My stomach tightened into a hard, sick knot as the news flashed across the screen. Another tragedy of incomprehensible evil. More precious lives lost. Hundreds of souls caught unaware. A single thought brought consolation: That's who I prayed for this morning. A few years earlier, I felt a strong conviction to start praying every morning for the salvation of those who would die that day, headed for eternity. The concept of anything eternal is impossible to grasp on an earth where everything ends and every reference point is confined to the finite. Yet, God still plants the desire for the infinite within us, offering a gift that far surpasses mortal earthly life: eternal life, with infinite joy and everlasting love. God meticulously created us and loves us fiercely. The catch is that God, Who is Love, does not force anyone to love Him back and stay with Him—that would be coercion. He gives us a choice: free will. Those who freely reject God also reject the eternal life He offers—and choose everlasting death. Infinite separation from God. A never-ending absence of Love. Eternal hell. God Himself does not plan for anyone to go to hell. As the Catechism teaches, “for this, a willful turning away from God (a mortal sin) is necessary, and [one must] persist in it until the end” without repentance or conversion (Catechism of the Catholic Church § 1037). Nothing is more precious than a single soul. God has deemed it so. And Jesus shows that there is hope for anyone to repent up to the very end in the Gospel today (see Luke 13:1-9). Therefore, nothing is more tragic than a soul lost forever. It breaks my brain and shatters my heart. It also compels me to pray fervently for those whose death is imminent. Praise God, we can help in a tangible way! As the Body of Christ on earth, our every prayer, good deed, and suffering offered to God works together for the salvation of souls. Despite pandemics, natural disasters, and violence, we can give the gift of prayer that is most crucial to another soul’s eternal wellbeing: help turning to God and choosing life when it matters the most. Today, let us pray specifically for souls most in need of mercy, hope, and conversion. [bctt tweet="We can give the gift of prayer. // @megan_hjelmstad" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

I opened the fridge and sighed heavily. I had to eat, but the prospect brought me zero joy. I pushed aside the tantalizing items I’d gotten the rest of the family and, feeling sorry for myself, grabbed a few of the bland, limited ingredients my body wouldn’t reject with my chronic illness. I had to eat to survive, yet, like the Israelites from today's reading, preferred to grumble against the monotony of my severely restricted diet rather than recognize that every day, the Lord still fed me in the midst of my suffering and gave me the incomparable gift of another day. Yet one day as I showed up to daily Mass at my parish, I saw the kind sacristan glance at me—then scurry to ensure my low-gluten host was placed on the altar before Mass started. I choked with emotion, and the Lord had finally broke through to my heart. He was saving me precisely through this suffering that He didn’t cause, yet still allowed. Through this suffering, I gained the eyes to see how He was literally providing my daily bread. Through this particular suffering, I learned to be grateful for the Eucharist—Christ’s own suffering and sacrifice for me—in a way I never would have otherwise. Through this cross, the Lord had softened my heart in genuine compassion for others’ suffering. As I continue to try and unite my little cross to Christ’s victorious Cross, the Lord can more deeply purify me, sanctify me, and redeem me from the self-seeking trappings of this world that lead to eternal death. We exult Christ’s Holy Cross today not because we glorify suffering, which always comes from evil, but rather because we glorify how through the Cross, Christ defeats even the most hopeless suffering with impossible-seeming redemption and eternal life. Indeed, Our Lord Jesus voluntarily left paradise and perfection to enter into our suffering state and elevate us to a supernatural, everlasting life that will never be touched by suffering again. What are you suffering? Unite it to Christ’s exalted Cross today and entrust its victory to the One Who defeated death itself. [bctt tweet="Christ defeats even the most hopeless suffering. // @megan_hjelmstad" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

I pulled up the calendar to check the kids’ after-school schedule, subconsciously praying, “Please, Jesus, no hockey today . . . or at least let it be at the close rink!” Yet as the schedule came into focus, I saw not only two practices, but two separate rinks—across town from one another. I groaned. Being a glorified über driver was once again derailing my preferred plans. As I prepared to huff and puff my way through the evening, a little voice inside stopped me short. If I can’t do it with love, why bother? God had recently been inviting me to try and be most generous where it came least naturally: my family. It was easy to put up a generous front at the workplace, in ministry, or around friends, while being far more miserly in the safe space of my family—neglecting meal planning, lamenting undesirable tasks, wanting to serve my own desires before theirs. Yet my prayer had led me to the truth that my priorities were flipped. As Saint Paul wrote, “God loves a cheerful giver” (2 Corinthians 9:7). If our primary vocation is the main path God uses to make us holy, then that’s also where He desires for us to give the most genuinely and generously. That day, as I caught myself begrudging yet another sacrifice, I tried something new. Thank You, I whispered, for this chance to serve my family and serve You. My heart instantly shifted. So, every time I caught myself resenting small sacrifices, I tried to keep combating it with gratitude: Thank You, Lord, for helping me die to the selfishness that enslaves me. You cheerfully gave all for me. Thank You for teaching me how to love the same way. Cheerful giving and dying to self go hand in hand. Detaching from enslavement to our selfish desires sanctifies us to embrace new life, new freedom, and real love. When you let Him transform your selfishness into loving sacrifice, the fruit will always be real gratitude and growth. What opportunities can you embrace today to love more selflessly? [bctt tweet="Embrace new life, new freedom, and real love. // @megan_hjelmstad" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion  

I blinked in wonder and re-read the email. Remember back at school when you were telling me about Catholicism? I didn’t get it then. But I totally do now! My old college friend had emailed to share how five years after graduation, she had just gone through an astounding conversion and come into the Church. My friend had no faith background growing up and was on a very different life path when we parted ways. The thought that she might find God had never crossed my mind. If it had, I’m sure I would have immediately dismissed it in doubt. Yet now her faith was flourishing in a way that strengthened my own. I shook my head and praised God aloud. Today is the feast of Saint Thomas. Poor "Doubting Thomas"—while he gets a bad rap, I think most of us can relate well. How many times do we need to “see” God’s goodness before we’ll believe it? How many times do we still doubt, even after we have seen it? I imagine that even after he'd seen the Lord, many people still doubted the account of "Doubting Thomas." Yet I’d also like to think that Saint Thomas’ own faith and testimony were that much stronger for it, since he could relate and share how he had once doubted, too. How often he must have shared the words that Christ spoke to Him, for the sake of all of us, "Have you come to believe because you have seen? Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed" (John 20:29). Doubt is a natural first response. But it doesn’t preclude the seeds from being planted. Don’t be discouraged by the doubt of others. Your testimony of faith grown through seasons of doubt is a powerful witness to those who are struggling. And when you’re tempted by your own doubt, beg the Lord for the spiritual eyes to truly see. He can, and will, do mighty things with even the smallest seeds of faith. Make an act of faith with me today: Lord I believe—help my unbelief! Saint Thomas, pray for us! [bctt tweet="Lord I believe—help my unbelief!" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion  

The plane droned on loudly as we sat packed into the dimly lit cabin, weighted down with gear. Despite our exhaustion, the air was electric with anticipation and a hint of trepidation. Not too much longer now. We were at Airborne school, and this was our first-ever jump. “Stand UP!” The sergeant’s abrupt command echoed through the cabin as we struggled to our feet, steadying ourselves against the rocking plane. A moment later, the red light switched to green as the sergeant shouted, “GO, GO, GO!” Our line of soldiers pressed toward the door in a quick shuffle, disappearing one by one through the wind-whipped door. Suddenly, the wind swirled around me and the droning plane twisted from view as I free fell into the night. A moment later my parachute billowed open, and I caught my breath, drifting serenely, peacefully, toward the ground. It was exhilarating. It’s a wonder I felt so little fear jumping out of a perfectly good airplane, yet I still follow God’s will only tentatively, seeking control and perfect understanding to assuage my fears. Abram often tried to do things his own way too and suffered the consequences. Yet today, he steps out in blind trust, following God’s command to go—without the slightest indication of where he will end up. “Go forth to a land I will show you,” says the Lord (Genesis 12:1). Go. Pack up everything and everyone dear to you, relying solely on the promise that the Lord will provide. Go. Act now in response to God’s prompting, surrendering the understanding of where and how and why to the future. Go. Because the parachute literally cannot open unless you leap. If we can trust a man-made piece of nylon to keep us safe when hurtling through the sky, how much more can we trust our God—Who made a universe, Who crafted you and me—to catch us when we leap into His perfect will? God only ever wills our highest good, and He never leads us anywhere He will not fiercely protect us. How is He inviting you to blindly step out in trust today? [bctt tweet="He never leads us anywhere He will not fiercely protect us. // @megan_hjelmstad" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

It was a literal dream come true. I’d always wanted to see the Grand Canyon—specifically, to stargaze from the rim—and we were finally taking our first-ever RV trip to make it happen. As we packed the trailer, our beloved neighbor, a science-teacher-turned-astronomer, hurried over cradling an expensive armful of gadgets. “You have to take these!” she exclaimed, handing over high-powered night binoculars and a portable telescope. “You can’t be serious!” I gasped, gingerly accepting her prized items. “But you must!” she insisted. “You know it’s some of the best stargazing on the planet!” She was right. After trekking so many miles with such precious cargo, we craned our necks in awe at countless shooting stars streaking across the vastness of God’s glittering heavens. The moment was written into my memory for eternity—all because of my neighbor’s eagerness to share what was most precious to her. I marvel again today—first at Christ’s words, then Saint Paul’s—as they surrender what is most precious to them. Christ tenderly offers to His Father every soul for which He seeks salvation. Saint Paul surrenders the fledgling Church in Ephesus with great emotion as he charges the clergy with its care and spiritual protection, reminding the faithful how they were won with the Precious Blood of Christ. We often cling tightly to what we hold dear, thinking we can possess it or protect it from damage. In truth, this leads to missed opportunities and attachments that limit us—both in the world and in our spiritual lives. And surrendering our most precious cargo to God? Even when it’s scary, it’s always fruitful. When we give to the Divine Giver, He never fails to give us more life, multiplied love, and greater gratitude in return. Just as my neighbor taught me, this paradox of relinquishing instead of possessing always leads to more than before. What are you trying to keep “safe” that might actually be constraining you from God’s freedom and love? Practice actively surrendering it today to Love Himself. [bctt tweet="He never fails. // @megan_hjelmstad" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Jesus, teach me to surrender as You did.

“Lunchtime!” my employees called, clamoring for the door. I’d offered to host a farewell lunch for our team member who’d gotten a promotion, but as I closed my office door to follow, I saw her hanging back, face clouded in worry. Ask her what’s wrong. The thought was persistent and unbidden; I quickly hushed it as hesitation crowded in. Who was I to intrude? She wouldn’t want to confide in me, her boss. Yet as her eyes ventured to meet mine, the impulse struck again. “You look like something’s on your mind,” I ventured. “Anything you want to talk about?” She nodded eagerly, the worries immediately pouring out: a child with medical needs, a marriage on the rocks, little support. I began to offer trite-sounding words of comfort when the persistent voice rose up again: ask to pray with her. This I certainly wouldn’t do. It was a secular workplace. What if she was offended? And I was still her boss, for crying out loud! Yet the Holy Spirit’s invitation broke through my protests and burned so powerfully in my chest that it was impossible to contain or ignore. Deep breath. “If you want to pray about it, I’m willing to,” I offered carefully, before rushing to add, “if not forget I said anything.” Again, she eagerly agreed, shocking me even more when she volunteered that she’d grown up Catholic. So there we sat, and there we prayed. Her suffering didn’t magically disappear, her problems weren’t instantly solved—but there, in the midst of a stark little office, God became fully present in the midst of them. The encounter I resisted out of fear and discomfort became one of overflowing grace, just like that of Philip and his faith-filled Ethiopian friend (Acts 8:31). Have you ever been afraid to share God’s love with someone in need? Our Lord is always sending us opportunities and openings. You don’t need the most convincing words, perfect prayers, or full understanding. All you need is the determination to share His love. listen to today’s devotion [bctt tweet="Share His love. // @megan_hjelmstad" username="blessedisshe__"] Holy Spirit, grant me the courage to do Your work.  

Ding! I groaned as I read the incoming text. “Did you happen to get to that letter of recommendation yet?” I mulled over my response as the half-finished letter sat on the screen in front of me. “Yep, all taken care of, let me follow up with the program head!” I began to type—then caught myself. Once again I was falling for the temptation to make myself appear better or shift the blame to someone else. I had been asking the Lord’s help to actively fight this accusation from Father of Lies—that my imperfections invalidated my goodness or meant I didn’t care. I didn’t need to appear better. I needed to be free from the snares of the enemy. I mustered my courage and typed instead, “Thank you for the reminder! Please forgive my delay. I’m doing it right now and will text as soon as it’s done.” Send. I certainly wasn’t perfect—but in that moment, I was free. The Pharisees in today’s Gospel become trapped in those same snares. They were paralyzed by the fear of appearing less intelligent, important, or losing their monopoly on being the resident expert in their field. Out of desperate self-preservation, they twisted every truth about the very Person of Truth, Christ. Nicodemus, however, broke with His fellow Pharisees. He imitated Christ in boldly seeking and speaking Truth—regardless of the bitter scorn it invited. His courage convicts me deeply and brings great hope. Maybe you, too, have been tempted to stretch the truth in fear of rejection or failure. Or maybe you feel trapped in the crowd, accosted by conflicting messages of what the Truth actually is. The good news? We can seek—and objectively find—real Truth. Not in social media, the news, or even our favorite priest—but through its primary source: Divine Revelation, given primarily in Christ, related in Scripture and Tradition, interpreted by the Church. Our fallen world will always seek to crucify the Truth out of self-interest or self-preservation. Instead, follow after Nicodemus and Christ Himself. Be not afraid to boldly shine the light of Truth in love! listen to today’s devotion [bctt tweet="We can seek—and objectively find—real Truth. // @megan_hjelmstad" username="blessedisshe__"] If you tend toward perfectionism, what can you be honest about and free yourself from today?  

I knew that I was right. I was so self-assured in fact, that I told myself I definitely didn’t need to bring it to the Lord. I ignored the whisper of doubt and pointed to everyone and everything in my echo chamber who agreed, happily feeding myself on a diet thick with the "leaven of the Pharisees" (Mark 8:15). That is, until the day a spiritual master’s words stopped me short. “If the understanding, the searchlight of the soul, which alone can discover and rectify the vanity of the human heart, is itself swollen and blinded with pride, who is able to cure it?” (Dom Lorenzo Scupoli, The Spiritual Combat). Gradually, it sunk in. “Lord,” I began to pray haltingly, “You have permission. Change my mind if You need to. Correct my course if I’m wrong.” The change was surprisingly swift, yet instead of bowing me in shame like I feared, it lifted me in freedom and hope. Often, we go into Lent blinded by worldly “leaven,” with grandiose plans for improvement based on our supposed expert understanding of ourselves. We make Lent about us and our self-sufficiency instead of uniting ourselves in repentance to the Lord’s loving heart. God never restricts His love for us, but our sin restricts our ability to receive it in a thousand different ways. We stubbornly cling to “our way” instead of His divine wisdom and will. We choose temporary pleasure over never-ending joy with Him. We seek others’ conditional admiration over His limitless, sacrificial love. This is why we need real Lent and repentance. Inviting God’s way gently dismantles our restrictive defenses and opens us to His purifying, healing, freeing love. Have you been feeding on the leaven of the world so long you hardly even realize it? Take courage—He knows you even better than you know yourself, and He loves you far greater than you could hope. Invite Him to guide your understanding. Ask Him to course-correct you when needed. Trust Him to lead you in real repentance. And sister? Don’t be surprised when you find yourself flying free in the depths of His mercy. [bctt tweet="He loves you far greater than you could hope. // @megan_hjelmstad" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion What's the "your way" you're clinging to? How can you let go of it this Lent?  

I sighed heavily as I sank into the pew, burdened by a long list of to-dos and even more consumed by fear and failure. I looked longingly at the tabernacle, a litany of woes tumbling through my mind, when another thought, gentle and smiling, interjected. You’re relying on yourself again, daughter. I laughed and shook my head, admittedly caught in the act. You’re right, I conceded. I don’t need to do it on my own so I can revel in my success and I beat myself up in failure. I need Your supernatural strength in my weakness, Lord. Saints Timothy and Titus, whose feast we celebrate today, faced some pretty intimidating hurdles themselves in the early Church. Saint Paul wrote to encourage Timothy when his confidence was flagging, reminding him to “stir into flame” the gift of God—i.e., the very real help of the Holy Spirit through the Sacrament of Holy Orders (2 Timothy 1:6). These words weren’t just meant for Saint Timothy in 60 AD. God inspired them specifically for us, too, knowing we’d need them right now—today! The Holy Spirit literally dwells within us through the Sacraments of Baptism and Confirmation, present in every triumph and trial. So often, we want God to rescue us from our circumstances to give us a life of comfort and ease. Yet all through Scripture, we see that almighty God rescues by being present to us in our circumstances. He sends streams into our deserts (Isaiah 35:6). He lifts us up in the raging storm (Matthew 14:31). He fortifies our courage in hardship (2 Timothy 1:6). He offers us the Holy Spirit’s inexhaustible help in every circumstance. Whatever you’re facing, however limited you feel, His supernatural help is always available! When you can’t fathom any solution to a problem, seek His divine Wisdom. When your own strength isn’t enough, ask for an increase of supernatural Fortitude. When you’re struggling to grasp schoolwork, Scripture, or discern difficult relationships, call on His superior understanding. Whatever the challenge, He’s waiting—and ready to help you. [bctt tweet="He’s waiting—and ready to help you. // @megan_hjelmstad" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Today, stir into flame the gift of God, friend, and call on His ever-ready help!

She’s so articulate! I marveled as I sat through the class. Quickly, however, my admiration devolved into comparison—then gave way to jealousy and despair. I thought of all I should change to be like her, lamenting, I wish I were that well-spoken. My attempts are just embarrassing in comparison. Why even try? It happens imperceptibly: we’re plodding along contentedly, then suddenly find our minds assaulted by comparison and doubt. Even when doing God’s work, we can despair that someone else is doing it better. That their work is more important. That our gifts are paltry, our efforts vain. That’s exactly what Satan wants—for he knows how easily comparison robs the kingdom of real fruit when God calls desperately-needed laborers to His harvest. In truth, there’s plenty of work to go around. "Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is abundant but the laborers are few; so ask the master of the harvest to send out laborers for his harvest” (Matthew 9:37-38). God asks us to labor together—as one team! While we might look at others and see only perfection or competition, God sees how they struggle (just as mightily as we do) with weakness. It’s those varied strengths and weaknesses that He uses intentionally to knit us together in community. God also calls you, specifically, personally, to surrender your gifts for the harvest. No one else has exactly the same connections, lived experience, or unique combination of gifts that you do. He made you distinctly for work that He’s inviting you to—for the exact way, time, place, and souls that He intends. He doesn't call you in order to be the best—He calls you to be faithful. Our world is utterly famished for God’s love. When we begrudge others their fruit, we limit the harvest. Yet when we champion others’ labors for the harvest, we not only multiply their fruit, but shift the focus off of our own glory so God can bear more fruit through us—reaching countless valuable souls in need. Let us beg God to send more laborers into the abundant harvest of souls just waiting for His love. [bctt tweet="He doesn't call you in order to be the best—He calls you to be faithful. // @megan_hjelmstad" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Where can you reach out and encourage someone in her gifts today?

I ran my fingers along the old railing, reverently tracing the history etched deep into the wood grain. I’d been to the Mother Cabrini Shrine many times, scaling the steep mountainside to stand, panting, in the shadow of the awe-inspiring Sacred Heart statue atop the summit. I’d let the crystal cool water slip down my throat in the blazing heat as I rested by the miraculous spring that still flows. Yet never before had I stood inside the walls of this charming summer home that Saint Frances Cabrini herself had commissioned for her orphanage girls—until today. I’d been invited to speak at a retreat but awoke that morning bowed by chronic pain and wondering how I’d manage. I desperately begged God to propel me with His strength because I knew couldn’t make it on my own. Now I gripped the handrail and gingerly eased my way up the central staircase, imagining the countless times Mother Cabrini had done the same as her girls darted through the home in laughter and glee. She’d suffered poor health most of her life, was petrified of water, even fearing drowning—yet God called her into the deep, leading across the ocean more than thirty times to establish sixty-seven different homes for the poor, sick, and abandoned. Her motto, fittingly, was “I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13). God intentionally brought me to Mother Cabrini’s turf to remind me how His power is far more glorified in our weakness than strength. The enemy will plant countless fears and discouragements to keep us from our call, but the Lord supplies the exact strength we need if we but ask. No more, lest we rely too much on our own power, and no less, lest we give up. Just as the lepers begged for Christ to heal them in their own lack, God invites us to ask for His help—then return the glory to Him. Whatever our leprosy of body, mind, or soul, He's just waiting to supply the strength. Without God, we are desolate—but with Him, even our inabilities are redeemed to the greatest of glories. [bctt tweet="With Him, even our inabilities are redeemed to the greatest of glories. // @megan_hjelmstad" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Learn more about this Saint here.

I love a good online shopping sesh. I’ll stop short on social media for a cleverly-curated ad, suddenly convinced that this thing (non-existent in my world a mere moment before) is exactly what’s been missing in my life. I’ll admire someone’s outfit, then find myself scouring the internet to find it. I swoon at the siren song of a sale, thinking that if I don’t find the perfect bargain on page one, surely it’s buried in the annals of the internet on page twenty. The thing is, the clicking never ends. My hunger is never satisfied. The status and acceptance I attach to new items is superficial and short-lived. However picture-worthy my home, however overflowing my closet, my heart is not filled more. My longing only intensifies. In our First Reading today, it sounds like Job’s got it all, but in truth this happily ever arrives only after Job has lost it all. Job always believed in God, but it's only when he's brought to his knees—grieving family, relationships, and livelihood—that Job develops an unshakably real, brutally honest, intimate relationship with God (Job 42). Lately, the Lord has been speaking deep into my heart about detachment and returning double. These ideas seem contradictory at first, but actually partner to bring about real freedom and fulfillment that only make sense in the context of a real relationship with God. Job knew these truths well; it was only through detachment that his hands became free enough to receive all that God longed to give. In Job's battle for detachment, God restores double—and then some. We cling to all sorts of worldly attachments—acceptance, status, material things, even putting seemingly good desires like relationship and vocation before God. Sooner or later the emptiness or grief catches up, and we find ourselves faced with the central question of our heart: Is God enough? God—and only God—can be enough, when we loosen our grip on worldly attachment and flee temptation to chase after Him. The One Who can fully satisfy can start to restore double when we're free to receive, so much so that our once empty, longing hearts overflow. [bctt tweet="Only God can be enough. // @megan_hjelmstad" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Pray the Suscipe prayer today.

For years I tried to bury the hurt and brush off the damage she’d caused. After all, her own childhood was abusive. Yet under all my dismissiveness (wrapped in a pretty package of so-called forgiveness) was a deep, festering wound of abiding pain and anger. My error wasn’t in thinking I should forgive, but in misunderstanding the real meaning and extent of forgiveness. I wanted it to be quick, once-and-done—it felt easier to minimize the pain and run from the feelings. Yet in running, it pursued me. In slapping a Band-aid on the wound and trying to ignore it, I learned that the infection kept surfacing in new and destructive ways. Real and total forgiveness, on the other hand, begins with acknowledging the full depth and breadth of our wounds, the totality of mourning and grief. Our Lord commands us to forgive, yet He didn’t minimize His agony in the garden or Passion and death. He models how we must acknowledge the entirety of our suffering, and invite the Divine Physician into every step of the process. When we do so, He slowly fills our hearts with new understanding. We see that the wounds inflicted upon us are born from others’ deep poverty and wounds—and the real enemy is Satan who loves to keep us trapped in a cycle of inflicting pain upon each other and perpetuating resentment. Real forgiveness breaks that cycle, letting God transform bitterness and hurt into desperately-needed intercession—seventy times seven—for the wounded souls who have wounded us. Whether this forgiveness leads to restored relationships or draws healthy new boundaries, we find that instead of running from the suffering, we can be redeemed through it—and given the chance to help Our Lord redeem others, too. Even if we’re too weak to forgive on our own, we can pray as Christ did from His torturous Cross: “Father, forgive them, they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34). Always, waiting on the other side of our cross, is new life and resurrection. listen to today’s devotion [bctt tweet="Real forgiveness breaks that cycle, letting God transform bitterness and hurt into desperately-needed intercession—seventy times seven—for the wounded souls who have wounded us. // @megan_hjelmstad" username="blessedisshe__"] If you're in a season of life for a spiritual director, here are a few ideas on how to find someone you can walk with.

I have a persistent, fluffy white shadow named Otto. His hundred-pound frame follows me from room to room, flopping with a satisfied groan at my feet when I pause for more than a moment. He just loves to be near his people—and loves even more to be near our food. If he waits long enough and looks on mournfully enough, it usually works in his favor; soon he’s gobbling up tasty scraps of chicken or beef. If it doesn’t happen? No matter, he’s there the next meal—undaunted and watchful in dogged hope. I used to bristle at Christ’s words in today’s Gospel (Matthew 15:21-28) as He compares a beautiful, faith-filled woman to a dog. Yet cultural understanding reveals that Christ is highlighting the attitude of the Jews at the time; they believed they had a sole claim to the Messiah and that Gentiles were nothing more than mangy dogs. Christ uses His exchange with the woman to dispel the Jewish onlookers’ lies and reinforce her true identity: not at all a dog, but a chosen daughter, privy to every good gift in Christ by virtue of her persistent, dogged faith. I can learn much from this woman’s identity-rich faith and my pup’s unfaltering, expectant hope. When Christ leads me into a desert of suffering or the world calls into question my identity, too often I waver—wondering where He is or questioning who I really am. Yet Christ reminds us today that He leads us into deserts not to abandon us, but to bring about restoration and abundant fruit through contrary suffering and seeming lack. He presses on the wound of worldly lies about identity to reveal the truth of who—and Whose—we are. Whether we waver in hope or identity, when we muster even the tiniest act of faith, He rejoices in restoring in us all that has been made desolate, and rebuilding—again and again—what has been torn down. Today, Christ challenges us to become undaunted in approaching Him—and cultivate expectant hunger for our Bread of Life (far greater than any scrap!) with ever more dogged faith. listen to today’s devotion [bctt tweet="He rejoices in restoring in us all that has been made desolate. // @megan_hjelmstad" username="blessedisshe__"] Pray this Act of Faith today.

I couldn’t wait to grow up. I couldn’t wait to get to middle school, to get my driver’s license, to head off to college, to live on my own. By the time I’d claimed an impressive degree, I was busy dreaming of marriage and a family. Even when those came along, my heart kept looking ahead, yearning for some undefined threshold when I’d finally be considered mature enough, wise enough, fulfilled enough. "[A]lthough you have hidden these things from the wise and the learned you have revealed them to little ones" (Matthew 11:35). I spent years longing to “arrive” at so many milestones of perceived independence, intellect, and respectability. But Christ’s words have become my greatest lesson: it’s not in growing up, but in growing more childlike—growing in dependence on Him—that makes me truly free, wise, and dignified. The memories of His patient teaching bubble up and I smile: that time I resolved to receive the Lord more reverently in Communion, but instead tripped and fumbled awkwardly. “How embarrassing!” I told the Lord as I hurried back to the pew. In response, He gave me an image of Himself as Father, tenderly spoon-feeding my sweet, clumsy toddler self. Later, I prayed for help writing the perfect words; once again I saw Him as Father, smiling and gently guiding my hand as I scribbled with my jumbo crayons over the margins of His perfect manuscript. The more childlike I become, the more I understand that it’s right here in the present, here in seeking a relationship with Him, that allows Him to work through me, guiding my every toddling step toward greater holiness. Yes, in all my striving, He is both the rest and the restoration I seek. Striving by our own power for the sake of our own glory leads to only greater emptiness and yearning. But striving to rest in a real relationship with Him allows us to rediscover the most important thing we could ever learn, to “arrive” at the most important stage of life—our irrevocable identity as His precious daughter. listen to today’s devotion [bctt tweet="It’s right here in the present, here in seeking a relationship with Him, that allows Him to work. // @megan_hjelmstad" username="blessedisshe__"] Brush up on Church teaching on our identity.

A chill mist hung in the air as I lay sprawled on the damp ground. My eyelids grew heavy, my head even heavier, nodding clumsily under the weight of my Army helmet. It was the middle of the night in the thick of summer training, and I was assigned to keep watch at the border of our makeshift base. I was succeeding only marginally. I strained my weary eyes, considering my responsibility for our team’s “safety;” somewhere out there, other soldiers roamed, pretending to be the enemy. I nodded off again. Suddenly the underbrush rustled, and I snapped awake in alarm—then sighed in relief as a beady-eyed squirrel scampered off. "He neither slumbers nor sleeps, the guardian of Israel" (Psalm 121:4). Even though I could barely make it through my shift, the Lord reminds us today that He is ever awake and never off-duty, even in the darkest nights of our souls. He guards us both tirelessly and relentlessly wherever we invite His protection. The Lord never slumbers through our most troublesome trials. He will never decide to take a break in the light of our joy and jubilation. Not for one second of our lives will He take a posture of detachment or disinterest. No, the great Guardian of our hearts stands faithfully by, protecting us day and night and in between. Even should we sleep—oh, how often we do!—He is ever alert. He remains steadfast not in obligation, but out of pure love. He knows that—left to our own devices—we are sleepy, messy-hearted, prideful sowers of division. Even if our spirits are willing, the flesh is so weak. But when we consent to His guardianship over our lives and our hearts, He does more than simply guard. He covenants with us an adoption of unbreakable love. In this school of love, He tenderly converts our hearts. He leads us patiently into spiritual alertness, so that we who were once asleep in our sin can be transformed into children of light: His mercy-filled, clean-hearted, peacemakers who will wake up to an eternal day with Him. [bctt tweet="He is ever awake and never off-duty. // @megan_hjelmstad" username="blessedisshe__"] Listen to more of Megan's story on the Blessed is She podcast.