He brings it up again during Adoration. The nudge, the call. Jesus has been tenderly stoking a near-absent fire in my heart. It once blazed, providing warmth and light, releasing sparks that rivaled the stars. And then I got burned. So I squelched the fire with buckets of doubt and disappointment. I left the fire, ashamed, embarrassed, and confused. And now, years later, Jesus reminds me that He is content to remain around the ashes, stoking the coals. Today’s First Reading recounts a prophecy to God’s chosen people, the Israelites, during their exile. They’d been driven from the land to which God had brought them. Hopes and dreams rested in this Promised Land. And then it was burned. Being forced from their homes, they caravanned with doubt and disappointment. They were ashamed, embarrassed, and confused. Through His prophet, God speaks a word of encouragement to His people. He doesn’t relent on the call He placed on His beloved. The Lord promises that He will “raise up its ruins, and rebuild it” (see Amos 9:11). I can hear the people’s responses in my head because they are my own. Ok, Lord, since that worked out so well the last time. It’s not even worth it. Can we just forget it? Yeah, right. But the Lord doubles down on His promise, reinforcing that what He’s kindled in them would last. He tells them that they will enjoy the wine from the grapes they plant and eat the fruit of the gardens they sow from seeds (see First Reading). This is imagery of both abundance and longevity. What fires are dying in your heart today? On what promises is God doubling-down? Hear the peace He speaks to you (see Responsorial Psalm). Let Him fan the embers. listen to today’s devotion [bctt tweet="The Lord doubles down on His promise. // @to_the_heights" username="blessedisshe__"] Spend time before the Lord in the Blessed Sacrament on livestream today.

Truly encountering Jesus in the Eucharist leaves one changed. It left me changed. A lifelong Catholic, I first encountered Christ in the Eucharist, as a Person, when I was sixteen. I was at a youth retreat, and the Eucharist was exposed for Adoration in the monstrance. That weekend, the Eucharist kept catching my attention. My heart shifted, never to return to its former construction. Like the stubborn and forgetful Israelites in today's First Reading, it took me a bit longer to intend to keep His commandments, but I never forgot the way He looked at me with love. His eyes followed me through the years I struggled to determine what was missing in my already-lovely life. Every once in a while, I would sneak into Eucharistic Adoration and sit with Him. And when I allowed myself to look back at Him, I truly saw that, without Him, I merely wandered in the desert, starving and longing (see Deuteronomy 8:3). Jesus in the Eucharist is still changing me. All these years later, the Eucharist remains the source of my joy. When I’m wrestling with uncertainty, lack of hope, pain, fear, loneliness, or fatigue, I know to run to Him. In His Eucharistic presence, “truth away the shadow chases, light dispels the gloom of night” (see Sequence). Despite our wandering, our forgetfulness, and our desire to rely upon ourselves, the Lord remains with us in the Blessed Sacrament. Like some of the disciples, after hearing the words of Jesus in today’s Gospel in John 6, we might leave Him. But He never leaves us. Even to this day. Even still. Today, Jesus is present to you under the guise of bread and wine. He is looking at you with love. Will you allow Him to catch your attention? [bctt tweet="Truly encountering Jesus in the Eucharist leaves one changed. It left me changed. // @to_the_heights" username="blessedisshe__"] Listen to this beautiful hymn to allow your heart and mind to be raised to God in full adoration of Him.

The cranked-up bass matched the thumping in my head. Two strangers too-comfortably flanked me as my friends passed red solo cups between them across the room. The haze of cigarette smoke and guilt settled within me. It was the last party I attended before I left for my freshman year of college, and I knew everything was about to change. For the better part of the past two years, my heart had been divided against itself into "two kingdoms." Part of my heart dwelt with the Lord—I was His people and He was my God. The other part of my heart was defiled with idols, abominations, and transgressions (see Ezekiel 37:22, 23, 27). The division was destroying me, and I decided to "cast away all the crimes you have committed" (see verse before the Gospel). I was about to depart for a new life in a far-away town at a tiny Catholic college. I was journeying toward the Promised Land, but it would require my feet to move. That night, amidst layered regret and exhaustion, I resolved to live differently. But it was really the Good Shepherd Who was gathering my dispersed heart. When I finally put myself under the rule of Jesus Christ rather than the rule of the world, I experienced the peace, joy, and gladness today’s readings promise. Now, these many years later, my heart still threatens the occasional civil war. But I know what kind of King and Shepherd Jesus is. He ransoms and redeems. And just as He gathered the scattered nation of Israel, He gathers every single corner of our scattered hearts. [bctt tweet="I was journeying toward the Promised Land, but it would require my feet to move. // @to_the_heights" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today's devotion This striking statute of Jesus as the Good Shepherd gives us a real sense of Him scooping us up. Olivia Spears lives in Kentucky where the sweet tea and bourbon flow like milk and honey. She is the Blog Manager for Blessed is She and shares weekly tips for prayer and Catholic living. She likes to binge novels and Netflix while raising her children and laughing with her husband. She is a contributing author to our children's devotional prayer book called Rise Up. You can find out more about her here.