"As he chose us in him, before the foundation of the world, to be holy and without blemish before him." // Ephesians 1:4 The skipping footsteps and tiny voices grew louder as my children tramped down the hall to my bedroom. I sat on my bed and stared at the crucifix on my wall, knowing I only had a brief moment before the laughing bodies burst into my room. I exhaled and admitted to the Lord what it took me months to admit. I couldn't fix it. I had run out of human solutions. I had done everything "right." And still I sat in the suffering. It was in those final quiet moments of prayer that the truth from today's Second Reading rang true: I was surprised by this refining fire, but the Lord was not. He had chosen me before the foundation of the world to be holy. He saw my weakness, my failure, my inability to be holy on my own. He loves me enough to give me what I need to accomplish His will. Today is the feast of the Immaculate Conception in which we celebrate Mary's conception without Original Sin. God chose Mary before the foundation of the world to be His mother and He gave her what she needed to accomplish His will. Mary isn't without sin because of her own striving or grit. I'm not made holier by white knuckling and just "trying harder." He calls us to be holy and without blemish before Him, and Mary shows us what this means. It does not mean that we can make ourselves worthy (we can't). It doesn't matter if I do everything "right" if I'm not relying completely on Him. Just as Mary gave Him her whole life as a response to His grace, we can give Him our whole lives in holy surrender. It is in this that He will make us holy. God chose you for this moment. What is He asking of you today? How is He inviting you to be holy and without blemish? How is He inviting you to plant seeds and bear the fruit of the Word? Ask Him; He knows what you need to be holy. [bctt tweet="He will make us holy. // @to_the_heights" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

Today is Thanksgiving Day in the United States—a day set aside for gratitude and gatherings. We know well the psychological, physical, and spiritual benefits of gratitude. Most of us has seen first-hand the fruits of thankfulness in our lives. We understand that our mind space shifts if we begin or end the day by writing down a handful of people or things we are especially thankful for that day. We are slower, however, to be thankful for ourselves. Understand that I don't insinuate an egotistical thanksgiving for oneself that is rooted in pride. On the contrary, I mean that we are quick to dismiss the glory of God that He wants to reveal in us, His creation—His children. It is easy for us to identify the goodness in others, others' lives, or our own circumstances. It is also easy for us to condemn the smallest imperfections we witness in our hearts or personalities. We can be ruthless with ourselves to the point of self-hatred and self-destruction. The antidote is not the shallow gospel of "self-love" preached by our culture; the antidote is found in an identity rooted in the Creator. Today's reading reminds us to "bless the God of all, who has done wondrous things on earth; Who fosters people’s growth from their mother’s womb, and fashions them according to his will" (Sirach 50:22). The God Who fashioned the wonders of the world is the same God Who fashioned you. He has "fashioned your growth"—your story—in every season. He has been there all along, seeing the goodness in you that you were perhaps unable to see yourself. When others have abandoned you, He stayed. When you wonder if you are worthy of love, He spares nothing to save you. When all you see are your shortcomings, He sees a masterpiece of His Heart. So today, on Thanksgiving Day, thank the Lord for the wonder He has made you. Thank Him for loving you even in your faults and failings. And when He looks at you with merciful love, accept that love and live gratefully in it. [bctt tweet="The God Who fashioned the wonders of the world is the same God Who fashioned you. // @to_the_heights" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

I exhaled, communicating my fatigue to my friend on the other end of the telephone. I was in strong throws of situational anxiety and my hope was wringing out with the cycle of every unpredictable day. Having tried nearly every aid in my human capacity, I was at the end of my rope. Blessedly, I had a good friend to accompany me through this season, and she was familiar with my struggles. I quipped, "Maybe I should just develop a low-key alcohol dependency." She laughed, knowing that I was kidding in an attempt to lighten the mood. But I'd be lying if there wasn't a part of me that wondered if that was the only option left. Later that evening in prayer, the Lord brought the conversation to mind. I knew that He wanted to talk about it, but I brushed Him off, telling Him that I wasn't serious. In the merciful way He does, He pressed further and asked me in my heart, "Do you want to exchange prisons or do you want to be free?" Jesus did not die so I could be enslaved to unhealthy coping mechanisms. By the virtue of my baptism, I have "been freed from sin and have become slaves of God" (Romans 6:22). And so have you. I don't want to exchange prisons. I want to be free, and I bet you do, too. Today's Responsorial Psalm declares, "Blessed are they who hope in the Lord." In today's reading, Saint Paul's letter to the Romans reminds us that we are human, weak and limited. So what do you do if your hope is dwindling like mine was? Cast yourself with more abandon and desperation into the arms of the Father. Plant yourself near the running water of the Sacraments. Ask the Holy Spirit to set your heart ablaze (Luke 12:49). Saint Paul is correct—we won't get very far on our own. But we were never meant to. Our Lord came to set us free from every prison. Today, ask Him to show you the prison walls He wants to break down in your heart. [bctt tweet="Our Lord came to set us free from every prison. // @to_the_heights" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

One of the enemy's favorite lies to tell us—especially women—is that we are merely tolerated. We may have a few acquaintances and people at church who are nice to us, but no one really wants us. We easily feel left out of friend groups and wonder what is wrong with us because it seems that no one is choosing us. We laugh at #FOMO but it hits at the heart of our true fears: missing out on everything—friendships, love, opportunities, sainthood. We wonder if we missed it: the calling, the mission, the occasion. And we don't believe we will have another chance. But this is, indeed, nothing but a deception, so let's look to the First Reading for God's response, because "Your word, O Lord, is truth; consecrate us in the truth" (the Alleluia). As Moses was preparing to die, the Lord took some of the spirit that was on Moses and gave it to the seventy elders. But two were not present, even though their names were on the list. Eldad and Medad show us just how much the Father sees us. They were in the tent, being faithful to their duties there, and they received their allotted portion of the spirit. They didn't miss out because they weren't hanging out with everyone else. God did not overlook them just because the majority of the group was with Moses. They, too, were given everything they needed to fulfill their mission from Him. What are you afraid that you're missing right now? Do you fear that you're tolerated, but kept in the tent while everyone else is in on the action? You are not missing it. You are not missing out on what God has prepared for you. Your name is on the list. Stay open to Him and remain faithful in what He's given you to steward. He will pour His Holy Spirit upon you. Today, offer Him your insecurities and fears and ask Him to fill you with Himself. [bctt tweet="You are not missing out on what God has prepared for you. // Olivia Spears " username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

"Well, are we in or are we out?" My husband held my gaze across our kitchen table, the lines in our worn-down table representing the line the Lord was drawing in the sand of our lives. For months, we had sensed Jesus beckoning us to a narrower road of radical discipleship. We had long been passionate about our Faith. But we noticed that life, passivity, and overwhelm were leading us down a road of mediocrity. And mediocrity primes us for "the service of other gods" (Joshua 24:16). Now we had a choice. We knew it. The Lord was clear. Our hearts and discernment were in unison. We knew that we could either continue down the road we were on (not a bad one, mind you, just fine) or we could follow Jesus with greater abandon and trust. This would necessitate the sacrifice of many idols: finances, worldly security and reputation, fertility, our prideful opinions, self-reliance, and the illusion of control. It would mean that we made different decisions in our lives in order to follow Him more closely. My husband was completely in. But he always lives out the call of today's Second Reading, patiently loving me "even as Christ loved the church and handed himself over for her to sanctify her" (Ephesians 5:25). I glanced up at the hand-lettered sign that hangs next to the kitchen table: "As for me and my household, we will serve the LORD" (Joshua 24:15). No longer was this a cute saying on a piece of home decor. This was the invitation. And this became the battle cry of my heart. This is a lifelong decision, and we must die to ourselves every single day. Where is the line in the sand in your life? How is the Lord calling you to a more radical discipleship? Each morning meets us with the call: "Decide today whom you will serve" (Joshua 24:15). With the grace of Jesus, may our every response be, "Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life" (Matthew 6:68). To whom shall you go, sister? Ponder this today. [bctt tweet="We must die to ourselves every single day. // Olivia Spears" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

Enlivened by his first experience zip-lining, my eldest son chirped endlessly in the backseat of our van. "Wasn't that awesome, mom?! Can you believe I did it?!" I was just as excited. "You were so brave! Were you nervous right before you jumped? What made you decide to go for it?" A contemplative look crossed his face momentarily. "I didn't really feel brave; I just jumped!" Unaware of the wisdom he had just shared, he continued to chat about his day with his friends while my mind (admittedly) wandered deeper into his insight. I don't feel brave most days. I pray continuously for fortitude. Spiritually speaking, I'm aware of my cowardice and reluctance. But when I reflect upon the moments I have felt most like myself—felt the most free—it is always when I step out in faith with Jesus. Psalm 23, today's Responsorial Psalm, indicates why: "I fear no evil; for you are at my side with your rod and your staff that give me courage." It is not by our own wills or positive thinking that we act bravely; it is through the Lord's rod and staff. His guidance—His shepherding—is what gives both the Psalmist and us courage. We don't have to worry about being brave on our own. Our fortitude comes from our confidence in the One Who guides us. Where is He asking you to be brave right now? Perhaps you're not "feeling" very courageous, but rest in the fact that courage is not a feeling. Courage is a confidence, a confidence in the Good Shepherd. So take the step of the platform of the zipline, knowing that fortitude is found in freedom. [bctt tweet="It is not by our own wills or positive thinking that we act bravely; it is through the Lord's rod and staff. // @to_the_heights " username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion  

Today's reading from Tobit is heavy. Sarah, daughter of Raguel, was married seven times. Each husband died on the night of the wedding, causing eyebrows to raise about the character and apparent curse of Sarah. This sorrow was the sister of scandal. Sarah's very worth and identity were called into question. In the darkness of despair, Sarah contemplated ending her life. Thwarted by the further shame this would bring upon her father, Sarah instead prayed that God Himself would end her life. It is not difficult for me to place myself in Sarah's shoes. Maybe you can relate to her more than you would like to admit, too. The feeling of failure. The sense of inadequacy. The loss of hope or direction. The rejection, shame, and fear. The sadness of being an inconvenience or of disappointing those you love. When all these sorrows culminate and compound it can leave us wondering if it's still worth moving forward. Sister, it is. Today's readings ooze with references to the Lord's merciful love and salvation. All His ways are mercy, and His mercy is unending. If you have been struggling alongside Sarah, this message of mercy and salvation is for you. If you feel like no one sees the suffering of your heart—the Lord, in His kindness, sees and mourns with you. If you're in the snares of depression, self-harm, or self-hatred, the Good News of Jesus Christ is for you. Lift up your soul to the Lord (see Responsorial Psalm). Cry out like Sarah did, confident that the God Who loved you into being has not stopped loving you now. This week, step out in faith. Talk to a friend. Reach out to your pastor. Schedule a counseling appointment. Or if you know someone in Sarah's shoes, be the friend who endlessly cares. Keep reaching out and checking in. Wherever you are, know that God is the bringer of light and life. He is the God of the living (see the Gospel), and He wants you to be alive in Him. [bctt tweet="He wants you to be alive in Him. // @to_the_heights" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion  

Today, we celebrate the feast of Mary, Mother of the Church. As a cradle Catholic, I always loved and revered Our Lady. I knew she was important, I knew the basics of Mariology, I knew she was our best intercessor, I knew that loving her more would only lead to loving Jesus more. But I didn't really know her. Two things transformed my relationship with the Blessed Mother: 1) consistently praying the Rosary and 2) needing her to be my mom. Most of my life, I had kept Mary at an arm's length. But what I realized is that I need her to be more than an intercessor or a nice statue on my dresser. I need her to mother me. And that's what we remember today. This feast reminds us of one of the great gifts Our Blessed Lord left us just before His death: the gift of His own beautiful Mother. This isn't meant to be a nice sentiment. She's our mom. Once I realized that I was in deep need of her mothering, everything changed. I grew to know her more deeply through the Mysteries of the Rosary, and I came to her more honestly in my prayer. In prayer, I knocked on her door, my bags in hand, and told her I was moving home. I let her do my laundry, cook for me, and teach me things. In short, this shift in my heart prompted me to truly entrust everything to her intercession. Before, I held back. Now, I realized how much I needed her to take care of all of it. She's never let me down. Blessed Mother Mary, our Mother, we come to you today, bags in hand, in need of a home. We know that our home is within you and that you are always ready to take us in and mother us. We entrust our needs, our very lives, to you, knowing that you will take them straight to the Sacred Heart of Your Son. We love Him, Mom, and we want to be closer to Him. Help us along the way. We know that, under your roof, we'll be led safely there. Amen. [bctt tweet="Help us along the way. // @to_the_heights" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Blessed Mother, be a mother to me today.  

My friend once relayed how startling it was to her when, after suddenly losing a close family member, her young children still needed her to feed them breakfast the next morning. Yet she rose out of bed, smiled at them, and flipped the pancakes. There's something in the heart of a woman that spurs her to forge on in spite of grief. I'm always amazed by the women at the tomb of Jesus. Utterly gutted, they arrive with burial spices in hand—because it's the right thing to do. Because it's what we do. They witnessed the horrific death of their Love, but instead of hiding or returning to hometowns, they did what needed to be done. Because it's what we do. Today's Gospel (John 20:11-18) illustrates what Our Lord's response is to such loving faithfulness. We first find Saint Mary Magdalene weeping outside the tomb. She's devastated; but she's there. She enters the tomb to find angels present and Jesus' Body absent. She's shocked; but she remains. Mary Magdalene turns, thinking the Jesus before her is the gardener. She's confused; but she presses. "Tell me where you laid him, and I will take him" (John 20:15). She's powerless; but she perseveres. And here is where we see the gift that Our Lord grants her fidelity—the first witness of His resurrected Person. The premier comfort of knowing He is alive. She showed up for Him, and, of course, He showed up for her. Maybe you're grieving right now. Perhaps you've realized that life doesn't stop, that you have to keep going. It's what we do—it's what we've always done. But remember the Lord's favor upon you. Remember that He is already where you are going, ready to give you everything you need. This week, reach out to a friend who you know is suffering in spite of her continuation of life as usual. Just let her know you see her, that you appreciate her. Remind her that Christ sees her, and is right beside her, waiting to greet her with a smile. listen to today’s devotion [bctt tweet="The Lord's favor is upon you. // @to_the_heights" username="blessedisshe__"] Lord Jesus, show up for me, please, so I can be brave and show up for You.  

I knew it was a part of my heart that did not reflect the heart of Jesus. I knew it was rooted in pride and perfectionism. I was tired of confessing it and, most powerfully, life and the Lord had humbled me enough to finally want to be set free of passing judgment on other people. My judgment was not in regard to the state of their souls or salvation; rather, it involved others’ decisions, habits, methods, and even their approaches to the Faith. But like a film that slowly builds up over time, eventually these “small” judgments of character began to inhibit my ability to see people clearly. I was blinded by self-righteousness. I became convicted by the words in today’s Gospel, “Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful. Stop judging and you will not be judged. Stop condemning and you will not be condemned . . . . For the measure with which you measure will in return be measured out to you” (Luke 6:36-38). Very aware of my own sinfulness, character flaws, shortcomings, and bad decisions, I desired to receive others the way I am so mercifully received by God. He has shown me nothing but compassion and forgiveness (see First Reading), so why should I not afford the same to others? If I, the least worthy, am showered with Jesus’ merciful love, why should I not be a small reflection of that love in the world? He and I began the work of scraping and cleaning the film of judgment off the lenses of my heart. While I’m sure this will be a lifelong work, the fruit this intentionality has already born over the years has been life-giving. The words of the Lord are “spirit and life” (see Verse before the Gospel), and I want to echo those words of everlasting life to others, even if they’re just in my own head. Ask the Holy Spirit to cleanse your lenses and to help you exchange pouring judgment for pouring a great measure of merciful love. As we have received, so let us give. listen to today’s devotion [bctt tweet="The words of the Lord are spirit and life. // @to_the_heights" username="blessedisshe__"] Do you struggle with being judgmental? Re-read today's Gospel and sit with Jesus' words.  

When you think of God, are you “terrified and trembling” like Israel in today’s First Reading? Maybe you have kept God at arm’s length because you have been told you are unclean or unworthy. Maybe your religious education painted images in your mind of a vengeful God, eager to destroy. Maybe you were vulnerable in Confession and were met with callousness. Maybe religion was used as a weapon against you. Maybe a trauma has distorted your understanding of God’s goodness. Maybe it’s been so long since you’ve come to Him that your soul is steeped in sin and despair and you don’t even know where to begin. Scripture calls us to a fear of the Lord, but this fear ultimately speaks to awe, obedience, and adoration, not shame, defeat, or terror. Before the Fall, Adam and Eve feared the Lord in the former way and enjoyed a most-intimate relationship with Him. Once they sinned, they hid from Him in a painful kind of fear—one that kept them isolated and afraid. But God proves to us that He does not want to keep us at arm’s length. In fact, all of Salvation History is filled with accounts of how God sought to come closer to man. This culminated in the Person of Jesus Christ. One of the reasons God took on the limits of our flesh was to show us His limitless love (Catechism of the Catholic Church § 458). Examining the life of Jesus shows us that we need not be afraid of Him. He doesn’t rage against the vulnerable; He speaks with them. He doesn’t shun those who are sick; He heals them. He doesn’t forsake those who are desperate, He saves them. Don’t let fear keep you from freedom in God. Come closer to Him today. Just one step. Come into His temple, it’s filled with mercy; ascend His mountain, it is covered with joy (see Responsorial Psalm). If you’ve been afraid of Him, read the Gospels and witness the desire of Jesus to be close to you, to save you, to fill you. He won’t give up on you. [bctt tweet="Ascend His mountain, it is covered with joy. // @to_the_heights" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion If you need a good place to start with the Gospels, consider following along one of our #bisvbs videos.

We just concluded the season in which our Church celebrates the world-altering fact that God made His home among men. And in today’s Gospel, we get a front row seat to that reality. Jesus goes home to Capernaum; He visits the people and places He knew from His childhood. And the people crowd the places to see Him. Perhaps because they wanted to visit with Him; more likely because they had realized that “a great prophet has arisen in our midst, and God has visited his people” (see Alleluia). Over 2,000 years later, I long for Jesus to find His home in my heart. And this Gospel calls me to think about what kind of home I make for Him. Will I gather around Him, bringing my friends, family, and neighbors along to hear the Good News He preaches? Will I approach Him vulnerably in my weakness, asking Him to do the impossible in my life? Will I stop at nothing to be next to Him? Will I doubt Him? Will I grumble against Him when I do not understand? Will I accept His forgiveness and convert more deeply to His Truth? Will I rise because of His presence in my soul? Will I live in astonishment, in the glory of God, proclaiming that I have never seen anything like this (see Gospel)? Jesus made His home among us, and through our Baptism, He dwells in our souls when we are in the state of grace. What kind of home will He find there? Let’s make our hearts places of confidence, attentiveness, joy, presence, faith, persistence, and openness. Give Jesus the prominent seat in your heart, sit at His Feet, listen to His Word, and watch Him work miracles. Sister, God is among us. We’ve never seen anything like this. [bctt tweet="Give Jesus the prominent seat in your heart. // @to_the_heights" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion We hope you are enjoying our Christmas season book, Emmanuel: A Christmas Feast Devotional. It's not too late to start!

My husband and I are dreamers. We enjoy setting goals and achieving them. We came into our marriage with a shared vision for our life, and we were hustling to make it a reality. About a year ago, our vision blurred. A third baby, an illness, and sudden job uncertainty were just a few jostles that made the room spin. We could no longer see where we were going. We couldn’t decipher the way. We sensed the Lord was asking us to move in a new direction, but we weren’t sure where. Or how. Or why. We were willing; but what about everything we had built? What about our vision? Our knees kissed the velvet pad of the kneeler at the foot of our bed—the same one we used in our wedding—and we prayed a most honest prayer. I cried a lot. We asked Jesus a lot of questions. Nothing was solved. No direct answers were given. Our struggles didn’t vanish. But we rose with confident hearts because we had laid down our own vision and asked the Lord to give us His. While our dreams were beautiful, holy, surrendered, and for God, they were still ours. And this time, we wanted His dreams for us, His vision, His plan, mission, and wisdom. Today’s First Reading encourages seeing what God sees and knowing what He knows. Israel is commended, and they are compared to the towering cedars. But why are the cedars impressive? Because they are planted by the Lord (Numbers 24:6). Balaam’s “eye is true” because he has embraced God’s vision. When we allow God to do the cultivating, we live in abundance (see Numbers 24:7). I want the ways of the Lord over my ways (see Psalm 25:4). That requires deeper surrender, greater trust, and more profound humility. Maybe your vision is blurred right now. Maybe you’ve lost your way, and you’re waiting for the Lord to teach you His paths. Let’s lay down our vision in exchange for His. Let’s be enraptured, with eyes unveiled, to see what the Almighty sees. [bctt tweet="Let’s lay down our vision in exchange for His. // @to_the_heights" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Consider this surrender novena to begin the process of letting His vision guide you.

My eyes darted between the descending steps and the sweeping sunset as I skipped toward the bus and away from the archbasilica. An exhale forced a surrendered smile as I tried to file away every beautiful, glorious detail of Saint John Lateran Archbasilica in Rome whose dedication we celebrate today. The interior of the building itself was overwhelming, but what I really wanted to commit to memory was the fact that it is my home parish. It's yours, too. Saint John Lateran houses the cathedra, or seat, of the Roman bishop, who is also the Holy Father and shepherd of the entire Catholic Church. This amazing archbasilica, then, is every Catholic's home parish, no matter where we actually call home. And while it may seem odd to have a feast day dedicated to the dedication of a building, like most things in Catholicism, the roots spread deeper. In today's Second Reading of 1 Corinthians 3:10, Saint Paul reminds us that the foundation of everything is Jesus Christ. As Christians, whatever we build—be it a ministry or family or business or building—ought to be wrought on the foundation of God and His Church. He is the sturdy cornerstone. And it's from the foundation of His Heart that living water flows and gives life (see First Reading). Saint John Lateran stands as a reminder to all the faithful that we are one Church built on the foundation of Jesus Christ. From across the globe, we are united because He is the One Shelter. And He is the One Who produces fruit and raises up (see John 2:19). What are you building with your life right now, grand or hardly noticed? Take inspiration from the feast of your home parish in Rome: build it upon Christ. Let Him be the Designer and the Craftsman. [bctt tweet="He is the sturdy cornerstone. // @to_the_heights" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Learn more about this gorgeous church.

This time, the scroll through my phone was intentional. I was looking for old photos—specific ones—to add to a separate folder on my smartphone. My desire was to collect memories of the moments when God proved to be faithful. Of course, He is always faithful. But in this particular season, I needed to be concretely reminded of the big ways He has shown up for my family throughout the years. In this moment, my heart was shattered, and my mind scattered, like in today's Gospel, Luke 11:15-26. We had taken several big steps in faith at the Lord's beckoning, yet our world seemed to be crumbling around us. We were confused and weary, waiting for the Lord to fulfill His promises. We prayed for faith like Abraham in the First Reading, and I clung to evidence of God's provision throughout our lives. So I scrolled through my photos for visual reminders of God's fidelity: a baby born after a difficult pregnancy; a graduation after laborious years of sacrifice; opportunities for rest after arduous seasons; material provision in the face of financial insecurity; and mission-minded community when I felt most alone. Like a desperate detective, I searched for the fingerprints of God. And square by square, year by year, I was reminded that we had been in this spot before. Exhausted. Uncertain. Scared. And we had cried out to God, held fast to the Word and to one another, and waited in faith for our mighty God to move. He always moves. He always remembers. "The Lord will remember his covenant forever" (Psalm 111:1). He remembers His promises forever. He is faithful forever. Even when we forget. Even when we are not faithful. God remains and remembers. If you're in a similar season—worn out by your wonderings and weary of your wounds—ask the Lord to help you to remember His covenant. Remember the times when you witnessed the power of His works and give thanks with all your heart (see Responsorial Psalm). His faithfulness is from generation to generation, and our hope is often born from remembering that very truth. He always remembers. Will we? [bctt tweet="He is faithful forever. // @to_the_heights" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion This scholar writes and teaches on "covenant theology"—have you read about it?

“God created the pink ones because He knows it’s your favorite color,” I whispered to my daughter before she twirled amongst the flowers. We were visiting our local botanical gardens for the annual blooming of the daylily fields. Sprawling patches of blooms dazzled me, I couldn’t take it all in as quickly as I desired. The varieties were overwhelming—bold and muted colors, solid and patterned petals. And the scent! I wished I could build a small house right in the middle of it all. An interesting fact about this variety of daylily is that the flowers only bloom for a single day, hence the name. The flowers open in the morning, bask in their beauty throughout the day, and then close, never to open again. There’s something poetic about this natural order. After all, the life of the daylily bloom is a micro-illustration of our own lives. Instead of chasing after that which the First Reading defines as “vanities” (Ecclesiastes 1:2), what if we were to spend our lives as the daylily? What if we took full advantage of the one life we’ve been given? What if we spent our days here stretched toward the heavens, completely open to all we encounter, displaying the beauty and love of our Creator? What if we truly “numbered our days” (see Responsorial Psalm 90:12) and lived in the wisdom of the Holy Spirit? After I sufficiently stopped my kids from their attempts to pick the flowers, I ushered them out of the gardens. I took one more look behind me and thanked the Father for giving us the daylily as a reminder of His kindness. I want to live my life in a similar fashion, shouting for joy and gladness all my days (see Responsorial Psalm 90:14). May vanity, toil, labor, and fear never keep us from radiating the magnificence and brilliance of the Creator. [bctt tweet="What if we took full advantage of the one life we’ve been given? // @to_the_heights" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Learn more about flowers and their symbolism in Catholicism.

Marriage has taught me the art of a humble, sincere apology. Even more, the art of humble, sincere forgiveness. Not many people require my endless forgiveness or my endless repentance. But the person who sees my most authentic self, the one with whom I live, with whom I build my life, with whom I strive for Heaven? I find countless moments that require apologies and forgiveness. The type of mercy Jesus refers to in today’s Gospel (Matthew 18:21–19:1)—mercy given freely and without delay—is only possible by His grace. Asking for forgiveness over and over again requires humility. When I unintentionally hurt my spouse, I come face-to-face with my sinfulness. But to run from my brokenness would be to run from reconciliation. So the Lord invites me to humble myself in the midst of my mess, to ask forgiveness, and to seek healing. On the flip side, the act of forgiving is also only possible by the grace of God. To be unintentionally wronged by the one I love is painful. But in His own merciful love, Jesus grants me the grace to be “moved with compassion” (Matthew 19:1). In these moments, when my husband and I approach one another, sorry and sad, we hug and beg, “Be patient with me” (Matthew 18:21). God is a patient and generous teacher (see Alleluia). He has given us His Word, and the eyes with which to see and the ears with which to hear (see Ezekiel 12:2). And His Word tells us that the path to lasting peace and reconciliation is humility, repentance, and forgiveness. When we truly forgive one another, we give the world a glimpse of the merciful love of God. I have the blessing of living and learning this alongside the person I love most. Forgiving and seeking forgiveness both require humility and bravery, honesty and action, sincerity and resolve. Only by His grace is this truly possible and, thankfully, He gives it freely. listen to today’s devotion [bctt tweet="When we truly forgive one another, we give the world a glimpse of the merciful love of God. // @to_the_heights" username="blessedisshe__"] Who can you share it freely with today, sister?