December 12, 2024 // Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Luke 1:39-47 (second option) Reflect on the Word//  It had been a tough six months filled with the usual suspects: financial uncertainty, health issues, vocational duties, fatigue in prayer. Searching for some stability, I clung to my daily Rosary. Soon after, I attended a consoling Marian retreat. Then a friend invited me to a grace-filled Marian study. Mother Mary’s presence soon seemed more tangible in every way, her companionship unmistakable. Even as my difficulties continued, I realized I was far from alone or abandoned. When I cried out in prayer for help, my attentive Mother was on the listening end—immediately responding and leading me to God’s heart.  This is the Blessed Mother’s continual mission—for all of us. Imagine the Visitation from today’s Gospel: a young Virgin Mary, hastening across the hills, pregnant with divine purpose, overflowing with Jesus’ incarnate joy and love. See her radiant smile, feel her gentle, comforting arms as they wrapped Elizabeth in their ready embrace. How delighted she is to love and serve Elizabeth, remaining at least three months.  Now imagine this same beautiful Mother 1500 years later as Our Lady of Guadalupe, still pregnant with divine purpose, hastening from Heaven to Earth and the Aztec hill of Tepeyac. How tender she is, responding to Saint Juan Diego in his great hour of need. How delighted she is to remain with his people through her miraculous imprint left on his tilma, still visible today.  Consider how she hastens to you in this same way: pregnant with purpose, spilling over with divine love. Wherever you are and whatever is burdening you, she is here and she sees. She cares. She does not delay in meeting you—her most beloved daughter—the moment you cry out. Imagine her eyes alight, her smile soft, her arms gently and capably embracing your weakness. Observe how she is not inconvenienced or exasperated by your need, but attracted to it with all the love in her heart. Feel her patience; experience her delight in remaining with you.  Hear her deep desire within the endless whisper, “Am I not here, who am your mother?” (source), and let her motherly love raise you to His healing Heart.  Our Lady of Guadalupe, Pray for Us.  Relate to the Lord // Pray the Rosary, a decade of the Rosary, or even one Hail Mary and ask Mary to mother you.

[Y]et is their hope full of immortality; chastised a little, they shall be greatly blessed, because God tried them and found them worthy of Himself. // Wisdom 3:4-5 “Blood of Christ, freeing souls from purgatory, save us.” The familiar prayer passed my lips—part of a litany I prayed daily—and as usual, several people came to mind. Family members, military friends and classmates who’d died from combat or other tragedies, parishioners and community members, unknown souls with no one to pray for them. I lifted them to the Lord’s merciful Heart, and hope softened my grief-filled remembrance.  The Church teaches that prayer is the greatest gift and help we can offer deceased souls in purgatory. As the Catechism says, “Those who die in God's grace and friendship imperfectly purified, although they are assured of their eternal salvation, undergo a purification after death, so as to achieve the holiness necessary to enter the joy of God” (CCC § 1054).  It’s good to remember that even if we love God and have sincerely repented of grave sin, we might still be attached to lesser sin or worldly things when we die. Jesus tells us that the pure of heart will see God, and most souls need some degree of purification before entering Heaven (see Matthew 5:8).  Because souls in purgatory cannot pray for or purify themselves, they depend on God’s mercy and our prayers and sacrifices. While purgatory is a place of great suffering because souls see how their earthly attachments have separated them from God, it’s also a place of great hope because these souls will one day be with God forever as saints—guaranteed.  Today on the feast of All Souls, and during all of November, our Church invites us to remember and pray for these souls in a special way. You can pray the Eternal Rest Prayer,* visit a cemetery to pray for souls, or have a Mass offered. These simple practices can be an especially powerful help as an indulgence.  No prayer is ever wasted, and your prayer—your act of love—may be the key that helps open the gates of heaven today to a precious soul!  *Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen. 

“[B]lessed are those who hear the word of God and observe it.” // Luke 11:28 I was beyond weary.  It had been an especially hard day during a hard week in a string of hard months. This season of suffering had held financial woes, trying health problems, work and vocational stressors. I felt utterly maxed out, and my biggest commitment of the day still loomed ahead. How can I possibly manage this too? I asked the Lord—a meager plea cloaked in desperation. Out of sheer obedience, I lit my prayer candle and sat down to pray according to my daily routine. I didn’t want to, and I didn’t even feel like I had the time to—but I did anyway, because I’d learned from ample experience that prayer was the only way to receive the grace I truly needed to keep going.  My time in prayer reflected the state of my soul: dry, distracted, and weary. I noted a few intellectual graces, but they in no way felt consoling. After prayer I extinguished my prayer candle in a puff of discouragement, survived the rest of the day, and collapsed into bed. Yet the next day when I sat down to pray again, the graces of the previous day came flooding back. The Lord wasted no time expanding them in wild ways and heaping my heart with the consolation I’d been craving.  When I chose to persevere in prayer despite my contrary feelings, it became the key that unlocked a torrent of grace. This grace led me directly into deeper union with God—and peace lasting far longer than my painful but passing day of misery.  It can be easy to hear the Word of God, but hard to keep it day after day—especially when our fickle feelings and shifting circumstances make perseverance feel futile. Thankfully, your efforts to observe God’s Word will never be empty. The fruit of prayer is not limited to narrow human assessment, and God’s truth won’t change based on your changing feelings.  The Lord always pours out His greatest sustaining grace as you press forward in your most difficult moments.  Today, cleave faithfully to our Lord and choose to persevere. Like Mother Mary, blessed are you when you do (see Luke 11:28). 

Love never fails. // 1 Corinthians 13:8 I instinctively drew my hand across my body in the Sign of the Cross as I drove past my parish, acknowledging Christ’s Eucharistic presence.  Just as instinctively, my eyes darted to the cars around me and I wondered, What will they think? The usual guilt followed: They’re probably not even paying attention. I should love Jesus enough to not care! Directing my frustration to God, I prayed for the thousandth time, Lord, how can I be free of this wound of vanity? These automatic thoughts are so ingrained! In a moment, a new thought came to mind: What if this gesture when you see Me is less about proving your love for Me, and more about remembering My love for you?  My heart melted instantly.  As the days passed, I realized that this response wasn’t limited to a singular moment or habit. The Lord was inviting me to an entire paradigm shift. He wanted me to start translating everything in my life so I could see it through the lens of His relentless love.  The Sign of the Cross before meals? A reminder of His intentional provision even when I don’t notice. That ministry project or prayer request from a friend? A reminder of His loving desire to invite me into His work, even with my human weakness. My faults, failings, and weaknesses? A reminder of His abundant patience, redemption, and strength.  My suffering and unanswered prayers? A reminder His desire for my growth, and the Love Who willingly surrendered His life in the hope of spending forever with me. You’re invited into this paradigm shift, too: to view each moment not as something that happens to you, but as a divine orchestration of God’s personal love for you. In every success or failure, every uncertainty and wound of identity, every difficulty and tragedy, the Lord wants to redeem all things out of ravishing love for you. His burning desire for you is written into every detail. It always has been, and it always will be.  Today, accept His eager invitation to receive that love—now and into eternity.

The king was distressed, but because of his oaths and the guests who were present, he ordered that it be given, and he had John beheaded in the prison. // Matthew 14:9-10 My huge fluffy dog Otto owns what he is. He doesn’t jump up when caught napping to pretend like he’s been productive. He shamelessly advocates for himself when hungry or thirsty, especially at 5:01 p.m. when his dinner is one minute late. He bounds along the fenceline barking to protect his territory, regardless of what others might think (or whether that miniature schnauzer is actually a threat). Otto is unapologetically what he was made to be. Saint John the Baptist exemplifies this in human form. He unapologetically embraced his identity and mission. He didn’t change his actions or dilute God’s truth to save face or slink away from threats. He remained totally free in God’s unconditional love, even through physical imprisonment and death. As a result, Saint John the Baptist gained eternal life and the glory of a martyr’s crown. King Herod, on the other hand, easily caved to the manipulation of those around him in an attempt to preserve his popularity and power. As a result, he became more enslaved. His power was a sham; his relationships confined to contingent actions and conditional love. King Herod could learn a lot from Otto and John the Baptist—as can we.  We all need human connection; we all deeply fear rejection. When those desires and fears become disordered, we begin to seek connection and avoid rejection at the expense of our own and others’ God-given dignity. Trading reason for human regard gradually destroys our conscience and limits our divine gifts. People pleasing never leads to the freedom and love we hope for. We become emotionally enslaved and internally imprisoned by the very isolation we’re trying to avoid.  Pleasing God, however, comes with an epic reward. The death of desire for worldly regard is the beginning of true freedom. Bold adherence to His truth is the foundation of authentic identity. Seeking God’s regard above human regard delivers the unconditional love and eternal belonging we truly crave. Today, ask for the courage to unapologetically become who you were created to be.  Saint John the Baptist, pray for us!

[Jesus] said, “‘Those who are well do not need a physician, but the sick do.’” // Matthew 9:12 A light knock sounded on the bedroom door. I struggled to sit upright in bed, grimacing at my tender surgical site. My husband cracked open the door and a Eucharistic Minister stepped into the room behind him. My eyes darted about the room subconsciously. A mound of clothes was draped precariously over the chair, papers littered the nightstand, and a thickening layer of dust blanketed the dresser.  As I took in the state of the room, I realized that it was nothing compared to the needs of my soul. The Eucharistic Minister was looking not at the room, but at me. He cradled the pouch that held our Eucharistic Lord and invited me to join him in prayer. I whispered an act of contrition, opening my heart to Christ’s presence despite my messy room and messier, soul-deep imperfections. A moment later, the Eucharistic Minister reverently placed Jesus on my tongue and gently bid me farewell.  I sank back into bed, understanding Christ’s words from today’s Gospel with a humbling new clarity: “I did not come to call the righteous, but sinners,” and “Those who are well do not need a physician, but the sick do” (Matthew 9:12-13). Jesus did not simply happen upon Matthew at his tax booth, but intentionally encountered him there. He sought out Matthew in his moment of greatest depravity, and begged immediate entry into Matthew’s home and disordered life (see Matthew 9:9-11). Matthew’s humble receptivity despite his iniquity allowed Christ to transform him from the most public of sinners to one of the greatest Saints.  Jesus bids us to follow Him not so that we might impress Him, but so that He might heal us.  Our Lord doesn’t demand perfection as a prerequisite, but meets us in the middle of our sin. From there, He begs immediate entry into our lives, unprepared and messy as they may be.  Your willingness to let Him in is the key to your freedom and healing.  Today, consider Christ’s desire to meet you in your imperfection. Hear the invitation to follow Him into the messiest parts of your life—and let the transformation begin.   

“[A] mustard seed . . . when it is sown in the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on the earth. But once it is sown, it springs up and becomes the largest of plants.” // Mark 4:31-32 When I discerned that I needed to leave my Army career after fifteen years of service, it stung. People were easily impressed that I was a woman of rank in the military; now, the Lord was asking me to relinquish my superficial identity and embrace a “smaller,” more hidden life. My health had been deteriorating, turning my capabilities into a long list of inabilities, and it was clear that I needed to be more present to my family. Still, it was hard to let go.  I hated how attached I was to my career and title as a measure of worth, so I turned to the Lord in prayer for help. Day after day, I asked Him to open my eyes to His view regarding my God-given mission and identity.  He revealed that while I would no longer serve on the general’s staff, He was calling me to serve Him—the Creator of the Universe—as a Soldier of Christ. Instead of training to protect lives on a physical battlefield, God was inviting me to help save souls on the spiritual battlefield, offering up my suffering for their eternal good and redemption. Like the tiniest mustard seed crafted to grow and unfurl into the largest of plants, God demonstrated His desire to cultivate the choicest of all fruits from my weakness and inability—not my accomplishments or strength.  God’s grandeur is always most evident in our littleness. His might is made prevalent in our weakness. It is not in spite of our littleness, but expressly because of it that we can become great in the Kingdom of God. Only through weakness can we discover our truest identity as a beloved, dependent child of God—generously invited into the supreme work of salvation with Him who gives us our every ability.  What mustard seed of weakness or littleness are you struggling with? Bring it to the Lord, and ask His view on the matter. Let God give you a glimpse of the greatness He desires to spring from your littleness—and in return, give Him all the glory. 

[T]hey said to [Jesus], “Sir, give us this bread always.” Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me will never hunger, and whoever believes in me will never thirst.” // John 6:34-35  Feeding myself is a tedious process. Due to severe allergies, I can only have the simplest, cleanest, and most limited ingredients. I’m always prepping separate meals for myself and my family; there’s no shortcut or “cheating” unless I want to spend several days sick in bed. It often feels like wearying, never-ending work. At the same time, it’s an act of mercy and reverence: nourishing the temple of my body to better commune with Almighty God Who dwells therein.   I empathize with the people in today’s Gospel (see John 6:30-35) who were also tired of the tedium and ready for a shortcut. Their days were endlessly filled with grinding flour, kneading dough, and baking it into bread simply to sustain themselves. They’d grown up with their ancestors’ accounts of miraculous manna in the desert, and their encounter with Jesus had all the echoes of the same. Here was a wonder-worker Who claimed to be God and promised divine bread—finally, they’d have a break from the everyday toil. Finally, they'd find fulfillment without the backbreaking investment. But Jesus wasn’t offering a life hack. He was offering Himself. He could’ve snapped His fingers and immediately erased their hunger; He could instantly heal me now if He willed. Yet Jesus was inviting them—and us—into something far deeper and more lasting than relief from physical hunger.  Christ knows that the life hacks and time-saving devices we crave can never deliver the fullness of freedom and healing we truly desire. Instead, our “time saved” is quickly overrun by more longing and our energy diverted to other anxieties.  The answer is not more ease and comfort. It’s possessing Jesus. In His wisdom, the Lord allows certain difficulties because they can propel us toward Him, the Bread of Life—the only life hack Who can fully satisfy, no matter the task or trial. Today, take stock of your longings. Is Jesus a part of them? Visit the Bread of Life in Adoration or receive Him at Mass, and give Him greater access to your heart—that He may satisfy you beyond your greatest desires.

Lent starts February 14, and so does the RESCUED Blessed is She Lent devotional. This year, you’ll be receiving an excerpt from the Lent devotional every day in your inbox (in lieu of our regular daily devo). We want to pray with one heart and one mind as the BIS sisterhood. If you prefer to have the book, purchase the 2024 Blessed is She Lent devotional RESCUED right here. Right upon purchase, you’ll receive a link to come into the free Blessed is She app to walk through the Lenten season with us in daily live prayer, small groups, and more. Together let’s look to the Lamb of God who came to rescue each one of us.   When [Jesus] became aware of this he said [ . . . ] ”Do you not yet understand or comprehend?” // Mark 8:17 I don’t get it, I entreated the Lord in prayer. Help me understand? I had felt Him invite me to ask for healing, despite my fear of more disappointment. I’d prayed the same novena and used the exact healing oil that had worked legitimate miracles in others’ lives. I did everything I was “supposed” to do, but things only got worse, not better.  What am I lacking, Lord? Not enough detachment? Too little faith?  Gently, I felt the Lord speak into my grief. Do you need to understand it? Or can you let Me understand for you? Gradually, I learned His meaning. My desire to understand was undermined by a temptation to manipulate and control the outcome according to my own will, in response to my own fears. This left little room for His perfect will and zero room for mystery.  The disciples in today’s Gospel (see Mark 8:14-21) leaned on their own understanding to find Christ’s meaning, but their human assumptions simply brought pain and confusion. Their supposed understanding led them away from His heart of love and provision for them, right into forgetfulness and fearful self-sufficiency.  We put a lot of emphasis on our need to know. Yet this curiosity is often a fruit of fear that makes us grasp impatiently for answers and control. In truth, God will reveal what He needs us to know in the fullness of time. Until then, we need to understand far less than we think we do.  God has a plan—a good plan—for our lives. He deeply desires to rescue us from our desperate “need” to know it all. His provision doesn’t depend on our knowledge or understanding of it. It depends on our willingness to rely on His understanding, that we might receive the fullness of His provision—mystery and all.  This Lent, ask the Lord if He’s inviting you to give up your “need” to know. Beginning tomorrow, for all of Lent, we’re switching our daily email content from our normal devotions based on the daily Mass Scripture readings to selections from our Lent Devotional, Rescued. Join the Blessed is She community as we give God permission to rescue us in our fears, and be carried by His infinite strength.

A leper came to him [ . . . ] begged him and said, “If you wish, you can make me clean.” Moved with pity, [Jesus] stretched out his hand, touched the leper, and said to him, “I do will it. Be made clean.” // Mark 1:40-41 “The Blood of Christ.” The priest solemnly raised the chalice in front of me. “Amen,” I whispered, gratefully taking it in my hands.  A deep longing surged through my heart, met by a wave of profound fulfillment as I felt His Most Precious Blood slip down my throat and I slipped back into the pew. I savored every sensation of His touch, wishing I could stay there forever.  For health reasons, I can only receive the Eucharist on occasion—and only in the form of the Precious Blood. Even though I long to receive our Eucharistic Lord more often, I’ve discovered that this ache is also a great gift. It has awakened an understanding of the unsurpassed value of Christ’s touch. I’m learning that this gift of His physical presence is one I’ve largely taken for granted. The leper in today’s Gospel was continually deprived of human touch. His disease not only robbed him of physical health, but of a deeper need for human contact and community. His humble begging came from a place of longing far deeper than his physical infirmity.  It was here in this deep longing that Jesus met the leper, and purposely touched him to heal him.  We constantly come into contact with things that can lead to our contamination: not only physical contagion, but deeper destruction that can lead us into sin.  When our incarnate Savior touches what is contaminated, however, His purification can spread to it. It was for this reason that Jesus took on human flesh—for the leper and for us. Only His touch can bring life, healing, purity, and hope.   We’re in desperate need of His physical presence—healing contact and encounter with Him every day, meeting grace so powerful it can purify us of sin. What leprosy of body, mind, and soul plagues you? Today, seek out His physical presence. Be cleansed in Confession and receive Him at daily Mass. Visit an adoration chapel or sit in the presence of the tabernacle, and don’t be too proud to beg.  His healing is more than skin-deep. He alone knows your deepest infirmity, and He wills to heal it—gently and slowly—with Himself.

Jesus said to His disciples, “Beware that your hearts do not become drowsy from carousing and drunkenness and the anxieties of daily life . . . ” // Luke 21:34 I have always loved my sleep. As a baby, I declined rocking and soothing in favor of snuggling into my crib for a blissful nap.  As a child, when company stayed late I’d pipe up to proclaim, “I’m tired, may I go to bed now?”   Nowadays, I find myself yawning to my teens, “Time for prayers! It’s past Mom’s bedtime!”  It’s ironic, then, that God called me to spend fifteen years in a profession where I regularly had to forgo precious sleep. Throughout my military service, I had to catch a wink whenever I could: on a cot before early musters, on a bed of rocks in a raging storm, in the back of a troop truck with my head propped against my battle buddy. I learned exactly how crucial rest is for our bodies to function—not only in the moment, but to persevere through future demands.  This rest is not just imperative for our bodies. It’s equally essential for our souls.  There are a thousand ways to become spiritually drowsy, deprived of spiritual rest in Jesus. Our Lord Himself cites a few in today’s Gospel: “carousing, drunkenness, and the anxieties of daily life” (see Luke 21:34). Beyond these we cling to countless other escapes and excuses: work or vocational busyness, materialism, perfectionism, self-sufficiency. They drug us into distraction from God and lull us into complacency in prayer—and in our growing drowsiness, the enemy catches us unaware.  The antidote? Intentional time with the Person of Rest: Jesus, Our Good Shepherd.  When it comes to our souls, Jesus is our only true rest and restoration.  Just as our bodies need hours of sleep each night, our souls need adequate time in honest relationship with Jesus—called prayer—every single day. Even when our schedule seems contrary to rest, we can still catch snatches of prayer throughout the day if we allow it. This Advent, let yourself prioritize this spiritual rest. During Advent, as we pause our daily devotions based on the Mass readings, we’re inviting our entire Blessed is She community to take refuge in the Good Shepherd’s arms through our Advent Devotional, Found. You can purchase the book in PDF or hard copy or just follow along in your daily devotional email. Come rest awhile, sister. He’s here: open-hearted and waiting for you.

He said to them, "The 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 I plopped my bag on the pew and slid in next to it, heaving a sigh of relief. I had the dimly lit church all to myself. Our monthly women’s group had just wrapped up, and it had been nothing short of beautiful, with poignant sharing and heart-level conversation. Yet we’d also had an uncharacteristically low turnout; only two other women had shown up besides me.  What am I doing wrong? I wondered. What needs to change? I considered the success of countless other groups and ministries, and my insecurities gathered steam. It must be me.  The glinting gold tabernacle caught my eye, and Our Lord gently but firmly tugged me away from my tailspin into His Heart.  Did I give you a quota? I felt Him say. Or invite you into mission?  I had to laugh. I’d ignored the beautiful fruit that I had witnessed first-hand during the meeting, and instead applied my prideful, constrained standards to His limitless work.  So often we judge our contribution to God’s harvest through the world’s restrictive notion of success. We cling to numbers and analytics, or measure ourselves against someone else’s timelines, talents, and accomplishments. This leads to hasty conclusions that our role—even our very selves—must be unimportant or lacking.   Christ tells us the opposite: the real lack is disciples willing to say yes to His call.  The Lord knows you’re imperfect but calls you anyway. His harvest is not dependent on your talents and results—or anyone else’s. It’s dependent upon your openness to His power in your weakness.  This truth extends to measuring your work against others. Ordered rightly, it is, in fact, all God’s work. We’re all on the same team, and other disciples’ work cannot take away from our own. This means that wherever Christ calls you, your role is vital. There are countless souls in need of salvation. There’s an abundant harvest in need of a lifetime commitment. Today, let God redirect your focus to the invaluable souls He’s placed right in front of you—starting with your own. Today, let Him redefine “success” for you.

See to it that no one captivate you with an empty, seductive philosophy according to the tradition of men, according to the elemental powers of the world, and not according to Christ. // Colossians 2:8 It was a hotly debated topic. I knew the arguments for and against it—countless people sang its praises, while others warned of potential dangers to the soul. Fear-mongers, I mused. Curiosity tugged at me, so I decided to test the waters for myself. I was a strong Catholic, I reasoned; I was mature enough in my faith that I’d be unaffected by any alleged pitfalls or temptations. I would judge the merits based on my own experience. As they say, pride goeth before a fall. My arrogance in the face of spiritual danger did not exempt me from said danger. Instead, it flung open the door of my soul in invitation to the enemy. What followed was a season of darkness and anxiety that divided my soul. Externally I still appeared confident and lighthearted, but internally, I was plagued with caustic self-reliance and a painful distance from God. Still, I clung fiercely to the “empty, seductive philosophy” that had captivated me (Colossians 2:8). I dismissed any evidence that didn’t fit the narrative I’d bought into, and justified away my quiet whisperings of conscience to block out the truth. It took an experience of deliverance that I couldn’t ignore for me to finally concede to the truth. For so long, I’d been terrified to admit I was wrong and detach from my seductive philosophy. Yet when I finally let go, I felt profound relief. Surrendering my idol brought more freedom, humility, healing, and peace than I knew possible.  What worldly practices, enticements, or relationships are currently taking up more room in your heart than God? The tighter your hold on these things, the less you’ll be able to receive His lasting healing and freedom for you. You might be clinging to them out of fear; you might feel defensive at the mere thought of letting go. Today, share those feelings and fears with your Loving Lord. Give Him permission to influence your thoughts and desires—and even to gently correct you for the safety of your soul. The joy and peace you’ll find in His Truth is worth infinitely more.

[The woman] said, "Please Lord, for even the dogs eat the scraps that fall from the table of their masters." Then Jesus said to her in reply, "O woman, great is your faith!” // Matthew 15:27 I sat riveted in the noisy church hall as he recounted his story. He was a former Protestant pastor who’d felt the call to explore Catholicism and left everything to become Catholic. Now he was pursuing a new call to become a permanent deacon. So many moments of gratuitous grace had brought him to this place.  Suddenly, I saw the same trail of grace in my own life: parents who’d passed down the Faith,  countless priests, mentors, and friends who had encouraged me in difficulty—even the grace God gave me to respond to His grace. All had led me to this place of deep encounter with His healing love. I deserved none of it, but still He wanted me to have it. Gratitude overwhelmed me.  The woman in today’s Gospel (see Matthew 15:21-28) recognized and accepted the crumbs of God’s grace in her life, too. She came to Him expectantly—not from a place of entitlement, but in genuine humility and bold faith. In response, the Lord praised her and brought deep healing.  The Lord has scattered a trail of His sustenance through each of our lives, but often we miss His divine crumbs because we’re chasing after worldly feasts. Our pride gets in the way, convincing us that God owes us the best that this passing world has to offer. Meanwhile, God works through every moment of our lives to give us the best that all eternity has to offer.  Just one of His divine crumbs is infinitely greater than the most sumptuous earthly feast. All the riches, pleasures, and rewards of this world together cannot equal a fraction of the satisfaction contained in a single crumb of God’s love. These divine crumbs in your life might be beautiful consolations, desolations that lead to growth, or difficulties that detach you from desires that endanger your soul.  With the eyes of faith and a heart of humility, you can begin to recognize these crumbs of soul-deep nourishment from the Lord. Today, ask the Lord for the faith and humility to see His trail of grace in your life—then ask for the grace to really receive it.

Suddenly a violent storm came up on the sea, so that the boat was being swamped by waves; but [Jesus] was asleep. // Matthew 8:24 “It’s okay,” I whispered soothingly, trying to coax my shaking dog—all 120 pounds of him—into the vet’s office. It was a routine checkup, but he couldn’t understand that. To him, this environment was filled with scary things. As he squirmed and whimpered in the waiting room, I sat firmly in place and serenely patted his head. The most helpful thing I could do was set the tone and remain calm for him. Jesus does the same for us.  Often we don’t get it, assuming that the Lord is indifferent or absent in our difficulties. Fear prevents us from recognizing that these difficulties can be medicinal for our souls. It’s far easier to shout in accusation, “God, why are You asleep?!” Yet rather than asking Jesus why He’s seemingly sleeping on the job, what if we were to ask Him instead, “ . . . why are You not afraid?”  We might hear Him answer, “There’s no need to fear because I am here with you. Your danger is not the greatness of the storm, but in trying to weather it without Me.” When we doubt the Lord’s attentiveness and try to take matters into our own hands, we quickly begin to sink. When we invite the Creator of the Universe into our every circumstance, we will be eternally safe—even when external factors seem to rage out of control.  Without Him, we are ultimately helpless and have every reason to be afraid. But with Him in our boat, there’s no reason to fear—whatever the weather.  What voyages have you embarked on lately that exclude your Loving Lord? How have you been trying to bail out your sinking soul to no avail? What faulty life preservers do you reach for in lieu of Him?  Today, invite Him back into the boat with you. No physical or emotional storm, no seemingly uncharted waters, no weakness of yours can capsize Him. Let Him be unafraid for you. Let His presence be enough. Let Him be the only lifeboat you seek.

I went to see some doctors for a cure but the more they anointed my eyes with various salves, the worse the cataracts became, until I could see no more. For four years I was deprived of eyesight, and . . .  my wife Anna worked for hire. // Tobit 2:10-11 Laughter floated up to the room where I lay in bed, jabbing a needle through my embroidery. My husband and kids were spending some much-needed time together—and clearly having loads of fun without me, I grumbled internally.  Stabbing the needle through the fabric again, I suddenly caught myself. When was the last time I’d offered my suffering for them? Aside from a rushed morning offering, I hadn’t allowed the Lord into a single moment of my present difficulty. I had acknowledged the weight of it, certainly. But instead of asking God to help me lift that weight and strengthen me in love, I had let it drag me down into resentful self-pity.  My heart shifted, and I silently invited the Lord to use my suffering for good. The physical pain remained, but peace and consolation quickly flooded the space where indignation and bitterness had reigned.  Through many years of physical suffering, the Lord has taught me some extremely valuable truths; truths that Tobit and his wife also discovered as his prolonged suffering took its toll (see Tobit 2:9-14).  Suffering can either harden or soften us. It can make us bitter, or it can help us to love better.  None of us will escape suffering in this fallen world—but with God’s help, we can allow it to spiritually transform us, not tyrannize us. Love Himself entered into suffering so that through His Passion, Death, and Resurrection, suffering could be emptied of its eternally destructive power and infused with redemptive, saving power. Any suffering that the enemy has devised for our ruin, God can instead work for our own redemption and others’ salvation—if we but let Him. With Jesus, every encounter with suffering becomes an opportunity to love like Him. With Jesus, our cross will sanctify us in this life, and become the ultimate doorway to the glory of eternal life—where we will never suffer again.  Until that day, let us pray: Jesus, help me to join every moment of my suffering to Your Cross. Grant me Your divine strength and peace in suffering. Redeem it all for my good and for others’ salvation. Amen.

We set sail from Troas, making a straight run for Samothrace, and on the next day to Neapolis, and from there to Philippi, a leading city in that district of Macedonia and a Roman colony. On the sabbath we went outside the city gate where we thought there would be a place of prayer. // Acts 16:11-13 I was born on a September Sunday in the humid heat of the Carolinas. A year later, we moved to northern Italy, where I subsisted on homemade pasta and the affections of toddler-loving Italians. At age four, we crossed the ocean again to land in the magical woods of West Point, where cadets marched and my imagination took flight amidst gray granite and centuries of tradition. A vibrant faith community embraced us, and the Holy Spirit awakened my soul to Divine Love by the warmth of candlelit Masses. We moved away once more, but my soul was called back; by college I’d returned and was a cadet myself. Many nights I’d sit in front of the monstrance by that same candlelight—hazy with the fragrance of incense—as His love flooded my heart and steered the ship of my soul in the direction of sanctification and mission. Like Saint Paul, my life’s journey has been marked by adventure and hardship. In hindsight, I see how God, the Ultimate Guide, infused every detail with His purpose—for my own sanctification, others’ good, and His glory. Throughout my journey, God has cultivated in me both desire and strength for all He has called me to: vocation as a wife and mother, military leadership and spiritual mentorship, love of language and writing, physical suffering with redemptive grace. Like Saint Paul, my journey is not just a travel log; it’s a testimony. The same is true for you. Consider your own pilgrimage through life and the encounters that have formed you. None, however joyful or painful, have been absent of God’s presence or providence. Whether God has been your guide from the beginning or you’ve recently met Him on the journey, the moment you invite Him to take the lead, He can and will redeem every last detail. Like Saint Paul, your history of formation is also your path to evangelization. With the Lord as your guide, your journey can make you a Saint and help others to become Saints. Today, pause to look back and give Him permission to infuse every detail of your life—past, present, and those to come—with sanctifying purpose and redemptive grace.