Saint Thomas, whose feast day we celebrate today, is most often remembered for being a man who doubted. Today’s Gospel highlights “doubting Thomas" and his skepticism in seeing the risen Christ. After Christ's journey on the road to Emmaus, He appears to the disciples in Luke 24:36. They are completely stunned, and Jesus asks them, “Why do doubts arise in your hearts?” He then invites them all to touch Him to believe that it is truly Him. It is important to note that Thomas was not present in this initial encounter with Jesus. He was not the only one who doubted. In these post-Resurrection moments of doubt, Jesus does not rebuke His disciples for their confusion and questioning. He understands that His Resurrection from the dead is incredibly difficult for the human mind to grasp. So He invites them all to the same action. He invites them all to reach out and touch Him. When we feel skeptical, when we question, when we search, we each get to choose the direction that doubt propels us to move, toward God or away from God. We can reach out or recoil. In his doubt, Thomas moved toward God. He reached out to the resurrected Jesus. Belief washed over him as he declared, "My Lord and my God!" His heart is transformed once again when he reaches toward Jesus, so much so that he goes on to die a martyr many years later. Thomas, however, is not often celebrated for the way he valiantly stood for his belief in Jesus. Few talk about the way he let his intimate encounter with the wounds of Christ become reason enough to die. Very few highlight the beauty of his faith when he said to his fellow disciples, "Let us also go, that we may die with Him." (John 11:16) Today, on this beautiful feast day, Saint Thomas' life offers good news for the skeptics, the questioners, and the ones who are searching. If you are like me and you've ever found yourself in one of those categories, we are in good company. We are in the company of martyrs like Thomas . . . people who wrestled, who struggled, and who ultimately, in continually seeking the heart of the Father, came to believe that Christ was worth living and dying for. He may be remembered as "doubting Thomas," but who he came to be is Saint Thomas, the Martyr, who shed his blood for his belief in the resurrected King. Pray for us, Saint Thomas, that in our moments or seasons of doubt we may continually reach out to encounter the heart of the living God. 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.

So much of the Gospel today triggers childhood memories. The first time I heard the verse about not loving your father or mother more than God, I sobbed. Now, as a mother, I also cringe when I truly evaluate whether I am loving my children more than Him. While I believe these verses are gentle reminders that He alone must be our God, another one in the series of statements hits me a bit harder today: “Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.” (Matthew 10:39) Lately, I have struggled with finding my life. I am a stay-at-home mom to six. My oldest is seven and my youngest is five months. I firmly believe I am living my vocation. But, over a span of a few years, I have become addicted to showing the world I can do other things. I can take beautiful photos. I can gain a following. I can connect with others through writing. While not terrible things in and of themselves, I became addicted to social media, and when I dug deep to find out why, the reason was pretty obvious . . . pride. I could only go a few minutes without checking to see who had liked my photos, who had left a nice comment, and if I had gained any new followers. When I asked myself if I would keep all of my accounts up and running, if there were a way to turn off the likes, comments, and follows, my answer was no. I had used social media to build myself up, and quickly I did not just want a few likes, I wanted hundreds. As I became more popular, I needed more of it all to satisfy my craving for the affirmation. My phone would be losing battery life at the same rate that my Bible would be collecting dust. My affirmation came from the world, and not from Him. Simply put, in seeking to find my life, I lost Him. Stepping away from social media, I am finding Him again. In the stillness. In the faces of my children. In the people who might go unnoticed if my eyes were glued to a new notification on my phone. I am learning that it is okay to “lose my life” in order that I make time to find myself in Him. [bctt tweet="I am finding Him again: in the stillness. // @thefiskfiles"] Pray the Saint Michael the Archangel prayer today to ask for his intercession to cast into Hell the Devil and all his temptations out of your life. Britt Fisk is a wife to a rancher, mom to six, and a photographer from time to time. She spends her days raising cattle on the grasslands of New Mexico while homeschooling her little ones. You can find out more about her here.

Today is my daughter's birthday, she is one, and those are words I never really believed I'd ever get to say. When I became Catholic in 2013 I made a promise to embrace one of the tenants I really struggled with—to say goodbye to contraception and welcome God's plan for my motherhood. Within a month I was pregnant with my second child, and within two months my second baby, a boy I've always believed, was gone. Three more babies followed that loss over the next two and a half years and all of them called home by Him before we ever saw their faces. My family of seven definitely didn't look like I expected. It was my dark night of the soul and not something I ever thought I would have to live through and there was the usual steps of grief and mourning—anger, denial, depression, bargaining and eventually acceptance. On October 1st, 2016 my husband and I visited the Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Wisconsin and for the first time, I did not arrive to bargain or scream or beg. I went there to accept whatever it was God wanted of me and for the first time, I left with no expectation and a lot of peace. I understood why Sarah laughed in the First Reading. Three weeks later and nine months later, to the day of our visit to the Shrine, on July 1st, 2017 I gave birth to my sixth child, my daughter. I think Sarah laughed because she must have, just that morning, accepted her lot in life, just like me. I think Sarah laughed because it was better than giving voice to all the memories of all the months she too spent bargaining, begging and screaming at God, just like me. I think Sarah laughed because as much as she wanted to trust, it must have hurt so much to remember the months turning into years of waiting, just like me. I totally understand—I laughed too, just like her. I hope anyone reading this today who is going through their own dark night waiting for a child, waiting for a husband, waiting for that sign from God will remember the words of the Angels to Sarah—there is nothing too marvelous for the Lord to do. I don't know what that marvelous thing will be for you. If you are waiting for your rainbow baby or any baby, I pray fervently that you will have a happy ending, too. But I do know that God is the God of miracles, big and small, and I hope one day, when He shows you your marvelous part in His grand story, that you'll catch yourself laughing and remember that Sarah laughed, too. [bctt tweet="I know that God is the God of miracles, big and small."] Let us pray together, today, sisters, for a trusting in God's grand story. Molly Walter is the Blog Manager for Blessed is She, 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.

Recently a friend of mine and I were having a conversation about hope. This friend is a witness to hope herself, and she frequently encourages and challenges other women to likewise have hope. She especially loves to speak hope to single women who are waiting and longing for a spouse, to those who long for healing, or for God to answer the deepest desires of their hearts. My friend witnesses to hope, and yet her own hope has not come to her immediately or easily. Her hope has been given to her as the fruit of years of prayer and personal work to wrestle through great challenges and sufferings, questioning great mysteries and bringing them to the Lord, the source of her hope and her joy. God has not answered all of her prayers yet, and He has not brought out complete resolution to all her intentions, and yet she still has hope and joy in the midst of the waiting. This is what truly makes her an example of hope. Similarly, today's readings remind and challenge me to have hope. In the Gospel Jesus says, "I will do it" to the leper who asks to be made clean. Do we have hope in God's promise? Do we believe that God will take care of it and He will do it? Our God is a God who keeps His promises. He keeps His covenant for us. Sometimes He fulfills our longings after waiting for a long time like in the First Reading the years and years that Abraham and Sarah waited for a child. Other times He answers our prayers immediately like the leper in today's Gospel. Often times our prayers are not answered in the way we necessarily expected, but God is still with us and He is answering our deepest truest needs. We must have hope that even if our prayers are not answered in the way we expect, in the exact way we wanted, or within the time frame that we thought we needed, He will do it. And He is with us. God's presence among us is reason enough for us to hope. [bctt tweet="God's presence among us is reason enough for us to hope."] Can we be witnesses today to the joy that comes from being a woman who truly hopes in God and believes in His promise? Can you share some hope with a friend or sister today? 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 have competed well; I have finished the race; I have kept the faith.” (2 Tim 4:7) Do you ever get vocation envy? You know, where you wish you had someone else’s calling? You wish you could travel the globe as a missionary, or minister to the poorest of the poor, or be a great public speaker, or maybe a great contemplative. Some people are called to exciting things like that, but most of us are called to more ordinary things. Jobs in cubicles, days spent at home with kids. It’s easy to compare our calling with someone else’s and feel like it’s not important. But here’s the deal: if you’re doing the thing God has called you to do, He’s going to use that thing to help you, and probably some people around you, get to Heaven. And that’s really important. Today is the Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul, who together are often called the Pillars of the Church. God called each of them to radically holy lives, and yet their lives were very different. Saint Peter started out as a humble fisherman, while Saint Paul was a Jewish Pharisee. Saint Peter was a follower of Jesus from the very beginning of His public ministry. Saint Paul was a persecutor of the early Church before his conversion. Saint Peter was appointed by Jesus to be our first Pope, while Saint Paul traveled all over the known world preaching the Gospel to the Gentiles. Their ministries looked different, but their goals were the same. They ran their separate courses to the best of their ability, and in the end they both were martyred in Rome and received the greatest of prizes, life eternal in Heaven with Jesus. [bctt tweet="Our callings may not all look the same, but they have the same goal: to get us to Heaven."] Our callings may not all look the same, but they have the same goal: to get us to Heaven. So that is why we must compete well, keep the faith, and finish the race. Anna Coyne is a Minnesota native, wife, mother, and convert to the Catholic faith. When not chasing after her two young children, she is probably making pour-over coffee, knitting, gardening, playing the piano, or sipping on a glass of red wine. Find out more about her here.

There is a tree, that while bursting green with life, causes death. No, I’m not talking about that infamous tree from the garden of Eden. I’m talking about the enormous walnut tree towering in our backyard. It’s beautiful, and it’s going to be an amazing source of shade for us in summer, but as I was doing research this spring on what to plant in our garden, I stumbled upon the truth. This walnut tree is a silent killer. It releases a chemical from its roots that causes many other plants and trees to die. They won't all die right away. Most likely, it will be a slow death, maybe over the course of a few months or even years. The signs of poisoning are not always obvious. More often than not, growth will be slow, and the plants or trees will bloom less and less and eventually they will just shrivel up and wither away. But a plant that isn’t near the poison? That plant will bloom and bear fruit and flourish. “A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a rotten tree bear good fruit.” (Matthew 7:18) Sometimes I get lazy about taking prayer time, or I allow myself to indulge in shows that might not be great, or share and share until it turns into gossip. Before I know it, I’m snapping at my husband and my kids and getting easily frustrated with friends and family. Then I realize that I have distanced myself from the Lord, because here is the fruit, and it is rotten. But the poisoning is slow, and it can take a long time to realize that, spiritually, I am withering away. “By their fruits you will know them.” (Matthew 7:20) The beauty of our Church is that she offers us the tools to come back to the source of all joy and life. Union with Christ comes in the confessional and in the Eucharist. I know that when the fruit I am bearing isn’t good, I need to turn back to the Sacraments, because only then can I be healed of the poison of sin. Only then can I bloom and bring forth good fruit. [bctt tweet="Let's bloom and bring forth good fruit."] Visit the confessional this week and receive absolution and peace. 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.

Justice is elusive in my house. With a large family (or any sized family), comes strife. I’ve been trying desperately to instill virtues like respect and kindness into my children’s hearts. At some point, I hope my heart and theirs will be so consumed with love for God that choosing good and doing justice comes naturally. At first I didn’t notice the thread of justice woven throughout these verses, but the more I let the Word linger, the more richness I found. The richness isn’t in the goods and livestock that burdened Abram and Lot, leading to quarrels and strife. No, the richness lies in Abram’s actions, inspired by his love for God and desire for justice. As the Psalmist sings “He who does justice will live in the presence of the Lord,” and Jesus bluntly tells us, “Do to others whatever you would have them do to you,” I see that Abram was a just man. Abram knew justice because he knew God. He knew God because he took time to be in His presence, to pray and listen and then to act according to the Love of the One with whom he had a relationship. He spent time in the presence of the Just One, and from his relationship with God flowed his just treatment of others. Justice seeks fair treatment. It works towards peace. It seeks the good of the other. Pursuing God’s justice is a journey, not so much unlike Abram’s journey with Lot. Abram, a man faced with strife and quarrels among his kinsmen who sought justice, love, peace. He saw the problem, the burden of their worldly riches, and offered a solution in peace and generosity to Lot. In the end, God blessed Abram. I long for this justice, too. I long to live in the presence of the Lord, to be counted among the Saints. How narrow the gate is, as Jesus warns, and yet how clear the path to follow when I seek to love others, treat them with kindness, and pursue God’s justice. Then will I have found the greatest treasure: life in the presence of the Lord. [bctt tweet="Justice seeks fair treatment. It works towards peace. It seeks the good of the other."] Pray for justice in the lives of those suffering grave injustices today. Gina Fensterer is a wife, daughter, mother, friend, homeschooling mama, and Colorado native. You can find out more about her here.

I love using emojis in my texts, to the point where sometimes I even start to think in emoji. I know it’s weird, but that’s me. You know that emoji where the eyes are two straight lines and the mouth is also a straight line? That’s how I feel after reading the Gospel today. The face of “Yes, I know. And I know better. And yet . . . .” Grim recognition? That might be the phrase I’m looking for. Jesus is pretty clear: "Stop judging, that you may not be judged. For as you judge, so will you be judged.” (Mt 7:1-2) I really like when people agree with me. I don’t like feeling challenged, I don’t like feeling wrong, and I absolutely do not like being judged. But judging other people? I got skills upon skills when it comes to judging other people. For example. And I am not proud of this example: I was at my Holy Hour, in Adoration, and the man in front of me was wearing a super oddball t-shirt. I had a few thoughts about this tee. Here I was, sitting in front of Jesus, and instead of gazing upon Him in His Glory, I spent a few minutes judging someone’s shirt. The shirt of a man with whom I share my Holy Hour, week in, week out. Someone who kneels side-by-side with me in front of the Risen Christ for an hour. And I knelt there judging the text on his t-shirt. I had to march myself into Reconciliation and confess that, which honestly was just embarrassing. Here’s the thing, though: These judgments are just as bad when I am making them on the bus, in my classroom, at family holidays (yes, I’ve done that, too). God knows, even when I am not doing it in directly in front of His mystical body. When I am judged by the judgment I pronounce? That will be tough for me if I keep going the way I have gone for the last couple decades of my life. I need to spend more time with Jesus, sitting in Adoration, and not worrying about the speck in anyone else’s eye. Instead, fueled by the the grace we receive from partaking in the Sacraments, I need to work on getting that log out of my own. [bctt tweet="Let's spend more time with Jesus and not worry about the speck in another's eye. // @br1gid"] Is there a log in your eye that you’re ignoring? Look on the places in your life where you feel a bit of grim recognition. Brigid Hogan is a midwestern graduate student who finds peace in lakes, the Mass, and fiction when she isn’t ensconced in schoolwork. Find out more about her here.

I am a middle-child. With that title comes some stereotypical attributes that describe me beautifully. I am a peacekeeper, empathetic, independent, can be a little socially insecure, and I avoid conflict. And today’s readings make me just a little nervous. When I joined the fullness of the Faith ten years ago, our RCIA director mentioned that our conversion would make others uncomfortable. My husband was my sponsor, and we attended the RCIA classes as date night for most of a year. The process was a catechetical renewal for my husband and gave us both a much need spark. Actually it was more like pouring gasoline on an open flame. We opened our lives to NFP, started praying together, and began to trust in the Lord in a way that we hadn’t imagined possible. We began to not just believe in the faith, but to practice it during the week. Some people in my life did see leaving my childhood church as a betrayal of my past. Our relationships with people who didn't share our faith started to falter. We had changed. We weren’t judging others, but our continual 'yes' to God made other people uncomfortable. Being a disciple of Jesus is reflected in our daily actions. It isn’t in the words as much as it is in the deeds. I wasn’t inviting my atheist friends to church or warning people of the dangers of chemical contraception. I was simply choosing to develop a relationship with Jesus and do what He said. But my very being, my love for the Eucharist, and my 'yes' to Jesus, caused conflict. That was hard. Being a disciple means saying 'yes' you will do something even though it is hard, like seeing relationships change. Jesus says to the Twelve in today's Gospel, “Fear no one. Nothing is concealed that will not be revealed, or secret that will not be know.” Opening yourself to true transformation in Christ may make others uncomfortable (especially you middle children), but maybe it’s time to grow through those feelings. Being a disciple means seeking answers to what we teach and what we say we believe, so that we can internalize those teachings and let them transform our souls. [bctt tweet="Being a disciple means internalizing the teachings and letting them transform our souls."] Trust God and His Church even when you don’t understand. The teachings of our faith equip and inform us as we travel the path of holiness. Come with me. Let Him change your life. Join the path that leads to Him. *Blessed is She will be offering small group study guides in the fall. Find some fellow sisters in Christ and get your group together. The path doesn’t have to be a lonely one. Find out more here. MaryRuth Hackett is Director of Operations for Blessed is She. She loves historical fiction, dark chocolate, watching her children play soccer, a good cup of coffee (decaf please) and the quiet of the early morning. She holds a PhD in Educational Psychology and has a passion for helping parents understand the way their children grow and develop. You can find out more about her here.

Today the Church celebrates the birth of Saint John the Baptist. I imagine that, as an adult, Saint John was a fairly daunting character, loud and imposing. Tradition holds that his beard was long, his clothes strange, and his diet bizarre. He was likely wild-eyed and smelly from prolonged exposure to the elements in the desert. He seemingly had no use for comfort, appearance, or the opinion of others. He exhorted anyone who'd listen to amend their lives by straightening crooked paths, flattening mountains, and filling in valleys to make a highway for the LORD to enter in. Saint John did exactly what he was created to do. In some ways, I envy him. John's mission was crystal clear, whereas mine often appears murky. His resolve to serve God was unshakable, whereas I wrestle with making good choices more frequently than I'd like to admit. So, where's the prophecy detailing the unquestionable purpose for my life? Today the Psalmist declares, "I praise you, for I am wonderfully made," and the Baltimore Catechism says we are made to know, love, and serve God in this life so we can be happy with Him in the next. (Source.) Saint John appeared to know these truths early on. He knew who he was, to Whom he belonged, and where he was going. That knowledge freed him to radically follow God from the desert to ministry in the Jordan River, and ultimately, to Paradise. I wonder how my life would be if, like Saint John the Baptist, I lived in the knowledge that God fashioned me with great tenderness and love in my mother's womb. Because, if I'm honest, I don't always trust His word. I forget that He is good even when my choices aren't. That His mercy and love transcend my understanding and worthiness. That I am enough simply because I am His. God may not proclaim details regarding my life's direction, but He does continually beckon me—gently, quietly—to commune with Him in prayer and the Sacraments. It is in this space that I begin to allow His voice to penetrate my weary heart, revealing the path that leads me ever closer to Him. [bctt tweet="His mercy + love transcend my understanding. I am enough because I am His. // @realcatholicmom"] Revisit today's Psalm. Ponder and meditate upon it. Repeat it aloud; more than once, if possible. Pray for Saint John the Baptist's intercession that God's Word washes you in the healing truth of who you really are. 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.

I have an image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus hanging on the wall of my bedroom, and if I am paying attention, I see it every time I exit. It is not an easy image to see. In fact, I’m typically moved more by art that depicts depth of emotion, even if it is painful. The image is titled For God so Loved the World (google it!), and its author is unknown. It depicts Jesus and His Sacred Heart, with blood coming from His brow and tears streaming down His face wrought with pain. It makes me cringe. Seeing His pain can sometimes be so convicting for me as I imagine Him saying, “I did this for you.” And, I think to myself, “I did this to You.” Yet, He tells us that His yoke is easy and His burden light and begs us to bring it upon ourselves. Easy? Light? He was brutally killed. But, He won. He bore the pain of us all, and He opened the gates of Heaven for eternity. His yoke is easy and His burden light because He has already done the heavy lifting. He has already paid the price. We are only asked to love Him. Pretty simple, right? Sometimes it just does not seem so. Going against the grain in order to be yoked to Him is difficult. I’m convinced that God was talking about our hearts primarily because while the struggles and crosses do not always go away when we choose to yoke ourselves to Him, our hearts are freed. From guilt. From restlessness. And from relentless desire to please. Today, as we labor and are burdened, let us look to His Sacred Heart, see His pain, and know so deeply that He did this because He loves us so very much. He wants us to be at peace. He wants us to love. He simply wants us . . . all of us. [bctt tweet=" He wants us to be at peace. He wants us to love. He simply wants us all of us. // @thefiskfiles"] And, He offers to carry our burdens so choosing Him might be easier. Why don’t we let Him? Britt Fisk is a wife to a rancher, mom to six, and a photographer from time to time. She spends her days raising cattle on the grasslands of New Mexico while homeschooling her little ones. You can find out more about her here

I turned the paper over and caught my breath seeing it replete with words I felt at a loss to translate in the allotted time for the task. The exam seemed insurmountable. Our Father who art in Heaven . . . . Hail Mary, full of grace . . . . I didn’t know exactly what to ask for but I knew I needed divine intervention. ***** Upon arriving back to my car after an evening run, I found thousands of shards of broken glass shattered out of my car window. My heart stopped as I found myself alone in the busy parking lot, but with no companion to witness this moment alongside me. Our Father who art in Heaven . . . . Hail Mary, full of grace . . . . These words drawing me close to Him in a moment of panic. ***** As I lay in the semi-darkness feeling the surge of every contraction hitting full force and striking ever closer together, I did the only thing I could think to do. Our Father who art in Heaven . . . . Hail Mary, full of grace . . . . The prayers poured out of me, lifting me out of the waves of pain washing over me. ***** Grief overtook me as a my heart pounded with an unfathomable ache. Recently losing a loved one, my feelings, my thoughts, felt like a jumbled mess with no means of suitable expression. Our Father who art in Heaven . . . . Hail Mary, full of grace . . . . I found solace in these words of prayer spilling from my lips between sobs. ***** Prayer can form spontaneously, but sometimes it is a great help to have the words right at our fingertips, committed to memory and second nature, so that in those dire moments they simply spill forth without any real effort straight to the Father. Jesus, in today’s Gospel, gives us the words when we can’t find them on our own. He teaches us how to open that line of communication with the Father. In our household, when we sit down to pray at night, we ask each of the members of the family what they would like to pray for. My youngest daughter often says that she wants to pray to Jesus “all the way.” What I think she means, is that she wants to pray for all the things in her heart that can’t find adequate expression, but that He knows are hidden there. Let us find our way to Him in the prayers stamped on our hearts where He knows what we need “all the way” even when we find ourselves beyond expression. [bctt tweet="Jesus gives us the words when we can’t find them on our own. // @Muffin_Dome"] What is your favorite prayer you have memorized? Pick a new one this week to learn by heart. 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.

But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you[.] (Mt 5:44) I was twenty-six years old. I drove my car out to the barn to see my horse. As I drove the drive I knew in my sleep, the drive I had done thousands of times and would do many more, I spoke with my Godmother on the phone. We chatted and I slowed around the curves, accelerated coming out of the bends, and squinted into the western sky at sundown. Kathy was the kind of phone call you didn't want to miss and that you hated to say goodbye to. Her chuckle and wry whit shared as much joy in the delivery as what she actually was saying. This talk was no different. I had just shared a particular annoyance about my new-to-me-through-marriage family, and she listened and um hummed through the whole thing. When I paused for a breath before launching back in, she stopped me. "So they're not perfect, hmmm? Have you prayed about? Have you prayed for them specifically?" I pulled over to the shoulder alongside the barn's driveway entrance and turned off the car, flicking on my hazards. That hot embarrassment feeling slid up my neck and reddened my face. I mumbled that I hadn't prayed for them or about it but felt very righteous in my annoyance. "Surely God loves them, too? There must be something lovable there? Even a little thing. Dessert? How are their desserts?" My embarrassment gave way to laughter. Yes, I liked their pies. Okay, then. Small steps toward being able to pray for them. My Godmother has been dead for five and a half years but when someone annoys me, when someone persecutes me, either perceived or intentional, I remember that dusty side of the road in rural Minnesota, and her chuckle about desserts. My relationships are as imperfect as I am, but finding a common place to start loving someone and then being able to pray for them has helped me weather eight years of marriage. [bctt tweet="My relationships are as imperfect as I am. // @WholeParenting"] Can you pray for those who are your enemies? Can you find one thing that makes them lovable? Maybe that's your start. 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, blog, sews, and can down a iced chai tea latte in no time flat. Find out more about her here.

Once on a long ferry ride from the small island where we lived in the middle of the Caribbean Sea, I stood on the deck and prayed that Jesus would let me experience a bit of the suffering of His Passion. See, it was holy week, but Easter was coming early for us, because we were journeying from the mission field to comfort of home. A few minutes later, a woman nearby summoned a large wad of mucus from her throat and attempted to spit it into the sea. Instead of its intended destination, the wind carried it back upward where it landed splat in my eye. Being spit upon is an aspect of the Passion I had little considered, but now knew to be humiliating and unpleasant in the worst of ways. I had a choice in that moment: to respond in anger or to be gracious and compassionate to that woman. Certainly, I would rather not be spat upon again, but in offering her forgiveness in place of the ire she was surely expecting, I had an opportunity to give her my clean cheek, to turn away from the muck that had landed on me, and offer what was still good and pure and holy in me. What she chose to do with that clean cheek was her responsibility. Mine was only to offer it. I do not think Jesus intends for us to long to be slapped around constantly when He exhorts us to “go the extra mile” for others who demand it less than graciously. I think instead He is inviting us into the subversive current of grace, where in being like Christ in this life, we will get a bit of everything thrown at us—praise, persecution, love, hatred, and maybe even some spittle or a slap in the face. The challenge of discipleship is to receive all things in the love of Christ and return His love in all circumstances. Sometimes it’s the clean cheek, and sometimes it’s the gracious acceptance of a compliment rather than self-deprecation. We cannot control whether the cheek gets slapped again or caressed or the praise is exaggerated or withdrawn. We can only offer love and know in doing so, we have been Christ in an “eye for an eye” world—subverting the message of “you versus me” with compassion that says, “He and I are for you, no matter how you respond.” [bctt tweet="Discipleship is to receive all things in the love of Christ + return His love. - @colleencmitch"] Where in your life do you need to turn the other cheek? Colleen Mitchell is wife to Greg and mother to five amazing sons here on earth. They serve in Costa Rica where they run the St. Francis Emmaus Center, a ministry that welcomes indigenous mothers into their home to care for them pre and postpartum. She is the author of Who Does He Say You Are. Find out more about her here.

Today we celebrate the solemnity of Corpus Christi, and I’m reminded of a similar day I celebrated many years ago. At the time, a friend of mine from out of state was visiting me and my family. He was Protestant but was happy (and curious) to join us for Mass and the Corpus Christi festivities. After Mass, there was a procession of the Eucharist in the monstrance and my friend wanted to know why the “bread” was being carried around in a large ornate gold holder. Further, why were people acting as if it were God? He listened intently as I quietly explained that Catholics believe that during the Consecration at Mass the bread, while maintaining its appearance, became Jesus truly present, Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity in the Eucharist. He was silent and looked intently at the priest holding the monstrance. He shook his head in wonder and whispered, "If that were truly Jesus, I would fall to my knees and never want to get back up again." All these years later, I still remember the look on his face and the sound of his voice. It made an impression on me because it reminded me of the depth of the Eucharistic miracle and the depth of Jesus’ love for us. Not only did Our Lord come down from Heaven to redeem us and bring us everlasting life, He humbled Himself enough to become the very food we eat. I don’t ever want to become complacent towards Jesus in the Eucharist. One of the ways I fight against it is to stop by our parish chapel whenever I drive by it. I’ll pop in for a few minutes to kneel before Jesus in the tabernacle. I close my eyes and picture Him sitting there while I’m at His feet. Sometimes I pour out my heart to Him and sometimes I just let him know that I love Him and didn’t want Him to be alone in the chapel. It’s a small way to grow my love for Jesus in the Eucharist. [bctt tweet="Let's strive to not ever become complacent towards Jesus in the Eucharist. // @bobbi_rol"] This week think of something you can do to thank Jesus for coming to you in the Eucharist. You could go to Mass an extra day, invite a non-practicing friend to go with you, visit Jesus in the tabernacle, or make a spiritual communion during the busyness of your day. Whatever it is, stop and take a moment to let Christ’s Eucharistic love wash over you. 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.

My father is a decorated Navy fighter pilot, as was his father before him. As the firstborn, and with no brothers to do it, I figured it was up to me to carry on the tradition. But while I get my feistiness from my dad, I have my mom’s lousy eyesight, and ended up as a commercial pilot and flight instructor, rather than a war hero. I loved flying, and I enjoyed teaching, but the environment of flight schools was really . . . something. I was a young, single female in an almost exclusively male workplace. I was anxious to fit in, and be accepted as one of the boys. The obvious way to do that, it seemed to me at the time, was to learn to start cussing. If I could shock them all with my vulgar language, I could make sure I was respected for being good at my job, rather than for being a woman. You gals aren’t going to believe this, but . . . it wasn’t a very good plan. My father had always made me feel worthy of being treated like a lady, but in my workplace, my choice of language convinced my co-workers of something different. Insisting that I wasn’t to be respected as a woman, and not actually BEING a man meant that, however good a pilot I was, I never could find my place in their ranks. Moving to a different flight school a short time later and cleaning up my language meant I could be respected as a whole person. When I quit using profanity fifteen years ago, I figured I was all set. Then, about ten years ago, I realized I should probably quit saying “Oh my God,” when I didn't mean it as a prayer. That was easy enough. I could just replace it with “my gosh” or “my golly” or “my goodness.” But then, about five years ago, I read THIS Gospel. And, shut the front door, it seemed pretty clear that Jesus said NO meaningless swearing, not by anything, even cutesy replacement words. There are actually four different types of language the Catechism tells us to avoid in sections 2146-9. Jesus isn’t talking about profanity in this instance, or cursing (the calling down of some evil on a person or place), or blasphemy (disrespect of the name of God or other holy things), he’s specifically referencing swearing—as in: “I swear to God, I will turn this car around!” or “Oh my heavens, this humidity!” or “By my head, here come the Capulets.” None of those fall on our ears as vulgar the way that “bad words” do. But that's kind of the problem. In using profanity, I was devaluing myself, but in swearing, cursing, or blaspheming, however unintentionally, I was devaluing God in my own eyes and to everyone around me. It took quite a while to break those habits, but it's been years now since I (knowingly) swore or cursed or blasphemed OR used a “bad word.” And I've managed to express myself just fine in the interim. I hope! [bctt tweet="Make good to the Lord all that you vow. - Matthew 5:33"] Watch your language habits. How are you using it? Kendra Tierney is currently writing a book, fixing up a tumbledown hundred year old house, and gestating baby number nine. In her free time, she carpools, homeschools, and feeds the other eight kids. And her husband. You can find her first book, A Little Book About Confession, here, her blog here, and her word art here.

I remember when the call came in. I remember the fear, the anguish, the panic. But more so, I remember the darkness. Because when you find out that someone you love is in the hospital, it’s easy for your heart to give way to that darkness. I knew what had happened. I had seen the cuts etched along his arms for years. They started small and faint, popping up along his wrists in colors of red and purple. But I noticed when they started to grow, when the skin gave way to deeper and deeper wounds and the coagulated blood began to create dark, plump notches on top of his smooth arms. My tears flowed down deep into the darkness that day, they flowed down deep into fear. But there’s a beautiful thing that happens once your eyes have adjusted to the dark. You're able to clearly see the Light, and He gently pursues all of those tiny shadows on our hearts. And sometimes it’s only in the midst of the storm that you see Him there, the Light—waiting, calling, nudging you through. That Light has grown brighter in the years after the incident. I see it everyday. I see it in the faded wounds on his arms and all of the small ways his circumstance has taught us and bonded us. There is hope in every crisis. There is light in every shadow. There is Christ in every cross. And it is because of this that “we are afflicted in every way, but not constrained; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed” (2 Corinthians 4:8-9). Light is always there, beckoning us with hope, with life. [bctt tweet="Sometimes it’s in the midst of the storm that you see Him there—waiting, calling. // @IamBritCal"] Let the light in. He will illuminate your darkness. 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.