And the apostles said to the Lord, “Increase our faith.” // Luke 17:5 Sometimes when I read the Gospels, I look at the Apostles’ responses to Jesus and think: Gosh, they remind me of my middle schoolers! How many times have I delivered what I thought to be a brilliant lesson on some key doctrine of the Faith and then look expectantly and excitedly for my students’ reactions. What questions will they have? How will they react? Will the discussion go the way I think it will? Then, it happens, I ask, “Any questions?” A hand goes up; I call on the student and hear, “When’s the test?” In those moments I can practically picture Peter asking Jesus the same question after the Sermon on the Mount. Are they listening at all? In today’s Gospel, though, the Apostles overcome their inner middle schoolers and get it right! They hear what the Lord presents to them, recognize that the weight of His sayings are beyond their capacity to truly receive, and cry out to him in prayer, “Increase our faith” (Matthew 17:5). It heartens me and gives me strength to do the same when I also find it hard to be a disciple of Christ. Sister, let us call out to Jesus today to increase our faith as we seek to follow Him more closely and grow in our capacity to receive all to which He invites us: When we find it hard to follow You, increase our faith. When confusion leads us astray, increase our faith. When doubt takes hold in our hearts, increase our faith. When life is filled with many questions and few answers, increase our faith. When pain becomes a constant companion, increase our faith. When Your words strike us to the heart, increase our faith. When we lack confidence in leading others to You, increase our faith. When we do not know the way to You, increase our faith. When we doubt Your merciful love, increase our faith. When You call us to surrender, increase our faith. When we question Your desire for our good, increase our faith. When our faith is smaller than a mustard seed, increase our faith.

God is wise in heart and mighty in strength; who has withstood him and remained whole? // Job 9:4 It’s likely because I’m a twin and spent nine months sharing a womb with my brother, but I’ve always found comfort and security in small spaces. There’s something seemingly safe about curling up, tucked away, in a secret place. Growing up, that place was the back corner of my closet. I would disappear there and sit in the dark, still quiet. Later, I think my friends were always grateful when I volunteered to squeeze into the back of the car surrounded by all the luggage during road trips! If only that was the type of being “small” that Jesus alludes to in today’s Gospel, urging us to become like little children (see Matthew 18:3). The littleness Jesus wants from us—this childlikeness—isn’t about becoming small enough to squirrel away into our favorite childhood hideout, but it is about becoming interiorly small, completely dependent on our Heavenly Father for everything. We learn this littleness in Job: “God is wise in heart and mighty in strength; who has withstood him and remained whole?” (Job 9:4) When we acknowledge the greatness of God we do so not with fear, but with a sober realization of Who He is and who we are. He is the God Who loves us infinitely, perfectly, completely, and unconditionally, as a good father loves his little children. We need not contend with Him for power or greatness, but merely receive Him, strong not in our own understanding but in our trust of His providence and His desire for our good. Centuries after Job was written, Saint Catherine of Siena wrote, in words spoken by the Father, "Do you know, daughter, who you are and who I am? [. . .] You are she who is not, and I AM HE WHO IS” (source). These words are not meant to shame, but to free us to become like children in the arms of a Father Who wills for us goodness beyond our wildest imaginations. Today, acknowledge God’s wisdom, might, and strength (see Job 9:4) and become like a child in the loving embrace of your Father. 

Be strong, fear not! Here is your God, he comes with vindication; with divine recompense he comes to save you. // Isaiah 35: 4 At a recent event, a musician shared his brand new, unreleased song. It was beautiful; my fellow Sisters and I were moved by the words. Then the last refrain came: “I guess it’s up to me to try to be holy.” In that moment I looked at the Sister next to me and mouthed, “Heresy.” You see, the believing—or thinking—that salvation is our work and holiness depends only on what we do, stems from a false teaching of Pelagius in the early Church. Unfortunately, some of us fall prey to this mindset: “If only I did this,” or, “When I’m strong enough to give this thing up” . . . the lies are endless. There’s always something else nagging, making us think we need to strive for holiness. But the thing is, they’re lies. There isn’t anything I can do to make myself holy. Only grace makes us holy, and grace only comes from God. Lies about having to—through only our own efforts—work or try to overcome sin, temptation, or whatever it is that holds us back from the sanctity we desire are endless, and usually leave us in a place of fear, paralysis, or despair. Thankfully, as we hear in today’s Readings, our Lord speaks His words of love, reminding us that we have nothing to fear; it is our God Who comes to save us (see Isaiah 35:4).God sets us free, gives us light to see, ears to hear, hearts to love. He promises riches of faith to those who love Him (see Psalm 146). It is for us to be still and receive His ephphatha over us, that we might open our hearts, minds, eyes, ears, souls—our very beings—to all that He has and is (see Mark 7:34). Sister, today I invite you to open your hands and release to our Lord whatever lies are telling your heart, what you need to do to get holy on your own, and hear Him speak over you, ephphatha, as He pours His life into you, bringing you peace, rest, and confidence in His great love for you, and His desire to make you holy. He comes to save you.

Therefore I will judge you, house of Israel, each one according to his ways, says the Lord GOD. // Ezekiel 18:30 As a teacher, I enjoy the buzz of anticipation before a new school year, preparing to welcome new students, wondering what the year will hold for them and me. I imagine parents have similar thoughts as they send their children back to school, entrusting them to new teachers, partners in forming their children. It’s a time of year that comes with feelings of excitement and trepidation. I think parents and teachers feel a similar responsibility when it comes to forming the children entrusted to them. Much thought, work, and effort go into presenting truth, beauty, and goodness with love and care, desiring their academic and spiritual growth. Years of teaching, though, has taught me that I can desire every good thing for my students, I can give them 110 percent of myself in the classroom every day, come up with the best lesson plans, encourage them, support them, and provide everything they need to succeed, but their success is not just about what I do. They must consciously receive what is given and respond. So much of a person’s success (or failure) comes down to choosing to respond to everything that has been provided. Our Heavenly Father looks at us the same way, and He provides everything we need to grow into the Saints He created us to be—our job is to respond to that grace.  Similarly, we are not responsible for what the souls entrusted to us choose to do in response to all we provide for them. We are only responsible for providing it to the best of our abilities. Our responsibility is to have hearts open and ready to respond to the manifold graces given to us by a Father Who loves us more than we can imagine. In the end, we will be judged according to our ways, not theirs. Sister, today, surrender to the Father those people in your life whose decisions you feel responsible for, and beg the light to know how to receive more fully the graces offered to you, right now, to become a Saint. 

“But the seed sown on rich soil is the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and yields a hundred or sixty or thirtyfold.” // Matthew 13:23 “VoVo, what do you need?” I said with tears in my eyes. He turned, and as the scurrying of the nurses and his labored breathing slowed, our eyes met. He lifted his hands as if in prayer and gasped, “A priest.” In those moments, as we waited for our family friend, Father Joe, to arrive, I did the only thing I could think of: I prayed that our Lady would come and be with our family as we prepared, we knew, to say our last goodbyes to the patriarch of our family—our rock of faith, piety, and devotion. Father Joe came and began the rite of Anointing of the Sick. I knelt at the end of VoVo’s bed, stroking his foot, my parents on either side of me. Father prayed the final prayers of commendation for the dying, looked at us, and told us to call the nurse. VoVo was gone. It was my first experience of witnessing death—it was beautiful. My grandfather’s death was beautiful, in part, because the seed of God’s Word had been sown in the rich soil of his heart. In the days following his death it was evident that his life of faith had, indeed, yielded a hundredfold, and more. Beginning with our own family, gathered in prayer for his soul, and then in his friends, fellow parishioners, elderly shut-ins, and hospital patients to whom he brought Holy Communion for years, his love had echoed into ripples of faith in the lives of so many. Grandparents are a gift to families, and I imagine that Saints Joachim and Anne, the grandparents of Jesus, were no different. As we celebrate their memorial today, I pray that each of our eyes are opened to see the beauty of the faith of those who have gone before us and, taking up the torch of our ancestors, we too may keep “the word with a generous heart and yield a harvest through perseverance” (see Luke 8:15, Gospel Acclamation).

May grace and peace be yours in abundance through knowledge of God and of Jesus our Lord. // 2 Peter 1:2 I wish I could say there were times I’ve found myself holding back parts of my heart from the Lord. Unfortunately, those times are not necessarily in the past. I still find that there are places in my heart that the Lord is asking me to give Him, or even to others, but I’m afraid to give them up. I fear what will happen to the empty space left behind if I offer my heart to the Lord. It has taken me a long time to fill that space and I don’t want to have to do that work again. Then, it hits me: there is a lot of  “I” and “Me” in those thoughts and not a lot of remembering the mercies of the Lord. The Lord asks for these parts and spaces within us that we have worked so hard to fill, so He can give us something even better. He desires to bring Saint Peter’s prayer from today’s First Reading to fruition and fill us with grace and peace in abundance (see 2 Peter 1:2). He wants to pour upon us and into us the precious and very great promises He has bestowed (see 2 Peter 1:4), that we might share His divine nature. He asks us to empty the spaces of our hearts filled with shame, disappointment, fear, loneliness, bitterness—all the things that result from the works we do on our own without His grace. He wants to remove the junk so He can fill us with grace and glory beyond our greatest imaginations. He calls us to make acts of trust, placing ourselves in the embrace of our refuge and fortress (see Psalm 91:2). He knows it’s a big ask. But He prepares us. He plants His life within us, protects us, digs out what is not of Him, and builds us anew (see Mark 12:1). He asks for some of the produce—not all (at least, not all at once)—and even with that little He makes us new wine. Sister, what spaces in your heart is Jesus asking you to surrender to Him today, so that He can make new wine within your heart?

“There was a disciple in Damascus named Ananias, and the Lord said to him in a vision, “Ananias.” He answered, “Here I am, Lord.” // Acts 9:10 In one breath we are so ready to place ourselves at the Lord’s disposal, eager to do whatever He asks, willing to offer Him our all. Then, with our next, after we hear what it is He wants, we question, doubt, and often shrink back from what He asks. Here I am Lord . . . Wait, you want me to do what?! I cannot count the number of time’s I’ve had that reaction in dialogue with the Lord. It is so easy to say the words until He calls us to do, give, offer, suffer that thing. I don’t know what your thing is, but I’m pretty sure you have one. It is the sacrifice, act, call, whatever that you tell the Lord you’re willing to give, but deep down pray that He never asks it; then the day comes when He does. Your thing might be little, like a particular sacrifice for an intention that stings more than expected, it might be reaching out to that person who makes you snap into a fight-or-flight mode at the mere mention of their name. It might be a little bigger, like stepping out of your comfort zone into a new career, taking the next step in a relationship, or responding to a vocation to religious life. Whatever it is, big or small, we’ve all been there, feeling the anxiety and questions creep while our heartbeats quicken—and like Ananias we’ve searched for any excuse that would let us off the hook! (see Acts 9:13-14) That fear does not come from the Lord, and He does not let our questioning and doubt have the final say. He is ever gentle, meeting us where we are and bringing us along to reveal that with Him we are capable of doing whatever it is He is asking of us. Like He did for Ananias, He dispels our misconceptions, reveals His plan to us, and invites us, with His help to bring those plans to fruition. Sister, where is God calling you to step out of comfort and doubt into fulfilling His plan for you and those you know and don’t know? 

The people were astonished at [Jesus’] teaching, for he taught them as one having authority . . . // Mark 1:21 I stared down at the black and glossy white page at a picture of high-school me, the title “Teacher’s Pet” emblazoned over it on the “Senior Superlative Page.” To be honest, I’d forgotten I’d earned that illustrious distinction from my peers that year. It caused me to ask, Why? Then I realized it was because I was afraid. I was the teacher’s pet because I followed the rules, but not for the reasons my peers thought. I respected authority in school not out of true virtue, but because I was afraid of getting in trouble. In my fear, I lacked freedom to be authentic, and I lived in that place of fear for a long time. Through further reflection, I realized I was also relating to Christ’s authority over me in the same way. I wanted to please the Lord not because I loved Him or believed in His love for me, but because I saw the power of His authority and was afraid of where not obeying would bring me. My relationship to Christ’s authority was very much like that of the demons in today’s Gospel (see Mark 1:21-28). They saw His authority held true power and were afraid of what that power would do to them. Sister, living in fear of Christ’s authority is hardly living the life for which He created us. The authority of Christ, of His teaching, of His power, of His very being, is meant to bring us freedom, not cause us to live in fear. He invites us to embrace His authority so that we can let go of control in our own lives and allow Him to lead us to a place of authenticity and joy. I once heard someone say, “Jesus is a gentleman; He will not go where He is not invited.” Sister, invite Him into your heart today, invite Him to take authority over whatever it is that is causing you fear, whatever it is that is holding you back from living in authentic freedom. Invite Him in and allow yourself to be astonished by His love for you.  

“Well done, my good and faithful servant [ . . . ] Come, share your master’s joy.” // Matthew 25:21 “I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to let you go. Then, one day I just realized, you don’t belong to me. God let me borrow you, but I had to give you back.” This was my mom’s response when I commented on a new peace I had observed in her one weekend when she visited me in the convent. The tears of gratitude and love that filled my eyes as my mom articulated her willingness to entrust me back to the Father now fill her eyes as she witnesses me living my vocation. She now looks on with joy and maternal pride when, in the grocery store, a little girl comes up to me and asks, “Are you a Mary?” or someone approaches and asks me for prayers. Perhaps, too, as she reads this very devotion, she is aware of how her support, love, and encouragement of me over the years are now leading to others being supported, loved, and encouraged. My mom sees now that her struggle was feeling like she “wasn’t done with me.” I know I feel the same way when the Lord asks me to entrust back something, or someone, He has given to me for a time: Lord I’m not ready to do this, or let this go, or launch this idea . . .  Like the talents in today’s Gospel, the Lord entrusts much to us throughout our lives that we might help grow His Kingdom. These talents might be actual abilities we’re hesitant to share, or the gift of time to help others. A “talent” I think is often overlooked, for mothers especially, is that of children. As with any talent, we must nurture and help them grow, but then we must share them with the world in order for them to bear fruit. Sister, what is the Lord asking you to share with the world? Where is your heart reluctant to surrender what He has given you for the building of the Kingdom, that you, too, might hear the consoling words, “Well done, my good and faithful servant [ . . . ] Come, share your master’s joy” (Matthew 25:23)?

Luke is the only one with me. //  2 Timothy 4:11a As we approached the façade of the Basilica of Saint Paul Outside the Walls in Rome, it was impossible to ignore the towering statue of the Apostle to the Gentiles appearing ready to wield his uplifted sword at any moment. Its force drew our little group to the center of the courtyard where we looked up at the marble eyes. Standing at a certain angle it feels as though the eyes of his downward gaze pierces the heart. In the midst of the large courtyard he stands alone, or so it seems. Taking a step back, there is a pillar marking each of the four corners. Looking at three of those pillars you would still perceive that Paul is standing alone. But look closely to the back right corner and we see another statue. In this space Saint Paul does not stand alone, and he can truly say, “Luke alone is with me” (2 Timothy 4:11a). Often in our lives it can seem as though we have been abandoned by those closest to us, those upon whom we’ve depended for strength, support, affirmation, or consolation.  It can be tempting in those moments to enumerate the ways in which others have wronged, abandoned, or betrayed us. Sometimes we are blinded to the end we have before us and want to blame our seeming failures on others. Sister, take heart when you feel abandoned, when it feels like those in whom you placed your earthly trust have turned their back on you. Take that betrayed trust and place it in the One who remains faithful. Call upon the intercession of Saint Luke—whose feast is today—and Saint Paul, and pray that those wrongs may “not be held against them!” Experience the reality of the Lord who will stand by you in your time of trial and give you strength (see 2 Timothy 4:17). And, just when you think you’re standing alone, sword raised, ready to fight the world, take a look behind you; you never know when the Lord will send another to be the only one with you!

"We have sinned in complaining against the LORD and you. Pray the LORD to take the serpents from us." // Numbers 21:7 It all happened at once. I stepped through the door as the Sister in front of me turned, pointed, and yelled, “SNAKE!” I did not hesitate. I took a flying leap with my habit streaming behind me to the middle of the garage, froze in fear, and yelled, “Kill it, kill it, kill it . . . ” Our dialogue preceded thusly: Sister #1: We don’t need to kill it. Sister #2: Sister, I think it’s a rattlesnake! Sister #1: I don’t hear a rattle . . .  Sister #2 grabs a shovel and pushes the button for the garage door opener. Snake: ::RATTLE:: Sister #1: Kill it, kill it, kill it! It was terrifyingly comedic and Sister #2, who prevailed over the snake, swiftly relieving it of its head, felt triumphantly Marian for some time afterward! If it’s not already abundantly clear, I hate snakes with a passion not unlike that of Indiana Jones! I identify readily with the Israelites’ cry for Moses to, “Pray the Lord take the serpents from us!” (Numbers 21:7). The way they curl in on themselves and hide in dark corners, just waiting to strike when you least expect it, there is indeed something sinister there. It is no wonder that the remedy the Lord prescribed was to mount a serpent on a pole (see Numbers 21:8). Make it known, show it off, do not let it be hidden. Sister, today we celebrate the feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, the triumph of light over darkness, life over death, grace over sin. Today we gaze on the Lord stretched out before us to save us from the serpents of sin that curl in the hidden places of our hearts. What serpents lie in your heart that need to be mounted on a pole today, consumed in the light of grace, and crushed by ignominious glory of the cross? My prayer for you today is that the Lord will take the serpents from your heart. Looking upon the Cross today, I pray you live, “remembering that God is [your] rock, and the Most High God [your] redeemer”(Psalm 78:35).

“But who do you say that I am?” // Matthew 16:15 I’ve gone by a lot of names in my life. My baptismal name, my religious name, and countless nicknames that were anywhere from fitting and flattering, to . . . well, not so flattering. At any given time I could have taken on these names as my identity, clung to it, and made it who I am. But they were just names, ways I could be called, or identified in a crowd; sometimes they came from things I did or was able to do. It took some time, but I eventually learned that my name is not my identity. What I’ve done, what I do, or what I am capable of, are not who I am. An identity is deeper than simply a name. Who we are, our identity, comes from our relationships with others, especially those who love us. When Jesus asks His disciples who people say that He is, they respond with names—Elijah, John the Baptist, one of the prophets—all just names. These all came from what they’d seen Jesus do, watching from the outside. But Peter, he got it. He understood that when Jesus asked Who people said He was, He wasn’t asking what people were calling Him, He wasn’t asking how people were perceiving Him. He was asking Who they thought He was, where He came from, His identity, the Source of Who He is—“The Messiah, the Son of The Living God” (Matthew 16:16). Jesus “strictly ordered his disciples to tell no one that he was the Christ” (Matthew 16:20), but since His Death and Resurrection we are now called to declare Him to all we encounter—He is “the Messiah, the Son of the living God” (Matthew 16:16) through Whom we are adopted as beloved daughters of that same living God! Sister, Who do you say that Jesus is in your life? Are you with the crowds? Do you throw out names for Jesus to explain how He fits into your life? Or are you with Peter? Do you declare Who He is, the Source of your life, the Source of your identity as a beloved daughter?

She named him Moses; for she said, “I drew him out of the water.” // Exodus 2:10 Bobbing in the waves for days during our annual family “beach week,” plunging into the bone- chilling water of my grandparents’ pool, splashing in our little backyard kiddie pool on a lazy summer day: whenever and wherever there was water, I was there for it! Even now, though I can’t as easily dive into the nearest lake, ocean, or pool, water still has a certain pull on my heart. There is something about being near or in water that brings me peace and rest, that revives me! Since I started teaching about the Sacraments it has become clearer to me why the presence of water is so powerful. Like Moses, each of us has been drawn from the water in the Sacrament of Baptism and, like Moses, have been adopted into the family of a king, and not just an earthly one: the King of Kings! Unfortunately, we, like Moses, sometimes react to life in ways that separate or damage our relationship with that kingly household. But we have no reason, like Moses, to run and hide (see Exodus 2:15). We do not have a father who is waiting to catch, trap, or punish us, but One who is waiting to welcome us back, desiring to fill us with Baptismal grace of his Divine Life. Sometimes we run away from God and then desire to return, but it feels like an ominous and difficult task. But, sister, the reality is, all we have to do is, “Turn to the Lord . . . and [we] will live” as we pray in today’s Psalm Response. In the midst of these warm summer days, as you plunge into the local pool, ocean, or lake, or dip your toes into a flimsy backyard kiddie pool, remember that you have been drawn from the water. You have been made a beloved daughter of a loving Father, a mighty deed done not in your midst, but in your very being. You have been drawn from the “abysmal swamp . . . the watery depths” (Psalm 69:3), the overwhelming flood of sin. Live today in your identity as one who has no need to run, but simply cry out to the one Who in His great kindness answers you (see Psalm 69:14).

Welcome to your home with blessing and joy. Come in, daughter. // Tobit 11:17 For the longest time “church” had been a place where I went on Sunday, but toward the end of my time in high school it became the place I felt at rest. I remember when I started to understand that the Church is my home. It is a place where I belong, where I am delighted in, where I find refuge and strength. Church is where the Father calls me out of the crazy busyness of life to sit in His embrace, to hear Him calling me His beloved, His beautiful one, His daughter. There were, and are, and will always be times when I play the rebellious daughter and stray from the home of that embrace, preferring the comfortable ease and “rest” that comes from floating in the current of the secular culture. But the reality is, that is not real rest. The culture offers a rest that brings about complacency and stagnancy. The Father offers a rest that comes with blessing and joy. Mercifully, we have a Father in Heaven who never ceases waiting for us at the gate, to welcome us back into His embrace, to our true and lasting home. He does not tire of calling us daughter, no matter where we have been. Sister, when is the last time you let the Father call you His daughter, let Him enfold you in His merciful love, let Him speak the truth of who you are in His eyes to the little girl heart within you? When is the last time you were at home with the Father? When did you last experience the rest of the Father’s delight in you? Whether it was years ago, months ago, or yesterday, take a moment today and hear Him speak these words over you: “Welcome, my daughter…welcome to your home with blessing and joy. Come in, daughter!” (Tobit 11:17) Let these words delight your heart, dear sister, because they are true. With Him, you are always welcome; there is always blessing and joy. With Him, you are always home!

With uplifted arm he led them out, and for about forty years he put up with them in the desert. // Acts 13:17b-18 Teaching middle school is not something I would ever have chosen on my own. But obedience has put me in a middle-school classroom for the last ten years, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything! Though some call my sanity into question, I love teaching middle schoolers! Not only do I enjoy the opportunity to form young minds and hearts but, to be honest, middle school students are incredibly entertaining. I admit, though, sometimes my darling students try my patience. I find myself looking at them askance, asking, “What made you think that was a good idea?” or “Can someone please explain to me how a Peep ended up on top of the projector?” (true story), or “Why are you taking your shoes off in the soccer field?” At times, the Lord uses my students to show me myself. How many times have I gone my own way, done my own will, and walked away from Him? How often has sin separated me from His love? While I can imagine Him looking at me askance with what-were-you-thinking in His eyes, His voice only says, “I love you.” It didn’t matter how often the Israelites turned away from Him. The Lord never left them but continued working His plan among them. That is the Lord’s patience. He “puts up with us in the desert” (see Acts 13:18) of this life drawing us closer to His Promise in the same way He led the Chosen People to the land of their inheritance. We all have individuals, or groups, whom it seems God has given us just to help us grow in that great virtue of patience, whether it’s your children, students, family members, or co-workers. The next time you’re tempted to impatience, ask Our Lord to give you the grace not simply to put up with them, but to see them as He does and love them with His love, even when you want to ask, “What in the world were you thinking?” And sometimes, sister, the person you need to put up with most is yourself.

[A]nd perceiving them to be uneducated, ordinary men, the leaders, elders, and scribes were amazed. // Acts 4:13 My brother and sister were straight A-students, in the “enrichment program” during elementary school, and in accelerated honors classes in middle and high school. I was not. It was like we were running a marathon and they were effortlessly sprinting toward the finish while I breathlessly panted behind the pack. Math was a particular bane of my educational experience. Fast forward several years, and there I was, in a fifth grade classroom, teaching math. I felt completely inadequate and unprepared. The wounds surrounding my history with math were very much exposed, and I doubted my ability to educate the little minds sitting before me. It turns out, I was a decent math teacher. My difficulties in comprehending the subject helped me to be more compassionate and patient with my students as they struggled to grasp the concepts. I didn’t need to be perfect to be able to teach my students, many of whom ended up being better at math than I was. I just had to be willing to try! Our Lord did not call the “straight A” students of His time to proclaim His message. Instead, He caused amazement among them by choosing “uneducated, ordinary men,” and He does the same today (see Acts 4:13). Sister, He calls us to follow Him and share the good news of salvation with the world. As He called “Mary Magdalene, out of whom he had driven seven demons” (Mark 16:9), He calls us despite our wounds, inadequacies, and failings to proclaim, “what we have seen and heard” (Acts 4:20). He calls us not because we know about Him, but because we know Him. Regardless of where your academic journey has taken you, or what kind of student you were, He simply asks for your desire to share Him with the world. It is not academic knowledge that gives us boldness in proclaiming the Christ, it is our love for Him and desire to make Him known in the world. When we offer that in simplicity, He says to us as He said to the Apostles, “Go into the whole world and proclaim the Gospel to every creature” (Mark 16:15). {formbuilder:MTAxMDY1}

God looked at everything he had made and he found it very good. // Genesis 1:31 I am not a nature girl. Perhaps my family’s most iconic winter photo demonstrates this most clearly. Bundled from head to toe in a snowsuit, winter jacket, hat, hood, and mittens, I’m standing on the front porch of our house with tears of misery streaming down my face as my older siblings frolic in the yard building a snowman. Why would anyone choose to leave the comfort and warmth of their home to purposefully subject oneself to frozen wetness and bone-chilling cold? As for the spring and summer, I don’t like being dirty so anything involving dirt or mud, or the possibility of dirt or mud, was out of the question. Then there’s my sordid relationship with poison ivy which on occasion led to heavy duty antibiotics and steroids! I often have to remind myself that nature, created by God is, in fact, good, not because my experiences of it are good, but because God has revealed to us that it is good. It is easy to forget, sometimes, that I am part of God’s creation and therefore, I am good, my body is good; humanity is good. Our goodness is not in our actions or experiences of our bodies always being good, but because God created us in His image and likeness. He finds us very good (see Genesis 1:31). He delights in His creation, in humanity above all. His delight is so complete that when He finished creation, He rested in His delight. Sister, today, rest in the goodness of creation. Rest and delight in the world around you. Look past the frozen wetness and bone-chilling cold of the snow to see the beauty of the sparkling snow—each flake as unique as the human being contemplating its design. Bask in the beauty of the ocean, “teeming with an abundance of living creatures” seen and unseen. Rest in your own beauty. Rest in the Father’s delight in you. As you look in the mirror today, remind yourself that when the Father gazes upon all that He has made He finds it “very good,” and you are included in that.