Last Lent, I had the opportunity to do the Spiritual Exercises of Saint Ignatius for the first time. A long-time fan of Ignatian spirituality, I decided it was high time I did the exercises. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I was not prepared for what the Lord showed me about myself. More or less, Jesus told me that in our relationship I am actually pretty controlling. Well, who the heck wants to hear that?! Not this girl! In praying about some frustrating things in life, I asked the Lord what He was trying to teach me. As I sat with it over time in silence, what kept coming to me is, "You're not in control, sweetie." I am not in control and when I try to control Jesus, I am actually unable to receive from Him. The most difficult prayers I have prayed in my life (and still do) are ones of abandonment and submission to the will of God. For a type-A planner like myself, it is so easy to tell Jesus what I think the best option or plan is. But that is neither how God nor prayer works. We call that manipulation, not worship. Reading the Psalm for today reminded me yet again that the hardest prayer for me to pray is a variation of "Here I am, Lord; I come to do Your Will." (Psalm 40:8-9) When I feel those controlling tendencies creeping in, I try to catch myself and pray, Jesus, give me the desire to know and accept Your will. Give me the desire to want Your will more than what I want. Now it isn't a fool-proof method, but I see it keeps me honest and accountable before the Lord in an area in which I struggle spiritually. Jesus, when I try to control things in my life, I am unable to truly receive from You. Help me get out of Your way, so that You reign more in my life. [bctt tweet="Help me get out of Your way, so that You reign more in my life. // @amoderngrace"] Jesus, give me the desire to want to want Your will more. 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.

For months she had requested that we go on an afternoon walk through the cemetery. Maybe it was years. I packed up my toddler, and we met my sister-in-law at the entrance. The late summer sun led us to shadier paths, and we weaved back and forth through the grassy hills, occasionally pausing at stones that caught our eye. He had a long life. She only lived for a few months. Three generations of this family are here. What was here besides remnants of bones and names? We were looking for a baby name for this child who would join us in a few months. My little one ran and hid behind trees, giggling as he went along, juxtaposing a young living child and the deceased. Life, along with what we cling to while we're here, comes and goes. The going part is hardest when we’re tied up in the tangible. It's tempting to hoard our goods, whether it’s money, time, praise. It’s almost too easy to be greedy sometimes. But in today's Gospel, Jesus warns us of the dangers of riches and making them the end goal. (Luke 12:15) When we put our hope in passing things, we start to trample over each other, and we lose sight of the real treasure in being alive, able to do good with our riches and be grateful for what we have. There have been times in my life where we have been on the receiving end of incredible generosity. And there have been times in my life where we have been able to give. I'm grateful for the reminders that I should be living an earthly life that will bring me to eternal life. [bctt tweet="When we put our hope in passing things, we start to trample over each other."] Contemplate what it means that you can't bring it with you. Are you storing up treasures here for the sake of hoarding or sharing? 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.

I don’t often ponder the philosophy behind someone’s hair. I’ve always figured it was simple—a ponytail equates to convenience; a braid equates to convenience with a little hint of moxie; long, flowy layers equates to ain’t nobody got time for that! But at Mass, oh, at Mass it isn’t so straightforward. Because at some point between the homily and the dismissal, I suddenly find myself engrossed in the theological ramifications behind the bowl cut of the person sitting in front of me. I notice the gentle way it lingers on the nape of the neck during moments of deep prayer and the way it grazes the forehead ever so slightly during the sign of peace. I notice the hints of gray poking through and that stubborn part that separates straight down the middle. "Then repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God." (Matthew 22:21) These words in today’s Gospel sting. They hit me in a way that causes me to examine my devotion. Because our God—the God of the universe, the God who died for our sins—deserves my praise. It belongs to Him. But when I’m met with the drone of the Gloria on a Sunday afternoon, my mind shifts focus to anything other than what it should focus on—Him. I suddenly find myself perfectly content with studying the number of lights on the ceiling of the church, and I allow praise to escape my mouth without first hitting my heart as I recite prayers from memory. Today, let us give to God what belongs to Him—our hearts. And when the priest extends his arms and says, “all glory and honor is yours, almighty Father, for ever and ever,” may we allow those words to penetrate our hearts as we resound with a loud and sincere “Amen!” [bctt tweet="Today, let us give to God what belongs to Him—our hearts. // @IamBritCal"] Let us go forth to love and serve the Lord, dear sisters. 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.

“Pick me, pick me, pick me . . . .” Over on the sidelines I stand hoping, pleading inwardly that someone will choose me to come right over, Red Rover, Red Rover. Middle School. High School. Even College at times. Years of anguish trying to figure out the right words to speak and when to laugh or groan. Am I cool enough to be in that group? Do they even want me here or are they just putting up with me? Fast forward to being a 30 year old mom, and I still have that same yearning to be included, to be chosen. Ladies, that longing is real. That desire is true and beautiful and Jesus wants us to first find that fulfillment ultimately in Him and then live that community in His Church. Today’s reading reminds us we are offered a gift of Faith, (Romans 4:13) we are Chosen, (Psalm 105:6) and we are beloved. His promises are for us! When I am overwhelmed with life, I often lose sight of this Promise and begin to feel isolated and alone, but this it’s in the midst of those dark times that Christ beckons me. It is in adoration that I find peace knowing that He truly delights in me just sitting there. When I build up walls in our relationship, the God of the Universe knocks them down without a second thought when I seek Him in Reconciliation. Offering Him my suffering, hurt, and anxieties connects me with His suffering in a mysterious way I can’t even fathom. And then in the Eucharist I find the grace my soul longs for to feed my faith and begin this all over again. God is the epitome of inclusive. He knows the longings, hurts, and feelings of isolation, and He desires for us to bring those to him. When I meditate on the crucifix, I see His loving arms spread wide welcoming me fully. Know you are not alone, sisters. You are chosen. The gift of faith is for you, and God says, “I pick YOU.” [bctt tweet="Know you are not alone, sisters. You are chosen. // @Sarahgortiz"] You are chosen. Hold that close and believe it today. Sarah Ortiz is a Catholic convert, and when not folding laundry, she can be found reading, experimenting in the kitchen, or writing at her blog. You can find out more about her here.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus says, “I tell you, my friends, do not be afraid of those who kill the body but after that can do no more.” (Luke 12:4) Throughout time, and all over the world, Christians have faced the threat of torture and death because of their faith. I like to imagine myself as Saint Joan of Arc, flinging witty retorts at my accusers in the courtroom, then boldly and serenely being burned at the stake. But, alas, no one ever tries to try me by fire. I don’t currently live in a time or place where being a Christian is a threat to my physical well-being. But my soul? That’s under near constant threat. Because I DO live in a time and place where near occasions of sin seem nearer than ever. I’ve got easy access to pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, and sloth right in my back pocket behind a shiny screen. I’m not getting tried by fire; I’m getting tried by zeitgeist. The ideals and beliefs that motivate me as a Catholic are often at odds with the shared ideals and beliefs that are motivating the society in which I live. It can be wearying to swim against the tide. To guard myself against temptations. To feel that I’m constantly defending the truth and beauty and love that are the REAL Catholic Church against an unceasing onslaught of misrepresentation and misunderstanding. It can make one long to get burned at the stake and be done with it. But that’s probably the wrong way to look at it. After all, Jesus also tells us today, “Even the hairs of your head have all been counted. Do not be afraid.” (Luke 12:7) He had the answers He needed to handle the concerns of His day, and He has the answers to the concerns of our day as well. And so we soldier on, unafraid. [bctt tweet="We soldier on, unafraid. // @kendra_tierney"] Examine how you're interacting with your community and ask yourself if you're living authentic to your faith. Face self-examination with courage! 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 can still hear the Irish brogue of the retired Monseigneur who often heard my confession when I was a teenager. He taught me so much about how to receive the Sacrament of Reconciliation. While I was on my first retreat with the parish youth group, I had had a conversion experience during adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, and I felt drawn by the Lord to participate in anything I could fit in my schedule. Our parish offered Eucharistic Adoration all day on Mondays and the Sacrament of Reconciliation in the evening. Always a nervous wreck, but fully aware I needed absolution, I summoned the courage to go frequently. This Monseigneur was so patient, steady, and kind that I gradually looked forward to going to Confession, and although I wouldn’t have known how to describe it at the time, looking back, I can see that I truly grew spiritually. The way he listened patiently and attentively not only helped me receive the sacrament properly, but it also evangelized me. He formed in me an experiential knowledge of what Saint Paul describes today: “there is no distinction; all have sinned and are deprived of the glory of God. They are justified freely by his grace through the redemption in Christ Jesus.” (Romans 3:22-24) Gradually, through this experience, God taught me to open myself to His mercy freely given. I often remember this good priest, who has since passed to eternity, and ask him to pray for me and with me for others. As I think back to him, I marvel at his humility. Like so many others who truly represent the Lord, he must have had a deep personal knowledge of God’s mercy freely given and freely received. As Saint Paul says in today’s First Reading, there is no occasion for boasting. In fact, “it is ruled out.” (Romans 3:27) And many saints have echoed this attitude of Saint Paul, seeing everything good in themselves as mercy and gift. Saint Therese wrote, at the end of her life, “everything is grace.” Sisters, we cannot go wrong throwing ourselves into the merciful arms of God. That’s the point of the readings today. Our Lord Jesus is not shy about saying “woe” to the proud, (Luke 11:47) but if we can turn to God begging for mercy, we will know in every fiber of our being: “With the Lord there is mercy, and fullness of redemption.” (Psalm 130:7) God Himself will teach us how to trust in Him alone. [bctt tweet="Sisters, we cannot go wrong throwing ourselves into the merciful arms of God. // @SrMariaKim"] Let’s pray together, in union with each other and the whole Mystical Body of the Church: “My soul waits for the LORD more than sentinels wait for the dawn.” (Psalm 130:6) 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.

One of my friends has a habit in prayer to ask God to send the right people. When he prays for someone, he often asks that God will send the right people to bring the help and support that is needed for that person. I feel like this is very similar to what Jesus is telling us to do in today's Gospel. Jesus tells us to ask. He says, "Ask the master of the harvest to send out laborers for his harvest." (Luke 10:2) Jesus wants us to ask His Father to send us good people. He wants us to ask in prayer for more people who will work, help, and bear fruit in God's Kingdom. We need to ask for the right people to come. We need to ask for good devoted people to come into our lives, communities, and the Church. We need more friends of God who are willing to work for the Kingdom and extend the love and peace that comes from union with Christ. Today we celebrate the feast of Saint Luke, a man whose friendship with God now includes him among the Saints. He was a physician, historian, artist, and evangelist who penned a Gospel account as well as Acts of the Apostles. Saint Luke was a disciple and friend of Saint Paul, and they traveled together as faithful "laborers for his harvest," proclaiming God's Word and bearing fruit for the harvest. We need to ask God to send us more Saints and holy people who are will to journey and work in the Kingdom. Today's Psalm celebrates Saint Luke by proclaiming, "Make known, O Lord, the majestic glory of your rule." (Psalm 145:12) Let us ask God to send us the friends and good people that we need in our lives, in other people's lives, and in the Church. May each of us, too, be a faithful laborer, Saint and friend of God who is likewise willing to bear much fruit for the Kingdom. [bctt tweet="May each of us be a faithful laborer."] Ask God to send you the good people that you need in your own life and your friends' lives. Ask Him what kind of work you can do. Mary Catherine Craige enjoys spending her time creating art, writing, and playing her Irish harp. She uses her experience as a Montessori teacher and catechist to serve young children through the Catechesis of the Good Shepherd. As a life coach for business leaders, she encourages and challenges women in all walks of life to more deeply discover their purpose and live their full potential. You can find out more about her here.

I've spent the last few months feeling pretty out of commission. You don't have to be a mother experiencing first trimester pregnancy to know the frustration of physical suffering coupled with being severely limited in your ability to do. As for me, I spent a lot of time holed up in my room feeling terribly sorry for myself and, in turn, learning a lot about how I measure myself and my worth. I relate to the Pharisee in Luke's Gospel today, in a way. Those days in bed I was reminded of just how much value I place on getting things done. (Luke 11:41) I couldn't wash a sink full of dishes, I couldn't read a line in a book, I could hardly hold a conversation with my husband, and I felt worthless. I was sure my family would be better off if I just moved out for a time. I was dead weight, and they all must have wanted to get out from under me. But they didn't. They wanted me around, not to talk, not to clean or organize or cook, just to be. And how much does that human response reflect God's even deeper, bigger affection for pitiful ole me? It speaks volumes. The Pharisee failed to keep a right and holy heart towards God, focusing only on the external, which counted for nothing in the eyes of our Lord. (Luke 11:39) In a similar way, I'd been emphasizing the external. Over the course of a few weeks, I had boiled all my worth down to these questions—what can I do? who can I be? how did I perform?—when the reality is our loving Father is eager to just love us and be loved by us. I want my faith in His love to be reflected in how I live, and consequently in how I view myself, even in those low, dark places. Totally loved, totally interesting, totally wanted by the King of Kings, come to sit at His table. [bctt tweet="Our loving Father is eager to just love us and be loved by us."] If you feel lacking in worth because you can't "contribute" to your own life right now, turn to Our Lord and ask Him how He sees you. You won't be disappointed. Blythe Fike is the wife of Kirby and mother of 7 smallish kids. She loves the quiet life in small town SoCal. You can find out more about her here.

"If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts." (Psalm 95:8) His crying punctuated the early evening air. The toddler who just wouldn't, couldn't go to sleep and stay asleep. The three year old who wanted someone to be with me and who really can't sleep and who finds my bedroom is bothering me. I tossed the shirt I was folding, turned off the podcast, dumped my glass of recently poured La Croix (berry, of course), and tromped back up the stairs. I huffed, really. Indignant he was taking MY time, wasting MY already-spent energy, and making MY heart even harder. Maybe it's the project you worked really hard on that your supervisor edited and (botched in your opinion). Maybe it's the group project you're not the leader on whose leader took all your ideas and presented them as her own. Maybe it's the boyfriend who insists he is the wounded party when you argue even though you were simply bringing up something that was bothering you. I'd like to double down on being right and justified in all my reactions. If you work with others for your job, or you are a parent and attempt to work with your children, you'll recognize this sentiment, perhaps. I'd suspect even the hermits struggle with this. I'd like to not only harden my heart, but harden it again. Where is Jesus' voice in all this self-righteousness? Do I leave room for Him or am I overwhelmed by my own voice? The voice of frustration, the voice of exhaustion, the voice of the one who knows it all. Let's not harden our hearts to the tune of our own voices. Let's let His voice fill us and soften up a bit. [bctt tweet="Let's let His voice fill us and soften up a bit. // @WholeParenting"] Spend a few minutes in a calming quiet. Pray a decade of the Rosary. Ask the Lord to fill you with His voice. Nell O'Leary is a recovering lawyer who blogs and sews while tending to her husband and four kiddos in the great city of Saint Paul, Minnesota. She serves as Managing Editor for Blessed is She and can down a iced chai tea latte in no time flat. Find out more about her here.

"[T]o still waters he leads me . . ." (Psalm 23:2) Last year, while on the Blessed is She writer’s retreat, I learned about Ignatian prayer for the first time as our own Beth Davis, Director of Ministry Advancement for Blessed is She, led us through this spiritual exercise. I can count on one hand the moments that have profoundly touched the depths of my heart, shaping my spiritual life—and this was one of them. The sun had just set behind the hill of trees, the last remnants of the day hung in the air, and all my sisters gathered around the hearth. I closed my eyes and allowed the Holy Spirit to guide me in prayer. In my mind, I was standing in the middle of a forest. The trees were dense and the ground was soft beneath my bare feet. The pine needles padded the space around me while the sound of a slow stream filled my ears. As I turned, I saw a bank where the calm waters were flowing across several smooth stones. Large and small, they pebbled the stream creating a musical hum as the restful waters ebbed and flowed downstream. Drawn to the water, the stream lapped at my toes and as if of their own volition, my legs pulled me forward. First ankle, then knee, then waist deep, the cool water with its friendly invitation drew me to lay back and float atop the water. Cradling my head, the movement of the water filled my ears, and I closed my eyes. With only my face and above water level, I let these restful waters wash over me. Then I began to cry. I couldn't tell where my tears ended and the stream began. The salty tears from my soul poured out, joining this forest stream. And suddenly, where I was cradled by the water a moment before, I was now cradled by two strong but gentle arms. My eyes were clouded with the weight of my tears. Vision blurred, I could not see. And with the softest cloth smelling of the sweetest air, my eyes were being wiped dry, and I could see again. And I stared up at the face of Jesus. “The Lord God will wipe away the tears from every face.” (Isaiah 25:8) From every face. Including mine. [bctt tweet="He will wipe away tears from every face. Including mine. // @Substance_Soul"] Have you read about Ignatian spiritual exercises? Find out more here. 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.

I’m a big fan of the Blessed Virgin Mary. As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to regard her not just as an ally and an intercessor, but as a model of everything I want to be: loving, resilient, and strong. So the first several times I heard this Gospel, I found myself feeling defensive on Mary’s behalf . . . and defensive towards her son, of all people. After all, the unnamed woman in the crowd calls out a blessing on Mary, and Jesus seems to dismiss it. He doesn’t do what the woman does and single his mother out for special praise; instead, he deflects the blessing and sends it back. (Luke 11:28) At first, I wanted Jesus to respond differently. I wanted Him to say, You got that right! My mom IS the best! No one else even comes close! (After all, that’s exactly what I’d want my own sons to say.) But I’ve since realized that Jesus’ response is not what I thought it was. It is not a diss against Mary. It’s Jesus doing what Jesus does best: broadening the circle. By redirecting the woman’s blessing, Jesus shows that God’s work is not just done by a select few. Only one person could be His mother, but every person on Earth can hear the Word of God and follow it. Mary was called in her own special way, but Jesus' statement shows us that what makes her blessed is that she heard the word of God and followed it, an opportunity we all have. I’m not sure we always believe this. We humans are pretty good at seeing others as more special than we are. Oh, that person is holier than I am because he’s a priest. That woman is holier because she has eight kids, and I only have one. That person is holier because she hasn’t made the mistakes I’ve made. And on, and on, and on. This Gospel is a useful lesson that while we humans tend to have a narrow view of the world, Jesus has a wide one. We don’t need to be the mother of Jesus to be special. In fact, we don’t need to be a mother at all. We can be of any age, race, gender, shape; we can be single or married or religious; we can be artists or athletes or accountants or anything else. [bctt tweet="God’s work is not just done by a select few."] Listen to God’s word, Jesus says, and follow it. And whoever you are: be blessed. Ginny Kubitz Moyer is a mother, high school English teacher, and BBC period drama junkie. She is the author of Random MOMents of Grace: Experiencing God in the Adventures of Motherhood 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.

There is a nasty trap of the devil I fall into much too often—it is the trap of believing that my life of faith is so much more about what I say and do rather than about what I think. I'm tempted to believe that if it’s sinful thoughts and not sinful actions, it’s not nearly as bad. Jesus Christ makes it very clear in today’s Gospel: either you’re with Him or you’re not; there is no wishy-washy, lukewarm middle ground. As He stands before these people, Scripture also says, “He knew their thoughts . . .” (Luke 11:17) These two themes are intertwined very closely in my life. One of the ways I am most often found to be against God is in my thoughts. I believe the lie that sinful thoughts are not as bad as sinful actions, and so I live that wishy-washy, middle ground. Today’s Gospel causes me to pause and reflect on the interconnectedness of these two in my life as I work toward being with God in all that I do. Do I think the best of people or the worst of people? Do I have more thoughts of charity towards others or thoughts of malice? Do I consistently fester in envy of the successes and blessings of other women? Do I dwell on worry or dwell in hope and trust? Lustful thoughts, prideful thoughts, angry thoughts . . . when we let these kinds of thoughts dominate our minds, we let the devil reign. Satan loves when our thoughts are consumed by fear. He thrives when our thoughts are so obsessively self-absorbed with our own struggles, complaints, wants, and needs that we barely take a moment in a day to consider those of our neighbor. He rejoices when we tear other women down in our thinking, because when we let him dominate our thoughts, we are not with God at all. God stands before us, just as He did with those in the Gospel, and He knows every thought of charity, of peace, of kindness. He knows every thought of jealousy, of contempt, and of judgment. If I want to be with God, I must learn to take control of my thoughts—to stop immediately when my thoughts turn sinful. When I feel these thoughts creeping in on me, I stop my thoughts and allow God to reign with that one simple prayer: Jesus, I trust in you. [bctt tweet="Do I dwell on worry or dwell in hope and trust? // @emwilss"] If we wish to be with Christ, we must be with Him completely—in our every action, our every word, and in our every thought. Emily Wilson-Hussem planned her whole life to become a sports reporter but turned out to be a Catholic musician and speaker at the hand of God. She lives out of her suitcase and travels across the world speaking to people of all ages. The heart of her ministry is offering encouragement to teen girls in search of their true identity, and she loves ever second of it. She is the author of I Choose the Sky. You can find out more about her here.

Four years ago my son was born with some pretty serious congenital birth defects. Since then he’s had four surgeries to try to correct some of them, and goes to regular doctor’s appointments to monitor others. Every day we deal with the effects of these health complications, from diet to therapy sessions to what types of activities he can and can’t do. Just about every day for the past four years I’ve prayed that God would heal my son. I don’t want him to have to go through another surgery; I don’t want to have to worry about him getting injured; I don’t want him to be singled out or made fun of because his disability. I want him to be able to do all the things other kids his age can do. But so far, he hasn’t been healed. It could be easy for me to feel a little irked while reading today’s Gospel passage. “Ask and you will receive.” (Luke 11:9) I’ve been asking, and asking, and asking, and have yet to see the healing I have been asking for. But the very end of this passage reminds of something I tend to forget. "If you then, who are wicked, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him?" (Luke 11:13) There is nothing in this world that we need more than Jesus. There is nothing worth more than asking for more of Him. And when you ask Him for more, He will never say no. I want my son to be healed. But more than that, I want him to know Jesus. And I want more of Jesus in my own life. This doesn’t mean we shouldn’t pray for all the other things. God wants us to bring our concerns to Him. Sometimes He answers our prayers, and when He does, it boosts our faith and reminds us of His love for us. But even when He doesn’t, His love is still there. I have found that sometimes it takes an unanswered prayer to make me realize He is all I really need. Our God is a Father who knows how to give good gifts to His children. In fact, He’s already given the greatest gift of all time—salvation through His Son. We need only to ask for it. [bctt tweet="Our God is a Father who knows how to give good gifts to His children."] Pray an Our Father with me today. Let's ask together. 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 teaching piano lessons, knitting, tripping over wooden train sets, or writing. Find out more about her here.

I find the story of Jonah fascinating. . . and comical. God called Jonah to preach against Nineveh and its wickedness. Jonah refused and ran in the opposite direction. Then he went away on a boat, got caught in a storm, thrown overboard by his fellow passengers, swallowed by a great fish, and stuck for three days. Finally, the fish spat him out, and he landed right back where he started. Talk about learning things the hard way! God once again commanded Jonah to preach in Nineveh. This time Jonah obeyed. He went and preached that their city would be overthrown. The people of Nineveh, from King to the lowliest member, repented and did penance in hope that God would have mercy on them. Was Jonah happy about this? No! In fact, he was angry at God for being so merciful and reached his breaking point when he lost the gourd plant that helped with the heat. God tried to reason with Jonah but he just complained and wished for death. He was angry enough to die. (Jonah 4:8) I can’t help but think, “Isn’t that a little melodramatic, Jonah?” Now, I ask that with joking affection because I can relate to Jonah. When I was younger my mom used to call me a drama queen. Everything was such an ordeal, and I’d get so riled up . . . it’s something that I still struggle to control sometimes. There are numerous occasions in my day when I have my own Nineveh moments. Such as when God is clearly asking something of me—and I am ready to ignore Him and run in the opposite direction. Or when I am expecting a certain outcome in a situation and the opposite happens, I am ready to have a fit. Sound familiar? Fortunately, the God who spared the people of Nineveh is the same God who is "good and forgiving, most merciful" to all who call upon Him. (Psalm 86:5) God knows my weakness, and He gives me ample opportunity to repent and be strengthened through prayer and the Sacraments. [bctt tweet="God gives me ample opportunity to repent + be strengthened through prayer. // @bobbi_rol"] Are you having a Nineveh moment over what God is asking of you? Or is He asking you to repent of something? Or are you hesitant to share the Gospel with someone in your life? Ask for the grace to overcome your obstacle and be open to God’s grace. 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 things we know about God—truths we can hear our entire lives long—yet still find hard to internalize, to believe with our hearts. Both the people of Nineveh and dear Martha struggled to allow their knowledge of God seep from their heads down into their hearts. Both required admonishment and some sharp words of wisdom to jolt them out of their everyday shortsightedness and look more closely at the attributes of God they'd been missing. (Jonah 3:10, Luke 10:41) We often find ourselves in this same rut—especially when the demands of the world or the burden of sin blind us to the presence of Jesus right in front of us. Like Martha, we are anxious about many things—but they're usually not the ones that carry eternal impact. Like the Ninevites, we can admit that sin is bad, but we'd rather not admit when we're at fault; we become trapped in the lie that if we sin, then we at our root, must be bad, too. And so we hide. Because from the Garden of Eden to the present day, we think that our sin is too big for God to overcome. We think that He will not want to forgive us. But God has a different message that He wants us to not just hear, but internalize and believe. You are good, daughter, He reminds us. You are very, very good. He can't make bad things. And when He created you, He beheld His work with delight and called it—called you—good. Sin can't change that we were created good and meant to be good. Ever. But sin, big and small, does drag us away from the fullness of love that of our all-loving, all-knowing Creator wants to lavish upon us. Unchecked anxiety about the things of the world, big and small, keep us distant from God's peace and grace. Don't let Satan convince you any longer to hold on to the sin and pain that deflect the rays of God's love. He wants you to ignore that you were created for happiness in Heaven, and he doesn't want you to serve God, following in his fallen steps. Run, don't walk, to the nearest confessional and lay it all at the feet of Jesus. Then sit in His presence as He reminds you of your infinite worth in Him. His forgiveness and consuming love know no bounds, and He literally died that we might know how ardently He desires to be united in love with us. [bctt tweet="He died that we might know how ardently He desires to be united in love with us. - @PosImperfect"] Open your eyes and your heart to Him today. He's waiting to show you personally, sister, how dearly He cherishes you. 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 was recently on an airline flight, seated in my favorite spot by the window, awaiting the last-minute passengers still boarding the plane. One of the last people on the plane was a young mother alone with her barely one-year old son. Turns out, her seat was the middle seat of my row. As she struggled to stow her things in an elusive, empty overhead compartment, our fellow seatmate seated at the aisle, rolled her eyes, remarking under her breath, “Oh, boy, is this going to be fun.” This was in obvious reference to the tiny person his mama was juggling and hushing as she scooted into her spot. This poor mama lowered her eyes with an unnecessary unspoken apology. At this moment, I turned to her and offered, “Would you like my seat?” She hesitated, but I hurried to add, “There is more room at the window and I’m sure your son would love to peek out as the clouds drift by! It’s not easy flying with a little one alone.” A look of gratitude washed over her face as she remarked, “Yes, yes please. That would be just wonderful.” She held her little guy, nursing him as we ascended, her body now relaxing into a more comfortable space, both literally and mentally. As I had hoped she would, throughout the flight, she used the window to entertain and appease the little boy whenever he got antsy. I was happy to have been able to be a Good Samaritan to that woman and her child that day. I aimed to treat her with the neighborly mercy Christ instructs the scholar on in the Gospel. (Luke 10:37) I won’t hide that the initial thought of giving up my favorite spot was less than appealing, but that small bit of sacrifice was every bit worth the peace I could pass on to them. What made that encounter one of good fruit and not an opportunity missed was an openness that day to the promptings of the Holy Spirit, to recognize my neighbor in need. I am not always good at this. In fact, I would say I fail nine times out of ten. It is easier to go about my own life, selfishly focused on what is best for me, failing to recognize the needs of the neighbors the Lord places in my path. But the Lord calls us to better than this. Like the man in today’s Gospel, He calls us to be awake to the needs of our neighbor and love them in that need. [bctt tweet="The Lord calls us to be awake to the needs of our neighbor + love them there. // @Muffin_Dome"] Be awake to the needs of your neighbor today. Recognize and love them there. 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.

In recent weeks the Lord has convicted me about my prayer life. Because He knows my temperament and my heart, He is gentle with me but persistent. He invites me to an even deeper relationship with Him, and He encourages me to pray more boldly. In the Gospel today we hear the disciples say to Jesus, “Lord, even the demons are subject to us because of your name.” (Luke 10:17) The name of Jesus is mighty and powerful, sisters. In reply, Jesus says, “Behold, I have given you the power ‘to tread upon serpents’ and scorpions and upon the full force of the enemy and nothing will harm you.” (Luke 10:19) Stop and let that sink in. This is intense! This is a battle we are talking about – a spiritual battle, and the disciples are fighting it. We, too, are called to fight this spiritual battle, sisters. How? With our prayer. To be honest, I have trouble completely wrapping my mind around it. God, our Father, revealed to us by His Son, has invited you and me to take part in His mission. We underestimate the power of our prayers! (And the enemy sure as heck does not want us to realize the power we have been given in the gift of prayer.) We fail to recognize the authority God has given us as His daughters—not as slaves, not as orphans, but as His own. “Blessed are the eyes that see what you see.” (Luke 10:23) We are mightily blessed, sisters. We have seen Jesus, and we know Him as our Lord. We know God as our Father. What a gift. Let us not take this for granted. Let us allow this knowledge to transform the way we pray. [bctt tweet="God has invited you and me to take part in His mission. // @inendlesssong"] “As your hearts have been disposed to stray from God, turn now ten times the more to seek him.” (Baruch 4:28) Spend some time in prayer today. Be bold, sisters. 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.