“Whatever you ask the Father in my name he will give you. Until now you have not asked anything in my name; ask and you will receive, so that your joy may be complete.” (John 16:23-24) Sisters, I have to admit, my first reaction to these words is not to admire the beauty or hope that dwells within them. My reaction is one of pain and confusion and hurt, longing to understand the ways of our God and finding restlessness in the paradox of His mystery. I have asked in your name, Jesus. It is when I am most hurting and truly in need of an answer that I cry out to you, Lord—when my grandpa was sick, when disordered eating was in control, when every job interview took another piece of my worth, when all I wanted was a friend. Years and years of asking, of pleading for some light in the darkness. Whose name, if not Yours, did I cling to, begging to be heard? It is okay to be hurt and to express pain, but I also know that my human understanding of life and the universe is limited and can cloud my receptivity to God’s love. It is so much easier for me to sit in the hurt and soak in the pain than it is to search for the light and move out of the darkness. God is there with me in the hardest moments just as much as in the joyful ones. And as I look back through the darkest times in my life I can see the rays of hope God placed with me—answering my prayers, even if I couldn’t see it at the time. “For the Father himself loves you, because you have loved me[.]” (John 16:27) God is a mystery. There is no magic code to unlock the puzzle. There is no set prayer to bring the answers I seek. The more I study, the more I realize I don’t know, but what I am absolutely certain of is that God is Love and God loves me. [bctt tweet="God is there with me in the hardest moments just as much as in the joyful ones."] Close your eyes in prayer today and envision God's love poured out over you. How does it feel? Grab your journal and describe the scene. Sarah Stanley is a small town Ohio girl who is mildly obsessed with all things Ignatian and is very passionate about faith, social justice, and the intersection of the two. She recently earned her Master of Divinity and now serves as the Director of Christian Service at a high school in New England. When she’s not working, she enjoys contagious laughter, travel, clever puns, and finding the good in all things. You can find out more about her here.

I was baffled as to how I had lived 19 years as Catholic without knowing this. The priest had just given a homily on the Church’s requirement to do penance every Friday, not just in Lent. After Mass as I walked across my college campus to the cafeteria I asked a friend about it. "Oh yeah, I have know that for years," he told me. "It does not have to be abstinence from meat, but it has to be some sort of penance. It is in canon law, you know." (see Canons §§ 1250-1254) I had been taught the rules about Lent, but this every Friday thing was news to me. My first instinct was to try to excuse myself and discount it as not a big deal. But after looking at Canon Law and much prayer, I have found the healing depths of purposely doing penance for my sins every single Friday. Even during Eastertide, the highest, happiest season of the Church, Jesus reminds us, "You will weep and mourn while the world rejoices." (John 16:20) All Fridays (except for solemnities) are days for doing penance, and remind us that even though He is risen we are not in Heaven yet. "[Y]ou will grieve, but your grief will become joy." (John 16:20) A priest once explained to me that as Jesus’ flesh was torn and blood shed for us on a Friday, we honor Him by not cutting the flesh of animals. We make a sacrifice showing our sorrow for our sins united to His One Sacrifice for all sins. Just as every week we have the little Easter of Sunday to rejoice in the Resurrection, we also have the little Good Friday of every Friday to remember Christ’s passion. This weekly day of penance helps me to feel true sorrow for my sins, strive to change my bad habits, and thank God for His sacrifice. When I think about it this way, one day a week to offer to the Creator Who gave me all I have is not too much for Him to ask from me. [bctt tweet="We make a sacrifice showing our sorrow for our sins united to His One Sacrifice for all sins."] Sisters, whether this is news to you or not, take some time this Friday to ask God how He wants you to live penitentially today. Perhaps you feel called to do a social media fast or give up your favorite drink. Or maybe you are drawn to the tradition of abstaining from meat every Friday. Bring your heart to God and ask Him to give you true contrition for your sins. Susanna Spencer is the Theological Editor for Blessed is She who studied theology and philosophy in her earlier life. She happily cares for her three adorable little girls, toddler boy, and her dear husband in Saint Paul when not writing and editing. She loves beautiful liturgies, cooking delicious meals, baking amazing sweets, reading good books, raising her children, casually following baseball, and talking to her philosopher husband. You can find out more about her here.

Sometimes I'm glad that, in the scriptures, the Apostles are so often confused. I'm comforted in their questioning and repeated asking. Even when Christ explains things again, they still don't get it! I feel like we would not be able to accept the Gospels if this very human questioning didn't appear in its pages. And it's obvious that the Gospel writers themselves saw value in this questioning because it would be so easy to leave it out. If they wanted to be seen as the best and brightest on the ground floor of this new religion, wouldn't they have left out all these instances of questioning and not getting what Christ was trying to tell them? Our questioning is part of our human nature and an expression of our free will. We are uniquely created people with singular souls. We are going to question different things, we're going to have trouble understanding some ideas and doctrines over others. This is true in our spiritual lives, but also our regular lives. Some of us have a really hard time understanding why we need to learn algebra at all let alone mastering its formulas. Some of us are constantly questioning political systems, or why our spouse always leaves his socks on the floor next to the laundry basket. It's part of our need to learn and understand for ourselves, to not blindly believe. In today's Gospel the Apostles are questioning Christ as He tells them about His Resurrection. (John 16;16-20) A miracle which would be incomprehensible to anyone, but regardless, it is the fulfillment of our promised salvation. Maybe you're struggling with believing in the Resurrection, too. Maybe you're struggling with another aspect of Catholic teaching which makes you scratch your head in disbelief. Today's readings prove that you're not alone; the Apostles who journeyed with Christ in the flesh, who were His own dear friends, questioned and struggled to understand as well. What's beautiful is that Jesus will be with you at whatever stage of understanding you are experiencing. He will repeat Himself; He won't leave you alone. He will show you, not expect you to figure it out on your own. It might require you to do some legwork and to keep your mind truly open, but Jesus is there every step of the way. We can be honest with the Lord, express our lack of understanding, and question Him. The Lord can handle your questions because He has created us to have inquisitive, active minds and hearts that long for truth. [bctt tweet="Jesus will be with you at whatever stage of understanding you are experiencing."] Holy Spirit, enliven our hearts and minds to your Word and Truth. Help us search for Truth where we are confused. Help us seek true understanding where we are complacent. Help our faith grow deeper in relationship with Christ. 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.

Have you ever had a season of life where the Lord feels distant? Where, try as you might, you just can’t seem to hear His gentle, quiet voice speaking to your heart? Perhaps the enemy sneaks in and starts whispering his lies in your ear: You can’t hear Him because you’re not good at praying. The Lord doesn’t care about what you’re going through. You’re not worth His time. You are alone in this. Well, I’ve been there. And despite my best efforts to fight the enemy’s nasty lies with the shield of faith and the sword of the Spirit (Ephesians 6:16-17), it can be really tough. So when I read Saint Paul’s words in today’s reading, I was deeply moved: “He fixed the ordered seasons and the boundaries of their regions, so that people might seek God, perhaps even grope for him and find him, though indeed he is not far from any one of us.” (Acts 17:26b-27) And then in today’s Gospel Jesus tells us: “I have much more to tell you, but you cannot bear it now.” (John 16:12) Just because I don’t hear from the Lord doesn’t mean He is not with me—"he is not far from any one of us." Perhaps He is quiet because, in His divine wisdom, He knows there is only so much my heart can take in this moment, this season. We are called to continue to seek Him, “the Spirit of truth,” (John 16:13) in prayer. The Catechism of the Catholic Church reminds us: “[T]he living and true God tirelessly calls each person to that mysterious encounter known as prayer. In prayer, the faithful God’s initiative of love always comes first; our own first step is always a response.” (Catechism of the Catholic Church § 2567) Let this be an encouragement for us, sisters! In the simple act of turning to God in prayer, He is already present to us. Our desires to seek God, our desires to hear from Him, are part of His design. This is the Spirit moving within us. He is here. The Lord is in pursuit of your heart, sister. What a gift to have a Lord who longs for deeper intimacy with us! Where do you notice Him moving today? [bctt tweet="In the simple act of turning to God in prayer, He is already present to us. // @inendlesssong"] Elise Howe is a devoted wife, momma, vocal artist and teacher. She currently resides in New York City, though she will always be a Midwestern gal at heart. Elise has a heart for ministry, dark chocolate (but not too dark) and coffee with a generous amount of cream + sugar. Find out more about her here.

There I was, staring at a positive pregnancy test, wondering why He allowed this to happen. I thought NFP was supposed to work! (It does, but alas, just an error in my own charting.) Those two pink lines were staring back at me as if they were slits in the pupils of a sly and mischievous snake. I thought, How can this be? Why now? And I was sobbing. Lots of uncontrollable and gut-wrenching sobbing. I’m not ready. I’m not able. It’s too much. Why has it been so easy to accept the will and guidance of the Holy Spirit when it aligns with my own imperfect will? I was just promoted at work and finally feeling like our routine was working, when suddenly, my husband was peeling me off the floor and stroking my hair whispering that everything would be okay. We would be okay. I would be okay. My two children already seem more than I can handle and yet, that little precious life—that unexpected gift—seems impossible. I could not—still cannot—see where this is all going. I’ve experienced a flood of varied emotions: anger, fear, hesitation, doubt. . . but also joy, love, and gratitude. Because as afraid as I am, I have to trust that the Advocate has a plan for me, for my family, for this little one. I will follow. (John 16:7) [bctt tweet="I have to trust that the Advocate has a plan for me. // @substance_soul"] Is there an unexpected change in your life? Are you floored by something that's outside of your plans? Re-read today's Gospel. Trust that the Advocate is here with you. Dr. Samantha Aguinaldo-Wetterholm is a wife to Paul, mom to two little ones, and practices dentistry at a public health community center for low income families in the Bay Area, California. She (unashamedly) thinks ice cream is its own food group, loves anything Harry Potter, does not leave the house without wearing sparkly earrings, and is an enthusiastic proponent of the Oxford comma. Find out more about her here.

They've always intrigued me, these unknown women of the New Testament who pop up throughout Acts and the epistles, showering the Saints of the early Church with shelter and provision and boldly professing their faith in Christ and his salvation. Lydia is a particular favorite, this woman who, attentive to the prompting of the Spirit, listened attentively to Saint Paul preach the Gospel, accepted its Good News, had her whole family baptized, then derailed Saint Paul's plans to move on when she "prevailed upon" them to come and stay at her home. I wonder this Easter season if I might take the example of Lydia to heart. This little bit we know about her is enough to remind me of something I often don't place enough value on in my own life—zeal for the Gospel. Am I keeping my heart docile to the promptings of the Holy Spirit as Lydia and so many unnamed women did in today's reading? Am I so hungry to know Christ and the story of His Passion and Resurrection that I listen attentively to the Gospel when it is preached to me, or read it myself daily with a heart burning with love? Do I run with excitement to bring that Good News to my family, to my friends, to my community? Perhaps I do not have Saint Paul on my doorstep, but I have the presence of Christ at my side every moment of every day, waiting to love me, desperate to love me. Am I just as desperate for Him? Am I begging Jesus to stay with Him, to accompany me, to instruct my heart and mind in His ways? Am I, like Lydia, asking with boldness for the presence of Christ, prevailing upon him with the love expressed by my zeal? Saint Therese once described her burning love for the Savior as "a holy daring" being born within her. This is the heart of Lydia and so many unknown faces of the earliest Christians. And it could be our hearts, too. If only we would fan the embers of our zeal anew and remember the great gift of the Gospel and our salvation. [bctt tweet="Remember the great gift of the Gospel and our salvation. // @colleencmitch"] Let us be bold, and with holy daring, beg for Christ to draw ever nearer and stay with us. Our faithful God will surely respond with generous love. Colleen Mitchell is a wife, bringer upper of boys, Gospel adventurer, wanna-be saint, author and speaker. She is the author of the award-winning Who Does He Say You Are: Women Transformed by Christ in the Gospels, and the soon to be released When We Were Eve: Uncovering the Woman God Created You to Be. Her latest adventure has taken her from the jungle of Costa Rica where she and her family have served as missionaries for the last six years, to the wilds of a sixth grade classroom in Fort Wayne, Indiana, where she is still living her mission to give everyone she meets just a little Jesus. You can find out more about her here.

Not too long ago my family sat in our small family room, a fire crackling and a movie playing. We enjoyed popcorn and everyone snuggled in their pjs together. The nine of us watched a silly bear ride a bathtub down a staircase and my children, all under the age of ten, roared with laughter. My husband and I laughed too, great big belly laughs, and not so much at the movie, but at the sheer joy of it all. It felt like love and warmth were bursting from that room and filling the whole home. When Jesus says that He wants His joy to be in us and for our joy to be complete (John 15:11) I think of that family movie night. The laughter and love in that room that night is probably the closest thing to perfect joy I have ever experienced and it was profoundly beautiful. If Jesus wants to give me more of that then yes, please! In fact, all of today’s readings sound so wonderful: Baptism, the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, communion with God—they are for all of us. God is love. Christ died for our sins. We are Jesus’ friends. We have been chosen. The Lord has appointed us to do work that will be fruitful. I especially like that last one as it brings me great comfort to think that the sometimes menial work I am doing day in and day out is seen by God as fruitful. But the readings end with a clear command from Christ: love one another. I know my heart and its natural tendencies—it is stubborn, jealous, insecure, and bitter. My first inclination is to protest I cannot love. I refuse to love those who have hurt me. I will not love those who disagree with me. I cannot love those who are deep in sin. And when I give in to those first thoughts I feel the hope of all Christ’s promises drain away. My joy escapes me. My work feels empty. Thanks be to God, I have learned to tamper those first reactions and push through them to find the love of God. I will love. I will love those who have hurt me, who disagree with me, who are deep in sin. I will love with kindness and compassion and cheer. And when I make that choice and find that love to fulfill Christ’s commandment, His joy is in me. And it turns out, sisters, that that is the foundation for the enveloping joy of a home full of love and laughter and a brilliant family movie night. [bctt tweet="He wants His joy to be in us and for our joy to be complete. // @BonnieEngstrom"] Are you struggling to love those around you? Can you believe that through this love comes joy? Pray an Our Father today and hold this in your heart. 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.

It’s one of those days when everything feels like a slog. Nothing is really wrong; I’m not struggling with any large illness or emotional catastrophe (thank goodness). It’s just one of those days when the alarm woke me up far too early and I left for work far too late. The traffic was beastly; my teaching job kept me on my feet for hours on end. At home, I had to skirt teetering laundry baskets in the hall. My son reminded me of the field trip permission slip I still haven’t filled out and turned in. I found out that I’d forgotten to buy a necessary ingredient for the dinner I was making. The essays I’d brought home to grade swallowed up the rest of my evening. I don’t know why days like this—minor little annoyances, nothing major—can be so taxing. It’s not depression; I know the difference. It’s just the draggy feel of the downward weight of a series of accumulated tasks and burdens. Sometimes it feels like the daily routine can suck the life right out of you. But it doesn’t have to be that way. This psalm (Psalm 100) is a useful kick in the pants. “Sing joyfully to the Lord.” On days like today, “joy” is the last thing I’m feeling. But even on a sloggy, draggy day, there are things I can do to alter my mood. I can pause, and think of three things that happened today that were good. They are usually small things: a great talk with a student; a darling toddler I saw holding his mom’s hand walking down the street; the cloudy and dramatic morning sky over the hills on my commute. I can challenge myself to find joy in the five senses: What is something I saw today that made me happy? (my kids’ faces). Something I tasted? (the coffee my husband made this morning). Something I heard? (birdsong in the trees). You get the idea. They don’t take long, these little moments of pausing and being mindful and rewriting the script. They don’t always catapult me into what I would call joy, but they do get me a whole lot closer than I was before. And baby steps are better than none. [bctt tweet="I can challenge myself to find joy."] What are the things you do that help you stumble toward joy? Notice them today. Ginny Kubitz Moyer is a mother, high school English teacher, and BBC period drama junkie. She is the author of Taste and See: Experiencing the Goodness of God with Our Five Senses and Mary and Me: Catholic Women Reflect on the Mother of God. Ginny lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband, two boys, and about thirty thousand Legos. You can find out more about her here.

Tomorrow, I am going to a wedding. It’s not a Catholic wedding. They aren’t believers. Most of my friends aren’t. I’m the odd one, the aberration. The thoroughly modern, normal, fun, super super religious friend. That one. You might be, too. I’m not only the rare faithful Catholic—I’m the rare believer. I get called on for questions about basically any facet of understanding transformative belief at all. The one occasion I can usually point to is a wedding. Love changes us. Public declaration of that love is the closest thing to a Sacrament most secular folks can understand. I have heard it time and time again: “We’ve been together so long. We were basically married already. We live together. I was already doing all the things a spouse does—holidays and supporting them through hard times. We moved to a new city together.” Then the second part: “But our wedding day was different. I felt changed. When I saw her walk down the aisle, everything changed. I realized the wedding made our relationship something new.” These moments of distilled love change us. Our secular friends understand that. Jesus’ love for us changes us in the same way. “Love one another as I have loved you.” (John 15:17) This commandment is incredible. Can I love like Christ loves? Can every moment of my life be one as full of love as a wedding day? Can the complexity and completeness of union with Christ transform me and how I love? It’s wild to think about loving like this. Even if we aren’t called to martyrdom in the physical sense, radical love asks us to lay down our lives for our friends in real ways everyday. We pour out what we have in love so that others might live more fully. Jesus us calls us all His friends. In friendship with Him, all of humanity becomes our friends as well. Little sacrifices of self—letting that car in ahead of us in traffic, not one-upping someone else’s bad day with complaints of our own, taking the call when you don’t feel like talking—teach us slowly how to lay down our lives for one another fully. [bctt tweet="Radical love asks us to lay down our lives for our friends in real ways everyday. // @br1gid"] Love changes us. Love changes our relationships. Love changes the world. Let us love one another as Christ loves us. Wildly, deeply, completely. Brigid Hogan is a high school English and ESL teacher who lives in northeast DC. She is passionate about Catholic social teaching and tries to live it out daily in her relationships and community. Most of her pleasures are guilty ones like television, burritos, and Twitter. Find out more about her here.

In a day when the mantra of “you do you” reigns supreme, it can be hard to stand up each Sunday, recite the words of the creed, and then go home to live them out. But that is both the weight and the beauty of our Christian faith. Though it is multifaceted, the core truth is this: that Jesus of Nazareth was right when he said, "I am the way and the truth and the life.” (John 14:6) I do not want to offend others, especially people I love, and while I have come to realize that for certain familial or friend dynamics, speaking about my Christian faith isn’t always well received or fruitful, I am still called to be Christ to others. What does this look like for me? Well, primarily it has been to love and love well, and hope that, even via my humanity, those whom I encounter will come to know the living God. Because if Christ is in me, how will that love not spill out and into my life and actions? Being a Christian is bold and radical, because Christ was such. He never said His was a way; He said He was the way. He is not a truth, but the Truth. Sisters, He is the source of life. God looked at all of eternity and chose that specific time and that specific place to reveal Himself in the humanity and divinity of Jesus Christ. How blessed are we to know Him? What a beautiful gift and what a beautiful responsibility we have to take what was given to us and share that with others, be it through our words or actions. [bctt tweet="He is not a truth, but the Truth. // @jacquiskemp"] Today is the feast day of the Apostles Saints Philip and James who were chosen by Jesus to help lead His flock to God. Let’s boldly ask them to intercede on our behalf so that we can boldly and lovingly share the Good News that we have been so blessed by. 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.

For many years I had a problem with fruit. I know that sounds strange, but every time the word "fruit" or "fruitful" appears in a Scripture reading I just want to turn and run away. It's hard to hear when you are a fruitless tree. For three years I was a fruitless tree, experiencing one miscarriage after another. We did everything we were supposed to; we fed, we watered, we pruned and tended, and month and after month we had nothing to show for our toil. We were left empty, hollow and barren, feeling like we had failed at God's most basic instruction of "Be Fruitful." (E.g., John 15:2) And then one day I had an experience with an apple tree. For Moses, it was a bush, and for me, it was a scraggly apple tree in my parent's backyard. It had been a hard year with lots of bad weather and the tree that was normally filled with red apples was almost completely empty, save for a single red apple. I plucked that apple and bit in expecting the fruit to reflect the weather that had a created it: dry, hard, unforgiving. What I tasted was anything but that. It was as if knowing that there would be no bountiful harvest of apples that year, the apple tree had put all its goodness into that single, red apple just for me. And then it struck me; the apple tree was still an apple tree, regardless of whether it overflowed with innumerable apples or focused all its goodness into a single, perfect fruit. It was still an apple tree if there had been no fruit that year or if it had gone years without care or pruning. It still was an apple tree if it had only given shade or shelter, or was only just a beautiful reminder of creation. No matter what form its gifts came in, it was still an apple tree. We are all beloved children of God and we are mighty, beautiful trees in His garden. No matter what form our gifts come in, we are all created to share our gifts from God with the world. Unlimited gifts to create, to shelter, and to nurture in unlimited ways are the fruit that we all can bear. [bctt tweet="We are all beloved children of God and we are mighty, beautiful trees in His garden. "] Take this apple tree image and apply it to your life. Journal or share with a loved one. Molly Walter is a Catholic convert, wife and mother to two children on Earth and four babies called home to Jesus. She has a deep love of her faith, her family, literature, handcrafts, gardening, and Star Wars. When not working full time outside the home or wrangling her next family adventure, she blogs about all the good things in life. You can find out more about her here.

Something insane happened in this first reading and the author of Acts is acting like it’s no big deal. Can somebody please explain to me how a man who was beaten within an inch of his life gets right back up, re-enters the city, and the next day went on to the next city making “a considerable number of disciples”? (Acts 14:19-21) After being hauled out of the city, bleeding, bruised and probably unconscious, the disciples surrounded Saint Paul. Notice that it doesn’t say that they carried him into the city, but that he got up and entered the city. So what exactly transpired when these fellow followers surrounded Saint Paul? Did they clean his wounds and rouse him? Rush him to rise, afraid for their own lives? Or was he healed immediately and entirely through their intercession? Now, I’m not trying to take away from what could have been a miraculous healing, but it’s something Saint Paul says after the stoning incident that makes me wonder if instead it was sheer, stubborn will that helped him to stand. He tells the disciples that he expects to have trouble in this life, that it’s necessary even. Saint Paul knew that to be a disciple meant that hardships would come and he was prepared to persevere—no matter the cost. And so, despite his wounds, he got up and went on. Me? I’m still surprised by suffering and hardships. When trouble comes, I’m easily deflated and discouraged. I’m tempted to set up my life in such a way that fear won’t grab ahold, stay small so that criticism can’t come my way. But in this fallen world, suffering and hardships will come, no matter the precautions we take. So rather than shrink back, hide, try and fail to avoid conflict or pain, what if we, like Saint Paul, decided that whatever may come, whatever it costs, the Gospel is worth it? What if we firmly resolved not to give up? Not to believe the lie that God isn’t close or doesn’t care just because we run into some (albeit very painful) obstacle? I think that’s what propelled Saint Paul forward after such painful persecution—he had made up his mind that Jesus is worth all the trouble in the world. Because . . . He is. His love, this life, is worth everything. And so, we too get back up. [bctt tweet="His love, this life, is worth everything. // @thebethdavis"] Are you feeling so low by the beatings life has given you? Are you feeling like you can't get back up? Ask Our Lord to pick you up, heal you, and show you His energizing love. Beth Davis is a lover of Jesus, a recently retired youth minister, and the Director of Ministry Advancement for Blessed is She. She is passionate about teaching women how to develop an intimate relationship with Jesus and speaking hope to weary hearts. Her favorite things include being an aunt to her five fantastic niece and nephews, the Saint Name Generator, and whatever book she's currently reading. You can find out more about her here.

I am struck by the dichotomous nature of today’s First Reading. In the begin of the story, we hear of Saints Paul and Barnabas being forcefully driven out of Iconium by those who wanted them killed for sharing the Good News (Acts 14:5) And at the end of the story, we find them frustrated by the pedestal they have been placed on in Lystra by those who did not understand in Whose name they were able to perform miracles. (Acts 14:14) Yet in the middle of this tale, where one city hates these men and one city deifies them, we get a glimpse into a tender moment of compassion and healing between Saint Paul and the crippled man, whose name we do not know. It is not the miracle of the man being able to walk that most catches my attention, but rather the moment before, wherein Paul “looks intently at him.” A “cripple” during this time would have been an outcast. Many in the community may have assumed his suffering was the result of his sin or that of his family and others likely feared his ailment was contagious. It is doubtful that this man would have received much human contact, much less the kind that Paul graciously shared on that day in Lystra. At different points in my life, I have had the privilege of working with people experiencing homelessness and have been told on several occasions the immense gratitude our sisters and brothers feel when a person chooses to look at them as they walk by rather than avoiding eye contact and pretending they do not exist. There is great power in the simple gesture of meeting someone’s eyes and recognizing their humanity and thus God-given dignity. We see that power turn to miracle today in Acts, and I would argue we see that power every time we choose to share a smile or a hello with those we meet throughout our day, whether they are experiencing homelessness or not. Christ set the example for cherishing all of God’s people, Paul followed that example, and now it is our turn, sisters. [bctt tweet="Christ set the example for cherishing all of God’s people."] Whose life can we brighten today by a seemingly simple act of love? Who, crippled by loneliness or depression, can we help walk out of the dark and into the Light? Sarah Stanley is a small town Ohio girl who is mildly obsessed with all things Ignatian and is very passionate about faith, social justice, and the intersection of the two. She recently earned her Master of Divinity and now serves as the Director of Christian Service at a high school in New England. When she’s not working, she enjoys contagious laughter, travel, clever puns, and finding the good in all things. You can find out more about her here.

A few months ago I received a plant as a gift. It came in one of those plastic pots that you might find in the floral section of your grocery store. They work fine to transport the plant, but they are not a place where it can live and thrive. So I transplanted my plant. I found a ceramic pot in my garage and some compost leftover from last summer, and as carefully as I could I pulled the plant out of the temporary pot and stuck it into the sturdy ceramic pot. I watered it and left it in a nice sunny spot in my living room. After a week in its new home my plant looked terrible. It was shrunken and withered and some of the branches looked dead. I had done everything right, but the shock of being uprooted and transplanted was a lot for my little plant. I knew those dead branches were hindering its growth so I cut them off, gave my plant some more water, and waited patiently. Over the course of the next few weeks a couple more branches died and needed to be cut off. But then, the best thing a gardener could wish for happened: new growth started to appear. Tiny green leaves were unfurling and reaching for the sunlight. I am just an okay gardener. Our Lord is the Master Gardener. His desire for us is that we thrive and bear fruit, and He knows exactly what we do and do not need to make that happen. He tends our souls; He knows when to prune; He sees the dead places in us that need to be cut out. The growing process can be painful, but if we remain in Him, as today’s Gospel beckons us, we can trust that new growth, that sweet fruit, is coming. (John 15:4) [bctt tweet="Our Lord is the Master Gardener."] Take a look at your heart, sister. Where are you showing signs of new growth? Where are you in need of some pruning? Trust in the Lord as He tends your heart. Say to Him, “Remain in me Lord, apart from You I can do nothing.” Anna Coyne is a Saint Paul native, wife, mother, and convert to the Catholic faith. When not chasing after her two young children you can probably find her playing the piano, knitting, tripping over wooden train sets, or writing. Find out more about her here.

My Catholic faith is a simple fact of who I am. I go to Mass; I pray; I don’t eat meat on Fridays; I spend time with Scripture. These are all so important to my daily life that I can sometimes let it become mundane. There is grace in simplicity. There are huge blessings in living in a way that honors God and His Church. I am a servant of God. Part of His Body. Huge realizations, but not the whole story. “Whoever believes in me will do the works that I do,” Jesus says in today's Gospel reading. (John 14:10) When we truly believe in Jesus Christ, we are transformed! Our hands become His hands. Our good works are His good works. In His grace, our lives can become miraculous. Today alone, we celebrate a whole host of Saints, including three that I find particularly compelling: Saint Peter Hieu, a Vietnamese martyr; Saint Gianna Beretta Molla, a physician and mother who lived in the 20th century; and Saint Louis de Montfort, whose love of and devotion to Mary continues to inspire Catholics around the world. These three very different Saints lived vastly different lives. They were born in different centuries, lived on different continents, carried different crosses. All of them, though, model the transformative power of Christ in our lives. Their true belief in Jesus allowed them to do His work on Earth. Miracles have been worked through their intercession. The lives of others have been changed. Their strength to carry crosses I cannot fathom inspires me. Martyrdom—in body and in spirit. Dying to self to live in Christ. Truly Easter people. Saints walk among us today. Peter, Barnabas, and the other early Christians are at the head of a line that continues on in every community. When we have true faith, we can truly do Christ's work on Earth as part of His body. No matter our century, continent, or cross, we can do the works of Christ. We are called to be Saints. [bctt tweet="No matter our century, continent, or cross, we can do the works of Christ. // @br1gid"] Read up on the lives of the Saints. Find a book or peruse a website. Be inspired. Brigid Hogan is a high school English and ESL teacher who lives in northeast DC. She is passionate about Catholic social teaching and tries to live it out daily in her relationships and community. Most of her pleasures are guilty ones like television, burritos, and Twitter. Find out more about her here.

As a child, I alphabetized my books on the shelf, kept a detailed inventory of my Halloween candy, and organized my socks by color. I grew into an adult who makes the lists, packs the bags, plans the meals, and loads the car with precision. I notice details and arrange things as efficiently as possible. I even catch myself thinking that hardly anyone else does these things as well as I do. Eventually, a time will come when my efficiency won’t matter anymore. No matter how organized and prepared I am in life, I can’t control what happens after I die. This might be what scares me most about death—not pain, darkness, or even separation, but the idea that I won’t be in charge of what happens next. I won’t have the ability to arrange things to ensure that everyone will have what is needed at the right time. The Apostle Thomas sometimes gets cast as the one who doesn’t trust Jesus quite enough. He’s always questioning, trying to nail down the specifics. I love him because he’s practical, like me. He tells Jesus, “Master, we don’t know where you are going; how can we know the way?” (John 14:5) I wonder if Thomas thinks this might be something Jesus has missed, a detail He dropped inadvertently. Jesus has a lot on His mind, after all—maybe He’s just forgotten to outline the specifics. Good thing He has us there to remind Him, I want to tell Thomas. We’re on the job. We’re the details people. We have this covered. When it comes to Jesus, can I trust that He knows what I need? Has He proven that He takes care with details, too—that my needs are important to Him? I picture Jesus sighing, turning to me with a patient expression on His face, putting His hands on my shoulders. He hears me. He knows me. He made me the way I am. He answers me, speaking directly to the anxiety in my heart, just the way He spoke to Thomas. I am the way. Of course He knows what we need. He’s one of us. Jesus knows what it is to be tired, hungry, even cranky. But this Man is also God. He multiplies food to feed everyone with some left over. If He is the one preparing a place for us, we can trust Him. [bctt tweet="If He is the one preparing a place for us, we can trust Him. // @dere_abbey"] Next time you find yourself worrying over the details of a situation you can’t control, try taking a deep breath and intentionally trusting Jesus to handle it for you by saying, “Jesus, I trust in you.” He knows your every need, and He’s got everything under control. You can trust Him. 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.

A guest needed to pick up some things that had been shipped to the wrong address, and there was no one else available to take her when I received a text asking for the favor. I was able to rearrange my schedule so I could both finish my work and perform this hospitable service, but that sure didn’t keep me from griping inside! When I met her, car keys in my hand, her gratitude came flooding over me like a tidal wave, and her smile melted my reluctance into a distant memory. We chatted along the way and I lost track of time. The people at our destination were so delightful I started to really enjoy this excursion away from my perennial, smile-less piles of work. After we finished the errand, I figured the rest of the afternoon was shot because of traffic, and I noticed that she seemed a little ill at ease. I asked her if she needed something else, and she hesitatingly admitted that, yes, she needed to go do one more thing. When I told her I wouldn’t mind taking her, there was another torrent of exuberant gratitude, and so we were off into the rhythm of another wonderful conversation. In today’s Gospel, our Lord has just finished washing the feet of His disciples and He says, “If you understand this, blessed are you if you do it.” (John 13:17) And indeed there is something remarkably, even miraculously, blessed about serving others. The Saints have echoed this blessing through their lives of self-giving love, and one of Pope Saint John Paul II’s foundational thoughts is that humanity finds itself by making a sincere gift of itself. We sing the words of Saint Francis's prayer, “ . . . in giving of ourselves we receive.” What do we receive? Life, joy, freedom, perspective, growth, and wider horizons. [bctt tweet="We sing the words of Saint Francis's prayer, “ . . . in giving of ourselves we receive.”"] Sisters, let’s ask for the grace to adore and love the King of the Universe who humbles Himself to wash the feet of the disciples and to be the Bread of Life for us. Then let us draw near to Him, asking for the strength to be servants to all those He calls us to love. Sister Maria Kim Bui is a Daughter of Saint Paul, women religious dedicated to evangelization in and through the media. She is originally from Tempe, AZ, spent most of her fourteen years in religious life in the northeast, and is part of a bilingual evangelization team of sisters serving in Texas. Find out more about her here.