“I can see you are hurting,” she said as she looked into my eyes brimming with tears. Then with a hug that enfolded all my worries in a warm assurance of a future resurrection, my friend said, “You don’t have to tell me what’s going on, but just know that I am offering all my sacrifices for you every day.” For a short moment, her friendship was like sunlight piercing through moving clouds: certain proof of life and joy after the pain of the Cross. Some friendships wax and wane over time but some friendships, like this one, are proven again and again like a fierce fire enveloping and purifying gold. When I think of Saint Andrew the Apostle, whose feast we celebrate today, I often think of friendship in Christ. Today’s Gospel shows Jesus calling him and his brother Simon. (Matthew 4:18-22) But in the Gospel according to Saint John, the story is told of Andrew’s first meeting with Jesus. Andrew then introduces Jesus to his brother and begins a chain of events leading other friends from the same town to become disciples of Jesus. Andrew, his brother, and their friends left everything immediately and followed Christ. They also gave everything including their lives. And we have profound hope because they received everything in return. The Feast of Saint Andrew helps us to live these unique liturgical days. We have just celebrated the great solemnity of Christ the King of the Universe, and we look ahead to new liturgical year with the beginning of Advent. Sisters, I know many of us are carrying crosses right now. For those who find the holidays difficult, Advent can begin with a feeling of dread. Let’s look toward Advent with Saint Andrew as our friend and our model of total self-giving in Christ. Would you take a moment with me, right now, to look with your heart to see Our King? See Him who gives Himself totally to be Our Lord at every moment of every day. Let’s draw courage and strength from Him. See how infinitely faithful He has been, is, and will be. Let’s also remember the Saints—our brothers and sisters in the Mystical Body of Christ—who show us how to leave all, give all, and receive all. Let’s ask the Angels, too, to minister to us. [bctt tweet="Let’s remember the Saints who show us how to leave all, give all, & receive all. // @SrMariaKim"] Sisters, let’s embrace the good news that God is with us. Let’s give everything to Christ and have great confidence we will receive everything in Christ. 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.

Fear. It comes in many shapes and sizes, sometimes fleeting, in other moments, crippling. Personally? I fear someone I love will die unexpectedly. I fear suffering another miscarriage. I fear the state of things in our country and across the globe. Fear seems inevitable in this fallen world in which we live. Can you hear the fear in the voices of the people after Jesus foretells the destruction of the temple? “Teacher, when will this happen? And what sign will there be when all these things are about to happen?” (Luke 21:7) Jesus doesn’t answer their question directly. He gives them some warnings, some signs to await. In the midst of his description: “Do not be terrified.” (Luke 21:9) Today’s Psalm is from the book of Daniel, a triumphant song of praise: “Give glory and eternal praise to him . . . praise and exult him above all forever.” (Daniel 3:57) Do you know who is singing here, and in what circumstances? It’s none other than Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the fiery furnace. These three men have literally been bound up and thrown into a blazing fire. Even still, they raise their voices in praise to God. Astounding. God is so good. He is so faithful, sisters. We are called to surrender our fears and be faithful to Him in return. He will preserve us, through wars and famines—including those of the mind and heart—for He wants us safely home in the Eternal Kingdom with Him. “Remain faithful until death, and I will give you the crown of life,” today’s Gospel acclamation exhorts. (Revelations 2:10) When fear creeps into our hearts and minds, when the enemy pursues us, let us respond not with despair, but with praise. [bctt tweet="We are called to surrender our fears and be faithful to Him. // @inendlesssong"] God is in control—and that alone is praiseworthy. With Him we have nothing to fear. May His praise be ever on our lips. photo credit 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.

Salty tears rained down my face as I fell to the ground on my knees. It was late and I could hear my sister softly breathing as she slept on the opposite side of our room but I couldn't hold the emotion back any longer. I can't pinpoint at what moment I started to fall away from God but the gulf between us gradually grew to the point where I was hating myself and the life I was leading. But that night, God's words penetrated my heart, "The lost I shall seek, the strayed I will bring back." (Ezekiel 34:16) Hearing today's readings, I can't help but think about that night and how God never gave up on me. God brought me back to His fold, filled with His grace and mercy. It is a mercy that I must now live. On this feast of Christ the King, the Gospel speaks of the corporal works of mercy—feed the hungry, clothe the naked, shelter the homeless, etc. (Matthew 25) Jesus does not mince words. These aren't suggestions. These are mandates, yet opportunities to love. When our hearts are filled with God's love and when we've tasted the sweetness of His mercy, we can't help but want to extend that same love and mercy to those around us. I'm the first to admit that it is not always the easiest thing to do, but loving God through our actions is a hallmark of life as a Catholic. Our call is first to the people closest to us in life. It’s that day-to-day living that puts me to the test. But our call goes beyond there. It includes our friends, neighbors, and people in our school, work and community. Finally, God challenges us to step out of our comfort zone and reach beyond people we know or people in our immediate circles of life. He calls us to minister to all His children—the poor, the refugee, the marginalized, the alienated, and those in desperate need of God’s love. [bctt tweet="God brought me back to His fold, filled with His grace and mercy. // @bobbi_rol"] How we are to serve depends on our vocation and situation in life, but be open to the Spirit. Let Him show you how you can serve the King and further His kingdom. How will you help God’s lowly ones today? Bobbi Rol is a wife, mama and blogger living on the Monterey Bay in CA with her husband, teen daughter, and three rambunctious boys. When she is not dodging light sabers or stepping on Legos, she can be found outside with her family, catching a late night movie, or decorating her planner. You can find out more about her here.

There are dozens of people in my life that make my existence so full and so joy-filled. My parents will drop everything they are doing to help us with babysitting or with a home improvement project. My brother loves to send little gifts to my kids just because he loves them. My husband not only values me and loves me just because I exist, he also does small gestures to show his devotion—like the sunflowers he brought home yesterday just because. And my kids? Without even trying, they bring me laughter and cuddles as well as opportunities to grow in patience and self-sacrifice. And these are just the people in my family. I could go on listing the supportive friends, the inviting neighbors, and the friendships of people I’ve only met online. Sometimes I stop and think, If my life on earth was Heaven, I would be happy. That’s not to say that I don’t have struggles and hardships, sins and anxieties. Because I most certainly do. But, I love the earthly life I have. And, honestly, I don’t want to let it go. In the Gospel today, the Sadducees attempt to trip up Jesus with questions about a remarried woman’s true husband in Heaven. Jesus responds by saying that there is no marriage in Heaven. Instead we are like the Angels, praising God eternally. (Luke 20:34-37) So, let me get this straight: there will be no marriage in Heaven? Will my kids not be my own? My human mind has trouble processing this. That doesn’t sound like Heaven at all. It honestly sounds upsetting to me. But then I am reminded of the faithfulness of God. Would He tell us that He has a paradise unknown, but when we arrive, we will be underwhelmed and mourn the loss of our life on Earth? I don’t think so. Joy awaits, ladies. [bctt tweet="Joy awaits. // @callherhappy"] Today thank God for those blessings you have in your life. Do you trust that He will provide unending joy? Ask Him for the grace to trust more. 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.

Imagine a painting showing an ancient temple. There are tables overturned, and on the floor coins are scattered. There are unused animals for sacrifice heaped in one corner and what appears to be trinkets and souvenirs in another. Perhaps there are a few stunned Rabbis in the background scratching their heads and a couple of servants scrambling to clean up or collect what they could. You see the smallest outline of a man still chasing out the crowds in the background. Clouds of dust are caught in the light, and then your eye is caught by one of those beams of light and you see a few people in the back warily coming back in. Unlike the the other men, these newcomers are not looking at the chaos around them. No, their eyes are drawn to different points around the Temple. You can tell by the expressions on their faces that while this place is not new to them, they've never really looked around before. Then you see one lone person, perhaps an elderly woman as a mirror of what's to come, kneeling on the dirty floor with tears in her eyes. She smiles in beautiful thankfulness as she's able to, for the first time in years, enter the temple in peace and quiet and pray to God. There are many paintings that depict the "Den of Thieves" moment in the Temple, but I would love a painting that depicts the first moments of the Temple as a House of Prayer, as I have described here. What a gift Jesus gives us in this declaration that the temple—the church—is not a place for business or politics, but a place of prayer and worship. (Luke 19:45-48) It is a place to bring us closer to God. [bctt tweet="My house shall be a house of prayer. // Luke 19:46"] When you go to Mass this weekend, take a moment to appreciate the Church Jesus reclaimed for us as a place of reverence and peace. 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.

We’d taken a rare evening away from our first-born to catch the opening night of the film "The Passion of the Christ" with friends from church. Of course I knew what would happen, but seeing the events of Good Friday unfold so realistically on the silver screen left me dumbfounded. Watching Jesus—beaten, bloodied, tortured, and suffering because of my sins—was nearly unbearable. I found myself wincing and averting my eyes several times as the story unfolded. While the final credits rolled, I sat in somber silence. My gut instinct—what I honestly wanted to do in that moment—was to fall prostrate on the ground (regardless the disgustingly sticky theater floor) both in profound remorse for my sinfulness and with limitless gratitude for the gift of salvation made available through the power of the Cross. And yet I stayed seated in my chair. I eventually gathered my belongings and left the theater with our friends, just as was expected of me. The moment passed. In today’s Gospel, ten lepers meet the Lord and cry out, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” (Luke 17:13) Our Lord takes pity on them, and completely heals them all, yet only one returns to show gratitude for the gift he has received. He realizes that he owes everything to Jesus Christ and, in that moment, praises and thanks the Giver of all good gifts. Oh, my heart aches to think of just how often I see myself in the lepers who never returned—the ones who were healed, yet failed to show gratitude even after their cries for mercy were answered. I cry out to Jesus all the time—for various intentions, for healing, and, ultimately, salvation itself—yet, how often do I return to express my gratitude? I owe Him everything, yet, all too often, I move on to the next thing without thanking Him, and I allow the moment to pass. [bctt tweet="The leper realizes he owes everything to Christ and thanks the Giver. // @RealCatholicMom"] As Thanksgiving Day is celebrated in the United States today, let’s not just move on. Let’s take some dedicated and intentional time to humbly and sincerely praise and thank God for all He has given us. Let us remember we owe Him everything. Heather Renshaw is a writer, speaker, and uplifter on a mission to love and serve God with her husband and five children in the Pacific NW. You can learn more about her here.

Today is the Feast of Saint Cecilia, who—providentially—also happens to be my confirmation Saint. I chose her as an idealistic 8th-grader for her pretty name and patronage of musicians, as I played instruments in our church choir. But I didn't connect with her beyond that until recently when I began to encounter more suffering—and saw Saint Cecilia's own suffering and martyrdom, terrible as they were, in a whole new light: bringing forth a particular kind of beauty and heroism, echoing the same strength and undying faith as the mother and sons immortalized in today's First Reading. (2 Maccabees 7) For most of us, their experiences are a clear worst-case scenario. And yet, the accounts of their suffering contain a paradoxical beacon of hope. It seems that in the end, they were not on the losing team, but instead triumphantly victorious. This is a hard lesson to digest for those of us still so paralyzed by the woes of this world. I often tell myself I'm willing to suffer for God. To sacrifice in return for my Lord and Savior, the epitome of complete self-donation: with His divine and human heart that first started beating, then so excruciatingly stopped, then began beating again—specifically, personally, for you and me. In reality, I'm simply good at taking the very occasional break from feeling victimized by my suffering in order to "offer it up," so maybe once in awhile our Lord can actually use it for good. I'm not saying we should go looking for suffering and ridicule. But we can bet that our true path to Heaven—to sainthood—will involve suffering in Christ's name. The question is, how generously do we try to receive it out of love of our Savior who gave so much more? Do we accept the chance to face it head on? Or do we try to escape, hide from it, pull back from God? [bctt tweet="We can bet that our true path to Heaven will involve suffering in Christ's name. - @PosImperfect"] He gave all, up to and including His life, for you and me. Today, let's commit to giving more of ourselves in return. Megan Hjelmstad is a wife, mom, writer and sometimes soldier whose real passion is equal parts faith and chocolate. You can find out more about her here.

I’m quite skillful at filling boxes. Somewhere between the introduction and the conclusion of a conversation, I have already stuffed the appropriate box. Because there are so many boxes in which to fill with judgement—liberal, conservative, in-crowd, out-crowd, curvy, slender. It sometimes takes as little as a nod in the right lighting, or a statement about cats for me to sufficiently stuff the proper box. And then it’s done. That person remains crammed into a tiny box that I have set aside for them, their identity permanently seared into my brain with their respective label. But it’s the box labeled “lost” that I have the most trouble with. That’s where I stow the most fragile of souls—the ones that are beyond saving, the ones lost to decay and corruption and wrongdoing. That’s the box that seems the most hopeless, the one that seems the most stagnant. And I see that box so evident in today’s reading. Zacchaeus was a tax collector, the most hated of men. (Luke 19) But Jesus, He peered beyond that label and sought out Zacchaeus’ heart. The box that he was adhered to for so long was irrelevant to God. And that’s where real conversion takes place—when we are free to simply be. Sometimes I think we see in black and white. Our brothers and sisters float through our minds with labels attached to each of them. But the truth is, we’re a piece of art in motion. Our brushstrokes are never quite finished, and there is always hope. "For the Son of Man has come to seek and to save what was lost.” (Luke 19:10) And isn’t that so hopeful for all of us? Because we’re all a little lost. [bctt tweet="Our brushstrokes are never quite finished, and there is always hope. // @IamBritCal"] Have a good talk with yourself and get out of that box you think you're in. While you're at it, let your sister out, too. 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.

Each time I have read of someone’s encounter with Saint Pope John Paul II, there is a thread that weaves through each of them. They speak of his uncanny ability to connect with them as if they were the only person in the room, as if time and space stood still. The person would feel seen and heard and loved, as if nothing else mattered to him but engaging with that person in that moment. He didn’t seem distracted by his agenda, by the next person in line he was to greet, by thoughts of what he might be having for dinner that night. There was a peace—an absolute presence to the moment—that permeated the entire encounter. Saint Pope John Paul II lived as a “child of the light” as spoken of in today’s Second Reading. He was not anxious about the next thing, but “alert and sober” to the present moment. (1 Thessalonians 5:5-6) This is the mark of a saint in the making. Sisters, I know I have a long way to go in this. I can often fall into a spiral of worrying about my family’s future, instead of enjoying the life we have today. I get anxious about what’s on the agenda next month, instead of reveling in the beautiful moments lived today. My peace is lost. I suddenly feel like I’m stumbling in the dark, rather than walking in the radiance of the light. You, too? There’s a time for planning, a time for looking to the future, but when we are living our lives with a constant glance in that direction (or the opposite—worrying about past mistakes, instead of seeking forgiveness and moving on), we cannot stay open to the light of grace occurring in the present moment. As Fr. Jacques Phillipe reminds us in his book, Interior Freedom, “Lacking answers about the future, we should prepare to receive them by living today to the full.” Let us live as “children of the day,” then, placing our hope and trust in Him for all things to work for the good (Romans 8:28), and awake to the beauty that is unfolding before our very eyes today. [bctt tweet="Awake to the beauty that is unfolding before your very eyes today."] Don’t worry; live today in the light of the present moment. Laurel Muff is a creator and appreciator of beautiful things. She resides with her husband and daughters in Northern California. You can find more about her here.

During my most recent trip to Confession, the priest gave me a penance that I had never had before. He told me to pray for my family, in my own words, for five minutes. I exited the confessional, headed to a pew in the back of the church, and began to pray. As a former Protestant who is very used to extemporaneous prayer, I am embarrassed to say that it was really difficult to pray for five minutes, non-stop. My mind kept wandering, I became distracted by anyone who came in or went out of the church, my body was fidgety. Those five minutes of prayer were becoming exhausting! I love it when Scripture is really clear. Like in today’s Gospel: “Jesus told his disciples a parable about the necessity for them to pray always without becoming weary.” (Luke 18:1) There’s no wiggle room when it comes to interpreting this parable. Jesus spells it out up front. We need to pray, all the time, without becoming weary. But do we actually do it? I always thought I had a pretty good prayer life. But my experience after Confession last week was a bit of a rude awakening. It got me thinking, how often do I really sit before God and just pray? Honestly? Not that often. And when I compare what little time I do spend in prayer with the amount of time I spend scrolling through Facebook, texting my friends, or watching Netflix EACH DAY, I feel sick inside. So here’s a challenge for me and for you, my sisters in Christ. If you haven’t already formed a habit of daily prayer, start with just five minutes. Silence your phone, set a timer, and just pray. There is nothing more important than time with Our Lord. Jesus even calls it a necessity. We need Him, just like we need sustenance for our bodies and breath for our lungs. [bctt tweet="There is nothing more important than time with Our Lord."] So what are you waiting for? Start praying. 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.

Having been raised in the Protestant tradition, it it took me a while to understand the Catholic focus on Beauty. In raising Catholic children and watching them navigate education, I am grateful for my boys' charter school that promotes Socratic discussion on Truth, Beauty, and Goodness. In their first year they are presented with the question “What is Beauty?” What a great question to pose students living in a world that focuses so much on personal physical appearances! Think of that question. What is beauty? Beauty has many definitions but as Catholics we know it is of God and from God, a manifestation of His nature. Or as my sixth grader told his teacher, “Beauty is what God makes.” And Scripture instructs us in this! The Responsorial Psalm today states that the heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament proclaims his handiwork. (Psalm 19) When we see the beauty of creation—the clouds, the sunsets, the trees, the flowers, the children—how much more amazing is our Lord who created it all. Beauty gives us a glimpse of the awesome power and Glory of our Lord. Beauty is important to us. We are drawn to it and have a desire to cultivate it. It can be a distraction, however, if we only see the beauty and don’t recognize the Creator behind it. Let us celebrate the beauty that God has put in our lives today. [bctt tweet="What is Beauty?"] Look around you today. Where do you see His glory exposed? Where do you see beauty? Stop and notice His works around you. Allow yourself to grow closer to the Creator through the beauty He creates for us. MaryRuth Hackett is a full-time wife and mother doing her best to teach her four children to love God and country. You can find out more about her here.

Riots, floods, the sun going out . . . it’s easy to wonder if these are the End Times we’ve heard so much about. Well, guess what? They totally are. But it’s maybe not what you think. Catholics believe that the “End Times” began when Christ ascended into Heaven and will end when He returns in glory, “as lightning flashes and lights up the sky from one side to the other.” (Luke 17:24) So, yes, the world is ending. It has been ending for quite a while now, and it always will be ending, until it . . . does. What Catholics don’t believe is that God has left us a series of clues to unravel and signs to recognize, so we’ll know exactly when the end of the End will come. We don’t believe that there are hidden prophecies in the Bible that will enable some to know when Jesus will come again. Instead, we believe in what the Bible flat out says. In Matthew 24:36, Jesus tells us that no one knows. The Angels don’t know. HE doesn’t know. Only the Father knows. And some doomsday guys who like to rent out billboards. (See Catechism of the Catholic Church § 732, 1040) Oh, wait. Those guys don’t. Jesus warns us about them in today’s Gospel: “There will be those who will say to you, 'Look, there he is,' or 'Look, here he is.' Do not go off, do not run in pursuit.” (Luke 17:23) So we shouldn’t bother asking ourselves, “When will the world end?” or, “Was that a sign?” because, really, it doesn’t matter. Each day, I should be walking that line between *The World Could End Tomorrow* and *But it Most Likely Won’t.* The world might end tomorrow so I better get to Confession, forgive that person who said mean stuff about me, and kiss my kids goodnight. But it most likely won’t end tomorrow. I brush my teeth, and pay my bills, and teach my kids long division. And I remember that, for us, the end of the world is nothing to fear. The end of this world will just be the beginning of eternity. And until it comes, we’ll keep ourselves busy here, doing His work, each in our own way. [bctt tweet=" The end of the world will just be the beginning of eternity. // @kendra_tierney"] Pray your prayers tonight and trust for tomorrow. Kendra Tierney is a forty year old mother of nine and wife of one living in and working on a big old fixer-upper house in Los Angeles. She's a homeschooler and a regular schooler and is counting down the days until her oldest turns sixteen and can take over some of the driving! Her new book about living the liturgical year in the home is in the editing process. You can find her first book, A Little Book About Confession, here, her blog here, and her word art here.

I am friends with a woman who, for years, attended a nice parish where she was involved in multiple Bible studies. Despite the fact that she showed up week after week no one knew her name, for no one asked her name. Jesus Christ in the Eucharist and Scripture sustained her but she was lonely; she had no friends and no community. Another friend told me how in reading the Bible and taking ownership of her faith she has passionately fallen in love with Jesus Christ. It has changed her life and ignited her heart. But as she searched for peers in her parish, for the kind of friends who were also joyfully in love with Christ, she found no one. At times she was ignored and at other times she was even scandalized. These stories break my heart and shame me. I know I am not solely to blame for these women's feelings but I also know that I bear some of the responsibility and when I am judged I will be accountable for that. I cannot help but compare it to the story from today's Gospel. If my whole parish is healed then I don't want to be part of the group that is so busy that I don't notice what God has done for me. I want to be part of the group who is so profoundly thankful that the trajectory of my life is changed by how I live out that joy and gratitude. I want my life to be a response of praise and love to God for what He has done for me. And I want it to be so powerful that I cannot help but reach out to others. I never want a person in my parish to say, "No one ever seemed to care if I was there." I want them to know that I care and I need to act in a way that conveys that fact. What about saying to someone, "We always sit in front of you! What's your name?" and then remember that name and use it the next time I see them? What about offering, "I saw there's an event next weekend. We're thinking of attending, what about you?" Even for the shy and introverted, you could say these things, sister! Maybe you're thinking to yourself, "I could never do that! I would be a fool!" But you know what, you wouldn't. You would love it if someone did that to you, and it would brighten your day. I know it would brighten mine! We need to live our lives as a joyful response to what Christ has done for us and we can start by treating people the way we want to be treated. [bctt tweet="We need to live our lives as a joyful response to what Christ has done for us. // @BonnieEngstrom"] Open conversation with someone at church this week. You'd be surprised at how she might react! Bonnie Engstrom is a writer, baker, speaker, and homemaker. She, her husband, and six 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.

Christ in the Gospel shows God’s mercy in an interesting, almost stern way. He tells us that our good actions do not deserve God’s gratitude to us, for they are simply the obligations of creatures to our Creator—a servant to a Master. We cannot come close to giving our Creator that which we owe Him, as even the tiniest of our sins would have made necessary the saving act of Christ for our salvation. Still we must strive to act justly towards God by giving Him everything that we can give Him, and even that would not be enough without His mercy. At the end of the day, we will have to say to Him, “We are unprofitable servants, we have done what we are obliged to do.” (Luke 17:10) Yet most of us cannot even manage to do simply what we are obliged to do for Him. We have neglected part of our duty in our lives. We left some task unfinished. We forgot to call the person we knew was suffering. We did not make the effort to love our family as we should. We did not honor our parents. We lead those close to us to bad habits and did not call them on them. We neglected to make it to Mass on Sunday. We became so swamped in our sin that we were unwilling to exert ourselves to go to Confession. The sheer amount of effort it takes for us to even attempt to do what we are obliged to do for God is just proof that any reward He gives to us will be out of the abundance of His mercy. Yet, despite the fact that we are His unprofitable servants, He still loves us, and He provided a way to bring us to Him. He saw that we could never overcome the divide between humanity and Himself through our own efforts and chose to become a man, suffer, and die in order to bring us back to Him. Everything He has given us and will give us is a complete gift—especially the reparation for our sins. He does not ask that much of us in return, only that we do what we are obliged to do. [bctt tweet="Everything He has given us and will give us is a complete gift."] In what ways are you able to do what you are obliged to do for God? In what ways are you failing? How can you honor Him through your vocation more fully? Susanna Spencer once studied theology and philosophy, but now happily cares for her three adorable little girls, toddler boy, and her dear husband in Saint Paul. 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 woke early for daily Mass, hoping that the weekly schedule also applied to Saturdays. It’d be so long since I prayed without distraction in Mass (toddlers can’t help it), and after a grueling start to new routines in life, I needed peace and quiet. The door creaked open, to a dark sanctuary. The vigil candles and a single light on the tabernacle flickered a peaceful, holy light. Christ was present. I stayed even though there wasn’t the early Mass, and let the peace sink into my soul, as if the Lord rested His hand upon me (Psalm 139:5). Later I sat in a corner booth of a local café, waiting on a decadent plate of French toast, and whispers from the Spirit met me again. Almost like Jesus Himself came to have coffee and chat with me, the first words He speaks in the Gospel popped out from the page. He reminded me that sin is real and will occur (Luke 17: 1), but there is hope for us. When I’m exasperated for the tenth time today that my children (or myself, let’s be honest) have screwed up, Jesus has already given me guidance for how to live in the face of sin. Correct, repent, and forgive. Again, and again, and again. I wish I wasn’t going to fall into sin, and I wish even more that I could better guide my children to avoid sin, but I find it comforting to hear Jesus acknowledge my weakness, and to guide me as I face it. And the reassurance in the Psalms is like balm to my weary soul. Some days and weeks beat me down so much that even when I try to repent and forgive, I feel far from God. I feel as though I’m trudging along making slow progress in my spiritual life. But Jesus knows that, too. He understands “my thoughts from afar,” rests His hand upon me, waits for me even in my lowest and darkest trials. He is there for me, always, without fail. Today I will pray that Christ will increase my faith and trust in His unfailing presence and guidance, just as the Apostles implored Jesus. As He increases my faith, I am confident that I will know His presence and guidance more and more in all I do. [bctt tweet="As He increases my faith, I will know His presence more and more in all I do."] Pray with me for more faith, today. Gina Fensterer is a Colorado native at heart, but the West Coast beach life suits her just fine. She currently lives in small coastal area of California with her husband and six children. She loves the Jesus prayer, coffee at any time of day, homemade salsa, photography, and sleepy toddler snuggles. You can find out more about her here.

Today, in the First Reading, we encounter Wisdom. Sophia. The images of Wisdom—a strong, beautiful, resplendent woman—have always appealed to me. But I’m not particularly wise. I spend a lot of time trying to convince people that, Yes, I am an expert who fully understands everything I have going on. I have goals and expertise and a thorough understanding of how the world works and what role I play in it. But most of the time, it feels like someone has asked me to answer multiplication facts while I’m spinning plates, and I have never even tried to spin one plate, much less two, and I’m trying to concentrate on those not shattering while looking like a total idiot because I can’t concurrently answer 6x4 and I’m worried if I say, “Hold on while I spin these plates,” I’ll immediately drop the plates while still not being able to do mental math and that’s just embarrassing. Not Sophia. With wisdom, we become free from these more shallow concerns. So often, my worries arise because I don’t prepare for the right outcomes. I'm not ready. I don’t think enough about it. I don’t factor in enough time. I oversleep. Sophia is prepared. She has made the time. She has noted what’s important. Sophia embodies the wisdom to identify what is important and leave the rest behind. What’s important? Christ. The things that are occupying my mind and keeping me from God? I need to let them drop. The concerns cluttering my brain and pulling me out of prayer? I need to let them float away. Then I can prioritize, I can begin to embody wisdom and the wise virgins. (Matthew 25:4) Saint Paul would say these virgins awaiting the bridegroom with their lamps at the ready are alive in Christ—full of hope and not grief. I will be at the gate when He arrives. I will surround myself with those who do the same, as the woman in Wisdom and the wise virgins do. My work will be done, and I will be at ease. [bctt tweet="Let's be alive in Christ—full of hope and not grief. // @br1gid"] Pray for an increase in wisdom today. 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.

God has filled our lives with a plethora of relationships. Take a moment to thank Him for your parents, siblings, extended family, boyfriend/fiancé/spouse, physical and spiritual children, teachers, coaches, coworkers, neighbors, friends, priests and religious, and parish family. How have they helped you experience God’s love? Today we pray in Psalm 145, “Let Your faithful ones bless You. Let them discourse of the glory of Your Kingdom and speak of Your might.” Do you surround yourself with people who bless the Lord? Do you notice the glory of God’s Kingdom and have friends who are able to receive your sharing about these experiences? When was the last time you spoke of His might? Maybe Christian friendship is something you have experienced deeply or perhaps you feel desperately alone. No matter where you lie on this spectrum, you have a home in the Catholic Church. It is here that we can bless Him, glorify Him, and speak of His might. This is the Church which Saint Paul greets today in his conclusion to his letter to the Romans: Prisca, Aquila, Epaenetus, Mary, Andronicus, Junia, Ampliatus, Urbanus, and Stachys. Oh yes, and Tertius, Gaius, Erastus, and Quartus also send their greetings. Each of these individuals had friendships with Saint Paul. Together, they built the foundation of the early Church. [bctt tweet="No matter what, you have a home in the Catholic Church."] We can stand firmly on this foundation today, united in our friendships. May we be strengthened as sisters in our beautiful Catholic Church and bring glory to Jesus Christ forever. 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.