gift in this way, regardless of merit, a free gift from the universe. . . . The world is fairly studded and strewn with pennies cast broadside from a generous hand. But- and this is the point- who gets excited by a mere penny? But if you cultivate a healthy poverty and simplicity, so that finding a penny will literally make your day, then, since the world is in fact planted in pennies, you have with your poverty bought a lifetime of days. Annie Dillard (source) Listen For musical inspiration for your restful Sunday, listen to our BIS Rests playlist. I recommend praying with “No Greater Love” by Danielle Rose. [bctt tweet="BIS Rests: Enjoyment + Poverty //"]

As a Catholic woman in modern society, I'm always on the lookout for art forms that demonstrate the realities of our fallen world and the redemption that can be experienced when humanity is at its best. Whether you are a parent, child, wife, step-mom, foster child, in-law, sister, godmother, grandmother, aunt, or human, you are connected to other people by means outside of your control. This makes us all part of a larger family. And in a world of not-so-admirable film and TV, This is Us stands out as an illustration of the loyalty found in family and friendship, even when comprised of imperfect people. If you've heard of This is Us, I’d venture to guess that you are either: a. smitten by the show or b. trying to figure out what all of the fuss is about. Either way, it is worth exploring, as the show just began its second season last week and folks will be talking about it at work and on Facebook once again. Why All the Hype? NBC's This is Us has taken the country by storm for its flawed but striving characters and its relatable plot lines. It follows the Pearson family over the course of decades, detailing their everyday triumphs and tragedies. The show is known for reducing its audience to tears in nearly every episode. I think this is because the writing touches on the most fundamental emotions we have as humans as part of our immediate and broader family. Fair warning: This show would be considered rated "PG-13" so watch accordingly. 3 Reasons I Love This is Us Honestly, I am typically not a bandwagon fan nor much of a TV-watcher. Hours of quiet time at the end of the day are too precious to waste. I was originally skeptical of the storyline for This is Us. However, after watching each episode last season (and crying through many of them), this is what I’ve come to appreciate about the show's ability to make me consider daily details with an eternal perspective: 1. This show is not overtly faith-based, and I think that is an advantage. Because of its diverse storyline and characters, it seems that anyone could be caught up in what the Pearson family lives through and picture themselves within its beauty and dysfunction. It's easy to appreciate the complexity of the Pearson family because families, by nature, are complex. Often, such complexity might be the very reason a person begins to feel disconnected to the universal Church. But this show offers its viewers a glimpse at the beauty found when we love one another unwaveringly, even in circumstances that are not clear or ideal. This reality is especially true when applied to the Church as communion. 2. It authentically highlights the highs and lows of the human experience. Attention to both the tough exterior and tender underbelly of our daily lives gives a glimpse of dignity to the human experience in a way that doesn’t compare to other TV dramas. The range of experiences this show aims to cover is expansive: marriage, parenting, identity, bi-racial adoption, addiction, issues of self-acceptance, guilt, death, forgiveness, and family, just to name a few. By highlighting the love and tension inside each of the characters (inside each of us), we can zoom in on an important detail: life is an embodied experience. It is visceral. Jesus understands this with perfect clarity. He became human and understood our messiness, emotions, and fundamental longings. 3. It falls short—and this is its strength. If you are hoping that NBC is going to connect the dots for you so that you can hone in on these experiences of sacrament as they transpire, it does not. To do this would be to lose all credibility for the show. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve watched an exchange between characters or an episode where there was clearly something sacramental (an outward experience of an inward grace) going on and it is never outright named. As I hit the lights and head upstairs after finishing an episode, I find myself reeling about the obvious experience of reconciliation or confession or Eucharist or dying to self or upholding the dignity of the human person that was just demonstrated. The characters’ inability (or the producer’s decision) to refrain from connecting the dots from the temporal to the eternal causes me to examine my own messy life. I'm challenged to search for the sacramental encounters that might otherwise heart-breakingly go unnamed, just as they do in the show. The very reason This Is Us garnered 11 Emmy nominations is not because we’ve never seen a well-performed drama before; rather, I suspect it has something to do with its ability to bring us close to that tender part of ourselves. That part where we feel deeply and deserves to be celebrated for the holiness it involves. It's Captivating Because It's Our Story I’m not suggesting that your life will change or you’ll experience any type of spiritual awakening by watching this show. What I do suspect, whether you decide to watch it or not, is that we will be blown away by entering into our own stories with the awareness that we have the opportunity to participate in these graces, these sacraments, multiple times each day. As Catholics, we have the advantage of not only grasping at the deeper reality that the characters point us toward, but we also have the language to name these experiences of grace. The public is grappling to name the goodness this show has to offer and what it might mean for our humble human experience—and it’s a story we’re already privileged to know. There’s something deeper going on here: This is us. [bctt tweet="There’s something deeper going on here: This is us. #BISblog"] Have you watched This is Us? What's been your favorite episode so far? Let us know in the comments below!

The bus doors opened. An impatient, tired, overnight bus driver sat behind the wheel and looked me over as I stood on the corner like a kid on the first day of school. “This bus ain’t going to no Cherry Creek,” she scoffed. I got on. She dropped me off on the block of an old church that had been converted into a day center offering food, clothing and financial assistance to those living in poverty within the city’s limits. Even the church looked tired in the early morning light, in the gray of the city-scape. I found the back entrance of the center and hoped that I would meet the expectations of the organization who had asked for a bi-lingual, social work-type to serve the tremendous community that relied on this organization to make ends meet. This dilapidated church would be the scene of both my greatest education and the most surprising love story in which my heart would be stretched, broken open and grown. I moved across the country to be part of a year-long volunteer program in which I imagined myself making a great difference in the lives of those I would serve. After all, I had newly-minted degrees in Social Work and Theology. Surely I would be an asset! What I had not anticipated was just how much I had yet to learn from those living on the margins, how I would fall in love with the cadence of my days in this quirky center and the message of the Gospel that would be revealed to me by folks who would be surprised to hear me say so. Imagine my astonishment when a nurse I knew from a local hospital showed up to pick up groceries from the food line one afternoon. Or when I was working on job applications with folks living on the street and the man sitting with me shared that he had gone to Harvard. It was not uncommon for a grizzled, recovering alcoholic who slept outside to make sure I got on the bus safely if I worked a dinner shift: “Goodnight, hija (daughter),” he would say. Suddenly I didn’t know so much. Suddenly the biting comments and stereotypes heard on sitcoms and at family gatherings about any number of marginalized people living in this country began to take on identities, to have stories, to have names and faces. I wasn’t serving ‘the poor,’ I was given the privilege of knowing these people and hearing the stories they chose to share, in their own words. The best description I have ever heard of this option of long-term service is this: “A year of lay formation.” And it’s true. Hands-down this was among the most formational decisions of my life (though I didn’t know it yet). I was too distracted by the unending string of questions about what exactly I had decided to do with my life. The decision not to take a job with a benefits package, but to agree to live a lifestyle of simplicity, prayer, community & service, without joining a religious order was foreign to basically everyone I knew plus or minus a couple of nuns and a campus minister. Were my parents convinced that this was a wise move on my part? No. Did I have student loans? Yes. Did I know a soul in the city I planned to move? No. Despite the mixed messages I was receiving concerning this decision, something in my heart knew that I had to do it. Even as a cradle Catholic, it remains among the most difficult decisions I have ever made. Not because I wasn’t compelled by a mission of service, but because it was 100% countercultural and was the source of one of the biggest disagreements I ever had with my parents. Conversely, I can tell you without hesitation that this one decision, which led to a thousand other decisions, changed the trajectory of my life for good. It’s May and graduation season is upon us. Whether you (or someone you know) are graduating from high school, college, trade school, discerning a vocation or even entering into retirement, I present you with five questions for discernment in thinking about whether long-term service is an option worth considering: Questions to Consider About Long-Term Service What gives you life about the possibility of participating in a year in service? This is a question that spiritual directors and soul friends are great at asking—what about this option gets you excited? In the heart of your prayer life, are you being invited to seriously consider this opportunity as an option? What kind of service can you imagine yourself doing? The idea of long-term service can easily be romanticized. What concrete thing can you imagine yourself doing, 40 hours each week, not for money, but because it is the greatest niche you can fill with your specific gifts? When you share this idea with trusted friends/family/minister, how do they respond? Very often the response of a good confidant can tell you a lot about whether what you’ve got is a fleeting idea or core to who you are. A friend who nods and pictures you easily in this new role is a resounding affirmation. Be attentive to the wisdom in their surprised or affirming response. In what circumstances do you thrive? In each long-term service opportunity volunteers live in a community. This may be a community of two-three or up to ten. It may be a women’s community, a men’s community, a co-ed community, age-specific, intergenerational, or shared space with a religious community. Some programs have tremendous structure, others provide minimal structure. In which of these scenarios can you imagine yourself being most nourished? What questions do you have about such a commitment? Does anything about the type of service, the expectation of spiritual commitment, living arrangements, charism, safety, city, loan deferments, stipends, concern you? Get in touch withh the organization you are looking at! Call them on the phone. If you are willing to pick up and move in an effort to be of service to a particular community, it is vital that you speak with a person and get solid answers to your questions so that you can make an informed decision and commitment to the folks that you are serving as well as the individuals who coordinate the program. For a directory of hundreds of long-term service opportunities, visit Catholic Volunteer Network . I continue to be grateful for the experience of formation and guidance I received from the community of volunteers with whom I lived as we committed to service, community, reflection and discussion, and prayer; the staff who supported us during our service year, and some of the most influential teachers I have come to know who happen to live on the streets or close to it. It is a big decision, but a transformational one. Is Jesus inviting to consider an experience of transformation at the service of the most vulnerable?

There is something about the long, slow pace of a fall unfolding with unhurried grandeur that softens my defenses against the coming of colder days. Hot afternoons, crisp nights, crickets and tall shadows creeping--it is a feast for the senses and it means the gathering of the harvest from the fields. I was reminded of this over the weekend as my family caravanned through the Rocky Mountains, mouths open at the sight of the yellow, sun-drenched Aspen trees creeping up the mountain sides. We hiked. We celebrated. We ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed.’ Our family sat mesmerized in our cabin as a herd of elk traipsed by our window. It was glorious. And, I can already feel my body tensing into the memory of the way the previous autumn erupted with change and heartache. It was mid-October. I was thrilled to be hosting group young women in my home for dinner and conversation. The early evening was filled with chatter, laughter and the smell of apple cider. Everyone had arrived but the last car. Uneasiness settled into the group when the phone calls began to take on a concerned tone about the whereabouts of one young woman. Real fear surfaced when we learned of her bicycle accident and the name of the hospital where she had been taken. Cars dispersed. Unable to visit her room, our group gathered in the hospital’s chapel and pleaded for the life of a friend. We begged that the doctors would be wise in their diagnoses, that her heart would be strong enough to endure treatment, that her pain would subside, that she be surrounded by love and that it would suffice until we could personally offer her our encouragement. We prayed that she would heal. We prayed with the fervor of those who love. Very many, myself included, prayed from an unpracticed place somewhere between dumbfoundedness at the circumstances and a naïve streak of certainty that only particular outcomes would be an ‘acceptable’ response from a loving God with regard to a 23 year old woman with a servant’s heart. God heard our prayers—of this I am certain. And, Kaela died. Holding these sentences in tension is startlingly difficult and it has shaken me to my core. I have grieved her loss as a parent, a minister and a friend. I am not sure that I will ever understand the ‘why’ of this loss. I will not pretend that I have been comforted with pat explanations; nor will I offer one to numb the feeling of hurt. Though, I have learned enough in this space of grief to appreciate that putting the love and wisdom of God into a box that I could comprehend would be to drastically limit the movement of the God who both gives and takes away (Job 1:21, NRSV). What I do know is that both her loss and her life have come to define what I am slowly learning about the love of God and the way the Holy Spirit permeates our lives. I know that Kaela loved and honored God with her life and that that relationship had an enormous ripple effect. Stories like that of Lazarus, Job and Sarah are evidence that God’s faithful are not exempt from loss or heartache. Interestingly, in each of those scenarios, God intervened in the story personally. What an expression of God’s tenderness! I had the privilege of grieving well with Kaela’s mother and friends who walked through this journey with courage, vulnerability and story-sharing which is itself a rare gift and one which Jesus modeled. As October nears, I am doing my best not to tense in fear of the memory of loss, but to allow myself to feel the depth of love Kaela brought to the world and to reflect that love for those who are in my life. In the words of Henri Nouwen, I find myself leaning into the challenge of seeing Kaela’s death as a “new way for us to send our own and God’s spirit to those whom we loved and who have loved us.”

After years of downtown driving I have come to the conclusion that no one is comfortable with street corner encounters, usually involving a hand-scribbled note on a cardboard square. I am not. I suspect these individuals are not either—all day they are ignored as they hustle for a glimmer of recognition, of eye contact, of hope. On my way to a friends’ party downtown one evening, I shared my potluck dessert with a man I regularly see. I drove on as the light turned green, half pleased with myself for having stopped, half embarrassed that all I had offered was fudge. His eyes had met mine: Clear, piercing, blue. Just like my daughters’. *** About a week later, I was repeating my bedtime ritual which involves whispering prayers over my girls while they rest . I was marveling at the speed with which my oldest is growing. I stood in amazement at this person that I have walked with and loved for the past four years. I found myself trying to imagine what she might look like when she is older—ten or twelve. My own age, and even how she will age. Suddenly hot tears were streaming down my cheeks as I imagined who would be caring for her when I am not—If the unimaginable happened and she found herself asking for help on a street corner, could anyone really see her with the depth of love that I have—that she deserves? I imagine on some level that this is the universal plea of a parent. *** My mind wandered back to the man with whom I had shared dessert on the corner of Broadway and Park—the one who’s eyes shined like my daughter’s. Mustn’t this be the plea of his parents, too? That the world might stop and see him for the man he was created to be? That it might be kind? That it would be safe? And, if circumstances called for it, that the world would be generous? And there it is—simultaneously my answer, my challenge & my prayer: To look with eyes of love that I might see with the eyes of love. I cannot drive past that corner any longer without thinking of this man’s family—which forces me to recognize him as a son. He is to be looked at and cared for as a beloved child in the same way I hope for my own children to be. As complex as this is, the Son of God calls us into ‘the muck of human existence’ to bring about the Reign of God on earth. This is the Incarnation. This is family.