The sun had not even risen yet and I was already rolling my eyes. I am never less patient than when I am about to go through security at Reagan National Airport in Washington, DC. I could not place whether the resentment building up inside of me was because I had not had my coffee yet or because Thanksgiving was just not that fun anymore. I would fly across the country to face friends from home who do not really get it, the ritual argument over which parent I will be staying with, and the many essays still due by the end of break. As I made my way through the airport, I attempted to console my dreadful mood with thoughts of mashed potatoes. When I sat down at my gate, flustered by the inadequate airport coffee options, I felt the Father come in close and whisper in my heart: “Respond to your resentment with gratitude.” Deep breath in. Thank You, Jesus, for a life covered in blessing. Thank You for our love story, Thank You for Your Cross. Thank You for community that loves me well. Thank You for this time to be with my family. Thank You for the gift of my education. Thank You for my health and safety, for the opportunity of each breath, and even for this mediocre coffee. It was maybe thirty seconds, but I felt my gratitude cut through the cloud of complaints that had robbed me of a joyful morning. I closed my eyes and worshipped just like today's Thanksgiving Day reading Psalm, until we boarded, knowing He is good and true, and that my worries were no match for His generosity. Sister, if you're in the United States, Happy Thanksgiving. For all of us, if this day stirs up chaos or worry for you, let it be a full offering to King Jesus. May He have a seat at our tables, invite us into deep encounter, and harvest new gratitude in us. "May he grant you a wise heart and abide with you in peace" (Sirach 50:23). [bctt tweet="Thank You, Jesus, for a life covered in blessing. // @sarahericksonn" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion May His blessing be upon you.

I gathered my belongings off the cobblestone and started my walk to the train station. As I gallivanted solo through the streets of the south of France, I was so thankful Jesus had arranged this trip for me, en route to Lourdes. I looked up ahead and noticed a gathering of French law enforcement officers standing around, made a mental note, and carried on scrolling through my feed. Before I could look up again, I heard a metal canister hit the ground, and I found myself in a cloud of tear gas. I had unknowingly approached the perimeter of a massive riot. As I started to feel burning from the inside out, I locked eyes with the responsible officer who was beating members of the crowd with a club. Weaving through the long line of military tanks, I was able to find a way to clean air and rinse my eyes in a nearby canal. I woke up the following day in Lourdes, and I could still smell the tear gas on my burned hands. Today’s First Reading strangely reminded me of that dark, violating smell. “Be imitators of God, as beloved children, and live in love, as Christ loved us and handed himself over for us as a sacrificial offering to God for a fragrant aroma” (Ephesians 5:1-2). That morning, I washed my hands in the water at the grotto. The panic I was still holding onto became my great offering. The lingering smell of chemicals rose as incense, as I lifted the darkness of the memory to Jesus. The memory of the violent crowd was redeemed by the stability of the sanctuary in front of me. I experienced deep, unspoken healing as I handed myself over, and allowed this weird moment of my history to become a meaningful part of my life offering. Sister, what is the fragrant offering of your life today? [bctt tweet="The panic I was still holding onto became my great offering. // @sarahericksonn " username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Jesus, I offer You the fullness of our lives today, that we would entrust You with every experience of fear and anxiety, that our stories would become a fragrance for Your glory.

I skipped class, curled up in my flannel sheets, and consoled my despair with a latte when the Lord put today’s Gospel (Luke 5:1-11) on my heart. One thing that stung about my break-up was the amount of work I felt I had put into the relationship, and how none of it seemed to matter now. All the months of posturing, orchestrating, and pining only led to this tired, empty-handed moment of disappointment. I thought, "Lord, how could this have happened? I did all the right things." "Master, we have worked hard all night and have caught nothing, but at your command I will lower the nets" (Luke 5:5). I wept reading Saint Peter’s response that morning. I could hear the deep frustrations of my own heart echoed in his words. Lower my nets for a catch? Don’t you understand that I have been here all night? Don’t you see how hard I have worked? Don’t you see my exhaustion? Still, Peter lowers the nets, and they are so overwhelmed with fish they begin to tear. Just when I begin to think the Lord does not truly see my worries and disappointments, I am reminded He understands me perfectly. When I start to think maybe He will not come through for me, He shows up for me in generosity and abundance. When I allow myself to think there is no other way, He makes a way. Sister, what would it look like for you and I to put out into deep water, even when we have been staring at the empty net all night? How would our worship change if we remembered that Peter walks back to the shore with more than he ever could have asked for? Today, I invite you to press into the reality of a Jesus Who is actually that loyal. listen to today’s devotion [bctt tweet="He makes a way. // @sarahericksonn" username="blessedisshe__"] Jesus, we thank You for being the One Who always shows up for us, knows what we need before we do, provides with perfect abundance. Cover us in grace so that we could respond to Your call in obedience and trust.

When I turned 16, my friends threw me a surprise birthday party. I would never have planned anything myself because truthfully, I assumed it would burden others and I was the only one who really cared to celebrate. So, when I walked through the doors and was welcomed by the scream-singing of “Happy Birthday” by my dearest friends, I buried my face in my hands and felt the warmth of tears welling up. It seems silly, but I looked around at the decorations and the cupcakes, and I could not believe this was planned for me. The party was for me, yet I still could not believe I was invited, or that I was so cared for by my friends. I am reminded of this feeling when I read today’s Gospel, Matthew 22:1-14. I so often forget the space the Father is holding for you and me, this invitation to join Him at the heavenly banquet for all of time. I am cared for by the King of Kings, bewildered that He has planned this feast with the desire that I would join Him. I wonder about what it would be like to open the door and meet Him face-to-face. I can only imagine the song of celebration I would hear when I meet His gaze, realizing He has prepared for my arrival longer than I could have known. I would be reminded of how thoughtful of a friend He has been to me, in awe that I was invited to a Kingdom I felt I had no part in. There would be a warmth in the intimacy of His company, as I experience being perfectly loved and understood. Sister, that is the kind of friendship we are invited into forever. By today’s Gospel, we are given a glimpse into all that He is preparing for us, and I pray we will arrive in our best wedding garment. I pray we would spend a lifetime conscious of His sweet invitation, and that we we would arrive with eyes wide open and hearts surrendered. [bctt tweet="I am cared for by the King of Kings, bewildered that He has planned this feast with the desire that I would join Him. // @sarahericksonn" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Jesus, we await Your banquet.

This last season of my life has been marked by a great wave of personal disappointments. My relationship unexpectedly ended. My last semester of college was cancelled as classes went online and graduation was postponed. I was rejected from graduate schools. And there are surely still unknowns. Sometimes, I feel like I need to see results in order to believe the promises the Lord has spoken over my life. I attempt to negotiate with the Lord, attaching conditions to my faithfulness out of doubt and entitlement. I make vows with the lie that He must not really understand my desires, and that His plans could never be as good as mine. I replace prayer with fantasy, rejecting the submission I know is asked of me. “I will espouse you in fidelity, and you shall know the LORD” (Hosea 2:16). Perhaps this was not the last semester of college I had hoped for, but in today’s First Reading, I am reminded of the unwavering faithfulness of God. Sister, I do not know much about the promised land on the other side of the mountain, but I do know the Lord’s fidelity to me. If my life sings of any enduring truth, it is that He is faithful, and His commitment to me is never-ending. My testimony is covered in evidence that He is the Love that does not leave. I am led to remember there is no disappointment that the Lord has not redeemed, or empty space that the Lord has not filled with abundance. He is making all things new, working all things together for our good, and He will not miss a thing. His covenant to us is His closeness. We are espoused in the fidelity of God. listen to today’s devotion [bctt tweet="He is faithful. // @sarahericksonn" username="blessedisshe__"] Father, You are the Promise-Keeper, the faithful Messiah, the Love of our lives. We entrust to You the weight of our disappointment and the depths of our desert places as You make all things good and beautiful in Heaven’s timing.

My grandfather and I spent much of my childhood huddled around a magnetic drawing board completing arithmetic problems for fun. We would take breaks to eat nachos and waltz around the living room, where I got to stand on his feet as he showed me the way. Some days, he would recite Edgar Allen Poe’s poetry to me, or we would make an extravagant fort in the family room. With him as my most attentive teacher, I surely learned algebra, but I also learned lightheartedness, joy, and creativity. Even now as I waltz into my 20s, he is still teaching me all the things I did not know I needed to learn, and doing it ever so gently. Always anticipating my needs and available with wise advice, his care for me is a glimpse into today’s Gospel, Matthew 6:7-15. I often forget that Jesus loves us so much that He teaches us the linchpin of relationship with Him: prayer. When I read His words, I am called back to my inner child space, to sit in wonder and learn all the simple things again. He is letting me stand on His feet in the dance, teaching me how to pray to the Father by doing it first. It is all the advice I did not know I needed, or maybe thought I had outgrown. Still, He is bringing me back to the fundamentals like the Teacher He is, with patience in His eyes. It seems like I am learning the “Our Father” all over again, because within it, He is teaching me about His heart for me. He goes before me because He knows the way. He teaches me because He knows my needs. He wants to hear from me because He loves me. Jesus, I pray that You would continue to teach us how to pray, for You are the eternal Teacher. Relationship with You is everything. Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven. [bctt tweet="Jesus loves us so much that He teaches us the linchpin of relationship with Him: prayer. // @sarahericksonn" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Mediate on the words of the Our Father today.

A few years ago, perched on my lofted dorm room bed, I was scrolling through Instagram to find that the guy I spent nearly all my teenage years pining over was in a new relationship. I promptly descended into the rabbit hole of social media-stalking, looking for all the reasons I was better than her, so that I could send him a harshly worded message about why he was making the greatest mistake of his life. In my experience of rejection and abandonment, I did exactly that, and I will never forget his response: "You’re the most critical person I know." Not exactly the response I was hoping for. And it stung. Sister, I knew in a lot of ways, he was right. I have always had a sharp tongue and a decisive nature, and it has led me into more uncharitable moments than I can say. I am so concerned with being right, and being heard, that I fail to first turn to the Father with my thoughts. In today’s Gospel, we witness Jesus preach about how He does not speak on His own, but is entirely obedient to sharing the words of His Father. Jesus, perfect in all His ways, drew from the Father before using His own voice. An obedient, yet gentle Messenger, Jesus is constantly teaching us that His ministry only exists to build the Kingdom of God, to spread the Word of eternal life. His docility to the Father moves me to reflect on how I am using my own voice, both in person and through my phone, as each presents a different struggle for me. Am I using valuable community time with my friends to gossip? Have I submitted the full weight of my feelings and desires to the Father before typing them out and hitting send? Am I making this post to feel vindicated about something? How is my speech building the Kingdom and speaking to the faithfulness of God? Jesus, I pray that our words would only ever glorify You, that our platforms would become Yours, that You would inspire gentleness in us. Amen. [bctt tweet="Jesus, perfect in all His ways, drew from the Father before using His own voice. // Sarah Elizabeth" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion We aren't called to withdraw from social media as Catholics but bring forth the New Evangelization even into all things tech! Have you subscribed to the devotions or shared the subscription link with a friend? Sarah Elizabeth is a politics pre-law major at the Catholic University of America in Washington, DC. Born and raised in Arizona, she finds great joy in mountains, lattes, American history, and the piano. She is constantly discovering Christ's wild love in the little things.

Sister, I’m sure you are familiar with the all-too-common question: "How Catholic are you really?" I was once asked this on the first day of a new job by my supervisor. I was once asked on a date to rate how “Catholic” I was on a scale of one to ten. I have even been asked this by perfect strangers, in bars, on airplanes, and even waiting for my latte at a coffee shop. It is a question that sincerely bothers me because, while possibly well-intentioned, it fundamentally misses the point of the Faith. It is a question that assumes when I refer to myself as a Catholic, I have subscribed to a set of tidy rules and conclusions, from which I get to pick and choose. I feel like I am being asked to elaborate on to what extent I buy into a behavior modification system, instead of the deep, saving relationship I have with my loving Creator. When I reflect on the misunderstanding in these interactions, I am reminded of the relevance of today’s Gospel, which is the essence of the Good News we center our lives around. "God so loved the world that he gave his only-begotten Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life" (John 3:16). God so loved the world that instead of sending a message or an agenda, He sends His only-begotten Son, the One Who fights for us to the end. He sends a Messiah Who loves and restores perfectly, and somehow still desires eternal life with us. Christ the Light Who illuminates all darkness does not want to see you or I perish, even in the depths of our brokenness. Instead of condemnation, He offers redemption, and it changes absolutely everything. The gravity of His invitation invokes my wholehearted response. When asked about what kind of role the Faith plays in my life, I know the only honest answer is that it is all-consuming. I am truly saved by and bound to a Love I do not deserve, but One I will hold forever. [bctt tweet="He offers redemption, and it changes absolutely everything. // Sarah Elizabeth" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Want to talk about the Kerygma? Take a listen to our spiritual director. Sarah Elizabeth is a politics pre-law major at the Catholic University of America in Washington, DC. Born and raised in Arizona, she finds great joy in mountains, lattes, American history, and the piano. She is constantly discovering Christ's wild love in the little things.

For years, Instagram has been a space where I deposit my musings in prayer, and I have loved sharing the Lord’s faithfulness through every season. However, about a year ago, I felt the Lord asking me to withdraw from sharing for a time and calling me into hidden life with Him. I initially resisted, believing that it was all in the name of evangelization. Yet, I came to realize how often I had seen my prayer through the lens of what made "good content." So, I was increasingly challenged by the way my prayer looked when nobody knew about it, and when I could not exploit it for “likes” and validation. When all I wanted was to post my hot takes and feel vindicated, or publicly rejoice in the glory of a moment in prayer, I had to instead press into that secret place. And because of it, He and I developed an intimacy I will treasure forever. I laughed about today’s Gospel. Jesus tells Peter, James, and John who witnessed His Transfiguration that they are not to tell anyone about it until after He has risen. I can only imagine how it must have felt coming down the mountain, hopeful to tell the world about Who Jesus was, only to realize that nobody could know right now. I would have wanted to scream from the rooftops that the Nazarene they mocked was actually the Son of God. I would want people to be in awe of what I had seen. I would want to be right. And I would want to post about it on Instagram. Yet that was not Jesus’ style. It still isn’t. Sisters, I am more convinced than ever that Jesus wants the hidden life with us. He wants us to abandon our agenda for His faithfulness and take Him at His word. He wants to unravel work in our hearts that nobody will ever see. He wants to be with us in the secret, slow, and steady. He wants enduring intimacy. [bctt tweet="He and I developed an intimacy I will treasure forever. // Sarah Elizabeth" username="blessedisshe__"] Jesus, I entrust You with my desire to be known and heard. Sarah Elizabeth is a politics pre-law major at the Catholic University of America in Washington, DC. Born and raised in Arizona, she finds great joy in mountains, lattes, American history, and the piano. She is constantly discovering Christ's wild love in the little things.

I am not sure if you have had the chance to Taylor Swift’s most recent album, Lover, but there is one particularly disturbing track entitled "False God." It basically entails Swift proclaiming that even if her relationship is a false god, she will continue to worship it. When I first listened to it, I was taken aback by how explicitly she glorifies this relationship, even though she admits she knows it’s a false god. I was reminded of that feeling as I read today’s First Reading (1 Kings 11:4-13) where we see Solomon is worshipping and building high places for his idols. There is something so vivid and personal about this betrayal, as we know from Scripture that Solomon was wise and zealous for the Lord. In fact, we know that the Lord appeared to Solomon twice before this and forbade him from idol worship. Yet, Solomon follows his wives in burning incense and making sacrifices, a public manifestation of his reservation towards God, even though he knows His presence intimately. Sisters, I have recently felt like I witness this story unfold every day. In music like "False God," in the lives of women I love, and even in the lives of women I do not know, I wonder how we have come to romanticize our own self-destruction. How do we, like Solomon, end up building altars for idols that we know leave us disappointed? The antidote to my discouragement is that I worship the Jesus of today’s Gospel: the Nazarene, the Messiah, the One Who drives out demons. Everything changes when I remember He has power over all the falsehood and darkness in the world, and that He delights in saving us. My heart is consoled when I remember He is the King of Kings. There is no chain that He cannot break and no captivity He could not rescue us from. And there is truly no idol too strong for our God, the only worthy One. [bctt tweet="How do we, like Solomon, end up building altars for idols that we know leave us disappointed? // Sarah Elizabeth" username="blessedisshe__"] Pray with us today: Lord, we entrust this to You. Like David, may our hearts be entirely with You and for You. Sarah Elizabeth is a politics pre-law major at the Catholic University of America in Washington, DC. Born and raised in Arizona, she finds great joy in mountains, lattes, American history, and the piano. She is constantly discovering Christ's wild love in the little things.

Throughout my upbringing, I never knew authentic sisterhood. Beyond not having a sister, I switched schools often and never formed enduring friendships. I remember how once I got to high school people incessantly asked, “Who’s your Elizabeth?” in youth group—and truthfully, my answer was different every year. I had never seen a female friendship stick around long enough to know its true power, and I viewed this Gospel, Luke 1:39-45, as the cheesy reminder of “sisterhood” I may never know. It it surely redemptive to write this from the apartment I share with four women, all of whom take on my joy like it is their own. As I let today’s Gospel take root in my life, I am convinced that sisterhood is important to salvation history. In the way Mary travels to Elizabeth in haste, there is an urgency in which we are called to share His promise with each other. In Elizabeth’s celebration of Mary’s arrival, there is a grand call to recognize God's presence in each other. In Elizabeth’s blessing, there is an ongoing need to pray with and for each other. This Gospel is a truthful model of how our Blessed Mother took on the call of sisterhood, and I know that in today’s world, I need to cling to its message more than ever. Sisters, I am not sure what your community looks like at the moment. Maybe you do not feel like you have your “Elizabeth” and I have been there. Yet, I know by this Gospel that Jesus desires holy female companionship for our lives, and that He is keeping His word across generations. Like Mary and Elizabeth, I hope we can press into the knowledge that the Lord is fulfilling His promises to us, in the here and now. Even in the longing or unfinished, He is healing our wounds and breathing life into our relationships because the world needs the witness of our sisterhood. Holy Spirit, make Your home in our communities and rebuild our love for another, but most importantly, for You. [bctt tweet="Jesus desires holy female companionship for our lives. // Sarah Elizabeth" username="blessedisshe__"] Join a Blessed is She group, or start one. Invest in sisterhood today. Sarah Elizabeth is a politics pre-law major at the Catholic University of America in Washington, DC. Born and raised in Arizona, she finds great joy in mountains, lattes, American history, and the piano. She is constantly discovering Christ's wild love in the little things.

A few years ago, I found myself devastated by the collapse of a relationship that I had seen as the pinnacle of my identity. It had long been my source of affirmation and security, dramatically shaping the inner workings of my heart as a teenager. At the loss of my ex as my point of reference, I instead anchored my life in Jesus, and He completely transformed my worldview. When I look back at wide-eyed teenage Sarah, I am resentful of how much she could not see. Even after all this time, I still sometimes see myself as that girl, recklessly hopeful and determined to take on a narrative that was not hers. I struggle to separate out the “then” from the “now,” and to believe that the Lord has actually changed my life. As I tread in new waters as a young adult, I am beginning to grapple with how much of my life I still live through the lens of sixteen-year-old Sarah. Yet, Jesus says in today’s Gospel, "Rather, new wine must be poured into fresh wineskins" (Luke 5:38). Sisters, the Lord’s will for our lives right now cannot be sustained if we continue to believe this season is no different from the one before it. I am really starting to believe that the Lord has a lot to say about today, that my life is bearing worthwhile fruit now. I know that I have to release the past lens because when my process in prayer is limited by its scope, I miss out on the divine vitality stored in each present moment. I am not called to take today and filter it through old seasons, but let the Lord set beginnings in my life. In today’s Gospel, I am reminded that not only is He capable of changing my seasons, but capable of redeeming my outlook. [bctt tweet="I know that I have to release the past lens because when my process in prayer is limited by its scope, I miss out on the divine vitality stored in each present moment. // Sarah Elizabeth" username="blessedisshe__"] Jesus, I ask that we would be clarified by pouring into fresh wineskins, not letting past brokenness or wounds cloud the Father's brightness today. Renew our lenses with awareness and perspective so that we could receive fully and bear new fruit. Sarah Elizabeth is a politics pre-law major at the Catholic University of America in Washington, DC. Born and raised in Arizona, she finds great joy in mountains, lattes, American history, and the piano. She is constantly discovering Christ's wild love in the little things.

Through studying and working in political life, I encounter an overwhelming amount of people who worship politics. Obsessed with having the next “hot take,” they place their salvation in whoever wins the next election, left to despair when no elected official seems to be able to respond fully to the gravity of their desires. It is an unforgiving cycle when day after day, we turn to the news looking for an interior security that is only found in the word of God. Yet, in the midst of chaos and division, I am anchored in the truths of today’s First Reading. “I know their works and their thoughts, and I come to gather nations of every language; they shall come and see my glory” (Isaiah 66:18). Sisters, I am confident that the God of Isaiah intends to keep His word to us. There is only one Name Who can gather nations of every language. No promises compare to the promises of God, the One Who intimately knows our works and our thoughts. He is the only One Who ever fully took on our mess and our need; He is the only One Who can and ever will save us. Today’s First Reading is my reminder that discouragement does not deserve my heart like He does. I am invited to draw from the One Peace that endures. I’m not sure what this looks like for you, but for me, it means more face-to-face time with Jesus, taking breaks from Twitter, and joining the occasional dance party with my roommates when I get home from a long day at work. It is living this life as an offering where I consciously give over the heaviness to a Father Who desires to take it on Himself. I am most secured in the conviction that the name of Jesus has power over everything, every division or debate, and He is the most thoughtful Savior. [bctt tweet="He is the only One Who can and ever will save us. // Sarah Elizabeth" username="blessedisshe__"] Jesus, I pray that we would entrust You with our hopes and disappointments, and that You would re-fix our gaze on the promises of Your Kingdom. Sarah Elizabeth is a politics pre-law major at the Catholic University of America in Washington, DC. Born and raised in Arizona, she finds great joy in mountains, lattes, American history, and the piano. She is constantly discovering Christ's wild love in the little things. You can find out more about her here.

Recently, everyone has been asking about my college semester study abroad and I have struggled to find the right answer. After giving many variations of the same generic answer, I will be honest with you, sisters—I struggled. Spiritually, I felt this unprecedented pressure to come to the table having created something worthwhile. Perhaps it is the culture of social media I am so regularly immersed in, or the schoolwork I am always focused on, but this season did not feel productive. It should have been a semester of Instagram-worthy European adventures and abundant consolation, but I felt stretched most days. Every time I came to prayer, I confronted the fear that my life was not producing good fruit. Anxious that I was not doing or saying enough for the Kingdom, I was exhausted by all my attempts of striving to serve well. “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things. There is need of only one thing” (Luke 10:41-42). Yet amidst all of my chaos, I feel peace rush over me when I read those words. Abroad I felt consumed by the many things instead of the one. Called back to the feet of Jesus, my posture shifts and my frantic heart is brought to stillness by the tone of His voice. I am grounded in confidence that He is the Messiah of reassurance and enduring peace, unconcerned with my notions of productivity. Comforted by my Savior in our shared stillness, I become aware that He is the only One to bring me rest and consistency. I know the tendency to begin “doing,” but I am drawn to choose the better part today: that of simply “being.” Father, I ask that You would gift us with the spirit of Mary, and that we would rest at Your feet in confidence of Who You are. [bctt tweet="He is the only One to bring me rest and consistency." username="blessedisshe__"] Regard Our Lord's face in this painting of this moment from Scripture. Find rest and peace in Him, sisters. Sarah Elizabeth is a politics pre-law major at the Catholic University of America in Washington, DC. Born and raised in Arizona, she finds great joy in mountains, lattes, American history, and the piano. She is constantly discovering Christ's wild love in the little things.

I have a tendency to view myself as "too much." After being told that I feel or process with "too much" depth, or that I talk way "too much," I am aware that I have subconsciously internalized this image of myself as a lot to handle. In fact, the other day, I was having a conversation with my spiritual director about carrying shame because I felt like I had not fairly warned the people in my life about how messy I really was. My spiritual director gently stopped me and said, "Sarah, you are speaking like you are a liability when you are a gift." In today’s Gospel, Jesus is praying to the Father as He prepares to depart from His disciples, and He utters the most mind-boggling words. "Father, they are your gift to me" (John 17:24). Sisters, I am not sure about you, but I often struggle to see how my Creator sees me as a gift. His words move me at my core, and I recall all the seasons where I have forgotten my identity as a gift, instead thinking I am a burden or a liability. Yet, there is no lie that Jesus does not want to rescue us from. As women, this Gospel declares a special truth over our lives. We are reminded that the Messiah is not only a God Who loves us all the way to Calvary, but also really likes us. He is not annoyed with us, but likes us to the point of wanting eternity with us. It is astonishing to remember that He is not out of time for you and I. He never runs out of delight for us. He hopes we will share in His glory. He has never seen us as a liability or a burden, but is consistently unreserved in the way that He pursues our hearts. He spends some of His last earthly moments thanking His Father for us. [bctt tweet="He pursues our hearts." username="blessedisshe__"] Will you come on retreat with us this year, sisters? Give yourself the gift of a time set apart to reconnect with Our Lord in the context of sisterhood. Sarah Elizabeth is a politics pre-law major at the Catholic University of America in Washington, DC. Born and raised in Arizona, she finds great joy in mountains, lattes, American history, and the piano. She is constantly discovering Christ's wild love in the little things.

A few months ago, my guardian angel bracelet sparked a conversation with a woman on my flight who was particularly curious about the relationship between my life as a student and my life as a Catholic. When asked about my career aspirations, I shared my dreams to work in national security, but she seemed rather disappointed in my response. She conveyed to me that she did not feel it was a calling fitting of a “good Catholic.” I am not sure why it left me feeling so inadequate. Sure, I smiled and nodded, but could not help but feel disappointed that she felt that my hopes did not amount to something worthy, or that my dreams could not be deemed a “calling.” I continue to return to today’s Gospel when I have come to the end of my plans. An enduring declaration of Christ’s heart for us, I am stretched by its simplicity, as it exposes the places where I allow what He is asking of me day-to-day to be complicated. I begin to spiral into doubts over whether my hopes are really worthy. My crisis of mission leads me to a cycle of self-seeking and of striving to earn a love that I already have. Yet, I am gently reminded that He has never asked me to do those things. He asks me to remain in His love. (See John 15:9.) In this reality, the exaggerated anxieties about what I am called to fall away, as I remember I was made by Love and for Love. I am extended the heart of a generous Father, and He asks not that I fight or earn my way to Love, but shift my posture so that I may remain in It. I am not asked to shape my own worth or create an image that I am a “good Catholic,” but allow Him to complete my joy. I walk in the freedom that He dreams far bigger than I do, so much so that He desires me to share in His own joy. [bctt tweet="He asks me to remain in His love." username="blessedisshe__"] These spiritual exercises offer insights into how to receive God's love and love as He does. Sarah Elizabeth is a politics pre-law major at the Catholic University of America in Washington, DC. Born and raised in Arizona, she finds great joy in mountains, lattes, American history, and the piano. She is constantly discovering Christ's wild love in the little things.

A few weeks ago, I felt a sweet nudge from the Holy Spirit to seek out Confession during my lunch break. After carrying such a heavy heart for so long, I felt like I was coming undone as I endlessly rambled about my own interior chaos. When I finished, the priest and I sat in silence for an unbearably long time, and I subsequently began to question every little thing I had said. When he gently broke the silence, he said, “Do you the pray the way you just confessed?” “Yes, I do.” Confident that I was about to be reprimanded for my word vomit, I began to apologize for everything. I should have come sooner or been more prepared. I certainly knew better than to go on for so long when there was a long confession line. Yet he responded, “If you pray the way you have confessed, you must know that God became Man to reconcile Himself with you.” Today’s Gospel is one of the infinite moments where I am invited to remember that Jesus wants to reconcile Himself with me. (See John 8:1-11.) I am reminded that He bends down and writes my liberation in the sand as He sends my enemies away one-by-one. It is the instance where we meet eyes again, where I catch the gaze of a Lover Who chooses not to condemn me, but to send me out. Right when I have become complacent with captivity, my back is straightened by a victory I could never deserve, one freely given on the Cross. I am not sure where you see yourself in today’s Gospel, but I have spent this last season reveling in the nonsensical mercy of the Messiah. When I anticipate condemnation, aggravation, or intolerance, the Lord meets me where He meets the adulterous woman. Again and again, I am in awe as He extends Himself to me, in mercy, patience, and love. After all He has done, we must know that God became Man to reconcile Himself with us. [bctt tweet="After all He has done, we must know that God became Man to reconcile Himself with us." username="blessedisshe__"] This Venetian painting of the scene is from the 16th century and captures the tension and drama of the encounter in today's Gospel. Sarah Elizabeth is a politics pre-law major at the Catholic University of America in Washington, DC. Born and raised in Arizona, she finds great joy in mountains, lattes, American history, and the piano. She is constantly discovering Christ's wild love in the little things.