The summer sun was already hot in the sky as my mom and I walked up the block to the seven o’clock morning Mass. My heart swelled with happiness: it was my tenth birthday, and I got to go with my mom to her usual daily Mass. After Mass, Mom and I discussed the readings that are read every year on my birthday, which I share with the Solemnity of the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist. In fact, she still texts me snippets of the readings on my birthday. “The LORD called me from birth, from my mother’s womb he gave me my name” (Isaiah 49:1). I loved to recall the story of my parents deciding before I was born to name me “Susanna” and then at Mass that same day hearing the Gospel about the woman Susanna who followed Jesus (Luke 8:3). “Truly you have formed my inmost being; you knit me in my mother’s womb” (Psalm 139:13). My mom always emphasized to me how God knew and loved me, watching over me as I grew inside her for nine months. The other readings are more clearly about Saint John the Baptist, but since they were read on my birthday, I always felt that they applied to me. They helped me see that God has a special purpose for my life, unique to whom He created me to be. As I child I wondered at what I might grow up to be and as an adult I wonder at what God has led me to do. Like Saint John the Baptist, surely the hand of the Lord is with me. Sister, we are all called to be like Saint John the Baptist—for the Lord has truly formed all of us in the secret depths and given us a name through our parents. We are His own. He wants us all to see our need for personal repentance and speak it to others. He wants all our lives to be like the traditional images of Saint John the Baptist, holding a cross and pointing to Christ, preparing the way for Him. How are you living this out today? [bctt tweet="We are His own. // @susannacspencer" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion  

Snip! I held the garden clippers in my hand and watched the branch drop to the ground amongst the fallen autumn leaves. I continued to scrutinize the crabapple tree for branches that were crisscrossing, rubbing against each other, or making the tree imbalanced. Anxiety rose up in me as I went to cut each branch; I did not want to kill the tree. I had researched that crabapples do best when they are trimmed of nearly one third of their branches each year. This tree’s first years of blooming in my yard brought plentiful blossoms in the spring and the red fruit in the fall, but its flowers and fruit had been scarce this past year. “I hope that will work,” I said aloud and put the clippers away. In today’s Gospel, Jesus gave a parable describing Himself as a vine and us, His disciples, as the branches. The Father is the vinedresser who prunes the vine. “He takes away every branch in me that does not bear fruit, and everyone that does he prunes so that it bears more fruit” (John 15:2). I am like my crabapple tree, some years bearing more fruit than others. I open myself up to the Lord’s pruning hands when I pray, and I see ways He seeks to prune me each day so that I bear more fruit. He is ready to prune me with the smallest sacrifice of my time for another, the offering of physical suffering I cannot escape, obedience to the Church’s laws regarding fasting and abstinence, and in so many other ways. If I submit to His pruning and accept the grace which flows from the vine of Christ, I will become like my crabapple, covered in white blossoms the following spring and heavy with fruit in fall. Sister, the Lord is waiting to prune you as well. Remain close to Him and allow Him to strip you of everything that keeps you from loving and serving Him. Our love of Him is shown in the good fruit we bear. What do you need to be pruned of? [bctt tweet="Our love of Him is shown in the good fruit we bear. // @susannacspencer" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion God, I trust in You to prune me gently.  

I held back tears behind my closed door. I had been home less than a day and had lost it already with my kids. After spending the weekend on retreat intimately aware of God’s love for me, I was struggling to integrate my new resolutions into my life. Calling on the Holy Spirit for help, I went out to apologize to my kids, determined to open myself to His grace. In the today's Gospel of John 21:1-14, Saint Peter has been away from his trade for three years. Instead of fishing, he has been continually with Jesus. He witnessed Jesus’ healing power in countless miracles, was sent to preach and heal others in Jesus’ name, and marveled in the glory of the Transfiguration. Yet when put to the test, he fell asleep in a garden, denied his relationship with Jesus, and left Him to suffer and die. The Resurrection, however, has restored his hope. Peter, back in Galilee with several other Apostles, decides to fish. Fishing is a thing he knows. Maybe fishing clears his head. When the morning comes, they have caught nothing—a familiar experience for Peter—and suddenly the Lord is on the shore telling him to cast his net again. Peter, recognizing Jesus in the miracle, flings himself out of the boat and runs to Jesus. He knows he is useless without the Lord’s help. When we meet Peter in the reading from Acts, he is no longer the fisherman catching nothing all night. He is the bishop acting as Christ on earth and catching men. He does this because he opens himself to the Holy Spirit whom Jesus sent after His Ascension. Sister, Jesus wants the same in your life. Think back to a time where He felt especially close—on a retreat, during a Holy Hour, or even several years of close relationship with Him. And then look for Him in your life now, in your every day. Where in your life is He standing on the shore, calling for you to cast your nets and to trust in the Holy Spirit? Respond to that call. He is waiting. listen to today’s devotion [bctt tweet="He is waiting. // Susanna Spencer " username="blessedisshe__"] Holy Spirit, help me open wide to You.  

“Place your husband in Abraham’s place and yourself in Sarah’s, especially in the book of Hebrews where it talks about their great faith.” I looked at my spiritual director, a devout priest, trying to hide the aversion to comparing myself to Abraham’s wife, Sarah. She had laughed when she heard the promise from God of bearing a child in her old age (see Genesis 18:12). Then I realized that I, too, have my doubts, hidden in the depths of my soul. Would God really keep His promise? Was I desiring the right thing for me and my family? Was I praying in the right way? Would He overcome my complete unworthiness and give His blessing? I took this to prayer, and I began to sympathize with Sarah. She had been uprooted from her home to follow Abraham on his journeys for years. And all of this without being able to have a child—an heir to what was supposed to become a race as plentiful as the stars in the sky. The years went by, and she continued to suffer in her childlessness until all hope of ever bearing a child seemed past. But "God made the promise to Abraham . . . . I will indeed bless you and multiply you. And so, after patient waiting, he obtained the promise" (Hebrews 6:13-15). And Sarah gave birth to her son. Where are you now, sister? Have you obtained the promise of what you have hoped for? Or are you still waiting? For a better job? For healing in a relationship? For a husband? As I write this, I wonder, in January will I have given up on the hope of another healthy pregnancy after several years of chronic illness? Or will I be joyfully expecting a birth? Whatever your call, God wants to bless and multiply you, be it through spiritual gifts, work accomplishments, or physical progeny. And all of this waiting is ultimately for our final end, that which we hope for above all else. Let us hold fast to the hope that lies before us. [bctt tweet="Let us hold fast to the hope that lies before us. // @susannacspencer" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Pray this Act of Hope prayer today.

The third alarm sounds from across the room, the one set to get us out of bed. My husband gets up, turns on the light, and goes off to shave. I sit upright and grab my prayer books, opening to my morning prayers. Wednesday. Another day of homeschooling my four kids. If everyone stays focused, I could have time that afternoon to read some theology and maybe get something written. I head over to the shower mentally prepping for the day, and hear my husband wake the kids. Clean and dressed, I find my kids in various stages of readiness. The kindergartener is still finishing his egg. The second-grader is gathering her books. The fourth-grader is deep into her third subject. My sixth grader plans her science experiment. The warm sun penetrates the cold as it shines through the east-facing window over the breakfast nook, and I sit down with my food and coffee, pulling up the Liturgy of the Hours on my phone. I pray a few Psalms when my fourth grader asks for her math lesson. Pushing aside my desire to finish my prayers, I make a short prayer asking for the grace to respond to the call of Christ in my child before me. This is what I am called to today. This is my purpose and for what I am made. “For this purpose I have come” (Mark 1:38). These are the Lord words today in the Gospel after He healed Simon’s mother-in-law so that she could wait on them, healed many sick in body and soul, and then He goes off to pray alone to be close to His Father. He was sent to do all of these things, and to preach to the villages. Sister, for what purpose did He make you? It has not ever been easy to respond to the daily call to live up to my purpose. I struggle often with distraction and sloth. But when I bring my spiritual sickness to the Lord, He heals me, and then I can get up and wait on Him. [bctt tweet="When I bring my spiritual sickness to the Lord, He heals me. // @susannacspencer" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Pray over this Scripture passage and ask the Lord to show you His purpose for you today.

The snow was finally melting away as I took my daily walk outside, quarantined to my yard and driveway. Warmth sent hints of spring through the long end of the Minnesota winter. I scrutinized my garden beds for signs of growth as I had done every day for the past two weeks, waiting for my family to be free of respiratory illness symptoms. "Arise, my beloved, my dove, my beautiful one, and come! For see, the winter is past, the rains are over and gone" (Songs 2:10-11). Then I saw them: the tips of daffodils in the narrow garden, snug beside the south facing wall, basking in the sunshine. In that moment, in the midst of our long waiting, I felt God’s love come over me. My heart surged to rejoice in the end of winter and the end to this small suffering our family was enduring. The sunlight, the melting snow, the flowers emerging from the depths of the earth were all visible signs of God’s healing love. "The flowers appear on the earth, the time of pruning the vines has come, and the song of the dove is heard in our land" (Songs 2:12). Even now as Minnesota snow once again covers the earth in a soft white blanket, while freezing winds seek to penetrate our walls, the last week of Advent is like the coming of spring. For we know that our Lover is coming with joy. He leaps over the hills of our troubles and gazes at us into the windows of our hearts. He calls to us to arise from our slumbering waiting and joyfully take our place beside Him and receive His love. The winter of waiting is almost past, and He is almost here. Let us arise to meet Him as He comes this Christmas. Bring Him all of the weight of this past year—all of your joy, suffering, and work. Imagine yourself kneeling down beside His waiting manger and offer it all to Him along with your heart. Arise, His beloved, His beautiful one, and come and see the coming Newborn King. [bctt tweet="Let us arise to meet Him. // @susannacspencer" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Re-read the Song of Songs.

The waves lapped on the rocky beach as my children waded into the clear mountain lake. As I sat reading a novel next to my husband in the shade of a pine tree, I forgot the troubles of this year 2020 for two hours even while the haze of wildfire smoke hung over the mountains. We were spending a much-needed break in the refuge of a National Park. When we packed up our beach things and headed back to the car, masks ready to use, I was jolted back to reality. Even on our vacation, we could not escape entirely. "Behold, I am coming soon" (Revelation 22:7). The Lord’s words break through our present darkness. Soon. The Lord is coming soon. Another liturgical year comes to an end; a new year starts tomorrow, and we are still waiting. Ever since the Fall of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, we have been awaiting the end of our tribulations, and many generations have faced trials harder than ours. We have longed for Our God to save us from the weakness, the confusion, the sin, the suffering, and death. Advent begins tomorrow in which we enter into the waiting for the birth of Our Savior. But we also await His coming again. He will come again, and when He comes, Our God will be all of the light we need. He will wash away all the sorrows we have borne, and He will lift us up in glory. That is, if we heed Christ’s warning to not become drowsy and fall into sins and the anxieties of life (see Luke 21:34-36). The life of a Christian is a life of vigilance. We must be aware at all times of our weaknesses. We must hold fast to the crosses we bear, uniting them to His Cross. We must soak in the graces we receive in the Sacraments and in our daily conversations in prayer with Our Lord. And then we will have the strength, His strength, to persevere until the end and enter into the beautiful life He promises us. [bctt tweet="He will wash away all the sorrows we have borne, and He will lift us up in glory. // @susannacspencer " username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion We hope you will join us in our Advent journal this year, narrated by Susanna Spencer.

Pain radiated through my legs as our parish priest anointed my Lyme disease-ridden body on my eyelids, ears, nostrils, lips, hands, and feet, following the rubrics of the Extraordinary Form of the Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick. I was filled with gratitude for this special grace that helped me face two years of multiple chronic illness. As he packed up his things in our living room that hot August afternoon, he looked at my family gathered around me and insisted, “In all of this suffering, you are not being punished. Sometimes God allows things we do not understand.” In the Gospel for today, Jesus tells His followers that the Galileans who suffered atrocities and those who died in an accident did not experience this because they were any more sinful than others (see Luke 13:1-9). It is often the case that those who are quite innocent bear great emotional and physical burdens. We all suffer in this life to some extent; the difference for us as Christians is how we bear our sufferings. As my illnesses lingered on, I grew in certainty that they were not punishments. Moreover, I started to see them as a privilege, a blessing. Christians who bear horrible sufferings are part of a blessed group, a group within the communion of saints on earth who are closest to Jesus on the Cross (see Catechism of the Catholic Church § 961) The suffering is like a fertilizer for the spiritual life. The Lord is our Gardener who tends to us in our suffering and uses it to bear much fruit. In my two years of suffering close to Christ, I bore witness to great fruits in the lives of those nearest to me. My family grew in love of each other and compassion. My husband and I grew stronger as I learned to be okay with being taken care of and he learned to anticipate my many needs. But mostly I learned that when we enter into the pain of Christ’s Passion, we experience more fully, even on earth, the joy of His Resurrection. [bctt tweet="The Lord is our Gardener who tends to us in our suffering and uses it to bear much fruit. // @susannacspencer" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion Find encouragement on how to seek friendship with Saints who also suffered tremendously.

I walked into the cafeteria, trying to hold myself together. Several of my classmates ran up to me, “What did she say to you?” The dam broke and tears poured down my cheeks. I could not bear to repeat the words of my teacher. I had reminded her of a slight schedule change on that Friday for seniors—early lunch—and she had held me after class and called me things I never thought a person would call me. Stuck up. Conceited. Rude. She had not liked me from the start, she said. Then, apparently, I became more likable in her eyes for a time. But after this small act on behalf of my fellow students, I had lost her good opinion entirely. Yet, I had to face her for two classes for the rest of that semester, sitting under her disapproving gaze, submitting my work to her judgment. My friends convinced me to talk to the principal to work out the details. There were apologies on both sides. But I remember that lesson of being misjudged—of someone I trusted not giving me the benefit of the doubt and presuming me to have ill intentions. In today’s Gospel, right after calling us to love our enemies, commanding us not to judge others, and asking us to forgive, the Lord tells us to give generously (see Luke 6:27-38). I have often taken this call to generosity to include the way we perceive others. The Lord asks us to be generous in how we think of others when they do not act in a way that we think they should. He asks us to be generous when we think we see an act of omission. He asks us to believe the best of people even when we have been hurt. It is so easy to jump to judgments instead of seeking to understand. Understanding where people are coming from, really seeking to know who they are, is hard work. But the Lord promises to show us the same generosity that we show to others. listen to today’s devotion [bctt tweet="The Lord promises to show us the same generosity that we show to others. // @susannacspencer " username="blessedisshe__"] Where is He calling you to be more generous?

“Who’s that baby?” my eldest asked. I glanced over at my parents’ photo album. It was me, four months old, immersed in a baptismal font. The young priest smiled through his mustache, frozen in the posture of pouring water over my head. The picture has always been bittersweet for me because I was baptized, made a daughter of God, brought into the life of the Trinity, by a man who eventually gave up the ministerial priesthood and left the Church over disagreements on sexual ethics. As Catholics, we are very familiar with the weak humanity of our priests. But God works through them despite their failings, and through the Sacrament of Holy Orders offers them the unique grace to live as holy priests. Today’s Gospel tells of Christ choosing Saint Peter, a man with many failings, as the first pope, giving him the keys to the Kingdom of Heaven (see Matthew 16:19). Jesus chose to build His Church on the man whom He knew would often fail Him—sleeping instead of praying in the Garden of Gethsemane (see Matthew 26:43), denying the Lord three times during His Passion (see Matthew 26:69-75), wavering on his own papal decision from the Council of Jerusalem (see Galatians 2:11-14). This weak man, who self-acclaimed his sinfulness at his own calling at Lake Galilee (see Luke 5:8), was chosen to carry the keys of the Kingdom. And his weakness gives me hope. If God can build His Church on a man like Saint Peter who loved deeply, failed often, and always repented, we can be certain that after 2000 years God will continue to be true to His promise. Even though priests sin, and bishops sometimes fail to say the right thing, or popes do not live saintly lives (as history shows us: quite often has been the case), our Church will still stand in Truth. Not because of human strength, but through the grace of the Holy Spirit. So, dear sister, if you are struggling, confused, unsure of our Church, remember Christ’s promise that “the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it” (Matthew 16:19). listen to today’s devotion [bctt tweet="If you are struggling, confused, unsure of our Church, remember Christ’s promise that “the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it” (Matthew 16:19). // @susannacspencer " username="blessedisshe__"] Say an extra prayer for the priests in your life today.

I often imagine my great-great grandmother courageously sailing to the United States with my great-great grandfather, an eighteen-month-old daughter, and a swollen, pregnant belly. In 1907, they left their home in Turkish-ruled Lebanon and sought a life free from persecution as Christian minorities. What was it like for her, stored away in the lower parts of the ocean liner surrounded by strangers? How often did her broken heart dwell on her baby son after he was born too early and dead during the passage? What was it like being a darker-skinned woman in America who did not speak English? How did she find peace as they struggled to feed their growing family? Did she look to Christ and listen to Him as today’s Gospel, Matthew 17:5, reminds us? Did this granddaughter of a Maronite priest of the Lebanese Catholic Rite cling to her faith in Him through it all? I believe she did. When her family settled in Saint Louis, Missouri, she bore and raised all eight of her surviving children as Catholic. After farming for a decade in what are now the suburbs, they eventually lived in the small immigrant community in the city. Their poverty caused them to leave the Maronite Rite behind and go to the Roman Rite parish of Saint Vincent de Paul for the Sacraments and material assistance. Her children also went to school there. My great-great grandmother’s middle daughter passed away during my last year of college. She was one of the sweetest women I ever knew, always having a kind word, always full of gratitude. And always full of faith. Her faith was all she had left in her memory by the time she passed away. I think about these two strong women, daughters of one nation, living in another. Yet, our faith is for “all peoples, nations, and languages” (Daniel 7:14). Christ came to redeem us and bring us from all the nations of the world into one family. He transfigures us into His sisters. No matter where we come from, we are all one in Him. listen to today’s devotion [bctt tweet="No matter where we come from, we are all one in Him. // @susannacspencer" username="blessedisshe__"] Do you know the story of your ancestors' faith? Perhaps you're a convert or come from a long-line of Catholics in a different rite. Thank the Lord for your journey that brings you to Him today.

The cool September air blew gently into the room as my husband opened the back door to leave for work. A lonely dread sat in my chest. I did not want him to go. I did not want to face the day alone—of being at home with the kids, teaching them their lessons, keeping them happy all afternoon, and longing for the quiet of post-bedtime, only to face it all again the next day. “I am afraid,” I blurted out. “I can’t do it today.” He looked at me with love and concern and came back into the room. Pulling me close to him, he prayed, “Dear Lord Jesus, be with Susanna today. Protect her from her fears. Help her to live her calling faithfully. Amen.” Looking into my tear-filled eyes, he said, “You can do this. You are more than capable. I will be praying for you.” That day was a little easier than previous ones. Grace helped me as I battled the demon of sloth that tried to suck all of the joy out of my beautiful life. It took months, years of seeking to be joyful, of being faithful in my vocation, of confessing my dread of my daily work, when one day as I was planning the homeschool week, I felt joy. It was a deep, abiding joy I had not yet felt before. Light streamed into the dark corners of my heart and showed me that Jesus had been there all along. He had been waiting there with His joy. Then I learned that when Jesus promises to make our burdens light, He does not mean that our burdens will be taken away (see Matthew 11:28-30). He means that what once seemed burdensome will no longer seem so. The task that was once hard will be light. When we suffer beside Him, the suffering we bear becomes light. When we carry our burdens beside Him, our burdens become a joy. listen to today’s devotion [bctt tweet="Jesus promises to make our burdens light. // Susanna Spencer" username="blessedisshe__"] Let's pray this prayer by Saint Ignatius of Loyola today.

I rocked my son for hours in the dark the first autumn of his life. He spent those long nights in pain from cutting eight new teeth, and I sat half awake, praying Rosaries and “flying novenas” of Memorares, waiting for him to sleep so that I could sleep. I spent countless hours sitting with my daughters while they agonizingly sounded out each little sound in every word of book after book. I explained the math concepts waiting for them to grasp the ideas. I worked carefully through the catechism with them all, teaching the precepts of the Faith. We stopped in our work every afternoon for silent, meditative prayer. I made sandwich after sandwich, prepared the cut fruits and veggies, poured the milk, baked the cookies, cooked the dinners. I cleaned the messes—kept up with the daily house cleaning. Sometimes I offered these moments to God consciously, but usually they were for His glory because I lived faithfully in my vocation. I lay in bed for weeks, my whole right leg throbbing from the bacteria penetrating into my deep tissues because of a deer tick bite. I prayed the Stations of the Cross, Rosaries, and, when my mind could not focus, just felt the offering of my suffering. I have lived for two years with a rare mastitis in my breast—often in pain, frequently with oozing wounds, always with lingering, deforming scars. The world does not see my suffering, my offering. No one sees these hidden things, but Him. He sees them all. The life of holiness, for most of us, is hidden from the world. The Lord just calls us to live faithfully where we are, in each day, in each hour. Our conversation with Him, our prayer, hidden in the recesses of our hearts, can be wherever we happen to be. He also desires our full attention in set-aside, quiet prayer before Him. This prayer keeps us close to Him. Our Father in Heaven sees all of these hidden things and pours out His love (Matthew 6:18). [bctt tweet="The life of holiness, for most of us, is hidden from the world. // Susanna Spencer" username="blessedisshe__"] Pray the Memorare today and take the opportunity to silently suffer and offer it to God today.

The familiar feel of the Host was cool on my tongue. Entering me physically and spiritually, I was completely filled with His love for me. Tears filled my eyes as I clung to the moment of sacramental communion with Our Lord. I had not received the Eucharist in weeks and did not know how many more days would pass before I would receive Him again. In that moment when I received the Eucharist after going to Confession, I had a sense that the grace of God would not go empty nor run dry before rain falls again on the Earth. He was with me before this special grace of being able to receive Him and He would remain with me. For a period of time during these challenging days, the availability of the Sacraments has run dry in all the land, and we all experienced the same lack. But the Lord has still provided for us. He is still with us while we wait to be sacramentally close to Him again. I have often taken for granted the availability of daily Mass and frequent Confessions to the point that I limited God’s grace in my life. I was like salt that had lost its flavor going through the motions while living the Catholic life. I still was salt, but I did not have the flavor of one full of zeal for the Lord. I did not relish the gift of frequent reception of Holy Communion. I took advantage of the availability of Confession to sin comfortably and plan my next Confession time. Yet, this sacramental drought has shown me that God wants the grace of the Sacraments I have already received to do more in life. He wants me to tap into the graces of my Baptism, Confirmation, Marriage, and to embrace Him in spiritual communion, allowing grace to help me avoid the habitually confessed sins of my last Confession. I need the Sacraments more than ever, and the grace of them is not running dry nor going empty. He is with me more because I long for Him. [bctt tweet="I still was salt, but I did not have the flavor of one full of zeal for the Lord. // Susanna Spencer" username="blessedisshe__"] Join this archdiocese in praying for an end to the pandemic and for those affected by it.