Lent is so inconvenient. More prayer, more penance. Less feasting, less indulgence. Honestly, I’m tired and cranky and selfish—and Lent brings all of these to the forefront. It is my least favorite liturgical season because it forces me to confront my flaws and fears and failings. Inconvenient. (Coincidently, this is why I need Lent the most.) Inconvenience isn’t something we celebrate in our culture. When was the last time you bought a product that promised to be inconvenient? We want faster, smarter, sleeker, better. We are creatures of comfort, and we purr happily when we stroke our egos. We believe convenience is a necessity of modern living. I need my calendar, my contacts, my deadlines and distractions right at my fingertips. Excuse me while I sync my devices so everything is up to speed. But here we go again with that counter-cultural call of Christ. See today’s First Reading: that righteous one who is inconvenient to the rest. Who really wants to change their ways to be holy and blameless in the sight of God? Except here’s the rub. All this seeking to do the will of God, all this obedience we’re supposed to be about as people of faith? It was inconvenient for Christ, too. See today’s Gospel. Jesus can’t travel freely because His enemies want to kill Him. Inconvenient. He has to keep preaching the same message because people misunderstand. Inconvenient. Authorities seek to arrest and kill Him. Super inconvenient. But Jesus keeps on with His inconvenient ways because they are God’s ways. Holy, righteous, and true. This is Lent’s reminder, too. Discipleship is not meant to be comfortable and convenient. It is meant to draw us closer to Christ. So when you turn down that glass of wine or piece of cake or meat on Fridays, let your inconvenience be for Him. When you turn the light back on to pray before bed, or when you rearrange your schedule to get to Mass, let your inconvenience be for Him. When you squeeze your budget to give to the poor, or when you stop from splurging on yourself so you can share with others, let all your inconvenience be for Him. Let us be inconvenient Christians. Let our words ring true and our trust run deep. Let us be called children of an inconvenient God. Laura Kelly Fanucci is a mother, writer, and theological researcher. She and her husband are raising three little boys in the suburban wilds of Minnesota. You can find out more about her here.

Promises. Covenants. A whole history of promises from generation to generation. “I will establish your descendants forever . . . . My steadfast love I will keep for him for ever.” What hope-filled promises God makes to David that carry on over many years through to Saint Joseph! A man, honored amongst all the saints; a simple man chosen to be the spouse of our Blessed Mother, the earthly father of God’s son, a key player in the fulfillment of God’s promise to mankind. Today we honor and celebrate Saint Joseph and what he gave to us by providing for and protecting Jesus as He grew. We give thanks for his faithful obedience to God and His plan. And yet, Saint Joseph’s part was not without hardship. God didn’t offer him an easy life in return for playing the part of Jesus’ foster father. He was an ordinary man with an extraordinary mission. And the part remembered? His obedience. When given instructions, Joseph unquestioningly and humbly believed and obeyed. Limited by his scope of knowledge of what was to come and regardless of the outcome, Joseph chose to obey. How many times in our days do we question God’s instructions? Do we ask “Um, but have you thought about this?” How often do we proffer our own suggestions, or perhaps, a better plan? An easier route. A way with less hardships. One of the things I think the most beautiful about our faith is that our sufferings, doubts, and weariness are worth something. When offered up alongside our trusting obedience, they amount to something. God doesn’t promise us ease or a life free of pain, but He does offer us abundant Life. Just as Saint Joseph, may we listen for instruction and trust in God as we walk in His story for each of us. Because even in our failings, God remains faithful and offers grace. He sees each act of obedience we make and remembers those. And that’s the story I want to claim as my own, don’t you? Today take a moment to think about one way you can work on being obedient in trusting in God's greater plan for you. What is something you are holding back in? Sarah Ortiz is a Catholic convert, and when not folding laundry, she can be found reading, experimenting in the kitchen, or writing at her blog. You can find out more about her here.

"I have answered you . . . . I have helped you . . . . I will not forget you[.] " -Words of God the Father in Isaiah, telling us what He has done for His people (and for us, we are His people now through Baptism). "The Lord is gracious . . . good to all . . . his compassion is over all . . . The Lord is faithful . . . just . . . kind . . . near to all who call upon Him[.]" -Words of the Psalmist, about who God is. ". . . for whatever he does, the Son does likewise[.]" -Jesus' words telling the people that He does the Father's will, and can be trusted and believed because His works are the Father's works. It took a few readings and sitting quietly with today's Scripture for me to see the connections. I encourage you to read again and let the words sink into your heart before you continue to read my thoughts. Back? Great. What stood out to you? I was struck at first by the final words in the Gospel, "I seek not my own will but the will of him who sent me," because my kids and I have memorized this verse recently. What is the will of "him who sent" Jesus? It is to "do what he sees the Father doing; for whatever he does . . . the Son does likewise." The First Reading and the Psalm have told us all about what the Father does. He answers our prayer. He helps us. He will not forget us, because He is loyal, faithful, everlasting. The Father is gracious, good, full of compassion, faithful, just, kind. All those things, Jesus is and does. He does the Father's will. He loves us. Answers our prayers. Helps us. Is all the things and does all the things the Psalmist describes. In this section of Saint John's Gospel, Jesus is showing us and reassuring us that He is from the Father, and seeks only do the Father's will. Do we believe it? I hope so! What a promise we have in Jesus, that He will help us, answer us, be faithful, and more! He also promises us eternal life, if only we believe in His word. But there is more still. We are daughters of the Father, by virtue of our Baptism. If we are children of the Father, just like Jesus, then we have an example in Jesus. "I seek not my own will but the will of Him who sent me." What do we need to change in our lives, so that we are seeking His will more than our own? Are we showing kindness? Answering the 58th question of the day without snapping? Remaining faithful? Are we putting God first and seeking His will first? What can we do, to increase our belief and live with faith, shown in our actions? Trust that our prayers will be answered. Trust that God will help. Believe in and rely on His strength and compassion. Pray. The Lord will be near to all who call upon Him. The Lord is near to all who call upon Him. Call on Him. Seek His will. Live with kindness, as a daughter of the King. He will be near. Gina Fensterer is a wife, daughter, mother, friend, homeschooling mama and Colorado native. You can find out more about her here.

I’m spent. I come to the Lord to pray but I have nothing to offer. The tiredness seeps deep into my bones. I’ve spent all day listening to the chatter of my children and offering words of encouragement and discipline. The words to share with Him fail me. It’s been a rough day. I’ve lost my temper too many times to count. I was short and caustic with my husband as he rushed out the door this morning; I hardly greeted him as he returned tonight. I’ve let words escape my lips that would make a sailor blush. I yelled my kids through our evening routine, not stopping for a moment to accept a hug offered by my toddler; she was carelessly brushed aside. I’m crying at the thought of another sleepless night with the baby. I feel so weighed down by my faults and failings today. Come, sit with me a while. I will fill your heart. No words are necessary. "Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.” Your inability to share your heart with Him at this moment may stem from other reasons. Your shortcomings may look different. But, sister, He is there waiting for you. He wants to fill you with His love and forgiveness. He wants to make your heart light again. The image described in Ezekiel today, of the waters flowing from the Temple, is a pre-figurement of the waters that flowed from the side of Christ at the crucifixion—the waters of grace and healing. Water is life-giving. Water is sustaining. We need water to live. We need Christ to live, to thrive. “Everything will live where the water goes . . .” Even if you are still in the thick of it, pause. Turn your mind and heart towards Him and “drink” of the living waters that He offers those who thirst. His gift is gratuitous and He so wants to share it with you. You must only accept. Wherever you are, whatever you are doing at this moment, stop. Lift your heart and mind to Jesus and allow Him to fill your thirst with His “waters” of forgiveness and mercy, peace and love. Laurel Muff is a creator and appreciator of beautiful things. She resides with her husband and daughters in Northern California. You can find more about her here.

I have to confess, dear reader, that I've put off writing today's devotional as long as I possibly could. I will blame it on writer's block, but the truth is that I've been trying to ignore today for many months. Do you ever have a day like that? A day at work or at home that you'd rather just forget about before it even comes. You see, tomorrow should have been a birthday for someone in my family. It should have been the due date of one of my children, but that will never be. My beautiful little girl joined the communion of saints last summer and my heart still hurts for what could have been; for what tomorrow will not be. Today will be a hard day for me. Perhaps, dear readers, today is a hard day for you as well. Perhaps that day was yesterday or last week or perhaps it's still to come. Tonight might be one of the nights when weeping tarries for the night; anyone suffering a loss of any kid can often tell you that the nights are the worst. I do not write today's devotion to make you sad. I do not share this to cause you pain. I'm writing today's devotion to remind us of the promises in today's readings. To remind us that God does perform miracles, big and small. To remind us that He's promised that there will be days with no more weeping and no more distress. As the Psalm tells us, our nights may be dark, but joy comes in the morning. God will draw you up. He will restore you. He will turn your tears into joy, and from our dark nights will come a radiant dawn. Molly Walter is a wife, mother and homemaker (with a pesky job outside the home). She shares about making the life she wants with the life she's been given over here.

It’s the fourth Sunday of Lent. By now, it’s often getting a bit tedious for me. The Lenten practices I took up with such fervor have started to feel a little tiresome. Maybe you’re like me . . . we’re starting to miss our coffee or sugar or television or some other daily habit we gave up as a sacrifice. We’re missing the Alleluia every week at Mass. We’re wishing we could fast forward a little and just get to Easter already. No matter how much we sacrifice, we can’t change who we are. Sacrifice is hard. Holiness is hard. Following Jesus is hard. It’s easier to do what we want when we want to do it. We’re human, after all- preferring darkness to light for thousands of years now. “And this is the verdict, that the light came into the world, but people preferred darkness to light . . . .” Really, we’re not that different from the people that surrounded Jesus during His lifetime. We, too, prefer darkness to light. It’s comfy in the dark—we can hide there, and it’s easier to keep things to ourselves that we’d rather not share with the general public. We still have some miles to go on our Lenten journeys. The darkest days still lie ahead, where we will be confronted with the truth about ourselves—that when the Light was here with us, we feared it so much that we tried to extinguish it by nailing it to a cross. We tried, and we thought we’d succeeded. Things looked terribly dark when Jesus died. But there’s hope. In spite of everything, in spite of our ongoing determination to choose darkness over light, God still thinks we are worth saving. “God, who is rich in mercy, because of the great love He had for us, brought us to life with Christ . . . For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not from you; it is the gift of God; it is not from works, so no one may boast . . . For we are His handiwork.” God made us. God loves us. God wants to redeem every one of us. And the Light couldn’t be put out forever. Thanks be to God. Abbey Dupuy is a freelance writer and homeschooling mama to two-year-old twins, a first grader and a new baby. You can find out more about her here.

Confession. When I made my first Confession, I cried. I could barely get through it. Almost 25 years later, I still cry as I confess my sins to the priest. It is that feeling of disappointing someone; and it's not just anyone, it's God. I am so ashamed of the sins I have committed. I'm frustrated with myself that I continue to confess the same sins over and over. I hate to admit that I have failed, again. So often like the Pharisee, I convince myself that I haven't really done anything that wrong. That while some may call what I said about the person gossip, I was simply telling the truth. Yes, I was not loving to my family member . . . but his actions toward me did not merit love. No, I did not tell a lie, but I also did not tell the whole truth. Sometimes my greatest sin is in thinking my sins are not strong enough to warrant confession. And, then it hits me. With each sin, regardless of how big or small, I am drifting farther and father way from Him. Each day that I convince myself I do not need to go to confession makes the next time skipping it a bit easier. But, if I allow myself long enough to reflect, I realize it will never be easy to go. So, I do. Then, I remember why I go. With every telling of my sins, a weight is lifted. As the tears flow down my face and onto the floor, I hear the words, "Go in peace." His abundant mercy has allowed me to begin again—allowing the only true peace there is. The grace He has given us through this sacrament lets this poor sinner feel as if God's arms are wrapped around her like a mother to a child saying, "It's okay. I still love you." I am always in need of peace. I believe it is time I once again return to Him asking for his mercy. Would a trip to confession bring you the peace you need today? Britt Fisk is the wife of Jeremy and mother of four young kids. She spends her days living simply in the-middle-of-nowhere-New Mexico helping with the family beef cattle operation. You can find out more about her here.

I'm a total rule-follower. Growing up, I was the goody-goody who used my manners, who never once got detention, who trembled inside and fought back tears at even the slightest hint of a reprimand. I nursed guilt and regret for every errant word or deed that slipped through the cracks. I avoided confrontation at all costs (and still do); I did my best to uphold expectations and act as I "should." My friends, my teachers, and the Army especially just loved me for it. But for the most part, my motivation came from a place of fear. Fear of consequences, fear of what people might think of me, fear that I might not be regarded as a "good" person. Today's Gospel, though, speaks of commandments founded on love, not fear. Jesus tells us to love God with all our heart, all our mind, all our soul, and all our strength. He doesn't say "do good things and don't mess up so God will like you better." He doesn't say "follow the rules out of guilt or a sense of obligation." No, Jesus instructs us to LOVE God recklessly in every way possible with literally everything we have. Because He knows that if we make our first priority love, only positive actions can be born from it. Love is the very counter to evil, and when that all-consuming love that Jesus describes becomes our motivation, following the rules and loving our neighbor and living our faith will flow naturally. We won't be trapped in a struggle to be perfect out of guilt or obligation or rote obedience to the law. We will be free to live in the perfection of God's law in a way that feeds our souls and makes us shine. Loving God with our whole being allows us to live full, rich, lives as He always intended; it creates a reality where our God becomes our truest friend and closest companion, where His commandments are desireable, and our uncontainable love for Him makes even the heaviest burdens lighter. Today, let's free ourselves from the weight of others' standards or the fear that we might disappoint Him. Let's allow our response to life today spring from a place of love—pure, all-consuming love—for our Creator. Megan Hjelmstad is a wife, mom, writer and sometimes soldier whose real passion is equal parts faith and chocolate. You can find out more about her here.

What tone do you use when you read Christ’s words? In your head, as you’re reading the Gospels, when Jesus speaks, what tone of voice do you assign to Him? Usually the first time I read through a passage I read it with in an annoyed voice. The Jesus in my head—at least the first version of Him—is full of eye rolls, impatience, and sharp words. Exasperated Jesus says, “Every kingdom divided against itself is laid waste, and a divided household falls.” Oh yeah, I can read between the lines. I know what He’s really saying. “Geesh, you idiots! Every kingdom divided against itself is laid waste—obviously! Think about it! And hey! He who is not with me is against me, and he who does not gather with me scatters, okay? So do me a favor and don’t mess this all up.” That Jesus is a jerk. But really, that’s not Jesus—that’s me. That’s me and my perfectionism, my impatience, my lack of compassion, my lack of love. Those are just some of the things that I need Christ to strip me of. I must decrease and He must increase in my heart, in my actions, in the way I speak to others, and in my thoughts. I go back and re-read it, decreasing myself and increasing Him. What would it sound like if His words were delivered the exact opposite of mine: if they were filled with tolerance for my mistakes, compassion for my ignorance, patience for my growth, and love for me? Suddenly I see what He’s saying to His disciples. “He who is not with me is against me, and he who does not gather with me scatters. Do this with me. But if it is by the finger of God that I cast out demons, then the kingdom of God has come upon you. I have come to you. Do this with me.” Are you allowing yourself to really hear a loving Jesus? Bonnie Engstrom is a writer, baker, speaker and homemaker. She lives with her husband and five children in central Illinois. You can find out more about her here.

Let’s be honest: who among us has ever rolled their eyes and yawned when words like “statutes” and “ordinances” are mentioned? At best, these rules might be seen as the necessary keepers of order in a busy and complex world. At worst, they are major annoyances that get in the way of our own “personal” freedoms. But today’s reading from the Book of Deuteronomy speaks of God's statute, one that I believe reveals a much more authentic view of human freedom. A graduate school professor of mine once completed a little social experiment with the teenagers at her church. She first asked them, “What is your definition of freedom?” Their responses varied a bit, but each of them focused on the idea that freedom = independence: "Being able to do what you want . . . ." "Not having to follow any rules . . . ." But then she asked them, “When is the last time you felt truly free?” To which the teens replied in a very different vein: "Spending time with family at Christmas . . . ." "Having a really good conversation with a friend . . . ." I love this little experiment because it reminds me of the contradiction that exists in our hearts. We believe on one hand that freedom means the ability to do as we please but on the other hand hold the tender belief that what makes us truly free is not striking out on a path of self-made independence but rather being bound to something—or someone—that is bigger than we are. I think our culture pooh-poohs the idea of obeying God's statutes and ordinances. Though we might not care to admit it, even the holiest among us struggles with the desire within to "go our own way" and ignore the law of the Lord. It is a bit like turning a cruise ship to slowly recognize that the Lord inscribed the law on our hearts not for ill but for good. "Give heed," the First Reading says, "to the statutes and the ordinances which I teach you, and do them," not just because "He told us so" and we are obligated to obey but rather, that we may live. Readers, let's spend some time today reflecting on freedom. When is the last time you felt truly free? Can you find solace in the truth that our true joy comes not in being our own maker, but rather in finding the one Maker who seeks to place His joy in us, and make our joy complete? What's freedom to you? Karen Schultz is a Birth Doula who hails from the Land of 10,000 Lakes, where she is often found in or near one of them. You can find out more about her here.

“Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” As a part of the “Our Father,” you have probably prayed that line of prayer more times than you can count. But how many times have you stopped to really reflect on that line? Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. We ask the Lord to forgive us as we forgive those who trespass against us. As we forgive. It makes me stop and ask myself the question: How am I doing with forgiveness? How quick am I to forgive my colleague, my friend, my sister, or my spouse? And do I forgive myself for wrongs I have committed upon confessing them to the Lord? For as we see in today’s Gospel, the measure with which we forgive is how we pray God deals with us. Thankfully, God in His great mercy has a much greater capacity for forgiveness than our human hearts. I recently came across this great quotation from a homily of Pope Francis: “God always forgives us. He never tires of this. It’s we who get tired of asking for forgiveness. But HE does not tire of pardoning us. When Peter asked Jesus: ‘How many times must I forgive? Seven times?’—‘Not seven times: seventy times by seven.’ Namely always. That’s how God forgives us: always.” What a humbling gift from our Father. What a blessing to have a God who loves us so much. Let us run to Him and ask for His mercy, dear sisters. Let us join the Psalmist in praying, “Make me to know thy ways, O Lord. . . . Lead me in thy truth and teach me, for thou art the God of my salvation.” Pray with me that our hearts would be softened, and that we would grow in our capacity to be merciful towards not only others, but ourselves. Ask God to open your heart to receiving His great mercy and love. This is His desire for you in this Lenten season. What are you waiting for? Elise Howe is a devoted wife, expectant mother and musician currently living in NYC, though she will always be a midwestern gal at heart. You can find out more about her here.

With Lent nearly halfway over, it’s a good time to take a look at today’s psalm, then at our-Lent-selves, then back at the psalm again. Are our voluntary Lenten disciplines making our souls thirst for God? Or are they just making our husbands duck into another room when they see us coming? Are we going towards the altar of God—towards Easter Sunday—with exceeding joy, being led by God’s light and God’s truth? Or are we moaning and grumbling as we head towards who-knows-where? Lent isn’t a time to try to punish ourselves into being deserving of God’s grace. (Especially since that’s not possible, at Lent or any other time.) Lent is a time to try to be our best selves, to take up new practices that lead us towards God and to leave behind practices that distract us from God. If giving up chocolate has left us longing for . . . chocolate, rather than for God, perhaps this would be a good time to reassess. When we feel that twinge of desire for sweets, can we use it as a reminder to direct our thoughts towards God? Do we eat a carrot stick AND do some small act of service for someone? Or do we try to fill that sugar-void by shouting at our kids and/or coworkers? If giving up coffee means that we are too foggy to spend time in morning prayer, perhaps we need to add getting to bed early to our Lenten disciplines. Or maybe now would be the time to try substituting caffeinated tea, instead of just going cold turkey. Maybe just gutting it out is the best approach to your Lent this year, maybe that’s what will lead you to God’s holy hill. But if your voluntary Lenten disciplines are leading you to hell in a hand-basket instead, you can do something about it! Praise God with your sacrifices today. If we can’t do that, then we’re not making not the right sacrifices. Where are your voluntary Lenten disciplines taking you today? Kendra Tierney can be found blogging, homeschooling, and gestating Tierney baby number eight in Los Angeles, CA. You can find out more about her here.

For today's readings, we have the Ten Commandments juxtaposed with Christ driving out the money changers in the temple. Two incredibly significant moments in the Bible. The founding of the Mosaic law, and a defining moment in Christ's ministry. But I want to focus in on the very last part of today's Gospel, "but Jesus did not trust himself to them, because he knew all men and needed no one to bear witness of man; for he himself knew what was in man." Many believed in Him; they saw this act at the temple and were wowed. Perhaps they too thought on Scripture, like the disciples. Perhaps they were sick of the corruption, the never-ending wheeling & dealing, and wanted the temple to be returned to a place of reverent worship. But Christ knew we are fickle. He knew what was in man. He knows!!! He knows we are swayed by the times, influenced by our surroundings and peers. He knew not to put too much faith in the affection of the crowds and their temporary emotional state of being. For me, this is why I love being Catholic. It's a religion built on faith and reason. It's got the blend of heart & mind. I don't go to Sunday Mass because I love the sermons the priest gives, or the amazing music that speaks to my soul. I mean, I love those parts. But beyond what I'm feeling like today, the Mass offers me the substance of Catholicism: transubstantiation. The re-enactment of Calvary. The consecration of the hosts from bread wafers into the actual true Body. Thank you, Jesus, for leaving us faulty human beings with the Church who distributes the sacraments You instituted to give us opportunities for grace. Thank you for Holy Communion and the ability to be so close with You despite our wavering fickle human nature. And thank you for knowing us so we don't have to explain why we fail so often to stick to our beliefs because we're swayed by those around us or our own feelings. Today, I'm going to stick unwaveringly by the True Presence in the Eucharist. I'm going to be proud to be Catholic. Nell O'Leary is an attorney turned stay-at-home mom to three lovelies. She and her husband live in the great city of Saint Paul. You can find out more about her here.

I will never forget our family vacation to Wyoming when I was 20 years old. The only reason I went with my parents and younger sister in the first place was because I was convinced to go by my mother, who argued that it would be the last family trip we’d ever take. I reluctantly agreed to go—probably because I figured I could use a change of scenery and, hey, I just might meet a cute guy or two in Jackson Hole. After a long series of events and in complete stubbornness, on the second-to-last day of our trip, I walked 16 miles by myself. In rafting sandals. Needless to say, as someone who’d previously never walked more than a few miles at a time, I was in excruciating pain. As I stumbled into the hotel room that night, I flopped down in the double bed I shared with my sister and silently yelled at God. I was in agonizing pain because of my legs, and frustration with my life in general was at an all-time high. Academic success in high school had not translated to my college years, although socially, I was having a blast. Or so I thought. Deep down, I knew that the “fun” I was having had left me empty and broken and ashamed. And feeling broken and ashamed made me angry. And the pain in my legs made me angrier. Eventually, as the hum of the air conditioning and the quiet sleeping sounds of my sister and parents taunted me, I found myself begrudgingly following my Mom’s advice from when I was a restless child—I visualized myself sitting with Jesus under a shady tree in a grassy meadow in hopes that He’d comfort me. I can’t explain exactly what happened next, other than that I can never forget it. As I lie there, imagining Jesus’s face, He seemed to speak to me. Gently, yet firmly, He asked, “Why don't you believe that I love you?” Hot tears streamed down my face as I recognized the truth in His words—I didn’t believe He loved me, and my crazy lifestyle was further evidence of my doubt. Indeed—how could He love me, with the mountain of sin I’d piled upon my soul? He continued, without condemnation, to ask: “Was My death on the Cross not good enough for you? My child, I have put your sins as far from you as the East is from the West, and still you continue to carry them with you.” See, friends, He wanted to forgive me, but I could not—would not—forgive myself. What He said next forever changed me. Referring to His saving mercy, His redemptive suffering, His unique and total love for me, a wretched sinner, He imparted this command: “Rejoice. And be free.” I wish I could say I walked a straight line after my experience that night many years ago. Sadly, I still stumble. I do, however, revisit His words often, frequent the sweet comfort of the Sacraments, and ponder the beauty of Rembrandt’s masterwork The Prodigal Son which purposefully hangs in our home. I do rejoice that He has set me free. My friend, what is holding you back from experiencing the power of God’s healing love in your life? Are you struggling to forgive someone, or perhaps you just can’t seem to forgive yourself? Allow Jesus the Divine Mercy to love you in your brokenness. Because when He sets you free, you are truly free indeed. Heather Anderson Renshaw is currently not drinking enough [coffee] to keep up with her five young kiddos in the Pacific NW. You can find out more about her here.

"The stone which the builders rejected has become the cornerstone." In construction terminology (which you may be completely unfamiliar with, as I am), the cornerstone is the first stone set in the construction of a masonry foundation. Every single stone that follows is set in reference to this stone, which determines the position of the entire structure. Christ speaks simply of Himself to us in this parable. He is the cornerstone offered to us by our loving God, given freely so that we may have life within us and a foundation to build our lives upon. Reference to Christ as cornerstone is simple . . . He is to be first in our lives, the heart of everything we are, and we are to allow that to determine every aspect of how we live. We are the builders, builders of the Kingdom here on Earth, builders of family and homes, of children, builders of relationships among people, yet we so often reject the cornerstone that we need to make these "buildings" happen. We reject Christ when we choose sin, when we choose selfishness, when we choose our busy lives over daily life in Christ. There are also many days where we can fall into the temptation to think we can build all these things with the foundation of our own knowledge, talents, or merits. A building is nothing without this piece, and we are nothing without Christ. And so today, we are invited to look at our lives . . . do we treat Christ as cornerstone or as building block #9? Where are you placing Christ in the life you are building, in the home you are building? May Christ be the crux of all that we say, do, and are . . . today and every day, that the Kingdom may be built on Earth through our homes, our hands, and our hearts. Today, let us look at where we place Christ in every aspect of our lives—perhaps in your work, your relationships with others, your marriage—is He the reference point of your every day or simply an afterthought? Emily Wilson planned her whole life to become a sports reporter but turned out to be a Catholic musician and speaker at the hand of God. She lives out of her suitcase and travels across the world speaking to people of all ages. The heart of her ministry is offering encouragement to teen girls in search of their true identity, and she loves ever second of it. You can find out more about her here.

"Blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD . . . He is like a tree planted by water, that sends out its roots by the stream, and does not fear when heat comes, for its leaves remain green, and is not anxious in the year of drought, for it does not cease to bear fruit." A dear religious friend tells the story of an unbelievably hardy grapevine discovered in London, England in the late 1880s. This grapevine was so incredible because it bore an unprecedented 2,000+ clusters of grapes each season, while a normal grape typically produced 30-80 clusters in the same timeframe. When Sister’s friends traveled to England, she asked them if they could possibly track down any information about this inconceivably fertile vine. Amazingly, not only did her friends find the miracle plant, they returned with pictures proving its existence and abundant harvest that continues to present day. The grapevine in question found a way to not just survive but thrive for well over a hundred years despite seasons of drought, insect attacks, and the harsh realities of war, producing copious amounts of tantalizing fruit that left the neighboring grapevines in the proverbial dust. So, how in the world did the “little grapevine that could” unceasingly yield good fruit regardless its circumstances and surroundings? Eventually, curiosity got the better of some researchers, who finally tapped the vine’s root system to see if it offered any clues to the plant’s enduring success. What they discovered was that the roots had grown and traveled over the expanse of an entire mile until they finally took purchase in the nutrient-rich banks of the River Thames. Its roots, firmly planted in life-sustaining soil, thrived. The parallels between the English grapevine to our own lives are clear—as today’s readings tell us, if we are firmly rooted with our trust in God, absolutely nothing will shake us. Pain, suffering, dryness of spirit, and even death will threaten to overcome us, yet our trust in God will allow us to bear much fruit in our lives. Today, ask yourself the question: Do I trust God? Really trust Him? With all areas of my life? Ask Him to help you overcome any fears and anxieties, to remove all doubt of His faithfulness. Ask Him to bring you from survival mode into a place of steadfast provision that leads to an abundance of good fruit regardless your circumstances. God waits to refresh and sustain you with living water. Come, let us drink. Heather Anderson Renshaw is currently not drinking enough [coffee] to keep up with her five young kiddos in the Pacific NW. You can find out more about her here.

You do not know what you are asking. How many times do we do this? Fall on our knees, beg for our prayers to be answered, plead with the Almighty for the deepest desire of our hearts? And secretly we’re saying, I know what’s best for me, God. So please hurry up and give it to me. Picture this poor mom of the sons of Zebedee. She wants what every other parent wants: good things for her children. She wants to know that they’ll be taken care of, and she wants to trust that they will earn their reward for the risk of following Christ. I know what’s best for my boys, Lord. To sit at your right hand and your left, in your kingdom. Now picture Jesus. He loves these Zebedee boys. He loves their mother, too. Part of His loyal band, eager to follow Him wherever he goes. But none of them have any clue what comes next. He knows what lies ahead and what He will become: betrayed, abandoned, scorned, humiliated, tortured and executed. All of that is the cup she wants her sons to drink? You do not know what you are asking. What are we praying for this Lent? To draw closer to Him—the one murdered by the powers that be? The one whose followers are martyred? The one who preached shocking love and radical forgiveness and impractical peace? We do not know what we are asking, to drink of His cup. At the very least, we will forced to reexamine everything we knew. At the very most, we will be completely transformed. Jesus, who is Compassion Incarnate, does not scoff at this dear mother wanting good for her sons. He does not tell her that her prayer is foolish or misguided. He holds our prayers in loving hands, too, knowing that they come from hearts of faith. But He reminds us, as He reminded her, that we do not always know what we are asking when we approach Him in prayer. We must remember that this Lenten journey will surprise us, too—maybe even turn our lives upside down—if we truly seek to drink of His cup. Today let us pray as Jesus taught us. That not our will, but God’s, be done. That our lives will be changed beyond our wildest dreaming. That our prayers will be answered beyond what we think we are asking. Laura Kelly Fanucci is a mother, writer, and theological researcher. She and her husband are raising three little boys in the suburban wilds of Minnesota. You can find out more about her here.