“If a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand.” // Mark 3:25 I put my phone down on the days there is breaking news. It’s a learned response, one that saves me the frustration of seeing all of the hate spewed across my screen in real time. Inevitably, it is still there when I return. Because there is always something to be passionately angry about on the internet, apparently. I know you know what I’m talking about. Because you’ve seen it too, haven’t you? Whether it’s arguing over national news or bickering back and forth about liturgy, there is so much contention in our Church, so much unrest in the hearts of His people. Christ tells us in today’s Gospel that “if a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand” (Mark 3:25). And I think this is what we’re overlooking when we’re furiously tapping away on our keyboards is the table. We have become so good at tucking ourselves into tiny corners with other like-minded individuals that we fail to see Christ beckoning us all to His table. It is there that He nourishes and unites us: the saint, the sinner, the liberal, the conservative, the rich, the poor. We are all welcomed. We all belong. I don’t know which corner of the house you reside in or whether or not you feel invited, but I want you to know that there is a seat for you here. Let us unite in His love in the house that He established on a firm foundation, trusting that He will not let it fall. Listen to today's audio devotion.

The desert and the parched land will exult; the steppe will rejoice and bloom. They will bloom with abundant flowers, and rejoice with joyful song. // Isaiah 35:1 Sometimes when I’m in the thick of it, I can’t see the fertile ground in which I’m walking. When the baby won’t sleep or my six year old is demanding or the laundry bombards my living room with piles, I often have to remind myself: I prayed for this. My feet were once so steeped in the desolate land of infertility, and sometimes it takes a moment of reminiscence in order to appreciate the abundance from which I now reside. I think we do this a lot. Despite the gifts God provides in our lives, we get stuck in different sorts of deserts. Maybe your paychecks are too meager or your job is tiresome or your health is rocky. Whatever it is, it is easy to look down and see only the depleted soil beneath our feet. I love the faith of the men in today’s Gospel, how they looked at the paralyzed man before them and saw the abundance of Christ. I’m sure they recognized the hopelessness as well. I’m sure that they saw the deserted wasteland we often also find ourselves in. Yet, they persisted in faith, and Christ met their need with abundance. So, to you, dear sister, who is stuck in the midst of the desert, “I say to you, rise” (Luke 5:24). And when that dry, dusty soil threatens to sink you, remember what God has already done, for “we have seen incredible things” (Luke 5:26). [bctt tweet="Christ meets our needs with abundance. // @iambritcal" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

He said, “I tell you truly, this poor widow put in more than all the rest; for those others have all made offerings from their surplus wealth, but she, from her poverty, has offered her whole livelihood.” // Luke 21:3-4 It’s been three months since my uterus ruptured. Three months since the blood transfusions and the emergency c-section and the week-long hospital stay. And sometimes the passage of time feels impossible. Because that day still lingers so deeply in my body. The incision still aches, and my head still throbs from the lack of blood. Yet, babies still need to be rocked in the dead of night, and big kids still need to be cared for at the break of day. And it’s often in those daily humdrum moments that I truly feel depleted. The moments where the needs of everyone culminate and consume my tired and broken body. They are the moments I am stretched to give a little more and called to love a little stronger. Today’s Gospel reading about the poor widow is a reflection of these sorts of moments. It is a reminder of our call to give. And sometimes our gifts aren’t monetary at all. Sometimes our “two small coins” are the daily sacrifices we make for the sake of the Gospel. It is rocking an infant in the dark while your eyes long for sleep. It is helping an aging parent get through their final days. It is making a meal for a neighbor while illness ravages her household. There are many ways we are called to give and many sacrifices we are asked to make. And it is in these sacrifices that true grace is found. So, dear sister, what two small coins do you have to offer today? [bctt tweet="It is in these sacrifices that true grace is found. // Brittany Calavitta" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

“Ask and you will receive, so that your joy will be complete.” // John 16:24 I wondered if it was worth it, if muttering the words would be a waste of breath—an insignificant plea to the heavens. Because I was certain that the plight of my lost keys had to be diminished when compared to the plight of the fresh, new widow with tears on her cheeks or the addict in the dark searching for one last high. God had bigger problems to contend with, and I didn’t want to waste time adding to them. Yet as time ticked on, my desperation grew. I scurried around the room, frantically moving junk from this pile to that with no luck. Knowing I would be late to a meeting, I finally belted out the most seemingly negligible words: “Lord, please help me find my keys!” I am happy to report that I did, indeed, find my keys that day. They were hiding quite suspiciously in a toy box the way they do when you’re a mom of a young boy. I often dwell on this little incident that took place not too long ago because it makes me wonder how many prayers we all bottle up inside, how many opportunities we lose to connect with God because we deem them unworthy. Being in relationship with Christ is more than running to Him when things are hard or heavy or scary. Being in relationship with Christ goes deeper. It’s waking up and saying, “Good morning, Lord” or noticing the sweet sound of the birds outside of your window and giving Him praise. True relationship is formed not only in the big, life changing events that often rock our worlds, but it is also woven into the small, more intimate moments of our days. In today’s Gospel, Christ commands us, “Ask and you will receive, so that your joy will be complete” (John 16:24). I wonder, dear sister, what are you holding onto? What do you deem unworthy? Let it go. You need only ask. [bctt tweet="Relationship goes deeper. // @iambritcal" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

Then Peter approaching asked him, “Lord, if my brother sins against me, how often must I forgive him? As many as seven times?” Jesus answered, “I say to you, not seven times but seventy-seven times." // Matthew 18:21-22 I remember when I started to pray for my father. It felt strange to me, a sort of forced truce after a lifetime of desertion. And the truth is that I didn’t necessarily want to do it. It was easier to hang onto the pain he caused, to let the anger sink in just a little deeper. But I did it anyway—I prayed through his past drug addiction, his weaknesses, his absence from my life. It began as a superficial way to place a bandaid on something that had been ripping at my heart all of my life, but it ended as so much more. It ended in forgiveness and understanding and love. It ended with a relationship that I almost completely missed out on—one that, on the surface, came too late, but when closely analyzed, came at just the right time. It’s because of that late blooming relationship that I learned true forgiveness. I learned to see the world through another’s eyes and to walk in love toward understanding. And it all started with a begrudgingly choked-up prayer. Forgiveness is a tricky thing to master. It isn’t a switch you flip or a thought you suddenly have. It is a deep and unrelenting pursuit toward love that often hurls open entire decades worth of pain. Today’s Gospel calls us to forgiveness. It calls us to compassion for the debts done unto us. I don’t know what sort of debts you’re holding onto or what pain you are ready to let go of, but I do know that the journey toward forgiveness often starts with a begrudgingly choked-up prayer. Start there. He will guide you through the rest. [bctt tweet="He will guide you through the rest. //@IamBritCal " username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

Then Peter took Him aside and began to rebuke Him. // Mark 8:32 “Look on the bright side,” I often say. Because sometimes the shadows of life are too dark. Sometimes infertility rips a hole in your heart or the bills begin to mount or your health begins to tank. Sometimes the darkness takes hold and leaves you floundering for the light, so the bright side is all you have to cling to. And, oh, do I cling to it. I grasp at it while running from the shadows as they close in around me. I do everything I can to ignore the darkness while running only toward the light. But sometimes, that darkness, it’s the only avenue to the light. Sometimes you have to walk within it and let it sting before it guides you gently toward the bright side. Sometimes it’s the only way forward. I imagine Saint Peter must have felt the same when Jesus told him of His plan to suffer. I imagine that he, too, clung to the light while ignoring the looming darkness Christ spoke about. And, if I’m honest, I can’t say I blame him. How many times do we do this ourselves? How many times do we refuse to acknowledge the looming darkness because we want to skip straight to the light? Brittany Calavitta I don’t know what sort of darkness you find yourself in right now, but there is light on the other side. Let Him usher you into it. [bctt tweet="It was the darkness that ushered in the light. // @IamBritCal" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

"They are the people who hear the word, but worldly anxiety, the lure of riches, and the craving for other things intrude and choke the word, and it bears no fruit."// Mark 4:18-19 What goes through your mind when you read the news, when you hear of the devastation and the heartache and the disorder? Do you see God’s hand in it all? Can you feel His peace surrounding you or hear His word speaking to you? Or how about the lures of the world—the desire for bigger and faster and more, more, more. How does it feel when you’ve had your fill, when your paycheck can’t make up for the debt to your name or your relationships suffer because of the race you’re trying so desperately to win? Do you feel God guiding you or see His hand in the stress and the fear and the worry this world so often leaves in its wake? I don’t. I often get caught up in the worldly anxiety and the lure of its riches. I am a seed among thorns, and though I so desperately try, I often bear no fruit. And I wonder where you are, dear sister. Where do you run when the world offers its riches and sells you its fear? Are you a seed tossed into the thorns or a one sown into His rich soil? And I know it’s hard. I know the weight of the world is sometimes too much to ignore. It is flashy and scary and hard. But Christ offers life. He offers peace and stillness and love. So, run to Him. When the lures and the fear and stress of this world are too much for your tired heart, rest in His word. He will bring you peace. [bctt tweet="Christ offers life. // @iambritcal" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

Sometimes the fight feels futile. The rosaries, the novenas, the late-night pleas on your knees—they often feel, well, weak. Because when you are saying a Hail Mary while watching death and destruction take place right in front of your very eyes, it sometimes just doesn’t feel like enough. The “I’ll pray for yous” said to friends facing serious darkness often feels like an insufficient response, a last resort for a problem with no good answer. It’s difficult for me to reconcile it sometimes. Because often I want to jump in and do something. I want to try and try and try until the problem is fixed and the pain is gone. The truth is that our souls were made for more than this world. We weren’t made for the destruction or the lies or the pain that plays out in front of us daily. Much of it doesn’t make sense. Much of it seems evil and unjust and cruel. Just like reading about those who handed Jesus over to the Jews in today’s Gospel (John 18:36), much of it seems confusing and downright wrong. And that’s because it is. There is a Kingdom that awaits us, one that beckons us with light and perfect love. And while we wait for it, we have no choice but to fall to our knees for the atrocities that don’t make sense. It is our fight, our best recourse for a world that has fallen to calamity. I don’t know if you’re tired, too. I don’t know if your prayers feel weak or your heart feels weary. Keep the fight in you, dear sister, and remember that you were made for so much more than this. [bctt tweet="You were made for so much more than this. // @iambritcal" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

The wolves are circling. They cycle daily through screens that are full of hatred and mouths that are full of deceit. They loop around the news and the gossip and the refreshed feed on your Twitter page. And it all feels so heavy, doesn’t it? The division, the confusion, the anger, the fear—it is enough to make even the strongest among us feel weary. The truth is that this mission we were all called to was never supposed to be easy. “Behold, I am sending you like lambs among wolves,” Jesus says in today’s Gospel (Luke 10:3). And I know it’s scary sometimes. I know you see the suffering and feel the pain and absorb the division. Take heart, dear sister. Because when the world feels heavy and burdened and dark, we can offer it the peace that resides within. “Into whatever house you enter, first say, ‘peace to this household’” (Luke 10:5). I find it beautiful that today’s Gospel instructs us to approach in peace. In fact, it is the very first thing we are called to do. Because though the wolves consume our daily lives, a deep -eated peace still comes with knowing Christ, a calm breaks through the chaos. Peace is the antidote to the turmoil, the reconciliation for the hearts that are full of hurt. So, when the world around you feels angry and bitter and cold, offer it peace. It is the hope the world needs. [bctt tweet="When the world feels heavy and burdened and dark, we can offer it the peace that resides within. // @IamBritCal " username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

I was in my twenties when I met the father who gave me life. Up until that point, all I had were the stories—his drug addiction, the long nights he spent away, his propensity for alcohol. It’s all I knew of him, the only tangible clues I had to the mystery that left me questioning all of my life. And it was there, in a dimly lit restaurant, that I sat across from him and saw the stories etched into his face for the first time. I saw the shame in his eyes and heard the remorse in his voice. And it became clear that the stories I had heard were the stories he was still living out. The drugs, it seemed, still held the spotlight in his life. At first, I wanted to run. I wanted to remove my presence from his life like he from did ours so very long ago, to walk away from the sin he was perpetuating. Yet, something called me deeper. It began as an invitation, a follow-up email to our meeting with an I hope you’re doing well sort of quip. And then it grew. It grew into swapping stories and answering deeply held questions. It grew into love. I’ll never know what sort of impact our tiny relationship had on my birth father because he passed away a few years ago. I only know of the impact it had on me. I know of the broad capacity of love and the profound significance of mercy. Sister, I don’t know the tax collectors who may be sitting at your table, or whether you also feel the need to run from their presence. I only know that a deep mercy comes when we choose to love. So, pull up a chair. Let us share His love. [bctt tweet="Let us share His love. // @iambritcal" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion  

When I was a kid, I was afraid of the dark. I used to bathe it in light with the glow of my nightlight and hide away from the shadows that resided around the edges of my room. I fought perilously against it, always trying to outrun the obscurity of the darkness armed with the security of the light. And I’m still fighting, even now. I’m still throwing up my flares when the darkness creeps in and turning to the light when the shadows begin to engulf me. But that darkness, it has become more difficult to outrun, outpacing even my most radiant defenses against it. Because now, it doesn’t just tuck itself neatly into a corner; now, it resides in plain sight. It is in the news I consume and the social media I absorb and the voices that tell me I’m inadequate. And, oftentimes, I listen to it. I let those shadows brush over my little flicker and dim the truth of the light inside. I take in the darkness this world is dishing out and allow it to dismantle what God has set before me. And I know you’ve been there, too. I know you’ve battled the shadows while storing up treasures that this earth promises to fulfill (see Matthew 6:19-23). But it never does. Sister, there is a light that floods into the deepest darkness. It is a light that shines with love and mercy and grace. Run to it. Because when the shadows of this world entice you with false hope, He will be your light. [bctt tweet="He will be your light. // @iambritcal" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion  

My father was always tricky to please. It wasn’t necessarily his fault. It was the chemicals in his body—they made him angry. When he skipped his medication or depression crept in, his fury would linger over our household and reverberate into our hearts. And I remember trying to fix it. I remember making big, boisterous efforts in order to win my place next to him. I came in first at talent shows, DJ’d at our local radio station, and won the title of "Miss Hesperia" in our city’s pageant. I tried everything to be perfect in exchange for a nod and a smile from my father. And I sometimes think this mentality creeps into our relationship with Christ. We feel His authority over us and respond in the performance-based way we’ve responded to authority all of our lives. We do our jig, pray our prayers, and race up to the highest rung on the ladder. But Christ calls us down. He calls us to serve, to love. He calls us to humility. Today’s Gospel is a beautiful reminder of that. “Rather, whoever wishes to be great among you shall be your servant; whoever wishes to be first among you shall be your slave” (Matthew 20:26-27). I don’t know what race you’re trying to win or what ladder you're trying to climb, but there is a place for you below. There is a place in the middle of the mess and the heartache and the chaos of life. There is a place to serve. So, step down and roll up your sleeves, dear sister. Let’s get to work. [bctt tweet="Let's get to work. // @iambritcal" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Where are you called to serve right now in your life?  

“I got you an exercise bike!” I blurted out to my husband just five days before Christmas. He knew to expect it—not the bike, but my lack of reserve. I’m a terrible gift-giver, you see. It has been that way since I can remember. Because when I find something good, I can’t help but squawk it out to the recipient at the earliest possible moment. The joy of the exchange overcomes my inhibition, and I simply cannot contain it. But I suppose we’re all a little like this, aren’t we? If you look hard enough, you’ll see it all over—the private moments, the joyous moments, the difficult moments. They’re all there for the world to see, waiting in apps and perfectly edited captions. But I wonder how many of us are missing those private moments with God because we’re busy blurting them out to anyone who will listen. And who can really be blamed for it? The beauty of His goodness is a gift that is difficult to contain. Even those in today’s Gospel couldn’t restrain it. The more Jesus ordered them not to share the miracle that was performed, “the more they proclaimed it” (Mark 7:36). Christ offers Himself to you as a gift each and every day. He offers Himself in the big miracles full of answered prayers and in the still, quiet whispers that resound in the depths of your hearts. And, sometimes, those gifts are meant for you to unwrap and sit with alone. Sometimes they’re meant to rest in the silence so that we can rest in the beauty of His goodness. So, rest, dear sister. Rest. [bctt tweet="Rest in the beauty of His goodness. // @IamBritCal" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Is there a small gift the Lord is offering you that's hard to see right now? Pay extra attention until you can identify it.  

I sensed an emptiness inside that I couldn’t ignore. It was an emptiness that brought years of tears and heartache, an emptiness with a name. Infertility the doctors called it, but I just knew it as insufficiency. No matter how much my heart yearned or how loud my prayers roared, this big, giant lack hunted me down everywhere I went. And for some time, it was all I could see. It crept in during celebrations and slipped down my cheeks when the tears couldn’t be quelled. It compelled me to try rogue diets and supplements and brought me to my knees when all hope seemed to wither under its weight. But it also compelled me to pray. And most of the time it seemed just as crazy as the diets Google was always so pushy about. It was impossible, after all. We had spent nearly a decade with the emptiness, and I began to assume its permanent stake in our lives. The lack began to overcome my faith, and I began to doubt the possibility of miracles. I am struck by the abundance in spite of the lack in today’s Gospel. “Five loaves and two fish” was all it took to feed thousands (Mark 6:38). And I wonder, sister, what is the lack in your life? What is the deficiency you see that keeps you from believing in the abundance of Christ? I don’t know where you are in your journey or whether the waves of doubt knock you over, too, but His heart is generous, dear sister. It is open and gentle and loving. And it is waiting to envelope you with His abundance. Lean on Him. He is sufficient for your every insufficiency. [bctt tweet="He is sufficient for your every insufficiency. // @IamBritCal" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Find a new prayer or novena to add to your prayer routine.

I always hated roll call on the first day of school because I never knew which name the teacher was going to spout out. I came into this world with one last name, which quickly split into two the day my mother remarried the man who would ultimately raise me. So, I’d sit in those freshly adorned classrooms every autumn with my lips pursed, eager to shout here! the moment the teacher recited whichever name was written on that newly printed roster. My name for the year was determined by that little piece of paper. It determined my identity, my yearbook page, my order in the alphabetized system. It was what people called me, how people knew me, and what I answered to. And I still have a stutter when I mention my maiden name to those who ask, still a hesitation when filling out legal paperwork or citing my identity to old classmates. So much is wrapped up in a name, so much of who we are that is woven into it. And maybe you don’t have two last names like I did. Maybe your name has been consistent for your entire life. But we often answer to other names. Names like stupid or fat or ugly graft themselves to our susceptible minds and cloud out the rich identity God has uniquely given to each one of us. In today’s Gospel (Luke 1:57-66), Zechariah wrote the name God had given to his son. He allowed the Spirit to speak through him and let the Father dictate his identity when custom said otherwise. Sister, God is trying to speak something into you, something He is specifically calling you while the world screams its lies into your heart. Listen closely. He is speaking life to your heart. [bctt tweet="He is speaking life to your heart. // @IamBritCal" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion What are you listening to? Spend time doing a virtual Bible study with Blessed is She and pay attention to God's Holy Word.

Sometimes I feel like a bad Catholic. My rosary beads aren’t worn down nearly as much as they should be, and the daily readings aren’t exactly “daily” for me. I don’t have all of the feast days memorized, the Saints don’t line my fireplace mantle, and I don’t typically pray the Liturgy of the Hours. There. I said it. But you know what? God still calls me to Himself. He still nudges at my heart and draws me to His Church and beckons me with His love. And you, with the tired prayers and the worn-down faith, He still calls you, too. Because despite the lies that may taunt your weary mind, you don’t have to be perfect in order to follow Christ. You can doubt. You can worry. You can fear. God will still call. Because if Peter, a denier, and Judas, and betrayer, and Thomas, a doubter, were all called to lead Christ’s Church here on earth in today's Gospel from Luke 6:12-16, then you, dear sister, have been called all the same. So, when the waves of this world knock the faith right out of you, when you’re broken and frozen in fear, respond. Take up your cross and follow Him. The journey doesn’t have to look perfect. Because despite our dreadful flaws and our lackluster prayers, there is hope for us yet. He is calling, dear sister. Are you listening? [bctt tweet="The journey doesn’t have to look perfect. // @IamBritCal" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Lord, open my ears to Your voice. Draw me closer to You in each and every moment of the day.

I don’t know what happens to us as we age, how we go from sitting on the trampoline and marveling at the twinkling nighttime sky to sitting on our couches and studying the bright lights of our phones. Because somewhere along the way, we lose our sense of wonder. We trade rock collections for Apple collections and our bicycles for the latest Tesla. And it’s so easy, isn’t it? Because while we’re stuck behind the digital displays on our screens or hidden away in our cars from the earth’s fresh air, we forget to truly see, to acknowledge all of the beauty surrounding us and to allow it to move us. There’s something so powerful in the simplicity of it all, isn’t there? There’s something majestic about the way the trees sprout their leaves in the spring or how the fog lazily hangs over a body of water. It moves us, and I think sometimes we forget to allow it to. We all have phones buzzing and news playing and gossip swirling. We’re all so distracted with information and busyness that we aren’t open to truly receiving the still small whispers of Christ in our hearts. But God is trying to speak to you in the simple. In the evening light that pours through your windows or the song of the birds that slip through your earbuds, Christ is revealing something to you. It is our job to be open, to have eyes that remember how to marvel and to have hearts that remember what it is to be childlike. There is something powerful in the simplicity, and it is there that you will find Him. listen to today’s devotion [bctt tweet="God is trying to speak to you in the simple. // @iambritcal" username="blessedisshe__"] Re-read today's Gospel. Sit and pray with Jesus' wisdom.