You have heard the phrase so many times in many different forms . . ."Talk the talk and Walk the walk" . . . "Practice what you Preach" . . . . Jesus tells His followers today that when it comes to the Pharisees, "Do as they say not as they do." There is truth in the law, but the way it is lived out by the Pharisees, they fall way short of practicing what they preach and are basically hypocrites. But to some degree aren't we all? Have you ever met a perfect Catholic? Cause gosh darn, I would love to me him/her and probably recommend they write a book. SO many people leave the Church because they have unfortunately met or witnessed or talked to someone who was a hypocrite. How many times do we look to others for an example of how to live our faith, and are incredibly disappointed by something they say or do . . . maybe even to a point to question our faith? Then the question needs to be asked how much are we leaning on others to feel secure on our faith? How much are we leaning on Christ? How then are we really living our our faith? We turn to others to learn how to live it out? Or do we turn to the Word, seek the Lord in adoration, practice the sacraments as regularly as possible . . . truly live out and seek the truth to know it, experience it, and live it for ourselves?! Looking up to human beings, even saints, will only take us so far . . . humans are human. God does not want us to live a life of constant comparison with others, but on imitation of Christ alone. I am far from perfect. I try to live my life to the standard of Christ and to no one else, but that is really hard. And Heaven forbid if someone looked to me as some great example of Christian holiness; that would be a very disappointing endeavor. I try to be real, I try to be honest, but in a world where we can easily project on to people a life that is perfect, dreamy and put together, portraying the real mess of life isn't easy and has to be intentional . . . it's humbling. It is important that in this world full of human beings, we do not lose what truly makes us beautiful . . . our humanity. The crazy, dirty, disorganized, chaotic, yelling, screaming, jumping, dancing, hilarious, bad hair days, exercise pants all day long, have not showered, absent-minded, breakfast for dinner, you did what? kind of things that make us who we are. Human. Imperfect. Beautiful. If we lean on God's grace and mercy and Christ's example of how to live the truth, we are golden. Thank you, God! Cassie Kent is a wife, mom to two kiddos, loves to get a little crafty and even throws a monthly party celebrating the beauty of creativity. You can find out more about her here.

  The readings today feel like a divine whack with a two-by-four from the Holy Spirit. Whack! Boom! Ouch! One of the things I have most struggled with in living the Christian life is exactly what Jesus calls out today—being judgmental. Mercy and forgiveness are not cheap in the Kingdom of God; it costs something from each of us. Jesus loves to forgive, it's one of His favorite things to do. He once told Saint Faustina that our sins are like a mere drop of water in the ocean of His mercy and love towards each of us. Our God is a God of boundless mercy and unending forgiveness, and yet we are so stingy at times in extending that to each other? One of my favorite quotes from Blessed Teresa of Calcutta speaks similarly of this:"If you judge people, you have no time to love them." When we spend all our time on judging others, it leaves us no chance to love them as Christ does. And aren't Christians to be known for their love and not their Judgy McJudgerson attitude? You want to be shown mercy? Show mercy in your actions. You want to be shown forgiveness? Extend forgiveness the way you want Jesus to forgive you. You want to not judge others so much? Ask for Jesus for help to love those difficult people the way He does. Take some time today to think about and call to mind the most difficult person/s in your life. You know, the one/s who drive you crazy, frustrate you to no end, and perhaps are the people you would rather not love at all. Well, today pray for that person/s from the heart. Beg Jesus to see him or her the way He does. Ask Jesus to help you see this person with eyes of love and mercy. I have done this in my own life with several difficult people, and ladies, it really is the most amazing thing! When you begin seeing people the way Jesus does, your heart softens. Our stoney, cold hearts melt when we allow Jesus to change how we look at the difficult people in our lives. If Jesus can look at each of us with a constant look of love and mercy, how can we refuse to do the same to the people in our lives? Patty Hubbard is a new-ish wife finishing grad school, working in youth ministry, and learning to cook more than your average Lean Cuisine. You can find out more about her here.

Over half a century ago Richard Wilbur wrote a poem called “Plain Song for Comadre” about a woman who cleans a church. ...it is seventeen years Come tomorrow That Bruna Sandoval has kept the church Of San Ysidro, sweeping and scrubbing the aisles, keeping The candlesticks and the plaster faces bright And seen no visions but the thing done right... I think of Bruna often. I think of her slow march towards sanctity. I think of her because like her I’ve seen no visions. Today we have the story of a vision, the story of the Transfiguration, an event so far removed from my ordinary experience it’s hard to wrap my head around it. It’s so magical. Our Gospels are full of Jesus doing miraculous things, but the Transfiguration seems straight out of science fiction. Glistening clothing. Shining face. Moses and Elijah. The voice of God in a cloud. And POOF. It’s gone. I’m left with so many questions. I’m like Peter. I want things to be more concrete. I want to go ahead and nail this down. I traveled all over the New Testament for more details on the event: Matthew, Mark, and Luke all give accounts of the Transfiguration and their accounts are all pretty similar. But Saint John, despite actually having witnessed it, doesn’t include it in his Gospel. (?!?!) Instead John weaves the message of the Transfiguration, of the "Word made flesh," throughout his entire Gospel. John gets it. Probably up there on that mountain he was already beginning to get it. Jesus didn’t suddenly become the Son of God on that mountain when He was chit-chatting with Moses and Elijah: Jesus was in the beginning with God. We often look for God on the mountain top. We often look for God when we are beginning to despair. But the most important time to look for God is today. Even though today you will probably not witness a transfiguration. God will probably not ask you to sacrifice your firstborn today. You probably won’t see Christ’s face shine with divine light. You will probably not hear God’s voice in a cloud. But you will witness a sacrifice at an altar. You will glimpse a red light flickering near a tabernacle. You will sing a Sanctus with all the hosts of heaven. Join in today’s transfiguration as ordinary as it might be. Remember Bruna Sandoval, who though she'd seen no visions, kept on cleaning her church: ...For love and in all weathers This is what she has done. Sometimes the early sun Shines as she flings the scrubwater out, with a crash Of grimy rainbows And the stained suds flash Like angel-feathers. Pause in one of your ordinary activities—while you're brushing your teeth or washing dishes or sweeping a floor—and remember God's beloved Son. Perhaps even listen for him. Kate Rhodes is the wife of a lanky carpenter and mother to two littles. She used to teach English, but then she joined the ranks of SAHMs. You can find out more about her here.

There they are, old friends from college. Not really friends, we still run in the same circle, though. Insensitive during our years of infertility, un-congratulatory when we finally did have a baby, and making belittling comments at social gatherings all have landed them on my “bad list.” “Should we go say hi?”my husband asks. I look pleadingly at him and shake my head. And so we spend the entire evening dodging and avoiding. I don’t have a lot of enemies. Compared to the Israelites who had gentile neighbors with a history of warring, and who were living under Roman oppression, I’d say I’m fortunate enough to have no one in my life that I really consider an enemy. But we all have those people on our “bad lists.” That colleague at work who makes jokes at your expense, or the unstable relative who is draining and incapable of returning love. These are the people who annoy us, make us feel bad, and we’d just rather not be around them. But God is calling is out of our comfort zones today to love those very people. In today’s Gospel Jesus takes the social norm, love your neighbors and hate your enemies (and His audience had some real enemies) and He’s upping the ante. Loving those who love us in return is not enough anymore. Instead we are called to love those who we don’t like, those who give us nothing in return, those who make our lives a nightmare. After all, it’s easy to love people who love us back, anyone can do that. But loving our enemies? That requires patience, humility, selflessness, all the virtues I struggle so much to put into practice. This is the self-sacrificial love that drove Christ to the cross to save sinners like us. This, my dear sisters, is what we are called to imitate. This is a demanding kind of love we are being called to. And it makes me so aware of all the times I have chosen to withhold love. Thankfully there is grace, for the times we fail and for the times we can’t love on our own strength. photo credit Anna Coyne is a wife, mother, knitter, gardener, and convert to the Catholic faith. Read more about her here.

Today’s readings from Ezekiel and Matthew can be pretty well summed up by another familiar Bible verse, Luke 12:48: “To whom much has been given, much will be required.” Perhaps you remember when it was Uncle Ben, saying it to Spiderman, “With great power, comes great responsibility.” But it’s the same thing. None of us was bitten by a radioactive spider, or injected with a super-soldier-serum, or born an Amazon-Princess and given a magic lasso made from Aphrodite’s girdle. Nope. For us, it’s way better than that. We’ve been reborn through the living waters of baptism. In the sacrament of reconciliation, we are cleansed from our sins and given grace that strengthens us in the face of temptation. In the Eucharist, we are daily given God’s own body to eat. In confirmation, we were filled with the Holy Spirit, enabling us to profess our faith as strong and perfect Christians and soldiers of Jesus Christ. This is how we get our superpowers . . . through grace, freely given to us by God in the sacraments. And because we have superpowers, it’s not good enough for us to just get by. We strive for excellence in all the little things we do. Superman helps everyone who comes across his path, from world leaders to kittens caught up trees, because he is Superman. As Christians, so do each of us. Now, probably, our own day to day challenges seem mundane compared to those of most superheroes. But they are no less important. We have opportunities for heroism all around us. When we clean up yet another mess we did not make . . . heroic! When we laugh politely at that coworker’s joke, the fourth time she tells it . . . heroic! When we are just as sick as the rest of the family, but we get up and do the laundry . . . heroic! God’s grace gives us both the ability and the responsibility to strive for greatness each and every day, no matter what the people around us are doing. WE have to be super because we are. It’s only just. THIS is a job for . . . you. photo credit 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.

Act, and God will act. Saint Joan of Arc It is the year 2015. We live in the "future," a time when almost everything happens at the push of a button. It is wonderfully convenient. There is no need to shop anymore; the shoes you wanted come right to your door. No need to put on shoes and go to Blockbuster; just push 3 buttons and the movie you want to see plays on your TV. No need to buy groceries; those can be delivered by a guy who goes through the grocery store and buys everything you need. We have eliminated so much action from our lives. The world has lost its sense of action, of doing. So many things are done for us that we can easily forget that some things, especially in regards to our faith, take hard work and perseverance. This is what makes a life of faith all the more unique in this day and age. Ask, seek, and knock are all verbs. Each requires us to be proactive because a life of faith is a life of action. One cannot push a button to have a relationship with God, nor can one simply hope that the Kingdom gets built here on Earth. We must act, because God delights in responding to us. God expects us to act because it is in being proactive that we learn and it is based on our very actions that he can respond to us. It is in seeking the answer to a prayer or being persistent in following our heart's desires and callings where we can learn more about loving God, ourselves, and others. Take action in your faith today, and allow God to respond to you. But be careful about all the asking . . . seeking and knocking require you to stand up and go and live. And you and I both know we could all afford to do a little more of that. Where is God calling you to be proactive in your life of faith? Are there areas you know in your heart you're supposed to be seeking and knocking but you have hesitated to or have been too lazy to do so? photo credit 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.

‘Tis the season for Catholics everywhere to mark our heads with ash, give up chocolate, eat fried fish on Fridays, and feel generally grouchy from caffeine withdrawal. It’s the time of year for us to do all the super-holy things that help us feel like we’re preparing for Easter. It’s time for us to ask each other, “What are you giving up?” It’s sacrifice season. It’s LENT. In my family, Lent looks different than the time that surrounds it. We change the centerpiece on the table to incorporate purple and burlap and extra candles and usually some rocks or stones I got on clearance at the craft store. We say more prayers. We give more money to Catholic Relief Services. We eat more rice and beans. We go to extra church services and listen to different music around the house. It feels like we are going out of our way to sacrifice for each other (and we even keep track by putting sacrifice beans in a jar). All of these things are good things to do. Sometimes, though, I wonder if my focus this time of year is all wrong. When did it become about all the things I am doing? How did I become so preoccupied with observing this season of penitence and preparation that I forgot what it was really about? God doesn’t actually care if I eat chocolate or not. What matters to God is my heart. My focus during Lent should be not only on all these external activities, but on examining the thoughts and motives I bury deep within the fortress of my heart. Although God sees those things all the time, this season is my opportunity to bring them out into the light and take a good, hard look at them. It’s my opportunity to talk openly with God about what I hide away. It’s my chance to offer the sacrifice that God desires of me—my humble, contrite heart. This Lent, in the middle of all the normal seasonal observances, I’m going to try to remember today’s Psalm, offer God my broken heart and ask Him to create a clean one for me. photo credit 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.

Have you ever spoken and felt like your words fell on deaf ears? Maybe it was in the context of a request to a child: "First-name-middle-name-last-name, I asked you to pick up those toys . . . ." Or perhaps to a spouse or significant other: "Sweetheart, I'd love if we could do something special on Friday night . . . ." Or to a boss: "My plate is so full that I really don't think I can take on another project . . . ." It is so frustrating to not be heard, whether it is by a loved one or a co-worker or the person on the other end of the customer service line. As human persons we find fulfillment not merely in being listened to, but in being truly heard, received, and responded to. At the end of the day what might mean the most to us are three simple words: “I. Hear. You.” The real beauty and challenge of our lives in Christ is that what would like for ourselves is also what is asked of us, and all the more so. If we wish to be heard by others than we must also hear them. And if we wish for the Lord to hear us then we also must try to hear Him. What a beautiful reminder from Isaiah (quite easily my most favorite prophet ever!), that God's own Word is not some mysterious "idea" that can only be talked about in lofty theological terms. Like the simple rain that soaks the earth we are saturated by God's Word. Now, being the Minnesotan that I am I know how hard it is to think about a lovely soft rain seeping into the soil whilst scraping the snow off of the car and stamping cold winter feet against the frozen ground just to stay warm. But perhaps in this, too, there is a message for us. Our hearts must be like the soil that Isaiah writes of. They must be warm, inviting, permeable. Only then will His Word have the capacity to seep into the very fiber of our being, prompting us to move, and giving us the ability to plant acts of charity in this world that will one day come to abundant fruition. His Word is what allows us, as the Psalmist cries, to "magnify the Lord" and exalt Him in our day-to-day living. Today we read in the Gospel the prayer so lovingly referred to as the "Our Father." Let us not allow this precious Word to fall on deaf ears. Let it soak into the thirsty soil of our hearts. photo credit Karen Schultz is a Certified 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.

Rules, so many rules. At first glance, you, too, will probably notice today’s readings are chock full of rules. Of laws to be adhered to. Of actions we are to take: Feed the hungry. Don’t oppress your neighbor. Clothe the naked. No slandering. Don’t bear grudges. Being an oldest child, I tend to be a rule follower, yet there’s still that selfish, independent part of me that cringes at someone telling me what to do. I can appreciate structure, but I’m more likely to have my heart in my actions if I have a reason for its importance. No one could deny following these rules would result in social good and neighborly friendliness. But there’s more here. There is also the Why. Why do we seek to bow our lives down to the laws and guidelines laid down? In our inmost beings, we cannot deny that God’s law is perfect. Leviticus answers the 'why' over and over with God’s response: “I am the Lord.” Then in the Gospel, it is made clear that what we do for others, we are doing for Christ. Our obedience must flow directly from our hearts. In self denial and submission to the law, we must act in love. We are given the what and the how, but we are responsible for making sure our actions flow out of our why. Our love for Christ must be our motivation for our rule following. Do you find following rules an easy thing or a difficult? Is it trying for you to adhere to the ones the Bible and the Church make clear for us? Have you found the beauty in obeying them out of love for our Savior? May we start our days with asking God, “How can I love today?” and end them by reflecting on “Did I love today?” photo credit 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.

How is your Lent going, so far, sisters? Do you, like me, get frustrated with yourself sometimes because you feel like you should be doing a whole lot more? Do you feel like the moments you've intended to renew yourself in this season are slipping away as the rest of life takes over? Right about now I usually start burning out. Every year as Ash Wednesday approaches, I convince myself that I should plan all the activities and sacrifices, or put pressure on myself to at least have some sort of great spiritual metamorphosis. I imagine that I'll emerge as this holy soul who’s full of focused prayer, spiritually present at Mass instead of stressing about getting us all dressed and there on time, that I'll become a mom with huge stores of patience, a giving and humble wife and friend, and a homemaker who actually gets the dishes done with time to spare. The problem: that’s not real life, and God is not asking for me to make this season a kind of "join-every-spiritual-workout-plan-known-to-man" so that on Easter Sunday I can skip dreamily through fields of daisies into my spiritual happily ever after. On the contrary, in today's Gospel—pretty much the the poster child reading for Lent, by the way—Jesus shows us that less is more. He strips away the distractions. He removes the loudness of the voices that threaten to overpower the voice of His Father. He limits His concern over food and drink and sustenance and instead seeks for His Father to sustain Him. He simplifies almost everything in His life so He can gain as much strength as possible from His Father...in order to face the even tougher road ahead. Though the harshness of the desert wears on His body, and though Satan tries his best to weasel his way into Jesus's wilderness, Christ's communion with God is unshakable. He emerges from the desert not free of trials, but with the necessary strength and relationship with God needed to overcome those trials--and even the most destructive of fates. I think our God is inviting us to do the same. Strip down the distractions of life, close out those voices who try to shout over Him, and just be in His presence. For as often as we try to pour ourselves out into our "coulds" and our "shoulds," our God wants us to be still so He can pour Himself into us. The more we empty ourselves of our own expectations for this season, the more He can fill us with His strength for the road ahead, and fill our lives with the eternal joy of his resurrection. Let's let ourselves off the hook when it comes to the pressure of accomplishing some fantastical Lenten resolution. Let's embrace a simplicity that allows us to prepare for the reality of Christ's Passion and join Him fully in the joyous victory of His Resurrection. photo credit 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.

When I was seven, a classmate accused me of stealing her bracelet. In fact, she had given it to me earlier that day and I, in turn, donated it to our class monarch butterfly habitat. Other classmates had added colorful knick-knacks to liven up the cocoon display. I still remember that she accused me. We were never friends. When I was twelve, a close friend decided one day to stop being friends with me. I developed a crush on a boy on whom she had her eye. She then convinced our whole circle of friends to stop being friends with me. I no longer had a group to share lunch with. I still remember that she ostracized me. We were never friends again. When I was sixteen, my best friend betrayed me by telling my boyfriend of my doubts. I was not sure if I wanted to continue dating him (or whatever sixteen year-olds do). She went behind my back and told him all of my doubts, my secrets, my fears. Over the next year, she continued to divulge confidences to anyone and everyone. I still remember how betrayed I felt. Our ten plus year friendship ended. What is the common denominator here? Me. Yes, I am the problem. I have harbored grudges my whole life. I remember those negative feelings. I did not forgive. I am a tax collector. I have kept a ledger of all the wrongdoings my whole life. I have columns, lists, check boxes of all those instances where I have felt betrayed, hurt, ostracized, mocked, ridiculed, and alone. I am like a collector of grievances and I have punished all my wrong-doers with ill will. And that is completely sinful. I need to forgive, I need to pray, I need to let it go. Jesus has called me to repent for my sins. My sin of pride. My sin of grudge-holding. My sin of anger. The forgiveness of our Lord is never-ending. "For thou, O LORD, art good and forgiving, abounding in steadfast love to all who call on thee." If our Lord forgives even the most sinful, then why do I let these negative feelings grow in me like a cancer. I need to throw away my ledger for I am invited to the table. photo credit Samantha Aguinaldo-Wetterholm is a wife, mom, and soon-to-be-dentist currently living in San Francisco, California. You can find out more about her here.

Why do you fast? Fasting is both an Old Testament and New Testament practice. We mostly look to it as imitating Christ's 40 days of temptation and trial in the desert and use it as a time for spiritual discipline. There is a hope ultimately at the end of a fast we are closer to Christ and less attached to our sin. Every year I am always blown away how people interpret fasting, cater it for themselves, and think out of the box. I am very much a creature of habit, so when you say Lent I say "bye-bye sweets and meat on Friday" and that's it . . . and not to say that giving up those things isn't hard, because they are! I have always thought of fasting as a time of giving up some food group, and have never thought about it as anything else. So I am struck by today's reading and Gospel, harping on that fasting thing and making me really think . . ."Why do I fast?" I want Lent to mean something. I want my fast to mean something. I want Christ to truly mean something. So I look at my life closely and think how can my fast reflect my love for Christ. We all approach lent differently and therefore fasting looks different for every person, so let's break it down to better understand . . . . How do we fast? 1. Optimistic Traditional—giving up a food group or something that is consumed. This helps us not be dependent or controlled by any substance. It gives us a discipline in an area that can very easily get out of control. It brings to light how often we think of this substance and/or indulge in it and pauses to reflect how then to control it better in our lives. Also when we reach for this substance in our normal routine of the day and to choose to fast from it, we also are reminded to pray and ask Jesus to fill in that space. 2. Repentant Traditional—also gives up a food group, or potentially something else, but the focus is on being repentant for our sins. Most of the time the substance being fasted is very difficult and is meant to be a reminder of our need to purge the sin out of our life. The focus is to make a sacrifice in order to make ourselves worthy of Christ's ultimate sacrifice. 3. Self Help Book—this is a way to approach Lent and fasting as a time to really highlight a bad habit that needs correction or establishing a completely new habit. Both of these things are meant to improve the quality of life and living in order to honor God and live this life He has given us with a more respectful and grateful mindset. Examples: Bad habit: In college, one year, I fasted from snoozing my alarm (my snooze would sometimes be for another 30 minutes, yikes!), so that I would get up right away and start my day . . . and maybe even set the alarm 5 minutes earlier in order to have enough time in the morning for a prayer time! Establishing a new habit: My husband and I one year gave up meat for all of lent, so essentially being vegetarians. This was to highlight our severe lack of vegetables in our diet, and force us to get more acquainted to vegetables well as be more comfortable using them in our everyday routine, in order to essentially be more healthy! 4. Fasting the Fast—this is a way to approach Lent as "adding" something "to do" in the routine of your life that enhances your spiritual life that is not a normal habit already. The focus of fasting then is not in giving up a material thing, but rather a fasting of your time, giving Christ more of your time, more of you. Examples: Daily mass, routine reconciliation, adding prayer time, reading a spiritual book, habitual rosary 5. Go Big or Go Home—this is not for the faint of heart, but more for the thrill-seekers in life, those that have to go full throttle or not at all. They need to do something HUGE for God in order to really have a spiritual "shock" to allow their spiritual life to either be revived or be encouraged to go the next level. Examples: *please note, I have not done any of these! way too crazy for me ;) Giving up the comfort of your mattress . . . hello hardwood floor Giving up the luxury of a hot shower . . . nothing wakes you up quicker then the adrenaline rush of a cold shower Giving up your shoes, like literally going barefoot . . . extreme. You get the idea. 6. Indecisive—all of the Lent is spent thinking of what you should do for Lent and then Lent is over, you feel horrible and swear to get it right next year. So these are some ways of how we fast, you might be #1 or #4, or a combo of a few or it fluctuates every year. Regardless of what kind of faster you are during lent, the question still remains . . . why do you fast? Is it another habit or routine? Because we should? That is just what Catholics do . . . . WHY? The root of this question is personal. It depends entirely on your relationship with Christ. So why don't you ask Him. Happy Lent or Repentant Lent or Habit Forming Lent or Prayerful Lent or Abstaining Lent or BIG Deal Lent. Whatever your Lent is . . . have a Great One! photo credit Cassie Kent is a wife, mom to two kiddos, loves to get a little crafty and even throws a monthly party celebrating the beauty of creativity. You can find out more about her here.

You already did it today. When you rolled over and kissed your husband good morning. Or when you threw on that old bathrobe and trooped down the hall to feed the baby. Or when you scrambled eggs for the kids before they caught the bus. Or when you bought your co-worker a coffee on the drive to work. Or when you held the door for the person behind you as you walked into class from the freezing cold. You chose life. It didn’t feel like it, did it? The small stuff never does. But right there in that tired moment, that ordinary instant, that moving-on-to-the-next-thing rush, you chose life. You chose Christ. Every day the choice is set before us a thousand times. Life or death. Good or evil. Not only in the dramatic decisions or the public protests or the election year ultimatums, but in the thousand tiny choices set before us to do good each day. To choose love. To serve others. And it matters that you choose life. It matters that you offer a smile when you want to sigh. It matters that you reach out to the stranger who needs help. It matters even if your contribution goes unnoticed by your boss, if your family never thanks you for folding the laundry, if your friend is too busy to return your thoughtful phone call. It matters to the One who sets the choice before you with each new dawn. The choice between the world’s ways and God’s ways. The choice to love. We are far from perfect, we trying ones. We do not always make the golden good choice, because we are human. (See also: sinful, tired, selfish, hurt, struggling, and stressed.) We know what it feels like when we don’t choose life. The sinking stomach, the selfish knots, the cranky mood, the lost temper, the simmering resentment. When we chose what does not give life, our choice cannot bear fruit. But the good news is that we always get to choose again tomorrow. Today. Right now. A million more times before our head hits the pillow again tonight. By our words, our actions, our love and our prayer, we can choose life. Even when it looks like the cross. Because we know the glory that will rise beyond Good Friday, the brilliant upheaval of Resurrection that will burst forth again on Easter morning, the deepest mystery that is the ultimate choice for life. The truth that God chose us. photo credit 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.

Against thee, thee only, have I sinned. Return to me with all your heart. Rend your garments. Proclaim a fast, blow the trumpets, bring the nursing babies . . . but do not make a display. Sound no trumpet. Pray to your Father in secret. What? What are you asking, Lord? You call us to public repentance but then you warn against outward displays of piety, of prayer that is visible before the assembly, of making much of ourselves in the sight of others. Today we enter into Lent, into the great penitential season of the Church. And it seems that He is asking the impossible from us. Be transformed, be renewed, be repentant . . . but do not be ostentatious about it. Lent is at once both intensely personal and necessarily public. The body of Christ utters a collective, weary sigh, bowing heads and bending knees in acknowledgment of how very badly we need this. But as for the specific needs of the individual members? The practices and penances each baptized Christian takes on to enter into this holy season? Those are personal. And, ideally, they are private. He alone knows our needs, our sins, our areas of greatest weakness. And He alone can meet us in our commitments to fast, to give alms, to enter more deeply into prayer, and ultimately, to be transformed by Him. Lent is not about resolutions or willpower. Lent isn't simply a chance to try a challenging new diet or kick a nasty habit. And the practices we are publicly called into need not be public displays of prowess or ability. That's missing the point. God is calling us to change, to gather publicly as a body of Christ and acknowledge our sinfulness, and to meet Him in the privacy of our hearts, each of us, asking Him what His plans for our 40 days are. Lord, help me to make Lent about you and you alone, and help me to leave myself out of it. Show me the transformation You desire for me. And lay the penance you desire from me on my heart that I may know your will. Because now is the acceptable time. photo credit Jenny Uebbing is a freelance writer and editor for Catholic News Agency. She lives in Denver, Colorado with her husband Dave and their small army of toddlers. You can find out more about her faith, thoughts on bioethics, and potty training failures here.

The story of Noah's Ark is a favorite with my young children. I do a rather dramatic reading from their children's Bible (which has surprisingly mature content for a kid's Bible—lots of death & gore that you can't avoid?) and when I tell them about the animals going two-by-two, the fierce with the meek, they love to squeal in fright. "Mama! Won't the lion eat the deer??" "Mama, how did the elephants fit??" I reassure them much to their continued glee that God had a plan for each animal couple, and that they wouldn't eat one another, despite the close quarters. And when I turn back to my own readings of the Bible, the more adult version, I contemplate these same questions. How did the animals make it? What did it smell like? How did they feed all of them? How did Noah really not care that he seemed insane? If God came to me and told me to build an ark, I probably would have a litany of reasons why I'm a terrible carpenter, and the neighbors wouldn't understand, and couldn't He ask someone more . . . coastal? But the heart of the matter is, I really do not want to be asked to act outside my religious comfort zone. Ashes on Ash Wednesday, sure. Grace before meals in a restaurant making the sign of the cross? Sure, just don't go all loud & proud on me. Listening to God's call in my heart, but what if He asks me to do something really crazy that I don't want to do? I think about this when I'm praying about our family size. We have three. A nice, round, larger-size family according to many. We'd love to have more. But I'm not sure I wanna go crazy here. What if we are really truly open to whatever God calls us to? Does this mean we could have an insane amount of children? How would I handle throwing up all throughout pregnancy with all of them, as I'm prone to? How would we pay for educational opportunities, activities, healthy food? How would I be able to emotionally care for and pay attention to and love them all? Expanding outside my world of baby-thoughts, what is God telling me in my heart about my work? My motivations on why I am pursing what I'm doing? My relationships? Is it time to change careers? That's scary. What about taking the next step in your relationship towards true sacrificial love in marriage? Even more terrifying. Maybe Noah had to build an ark, but all of us are called to build a listening heart. Now I need to really truly ask God to lead my heart on my question, and actually listen. What is God telling you in your heart you don't want to hear? photo credit 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.

Ah, jealousy. That little insidious little soul killer. Every time I think I'm doing well, it trips me up again. I catch a glimpse of that lovely mom with the beautiful outfit at the school and realize that I don't have a scarf like that. I drive past that lovely house that's not ours and think, I wonder if they realize how lucky they are. I listen to the cantor's angelic voice at mass and think, must be nice to not sound like a croaking frog. I read a compelling post or see a fabulous picture on Instagram and think, I wish I had that kind of writing [photography/baking/crafting/ painting/basketweaving] talent. Of course, I would never do what crazy Cain did out of jealousy. How horrendous. But...if I'm honest, I shoot those mind daggers like a champ—sometimes without even realizing it—and let the thoughts fester in my soul. Because that's so much better, right? In reality, while Cain killed with his hand, I effectively kill with my thoughts. My soul withers just as his did when I let the jealousy take hold. Deep down, though, I believe I can also stand in the same place as Cain and feel the exact insatiable ache he must have felt. Underneath all the anger and spilled blood and mind daggers, there is a trembling heart—tarnished by rejection, crying out, "What about me, God? What about these talents you gave me that appear so much less than hers? What about all the things I do that still don't seem to measure up? Aren’t they good enough for You? Will my offering ever be good enough?" But the truth is, it’s not about the offering itself—it’s about the state of the offerer. If I’m too busy being jealous and labeling my offering as “not good enough,” if I forget that He doesn’t delight in the type of car or house or talents I wish I had, but simply wants to delight in the me He specifically created me to be—how then, can I ever accept His full acceptance—not just of my offering, but of the masterpiece He made me to be? The answer is, I can’t. That underlying ache for love, for acceptance, for affirmation—instead of the empty search for those things in the eyes of others, I will find fulfillment only, and always, in my sincere effort to seek God's approval above all else. Our God is love. He wants to free us from the trap of jealousy so we can feel that all-consuming love. Let’s try to rid our hearts of the world’s lies today and ask God to help us offer the gifts He’s given us back to Him—no strings attached! photo credit 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.

I remember helping in RCIA at my parish in Los Angeles, and we had broken out into small groups. In my small group, one of the candidates was reflecting on the Scripture readings for the week and said how she’d heard that the New Testament was essentially God's apology for the Old Testament. I wasn't leading the small group, nor did I ever say much in these small groups, but the distracted leader didn't hear her. I sat there with my eyes wide as the other people in the group began nodding in agreement with this woman. I cleared my throat loudly (stupid, nonconfrontational tendencies) and waited for the leader to clue in. And he did. Eventually. It was the first time I'd ever encountered this pretty pervasive (and WRONG!) idea that God thought He was too harsh in the Old Testament and so in the New Testament He plays his nice card and sends Jesus. Admittedly, today’s Old Testament reading sounds pretty harsh: "The leper who has the disease shall wear torn clothes and let the hair of his head hang loose, and he shall cover his upper lip and cry, `Unclean, unclean.'" It was a kind of quarantine, and as such was necessary, but in our present culture this kind of marginalization is despicable. We live in a culture dominated by "bleeding heart" liberal ideology that wants a watery gospel where Jesus was this super nice guy and sin doesn’t exist. But Jesus doesn’t contradict the Mosaic Law. He says in the Sermon on the mount: “Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets. I have come not to abolish but to fulfill.” (Math. 5:17) And in today’s Gospel we have a beautiful example of that profession. Jesus doesn't hug the leper, and say: "Moses was just so mean. I love you just the way you are." No. He actually, literally makes him clean. Jesus doesn’t overlook or ignore our flaws, he bears them for us. Just as the leper was cast out, sin casts us out. Sin isolates us. It divides us not only from God but from our family, our friends, and our communities. I know this message is pretty Lenten and you should still be partying, but as you prepare to approach the desert, know that Jesus wants to transform you the way that he transformed the leper. He wants to bring you out of isolation and into communion. Be bold today to approach Christ as the leper approached Him—in full awareness of your brokenness—and ask him for healing. photo credit Kate Rhodes is the wife of a lanky carpenter and mother to two littles. She used to teach English, but then she joined the ranks of SAHMs. You can find out more about her here.