I was in trouble. A powerful and intimidating employer was assigning me work that was immoral, a grave offense to the tenets we hold most dear regarding the dignity of the human person. When I expressed my objection, my boss looked at me as if I were insane. I was told that if I did not do the work, I’d be fired. I had a mortgage and your usual bills. The thought of losing my income was terrifying. Understand, I consider myself a bit of a weakling. I hate confrontation and would do almost anything to avoid it. I know women who are truly warriors for the Church—that’s not me, at least not then. But there wasn’t a moment I considered obeying my boss, not a second. And though I was trembling the whole time, I was surprised at the strength and courage that welled up within me. Where could this resolve have come from? Throughout this dreadful experience, I began to understand, in the tiniest way possible, Jesus in His agony in the garden. He would experience real terror, enough to sweat blood and beg earnestly for the cup to pass, but at the same time, there was absolutely no possibility He would offend his Father. No matter the cost or consequences. And what astonishing glories were unleashed upon the world because of His obedience, because He loved the Father more than Himself. In the end, the law was on my side and I was moved to another department, but not without being shamed and ostracized. Still, there were many hidden graces. A few others found their way into my office and thanked me for taking a stand—they didn’t want to do that work either and now they knew they did not have to, and a tiny bit more of God’s glory was poured out into the world. When I am in trouble, Lord, let me remember You in your agony. Let me remember the strength that was granted to You to accomplish the impossible. Let me remember that through the Sacraments, I can claim a share in this strength. And through my little acts of obedience, a little more grace and glory is broken over the earth that needs it so desperately. [bctt tweet="When I am in trouble, Lord, let me remember You in Your agony." username="blessedisshe__"] Have you seen this depiction of the Agony in the Garden by Sassetta? Liz Kelly is a jazz singer who fell in love with Jesus. She writes, teaches, offers spiritual direction and retreats with a special interest in helping women to flourish in their faith. She’s written six books, including the award-winning Jesus Approaches and the Jesus Approaches Study Supplement. And she still sings jazz, but mainly in the tub and while washing dishes. Find out more about her here.

We all have hearts that bleed, hearts that feel and ache and love. I wonder how we’d live if we actually saw that. I wonder if we’d bleed alongside them, if we’d lift them up and invite them in and care for the wounds. I think it’s easy to get stuck, to see hearts that are pierced like ours and run from the ones that aren’t. Because those wounds on the heart, they are invisible, but the symptoms are not. They manifest in forms of alcoholism or porn addiction or racism. And so we run. We hunker down in the safety of our communities and preach the love of God from a distance. But that is not our mission. Because when Jesus saw the weak, He walked with them. When He saw the lacking, He provided abundance. When He met the corrupt, He became a friend. “Those who are healthy do not need a physician, but the sick do” (Luke 5:31). It’s such a simple concept, isn’t it? Because we wouldn’t leave the broken on the side of the road to perish. We wouldn’t hide in our churches while the bloodied and wounded suffered outside. We’d go to help, call a doctor, grab a bandage. I think we forget that the same is true for the battered hearts. Because it’s hard to look inside and see what Jesus saw. . . potential. It’s hard to look at the assassin and think, hope. It’s unthinkable to see the rapist and think, promise. But it’s there. It’s always there. Hope. Because He is our doctor. Let us invite in the sick. [bctt tweet="Let us invite in the sick." username="IamBritCal"] Have you seen this statute of the Sacred Heart of Jesus at Sacred Heart Seminary in Detroit? Brittany Calavitta is an enthusiastic advocate for a good book, strong coffee, and a hopeful heart. After battling years of infertility, she and her husband welcomed their first child on September 11, 2016. You can find out more about her here.

"The days will come when the bridegroom is taken away from them, and then they will fast" (Matthew 9:15). Sisters, these days of fasting have come. Welcome to Lent! Jesus, the Bridegroom, has been taken away; He rose from the dead and has ascended to Heaven where He is seated at the right hand of the Father. Although we know that Jesus is sacramentally present with us in the Eucharist, the Bridegroom has been taken away, and the Church fasts. Each of us received the Light of Christ at our Baptism. We ask ourselves a few questions: do you want your light to break forth like the dawn? Do you want your light to banish darkness? Do you want to live the Resurrection, beginning each new day with hope? Jesus invites us to fast. Each of us is inclined to sin. Again, we ask: do you have wounds that need to be healed? Do you feel impatient with God’s timing? Do you feel overwhelmed by pain? Again, Jesus invites us to fast. Each of us fails to take responsibility for our actions. Look within: do you blame others? Do you blame yourself? Do you want forgiveness? We know that Jesus invites us to fast. When we fast, the Lord guards us with His glory. He listens to every thought and whispered prayer. He answers us and remains with us. Jesus will show us how and when to fast. He will strengthen us with His grace. He delights in our sacrifices, no matter how hidden and small, and receives them with love. Do not be afraid to fast; the Bridegroom is waiting for you with His feast! [bctt tweet="Do not be afraid to fast; the Bridegroom is waiting for you with His feast!" username="blessedisshe__"] This page provides resources on fasting and abstinence. Rose Coleman is a contemplative in action who delights in all things beautiful. Her adventurous heart has traveled many places—from circumnavigating the globe on a ship during college to some years in the convent as a religious sister. Exuberant from her childhood, she is an elementary school teacher who learns so much from her students. You can find out more about her here. She is the author of our Blessed Conversations: Ways to Pray study found here.

Growing up, my family had this delightful wood-burning stove that we would faithfully light in the cold winter months. Every autumn that meant hauling load upon load of firewood to our back door so that, come winter, we would be ready. Excluding the tractor and the chainsaw, it sometimes felt like our family was straight out of the pages of Little House in the Big Woods—dutifully preparing our little cabin for the fiercest of Minnesota winters. I remember with great clarity one autumn day in which I climbed atop the trailer full of wood as my dad prepared to drive it to the house. I could hear his voice echoing in my head to sit down while the trailer was moving. But, in a burst of over-confidence I stood up, lost my balance, and tumbled to the driveway below. The outcome was a shaken and sheepish girl with two whopping skinned knees. Our family no longer has that wood-burning stove and my father has since passed to join the faithful departed, but I remember that day like it was yesterday. And in light of today's readings I'm struck by two things: First, my earthly father desired my good and my safety, and my Heavenly Father desires those things all the more so. He only prescribes the law for my good. (See Psalm 1:2.) And secondly, when I fail to remember this very basic truth (and the spiritual skinned knees inevitably come), I can be comforted that He's already tending to my wounds and inviting me yet again back to Himself. May you feel these comforts, too, sisters. [bctt tweet="I can be comforted that He's already tending to my wounds and inviting me yet again back to Himself." username="blessedisshe__"] Are you familiar with novena prayers? Here's one for when the healing isn't necessarily physical. Karen Schultz hails from the Land of 10,000 lakes, where she is often found in or near one of them. As a doula, lactation educator, and FertilityCare Practitioner, she finds joy in helping women to embrace the gift of their bodies. Downtime is found in quiet adoration chapels, farmers markets and gardens, listening to bluegrass music, and embracing the diversity of Minnesota’s seasons. You can find out more about her here.

"Even now, says the Lord, return to me . . ." (Joel 2:12-18). The first line of today's First Reading took my breath away. Even now, after sin and failure, and broken promises, He calls me to Him. In all His tenderness He says, "[R]eturn to me." It seems impossible, inconceivable, miraculous. Even after I have been short-tempered with my loved ones? Even after I have been uncharitable in my thoughts and speech? Even after I have failed a million times over? Yes, He would say, even then. And I do return, because I know I need Him. I know that without Him, I am like the dark ash rubbed across my brow, a reminder of my own substance. So I will begin this Lent by returning my heart and mind to God, diving deeper into prayer. I will fast so that my desires will make way for my deeper desire for the Lord to emerge. I will give to those in need, be that monetarily or with my time and love. I’m committing to taking more time to sit and call upon the Holy Spirit to teach me to pray. I will allow my spiritual reading to stir that conversation in my heart that needs to happen with our great Creator. I am committing to more regular examination, and asking Him to help me fine-tune my interior life so that my exterior life is a reflection of the goodness that resides within. Let’s enter this season of hope together, ready to encounter our Lord in our sinfulness. He is ready to do the work of bringing about new life, even now. [bctt tweet="Let’s enter this season of hope together, ready to encounter our Lord in our sinfulness." username="jacquiskemp"] Do you have a favorite Stations of the Cross to pray? This one from a Doctor of the Church is a classic. Jacqueline Skemp is a daughter, sister, wife, and mother who endures living in Minnesota after leaving California for her one true love. You can find out more about her here.

As we savor the last morsels of Mardi Gras and lean into Ash Wednesday tomorrow, we probably have our Lenten goals set. But goals can be tricky. It’s easy to treat Lent like a 40-day self-improvement course or round two for forgotten New Year’s resolutions. It’s easy to overanalyze whether our liturgical traditions measure up to another's. Even in holy-sounding pursuits, it’s easy to seek satisfaction first or give in to spiritual pride. Simply put: it’s easy to make Lent about us. What’s hard? Making it about Jesus. Shifting our focus from the what to the Who we’re called to do it all for. Lent, sisters, is about love. And love, in its purest form, requires sacrifice. Without sacrifice directed toward the good of another, what we do is simply centered on self. Jesus Himself modeled this in His ultimate act of Love on the Cross, sacrificing every last drop of blood, every ounce of bodily comfort, every speck of personal dignity, all for our greater good. If Christ’s sacrificial love is the cornerstone of Holy Week and Easter, then Lent, the great lead-up, is for a colossal exchange of love: our Beloved’s incredible sacrifice which begs a response from us in return. Yes, Lent is a chance to intentionally respond in sacrifice-laden love to our Beloved Who first loved us. Today’s Gospel spells out the truth that glory in the next life calls for sacrifice and suffering united to Christ in this life. Yet it also reminds us that in every genuine sacrifice, our God cannot be outdone in generosity. Like Peter, searching for consolation in Christ after having "given up everything to follow You" we can close our eyes and hear Jesus reply, "there is no one who has given up [all these things] for My sake . . . who will not receive a hundred times more" (Mark 10:28-29). So whether we're giving up chocolate or Netflix or complaining, whether we want to start praying for the first time or add heaps more prayer—let’s strive to remember Him first, with love, in every little sacrifice. Let's love well this Lent, sisters. [bctt tweet="Let's love well this Lent, sisters." username="PosImperfect"] Take a glance through this Catholic encyclopedia entry on Lent. Megan Hjelmstad is a wife and mom 24/7 and an Army Reservist in her “spare” time. She is the Stories Manager for the Blessed is She Instagram account. She’s a bibliophile, tea drinker, sleep lover, and avid admirer of Colorado’s great outdoors. When the writing bug hits, you can find out more about her here.

It’s my favorite and least favorite Lenten preparation: being honest about what I should give up and take up for the forty days of fasting we’ll embark upon on this Wednesday. When I really enter into prayer with Jesus about what He thinks my Lenten practice should be, I feel a lot like the man in today’s Gospel. First, I run through a list of what I’m already doing for Him like an interview where even my weaknesses are actually strengths (*pats self on back*). Then, I throw out some ideas for what I could give up. “Oh, what about this, Lord?!” I say as I conjure up a sacrifice that wouldn’t require much sacrifice. His response is somewhere along the lines of, “thank u, next.” Frustrated by my failed, fake offerings, I resort to, “Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” He looks at me, and He loves me. He draws my heart closer, causing me to drop my facade, and whispers what I already know to be true. We zero in on that which keeps me from Him. The stuff and people and sins I’m attached to, the ones that threaten by closeness with the Lord like the young man in today's Gospel who "went away sad, for he had many possessions" (Mark 10:22). Oh yes, I would do anything for love of Jesus . . . except that. Once I’ve identified the that, I know where I need to begin this Lent. What don’t I want to give up, what don’t I want to do, in order to be closer to Christ? That’s the sacrifice worth making. That’s what’s really going to transform my heart and make me more like Him. What’s your that, friend? You’re willing to go to the ends of the earth for God, until you reach what point? Take these last two days of Ordinary Time to put yourself in the shoes of the young man from today’s Gospel. Ask Jesus what’s keeping you from Him. Then, consider making spiritual and temporal changes to dig that out so that His generous, endless, and merciful love can take root more deeply in your heart. [bctt tweet="You’re willing to go to the ends of the earth for God, until you reach what point?" username="to_the_heights"] Read or listen to this brief reflection by Doctor Scott Hahn on the rich young man. Olivia Spears lives in Kentucky where the sweet tea and bourbon flow like milk and honey. She is the Blog Manager for Blessed is She and works from home as an editor and social media manager. She likes to binge novels and Netflix while raising her children and laughing with her husband. You can find out more about her here.

“O Death, where is your sting?” is a powerful battle cry in the face of Satan who has lost to Christ’s astounding victory. (See 1 Corinthians 15:55.) My inner poet relishes those words and clings to their beauty. But honestly, death does sting. I know in my head that God is good and He has overcome. I believe in eternal life and I know that my merciful Jesus has prepared a place for me in His Kingdom. But death still stings. The loss of my first baby in early pregnancy makes not just my heart ache but my entire rib cage throb. My grandmother’s death is like a dull headache that is easily forgotten at times but rages other times. My grandfather’s passing steals the breath from my lungs and chokes me. Even the work of clothing my mortal, corrupt self in immortality and incorruptibility is made of a million tiny deaths which can be so hard. (See 1 Corinthians 15:54.) I want to hold tightly to the things I know and to my favorite sins. Putting those things to death so New Life may spring up in their place means letting go and opening my stiff fingers to the mercy of the Lord. And it can be painful. I know in my heart that God is good and He has overcome. I know that Jesus Christ has won for us eternal salvation. I know that in those ways that Death has no sting—there is only sweetness and everlasting joy. But today I also want to acknowledge that, in this valley of tears, the death of a loved one and the dying to ourselves really does sting. [bctt tweet="I know in my heart that God is good and He has overcome. I know that Jesus Christ has won for us eternal salvation." username="BonnieEngstrom"] This hymn sung by a Catholic singer speaks right to this today. Bonnie Engstrom is a writer, baker, speaker, and homemaker. She, her husband, and seven children live in central Illinois, and her son’s alleged miraculous healing through the intercession of Venerable Fulton Sheen was submitted to the Vatican for Sheen’s beatification. Bonnie pretends she has a green thumb, bakes a fantastic chocolate chip cookie, loves naps and chai tea, and blogs. You can find out more about her here. She is the author of the Blessed Conversations Mystery: Believe study found here.

I remember a favorite picture from my childhood Bible of today’s Gospel reading from Saint Mark. Jesus sat beneath a tree, His face lit by a warm smile. A small crowd of children surrounded Him. A toddler sat in Jesus’ lap with one hand on His chest. Another child stood close beside Him, Jesus’ arm resting lightly across his shoulders. A few clustered around His feet on the grass, faces uplifted, as if they were listening to a story. I always pictured myself as the tall girl in a pale lavender robe, standing slightly to the side with a shy smile, not quite touching Jesus, her eyes focused on His face with rapt attention. (See Mark 10:13-16.) Imagining the picture now, I clearly see Jesus with all of those children, present with each one in a different way, soaking up the joy of their friendship. But in my mind’s eye, I see His eyes looking at the girl in lavender standing to the side. He is looking right at me. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that He is, in fact, looking at me. Up to my elbows in the ordinary of my day, I imagine He’s tied up with someone else who is dealing with a tragedy. I assume He’s surrounded by more important people who have His full attention. I feel He’s distant or otherwise occupied. The truth is, Jesus is always looking right at me. What He wants more than anything is for me to look back at Him and notice His loving gaze, already focused on my face. Jesus came to earth as God-made-Man to have a relationship with me, with you, with every single individual God has ever created or will ever create. He formed us from dust and then came to walk in our dust with us. He sees all our ways and knows everything about us. Yet, despite all of this, because of all of this, He wants to be with us. He wants to be with me. He wants to be with you. He calls to each of us: “Let her come to me. Don’t prevent her.” [bctt tweet="He calls to each of us: “Let her come to me. Don’t prevent her.”" username="dere_abbey"] Want to consecrate your heart to the Sacred Heart? Read the prayer here. Abbey Dupuy is the Assistant Theological Editor for Blessed is She and writes her life as a homeschooling mama of four frequently barefoot children. She muses about imperfect parenting, practicing gratitude, and celebrating the liturgical year with her young family on her blog. In her spare time, she enjoys running, gardening, coffee, and cookbooks, not usually at at the same time. You can find out more about her here. She is the author of our Blessed Conversations: The Virtues study found here.

The more time I spend in Scripture, the more relevance I draw from the inspired word of God in application to the ordinary life around me. In our culture as in Jesus' time, marriage is a contentious matter. The Pharisees want to see Jesus tripped up by the intricacies of Jewish law, looking for an "aha" moment to discredit this disappointing would-be Messiah who doesn't look or act like anyone expected He would. They see a weakness, an opening: marriage. Isn't it obvious that if He were really God, He would be able to make straight the convoluted paths of suffering and failure and infidelity wound through the tapestry of the Old Testament? But Jesus looks at them and sees their hearts. He sees the human soul which He lovingly crafted into existence, longing for something more. Even the hardened hearts of His earthly enemies hungered for this authentic love. I imagine Jesus here speaking gently but firmly, loving the Pharisees even as they challenge His authority. Loving His disciples even as they question Him again back at the house, continue to fail Him repeatedly, stumbling towards the yet-unseen grace of the Cross. "But from the beginning of creation . . . " (Mark 10:6). We were made for more. Lovingly crafted by His own hands, brought together, male and female, to complete the image of His divine union of love, the Trinity. We see the wreckage of original sin writ large in the perpetual human struggle to live this impossible union of husband and wife apart from the grace of God. Without His redemptive love, it is not possible. With His redemptive love, it still remains the most difficult thing on earth. God knows what our hearts need; He stands ready to fill them over and over again, pouring inexhaustible grace through all the cracks and broken places. [bctt tweet="God knows what our hearts need; He stands ready to fill them over and over again, pouring inexhaustible grace through all the cracks and broken places." username="jkuebbing"] Learn more about the Church's teachings on marriage over at the Catechism. Jenny Uebbing is a wife, mother to five, and the author of the blog Mama Needs Coffee where she writes about sex, marriage, and the Catholic Church. She's a freelance writer, a speaker, and an espresso enthusiast. You can find out more about her here.

You have your list of sins, sister. I have mine, including my favorites, the ones I don't want to actually stamp out, or, as the Gospel tells us, cut off. And yet today's Gospel couldn't be more clear to me. (See Mark 9:41-50.) We are accountable for the scandal we cause when the child in our community is abused and goes unaided. We are responsible for the little lies we contrive about our own poor choices so our children don't know right from wrong. We are compelled to root out and destroy our root habits, our sinning with ease, our masking our unfaithfulness to the Church in a shroud of this makes me feel more comfortable. I'd prefer to claim ignorance or exhaustion as valid hall-passes on my sins. While Our Lord is the Lover of our souls, He's also the Judge of them. The effect of my indifference to casual sins is a reality. And I will face how deeply I was able to love my husband when days and nights are long for his job, how patiently I helped my older friend with her new computer, how zealously I searched social media instead of my children's needy faces. What are the root causes of sin for you, sister? Let's start fresh, today, and begin again in Him and His way. I'll be heading to Confession this weekend so give me a spiritual high-five when you get out of that confessional, too! He is waiting, ever-patient, ever-kind. Our very merciful Judge will help us start anew. [bctt tweet="What are the root causes of sin for you, sister? Let's start fresh, today, and begin again in Him and His way." username="wholeparenting"] Read through this list of teachings on morality, including the seven deadly sins. Nell O'Leary is a recovering lawyer turned blogger, speaker, and sewer of baby goods while tending to her husband and four kiddos in the great city of Saint Paul, Minnesota. She serves as Managing Editor for Blessed is She and can down a hot cocoa in no time flat. Find out more about her here. She is the editor of our Blessed Conversations Series and producer of the Gift of You Series.

I don't want to be last . . . at anything. I fight the desire and temptation to be seen and noticed—whether that's by my husband, or friends, or strangers on social media. Doing things my way and doing them well: I thrive off that! Recognition and affirmation for my accomplishments are stumbling blocks to peace, something you may have experienced, sister. Psalm 119:165 reminds us, "Lovers of your law have much peace, for them there is no stumbling block." And yet I realize that in my desires to be seen and noticed, to be recognized and affirmed, I quickly come undone if I try only to seek these things from the world. I become the woman that longs to be first for no other reason than to say that I was first. I become the woman that longs to be seen for no other reason than to feel a sense of belonging. I become all about me and less about Him and how He guides us, His children. When I step back and sit quietly in His presence, I am undone still. I am undone because of how He sees me: beautiful, beloved, and worthy. I am undone because of His great love and affection for me. I am undone because He offers me supreme peace. For all of us, sisters, when we put His love for us first, the longings of our hearts to be seen, noticed, recognized and affirmed are satisfied. We are no longer tempted to pursue recognition or affirmation from the world, and can look beyond it. Let us focus our gaze on Him and rest joyfully knowing that while we sometimes feel we are not enough, He always is. [bctt tweet="For all of us, sisters, when we put His love for us first, the longings of our hearts to be seen, noticed, recognized and affirmed are satisfied." username="blessedisshe__"] If you're wondering how to pray a novena, start here. Shalini Blubaugh is a Minnesota transplant living in Denver, Colorado with her sweet husband, Matt, their brand new gal pal, Callan, and quite large GSD pup, Sully. She is a health coach and loves pizza, because #balance. Shalini graduated from the University of Minnesota – Twin Cities, served with NET Ministries, and went on to attend Law School. She graduated with her J.D. and happily leaves all things Law behind! Some of her favorites include travel, re-connecting with old friends and making new ones, the ways in which God so beautifully brings all things full circle in His time, and a good, loud thunderstorm. Find out more about her here.

I was in the throes of dealing with another positive pregnancy test. The overwhelming emotions of anxiety, fear, frustration, disbelief, and exhaustion crowded out the beautiful possibility of new life, of tiny baby clothes, and joyful childish laughter. I desperately tried to wrap my mind around this new situation, this new life, this person who is God's will and His creation. I knew my feelings were simply feelings, meant to be felt not judged or glossed over. I understood that God could handle my anger and overwhelm, my frustration and consternation. Together with my husband I would open my body and arms to another person, but it would not be easy or comfortable. It would require amounts of self-sacrifice I couldn't comprehend. Tears, physical pain, emotional upheaval, questioning again and again my small amounts of faith over the course of nine long months. Through the difficulty and struggle of coming to accept God's will and this growing child, platitudes didn't make me feel better. My wrestling with such a huge change in my life felt all encompassing, and yet so isolating. I felt like the only one who was suffering this situation to such a deep spiritual level. Kind words and understanding of course touched my heart and gave me support. But the words that spoke through and into the hardness of that time of swallowing anxiety, my experience as a woman being open to life and God's will, of becoming a mother again unexpectedly and unprepared were the very words of Jesus: "Whoever receives one child such as this in my name, receives me" (Mark 9:37). Perhaps you're struggling with your unique circumstance and can't see God's will in it. It may take extensive prayer or counseling or spiritual direction or a trusted friend listening, but let us all strive to be open to God's will in our lives. [bctt tweet="It may take extensive prayer or counseling or spiritual direction or a trusted friend listening, but let us all strive to be open to God's will in our lives." username="christyisinger"] This Bishop's series of talks on "Humane Vitae" are informative. Christy Isinger is a wife and mom to five lovely, loud children and lives in northern Canada. When not homeschooling, she is a devoted reader of English literature from Jane Austen to Agatha Christie. She writes about the beauty of faith, life, and the home at her blog and is the co-host of the Fountains of Carrots Podcast. You can find out more about her here. She is the author of our Blessed Conversations: The Ten Commandments study found here.

When I was five years old, I skipped kindergarten. To my horror, I was placed in a foreign classroom and overwhelmed by my new freedoms as a 1st grader. Our elaborate desks had built-in shelves where we stored our green math workbooks. Seared in my mind is the fateful day when I gripped a handful of markers and built up the courage to scribble all over my own workbook, and those of my classmates, obliterating the arithmetic-filled pages. Aren’t those memories the worst? Even the most innocent moments of lapsed judgment come back to haunt me on random car rides or as I am trying to fall asleep. All these years later, it astonishes me that I have let those moments develop and prolong such a deep insecurity, that I am unbearably dumb or naive. Truthfully, it is the reason I have always winced at anyone referring to me as “wise.” Wisdom feels reserved for men who drink black coffee or read for fun, and I just feel marked by years of five-year-old-Sarah moments. "He has poured her forth upon all his works, upon every living thing according to his bounty; he has lavished her upon his friends" (Sirach 1:9-10). Sisters, our God has poured wisdom upon us. He has lavished us with wisdom, all because we fit one criteria: we are His beloved creation. My many moments of feeling dumb or naive fall away when I anchor myself in the knowledge that I am loved by Wisdom, Himself. He is the Father Who knows best and still chooses us every time. In perfect knowledge, He shares His life with us, to the point of death on the Cross. What would our lives look like if we walked in the confidence that we are women empowered by the wisdom of God? In what areas of our life would we start to choose Truth? Pray with me: Father, You created us in perfect wisdom. May we adopt Your will for our lives as women and be animated by the gifts You share with us. [bctt tweet="What would our lives look like if we walked in the confidence that we are women empowered by the wisdom of God? In what areas of our life would we start to choose Truth?" username="blessedisshe__"] Get to know this Doctor of the Church and her wisdom during a difficult time in the Church. Sarah Elizabeth is a politics pre-law major at the Catholic University of America in Washington, DC. Born and raised in Arizona, she finds great joy in mountains, lattes, American history, and the piano. She is constantly discovering Christ's wild love in the little things. 

The words spoken by Jesus in today’s Gospel always remind me of a love song. These words are a love song of redemption and restoration that Jesus sings over each of us. Jesus Who asked broken, hurting, and flawed men to be His greatest disciples, He tells us to "love your enemies" (Luke 6:27). Jesus Who saw the beauty and dignity of His beloved daughters, and in His mercy drew a line in the sand, He tells us to "bless those who curse you" (Luke 6:28). Jesus Who walked on water, healed the sick, and raised the dead to life tells us that we will be called "children of the Most High" (Luke 6:35). As I prayed through this Gospel reading, I was struck the most by the verse where Jesus says, "Stop judging and you will not be judged. Stop condemning and you will not be condemned. Forgive and you will be forgiven" (Luke 6:37). Sometimes we close our hearts, holding within them stone after stone of condemnation for every person who has wronged us. Other times we hold stones for those who do not live up to the standards of holiness we have set for ourselves, therefore we become accusers rather than healers. It is easier to judge the broken parts of others than to face the broken parts of ourselves and surrender them to Jesus. The amazing thing is that Jesus calls us to, “love one another” even knowing our weaknesses and all the ways we would fall short. When we allow our hearts to be pierced open by the One Who gazes at us with overwhelming love, we can become vessels of mercy spreading hope in a world that is aching for it. [bctt tweet="When we allow our hearts to be pierced open by the One Who gazes at us with overwhelming love, we can become vessels of mercy spreading hope in a world that is aching for it." username="blessedisshe__"] When we pray this prayer, we bring our wounds to Jesus. Leana Bowler lives in Arizona with her husband, five children, feisty grandma, and three dogs. She love Jesus, writing jokes, books, strong coffee, and drawing upgraded stick figure people. You can find out more about her here.

In today's culture, we are bombarded with messages that faithfulness can mean an absence of suffering. They tell us that if we pray hard enough and follow the rules well enough, we can escape hardship. They hint that the reward mentioned in Hebrews is one of health, financial security, good things happening to good people. (See Hebrews 11:1-7.) So when bad things happen to good people? When we follow Jesus faithfully, yet still suffer—sometimes profoundly? When our earnest prayers for healing, restoration, life, seemingly go unanswered? We can plummet into a crisis of faith. But Jesus tells us—and shows us—the Truth. At the Transfiguration, the Apostles are so astounded by the spectacular glimpse of heavenly glory that they’re rendered speechless, save for Peter who starts stammering silly things. Yet in the same breath Jesus says, "[H]ow is it written regarding the Son of Man that he must suffer greatly and be treated with contempt?" (Mark 9:12) Christ never equates faithfulness to freedom from suffering in this life, but our Lord indeed promises an unfathomable, eternal reward for our faithfulness—and even gives illuminating glimpses of this glory, as in His Transfiguration. Philosophy professor Peter Kreeft writes that there are things worse than suffering and death. “Death is the sum of all physical evils, but it is not the sum of all evils. Spiritual evils are far worse" (How to Be Holy, Chapter 4). And on the flip side, Jesus also tells—and shows—us that there are things far greater than the earthly “goodness” we seek. When we’re faithful, especially in the midst of suffering when we cannot yet see the full reward, God uses it to lead us to everlasting security, eternal freedom from suffering, and endless, uncontainable joy. As we face life’s trials, let’s ask our Lord to help transfigure our expectations. Let’s ask for the grace to purify our worldly intentions. And yes, let’s still pray for good and hopeful things in this life—while also holding on to faith that even if the answers don’t fit perfectly with our desires, the unseen eternal reward in our faithfulness is around the corner, and glorious beyond our wildest expectations. [bctt tweet="As we face life’s trials, let’s ask our Lord to help transfigure our expectations." username="PosImperfect"] Are you familiar with this painting of the Transfiguration? It's housed in the Vatican. Megan Hjelmstad is a wife and mom 24/7 and an Army Reservist in her “spare” time. She is the Stories Manager for the Blessed is She Instagram account. She’s a bibliophile, tea drinker, sleep lover, and avid admirer of Colorado’s great outdoors. When the writing bug hits, you can find out more about her here.

I sat on a couch with a coffee cup between my hands and listened in amazement to the words coming from his mouth. I hadn’t told him about any of my fears, my anxieties, my insecurities, and yet it was as if he knew them all. He was speaking exactly what I needed to hear. I asked a few more questions; he heard my confession; and then the monthly spiritual direction appointment with my priest was over. I left feeling like I had just spent an hour with Jesus. Today we celebrate the Feast of the Chair of Saint Peter, which is an actual chair that you can go see in Saint Peter’s Basilica in Rome, but it is also the mission that Jesus entrusted to Saint Peter, our first pope, and all of his successors, to lead God’s people on earth. Our bishops, including the Pope who is the Bishop of Rome, and our priests, when performing liturgical and sacramental actions all stand in the place of Jesus as our shepherds, caring for our souls and guiding us to Heaven. (See Catechism of the Catholic Church §1548). It is a confusing time in the Church when it comes to the clergy. Unfortunately, bad shepherds have not been faithful to their calling and have not heeded to instruction given by our great first pope in today’s First Reading. But that is not a reason to lose heart. In the Gospel we are reminded that Jesus founded His Church on a rock, “and the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it” (Matthew 16:18). The Priesthood is a gift for us, and the Holy Spirit ensures that we receive sacramental grace no matter how holy the priest administering the Sacraments happens to be. (See Catechism of the Catholic Church §1550.) Jesus is using priests around the world to lead us beside the restful waters of Baptism, to refresh our souls with His word, to help us when we’re in the dark valley of sin with the Sacrament of Reconciliation, to anoint us when we enter the Church through Baptism and Confirmation, and when we depart this world at the time of our death. And every day Jesus is using priests to spread the banquet table of His most Precious Body before us. There is nothing more that I shall want. [bctt tweet="Everyday Jesus is using priests to spread the banquet table of His most Precious Body before us. There is nothing more that I shall want." username="blessedisshe__"] One of the most famous sculptures by Michelangelo is in Saint Peter's Basilica. Anna Coyne is a wife, mother, and convert to the Catholic Faith. She is a classically trained pianist who, after teaching for ten years now stays home with her three young children. but still manages to flex her creative muscles through writing, knitting, and gardening. She is proud to call Saint Paul home and loves everything about living in Minnesota, except for winter. You can find out more about her here.