June 2, 2026 // Tuesday of the Ninth Week in Ordinary Time // Optional Memorial of Saints Marcellinus and Peter, Martyrs
Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Psalm: Psalm 90:2, 3-4, 10, 14, and 16
Reflect on the Word //
Utterly drained, I climbed into bed, turned my heart toward the Lord, and let the tears come. Nothing was seriously wrong—just a hard, ordinary day: congested traffic, school calls, messes from the littlest one, sibling squabbles, and a to-do list left unfinished. In more moments than I’d like, I lacked the virtue to carry it well.
These are my days. This life with my family is what I longed for, yet its demands draw out my impatience. Too often, my vices outweigh my gratitude—and I find myself in tears.
I relate to the words of the psalmist in today’s Responsorial Psalm: “Seventy is the sum of our years, or eighty, if we are strong, And most of them are fruitless toil, for they pass quickly and we drift away” (Psalm 90:10).
They are the perfect expression of what I feel at this moment. But I do not want to wallow, nor to remain focused on myself and my brokenness. I want light. I want the fruit that comes from abiding in God’s vine. And so my tears become my gift of prayer to my Lord.
Aloud I say (reminding myself), “In every age, O Lord, you have been [my] refuge” (Psalm 90:1). I cling to the promise of that refrain.
As I pray, I picture myself at daybreak, waiting for God’s kindness to come and shine upon me. Light splits the horizon, and I plead that it may also split my weary heart.
Sister, emptiness is difficult—especially when a season lasts longer than we’d like. But emptiness has a purpose too. It makes room to be filled. The question is what we will pour into our ache. There is only one true remedy for our pain; it lies waiting for us in the refuge of Jesus.
Relate to the Lord // Make this Psalm your prayer today: “In every age, O Lord, you have been [my] refuge” (Psalm 90:1).
Grace Bellon is a wife, mom, and high school theology teacher who has spent years walking with young people as they wrestle with faith, identity, and the ache for something more. She writes from the heart of a classroom, the hustle of family life, and the quiet corners where the Lord speaks most tenderly. She believes in miracles, mercy, and the delicate art of balancing home-cooked meals with takeout nights. Her sweetest joys are found in the company of one man who keeps her coffee cup full, her children who keep her laundry baskets fuller, and the Eucharist which fills her heart and soul.
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