“Something greater" is a phrase we hear twice in today’s Gospel. (Matthew 12:38-42) And it leapt out at me because, even though I sometimes feel like a rookie at this whole faith thing, there’s one thing I know for certain about God, and it can be summed up in four words: God is always greater. God is greater than our ability to understand. I first realized this as a child in Catholic school, when my classmates and I were given the assignment to draw God. After much deliberation, I drew a gray-bearded man in a robe hovering in the sky. I wasn’t happy with the drawing (and it wasn't because my rendition of God’s bare feet looked weirdly elongated and flat). It was because, even at the time, I was aware that my drawing wasn’t right. God wasn’t an old graybeard in the sky; God was a Being I couldn’t pin down in pictures or words. God was greater than anything I could put on paper. God’s ability to forgive is greater than our ability to forgive. This is hard to accept sometimes. If you’ve ever asked for forgiveness and still felt guilty—as I have—it may be because on some level, we struggle to understand how God would forgive the thing that we ourselves never would. We reduce God to our own human size, with our own pet grudges and inability to let go. But God is always greater . . . and we are always forgiven. God’s love is greater than our love. It occurred to me a while ago that we humans probably lowball God’s love for us. We take the person who loves us most—a parent, a spouse, a friend—and think, That’s how God loves me. Though that’s helpful, it’s not enough. God is love, after all. What God feels has to be far beyond anything our human hearts—even when they are at their most pure, open, and true—can possibly feel. Our wonderful minds are capable of many things, but they can’t stretch to comprehend the immensity of Who God is and what God does. And while that may seem frustrating to those of us who like having all the answers, there’s also a certain freedom in the mystery. We don’t have to have it all figured out, because we can’t. We just have to trust in the greatness of God, and let ourselves be loved. [bctt tweet="We just have to trust in the greatness of God."] Where in your life would it help to remember the greatness of God? Ginny Kubitz Moyer is a mother, high school English teacher, and BBC period drama junkie. She is the author of Taste and See: Experiencing the Goodness of God with Our Five Senses and Mary and Me: Catholic Women Reflect on the Mother of God. Ginny lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband, two boys, and about thirty thousand Legos. You can find out more about her here.

In the Word this week, there is a rhythmic repetition of certain imagery: the pastures and meadows where we dwell safely in the care of the Lord, His protection and provision for us. “Peace, peace. Peace,” the Word whispers. “Come away by yourselves,” our Lord says to His Apostles after the completion of an arduous mission. (Mark 6:31) How often do we remember that our God is a God of the gathering hand, of the close watch, of verdant pastures and peaceful repose, of abundance and provision and rest? Sometimes I am so busy operating in survival mode and hoping with wildly incongruent prayers that I might be enough for the Lord and He will help me get by in my desperation. When Jesus embarks in the boat to bring the Apostles to a deserted place to rest and looks up to find people in need pressing in and following from every side, the Gospel tells us He was moved with pity and ministered to them. What it does not say is that He called the Apostles from their rest and engaged them in that ministry. I imagine that given the thematic repetition of the other readings on this Sunday and my certainty that Jesus’ compassion for the Apostles was as deep as His compassion for the people who pressed in on Him that day, He stepped up to meet the needs of the people so the Apostles would not have to. Our saving God ran interference for the ministers so that they could still find the rest they needed and continue on in peace and abundance. How often is God calling us to that same rest? How often are we afraid to turn over the to-dos and the expectations and the wild chaos of the needs of others to Him and rest while He steps in to handle the work and keep the pressing crowds at bay for us? How often does His invitation to peaceful pastures and the safety of His protecting arm go unattended because we are too busy to hear the call of our Shepherd’s heart? For me, the answer is too often. But maybe today, the poetry of the Word can ring deep in me, and I can hear His Come away as the lover’s call to my soul, and respond with the yes I so desperately need to give. [bctt tweet="Maybe today, the poetry of the Word can ring deep in me. " username="colleencmitch"] Do you let Our Lord take care of the endless stresses on some days? Let Him minister to those in need, and you catch your breath a while, Sister. Colleen Mitchell is a wife, bringer upper of boys, Gospel adventurer, wanna-be saint, author and speaker. She is the author of the award-winning Who Does He Say You Are: Women Transformed by Christ in the Gospels, and When We Were Eve: Uncovering the Woman God Created You to Be. Her latest adventure has taken her from the jungle of Costa Rica where she and her family have served as missionaries for the last six years, to the wilds of a sixth grade classroom in Fort Wayne, Indiana, where she is still living her mission to give everyone she meets just a little Jesus. You can find out more about her here.

Recently several of my kids and I went on a trip to the zoo with a large group of people. Kids were everywhere and people smiled and said hello. There were picnic lunches and adventures on a bright, sunny day. Picture perfect. Except for the part that none of the other children were playing with or including my child. In part it was our fault. They all wanted to go right but my kid wanted to go left. A stroller slowed us down and my child was proud to push his baby sister while the other kids were excited to hurry to the next exhibit. It’s understandable that most people missed the hurt that flashed across my son’s face when the others moved past him. They missed how he’d force himself to smile and quickly move on so as not to dwell in the pain. But I saw. And, thanks be to God, so did one other woman. She saw past the surface level niceties to notice that none of the children were really playing with my child. She saw how we sat alone at lunch and how kids ignored him when he tried to initiate play. And so time and time again she made the choice to love us. She gently encouraged her child to see what she saw and to choose compassion and friendship. Repeatedly she course corrected, choosing to go left with us while the others went right, and sitting with us at our otherwise empty table. To everyone else it probably looked like we were never alone because of this woman and her child. No one else probably saw the intentional way this woman and her child reached out to us. But I saw. In today’s Gospel we see how Jesus cannot help but to come to the aid of the broken who follow Him. (Matthew 12:15) We see how He asks for His works to remain hidden. We read that He will proclaim justice and His manner will be incredibly gentle. It was Christ Himself who did these things two thousand years ago, but today, those of us who bear His Name as Christians should also be known for the same actions. It was because of the way that Jesus Christ has moved in my friend’s life that she made the choices she did to love us quietly and gently. Because of her deep love for Him, she could not help but to help us. [bctt tweet="Jesus cannot help but to come to the aid of the broken. // @BonnieEngstrom"] Sisters, today there will be someone around us who needs us. Let us pray to the Holy Spirit that when we notice them we will act with the same gentleness, love, and respect that Christ has modeled for us. Bonnie Engstrom is a writer, baker, speaker, and homemaker. She, her husband, and seven children live in central Illinois, and her son’s alleged miraculous healing through the intercession of Venerable Fulton Sheen was submitted to the Vatican for Sheen’s beatification. Bonnie pretends she has a green thumb, bakes a fantastic chocolate chip cookie, loves naps and chai tea, and blogs. You can find out more about her here. She is the author of the Blessed Conversations Mystery: Believe study found here.

It was over. It should have been over a long time ago but only now, after months of disappointments and acquiescence, was I ready to admit it. As I folded myself into one corner of my oversized couch, a friend on the other end of the phone consoled me with words that she had no idea were a promise spoken by Jesus in the Gospels. Something greater, she said. Not something better, not something different, something greater. She reminded me that there was something and someone greater for me than this relationship would have me believe. That God’s plans for my life were greater. That I had greater worth. She spoke life and hope over me when I felt that my only shot at love and happiness had just slipped through my fingers. Jesus told the Pharisees—not just once, but many times in Scripture—that something greater was in their midst. It’s easy to read about their spiritual blindness with a critical eye, but I’m as unseeing as they are at times. Their Savior was standing right in front of them and they didn’t recognize Him, just as my hope-filled future was still unfolding before me but I struggled to see it. At times, I still do. But whether I perceive it or not, it’s there, like the steady reassuring words of Jesus. Something greater is in our midst—mine and yours—because Jesus is always in our midst. Always available, totally present to us, ever patient and full of understanding. He is the fulfillment of the promise we’ve been waiting for, the answer to all of our yet unmet longings. He is our something greater. [bctt tweet="He is our something greater. // @thebethdavis"] Visit Our Lord with your journal at Adoration today. Talk and listen. Beth Davis is a lover of Jesus, a recently retired youth minister, and the Director of Ministry Advancement for Blessed is She. She is passionate about teaching women how to develop an intimate relationship with Jesus and speaking hope to weary hearts. Her favorite things include being an aunt to her five fantastic niece and nephews, the Saint Name Generator, and whatever book she's currently reading. You can find out more about her here. She is the author of our Blessed Conversations: God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit study found here.

My best friend and I have a very deep friendship. We've been there for each other through some really hard stuff. We do our best to show up to celebrate one another's joys, but also to be present in the pain. For both of us, this makes all the difference; we often say that it seems like it's possible to endure almost anything if you have one good friend. Today Jesus says, "My yoke is easy and my burden light." (Matthew 11:30) I've never really understood how this is true, especially because when I look at the Cross and see Jesus' burden, it looks pretty intense to me. When Jesus invites us to take His yoke and learn from Him, I'm wondering if it becomes easy and light, precisely because we carry our burdens with Him. Just like what I've learned in friendship, I'm wondering if the truth of this passage is that everything becomes better and bearable when we are in deep relationship with Jesus. With Jesus, we can bear any yoke, any suffering, any struggle. This is a mystery that I don't fully understand, and yet at the same time I believe it and know it is true. I know from my experiences in true friendship and even in my experiences in the spiritual life of drawing close to God in intense suffering that it truly makes all the difference. Jesus makes all the difference. It's all about relationship. "Come to me," Jesus says. (Matthew 11:28) That's the starting point. I first need to simply come and show up. Then we may find that it is Jesus Who carries our burdens for us and in turn, He gives us rest. [bctt tweet="It is Jesus Who carries our burdens for us."] Here I am Lord, I come to do Your will. Teach me Your ways. Help me to carry my burdens. Carry them for me, Lord. Draw me into deeper relationship with You. I am Your disciple here to follow You and learn from you. I love You, Lord. Thank You for giving me rest. Thank You for your peace. Mary Catherine Craige enjoys spending her time creating art, writing, and playing her Irish harp. She uses her experience as a Montessori teacher and catechist to serve young children through the Catechesis of the Good Shepherd. As a life coach, she encourages and challenges women in all walks of life to more deeply discover their purpose and to live fully alive. You can find out more about her here.

The other day my son snapped a nail file of mine, and then I snapped at him. Unlike my other son who would quickly yell something back, this boy retreated. Realizing how careless I was in my response, I went to find him and when I did, I sat on the floor and he crawled into my lap and cried. I wrapped my arms around him and told him that I shouldn’t have reacted that way, and that the nail file wasn’t important, but he is. I covered him in kisses, and we moved on. There was a time in our relationship that this situation would have turned into a more tense interaction involving many more tears and raised voices and hurt hearts. I’m far from perfect, but I’m better than I have been. Now I know that I have a sensitive little soul in my care, and even though I always know things will eventually be fine, he can’t always see that far ahead. That day, I knew that I was stressed and I was overreacting, but he only knew that he was getting yelled at. I used to get angry at him for not being able to get over things, but now I know better. To a small child, the world is a big, changing, and sometimes scary place. How overwhelming for them! And they come to us, hoping for a constant and deep current of patient and unwavering love. I hate to admit it, my son has been a mirror to me. A great sin of mine is my tendency to despair; I think that my concerns are too great for God. I don’t bring them to Him, and instead I cling to my worries as if holding them tighter to my chest will resolve them. Oh, to be like my son and come to the Father, crawl into His lap, and let His love surround me. In today’s Gospel Jesus tells us that the Lord reveals Himself to the childlike. (Matthew 11:25) So I come to Him again (and again and again) knowing that I can’t see the bigger picture, but everything is in His hands, and He knows everything will eventually be fine. I can thank Him even in my ignorance of the greater story being played out all around me. [bctt tweet="Everything is in His hands. // @jacquiskemp"] I hope that we can trust that the Lord knows our hearts, and is with us in all of our concerns and fears, ready to pour His love out onto us. Jacqueline Skemp is a daughter, sister, wife, and mother who endures living in Minnesota after leaving California for her one true love. You can find out more about her here.

“'But I tell you, it will be more tolerable for the land of Sodom on the day of judgment than for you.’” (Matthew 11:24) Yikes. Do y’all remember what happened to Sodom? It wasn’t pretty. (Genesis 19) In this reading, we have Jesus speaking to Capernaum. It's Saint Peter's hometown, a place we hear of multiple times in Scripture, and a place where Christ heals the centurion's slave. (Luke 7:1-10) And He is telling this community that their fate is currently worse than Sodom’s? Talk about a reality check. It can be tempting to look at this passage with a sense of superiority. I mean, come on, Bethsaida, get it together! But I am struck by the arrogance in this thinking that surely had I seen the “mighty deeds” the Gospel mentions, I would immediately repent and change my ways. Just as I’m certain that had I been Peter, no matter how frightened I was, I would never have denied Christ. Or if I were Thomas, even if I had violently lost one of my dearest friends, I would not need to feel the wound in His side to know He had risen. The Gospels are saturated with examples of Christ’s mighty deeds. The blind can see (John 9:1-12), the paralyzed can walk (Matthew 9:1-8), a child pronounced dead is awakened (Mark 5:21-43), and Jesus defeats death. (Luke 24:1-12) But have these truths taken hold of my heart? Am I doing all that I can to live a life that glorifies God? Do I let my faith in the Resurrection, the mightiest deed of all, move me to action? To repentance? To mercy? To compassion? And if the reality of the Resurrection has not moved me to act, how can I possibly think that I’m any different from those towns in today’s Gospel, and what does that mean for my soul on the day of judgment? [bctt tweet="Do I let my faith in the Resurrection, the mightiest deed of all, move me to action?"] So sisters, I invite you to join me in asking forgiveness for all of those times we have failed to let Christ’s radical love overflow from our hearts and into our lives. Let us beg forgiveness for every instance we’ve failed to be the face of Jesus to others. And let us trust in God’s mercy and compassion as we seek to actively live out our faith. Sarah Stanley is a small town Ohio girl who is mildly obsessed with all things Ignatian and is very passionate about faith, social justice, and the intersection of the two. She recently earned her Master of Divinity and now serves as the Director of Christian Service at a high school in New England. When she’s not working, she enjoys contagious laughter, travel, clever puns, and finding the good in all things. You can find out more about her here.

Today’s Gospel reading is a tough one, and I think it’s tough because we all desperately long for peace in our families. The Christian life, so rooted in community, calls upon family life to participate in that broader community. But our families, Jesus says, will always be touched by discord—often because of our love for Him. (Matthew 10:34-11:1) My mom went to Confession last winter, for the first time in a long time. (Hi, Mom.) I had been bothering her about it for ages and ages, years, probably, and when she did go, she told the priest that my influence is what got her back to the Sacrament. I was mortified at first. Ah, yes, I thought to myself. I have been outed to a priest as a self-righteous, nagging adult child. But the priest wasn’t surprised. Young people, he told her, were on the front lines of evangelization, starting with their own families. I’m no great evangelizer or paragon of Christian life. I quite simply had lived my faith in front of my parents. Nothing complicated. I went to Mass on vacation. I abstained from receiving the Eucharist while not in a state of grace. I dragged my sister to wait for me while I sat in a long confession line. Though no sword has been set between us, I still sometimes feel like my faith can be an inconvenience for other people. These little crosses are not the strife promised in the Gospel reading, but they aren’t particularly easy to explain when I’m sneaking out of a family dinner to make sure I can get to the last Sunday night Mass. It isn’t for naught. Our actions and example are the first and strongest form of evangelization. When the strife does arise (and the strife will always arise), we can carry the crosses lightly and continue walking on, praying for our families to follow. [bctt tweet="We can carry the crosses lightly and continue walking on. // @br1gid"] Stay strong in following the Gospel, sisters. Join our regional Facebook groups if you're seeking to connect with supportive sisters on this journey. Brigid Hogan is a high school English and ESL teacher who lives in northeast DC. She is passionate about Catholic social teaching and tries to live it out daily in her relationships and community. Most of her pleasures are guilty ones like television, burritos, and Twitter. Find out more about her here. She is the author of our Blessed Conversations Mystery: Beloved found here.

One of the first activities we did with our son's Cub Scout group this year was to go on a hike, and part of that day was teaching the boys what to take along when you go out into nature. Even if you've never been a Boy Scout, you probably know that camping and hiking require a bit of gear and preparation. You bring water and good shoes, some food, and weather-appropriate clothing. If you’re going to be camping overnight, you bring gear for shelter, bedding, cookware, etc. While hiking and camping do not require the newest gear and gadgets or a docile pony named Bill, any good scout is always prepared. I don't think the disciples would have earned the merit badge of preparedness. Jesus turns His loving, trusting disciples out to travel the world to spread the good news with only the clothes on their backs, a staff, and (almost as a last-minute addition) sandals. He tells them, “No bread, no bag, no money.” (Mark 6:8) He tells them to rely on the kindness of strangers, but even that comes with a warning that not all of the strangers will be kind. He sends them out into a world that was truly dangerous, filled with wild animals and wilder men, with little to no preparation, not much gear, no guarantees. . . only trust in God. And from that trust, He worked miracles. Sometimes it feels like I'm not prepared for what life is throwing at me, and sometimes it feels like God has overlooked me and forgotten to prepare me for anything. Sometimes, when it seems like we aren't prepared for anything, God is, in fact, planning to use us for great things. On His list of things that best prepare us are the things the disciples had in spades: faith and trust. With faith and trust, God has already prepared you to do great things. [bctt tweet="With faith and trust, God has already prepared you to do great things."] If you're wavering today about feeling unprepared for what's coming your way in life, take comfort in the graces available to us in the Sacraments. Get to Mass or Confession. Molly Walter is a Catholic convert, wife, and mother to two children on Earth and four babies called home to Jesus. She has a deep love of her faith, her family, literature, handicrafts, gardening, and Star Wars. When not working full time outside the home or wrangling her next family adventure, she blogs about all the good things in life. You can find out more about her here.

How many times a day do I think about what I need to get done, what I need to buy, what I need to eat, compared to how many times a day I wonder who I should pray for, how I can offer up what's going on in my life, examining my conscience, and uniting my soul to God? In other words, how many more times a day do I think of the temporary needs of my body and this life ahead of the life of my immortal soul? Today Jesus is calling us to make the radical mind shift of valuing the lives of our souls more than our lives here on Earth. This can incredibly hard to wrap our minds around because we have so many pressing concerns. The life of our body and this life on Earth are very real and very important. It seems almost impossible to see beyond, to trust and know that our souls are more important than what's going on in the here and now. But Jesus Himself is telling us just that today, and if we take Him at His word and believe that our souls are worth His life, then we should be living as if our souls are more important than our earthly bodies. (Matthew 10:28) I wish I could say that I pray more than I check my phone, or worry about making daily Mass more than I worry about making dinner. It's exceedingly difficult to live as Christ is calling us, but His grace gives us the ability to make our lives holy, and that's what we can rely on (not our own ability to transcend the daily grind). I take encouragement for this from Saint Kateri Tekakwitha, the first Native American person to be canonized by the Church, and whose feast we celebrate today. Saint Kateri lived with daily humiliation, rejection, and abuse just for living her faith. Yet she persevered because she knew the value of her own soul, and that Christ was calling her to a life of faith. Her life of faith contradicted the society she lived in to the point where she was living under constant threat of physical harm, yet she never gave up her faith. I don't face these extreme hardships to live my faith, but I can take the same course as Saint Kateri's for my life and value my own soul above all else. What can I do today to help me remember the value of my soul? Can I put a reminder on my phone to pray more frequently throughout the day? Maybe I can commit to making an effort to get to daily Mass during the week or make a Holy Hour? Saint Kateri, pray for us and help us imitate your true devotion to Jesus. Christy Isinger is a wife and mom to five lovely, loud children and lives in northern Canada. When not homeschooling, she is a devoted reader of English literature from Jane Austen to Agatha Christie. She writes about the beauty of faith, life, and the home at her blog and is the co-host of the Fountains of Carrots Podcast. You can find out more about her here. She is the author of our Blessed Conversations: The Ten Commandments study found here.

Today’s Gospel reading (Matthew 10:16-23) makes it pretty clear that following Christ doesn’t come without its share of conflict and persecutions. I mean, it mentions wolves right off—that can't be appealing. While many of us probably aren’t subject to the physical torments Jesus was prepping the Apostles for, dissent amongst our families, conflict with co-workers, and being told we are “intolerant” is a reality for many of us. Living as a counter-cultural Christian means just that—living against the culture. And that’s going to be uncomfortable. Here’s the thing, though: Jesus knew this all of this ahead of time. He knows the cost, and He still asks us to go out and evangelize equipping us with the tools and graces needed. The Gospel today describes how we are to do that by giving us a “Virtuous Zoo.” Sheep. Found frequently in the Bible, sheep signify humility, a realization that we aren’t in control and are in need of a leader. Peacefully plodding through life, the sheep's contentment is found via their trust in the Shepherd. Snakes. The snake honors the virtue of Prudence, slithering away rather than engaging in conflict. The Catechism of the Catholic Church describes it this way: “Prudence is the virtue that disposes practical reason to discern our true good in every circumstance and to choose the right means of achieving it . . . .” (Catechism of the Catholic Church § 1806). We can use our creativity and innovation to engage when necessary and step out when needed. Doves. Doves often symbolize purity. Here they are described as simple: a simplicity that is uncomplicated and honest. When we embody simplicity, we are authentically and transparently living our lives. The person we are when attending Mass on Sunday is the same one who wakes up to go to work on Monday and hangs out with friends on Thursday nights. And when the struggle on this Earth seems like too much, we can turn back and look to Jesus. He is the embodiment of self-sacrifice, going forth unafraid, living authentically amongst the wolves, and paying the ultimate sacrifice. And because of that, we know that we live with the hope of Christ as we are brought a step closer to our eternal redemption. [bctt tweet="When the struggle on this Earth seems like too much, we can turn back and look to Jesus."] Take a few moments to journal today. Where are you facing resistance internally when trying to live out the Gospel? What's making you uncomfortable about sharing proudly? Sarah Ortiz is a Catholic convert, wife, and mother to four boys. When not folding laundry, she can be found reading, experimenting in the kitchen, or writing at her blog. You can find out more about her here.

I stood quietly before God the Father in prayer. In my holy imagination, no one else was there; it was just the two of us. Slowly and gently, everything I had with me began to be stripped away. My fears and anxieties, my questions about the future, my desire for a clearer understanding of His ways—they all disappeared. It was so good to be there with Him. As He looked upon me, I allowed Him to see me exactly as I am. There was no shame, no element of self-consciousness. In that moment, I saw His face, and I understood the Psalmist’s words: “Let us see your face, Lord, and we shall be saved.” (Psalm 80:4b) His gaze saved me, sisters. My soul was filled with peace: Peace in knowing Him, and in being known by Him. Peace in seeing His face, and knowing my true identity lies in Him. Peace as His beloved daughter. In his book, Interior Freedom, Father Jacques Philippe writes, “The look in [God our Father’s] eyes is the purest, truest, tenderest, most loving, and most hope-filled in this world. The greatest gift given those who seek God’s face by persevering in prayer may be that one day they will perceive something of this divine look upon themselves; they will feel themselves loved so tenderly that they will receive the grace of accepting themselves in depth.” When we turn to the Lord and open ourselves to receive His gaze, we can know Him, and in turn, know who we are. For many of us, receiving His gaze and accepting His love might even be harder than striving to love Him, but oh, how He desires this kind of intimacy with us! The Lord constantly desires to reveal Himself to us. Just think of how many opportunities He gives us to encounter Himself! When we read His Word, we learn His character. When we visit Him in Adoration, we meet Him face-to-face. When we receive the precious gift of the Eucharist, He is one with us. It is in this relationship, this knowing Him, and Him loving us, that we are saved. [bctt tweet="He is one with us. // @inendlesssong"] When was the last time you allowed the Father to see you, just as you are, sister? When was the last time you took in His gaze? Open our eyes to You, dear Father. We love you so. Elise Howe is a devoted wife, momma, vocal artist and teacher. She currently resides in New York City, though she will always be a Midwestern gal at heart. Elise has a heart for ministry, dark chocolate (but not too dark) and coffee with a generous amount of cream + sugar. Find out more about her here.

When I imagine the Apostles hanging out with Jesus, I picture them laughing raucously, slapping each other on the back, or maybe some are teasing the youngest disciples while others hang back to have deeper conversations and pray with those they encounter. But there’s one little descriptor in the list of the Apostles that makes me think there may be more to it than that. Among these sets of brothers and small town fisherman, we read, “Matthew the tax collector.” (Matthew 10:1-4) You knew he was an Apostle, right? And you probably also knew tax collectors weren’t very well liked. But I had never stopped to consider how the inclusion of this one unpopular guy might have affected the otherwise merry band of men. In fact, I wonder if it wasn’t just Matthew who didn’t fit in. There was Simon the Zealot (yikes), James the Lesser (not a very endearing nickname), and finally Judas Iscariot (enough said). And you can be sure James and John, Peter and Andrew brought their own family dynamics and sibling rivalries to the group. On top of that, you have differing ages and personalities, different levels of education and depth of faith, and all of a sudden, their crowd looks a lot like ours. In my own social circles, I’ve been guilty of wanting to exclude women whom I found irksome or cutting a conversation short with an acquaintance I deemed tiresome. I’ve put up barriers in the name of self-preservation instead of loving someone through a hard time. Maybe I’m not the only one. But I’m convinced that we can make this thing called community work—even with our various personalities and liturgical preferences—because the disciples did. Despite their differences, they all had Christ in common, and so do we. [bctt tweet="Despite their differences, they all had Christ in common, and so do we. // @thebethdavis"] So if you’ve got a Matthew in your life, why not lean in and learn his story? Discover the depths and beauty of his (or her) heart. Who knows, maybe your small group could change the world, too. Beth Davis is a lover of Jesus, a recently retired youth minister, and the Director of Ministry Advancement for Blessed is She. She is passionate about teaching women how to develop an intimate relationship with Jesus and speaking hope to weary hearts. Her favorite things include being an aunt to her five fantastic niece and nephews, the Saint Name Generator, and whatever book she's currently reading. You can find out more about her here. She is the author of our Blessed Conversations: God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit study found here.

My patience thins with every call of, "Make sure you shut the door!" as my children run in and out of the house on these hot summer days. I call again and again and can't understand why the concept of keeping the door completely closed seems like such a foreign concept to them. So much of parenting feels like it needs to be repeated ad nauseam until it yields any results. (Don't even get me started on how this looks when it comes to potty training.) But this happens in all areas of our ordinary life, and especially our spiritual lives. Do we have to say these same prayers every day? Does going back to Confession to confess the same sins again make a difference? Does extending grace and forgiveness to people in our lives for the same errors and inconsiderations matter? I can get easily discouraged with how little "progress" I see in my own spiritual life, let alone the frustration I feel when I look at how other people aren't changing enough to suit my expectations. I want instant results, both in my heart and others. I think the readings today call us to acknowledge that the little choices in our lives do matter; that if we aren't living a well-ordered life, if we aren't choosing love even in the little things, then we are sowing the whirlwind. I think of Christ telling us that the harvest is plentiful meaning that the harvest is ever-present. (Matthew 9:32-38) We can choose to harvest the grace of the present moment at all times. We simply accept the grace He is giving us in the moment, and then make our choices out of love even when we feel like we've done so a million times before. Our choices and actions matter, and the little things we sow will one day be reaped (at least that's the hope I live in as a teach five children about closing doors and washing hands). [bctt tweet="We can choose to harvest the grace of the present moment at all times."] Let's focus on the present moment and accept God's graces as they come to us right now. We can choose to do our dreaded tasks, the things we have to repeat time and time again but with love. Lord Jesus, help us sow love for world. Christy Isinger is a wife and mom to five lovely, loud children and lives in northern Canada. When not homeschooling, she is a devoted reader of English literature from Jane Austen to Agatha Christie. She writes about the beauty of faith, life, and the home at her blog and is the co-host of the Fountains of Carrots Podcast. You can find out more about her here. She is the author of our Blessed Conversations: The Ten Commandments study found here.

Today I am in Jerusalem on a solo pilgrimage following the footsteps of Jesus and Mary. Travelers often hear and ask the question, “Where are you from?” because each person has a unique story and a place they call home. The disciples in today’s Gospel return with Jesus to His native place. On this pilgrimage, I am uniting myself with the disciples and returning with Jesus to His native place. I came here to Israel to learn Jesus’ story more deeply. These are some of the questions I bring to Him in prayer: Jesus, where are You from? What did it feel like to live here? What did You think about as a child in Nazareth? What did You like to do with Mary and Joseph? Where did You stay? What did You teach? Why did You heal some and not others? How did You get from place to place? Which disciple made You laugh the most? Where was Your favorite place to pray near the Sea of Galilee? How did You handle the misunderstandings? How did You feel when you suffered? When did You experience the Father’s closeness? How did You endure the Crucifixion? What did the Resurrection feel like? What did the faces of the disciples look like when You ascended into Heaven? Yes, God entered directly into human history and lived in a particular place, at a specific time, in a unique culture. Many people misunderstood Jesus and the Gospel today says that, “He was amazed at their lack of faith.” (Mark 6:6) I can also imagine hearing Him say these words today. What would happen if we took the time to get to know Jesus even more? What if we went with Him everyday in prayer to His native place? Imagine what would happen if we kept our eyes fixed on Him! [bctt tweet="Imagine what would happen if we kept our eyes fixed on Him!"] Picture Jesus calling the names of each Blessed is She sister who is reading this devotional today. What if He was amazed by our abundance of faith? Rose Coleman is a contemplative in action who delights in all things beautiful. Her adventurous heart has traveled many places—from circumnavigating the globe on a ship during college to some years in the convent as a religious sister. Exuberant from her childhood, she is an elementary school teacher who learns so much from her students. You can find out more about her here. She is the author of our Blessed Conversations: Ways to Pray study found here.

When new wine is poured into new wineskins, the new wine ferments and expands, and in doing so, stretches and grows the vessel. A true wineskin vessel reaches a point where it is completely stretched out and no longer able to receive new wine. Our hearts and wineskins can be very similar vessels. There are times, seasons, and even years in the spiritual life when it can be easy to think, Eh, I've done it all. I’ve said every prayer; I’ve been to Mass thousands of times; I don’t think I’ll ever find or experience anything “new." The spiritual life may feel like rote tasks to complete or a burdensome chore. With this mindset, our hearts are analogous to old wineskins. They are too hardened, too complacent, or too jaded to receive anything new that God wants to pour out. New wineskins, on the other hand, are pliable—and more importantly, they have the capacity to be stretched and grown. It’s easier to allow our hearts to become like old wineskins because there’s no room for God to stretch us, to shape us—and being stretched is uncomfortable, inconvenient, and sometimes painful. It’s always more convenient not to be stretched. But God desires that we grow. God wants to do a new thing—and in order for Him to be able to do new things, we have to be willing to be stretched. His desire is that our hearts would perpetually be like new wineskins—ready to receive the newness He wants to bestow on us each day in our journey with Him. He wants to open our hearts to new forms of prayer, to new ways of experiencing His love, to new movements of His grace, to fresh outpourings of the Holy Spirit alive and at work in our lives. Jesus always has new wine to give. Jesus is always willing to do new things in us and through us. But He can’t pour in the new wine unless our hearts are pliable and soft—unless they have the capacity to be stretched and grown—unless we pray to Him each day, Lord, stretch me. Soften my heart. I give you permission to do a new thing in my heart and life. [bctt tweet="Jesus is always willing to do new things in us and through us. // @emwilss"] Take a moment for a heart check. Is it soft and pliable? What's stopping it from being so? Take that before Our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament for Adoration this week. Emily Wilson-Hussem planned her whole life to become a sports reporter but turned out to be a Catholic musician and speaker at the hand of God. She lives out of her suitcase and travels across the world speaking to people of all ages. The heart of her ministry is offering encouragement to teen girls in search of their true identity, and she loves every second of it. She is the author of I Choose the Sky. You can find out more about her here.

I’ve been physically sick for a long time. Years of chronic, painful suffering have taken their toll on my once-strong, capable, athletic body. In the process, I’ve learned how to get that gold star in redemptive suffering and cling to Jesus in the resultant mental and emotional anguish. Basically, Jesus as the Divine Physician is my jam. But hearing His words today, I realize how quick I am to compartmentalize. It’s easy to say, Jesus, this is where I need you! while completely disregarding the other closed-off corners of my heart and soul, rife with just as much sickness as my physical body. In today’s Gospel, Jesus tries to break through to the Pharisees, referencing the Old Testament prophet Hosea who called Israel "sick." (Matthew 9:12) God had intended for the Israelites' faith to purify and heal the surrounding nations who were worshiping idols. Instead, the Israelites became corrupted and "infected" themselves; suddenly they were the ones in need of rescuing and healing. Jesus reveals himself as the Divine Physician of the New Covenant, here to rescue not just Israel, but every sinner of every nation. He calls out the Pharisees still stuck on the Mosaic Law of offering sacrifices, reiterating the lines from Scripture, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.” (Matthew 9:13) This sets the stage for healing through mercy and forgiveness as a result of Christ's self-sacrifice. Not much has changed since that scene in the Gospel. We might be the greatest sinner on the planet or the most faithful person in town—but each of us is still sick in desperate need of the Divine Physician. Like the Pharisees who can’t understand their own glaring soul sickness, it’s easy for pride to blind us to our many ailments crying out for divine healing and love. Maybe, like me, you think you’ve let Jesus in, but actually just compartmentalize the parts of your heart “open” to Him. Yet Our Lord already knows every sickness we suffer: The hollow ache of comparison, the compulsion of superficial social media approval rates . . . The suffocating pressure of frenzied schedules and perpetual to-do lists . . . The weight of the world’s pressures, the worries of relationships . . . The body and heart aches, the visible and invisible wounds . . . In all of it, Jesus has come to call us—the sick—to life and healing. And He’s standing patiently by, gently prodding us to open our eyes, open the door, and let Him in with His remedies of light and truth. [bctt tweet="Jesus has come to call us—the sick—to life and healing. // @PosImperfect"] Holy Spirit, enlighten our minds to understand the sicknesses we carry. Give us courage to open our hearts, especially in the Sacrament of Confession, that the Healer may bring light and grace to our places of darkness. Megan Hjelmstad is a wife and mom 24/7 and an Army Reservist in her “spare” time. She’s a bibliophile, tea drinker, sleep lover, and avid admirer of Colorado’s great outdoors. When the writing bug hits, you can find out more about her here.