“Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there also will my servant be.” // John 12:26 “Why can’t Daddy sit with us during Mass like everybody else’s dad?” I asked my mom who tried to calm my frustration and quiet down my voice. Sitting in the pew each Sunday growing up felt like something was missing—no, someone. My dad was with us at Mass so he wasn’t actually missing. But he was up serving at the altar and that meant he was not with us. It would take me many years to learn the real beauty of my father’s role as a deacon, servant of Christ and His Church. And that, in fact, he was with us. As a deacon, each of his thirty years of service has been—whether willfully or not so willfully, at times—an experience of growing in loving service. When I spent time with my dad in his more humble ministry tasks—whether it was picking up the papers left behind after Mass, ungluing the gum off the bottom of pews, preparing the liturgical books and the altar, or patiently practicing the Gospel reading in English with him—I, too, was learning what it means to serve. The diaconate is an active preparation of learning. As he lays prostrate before the consecration by the bishop during the liturgy of the Sacrament of Holy Orders, the soon-to-be deacon manifests in his body the posture of heart that is required for this service. He lays cruciform: arms outstretched, open-handed, head touching the ground. He must learn to be as Christ on the Cross, like He Who was Servant of all. It is no wonder then that Saint Lawrence, whom we celebrate this day, was not only a deacon but also a martyr. I can imagine that for Lawrence, each moment of his life was a school of servanthood. From the baptisms, to feeding the hungry, from instructing the faithful, to assisting at the Eucharistic table, he was being prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice of his life as he learned to serve. Let us pray this day, sister, for the deacons who serve the Church and may we learn from them to live in humble, loving service. May we follow You, Lord, and learn to love and serve You, all of our days. Saint Lawrence, pray for us. Amen. [bctt tweet="May we learn to live in humble, loving service. // Rocio Hermes" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

For in you the orphan finds compassion. // Hosea 14:3 My friend walked me to the back of the hospital to a small room with blue walls. There I met an orphan named Yakob. He was abandoned as a baby for being HIV positive. Now this teenage boy was diagnosed with Leukemia. My heart sank into my chest, and I tried to hold back tears as my eyes met his frail stature. He was weakened from his double sickness and therapy. He didn’t say much. I returned daily to be with him, and I noticed he was eating less and losing his vision. His speech became increasingly slurred. He could still pray the Our Father and the Hail Mary though—his words became almost incomprehensible to the unaccustomed listener. But he was praying. And I believe the Lord was listening. For the next two weeks my heart expanded in compassion for Yakob in a way I did not know possible. I argued with the doctors. I fought for him as if he were mine. I had no idea it would be my last night with Yakob but as I said goodbye one evening, I told him in Amharic that I loved him. I blessed him and left. He died in the early hours of the next morning. We sang and prayed for him and buried him in a plot of land designated for the orphans. My heart was filled with compassion for a boy I had met mere weeks beforehand. How much more did the Lord love him and have compassion for him? What I felt was only a small trickle of the outpoured love and mercy of the Father towards His beloved children. That I could be at his bedside, hold him, and love him was only an act of the Lord’s mercy towards Yakob. He had Yakob in mind; He had not abandoned him. The Lord fights for us, sisters. He remembers us. We are not orphaned or abandoned even if mother or father should forget us (see Psalm 27:10; Isaiah 49:15). Even if you feel lonely today, I invite you to believe this truth deeply and help others experience this compassion and love of our God. [bctt tweet="We are not orphaned or abandoned. // Rocio Hermes" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

“Enter through the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the road broad that leads to destruction.” // Matthew 7:13 I am a wide-hipped girl. So when Our Lord tells me, “Enter through the narrow gate,” my first thought is: how in the world am I going to fit through there? Thankfully, my hips are not an impediment. But my pride, my self-reliance, my laziness, and my conformism are. When I was younger and a brand-new disciple, I thought the narrow way only meant one thing: intense self-denial. I read the lives of the Saints and wanted to imitate their penances while forgetting one very important fact: I was Rocio, not the Saint I was reading about. So instead of leading me closer to Jesus, my pride was taking me on a merry-go-round by this newfound penitential life. Then I finally began reading Saint Thérèse’s Story of A Soul. And oh! how it irked me. How could things be so simple? My self-reliance on the path to holiness was turned on its head as I welcomed Thérèse as a teacher. The narrow gate was more than a list of penances and recited prayers—as beautiful and necessary as those are. The narrow gate, I was beginning to learn, is Jesus. Today, the Church celebrates the feast of a man who died at the young age of twenty-three, Saint Aloysius Gonzaga. Thérèse died at twenty-four. These two young people, much younger than I am now, they got it! They found and loved the narrow way. It is said that Aloysius spoke the Holy Name as his first word in this life and as his last word on his deathbed (source). He knew that Jesus was the narrow road by which he was to travel into eternity. As our society allures us with the promise of comfort, acceptance, and easy-living, may we allow the Holy Spirit to make us non-conformists, displeased with the broad road and ever in search of the narrow way: Jesus, “the way, the truth, and the life” (John 14:6). My prayer for you today is that like Aloysius and Thérèse, you desire to find the narrow path and recommit your lives to this “road that leads to life” (Matthew 7:14). [bctt tweet="Find the narrow path. // Rocio Hermes" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

Jesus said to them, “Come, have breakfast.” // John 21:12 There are moments in life when we find ourselves as Peter did in the aftermath of the crucifixion: lost, confused, unsure of what to do next in the light of recent events. Peter goes back to fishing. The verses that follow are almost an exact mirroring of the first encounter between Peter, the unsuccessful fisherman, and Jesus the Teacher, telling him to go out for a catch one more time (John 21:5-7; Luke 5:1-6). More than the astounding catch, Peter’s surprise must have been to find Jesus already cooking some fish over a charcoal fire. Our Risen Lord then makes a very unique and particular invitation to these men that morning who had been out all night and were resigned to go home hungry: “Come, have breakfast” (John 21:12). In the moments when we are at our wits end with stress or knee-deep in the thick of laundry or sorrows and anxiety, sometimes all we need is for someone to make us a nice breakfast or our favorite comfort food to let us know “all will be well” and “I see you.” The Lord knows us and our needs so well, just as He knew well the men whom He called back to the shore that morning. Can you imagine, sister, the Lord coming to you, after a long night—the long nights in our lives of collapsed dreams, unsuccessful ministries, the death of loved ones, or unfulfilled desires—and hear Him saying to you the same three words He spoke to those men? Would you say yes? Or might you still be stuck on what happened yesterday, on the frustration of things not going as you thought it ought to go? I pray we would have the response of Peter: to bring in the fish—the labors of the day, the heartache and hardships—place them before Him, and sit with Him a while, already knowing He goes ahead of us to prepare a meal and invite us in to dine with Him (Revelation 3:20). As for me, I do love fish. [bctt tweet="Sit with Him a while. // Rocio Hermes " username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

I hear the whispers of the crowd, that frighten me from every side. // Psalm 31:13 I was always someone who was very aware of my surroundings. What are people saying? What do their gestures mean? As a sensitive person, I was also very affected by interactions that communicated rejection or dislike. So whether it was standing in line to pay for groceries and being met with a cold shoulder after joyfully saying, “Good afternoon!” or the guy I liked politely declining my openness to date him, or the friends becoming strangers because of differing political and moral views—oh, how it all stung! As Jeremiah in the First Reading (Jeremiah 18:18-20) heard the death threats against him, although they were only whispers, I tended to “hear” these statements and gestures of rejection as blaring declarations about who I am. These whispers spoke loudly into my identity. Yet the Lord in His mercy also spoke loudly in His whispers. And I began to listen to His voice over the voices in the crowd. In the moments of pain and hurt, I no longer weighed in on the opinion of others but on the Lord’s opinion of me. What was He saying? What was He doing and why? Although I can sometimes still get distracted by what other people are saying, my new focus is on the Lord and not on the crowd. As we are now in the middle of this second week of Lent, I invite you, sister, to place yourself as Jeremiah among his adversaries. Then place yourself near Christ as He is before the Sanhedrin and awaiting His conviction. Imagine that you also are hearing the deafening shouts from the crowd, demanding His crucifixion. What if they were demanding the same about you? In that moment—precisely amidst the voices and chanting of the crowd against you—do you hear the voice of the Father? Perceive His presence and His assurance right in the midst of that rejection as He calls you, “Beloved.” I challenge you, sister, to abstain this Lent from focusing on the voices of the crowd and lean in to hear what the Lord says about you. In the end, this is the only thing that matters. Let us pray with the psalmist: “But my trust is in you, O LORD; I say, “You are my God.” In your hands is my destiny; rescue me." [bctt tweet="It is the only thing that matters. // Rocio Hermes" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

You believe that God is one. You do well. Even the demons believe that and tremble. // James 2:19 How many times as a Catholic woman I have heard the phrase today from Saint James, “faith without works is dead” (James 2:26). I know in my bones that James is right; I have lived this experience year after year in my journey with the Lord. He is reminding us of the importance of the integration of our faith and our works: what we say and what we do. But today, what strikes my heart is his bold yet simple warning that although one may believe in God, he ought to remember that the demons also believe. That sounds like a controversial statement, perhaps. Yet, James’ passage can be summed up in this: what you believe and what you do must align as a Christian. A faith that is barren, without works, without a lived reality following up a profession of faith, results in us Christians being no better than the demons. Ouch! Anyone got a cooling cream for that burn? In the early years of my conversion, I struggled to align my heart and my actions. I went back to the Sacrament of Reconciliation bringing the same bag of sins to the confessional. I prayed for patience, but my actions proved differently. I prayed for chastity of body and heart, but my actions showed otherwise. Even still, there are situations and days where my faith and my works do not align. I say that I trust Jesus with everything, only to jump on the worry-boat all over again. I say that I want to bring others to know the great love of God, yet my tongue gets tied, and I grow silent in front of strangers or even long-time friends. So what marks the difference between Christians who believe in God and the demons who also believe? The actions that accompany our declaration of faith are what determine the validity and the authenticity of that belief. May we strive with holy perseverance, sister, to rid ourselves of duplicity that we may begin to truly live what we believe, even if it's one day at a time. [bctt tweet="Strive with holy perseverance. // Rocio Hermes" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

“¡Viva, Cristo Rey!” (Long live Christ the King!) I can almost hear him—sounding out these words with a full voice and a heart beating with conviction. Today we celebrate the feast of the brave Blessed Miguel Pro, just days after celebrating the Solemnity of Christ the King this past Sunday. I am often in awe of the great martyrs of the Church. I wonder how they could withstand all of the sufferings they underwent and remain faithful. Then I remember, as with the life of Padre Pro, and the many Saints and martyrs who have gone before him and are now resting in beatitude, crowned with life (Revelation 2:10), it begins with all of the little moments. The inconveniences, the small discomforts, the lack of certain foods or extra comforts—all of these things form part of the bigger picture. Sister, what if we were to take a step back, sit down, and look at our lives for a moment? Would we see our lives as a tapestry? Every moment interwoven with another, seemingly insignificant, yet when we take a look from the other side—from the Lord’s perspective—the beauty is astounding. The interwoven moments where time and eternity interpenetrate, where little victories produce endurance and form character, where fidelity in small matters wins for you the opportunity to do greater things. Do we see them? Each and every moment of your life, sister, is important. It is not wasted unless you deem it to be so. The diaper changing, the rolling out of bed in a bout of depression, the exercising, the working 9-to-5, the tongue-biting, the kind word, the showing up . . . it all matters. How we respond and live our day-to-day life will determine how we will respond and live in moments of deep hurt, betrayal, life-shattering news, and even death. We don’t have to wonder today how we might respond tomorrow. We begin today to live well, to say yes bravely to the little mishaps of the day, and there we meet the Lord Who lovingly awaits us, eager to open our eyes to the tapestry that is our lives. [bctt tweet="Say yes bravely. // Rocio Hermes" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

I walked into the first day of religion class at my Catholic high school. My eyes fell on the bulletin board at the back of the room. In bold, big letters I read the words of John Paul II: “It is Jesus, in fact, that you seek when you dream of happiness. . . . It is Jesus who stirs in you the desire to do something great with your lives” (Vigil, World Youth Day, August 2000). Those words pierced me to my depths and spoke to that part of my young heart that wanted more, that longed for greatness. Something caught fire in me—a conviction deep in my soul that I had not known before. That day, I became a daughter of John Paul II, although I had no idea at the time what sort of transformation and re-formation that would require. As a good father and shepherd feeds his sheep (John 21:17), so Pope Saint John Paul II followed me throughout my life, fed me with truth, and kept bringing me back to Jesus. He remained with me spiritually through all of the years of searching, wounding, breaking, and ultimately, healing. He continues to remain a close father and friend from Heaven. I believe he wants to be the same for you. On this, his feast day, dear sister, I invite you to ask Pope Saint John Paul II to be a father to you, to let him feed you and shepherd you to Jesus, to a deeper understanding of yourself and your call to true holiness. May he teach you to bring everything to Christ, in Whom you will discover your true identity. This will lead you to “adoration of God but also a deep wonder” at yourself (Redemptor Hominis, 10). It is there, in this place of encounter with the living God, where you will be transformed. You will look and see, directly before your eyes, “the Lord restoring Zion” (Isaiah 52:8). Lord of my life, give meaning to my sufferings, reveal to me my identity, and help me to see, right in front of me, how You are restoring and redeeming everything. [bctt tweet="Bring everything to Christ. // Rocio Hermes" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

I still remember the first time I joined my mother’s missionary group in the Dominican Republic. After full days of preaching, visiting the sick, and spending time with children at a parish-run nutrition center, some quiet time finally came around. We sat in silence on rocking chairs with the breeze that rustled through the trees coming through the openings of the gated balcony. The silence was broken into by the weeping of a grown man. He wept holding his head in his hands, moved with pity by the suffering around us. He was filled with the gnawing questions that often accompany service to the poor: Why do I have what I have? Why have I been blessed with clothes, food, a roof over my head, and a well-paying job? Why me and not them? As he shared his heart with us amidst his groans, we, who sat there with him, also began to cry. Today the Church celebrates the memorial of Saint Vincent de Paul. He was born in France to a poor family and was captured and sold into slavery a few years after being ordained to the priesthood. After his escape, he dedicated his life to the poor. Maybe Saint Vincent also cried tears of grief at the suffering of the poor like we did that afternoon. After all, he knew very well what it meant to be “least” among his countrymen (source). One thing is certain, Vincent did not stay seated. He responded—not with void words but with actions full of charity. You and I, sister, are invited by Jesus in today’s Gospel to look for the least among us and receive them in His name (Luke 9:48). How will we respond? Perhaps we will first weep. Yet, may our tears lead us to seek change, to give of ourselves, to be generous with our finances, to get out of our comfort zone and make that call or sit with that person who needs some company. Saint Vincent de Paul, help us and accompany us so that we may receive Jesus when we love and serve the least among us. [bctt tweet="Receive them in His name. // Rocio Hermes" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

Of the many moments in Scripture where the Lord’s response was on point and silencing to His accusers, this last question of today’s Gospel is a true “mic-drop.” The Lord asks me, as He asks you, “Are you envious because I am generous?” (Matthew 20:15) The simple answer is yes. I have been in ministry since my reversion to the faith when I was a teenager. The amount of pride mixed with lots of hormones and hang-ups in me led to loads of judgment and grumbling against the Lord and His blessings towards others. I questioned how and why everyone around me seemed to be blessed with opportunities, relationships, good looks and subsequent compliments more than me. I wondered why I did not have more things to boast of than others. “I started following You, Lord,” I reasoned. “So why is everything not going perfectly well for me?” Sister, at times, following Christ is not what we think it will mean: that everything will go well and will go our way all the time. This is, at least, what I had believed. I had no idea how much I was missing the mark. My daily wage for laboring in the kingdom was not to be material gain, external praise, or the fulfillment of a false promise that everything would go well in my life. My daily wage, my gain, my portion was and continues to be the Lord Himself. It took me a long and arduous road to realize that the Owner of the vineyard is Himself the blessing. He is the reward. His Presence is the rain that comes to fall on us and fill our cup after a long day of work, bearing the “day’s burden and the heat” (Matthew 20:12). Sister, He is the blessing. May He gladden you with the joy of His face (Psalm 21:6)! Think on your blessings today. [bctt tweet="He is the reward. // Rocio Hermes" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

I was drenched in sweat. I had a veil around my face, gardening gloves on my already naturally clammy hands, a pinned-up postulant dress and high socks in the middle of the summer’s heat. My one task: remove the weeds that had taken deep roots on a patch of ground in the backyard. After hours of pulling, digging, sweating, and silence, I was finally finished, and it was so satisfying. I can fully understand the desire of the servants to simply “go and pull them up” (Matthew 13:28). How bad could it be? We can do this by our own strength and according to our own wisdom, right? The Lord’s gentle but firm answer in the parable was a “no.” He commanded them to “[l]et them grow together” (Matthew 13:30). Although we may not understand why He doesn’t just uproot the weeds and allow the wheat to grow freely, the Lord has His reasons. He says, “[I]f you pull up the weeds, you might uproot the wheat along with them” (Matthew 13:29). His concern, then, is for you, for me. The Lord is wise, and He does not rush the process. We must allow the presence of the weeds in our hearts, in the Church, and in the world to be a persistent reminder that we are not yet harvested (Matthew 13:30). And that means, sister, there is still time. Time for you and me to change our lives, to be converted, to start again with renewed vigor, to allow the Lord to work the soil in our lives—and through us—plant more seeds, so that there can be more wheat for the final harvest. If you, like me, are anxious about the state of the world, our Church, or a situation in your life, turn to Him. Be encouraged, sister. The Lord is always at work (John 5:17) even when we cannot see immediate change. We can be confident that He will finish the work that He started (Philippians 1:6). The Lord of the Harvest is untiring. [bctt tweet="He does not rush the process. // Rocio Hermes" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

Almost a year and a half ago, I received a startling message that a dear friend had been in a horrible car accident and was in the hospital. Caleb was one of my first friends in Addis Ababa. He was a mover, the kind of person who has the charisma to envision things and also get them done. He was passionate about Jesus and the Gospel. When a call to prayer was made for this thirty-one-year-old follower of Jesus who lay almost lifeless in a coma, you better believe many prayers were prayed. Even people who hadn’t prayed before were praying! The week of prayer ended in sadness and confusion as we received the news that Caleb had passed. We had faith like Jairus and boldness like the hemorrhaging woman in today’s Gospel. We prayed because we knew that the Lord did not make death, “nor does He rejoice in the destruction of the living” (Wisdom 1:13). And yet, our prayers did not result in a miracle. At least, not an immediate one that could be seen and palpated on this side of Heaven. With this in mind, I write today for the mothers, sisters, friends, and even strangers who have prayed for miracles yet saw nothing like what Saints Peter, James, and John saw that day (Mark 5:37-43). For all those who are mourning their unanswered prayers, I write for you. To you who do not see but believe (John 20:29), the Lord sees you (Genesis 16:13). He cares for you (1 Peter 5:7). To the ones who have learned to pray humbly and boldly, while remembering that the Lord’s ways are better and higher (Isaiah 55:8-9), that He cannot be manipulated by our prayers but that He remains sovereign over all (see 1 Chronicles 29:10-12), you are a light to all of us. Your faith is beautiful. May you continue trust that He will make the dawn shine on your nights of weeping. He will surprise you in your mourning with some much needed dancing (Psalm 30:5, 11). Sister, don’t stop following Him. It is all worth it. [bctt tweet="It is all worth it. // Rocio Hermes" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion  

A huge misunderstanding unfolded. My limited Amharic (language spoken in Ethiopia) did not help me this time. I angrily yelled at the taxi driver for charging lots more than we had established just a few minutes before. My roommate sat next to me, stunned at the anger and stern voice that belted out of me. Finally, someone in the crammed minivan spoke up and explained to me in English that I had misunderstood the deal. I welcomed his clarification and quieted down although I did not fail to roll my eyes and keep a curve in my brow the rest of the ride to Mass. Maybe this frustration was a little echo of what those in the temple felt with Jesus. He came in with a whipping cord, spilling coins, and overturning tables. All He responded when asked for an explanation was, “Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up” (John 2:19). Can anyone blame them for thinking Jesus was talking about the actual temple building? I can definitely follow their logic on that one. They had misunderstood Jesus and questioned Him, as I had the taxi driver in Ethiopia. Those in the temple were talking about the building which took more than Jesus’ earthly life to build (John 2:20). Our Lord, on the other hand, was speaking of His body which He would go on to lay down on the Cross and raise up again in order to reveal to us the Father’s love. The Lord knows us, though. He knows our relationships and interactions are often plagued with misunderstandings and a not-so-ready-to-admit-wrongs kind of attitude. He is patient. As we are now dead-center in the Lenten season, it’s easy to be hard on ourselves for everything we are failing to do. Perhaps we can give ourselves some grace, knowing that the Lord gets us. He stands ready to help us undo our pride and to clarify what we have not understood rightly about Him, the world, or ourselves. Remember, sister, He understands us well (John 2:25). *Gospel Reading for Year B [bctt tweet="He understands us well. // Rocio Perez " username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Have you experienced a misunderstanding this Lent that you'd like to rectify? Take the time to do that now.  

There we were, in my parents’ backyard which was also the backyard of our church. The band was on the wooden stage built for summer worship gatherings just like this one, and our invited guest was preaching boldly. He prayed that we might enter into a deeper freedom in worship and pray in new ways. He called for anyone who wanted to be prayed over. I thought myself humble enough to go forward—as an example, of course. So, there I knelt awaiting my prayer. As the preacher hovered his hands over my head, my face hit the ground faster than I could say “Amen” or “No, thanks!” or anything really. I was used to praying comfortably—sitting, standing, or kneeling in a pew with a cushioned kneeler. But there I was down on the dirt, flat on my face, and all I could do was worship. The Lord was moving and speaking in that make-shift backyard church, amid the grass, crickets, and fireflies. We were awe-stuck by His sudden visitation. As I prayed in a new way, the words of the prophet Malachi resounded in my body that night, “Who can stand when He appears?” (Malachi 3:2) I can imagine that Simeon and Anna felt something even greater. They waited in the temple day after day for the promised Christ. Their elation must have been great as they saw Joseph and Mary bring in the Child Jesus. Simeon took Jesus in his arms, blessed God, and prayed in a new way (Luke 2:28-32). Maybe we are praying for something. Perhaps it is time we pray in a new way—less comfortable, more God-centered, and less about having our way. Sister, let us worship as we wait. Do we see the Lord coming into the temple to meet us as we gather for prayer and liturgy? Are we here for His visit? May we open our eyes to see that He is coming, that He is teaching us a new way to pray, and that somehow, He is also already here. His salvation has come. [bctt tweet="Let us worship as we wait. // Rocio Perez " username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion As you prepare to enter into new prayer this Lent, consider joining thousands of women in doing our Lent devotional book, Set a Fire.

We signed the papers, and it was official. As we walked outside to the surprise of rain and a champagne toast on the sidewalk, Peter and I were now civilly married (a courtesy of German law that calls for a separate ceremony from our sacramental wedding). One of the implications of this simple, thirty-minute act that took place in a Berlin courthouse was that I now had a right to Peter’s inheritance. What belonged to Peter, passed down to him by his father, was now mine as well. As beloved sons and daughters of God, we, too, have an inheritance. What belongs to Christ—that which was given to Him by His Father—now belongs to us. The most relevant gift is the love that has been eternally given and received between the Father and the Son: the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit was promised to us by Christ when we were reminded that we would never be orphaned (John 14:18), that we would never be alone (John 14:16), and that we would be abundantly cared for and remembered (Luke 12:7). To know what belongs to us is to know our identity as sons and daughters of the very best Father; one we could not have dreamt up. This inheritance became ours on the day of our Baptism as Peter’s became mine on the day of our civil marriage. Whether we were tiny babies or grown up big kids on that glorious day of our Baptism, our memory of what happened (or the lack of it) does not affect God’s memory of us. We have not escaped His notice. The Lord sees us, even those parts of us that we are ashamed of: the secrets we wish could stay hidden and the dark places we pray would not see the light of day. Yet, for these moments especially, the Holy Spirit was gifted to us. He is the ever-present memory of all of the Father’s goodness and intentions revealed to us in Christ. May we remember often our inheritance, sisters, and live from our identity that we may exist “for the praise of His glory” (Ephesians 1:12). [bctt tweet="We have not escaped His notice. // Rocio Perez" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Let us pray the Come, Holy Spirit prayer together as a community today.