“Time for la sieste!” The lilting French voice floated to me through the stairwell. “Okay, just a minute!” I called back in my best French, eyeing the stack of paper sitting before me. It was summer break during college, and I was living my dream internship—an American in Paris, staying in a house with consecrated women to help them prepare for and run a girls’ camp in the French Alps. I’ll just finish cutting this stack of craft paper, I thought. The voice came again, a little sharper. “It’s time now,” she told me. Chagrined, I scurried to the courtyard, where the rest of the women gathered around the table, talking and laughing between espresso and bon-bons. My young American mind tried to wrap itself around the irony: being told I was late—not for a meeting, but to take an hour-long break! It was almost comical. But on that first day, and every day thereafter, I began to understand the value of this prioritized rest. Each afternoon we took our mandated rest in the courtyard. In the mountains with the girls, we sat on the wide deck of the chalet sipping double shots while the girls rested in their rooms (and ran between the balconies, peals of laughter echoing through the alpine valley). It was a fixed part of the daily routine, regardless of how much work was waiting. Yet somehow, the work still got done—and with less stress to boot. As I read today’s Gospel, the nostalgia of la sieste playing at the corners of my mind, I wonder whether God’s not trying to give me—maybe you, too—a hint. How often do we set down our work, unfinished as it may be, simply to find rest? How often do we suffer through Martha moments with grumbling and frustration, feeling burdened that we simply have to do it all—when it's actually in the Mary moments of resting in God that He can fill us with the strength and ability to go about His work? He knows our needs, and He knows self-care isn't selfish. God Himself rested from His work on the seventh day, resting in the joy of His Creation. When's the last time we did the same? “Come to Me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28) [bctt tweet="Resting in God fills us with the ability to go about His work. // @PosImperfect"] Create a place in your day today for rest, sister, and invite God in. 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 her a her blog here.

God calls Moses by name in the First Reading today. Have you heard Him call you by name today? Moses answered, “Here I am.” (Exodus 3:4) Have you given this same reply? Moses came no closer, removed his sandals, and stood on holy ground. Have you experienced the Holy Spirit’s gift of the fear of the Lord? Moses received his mission from God. Do you know the mission God is giving you today? Moses said, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and lead the children of Israel out of Egypt?” (Exodus 3:11) Have you experienced your own unworthiness before God? Moses hears God say, “I will be with you.” (Exodus 3:12) Have you heard God say these same words to you? And Moses, described as the meekest man upon the earth, (Numbers 12:3) accepted this statement and all that God told him with great trust. He believed that God was with him. God is with us. Emmanuel! He is with us in our joy, and He is with us in our pain. The God who promised to be with Moses sent His beloved Son to be with us in our frail humanity. And it is Jesus Who is with us today in the Eucharist, Who desires to reveal the Father to us. When we know the Father's love, our hearts are able to be who we were created to be. Our heavenly Father calls us by name and desires us to remain childlike, accepting with trust what God has in store for us. Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, who later became Pope Benedict XVI, said, “Jesus does not regard ‘being a child’ as a transient phase of human life that is a consequence of man’s biological fate and then is completely laid aside. Rather, it is in ‘being a child’ that the very essence of what it is to be a man is realized, so much so that one who has lost the essence of childhood is himself lost.” Are you feeling lost today? Be the child in the Father's house, and hear Him call your name. He is with you. Let yourself relax and rest in the Father's love. [bctt tweet="Be the child in the Father's house, and hear Him call your name. He is with you."] Re-read the words of our Pope Emeritus. Be a child in God's love! 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.

Recently, I've received some very significant healing in my life. It's not yet full or complete in its entirety, but it is great nonetheless. It is a kind of healing I've been praying, hoping and longing for—for a very long time now. It's been brought about through various means, such as through the intercession of others praying for me, doctors, rest, medication, nutrition, exercise, and simply the healing graces of God. It's been slow like the silent and gradual progression through seasons. Winter shifts into a chilly spring and then almost without your noticing it, you find yourself hot and sweaty and you ask, "How did it get to be summer??" It's happened so slowly that I'm only now remembering that not too long ago there really was snow and ice on the ground. I almost haven't recognized God's gentle yet powerful hand among the little triumphs. I almost haven't noticed these simple gifts and graces. The journey still continues and the challenges are not yet over; but nevertheless, these are mighty deeds that God has worked and is working in my life. In today's Gospel, Jesus rebukes the towns who did not repent after witnessing His mighty deeds. I ask myself today if I am allowing the mighty deeds God has worked in my own life, despite seeming so slow and subtle at times, to bring me closer to Him. Have I allowed the challenges and the healings I've experience to turn my heart to the Lord? The Lord is alive and present among us. He works His mighty deeds among us even today. Where is the Lord bringing His power and might into your life, even in gentle or subtle ways? [bctt tweet="Where is the Lord bringing His power and might into your life, even in gentle or subtle ways?"] Take a moment to look back and recognize some of the "mighty deeds" God has been working in your life, even if only through slow and subtle ways you may not yet fully recognize. 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 for business leaders, she encourages and challenges women in all walks of life to more deeply discover their purpose and live their full potential. You can find out more about her here.

What is it about the Gospel message that makes us want to fight it? Jesus knew that His message, His call to self-sacrifice, to a life of holiness would bring about division. He knew that His message meant that we have to pit ourselves against the world. To be a follower of Christ means to not be of this world. And in some ways it is downright scary. We are afraid to let Him be the cause of our happiness, and we want to seize happiness on our own. We are afraid to commit our whole Sunday to the commandment to rest and our obligation to go to Mass—aren’t weekends for getting all the stuff done we did not accomplish during the week? We are afraid to be open to having another baby and lose the leisure of having our own time—will we ever have our bodies and time to ourselves again? We are afraid to give more of our hard earned money to others—what if we don’t have enough for ourselves? We are afraid to give up watching that show and listening to that music that glorifies lust—what fun can we possibly have without this recreation? We are afraid to not have the trendiest clothes and furniture—what if someone judges us as backwards? Yet, there are those words of Christ: "Do not think that I have come to bring peace upon the earth. I have come to bring not peace but the sword." (Matthew 10:34) We are not supposed to blend in with the ways of the world. Christ’s way is at odds with the world—the world tells us to serve ourselves while Christ tells us to give of ourselves. "Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it." (Matthew 10:39) The selfishness in my own heart is caused by my fear of giving of myself. The life Christ calls me to is higher and better than the glamour of this world. I am grasping at my own happiness, when Christ simply wants me to cast aside those cares and give myself to Him and receive Him in return. And it is not the judgment of the world that ultimately matters, it is that final judgment before the just and merciful Father. [bctt tweet="The life Christ calls me to is higher and better than the glamour of this world."] Take a moment to examine yourself. What things are you holding onto that keep you from losing your life for Christ? What do you love more than Him? Ask Him to help you cast aside your worldly attachments and cling to Him. Susanna Spencer has a Masters in Theology from the Franciscan University of Steubenville and serves as the Theological Editor of Blessed is She, and lives with her husband and four kids in Saint Paul, Minnesota. She loves reading theology, attending beautiful liturgies, cooking delicious food, reading good books, raising her children, casually following baseball, talking to her philosopher husband, and writing all about it at her blog. You can find out more about her here.

When spring came, Saturdays became family yard work and gardening days at Casa de la Breen. As a child, I HATED them. I had the worst attitude. I would endlessly complain and whine. If all else failed, I'd say I needed to go to the bathroom. I proceeded to grab a stack of library books, climb in the tub, and sit reading till my dutiful presence was noticed missing. I refused to see the need to work together as a family and get the job done. I refused to hear the importance of being a contributing member of the family, even if it was something as little as pulling weeds on the driveway. Verse 13 is a punch line in the Gospel passage, like a heavenly sucker punch from the Holy Spirit! Jesus sums up the reason why He now teaches in parables. Many people in Israel refuse to receive His message: they look but do not see and hear but do not listen or understand. (Matthew 13:13) It is not merely enough to see and hear Christ's words physically. One must follow Him, live like Him. Many people saw the healing miracles of Jesus and heard His words of teaching, but still walked away or refused to follow Him. Why? Because what Jesus Christ calls us to is not always easy, fun, convenient, or makes much sense. Christ calls us to a life like His own; the way of humility, mercy, and obedience. See and hear are key words in this section that can hold a lot of meaning for each of our lives. I know sometimes in my life it is easy to only see and hear the things I think are important when it comes to living as a disciple of Jesus. But sisters, we cannot pick and choose what we like or don't like when it comes to living our faith or following the truths of the Church. Picking and choosing means that we are leaving something else out, something that also matters when it comes to following Jesus in 2017. [bctt tweet="Christ calls us to a life like His own; the way of humility, mercy, and obedience. // @amoderngrace"] Are there things you choose to see and hear when it comes to following Jesus or living the Catholic faith? Just be honest with yourself. Be open to learn and understand with what you are wrestling with, leaving shame behind. Patty Breen is midwestern gal from the Mitten state who finds joy in running, Ignatian spirituality, and reading lots of books. She’s a fulltime youth minister whose learning how to find grace in all things. She is passionate about ministry to divorced Catholics and those battling sexual addiction. You can find out more about her here.

Y’all know the heaving sobs. The kind that take over your body because the pain is so great. The error so grave. The betrayal so palpable. They rock you and through your tears you cannot see the love because the suffering feels unbearable. You wonder, how can God redeem this? THIS. Your mind believes in redemption, but your heart is in pieces and fears more suffocating pain. I wonder if that’s how Joseph felt in the beginning? Broken beyond belief, at the hands of his brothers. Perhaps time and perspective allowed him to lean into God and seek forgiveness so when his brothers asked, they no longer needed to. Joseph’s heart had already moved on from anger and resentment to love and mercy. It’s so easy to reside in fury, isn’t it? We can let it take over. When our son was born premature, our relationships with close friends and family changed, and I found myself disenchanted. Frustrated. Why didn’t they understand our pain? Our fears? Why were they flitting about and worrying over things that didn't matter? Why didn’t they understand the weight of our cross? I was letting judgment destroy precious relationships. It was so much easier to point out other people’s faults and missteps than it was to look in the mirror and face my own. As the fog cleared and my husband and I entered marriage counseling, the epiphany and the perspective crept in to the deepest recesses of my heart. God’s mercy softened me. When those friends and family sought me out, years later, and offered their apologies, I too, wept. The apology was no longer necessary because I had long forgiven them. [bctt tweet="God’s mercy softened me. // @kwhitaker96"] Maybe you’re in a state of fury or forgiveness or somewhere in between. Just know the white flag of God’s great love is within reach. Make the leap to wave it with Him. Kathryn Whitaker is a former agricultural communications consultant turned mom and freelance graphic designer. She enjoys writing, practicing her charism of hospitality, planning killer parties, organizing/DIY projects and discovering good food trucks in Austin. She likes her tea sweet, her men handsome, and her kids obedient. Two out of three isn’t bad. She’s a fifth-generation Texan who found the love of her life on a blind date at Texas A&M. She and her husband, Scott, have six kids, teen to toddler. Find out more about her here.

“You will be given at that moment what you are to say. For it will not be you who speak but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you." (Matthew 10:19-20) This passage has always stood out in my mind. And, man, am I looking to it for comfort right now. Lord, fill me with Your Spirit. You see, I had plans tonight. I had it all figured out. I would make a quick dinner of leftovers, cart the oldest to her American Heritage meeting, come home, pray with some Scripture, and work on writing profound thoughts. It’s funny how our plans go, right? Between getting home late, not having my husband here to help with bedtime, my two youngest beside themselves with tears, and my neighbors blasting Dark Side of the Moon in their backyard, a prayerful evening of Scripture reflection is the last thing that could possibly happen. But can we find God in these places? He is everywhere, so, yes, we can find Him in the best laid plans that gang aft agley, as the poet Robert Burns says. And while I might not be on trial, scourged, or handed over to death, I am still searching for God in the midst of trial: my everyday trials. And He will give me the words to speak. However feeble or sparse they may be, I know He will reach someone in need. He can use my voice to comfort and teach even when I feel inadequate. All I need to do is read His word, spend time with Him, and speak truth. Is there a truth in your life that you can share with others? Can you help another woman feel she is not alone in her struggles? Simply share the inner happenings of your life. Don’t be afraid to share your struggle. Ask for prayers and pray for others in return. [bctt tweet="Is there a truth in your life that you can share with others?"] You never know how He will use your life, so when the time comes, open up and speak your truth. Others will find comfort in the camaraderie. Jenna Hines has a teeny army of children: Ellen, Samuel, Theodore, and Maryn and is married to a bearded fellow named Mike. She is happiest when it is sunny outside and she has an embroidery needle in her hand. Current Favorites: Trader Joe’s coconut cashews, Rifle Paper Co., Yonder Mountain String Band, and tiny gold necklaces. You can find out more about her here.

Growing up, I would often hear the same few stories from my parents. They were the go-to stories. You know the ones. The stories that are brought out and dusted off at each family gathering. Or on that particularly rambunctious Saturday night. Or because something reminded them of their stories. Or for no reason at all. They had the funny stories, the embarrassing ones, the parenting ones, the sad ones, the you had to be there ones. My dad’s citizenship party where he locked himself in the office. The aftermath of the 1994 Northridge, CA earthquake when we slept under the kitchen table because the house was overturned and everyone had the chickenpox. The time my mom tried to brush her teeth in the dark and put diaper cream on her toothbrush. The toddler phase where I wanted to wear the same white slip every single day. That time my sister and I walked around the streets of London with a block of cheese and a baguette on our first (and only) international trip. And that one time my parents lost me while we were on Solvang, CA and my mother screamed like a banshee up and down the streets only to find that I had wandered into a gift shop with my own grandmother. I was lost, but then I was found. But was I lost? Really lost? To my mother, I was as lost as Joseph was to his father Jacob in today's First Reading. I was in good hands. Joseph was a leader in Egypt, not eaten by wild animals. My mother was worried sick but was able to finally exhale after she saw that I was safe. Joseph's brothers couldn't even speak when he revealed himself to them! We often feel lost. Lost to our own families who may have shunned us or simply do not understand us. Lost to the love of others when we feel ostracized or rejected. Lost to our own selves when we do not recognize who we are becoming or where we are going. Lost opportunities. Lost jobs. Lost loved ones. But we are never lost as a child of God. His plan for us endures all tests, all roadblocks, all obstacles. God used Joseph's estrangement from his father to save the whole nation of Israel from famine—He took care of the one who trusted in Him. We are never lost—not when we are His. [bctt tweet="We are never lost—not when we are His. // @Substance_Soul"] Looking at relationships that feel lost in your life. Can you pray about them specifically asking for guidance on healing them? And pray for a closer relationship with Our Lord. Samantha Aguinaldo-Wetterholm is a wife to Paul, mom to two little ones, and practices dentistry at a public health community center for low income families in the Bay Area, California. She (unashamedly) thinks ice cream is its own food group, loves anything Harry Potter, does not leave the house without wearing sparkly earrings, and is an enthusiastic proponent of the Oxford comma. Find out more about her here.

There is a widely quoted Saint Teresa of Calcutta saying that goes, “If you want to bring peace to the whole world, go home and love your family.” It’s a great quote. Very pithy. Unfortunately, she didn’t actually quite say it. At the end of her 1984 Nobel Prize acceptance speech, what she said was, “And so, my prayer for you is that truth will bring prayer in our homes, and from the foot of prayer will be that we believe that in the poor it is Christ. And we will really believe, we will begin to love. And we will love naturally, we will try to do something. First in our own home, next door neighbor in the country we live, in the whole world.” (Nobel Peace Prize transcript) It’s the same general idea, of course, but where the paraphrased quote is just vague enough to feel like it lets us off the hook a bit, the actual quote is a real challenge . . . the kind of challenge Jesus gives to his disciples in today’s Gospel. Jesus first sent the Twelve out to serve and evangelize the people closest to them, and His instructions in the verses that follow are full of warnings about how just hard it’s going to be. Saint Teresa of Calcutta is telling us the same thing. Go home and love my family? Sounds pretty easy. I could be doing just about anything I please and still be loving my family. It might LOOK like I’m hiding in my room watching Netflix, but I’m definitely ALSO loving my family, right? Sure I am. But that kind of passive love isn’t the challenge Saint Teresa of Calcutta gives us (Jesus neither). They are challenging all of us, mothers, grandmothers, daughters, siblings, to an active love, a giving love, a sacrificial love, a love that begins in prayer and ends in service (note to self: work on this part). And, importantly, while both start us off with loving those closest to us, neither one actually lets us off the hook for loving and serving the whole world next. And THAT just might require getting out of my comfort zone. [bctt tweet="Jesus is challenging all of us to an active love, a sacrificial love. // @kendra_tierney"] Let's pray the Act of Love today. Kendra Tierney is currently writing a book, fixing up a tumbledown hundred year old house, and gestating baby number nine. In her free time, she carpools, homeschools, and feeds the other eight kids. And her husband. You can find her first book, A Little Book About Confession, here, her blog here, and her word art here.

Much ink has been spilled this year over "the Benedict Option," Rod Dreher's sweeping cultural assessment adjuring Christians to create and invest in life-giving physical communities and to dig down deep to set roots for transmitting the faith to future generations in the face of an increasingly faithless world. There has been criticism and accolade, but apart from the book itself, little mention of the man himself, Saint Benedict of Nursia whose feast we celebrate today, has made its way into the public discourse. Saint Benedict was the father of Western monasticism, preserver of culture (whether by accident or design), and creator of a radical new-old way of living the Gospel literally, tangibly, and with an intensity that his opulent age could scarcely fathom. Jesus tells us in today's Gospel, “[T]he harvest is abundant but the laborers are few; so ask the master of the harvest to send out laborers for his harvest,” (Luke 10:2) and I wonder, reading that line, who is the master, and why is he not answering Jesus' call for a more robust workforce? If the Father is indeed the master of the harvest—which we know Him to be—and He is indeed answering the call of the Son, sending out laborers for His harvest, then what's the missing link here? We are. You and me and your neighbor lady and the guy who made your coffee this morning. We are the laborers, and this—this world, this culture you are part of, this society you dwell in—is the harvest. And if the harvest is looking thin indeed, then you and I had better get to looking in the mirror and having a literal come-to-Jesus with ourselves about why, exactly, that might be. Saint Benedict answered the call God had on his life. He left everything behind and he sparked a revolution. God is asking you and me to do nothing less, however far reaching or visible the outcome. Your revolution might take place bent over spreadsheets or a changing table, but you are being called to something lofty, something impossibly holy, and something that only, uniquely you can do. [bctt tweet="We are the laborers, and this world, this society you dwell in, is the harvest. // @jkuebbing"] When the Master calls, let us answer "Yes." Jenny Uebbing is a freelance writer and editor for Catholic News Agency. She lives in Denver, Colorado with her husband Dave and their small army of toddlers. You can find out more about her faith, thoughts on bioethics, and potty training failures here.

For many years I was the queen of diminish and dismiss. My friends lauded me for my ability to forgive and continue in relationships with people who had hurt me. And so it wasn’t until a very keen priest called me on my coolness that I finally understood this phenomenon. I wasn’t good at forgiving; I was good at pretending that it didn’t hurt. I am so inspired by the woman in today’s Gospel. Though she had been suffering for more than a decade with this exhausting, isolating condition, she rallies her strength and goes to Jesus. Not only does she show up, she shows up expecting to be healed. Too often we minimize our hurts. We try to manage the fallout from a heartbreak or a loved one’s hospital stay in an effort to get back to “real life” as soon and as seamlessly as possible. After all, we don’t want to be a burden. But this is real life and sometimes real life hurts. The Good News is that Jesus wants to meet us in our suffering. The rub is, we have to show Him. Imagine a child with a cut or a scrape. It hurts so bad! It’s scary! Will the ointment sting? But like any loving Father, God isn’t going to scold us once He’s got us up on that countertop, assessing the wound. He is going to tenderly clean and dress it. And sometimes it does hurt, especially if it means reopening an old wound, but God knows we’ll never heal properly if He doesn’t tend to it. Jesus can’t stop the hemorrhaging if we don’t come to Him. If we don’t ask Him to help us, we won’t feel His saving power course through our bodies. If we talk about our problems to everyone but Him, we won’t hear Him speak courage to our weary hearts. He can’t calm our fears if we never voice them. He can’t heal the pain of our past if we hide our wounds. Jesus isn’t too busy for your brokenness. One could argue that a father begging for his child’s life had the greater need, but still Jesus stopped for her. And He’ll turn around for you, too, if only you have the courage to come out of the crowd and ask Him. [bctt tweet="He’ll turn around for you, if only you have the courage to come out + ask Him. // @thebethdavis"] What can you come to Him with today? Turn to Him in your heart. Beth Davis is the Director of Ministry Advancement for Blessed is She. She served as a youth minister for eleven years. She has a heart for teaching women about developing an intimate relationship with Jesus and speaking hope to weary souls. You can find out more about her here.

Yesterday, I sat on my porch singing into my phone as a dear friend sat on her couch strumming her guitar and leading me in worship. She offered this missionary an incredible gift! Just that morning I had texted my psychiatrist to warn him that I was skidding quickly into a depressive cycle. I was sad, and tired, and lonely, and yet the praise that floated from my lips was faithful and true. I believed every word. Today’s readings feel like a summation of my life on most days. I fall somewhere between weary and unable to manage the most basic aspects of life, while exhaling a great rejoicing relief that God is Who is He. He has me in this mess and I am still proclaiming His goodness in a tangible way in our mission. Most days, I am all those things mixed up together with muddy feet, hot flashes, and a mind trying to figure out how to get out of bed but not have to cook again all mixed in. Sometimes we can feel as though Jesus would prefer us to be one-dimensional, or at least, one directional—to be either all weary and dependent, or all rejoicing and proclaiming His goodness. He clearly invites to both aspects of relationship, but I secretly feel like it should be less messy than I make it. Perhaps I could make a schedule, “Sunday, we rejoice. Monday, we lament. Tuesday, we’re pretty okay. Wednesday, we are weary . . . ” and so on. But in the combination of these readings together, I hear the Church’s gentle voice welcoming me into the heart of Christ, Who holds my weary head up and promises a lightened burden if I will only hand it over to Him. I hear the encouraging voice of the Father Who cheers me on to the heights of Heaven and delights as I see His goodness and rejoice in it. I hear the sweet whisper of the Holy Spirit with me, reminding me that my mess is fully seen, fully known, fully loved. I am welcomed into his Trinitarian presence even when it seems my heart is pointed in a million directions at once. [bctt tweet="He promises a lightened burden, if I will only hand it over to Him. // @colleencmitch"] Remind yourself that your heart is multi-faceted, but so is our good God. Hand your weary self over to Him, and proclaim His goodness from the heights, all at the same messy time. Colleen Mitchell is wife to Greg and mother to five amazing sons here on earth. They serve in Costa Rica where they run the St. Francis Emmaus Center, a ministry that welcomes indigenous mothers into their home to care for them pre and postpartum. She is the author of Who Does He Say You Are. Find out more about her here.

With our modern eyes it can be so easy to see the story of Jacob and Esau and think it somehow pedestrian and almost silly in how easily Issac can be duped. We're not simply meant to see one being pulled over on Issac, but the deep, almost primal, need we all have to put someone else down and pretend to be who we aren't in order to get ahead. The human ability to take away their brother's birthright in order to gain prestige, power, and identity through literally pretending to be someone else should still shock us. I may not go so far as to plan out how to impersonate my brother in order to gain a blessing, but I have portrayed a different image other than myself in some circumstances. In high school trying to fit in with the cool crowd, or offering a certain image on social media, it seems almost second nature to offer a different identity in order to be more liked or accepted. This human desire to gain approval, acceptance, power, and wealth by offering a different identity than our own is destructive to our souls and fuels our pride. By thinking we can change who we are for gain, especially if it is at the expense of putting someone else down, we are choosing to believe that who we are created to be is not good enough. We may even start trying to hide our true selves from God, thinking that our sinfulness is a wall that we need to cover up in order to please God. We want to try to reinvent ourselves instead of deal with our sinful tendencies and the consequences of our sin and subsequently returning to God and asking for forgiveness. The words of Jesus today tell us plainly that He can't work with our old, sinful ways. We can't pretend our way into being someone else. We can't imagine our past sins away by portraying goodness. I can't say I'm reinventing myself and get to Heaven. Jesus doesn't work with old, used up wineskins. But Jesus does transform us completely. Jesus freely gives us new life. We don't have to pretend. We don't have to act like someone we're not to live for Christ. [bctt tweet="Jesus does transform us completely. Jesus freely gives us new life."] Where do I find my identity? Is it as a child of God? As someone who is intimately known by Christ? Jesus, change our hearts and help us see ourselves through Your eyes. 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.

If you ever have the privilege to wander around Rome, you will undoubtedly stumble across a Caravaggio. The city is littered with paintings by the Baroque master. His use of high contrast between light and dark speaks not only to the magical beauty of art, but it captures the nature of man. There is light and there is darkness. One of Caravaggio’s works, The Calling of Saint Matthew, sits in a side chapel of the Church of San Luigi dei Francesi and it beautifully depicts the moment that we read about in today’s Gospel. Jesus confidently points to Matthew who (depending on the interpretation) sits at the edge of a table, engrossed in his sinful ways, counting his coins. We are witnessing the moment right before Matthew responds, the stream of light beaming in from behind Jesus and just resting on Saint Matthew’s shoulders. In that moment he is not perfectly holy and complete, but Jesus is calling him so that he might be. Saint Matthew's response to that calling changed history. Every time He points to you, He is calling you closer to His heart, imperfect as you are. Regardless of how sinful others see us, and especially how sinful we see ourselves, God is constantly calling us closer. Every time we say "yes" to Him, we are transformed. Every fiat in our hearts changes the course of all of history. How powerful is our God, that He can take a broken sinner like me or like you, and make monumental changes for all of the world? Let’s make sure we don’t let our sinfulness become a stumbling block to a deeper union with the Lord, because as the Gospel tells us, He "did not come to call the righteous, but the sinners." [bctt tweet="Every time we say "yes" to Him, we are transformed."] How can you say "yes" to Our Lord today? Is there something on your heart you feel He's calling you to? Don't be afraid to go deeper. 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.

I am often paralyzed by my sin. I am very good at hiding it with my busy-ness. I couldn’t possibly be paralyzed if I am working all these jobs and taking all these classes and traveling all the time and volunteering all these hours. My legs work great, I can tell myself. I don’t need any help. I can become better all by myself. But the voice telling me I can handle everything on my own? That’s temptation. That’s my own brand of American individualism creeping in. I have these bootstraps, and I can pull myself into holiness if I just stay busy and work harder and grind through it. On the inside, though, I am paralyzed. When I try to rely on myself instead of relying on grace, I am penned in, trapped, and hobbled by my own inability to seek healing. Well, there’s a bright side. Today’s Gospel really offers me some Good News. My sin can be wiped away. I can walk in grace again. In today’s Gospel, “[T]hey glorified God, who had granted such authority to men.” (Matthew 9:8) Thank God. Seriously. Thank God. That’s what I’m doing right now as I think about it. I am so grateful for the authority God granted to our priests—the authority to wash away my iniquity and cleanse my from my sin. I kneel there in the confessional, and the priest acting in the person of Christ raises his hand over me, blesses me and absolves me. I, like the paralytic, am healed. I am reconciled in relationship with God. I can relax. It’s not on me to heal myself from sin. I need other people. I need God. I need grace. I need the Sacraments. When I become so trapped in self-reliance, I am willfully keeping myself paralyzed. When I recognize my reliance on God and others, I can walk again. [bctt tweet="I need God. I need grace. I need the Sacraments. // @br1gid"] Sin keeps us from being wholly ourselves and fully alive in the world. Let’s commit, together, to seek healing in the Sacraments. Brigid Hogan is a midwestern graduate student who finds peace in lakes, the Mass, and fiction when she isn’t ensconced in schoolwork. Find out more about her here.

Sarah was old and had always been barren so, according to the customs of the time, she told her husband to take her slave as a concubine, that he may have heirs through her. When Sarah did this God had already told Abraham that he would be the father of nations but the How and the When was untold. Poor Sarah must have been confused and heartbroken, and then in her pain she grew jealous as Hagar did become pregnant and gave birth to a healthy baby boy. In her jealousy grew bitterness and disgust, so much so that she beat Hagar and eventually cast her and her child out into the wilderness, surely to die. It is shocking what wretchedness grows in us from the source of our woundedness. Hagar was not completely blameless in it all, though; Scripture tells us that she looked upon her mistress with disdain—throwing salt on Sarah's wounds. But to me, this story is a lesson of what happens when we do not wait on God to fulfill His promises in His timing. It shows us all the pain, animosity, and sin that can come when we take matters into our own hands as Sarah did, of course, but this story is not about Sarah or Hagar or bitterness. This story is about our God who saves. Into the mess that Sarah and Hagar make comes God. His plan has not been followed, but He picks up the pieces and rearranges them into something good and beautiful. He brings Sarah back to the plan, back into His will. For Hagar and Ishmael He intervenes and saves their lives and then promises that Ishmael, too, will be blessed. In fact, Scripture tells us that God was with the boy as he grew. I have learned this in my own life, too. God is not afraid of my messes or my sin. He will gladly step into it to redeem it all. Mistakes are turned into gifts, wounds are turned into wisdom, and sins are turned into empathy. Our God is Love and Mercy and He takes our wretchedness and brokenness, and He makes them beautiful. [bctt tweet="Our God is Love and Mercy, and He takes brokenness and makes it beautiful. // @BonnieEngstrom"] Can you ask Him to step in and help with your messes and sins today? Start by receiving the Sacrament of Confession. Start with a clean slate. 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.

Why am I terrified, Lord? Because I don’t know the way from here to the ending. I don’t know what fills the pages of my life between the mess of today and the joy of Heaven. I’m terrified because even though I try daily to follow You, I fall. I’m terrified because my faith is little, and I don’t know if I can muster what it takes to become a Saint. More than a few storms have rocked my life recently, and like the Apostles, I’ve cried out like a terrified child, “Lord, save me! I cannot see the way!” More than once I’ve wondered whether or not the storm would ever end. Wouldn’t it be nice if it felt like Jesus rebuked the storms in my life, and I could experience the great calm right away? Wouldn’t it be the sign I need—no, want—to see so I could more completely put my trust in the Lord? I know Jesus hears my plea for help even if my storms don’t always simmer down immediately. The grey skies may linger and the rain continue to drizzle. But the wind does slow to a breeze and gently the sun warms the air as the clouds disappear. Ever so slowly, the storm moves on and the blue skies return. When the days threaten to overwhelm me, I’m often on my knees begging for Jesus to help me, “Lord, you’ve got this! I give this all over to you; help me with this cross, this struggle.” Maybe my trust truly grows most during the storm. The more I place my trust in Him, hoping and knowing that Jesus will see me through the struggles, the more my heart turns to Him and the less I rely on myself. On days when the storm is a distant memory, do I still cry out in prayer to the Lord? Do I still trust in Him? Do I praise Him? Lord, teach me to trust in you all the days of my life, never placing too much confidence in my own abilities. Help me trust that you have planned the way, will calm the storms, and will lift me when I fall. [bctt tweet="On days when the storm is a distant memory, do I still cry out in prayer to the Lord?"] Jesus, I trust in You. Jesus, I trust in You. Can you pray this with me today? Gina Fensterer is a Colorado native at heart, but the West Coast beach life suits her just fine. She currently lives in small coastal area of California with her husband and six children. She loves the Jesus prayer, coffee at any time of day, homemade salsa, photography, and sleepy toddler snuggles. You can find out more about her here.