Today’s readings are often outshone by Joseph and his amazing coat. “Typical Joseph,” his brothers might say. However, there is so much more going on in these Scriptures. We see greed and vengeance, famine and slavery, terrified Pharisees, and that famous cornerstone. But what about Reuben the eldest of the twelve sons of Jacob? He’s easy to miss, yet there is so much we can learn from him. As the oldest brother, he tried to guide his brothers in their actions. “We must not take his life. Instead of shedding blood,” he continued, “just throw him into that cistern there in the desert; but do not kill him outright.” (Genesis 37:22) How often do we say this? Not those exact words, of course, but we say this in other ways. So often we tolerate a bit of sin to keep the peace. We stick our necks out just far enough that we can dissent quietly and still appear to be a part of the crowd. I had a conversation with a woman once where she told me about her choice to surgically prevent more pregnancies in her marriage. I was not sure how to respond. I did not want to offend this woman, and I certainly did not want to come off as holier-than-thou, and turn her away from Christ. My response was something along the lines of, “Well, each family has to make its own decision.” Very diplomatic. I walked away feeling like I had expressed my approval of her actions because of my watered down and barely recognizable opposition. How should I have handled that situation? Honestly, I am not sure. It’s something I need to pray about. Lord, how can I defend your commands yet still show mercy to those in need? Reuben was trying to help all of his brothers to avoid a sinful act, but he lacked the courage to really stop their evil intentions. We are all called to help our brothers and sisters to avoid sin, but doing it courageously and with charity is often tricky. Often a situation passes us by before we realize what has happened. Let’s ask God for the wisdom and His help to know how to respond in those moments in which we are called to proclaim truth to others in a merciful way. Let us ask Him to guide us on that fine line between condemning and condoning their actions. [bctt tweet="Let’s ask God for His wisdom and help."] Many of our past choices, those of family and friends around us, merit a merciful call to conversion. If you struggle with knowing what to say and how to say it, pray on it. Ask a trusted priest or spiritual advisor. Look to the Catechism for guidance. Jenna Hines has a teeny army of children: Ellen, Samuel, Theodore, and Maryn and is married to a bearded fellow named Mike. She is happiest when it is sunny outside and she has an embroidery needle in her hand. You can find out more about her here.

Several years back I was recovering from my first months as a new mother, hormones out of control and overall losing a sense of myself. My husband lovingly planned a surprise day away for me with three of my best friends, complete with antiquing and massages. Surprises I find to be nice in theory, but in reality I like being aware of the plan. I questioned my husband incessantly, finagling details out of him, trying to ensure I had a full scope of what to expect that day. My stress levels skyrocketed. I find this need to plan extending to many areas of my life, getting caught up in a mindset of concocting a plan rather than trusting God. While not sinful to be well prepared, when I redirect that channel of trust, choosing my own strength over His, I get caught up in my ideals and plans. Ultimately I dry up, becoming a desolate wasteland because my focus has turned inward. God doesn’t want us stuck in this barren place. He longs for us to grow and truly live. It sounds terrifyingly huge to fully put our trust in God, but I believe it can be done in a much more simple way than anything I could plan. "Blessed are those who trust in the Lord," says the First Reading today. (Jeremiah 17:7) From that place of trust, we will flourish! One of my favorite saints, Saint Faustina, wrote in her diary how during Holy Mass, Jesus comes to her as a little child and she holds Him in her arms. Questioning Him as to why He has presented Himself in this way, Jesus tells Saint Faustina, "Because I want to teach you spiritual childhood. I want you to be very little, because when you are little, I carry you close to my Heart . . . ." (Entry 1481) (source). Sisters, be challenged and encouraged by this. Jesus longs for us to climb up and let Him carry us through the unknown and the terrifying. He offers us a spot close to His heart in which we can let go and trust. [bctt tweet="God longs for us to grow and truly live."] When trust looks like that, how can we say no? Take a moment to meditate on how abundantly we can live when tucked beside His heart. Let’s allow Him to carry us close to His Sacred Heart. Sarah Ortiz is a Catholic convert, wife, and mother to four boys. When not folding laundry, she can be found reading, experimenting in the kitchen, or writing at her blog. You can find out more about her here.

I'm not sure whether or not Saints James and John, at that moment when Christ asked them if they were willing to drink from the same cup He would drink of, fully understood their own acquiescence. They knew Christ was the Messiah, but the Apostles were still in disbelief that the Messiah would have to suffer and die. I think they were still clinging to the long-held belief that the Savior would be a military leader and victory would be seen over their enemies. Maybe they didn't think all that bad stuff was really going to happen. Maybe they banked on a miracle happening and that Jesus would not have to suffer so much. But their quick response does tell us that they wanted to be part of the Kingdom. They wanted to do God's work. They were asking to do His will. And this readiness is something I ponder and question in my own heart often. I pray to do God's will. And I mean it, I really want His will done in my life. But I also know that often when I pray that His will be done I am praying that His will lines up with what I want. Now, Saint James and Saint John were Apostles. Saint James would go on to be martyred for sharing the faith, Saint John to care for Our Lady and write a book of the Gospels—they were men of incredible faith who did incredible things. In the spiritual life this half-way acceptance, this stepping out in faith is very real. We often cannot accept the suffering and pain in our lives ahead of time. We don't want the pain. Even when we're living through it and offering it up, we aren't loving the experience. Even though Jesus just spoke of mocking, scourging, crucifixion and death, I don't think Saint James' and Saint John's imaginations could fully comprehend what was in store. Our imaginations can't comprehend what God has in store for our lives either—the blessings or the sufferings. But we can still choose to respond with an eager, burning yes, and step out in faith. [bctt tweet="Respond with an eager, burning yes, and step out in faith."] Lord, we pray for Your will to be done in our lives. We pray for the courage, the grace, the faith needed for what You have in store for us at the time we need it. Saints James and John, pray for us that we may grow as close to Christ as you were. 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.

Something remarkable happens to our love of the Lord when we choose to be guided by the liturgical seasons. The tone of God’s loving and His way becomes recognizable in everyday life. Imagine for a moment the person in your parish who represents the quiet fidelity of God for you. Perhaps it is the outgoing usher or the couple that always sits in a certain section of pews. Perhaps it is the people who come inexplicably early to the early Mass or the parents who courageously bring all the kiddos. Whatever the quiet habits, my Sisters and I see these people at every parish when we bring our mission and affectionately consider them the pillars of parish communities. Genuine humility attracts. Our Lord uses vivid images in the Gospel today to show us both who He is and who we are to become. He launches our attention far beyond this world’s infatuation with titles and power. He plainly states we have only one Master and one Father in Heaven. Our Master loves us so fiercely that He defines His way of loving against artificial power of the world. What is His way? Unlike religious elite who tie up heavy burdens, Our Almighty God is gentle and humble of heart (cf. Matthew 11:28). Lent is a prolonged contemplation of His gentle, humble love. God refuses to force us to follow His rules. He never crushes us with His glory. In fact, He permitted us to crush Him first only to rise from the dead and definitively prove love conquers everything. Subtext? “You don’t need a title, folks.” Sisters, if you are like me, it is often easier to see worldly titles than His fiercely gentle love. But let’s not waste time looking at ourselves. Let’s ask for the grace to turn our hearts in trust to our Good Father who refuses to give burdens too hard to carry. Let’s ask Him to reveal His way in the depths of our hearts this Lent. May Our Lady teach us to trust in Him. [bctt tweet="Let’s not waste time looking at ourselves. Let’s ask for the grace to turn our hearts in trust to our Good Father. // @SrMariaKim"] Almighty God, Your gentleness and mercy are beyond my understanding. I repent of trying to lay heavy burdens on myself and my brothers and sisters. I repent to reverencing worldly titles and power. In your Love, make my heart white as wool—desirous of following only Your way. 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.

I go to Confession now more frequently than I ever used to, and my greatest takeaway from it has to do with these two lines from today's Gospel: "Jesus said to His disciples: 'Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful . . .' and, 'Forgive and you will be forgiven.'" (Luke 6:36-37) We're all called to imitate Jesus in each of our vocations. And since we were made in the image of Jesus, then, it's only natural that we were formed to be like Him and that this lifetime is where we stretch ourselves and mold ourselves more into His likeness. My mindset whenever I'm hurt by someone nowadays has completely changed since before I went to Confession more routinely. It wasn't always like this, but going to Confession frequently has had this profound change in how I receive forgiveness and in how I give it out. It has transformed my understanding of God and my understanding of who I am, who I'm meant to be, and how I'm meant to interact with others. I'm reminded of how I can do these things, albeit in a much smaller scale, for the people around me. I'm reminded how I can forgive and forget and not hold things against people in the future. I'm reminded I can show another human being that when I look at them that I don't see their sins, that their sins have not ruined them, that there is hope for them, that Jesus absolutely still loves them and wants to know them. And that I do, too. Now whenever I'm wronged by someone, I think about the hurt I've caused others, and then I think about how Jesus looks upon me when I've hurt Him. I try to respond as closely as I can to how He responds to me—with mercy, with forgiveness, with a fresh start, and a chance to try again. I've come to know our Father more deeply there as I've experienced His mercy and forgiveness through this Sacrament—mercy that is given when I am undeserving and forgiveness that knows no bounds. And because this is Who the Father is, this is how I want to be, too. [bctt tweet="Confession has transformed my understanding of God and my understanding of who I am."] These are messages we are all in such desperate need of hearing, and thankfully, we receive them through Confession. We learn that we are seen, known, and still loved. Let's remember the gravity of sharing this message with others too, especially this Lent. Annie Deddens is a writer and producer. She runs a prayer ministry with her husband, called Pray More Novenas. She has a heart for the sick & suffering, and she writes about living with greater faith (hope & love, too) in this imperfect world as a Catholic wife. You can find out more about her here.

I have always struggled with this idea of God asking Abraham to kill Isaac. Yes, I know how the story ends, how the messenger appears just in time to stop the slaughter, but the thought of our loving Creator asking for the death of a child, or anyone for that matter, does not sit well with me. But what if we read this story understanding Isaac, not simply as Abraham’s son, but his idol. In a time period where children literally equaled one’s value in society, there’s no wonder why Abraham desperately wanted a child. A person’s whole identity was tied to their lineage. In a society with those pressures, it would be easy to idolize a child. As a single woman deeply called to the vocation of wife and mother, I can relate to Abraham. True, today the idea of identity and worth isn't tied as tightly as back then, but it’s not exactly separate either—especially in Catholic circles. Every time I turn on social media someone is engaged or pregnant. Most parish ministries for women I have encountered are geared specifically to mothers. And my grandmother persistently questions whether or not I ever plan on getting married. With all of this noise combined with my own struggles of self worth, it is easy to fall into the lie of my identity relying solely on this vocation I crave. And it is just as easy to allow my longing to become idolatrous. Marriage and children are good and of God, but they are not God. And so I wonder if that is what God was asking Abraham to sacrifice—not Isaac, but the idol he had allowed his son to become. And as I think about all those times I am angry or distraught with how my life looks right now, I pray for the strength of Abraham to sacrifice my desires and my control simply to follow God. [bctt tweet="I pray for the strength of Abraham to sacrifice my desires and my control simply to follow God."] Pray for clarity in God's will for your life. Pray a Rosary slowly and meditate on all the ways Jesus followed God's will in His life, especially the hard times. 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 forgive you. The words came spewing out of my mouth far faster than I had anticipated. They fell out of me like a tidal wave, washing away the years of anger I had built up against him. And as my heart softened with forgiveness, my mind reeled in disbelief. In my little world, he was public enemy number one. The person who took my sixteen-year-old heart and annihilated every ounce of trust it once held out so innocently for him. But there it was, the words “I forgive you” still thrusting through my defenses as my nineteen-year-old heart began to bandage the broken pieces that had been placed there a few years earlier. And I wondered if I was being weak. In that moment of resignation, I wondered if the broken would wiggle its way back beneath those newly formed bandages, if I was forging a path for the heartache to find me once again. But something inside called me forward, to allow forgiveness to extinguish that raging fire of anger I had spent years feeding. And so we worked at it, me and public enemy number one. We rode the highs and trekked through the lows. We loved and fought and put up defenses. And then, on a perfect day in April, we said to one another, “I do.” It’s amazing what God can do when we allow ourselves to drive holes through the walls we’ve put up against others. But we are experts at building, aren’t we? We take those broken parts of our hearts and stack them onto the walls that separate us, brick by brick. "But I say to you, love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you." (Matthew 5:44) May those words break down the walls in your hearts, dear sister, because there is always room for love. Always. [bctt tweet="There is always room for love. // @IamBritCal"] Are you holding fast to hatred, a grudge, or anger? Can you let forgiveness wash over you? Start with praying for that person. 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.

Can you remember the last time you were really (really) tired? Was it that last epic paper? That last of those nightly feedings (and diaperings) (and sshh-ings) of your sweet little? That troublesome conversation that kept you up all night tossing and turning? Those final moments of darkness, before the light even begins to show its face in the east, are some of the longest moments of humanity, I think. As a birth doula working with women in labor I used to call those my "dark nights of the soul" nights. Moments when I would simply crave the arrival of the sunrise so that, even if labor were to continue, I would have confirmation that the darkness would not last forever. "My soul waits for the Lord more than sentinels for the dawn." (Psalm 130: 6) It is a passage to which I've often looked for solace as I've journeyed through life's tiresome circumstances. A sentinel, a guard, must also have known what is was like to wait for the light. Wait for rest. Wait for his weariness to be met with consolation. Oh, how often I've felt like that sentinel: watchful and waiting. Except that I'm not always meticulously watchful. Nor patiently waiting. My own personal image of a sentinel looks more like an overly tired toddler who refuses to be consoled, refuses to be patient. I want to be like that sentinel, watchful and longing for the Lord. But my soul needs work. I find the imagery of the stalwart sentinel helpful because, when we take a look at today's reading from the Book of Ezekiel, we see such a beautiful exhortation of a wicked man committing to being more sentinel-like: "If the wicked man turns away from all the sins he committed, if he keeps all my statutes and does what is right and just he shall surely live, he shall not die... None of the crimes he committed shall be remembered against him." (Ezekiel 18:21-22) None of them. Not a one. Not even the big big ones. Sincere commitment means a beautiful fresh slate. We're being called to make a commitment like the sentinel, sisters. It doesn't mean we won't be weary. It doesn't mean we won't crave the dawn. It does mean that we'll stand tall and watchful, and wait for the Lord, knowing that in doing so we'll receive an infinite treasure in return. Can you pray with me today to watch and take comfort in the Lord? [bctt tweet="I want to be like that sentinel, watchful and longing for the Lord."] 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.

Jesus calls each one of us to live a life of holiness in our baptismal vows. When we live out of the graces of our baptismal vows, we become one with Jesus, the Good Shepherd. United with Him, Jesus will show us our flock and teach us to look after them with His tender love. It may look differently than you expected, but this flock is His particular gift to you. There are souls that need your loving care today. Let your heart be attentive to them.

I fear tornados! Maybe it stems from my annual childhood viewing of The Wizard of Oz, but it’s a legitimate fear! Once, I stayed at a hotel in Nebraska, and a tornado warning came on the television. Panicked, I called the front desk and asked where the tornado shelter was located. You know what the gentleman did? He laughed at me! Apparently, I have issues anticipating natural disasters, but at least there is a warning with tornados and hurricanes. Today’s readings feel like a spiritual tornado warning. Granted, Jonah remained in the belly of a "great fish" for three days, but eventually, he was vomited out, and the word of the Lord came to him a second time. So often God is repeatedly calling us into action, and, like Jonah, we disregard His voice. I know in my life there are things God is calling me to do, ways He is pursuing my heart in prayer, words He wishes I would put to paper, lies He wants to speak truth into, and walls He wants to break down. But I’m stubborn and think I can outrun the Lord. For most of us, it will take more than two times before we to respond to the Lord’s plea. It might take months or years; hitting rock bottom or admitting addiction; overcoming anger or depression; scattering the seeds of loss or grief. Hearing the song God is singing to us is one thing—in fact, I believe we detect the melody He sings more than we want to admit—but playing the part He has scripted for us is entirely different. Jonah heard God loud and clear, but ran from Him the first time. (Jonah 3:1-10) How many times will God sing to you and you keep running away from His voice? What are you waiting for? I doubt God is sending a whale your way anytime soon, so you might want to take a simpler route. Trust Him and follow His voice. [bctt tweet="Trust Him and follow His voice. // @LT_TriciaT"] If you're not sure what the warning signs are in your life, make a date with Jesus in Adoration and your journal. Call a trusted friend and ask her to coffee to process. Seek spiritual direction. Tricia Tembreull is a California girl with a Texas-sized heart for hospitality. She serves as a Parish Coach for Life Teen, International, and joyfully travels around the globe training, empowering, and praying with youth ministers. When not on a plane, she is either in church, spending time with family or friends, in the kitchen cooking up something delightful, or on the beach for an evening walk. You can find out more about her here.

The First Reading (Isaiah 55: 10-11) always takes me back to childhood, when I first learned about the water cycle. I remember the chart with big arrows showing how water falls from the sky, then collects, then evaporates, then goes back up into the sky to form clouds . . . a process that repeats itself over and over again, supporting life on Earth. That’s how the word of God is, says the Prophet Isaiah. It doesn’t fall once on human ears and stay there. It becomes part of a larger process, a cycle, enriching those who receive it as well as those who pass it on. In other words, this life of faith is not just about getting but about giving. What we receive from God doesn’t end with us; it is a generative force in its own right. As Christians, we are part of a larger cycle of goodness, and we are key players in keeping that goodness flowing. In the Gospel (Matthew 6:7-15), Jesus teaches to pray the Our Father, and gently reminds us that we are not just passive receivers but also givers. “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” (emphasis added) We are not receptacles collecting God’s mercy and keeping it to ourselves; if we let ourselves become that, we’ll bring the cycle to a halt. We’re called to forgive others, constantly and freely, as we ourselves are forgiven. So what would it look like, a diagram of the Christian life? I picture arrows coming from Heaven, arrows of forgiveness and grace and gifts. The arrows point to Earth, where we receive the gifts. Then more arrows point to others as we take the fruits of God’s goodness and pass it on. We forgive others; we welcome the stranger; we advocate for justice; we encourage the downtrodden. And they do the same, and the Earth is a glorious swirl of arrows, so many going in so many directions that you couldn’t possibly capture them all. When we really live this Christian life, it’s a cycle. We receive and we give, in a beautifully dynamic process that never ends. [bctt tweet="We receive and we give, in a beautifully dynamic process that never ends."] Draw a diagram of the “goodness cycle” in your own life. Identify what you’ve received from God, what you pass on to others, and what they pass on to you. Ginny Kubitz Moyer is a mother, high school English teacher, and BBC period drama junkie. She is the author three books, including 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.

I'm not sure what can be more nerve-wracking: being the stranger or welcoming the stranger. We've all been the stranger. We've started new jobs, joined new book clubs, attended a new church, enrolled in a new school, and had drinks with new friends. Being the stranger requires courage because our vulnerability is put on display. And we have the choice to either withdraw or to press through that vulnerability. We need courage to do the latter. There's also a certain vulnerability demanded of us when we welcome the stranger. We've all experienced this, too. We've been the veteran employee, the founder of the book club, the lifelong church attendee, and the childhood best friend. We've had the opportunity to smile warmly and introduce ourselves. Welcoming the stranger requires bravery as we stand with someone who doesn't yet feel they belong. And we have the choice to either withdraw or to press through that vulnerability. We need bravery to do the latter. That's what the Lord is asking of us in today's Gospel. "Whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me." (Matthew 25:40) Jesus explains that when we welcome the stranger we are becoming more like Him and working to bring about our salvation. We're encouraged to match the stranger's vulnerability by stepping out of our comfort zones for the sake of another. While this certainly encompasses welcoming the stranger on a large scale—those displaced from their homes, those fleeing to a foreign land, those orphaned or widowed—this vulnerability is fostered on a smaller scale. We prepare to be faithful in the big moments by being faithful in the thousand small moments. By welcoming the new person to our workplace, book club, church, school, and friend group—or the unexpected baby, the mentally-ill family member, and the abrasive neighbor—we practice the virtues of courage and vulnerability so that they become second-nature. For it's only in welcoming the stranger that we truly welcome the Lord into our hearts. Sisters, take some time today and really think about the strangers in your life, both on the large and small scales. Cover every area of your life, walk through every encounter throughout your day. How can you embrace vulnerability and reach out to welcome them? Let's get uncomfortable together for the sake of Jesus and His Kingdom. Let's welcome Him in by welcoming one another. [bctt tweet="For it's only in welcoming the stranger that we truly welcome the Lord into our hearts."] Offer a special prayer for the stranger today. Maybe a Glory Be. Maybe an entire Rosary. Bring them into your prayer life. 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.

I firmly resolve with the help of Thy grace to sin no more . . . . As I said those familiar words in the confessional one day, the importance of them hit me in a new way. With the help of Thy grace. How often have I said those words just skimming by them wondering how I could ever possibly avoid sin, let alone the near occasion of it? If I am left to my own devices I find myself presented with near occasions of sin almost hourly. I am tempted to be uncharitable towards my husband, my children, my sister, my mother, those I work with, really anyone I come in contact with. I find reasons to complain all the time about my little problems. I indulge in that extra treat I do not need. And temptations to idleness surround my daily routine. But God has not left me to my own devices. "Good and upright is the Lord, thus he shows sinners the way." (Psalm 25:8) He wants to help me to overcome my sinful failings. The way He has shown us is modeled in His own Son who, “suffered for sins once, the righteous for the sake of the unrighteous, that he might lead you to God. Put to death in the flesh, he was brought to life in the Spirit. (1 Peter 3:18) If we let God in, He will help us to see that dying to ourselves is a way to salvation. If we take our Lenten sacrifices, if we offer our daily troubles, if we suppress our complaints and make them offerings of love, we can join Christ in being put to death in the flesh so that we can be brought more fully to life in the Spirit. A life lived this way is the path to eternal life. [bctt tweet="If we let God in, He will help us to see that dying to ourselves is a way to salvation."] Sisters, I pray that you will take this Lent to dive deeper into God’s desire to grow closer to you. Let Him help you in your Lenten sacrifices and offerings. He will not fail you. He will draw you closer. 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.

I am embarrassed to say it but I kind of hate fasting. My internal disposition is often more like wailing and gnashing of teeth. Over the years, I have whined and complained my way through many Fridays of Lent or fasting days throughout the liturgical year. And yes there have been times, I have chosen to blatantly ignore a day of fasting for that double cheeseburger with fries. Case in point? I do not like to die to myself, I want what I want when I want it. Last month, I rang in the New Year at young adult conference with some friends of mine. While there, we heard a speaker that convicted me to the depths of my core on the power of fasting in the Christian life. The talk left me feeling very uncomfortable. You know how that works, when you cannot unlearn what you just learned. I was so moved it led me to seek out Confession shortly after to repent of my selfishness in this area. After, as I prayed and sat with Jesus, I knew He was calling me to deeper intimacy to Him by choosing fasting a regular part of my spiritual life. Sisters, we find God in the deserts of fasting, not the desserts of feasting. Fasting is simply setting aside a worldly attachment in order to focus more on Christ. When we fast, we make more room for God in our lives. Our actions say, Jesus, You are more important to me than food or coffee or social media or Netflix. In fasting and abstaining, our desires, pride, lust, and attachments die, creating an opportunity to grow stronger in the Holy Spirit. (Of course, it's important to make this choice from a healthy place and if you're struggling with a positive relationship with food, choose a different fast.) What we choose to fast from isn't the point so much as practicing self discipline and creating more space for the Holy Spirit. [bctt tweet="We find God in the deserts of fasting. // @amoderngrace"] If you aren't already in a habit of regular fasting, pick one day each week to fast or abstain from something. Speak to a trusted confessor or priest if you're not sure what would be a good choice. Patty Breen is a runner, youth minister ordinaire, and thinks old movies are the greatest thing since sliced bread. When not fundraising for World Youth Day, she is learning to find grace in all things. You can find out more about her here.

The Gospel of Jesus Christ is always radically counter-cultural, and today’s Gospel is no exception. “For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it.” (Luke 9:24) Self-sacrifice is not a very popular idea in this day and age. We live in a me-first, follow-your-bliss, do-what-feels-right kind of culture. Instead of giving, we are obsessed with getting, and happiness is defined by what we can amass for ourselves here on Earth. It only takes a few minutes of scrolling through Instagram to feel like in order to be winning at life, I need to have a beautifully decorated home, makeup that is on point, regular dates at all the hot restaurants, dreamy vacations in exotic locations, and an income to support it all. This couldn’t be farther from the truth. Jesus tells that us if we really want to live, we need to be willing to lose it all. He asks us to follow Him by denying ourselves and by carrying our crosses every day. That doesn’t sound very fun, and it certainly doesn’t sound very Instagram-able. But when I stop and think about the most rewarding moments of my life they don’t involve on-trend clothing brands, or being top dog in my social sphere. They all have involved giving something up. Giving up a semester of college to go work at an orphanage in India, giving up some of my personal preferences in learning to compromise with my husband, giving up my body for nine months every time I grow one of our babies, and several months after that while I nurse a newborn, giving up sleep night after countless night when my kids can’t sleep and mama is the only thing that will comfort. Each of these things has been difficult and has required me to lose a little bit of myself, but in losing myself I gain a joy that I could never find in all the glittering allure of the world’s pleasures. “Whoever loses his life for my sake will save it.” I see the truth of this Gospel passage evidenced in my own life and in the deepest desires of my heart. When I give up my life for Christ, He gives me a new life in Him, and it is infinitely better than anything I could ever get for myself. [bctt tweet="When I give up my life for Christ, He gives me a new life in Him."] What is God calling upon you to lose right now? A bad habit? A relationship that's toxic? A fear that you aren't loved by Him? Let's face it today, sister. 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.

"Even now, says the LORD, return to me with your whole heart, with fasting, and weeping, and mourning; Rend your hearts, not your garments, and return to the LORD, your God." (Joel 2:12-13) In this season of fasting and penance, I am challenging myself to look beyond the external penance that I usually take on. Sure, I’ll take on the usual material penance, but that penance is a reminder for myself. What God really asks me to do is to rend my heart. He wants me to lean into the fissures deep within myself and to let Him into those most secret places. As I remember Jesus’ wounds throughout this season, I'm offered the gift to share my wounds back as well. Our penance this season should help us move outside ourselves, to identify with others and with Christ in new ways, rather than creating new stress and pressure to run some kind of Lenten marathon with a winner at the end. No, Lent is a season that allows us to recognize our brokenness and be healed, fully and completely by our loving Savior. God is asking for us to return to Him this Lent. Our best offerings are the very hearts He Himself set within us. He wants those hearts back. He will heal us. He wants us back. He doesn’t want my chocolate or your Dr. Pepper. Those are our reminders. He wants us to return to Him, hearts in our hands, sharing our joy, our love, our sorrow, our brokenness. Everything that we are pondering, holding within, regardless of its beauty or ugliness. He wants it all. [bctt tweet="Our best offerings are the very hearts He Himself set within us. // @br1gid"] Ready to give that whole heart back? Make a good confession, get to Mass, and face this Lent with your heart in hands, ready to give it over to Him who wants you most deeply. 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.

Two years ago, my husband and I moved ourselves and our two young boys into a small apartment with high hopes. During the next six months, those high hopes came crashing down. We faced an unplanned pregnancy, a crabby neighbor who pounded the walls when our boys walked down the hall, and the news that despite our plans to rest for a few years we were getting the boot and would need to look for new housing in a few short months. The disappointments came crashing down, like wave upon wave, barely giving us time to gather our bearings and plant our feet. How could we handle another baby right now? Who would rent to a family with three small children? This would be our third move in three years. I felt like the Apostles in today’s Gospel. I had one measly loaf, and I just couldn’t understand how God was going to make our finances and hope stretch. “Do you not remember . . .” (Mark 8:18) He had provided before and of course He would provide again, but all I could focus on was the smallness of my faith. I look back on that time and I imagine Jesus leaning in, looking me in the eye and whispering, “Do you still not understand?” I didn’t, but I was starting to. We walked through the doors laid out before us and decided we would keep walking until He closed one. He led us right into our new home. The home where we bathe our children and tuck them into bed. The home where we sit with family and friends, sharing meals, memories, joys, and sorrows. He is faithful, and He provides. Often, we become so focused on our own plans and expectations that we fail to look up and see the miracles He’s working this very moment. [bctt tweet="He is faithful, and He provides."] Are you engrossed in a difficult time, hoping to open your eyes and see the miracle, His gift, before you? What can help you to be more aware of the gifts God is providing during this challenging time? 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.