"But wisdom is vindicated by her works." // Matthew 11:19 Just a little embarrassed, I wiped my eyes as I stood in front of my honors biology students. It should not have been a big deal, but here I was (grown-up educator and all) crying as we watched a video of a baby boy hearing for the first time after receiving an implant that restored his hearing. "Did you hear that, Jonathan?" the mama sung to her little boy on the video. He gazed at her incredulously, his puzzled face quickly transforming into the most brilliant of smiles. It was such a simple thing: a baby hearing the love in his mama's voice for the very first time. But I melted, of course. A few of my students did, too. I have come to believe that apart from "I love you," three of the best words we can hear from another are, "I hear you." These simple words remind us that not only are our words worth listening to, but that our very selves are as well. Feeling unheard is not much different than feeling unloved, is it? Jesus knew both. It didn't matter what John the Baptist said or did before Him, and for some, it didn't matter what Jesus said or did either. There were some who simply wouldn't hear Him (Matthew 11:16-19). It begs some questions, sister: Do we desire to hear Jesus in the crazy, broken messiness of our lives? Or do we distractedly call on others in the marketplace to entertain and distract? Like Jonathan, can we look with joy at the One Who loves us and desires to speak only good things to our hearts? Lord, we desire to hear You. Help us to hear You more. [bctt tweet="Look at the One Who loves us. // Karen Schultz " username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

I was in college and volunteering as a youth minister when I was introduced to the Salve Regina ("Hail Holy Queen") prayer. Standing in that church basement making photocopies one hot summer day, my eyes fell on the prayer shoved between a few holy cards on a bookshelf. I remember being captivated by its beautiful imagery and confidence in Our Lady to intercede for us. But, as I stood at that photocopier, I was confused: "To thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears," I read. "What valley of tears?" I thought. Okay, sure . . . I had my ups and downs as a young adult. Truthfully, though, a whole lot was going great: I had a family who loved me. The tender beginnings of a deeply rooted faith. An education and the promise of provision. Life was pretty sweet at the tender age of nineteen. At the very least, most definitely not a valley of tears. Since then I've come to know a few hard things: Dishonesty and betrayal. Death and disappointment. Deep fears and anxieties. And globally—war, sickness, economic instability, offenses against human dignity. Even as I write this, I know that some of us are walking through the darkest valleys of tears. And so, this prayer makes more sense to me now than it ever did. Jesus reminds us in today's Gospel, Luke 21:34-36, that He knows our struggles. His fully human heart walked the darkest of valleys, and He walks through ours with us, now. He urges us not to bury our heads in the sand. Not to despair. Not to shut it all out with food or deep dives into Instagram or binge sessions on Netflix. Let us ask for Mary's help today to show us the most beautiful fruit of her womb, her Son, Jesus. He gives us everything we need to journey through this valley of tears together. [bctt tweet="He gives us everything we need. // Karen Schultz " username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

Just last week I wrote out my plan for the next few days. Putting pencil to hot pink copy paper, I took stock of wake-up, breakfast, and workout times, important meetings and an odd assortment of things to remember (mow the lawn, weed the garden, buy that birthday card, call that friend, order those school uniforms, etc). Thanks be to God, I even managed to make sure that Mass and prayer found their space onto the list as well. This is my jam, to-do lists. Of course, the list is only helpful if I follow it: Wake-up times only work when I’ve prioritized my sleep. Carving out time for Mass and prayer only come to fruition when I don’t let other distractions get in the way. The to-do list, in other words, is only as effective as a set of well-ordered priorities. This, my friends, is the ever-constant struggle of the people in today’s reading: “Consider your ways,” says the Lord. “You have sown much, but have brought in little . . . eaten, but not been satisfied . . . and whomever earned wages earned them for a bag with holes in it” (Haggai 1:6). These poor souls are fumbling everything and not putting at the top of the list the thing that truly matters most: the rebuilding of the Lord's temple. Through the Prophet Haggai, God urges His people to make a priorities shift: to devote their hearts to the temple, not once they get through items 1-3 on their list, but right now. We’re called to the same, sister. It doesn’t mean that prayer and Mass and time with Our Lord will happen first thing every day, but it does mean that we prioritize Him in our hearts, that we tell Him we love Him, and that He’s the most important thing on even the most massive of to-do lists. It’s all about priorities, sister. Tell Him that He’s at the top of your list today. [bctt tweet="He’s the most important thing. // Karen Schultz " username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

It's funny how dates stick in our heads, isn't it? August 9th, 1999. It was the summer before my senior year of high school, and on that very day I was en route back to the United States after a deeply influential mission trip to Africa. From an airport payphone in Texas I called my family, reminding them how much I was craving Mom's rhubarb crisp and Italian zucchini crescent roll pie (staples of our summer days in Minnesota!). It had been a mere twenty-eight days of travel, but how I had missed home! In the weeks that passed, I did revel in my return to the safety and comfort of home. I devoured that zucchini pie and rhubarb crisp. I soaked up those lingering summer days with swims in the lake and sleepovers with girlfriends and excitedly planning for college. But something in my heart shifted when I came off the mission field: I deeply missed my African friends and that deeply rooted faith community. For the first time in my young adult life I found myself praying the Rosary and delving into the Scriptures. I paid attention more at Mass, too. I so desired to know Him more deeply (see Deuteronomy 10:12) and that others might know Him, too. Looking back now, I can see that He was gently cultivating my compassionate, sacrificial, motherly, feminine heart to serve Him a bit more. He was calling me to a story that no one else could tell. Sisters, I have to tell you that I just love that He gave me that August 9th. Do you have a day that was a turning point in your own walk with Jesus? When was it? Take a moment today to offer praise and thanks to God for this story that only you can tell. [bctt tweet="He was calling me to a story that no one else could tell. // Karen Schultz" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion  

I spent years preparing to become a foster parent. It began as a little trickle of a thought, and eventually grew into a steady stream of pondering. But it was a long while before I willingly shared this discernment with those closest to me. From the outside, people saw my wide-eyed anticipation, but most did not know that the decision to foster was not an easy one. I questioned the calling on my heart, and I doubted my own abilities in a big way. Once I finally gave a tentative, whisper of a yes, then came necessary home renovations and a time-intensive application. A background check and a much-more-involved-than-anticipated home study. And then a global pandemic, upheavals at work, and delay after delay that kept me from receiving a child. And while I did welcome a couple of children into my home for very brief respite placements, most of the time life was . . . just as it had always been. I had finally learned to say yes, but just where had the Lord led me? Then one day, far from my own preconceived expectations, I welcomed a child from my own extended family into my home. I found myself stumbling into the truth that all those years of discernment and foster care preparation were for far more than only that. Per usual, God was asking me to broaden my vision, to say yes (again) to an unexpected call to love. This journey makes me think of God's great big ask of Abraham in Genesis 22:1-19. How Abraham loved his God so deeply, and how he desired to hold nothing back from Him, even that which he loved most. I think about how I want to be just as willing as Abraham—to put my own hopes and my own expectations aside in deference to a plan that is better than anything I could ever conjure up. Whatever plan you are struggling to relinquish today, just know that the ultimate Planner sees you. Share every one of your misgivings with Him and simply ask for the courage to say yes. [bctt tweet="Hold nothing back from Him. // Karen Schultz" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion  

"I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth . . ." I mumbled through Mass one Sunday in college. And then I stopped mid-sentence, tears welling up in my eyes, chin trembling. Months earlier, I had returned from a long study abroad trip. In the middle of that very beautiful but very hard experience, I found myself struggling for the first time to make sense of the faith that had, only a year prior, made perfect sense to me. For many excruciating months I was simply unable to move past that first line of the Apostles' Creed. For you see, to proclaim it without really believing it made me feel like a total fake. But the thought of not proclaiming it, if it was true, made me feel like the weakest, wimpiest Christian to ever walk the face of the earth. In today's reading from the Acts of the Apostles, Saint Paul speaks of the groping of the human heart (see Acts 17:22-28). He preached in a time of new believers and persistent unbelievers, cautious skeptics and curious seekers. Like them, I too was seeking and trying to find assurance in the belief that He gives life to everyone, even to me (Acts 17:25). What I know from that time of desolation is that the Lord worked on my heart, not with the speediness that I was hoping for, but with the generous gift of time. Over the months and years, He didn't shun my doubting heart or hide His face for fleeting moments when I finally had the courage to seek Him out. I only wish that I had more willingly asked for His consolation when the doubts rose up. No matter, though. In time, I really did come to know, trust, and welcome again His love poured out for me. And as for the Creed, well, it's one of my most favorite parts of the Mass. If you are doubting today, sister, I want you to know that He sees your heart. Come as you are. Trust in His perfect time. What happens in your heart when you pray the Creed? [bctt tweet="He sees your heart. // Karen Schultz" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Lord Jesus, thank You for giving me Your love and heart.  

I had a great moment of clarity one day last summer. Sitting alone in my backyard with the fading sunlight on my shoulders, I had a beautifully honest phone call with a friend. As the traffic buzzed by and the day's heat faded into evening, we let the ache from the past months just ripple out into the conversation. While either of us could have easily made a disheartening list of all of the "hard things of 2020," I shared that what pierced my heart all the more so were the imprudent and uncharitable words that I discovered anytime I hopped on social media. At one of the most sorrowful times in our history, we (us dear Catholics included) were often resorting to harsh insults, vicious condemnation, and a severe lack of charity. And let me tell you . . . the desire to always have the last word in any social media debate was (and still is) on fierce display. I saw it everywhere, and I'm sure you did, too. "It must grieve His heart so much," I told my friend, "to see us being so unkind." Jesus could have easily added "social media drama" to His list of things that defile our hearts (Mark 7:21-23) and how true that would have been! I think about the times I've assumed the worst of that "idiotic poster on Instagram." All the times I've made rash judgments. All the times I've been lacking in mercy and unwilling to see the image of God in the Facebook profile before me. My heart has been defiled, too, and I am so sorry. Let's console the heart of Jesus today by praying for a restoration of kindness, charity, and forgiveness on social media. Especially in our own actions, Lord, help us to be compassionate with our words, prudent in our judgements, and always loving in our gaze. [bctt tweet="Console the heart of Jesus. // Karen Schultz " username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Lord, help my social media actions and guide me to Your Sacred Heart.  

I've imagined it in my mind a thousand times. From my earliest childhood Christmases until this very Epiphany, I've tried to conjure up what sights, sounds, and smells must have been present at Jesus' birthplace. I can imagine the Holy Family without water, or toilets, or sufficient light. I can feel the cold, hard ground and smell the nearby animals. I think how grateful Mary and Saint Joseph must have been to find even so meager a shelter as this, and to be visited later by the Magi who gave them hope in the promise of their Son (see Matthew 2:1-12). But I think back to those very first moments of Jesus in the manger, I think about our 2020. By any standard it was an inestimably hard year. You don't need me to list out all the hardships; I know that your heart knows them just as well (and maybe better) than mine. The uncertainty that Mary and Saint Joseph felt . . . we felt it, too. We still feel it. Make 2021 just a little more bearable, please! I often pray. My heart is so eager to close one chapter and begin again. But I know that, while new joys will come, it will still be hard. We'll still feel the cold, and the dark, and the uncertainty at times. Just for this moment, let's rest in the truth of the Epiphany. Let's remind our hearts that Jesus came as a baby and came for all. For the sick, the lonely, and the brokenhearted. For the addicted, the persecuted, and the powerless. No matter your journey, no matter your 2020, He came for you, too. Let this Epiphany bring comfort to our New Year. Let it bring healing with our neighbor, peace and love within our families, and hope for our hearts. Amen. [bctt tweet="No matter your journey, no matter your 2020, Jesus came for you, too. // Karen Schultz" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Learn more about the deeper history of this feast day.

Over the past few months, I have been serving as a respite foster parent for children in times of transition. It is a trial-by-fire, deepest of immersions into caring for kiddos who have a history of trauma. As with all parenting, it is gritty, emotionally demanding work, but with the added layer of complexity of loving on kiddos who are contending with deep hurts. I'd love to put on this facade of Instagram-worthy, parenting prowess that makes me look like I have my act together, but what a ruse that would be! Foster care has been a journey full of joyful highs and tear-jerking lows. In the midst of this emotional roller coaster, it can be easy for me to feel like my efforts are not enough. Like I am not enough. Yet today's Scripture readings are filled with the themes of richness and provision, and they give comfort to my weary, doubting heart. The prophet Isaiah speaks about how the Lord provides for all people, even in the face of the deepest of sorrows (see Isaiah 25:6-9). And in Saint Paul's Letter to the Philippians, he gives thanks to God for the grace to thrive in both abundance and in poverty, knowing that he can do "all things" through the Lord Who strengthens him (see Philippians 4:12-13,19). Even David sings of how the Lord provides for us in every single way imaginable, offering us goodness, kindness, and a secure dwelling in the house of the Lord, all the days of our lives (see Psalm 23). This Word of God, sisters, is my antidote to every thought of "not enough," every worry that I will fall short, every doubt that I am making a difference. He sees me, and He sees you, too. He is pleased and proud and looks on us with the most perfect of Loves. Where do you feel lacking today? Take a moment to find evidence of His provision in today's readings. Ask Him to remind you that you will always be enough, because He always is. [bctt tweet="Ask Him to remind you that you will always be enough, because He always is. // Karen Schultz" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Learn more about a consecration to Saint Joseph, foster father of Jesus.

She was my "camp buddy," assigned to me at Girl Scout camp one summer in an effort to ensure that every camper had a friend away from home. I don't really remember why I didn't like her. Maybe because she was a bit socially awkward, and I was diligently trying to work my way up the esteemed camper social ladder. Maybe because she was emotionally needy, and her vulnerability made me uncomfortable. No matter the reason, I did everything humanly possible that week to ignore her, duck out on her, and do only the bare minimum to meet camp buddy requirements. One night that camp week, a severe storm blew through the area and the campers had to take shelter in the camp bathroom. I cringe thinking of my meager attempts to connect with her and make sure she was okay. So much was the "whitewashed tomb" of my own soul (see Matthew 23:27). I was "beautiful" on the outside when I was with the people I wanted to be with—like those cool camp girls whom I so longed to emulate. But on the inside I was shallow and self-serving, not willing to come alongside the girl who (just like me) only wanted to be loved and included. Sometimes I wonder if that same girl, all grown up, ever looks back to that week at camp. I wonder if she remembers her too-cool-for-her companion who totally burned her, time and time again. How I wish my heart had been more ordered to Saint Paul's (see Thessalonians 3:9). What a missed opportunity to love! Today we aren't riding the waves of preteen insecurities (and thanks be to God for that!). But still the Lord calls us to love with deeper, purer, more willing hearts. Even when it's hard. Even when it's awkward. Even when we feel like that insecure kid at camp. Let's pray today for the ability to follow Saint Paul's model. Let's walk in the way of steadfast love. listen to today’s devotion [bctt tweet="Walk in the way of steadfast love. // Karen Schultz " username="blessedisshe__"] Take a walk through your own memories and stories in light of Scripture with our Write + Pray writing retreat.

Some time ago my preschool-aged niece was disciplined by her teacher for making a bad decision in the classroom, and news of the naughtiness eventually made its way back to her parents. My sister-in-law, in the gentlest way possible in the midst of a morning cuddle, spoke to my sweet niece about what she did and why it was wrong. Of course, dear niece's tender heart was so ashamed that the tears flowed, big and loud. She knew she had done wrong. She knew she had disappointed her teacher and her parents. We can all understand her heart, can't we? Every day I'm disappointed by my own failings. Every day I'm grieved by the many transgressions around the world that hurt Our Lord and chip away at our relationship with Him. It stings through and through when we don't live up to our calling. Even at the tender age of four my niece knew the same. But today's readings are all about the mercy of God. The First Reading from the Book of Micah proclaims boldly that the Lord doesn't persist in anger forever, but rather delights in being merciful. His compassion is so great, so vast that He wishes to cast each of our sins into the depths of the sea (see Micah 7:18-19). These are beautiful words to ponder, sisters. In our own "spiritual cuddles" with the Lord they remind us that He's present in all gentleness. He helps us to come to terms with our shortcomings. He gives us the grace to do better tomorrow. How beautiful for my niece to know this mercy at such a young age! How beautiful for her to learn that God is merciful just like her parents are merciful. Her family's life and love are the real-time version of these beautiful words from Scripture. If you are feeling ashamed by sin today, sister, let's trust in these words from Scripture. He always holds the door of mercy open. [bctt tweet="He's present in all gentleness. // Karen Schultz" username="blessedisshe__"] A nightly examination of conscience can help us be more aware of ways we draw away from God and strengthen our resolve to reshape bad habits.

If you've cared for a loved one who has been ill, or even witnessed from afar another's deep suffering, you know the sorrow of the centurion in today's Gospel reading, Matthew 8:5-13. This man must have had authority over dozens of men, yet he couldn't ease the suffering of just one member of his servant family. We've each been present for so many of these moments in the past months—some in our very own homes and communities, and others in states and countries far away from us. In the face of such sorrow it's quite easy to feel distressed, quite easy to feel powerless. Being a witness to another's suffering is its own form of suffering, I think. Perhaps that's why the centurion so captures my heart today. He knew he was powerless to heal his servant. He knew there was only One Who could bring wholeness back to his community. He sought out the Lord and, in the simplest of terms, said: "I can't fix this . . . please help me." His utterance of faith form my most favorite words of the Mass in our prayer before Communion: "Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof; only say the word and my soul shall be healed" (based on Matthew 8:8). I encourage you to remember the centurion's story. Take to heart that he, too, felt distress over the suffering of those whom he loved. He, too, found courage in the truth that there is no wound that our Lord cannot heal. Take a moment to pray with his words that those in our homes, communities, and countries far, far away might find the Lord's complete healing. [bctt tweet="In the face of such sorrow it's quite easy to feel distressed, quite easy to feel powerless. // Karen Schultz" username="blessedisshe__"] Let us make a spiritual communion right now.