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There is a beautiful photograph of the Sisters of Carmel standing before a large wooden Crucifix, each of them holding a single candlestick burning brightly in the dark room. Their...

I watched my little boy run through the tall grass in our backyard. He laughed as he scooped up a fistful of dirt in his tiny hand, full of wonder,...

Snow covers the garden that surrounds the stone walls of Carmel. Within the walls, beyond the iron grille that separates the sisters from the outside world, Elizabeth is in agony....

I knelt slowly within the dimly lit church. Incense rose from the altar to the ceiling, filling the air with a smoky haze. Holy silence as we all watched the...

On July 18, 1880, the lively cry of a newborn rang out on a military base camp in Avor, France. Elizabeth Catez entered the world, as Chaplain Chaboisseau celebrated Mass...

There is a small garden surrounding the Adoration chapel by my home. All is quiet there, except for the gentle trickling of water from a nearby fountain. Amid the ever-present...

The decorations are still up. And the carols are still playing in the background. It’s still Christmas, after all. But the explosion of wrapping paper and empty boxes has been...

Happy new year, friend! As we still soak in the Christmas season while looking at the year ahead, we are thrilled to be stepping into 2023 with you, in prayer....

Friends, we have come to the end of our Prayer Pledge. Each year, this seems to sneak up on me, and I'm never quite ready for it to end (which is the goal!). Whether this year's Prayer Pledge went ideally for you or if you struggled through some days and weeks, we have persevered to our final day together.

Sometimes hope looks a lot like perseverance.  I love the imagery in our Prayer Pledge's verse from Isaiah: when we hope we don't grow weary, we do not faint. 

It’s springtime in the Middle East and my 10-year-old recently planted seeds in our garden. He frequents the sun soaked ground for signs of life, but they are nowhere to be seen. We anticipate a bountiful harvest, but for now, the seeds are buried and there is "death."

I couldn’t stop fidgeting from joint aches as I desperately searched for padded pews at Mass that day. My body needed Him. My body needed His Body.