April 21, 2025 // Monday in the Octave of Easter Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 28:8-15  Reflect on the Word // Why do I do this to myself?  Still I continue to pack, and write, and return emails, and run errands all in preparation for the big trip. I was supremely confident that the Lord had invited me to follow Him on this particular adventure but as the big day approached I had to admit, it was a lot. It’s a predictable pattern, not only when it comes to travel but in daily life. I love what I do but it can be stressful. I enjoy many close friendships, but relationships can be challenging. My little studio is peaceful and perfectly decorated, but it can be lonely too. Two things can be true at once.  I think the both/and we witness in the Gospel today normalizes this tension. “Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went away quickly from the tomb, fearful yet overjoyed” (Matthew 28:8). You too, Mary? You know that strange and overwhelming mixture of anxiety and excitement? Love and fear? Faith and doubt?  I’m often frustrated with my lack of confidence in the Lord. He’s so generous and patient to encourage me, reassure me, when doubt and fear assail me. Even still, sometimes I wonder at how quickly I forget His love. I’m intimidated by my circumstances, locking eyes with the enemy instead of my Savior.  But there is Good News in this Gospel. The Marys didn’t have perfect faith when they went to announce to the disciples that the tomb was empty. They did it afraid. They ran despite their raging emotions and Jesus met them on the way.  Just keep going, sister. Take the next right step, do what love requires in this moment, and you can be confident of this: Jesus will meet you along your way too.  Relate to the Lord // How can you take the next small step of faith today, no matter how you’re feeling?   

February 25, 2025 // Tuesday of the Seventh Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Mark 9:30-37 Reflect on the Word //  The first time I had significant success with weight loss I was just out of college. I wanted to look amazing for my best friend/college roommate’s wedding (and the guy I was going to be walking down the aisle with). And in truth, by the time that beautiful November day rolled around, I looked fabulous. Said guy literally applauded when we first saw each other in the hotel lobby.  But months later the weight crept back on. So I dieted again. Then lost again. Only to put some, all, or even more back on. Over the years as I would re-engage my health, it seemed I would tackle one obstacle only to be faced with another. Besides the basics of nutrition and movement, I had hormones that needed attention and food allergies I’d always dismissed as normal. I needed to prioritize stress management(!) and drink way more water. And with every change of lifestyle, I came face to face with my need for deep, deep healing of my self-image.  We see it in the disciples too. They’ve been called by Jesus, left everything, and literally followed Him on the way. But their personalities, weaknesses, and pet sins came too. Despite all the miracles they’d witnessed and truth they’d heard preached, in today’s Gospel we hear them arguing about which one of them was the greatest. Each and every one of them had utterly changed their lives because of Jesus, but their transformation didn’t end with that initial encounter. Like us, their discipleship was a journey. Maybe that’s why so often in the Gospels Jesus engages their hearts on a walk. "What were you arguing about on the way?" (Mark 9:16) He didn’t expect them to be further along than they were or get it all right all the time. He taught them. With Jesus, every conversation becomes an opportunity for that deep, deep healing we all need.  Like the little child He takes into His lap (Mark 9:36), we are still learning, still growing. Today, let Him wrap you in His embrace and allow His love to change you along the way. Relate to the Lord // Take a walk with the Lord today. Share your heart with Him.

December 18, 2024 // Wednesday of the Third Week of Advent Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s First Reading: Jeremiah 23:5-8 Reflect on the Word//  I slid the tiny microphone up until it locked into place and watched the sound bar register my voice as I poured out my heart to a friend. Though we live thousands of miles and an ocean apart, we leave these lengthy voice memos most days. And while we’ve never met in person, our friendship has been knit together in the Lord, a consolation to one another in the long wait for our heart’s desires.  Hope is not for the faint of heart because intrinsic to hope is waiting. We wouldn’t need hope if this would all be over tomorrow. So we need each other to remember His goodness on days that don’t feel very good—and there can be a lot of them. To remind each other what He’s done and echo back the promises we shared on brighter days to rouse hope once more. This wavering is a part of the human condition, but one that the Lord Himself has been trying to heal for generations.  When He rescued them from slavery, it didn’t take long for God’s chosen people to forget. After all, they were hungry. And then they were thirsty. And then Moses took too long to come down from the mountain, so they fashioned a golden calf from their jewelry. They wandered in the desert, surly and disobedient, for forty years; but time and time again, the Lord provided. He was faithful. He said that He would and He did.  Down through the generations, God patiently instructs His people to remember. Later Jeremiah takes up the refrain: Remember when the Lord led us out of Egypt? “Behold the days are coming” when, once again, He will deliver us from captivity (see Jeremiah 23:5,7).  The prophet promises that just as God came to the rescue then, He will come again to save His people. So, too, for us. God’s faithfulness in our past is a downpayment on His future faithfulness. And so I prophesy in hope and hit send because I trust that since He’s done it before, He’ll do it again. Relate to the Lord // Ask Jesus what hope you can prophesy today, both to a friend and to yourself. O Antiphon: O Leader of the House of Israel, giver of the Law to Moses on Sinai: come to rescue us with your mighty power!

Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 8:5-11 Reflect on the Word //  I took a deep breath and mustered all of my courage. Like a boxer getting ready to step into the ring, I exhaled determinedly. “Thy will be done,” I prayed, and the Our Father rattled on around me. Every morning at 6:30 a.m., no matter how tired or distracted I was in Mass, I rallied for the big moment when I assented to God’s will. But on this particular morning, I sensed Heaven laughing at my heroics. It was as if the Lord good-naturedly asked me, Why are you bracing yourself for My will? My will is for your good.  I had been subconsciously assuming that His will for me was, in fact, not good. That God’s will automatically meant suffering and loss and a lot of other hard things that I didn’t have the strength or desire for.  Yes, holiness requires purification and detachment. And it’s true that suffering will come; we live in a fallen world and feel the consequences of our sins and others’. But I wasn’t factoring in one crucial thing: God’s love. While He permits evil because He is able to bring good out of every wrong, God is always actively willing our good because He is Love. When Jesus encounters the Roman centurion in Matthew 8, He has only to hear his request—"Lord, my servant is lying at home paralyzed, suffering dreadfully”—and He agrees to come—"I will come and cure him." But the soldier stops Jesus, astounding Him with his faith. The man was full of confidence that Jesus could and would. That God’s will for his suffering servant was only mercy and love.  Jesus’ response to us is the same. When we are wounded and soul-sick from sin, He comes to cure us. He wills our healing. Every time we receive the Eucharist, He comes under our roofs to speak a healing word to our souls. We never have to wonder if Jesus will come. He comes to us Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity, in every reception of Holy Communion at every Mass—daily if you like—because His will for you is good. Relate to the Lord // Pray the Our Father—joyfully! Meditate today on His loving will and good plan for your life.

“Where are the other nine? Has none but this foreigner returned to give thanks to God?” // Luke 17 (from the Gospel for Thanksgiving Day) I blinked groggily and reached for my phone to silence the alarm. As I rolled over I heard the familiar jangle of my rosary hitting the floor. I’d done it again, fallen asleep as I prayed my daily Rosary. Did I even make it to the second mystery? This was becoming a nightly routine.  I had started a 54-Day Rosary Novena a few weeks earlier, but when the intention shifted from petition to thanksgiving I started to fall off—or rather, doze off. When I was praying for the thing I so desperately wanted, I was pious and attentive. But when day 28 rolled around and nothing “happened,” I had a hard time convincing myself to thank God for a miracle that had yet to be seen.  Instead of sitting up and meditating on the mysteries, I laid down and was usually out by the end of the first decade. I tried to spin it, but the truth was that it was tough to give thanks when all I felt was disappointment.  For most Americans, today as Thanksgiving Day is special. We celebrate all the good in our lives as we gather around crowded tables overflowing with food and gratitude. But when life isn’t so abundant, thanksgiving can be harder to muster. And sometimes, even when it is, we simply forget to thank God or fail to recognize His love behind our every blessing.  So whether things are good or bad, bountiful or scarce, most of us are not great at giving thanks. After all, only one in ten lepers came back to thank Jesus even though they all got what they wanted. So if thanksgiving isn’t dependent upon our circumstances then we must develop a habit of thanksgiving and grow in the virtue of gratitude.  Perhaps the grace I received during those first 27 days wasn’t the desired outcome of my prayers, but it was the chance to practice thanking God no matter how I felt or what I could see. So if, like me, your gratitude muscle could use a little strengthening, maybe a 54-Day Rosary Novena is a good place to start.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you; blessed are you among women. // Luke 1:28 (from Gospel for Memorial of Our Lady of the Rosary) Fumbling in the dark, I reached for a plastic rosary in my nightstand. I don’t think I had ever prayed a full Rosary. I didn’t know the mysteries and had no real relationship with Mary, but I knew that you were supposed to say one Our Father on the single bead and ten Hail Marys on the string that followed. I was living a middle school nightmare. Somehow I’d ended up in a co-ed physical education class. I was chubby and insecure, a deadly combination, and had to spend an hour every day attempting to be athletic in front of preteen boys. It was brutal, and they weren’t very kind.  Too mortified to tell anyone, instead, I lay in bed and prayed a decade of the Rosary maybe for the first time. I thought of every one of the boys who snickered or ignored me. I pictured each face, said his name, and prayed a single Hail Mary for him. And after that night they never teased me again. Today we celebrate Our Lady of the Rosary, also known as Our Lady of Victory. On October 7, 1571, a group of sailor soldiers called the Holy League faced down the formidable Turks of the Ottoman Empire in the sea Battle of Lepanto. With the blessing of Pope Pius V, they sailed out to meet the intruders, warships advancing in the shape of the cross. The outnumbered Christians invoked the protection of the Blessed Virgin Mary by praying the Rosary (on their knees!) and were miraculously victorious. Their faith and courage prevented the Muslim faith from spreading into Europe. The Mother of Jesus is our Mother too. Like any good mother, whether she’s defending her spiritual children in war or gym class, she fights for us. Her maternal heart intercedes powerfully for you and for me. Whatever battle you’re facing, our Lady wants to help.  So tonight as you tuck into bed, reach for your rosary. Share your troubles with Mary and entrust everything to her fierce and faithful love. For when you hold those rosary beads, you are really holding your Mother’s hand.

For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him. // John 3:17 We hustled silently through dark city streets. Three friends who’d spent too many late nights sipping sparkling water and pouring out our hearts in our small group now wordlessly weaved our way across cobblestone streets and past closed storefronts in the heart of Jerusalem.  It was 4:30 in the morning, and we were on our way to Calvary.  Surrounded by a sleeping city, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre never closes and the priest who was with us, who had kept vigil there throughout the night, stood waiting for us. We climbed steep stairs beside mosaics marking the final Stations of the Cross: here is where Jesus was stripped of His garments; here is where He lay on the Cross to be crucified.  Kneeling beneath the shadow of the altar, only feet away from where our beloved Savior laid down His life, we made the Sign of the Cross.  It was both a beautiful and an utterly ordinary Mass. I don’t remember the readings. (I do remember being scolded for chanting.) And although Father has an unusual gift for preaching, I couldn’t tell you about his homily. There were no flashes of lightning or fits of holy tears. Just the same magnificently humble Jesus offering His Body and Blood in the one holy sacrifice of the Mass. Just like at home.God the Father sent His only begotten Son to save the world, and He saves me with every reception of Holy Communion. Whether in the Holy Land or at my home parish, Jesus comes. Jesus saves.  While His saving act on the Cross conquered sin and death once and for all, His saving action in our lives unfolds day by day, bit by bit, Mass after holy Mass. So don’t be discouraged if you are not as free as you want to be, if you’re not as healed as you think you should be. Just keep coming to Jesus. Keep receiving Him in the Eucharist. Keep loving Him and letting Him love you, little by little.  And just as it did two thousand years ago, His Holy Cross will triumph in you.

He said to her, "What do you wish?" // Matthew 20:20 Tiny waves lapped on the placid seashore, making a musical sound as they trickled out over small stones. I call it the seashore and not the beach because that’s what the locals called it. I was on holiday in Helsinki, Finland.  After perusing the stalls of a local farmer’s market, my friend headed back to the apartment to lay her toddlers down for their naps while I went for a walk to stave off the jetlag.  It was idyllic, a glorious Nordic summer day, and I felt the Holy Spirit draw near. My heart began to unfold with gratitude and we walked in companionable silence, like two friends who know and love each other deeper than words.  It was all so beautiful I felt my heart would break—and in that moment, it did. Because in the silence, ever so gently, I had heard God ask me, What are your hopes and dreams? All the romance and peace of the moment evaporated in an instant. After all, anger is easier to feel than disappointment.  I wonder what you would say, dear sister, if today the Lord drew near and asked you the same question He addressed to the mother of Saint James in today’s Gospel? “What do you wish?” (see Matthew 20:20-28) Maybe your heart would respond unreservedly to His request. Or maybe you’d desperately beg for a miracle because you believe He can do the impossible. But maybe you’re more like me and you’ve been disappointed. Maybe it’s too hard or too scary to hope, and it feels cruel of Him to ask what you wish because He already knows and you’ve been waiting so long.  But maybe today is your summer day by the sea, and He’s drawing near to ask you again. Drawing your heart and desires out once more: What are your hopes and dreams? So even if you’ve been hurt or disappointed, even if you’re angry or afraid, tell Him who suffers with you anyway. Tell Him everything. And maybe, like He did for Saint James, who embraced the Cross beside Jesus, He will give you everything and more, even if it doesn’t look the way you thought it would.

Then [God] asked, "Who told you that you were naked? // Genesis 3:11 My family still talks about my standing ovation in Rodgers’ and Hammerstein’s Cinderella. I was in ninth grade, but the costumes and the choreography made it feel like Broadway.  I’ve always been a character actress, so the Wicked Stepmother was deliciously fun to play. She was over the top and scornful and arrogant to mask her insecurity, and a part of me never stopped playing her. A part of me still criticizes and punishes, still acts with cruelty and superiority. Not to other people, really, but to me. There is a voice within who accuses and shames me. Sometimes it’s the voice of the enemy (a good spiritual director or mentor can help you distinguish and reject that), but oftentimes it’s my Wicked Stepmother. Why did you say that? You’re so stupid. No man will ever want you. I spent so many years not recognizing the voice of the enemy that I partnered with him in parroting the lies. And while it’s important to learn to discern his ugly words from our own thoughts, we must first of all learn to listen for the true voice of the Father.  When we pick up the story of today’s First Reading after Adam and Eve eat the forbidden fruit, it’s easy to intone condemnation in the Father’s call (see Genesis 3:9-15). But what if He’s not shouting, not disappointed? What if the tone of voice we project onto the pages of Scripture is actually our own Wicked Stepmother’s, or angry authority figure’s, or even the voice of the original tempter?  What if instead we read those same verses and imagined the ringing voice of a loving Father coming to help and heal His beloved son and daughter? Can you hear His fatherly concern, heartbroken that their purity and original innocence had been stolen?  Now, can you imagine the Father squatting down before you with tears in His eyes, asking, “Who told you that you were naked?” Who told you that you were ugly? Who told you that you were unlovable? Who told you that horrible lie? Tell Him today and let the Father’s love cleanse and cover you.

Beloved, I urge you as aliens and sojourners to keep away from worldly desires that wage war against the soul. // 1 Peter 2:11 For more than a decade, I called a lovely little mountain town in northern Arizona home. Or . . .  I tried to.  In those eleven years I moved no less than eight times. With every new place I hoped that this would finally be my last change of address—until of course it was time to move into my forever home with my forever husband. (A single girl can dream, right?) But it was always something. The rent would skyrocket, or my roommate got married, or my friends had another baby, or (maybe the most heartbreaking) the family decided to turn my beloved basement apartment into an Airbnb instead.  After years of moving but never staying, it began to feel like the city itself was rejecting me. All I wanted was to put down roots, to build a home and a life and someday, please God, a family. Why couldn’t I settle down?  With every cardboard box the discouragement grew heavier—until I met Abraham.  Abraham of Genesis, father in faith, who was called to leave his homeland and follow the One True God. Abraham, who lived in tents and did not even have a place in which to bury his wife because they were strangers in a foreign country. Abraham, who was “looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and maker is God” (Hebrews 11:10).  Abraham was an alien and sojourner—and so am I. And so, dear sister, are you.  This world is not our home. Though our houses can be wonderful warm resting places, our true home is Heaven, and Heaven is perfect unity with the Most Blessed Trinity.  Aliens and sojourners though we are, we have a home in the Catholic Church where Christ Himself dwells. And until we receive that Beatific Vision, we can see Him with the eyes of faith, humble and hidden in the Most Blessed Sacrament.  So if today you’re wondering where you belong, if you’ve been lonely or discouraged, make your way to the nearest Eucharistic Adoration chapel and there you will find rest for your weary, wandering heart.  There you will find home.

No one takes it from me, but I lay it down on my own. // John 10:18 A lot of cleaning. That’s what I saw in nearly every frame of the documentary. The Missionaries of Charity cleaning everything and everyone, from toilets to kitchens to frail and newborn bodies. Their famous threadbare saris wrapped and tied in such a way so as to be able to get their hands dirty for whatever Jesus in His distressing disguise might need.  Tears of gratitude slowly spilled down my cheeks. This is what it means to be holy, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. As the movie rolled on, something like wonder took deep hold. I began to recognize my own life—the potential for my own gift of love—laid out before me on the screen. Because do you know what I have to do everyday? Clean. Every day I make my bed and take out the trash and wipe the sink and tidy, tidy, tidy. When united with the love of Jesus, my life and duties as a single woman can make me a missionary of charity. My best friend, too, lives a life of radical service and self-gift. She loves and feeds and clothes her seven children day after day, night upon night, year after long year, pouring out her life as a libation. Indeed every mother is a missionary of charity, caring for the poor, hungry, and naked in her home.  For years I’ve carried the mental load of bills and budgets, appointments and errands as a heavy yoke made more unbearable by resentment over my lack of help or hope of reprieve. It’s a temptation we all face when our tasks pile up like endless laundry. But as I studied those beautiful sisters, something like the grace of their yes was infused into me. A conviction: I want to live a life of love which is a life of service. I want to lay down my life on my own, to be a gift even as I do the dishes.  This is the secret of sanctity: your life is a gift.  Give it fully, give it lavishly, give it to Jesus right where you are, today and every day. 

See what love the Father has bestowed on us that we may be called the children of God. Yet so we are. // 1 John 3:1 “I don’t have a box for you; this is the last one.” I smiled at her, knowing the Father had saved it just for me.  I had come to the gift shop with high hopes of finding a beautiful vintage medallion of the Blessed Mother. Something large and preferably gold with a long chain. Instead I stood at the counter, debit card in hand, with a small silver medal of God the Father. Face serene, arms spread wide, one palm open, His other hand extended in blessing.   It wasn’t what I was looking for, but it was perfect. I’ve been in what I like to call my “Father era” lately, discovering in a deeper way the tenderness and closeness of God. I thought I knew the Father. I thought my “father-anguish” had been healed. But within me there is still a shy and reticent little girl, anxious to come out of hiding but never feeling safe enough to do so.  I’ve found rest for that part of my heart in my imaginative prayer in the loving arms of the Father. With the Father, I can be quiet or distracted, sad or fearful, silly or sleepy. My moods don’t affect the strength of His arms or the steady beat of His Heart. Instead I snuggle against His chest, exactly as I am, and the big emotions come back down to size. This is who I am, His little daughter. This is who you are, too: His little child. This is where we belong. In the Father’s arms, you don’t have to solve your problems or get over your pain. You don’t have to hold all the things when you let Him hold you. You simply get to rest. To be yourself. To match your breathing to the One Who breathed life into your soul and created the universe. And to feel the weight of His loving hand upon your life. This is where you belong—in the warmth of His embrace, lulled into peace by the strong beat of His Heart. You don’t have to come out of hiding alone, dear sister. The Father’s arms are wide open to receive you.

"Pay attention to what I am telling you.” // Luke 9:44 “Here, take a whole pack!” Sister cried over her shoulder, blue and white habit billowing behind her as she went off in search of the trifold Litany of Trust prayer cards. I’d just finished praying the most glorious Holy Hour with the Sisters of Life where the Lord reminded me of something beautiful He had asked of me just a few days before—which I had promptly forgotten. When vocational doubts or anxieties arise, He instructed my heart to simply pray, Jesus, I trust in You.  Instead of spinning out or taking things into my own hands, I should turn to Him interiorly, look at Him with faith and love and say, Jesus, I trust in You.  But only a few days later, as I tried to pray in that sunny adoration chapel, the questions came knocking, followed by the all-too-familiar anxiety. Suddenly, I remembered the grace. Jesus, I trust in You.  He had already prescribed a remedy for a moment like this; I just needed to remember to take it. The Lord has been so generous to me and He also has to you. He leads us by His Word, nourishes us through the Sacraments, consoles us in prayer, and unfolds His will through the events of our daily life. He has already given us everything we need to hear His voice and follow Him.  The question isn’t, Does God speak? The question is, Are we paying attention?  In today’s Gospel, Jesus admonishes His disciples to pay attention (see Luke 9:43b-45). When the Lord speaks in the myriad of ways He does, is your heart poised and disposed to listen? Or do you, like me, have a short spiritual memory? If so, let this be a reminder. Go back to the last thing Jesus said or did and renew your yes to Him today. We won’t always understand what the Lord is doing, but if we tune in with ready hearts, He will always turn our mourning into joy (see Jeremiah 31:13).

I sat cross-legged and irritated in worship. I couldn’t find my rhythm, couldn’t find any rest. I love to pray this way, I reminded myself. I loved worshipping in a living room with dear friends, sharing Scripture and encouragement, pouring out our affection at the feet of the Father. But on that Saturday night, nothing worked. It wasn’t the song list or the people, the room temperature or the chair I sat in. It was me. Something inside of me was restless and angry. No change of position or song could calm or comfort me. In a brief moment of honesty, I blurted out in my heart, “I feel so unseen, Lord.” Lonely tears welled up in my eyes, but even then I didn’t crack, didn’t soften. Maybe your heart, too, has been hardened. After a year of disappointment after disappointment, loss after loss, perhaps your hope has dried up and folded in on itself. Your precious heart, once tender and open, has become jagged and walled up. After the final blessing, I stood up from my dark little corner as heavy-hearted and discouraged as when I sat down. Making my way across the room, I was intercepted by the priest who’d closed us in prayer. This spiritual father laid his hands on my shoulders and looked at me with what I knew was the fierce love of the Father. He said, “I just want you to know, I see you.” The Lord had heard my prayer. Of course He had. “Shall he who shaped the ear not hear? Or he who formed the eye not see?” the Psalmist asks, almost incredulously. Of course He does. When we don’t hear Him, He’s still listening. When we can’t see or feel Him, He is still near. And today, right now, in the Word and this very devotion, the Lord has come close and is speaking to you. He wants you to know He’s heard every word, every prayer. He sees you. He hasn’t missed a thing. He hasn’t left you alone for a second, and He will never, ever abandon you. Remember that today. [bctt tweet="He hasn’t missed a thing. // Beth Davis" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

I was a junior in high school when I had my conversion. Sixteen years old and terribly insecure, I was longing for love and acceptance. One spring evening on a Confirmation retreat, I opened my hands and heart and asked Jesus to love me. Did I mention I’m a cradle Catholic? I grew up in the Church, attended religious education classes and even served in the nursery and as an altar server. I went to Mass every Sunday. I knew about God. I thought about God. I believed in God. I even loved God. I had my conversion of heart when I encountered the Person of Jesus. Kneeling uncomfortably on the wooden floor of a retreat house, I finally understood that the God I knew and thought about and believed in and even loved, loved me, too. Had loved me all along. There was no lightning, and I didn’t fall from a horse, but even though there were no fireworks and I was already a practicing Catholic, my heart was undeniably converted. What about you? When did you first encounter Jesus? That’s the kind of conversion I’m talking about here. It doesn’t have to be as dramatic as murderer-turned-evangelist like Saint Paul, whose conversion we celebrate today. I want to know about your conversion from spectator to follower. From Catholic as culture or adjective, to a personal relationship with a Living Person. From knowing about God to knowing Him intimately. From loving God to letting God love you. Christ wants to be your most important relationship and the purpose for your life. It’s the fullness of life He intended for us, and the only satisfaction we will find this side of Heaven. All you have to do is open your hands to receive it. [bctt tweet="Christ wants to be your most important relationship and the purpose for your life." username="thebethdavis"] Do you already pray the Divine Mercy Chaplet? The story behind it is mesmerizing and the prayer short and powerful for the conversion of sinners.