August 1, 2026 // Memorial of Saint Alphonsus Liguori, Bishop and Doctor of the Church Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel from Matthew 14:1-12 My sister sat me down. She was my oldest sister, wiser, and had been in the world a bit. She seemed wildly accomplished working for a U.S. senator in Washington, D.C., on the Hill; living in a sophisticated, complex city; rubbing elbows with some of the most powerful people in the country; and completely holding her own. She was tall—I’m short. She was absolutely drop dead gorgeous—I’m rather average. She towered over me, it felt, in stature, in beauty, in gravitas. I was lamenting to her my most recent doctor appointment. I was twenty and the doctor railed that I was not on birth control. I further lamented that the girls in the dorm were torturous, rolling their eyes and mocking me, saying things like, “Yeah, sure, you’re a virgin!” As though it was a dirty word. I seemed so out of step with the world around me for hoping to remain chaste until my wedding day. Even my doctor was in utter disbelief that such a thing was possible, much less desirable. My sister said something I’ll never forget. She said, “They can’t believe it of you because they can’t believe it for themselves.” That is, don’t ever let someone else’s low self-opinion determine who you are. Amen, sister! Her thought stayed with me. How useless and even pitiful it was to spend one ounce of energy worrying what other people think. Herod should have met my sister, for he “feared the people” (Matthew 14:5). If she’d stepped into today’s Gospel from Matthew, my sister would have told him, “You’re Herod! Why do you care what people think if you don’t behead John the Baptist? Have a little courage and self-respect, man!” I can see this confrontation in my mind—my sister towering and beautiful over this quivering, insecure king. The image fills me with delight and fervor to serve the Lord with greater fearlessness. When we are afraid of what others think, we must remember who we are: daughters of the King. He will give us the strength to do what is right—no matter the mocking crowds. Relate to the Lord // Ponder this truth all day: you are a daughter of the King.

July 31, 2026 // Memorial of Saint Ignatius of Loyola, Priest Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 13:54-58 Reflect on the Word //  On our usual morning walk and in the middle of a long conversation, I asked my friend, half-jokingly, “Why do you always have to be the bad girl?”  “I don’t know,” she fired back,“why do you always have to be the good girl?”  Her words caught me off guard, lodging in my mind like an arrow. I felt exposed. There was an uncomfortable truth in her question, and it stung to hear it, especially from someone I knew so well.  I place myself in the scene of today’s Gospel and soon recognize my tendency to take offense at the prophet or “truth-speaker” (see Matthew 13:57), especially when it’s someone I think I know well. Who are the prophets I am tempted to dismiss because I know all about them and presume they could have nothing to teach me? Am I missing out on the mighty works God wants to do in me because I don’t believe He speaks through those closest to me?  When I bring my questions to Jesus, He assures me that as I keep coming to Him, he will help me to receive His truth always. I need not hide. He sees every part of me. Under the gaze of His love, I can admit to Him my failings and weaknesses. His love burns away the false ideal of  “good girl”  that I’ve tried to portray. What remains is a woman with both strengths and weaknesses, one who, having received God’s mercy anew, is more free to live as a beloved child of God and hear the truth from whomever He sends. Sister, we are not so different from the residents of Jesus’ native place. And just as He wanted to teach and heal them, Jesus wants to transform our hearts. Are we willing to ask Him for the grace to receive it when someone close to us speaks a truth that stings? Relate to the Lord // Ask Jesus to help you be open to the truth about yourself. When you feel ready, ask Him to give you the grace to receive it.

July 30, 2026 // Thursday of the Seventeenth Week in Ordinary Time // Optional Memorial of Saint Peter Chrysologus, Bishop and Doctor of the Church Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Responsorial Psalm: Psalm 146:1B-2, 3-4, 5-6ab Reflect on the Word //  It’s one of my very earliest memories—sobbing my heart out to the whirring sounds of the power screwdriver, and above it all, my father’s repeated words of consolation: “Don’t worry, Monica, I’m coming, I’m here.” I was just a little girl, maybe two or three, who had locked herself in the bathroom. In my terror and longing for safety, it felt like an eternity until I was in my dad’s arms on the other side. In a way, I am still that little girl: longing and panicking in the face of her own weakness. At times, I am tempted to grasp for anything that seems as though it would help. Yet today’s Responsorial Psalm reminds me of the reality that ultimately, no one can satisfy or save me except God: “Put not your trust in princes, in the sons of men, in whom there is no salvation. When his spirit departs he returns to his earth; on that day his plans perish” (Psalm 146:3-4). With the fall of Adam and Eve, humanity went from walking in the garden, satisfied and safe in friendship with God, to walking in a world full of broken and fleeting things. And yet the Church joyfully declares each year at the Easter Vigil Mass that this is a “happy fault” (see The Proclamation of Easter).  Happy because, in our littleness and sinfulness, God Himself came to help. In the person of Jesus, He came to bring us into His arms. “Blessed is he whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord his God . . . who keeps faith forever” (Psalm 146:5-6). This same God Who parted the sea for His people and fed them manna in the desert comes to rescue us too—in the confessional, in the Eucharist, in the Scriptures. Our Father hears the cries of our hearts, and they break His as He says: “Don’t worry, sweet girl, I’m here.” Relate to the Lord // Where do you find rest in the Father—the Confessional, the Eucharist, the Scriptures? Spend time with Him today.

July 29, 2026 // Memorial of Saints Martha, Mary, and Lazarus Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Luke 10:38-42 Reflect on the Word //  It had been bubbling up throughout the Mass. All the sadness, the disappointment, the fear simmered just below the surface. Nothing new, but somehow the pain felt fresh, different. So I poured out my heart to Jesus. Still, by the time Father stood for the final blessing, I didn’t feel much better.  Gently, I heard the Lord in my heart: We can keep talking about it. Tears of relief flooded my eyes. Not because I had answers, but because He cared.  Martha’s exasperated words in today’s Gospel reveal many a heart’s cry. Something hard is happening, Jesus is there and He sees it, so why isn’t He doing anything about it? We too may wonder, “Lord, do you not care?” (Luke 10:40) It’s a common temptation in times of pain or confusion. When your marriage is struggling or a loved one is ill, Lord, do You not care? When depression weighs you down both physically and mentally, Lord, do You not care?  When you’ve been praying for a friend or a job or a breakthrough and it doesn’t come, Lord, do You not care? Martha’s question isn’t wrong; it’s honest. But that honesty is only the beginning of prayer. If we want to know that He cares, we have to know Him. And we can only know Jesus when we spend time with Him. Sit at His feet like Mary and soak in His presence through daily prayer. Look at His face in Adoration or mental prayer. Listen to His words in Scripture. Being with Jesus is the one thing needed, the better part (Luke 10:42).  If you’re wondering today if Jesus cares, the answer is always and unequivocally yes. He cares for you. He cares for the people you care about. And He is taking care of everything. We need only to spend time with Him to remember.  Relate to the Lord // Make a visit to the Blessed Sacrament this week. Sit at His feet. 

July 28, 2026 // Tuesday of the Seventeenth Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s First Reading: Jeremiah 14:17–22 Reflect on the Word //  I walked into my small group on a Wednesday afternoon and burst into tears as soon as someone asked me if I was doing okay. I had just come out of my first doctor appointment in over a year, and I felt so discouraged. In 2024, I suffered two miscarriages and had a surgery to treat endometriosis. I had high hopes that my chances of getting pregnant would improve that year, yet eighteen months later, it felt like nothing had changed.  In our first months of infertility, I remember naively thinking how I couldn’t imagine making it to two whole years without getting pregnant. Six long years later, I have slowly learned that God will in fact carry you every single day of the cross He has allowed you to endure.  Sometimes our seasons of drought feel endless and incurable. It feels like our tears of desperation and disappointment will never dry up. Jeremiah is one prophet in the Bible who became intimately familiar with the long road of trusting God when absolutely nothing made sense.  In today’s First Reading, he pleads with God on behalf of the people of Judah, who were indulging in idolatry. Jeremiah begs God to remember His covenant with them (Jeremiah 14:21). He even wishes he had never been born.  So how did Jeremiah survive his prolonged season in the desert? How do we press on when we feel like we can’t go any longer?  In his book Run with the Horses, Eugene Peterson credits Jeremiah’s persistence to the unfailing persistence of God toward him. Jeremiah expresses this in his own words elsewhere in Scripture, in Lamentations: “The LORD’s acts of mercy are not exhausted, his compassion is not spent; They are renewed each morning—great is your faithfulness!” (Lamentations 3:22-23) Sister, even when we are in the driest of deserts, God’s faithfulness never dries up. He chooses us, every morning, with unfailing love. He asks us in return to keep choosing His love, one day at a time. Slowly and steadily, His grace will carry us further than we ever thought possible.  Relate to the Lord // Pray with Lamentations 3:22-23. What does this verse stir in your heart?

July 27, 2026 // Monday of the Seventeenth Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 13:31-35  Reflect on the Word //  Several times I’ve tried to become a habitual bread baker. Nothing beats the aroma filling the house, nor the taste of a home-baked loaf of bread. I’ve bought sourdough starters, specialty flours, and even tried a wild sourdough starter method. The results were always delicious and a huge hit with my family. But baking consistently while keeping up with the demands of my family proves time and again to be more than I can handle. I forget to keep enough yeast or flour on hand, I run out of time to feed the starter, or I don’t have time to keep baking. After my baking escapades, Jesus’ parable about the yeast fascinates me. I buy my flour and yeast in small amounts at the store, ready to go whenever I want to bake. I started wondering where the woman’s yeast came from and how much flour filled three measures.  Natural yeast exists in the environment or is saved from previous batches of baking or fermenting. Perhaps the parable yeast was saved from other baking. As for the three measures of flour, I learned that amount equals nearly fifty pounds of flour! Once leavened and baked, the bread from three measures fed close to 100 people (source). I think Jesus was speaking not only of the transformation yeast creates, but also of abundant nourishment. Without Jesus, I can do nothing, just as flour cannot become bread without yeast. Jesus nourishes me and changes me every time I receive His Body in the Eucharist. With His life in me, His kingdom can be established and grow in my heart. Just as the yeast in the parable leavened a large quantity of flour, Jesus can transform my entire life for His glory. God wants to transform each of our lives, and through us, the whole world. The transformation starts when we read Scripture and receive the Sacraments, allowing Jesus into the depths of our being. If we let Him, He will work through us as wild yeast, establishing His kingdom everywhere. Relate to the Lord // Receive Jesus in the Eucharist at daily Mass this week.

July 25, 2026 // Feast of Saint James, Apostle Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s First Reading: 2 Corinthians 4:7-15 Reflect on the Word //  I sat on the edge of my bed, already tired—and the day hadn’t even begun. My mind was racing, my body felt heavy, and the weight of everything I was carrying pressed in before my feet even hit the floor. There was no clear solution, no immediate relief—just the quiet ache of showing up again. I wanted out. Out of the tension, the uncertainty, the constant stretching. And yet, there it was again—that small, steady pull to lift my eyes. Not to fix it. Not to solve it. Just to look at Him and keep going. “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). These words from today’s First Reading don’t deny the weight of suffering—they name it. Afflicted. Perplexed. Struck down. This is the reality of life in a broken world. And yet, there is a deeper reality still. There is a quiet, unshakable hope woven through each line of Saint Paul’s letter: Not constrained. Not abandoned. Not destroyed. Hope does not come from avoiding hardship, but from fixing our gaze beyond it: “Always carrying about in the body the dying of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested” (2 Corinthians 4:10). The dying and the rising are not separate. They are held together. The small, hidden deaths—the disappointments, the confusion, the surrender—are not wasted. In Christ, they become the very places where His life begins to take shape within us. We will all face moments that feel like breaking. And still, we are not abandoned. When we lift our eyes to Christ and hold fast to the hope of Heaven, we find strength to endure. Even in our dying, His life is being formed within us, carrying us forward in hope. Relate to the Lord // Pray before a crucifix and unite your sufferings with His. You are not alone.

July 24, 2026 // Friday of the Sixteenth Week in Ordinary Time // Optional Memorial of Saint Sharbel Makhlūf, Priest Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 13:18–23   It was the day before Valentine’s Day, and my friends and I gathered in one of their warmly lit  kitchens, reminiscing over unwrapped chocolates and fizzing sodas. We started to clean up our mess, and as I pulled open the trash can drawer, I noticed a single rose lying amongst the colorful wrappers and crumpled paper towels. My friend had received it at a show earlier that day and had deemed it too shriveled to put on display. I was sad to see it lying there all alone, so I took it home and placed it in a vase with another bouquet, flower food, and water.  It seemed to draw new strength and life from the surrounding flowers and nourishing food, because the next morning, the bud had reopened to reveal a lush, silken flower. Where we place flowers matters, but where we place ourselves matters even more. In today’s Gospel, Jesus tells the Parable of the Sower, warning His disciples that where the seed lands determines whether fruit will be borne or squandered: “But the seed sown on rich soil is the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and yields a hundred or sixty or thirtyfold” (Matthew 13:23).  Hearing Scripture is one thing, but to accept it and integrate it into our lives is something else entirely. God has left us Scripture as both a love letter and guide for our lives, but it is not meant to be left on the pages. It is meant to be ever on our lips, evident in our actions, and recited in our thoughts as readily as we recite song lyrics.  Today, as we sit down with our morning coffees and open our dog-eared devotionals, let us remember to place ourselves in the midst of God’s Word. We are not passive readers, but active receivers of Scripture who hear our Lord’s commands and set out at once to do His will. Relate to the Lord // What word or phrase spoke to you from today’s Mass readings? Meditate on it throughout the day.

July 23, 2026 // Thursday of the Sixteenth Week in Ordinary Time // Optional Memorial of Saint Bridget of Sweden, Religious Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 13:10–17 Reflect on the Word //  I minored in Spanish as an undergrad, and one of our assignments involved translating an essay into English. Somewhere along the way, I got a key word wrong and ended up with a heartfelt reflection on a family heirloom onion that had been passed down from a grandmother, an onion that the writer recognized as a sacred part of their family. Something to treasure. When I got to class, I discovered that the story was actually about a bracelet, not an onion, which made a lot more sense. Somehow, I chose the wrong word in translation and everything else was lost! I got most of it right, except the heart of the message. I heard but did not understand.   “You shall indeed hear but not understand, you shall indeed look but never see” (Matthew 13:14). How terrible and confusing when we hear but do not understand, when we look but do not see. I worked so hard to translate only to discover I was misunderstanding everything. Jesus, quoting the prophet Isaiah, warns of this—the danger of closing our eyes and ears to Him. When we don’t listen to the Lord with our heart, we get it all wrong. We can become so busy, or so convinced we have it figured out, that we are missing the point. The best way to hear the Lord is to get in the habit of listening. We read Scripture. We fill ourselves with the goodness of God. And mostly, we must sit at the feet of the Lord and listen to what He has to say. It is not enough to just talk to Him; we also must tune our eyes and ears toward His voice and wait for Him to speak.   Like Mary, who sat at the feet of Jesus, we must listen to the voice of our Savior. He loves when we talk to Him, but in order to hear, we must also be willing to sit and listen, to hear and understand.  Relate to the Lord // Read (or re-read) the daily readings today. Listen for His voice.

July 22, 2026 // Feast of Saint Mary Magdalene Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: John 20:1-2, 11-18 Reflect on the Word //  I stumbled out of bed, groggy and tired. I am not a morning person. Never have been, never will be. Mornings are difficult because of my Delayed Sleep Phase Syndrome. I would not have been the first to the tomb on Easter morning, and sunrise workouts are safely off my list of spiritual practices. So I deeply admire Saint Mary Magdalene, who ran before sunrise, heart pounding, grief raw, searching for a tomb that seemed empty and impossible (John 20:1‑2). She did not tiptoe. She did not hesitate. She ran. Mary stayed outside the empty tomb weeping, desperate for answers that were out of sight (see (John 20:11). I understand her. I have felt that panic when everything you love feels gone. Then the angels asked the simple question that shakes everything: “Woman, why are you weeping?” (John 20:13) Truth lands. Sometimes God does not rush to fix things. Sometimes He simply waits for us to see what we have been missing. And then “Mary!” (John 20:16) One word, full of intimacy, and her heart explodes with recognition. That is the Resurrection moment. The Lord is alive. Right there. Not somewhere far away. Not in some abstract hope. Jesus is alive and calling her name. “I have seen the Lord” (John 20:18). Mary does not whisper. She proclaims. Her words are a declaration of a reality that transforms her fear. We can do the same. We see Him in quiet mornings, in laughter, in tears, in acts of mercy. We see Him when grief gives way to joy. We are women navigating loss, longing, our own weaknesses, and the ordinary chaos of life. We can share in Mary Magdalene’s wonder. We can share in her courage. One day, there may be a moment when Jesus calls our name and everything changes. When He does, may we proclaim with unshakable confidence: “I have seen the Lord.” Relate to the Lord // When have you heard the Lord call you by name? Share that experience with a friend.

July 21, 2026 // Tuesday of the Sixteenth Week in Ordinary Time // Optional Memorial of Saint Lawrence of Brindisi, Priest and Doctor of the Church Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 12:46-50 Reflect on the Word //  I hurried into the little country church on that beautiful summer day, heartbroken and weak, needing shelter. Some people I trusted and held very dear had hurt me deeply, and I did not know how to respond. I needed guidance from the Lord. I needed humility, so that I would be able to see past my own pain to the right path forward. In today’s Gospel, Jesus says, “whoever does the will of my heavenly Father is my brother, and sister, and mother” (Matthew 12:50). In my life, there have been times when the will of God felt utterly clear and undeniable. Discernment was easy. I saw the path brightly lit before me, and I walked confidently down it. Other times, the options feel much more hazy. As I begged for guidance that day in church, the Holy Spirit prompted me to pray the Litany of Humility. I assumed that humility would allow me to put my needs aside and turn the other cheek. Then the Lord showed me that what I assumed was humility was actually fear and pride. I prayed for deliverance from the desire of being loved and approved, the fear of being despised and forgotten.  In this instance, God’s will for me was to create a boundary that protected my family from injustice and injury. It was not easy for me to set aside my pride and risk the disapproval of people I so desperately wanted to please.  It takes a huge amount of courage to discern and follow God’s will, especially when it causes us to turn away from the approval of friends or family. But Jesus promises that when we are faithful, we become His family. He knows what it’s like to be despised and rejected. His approval is worth infinitely more than the approval of any other.  As we grow in virtue, and in intimate knowledge of Scripture, His will becomes easier to discern. And as we continue to practice obedience and experience God’s faithfulness, those courageous leaps become easier to make. Relate to the Lord // Pray the Litany of Humility today. 

July 20, 2026 // Monday of the Sixteenth Week in Ordinary Time // Optional Memorial of Saint Apollinaris, Bishop and Martyr Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s First Reading: Micah 6:1-4, 6-8 Reflect on the Word //  I sat at the kitchen table staring absently out the window, my thoughts a million miles away. I was healing and reorienting after a major personal decision, and many negative emotions now competed with good memories from the past year. My thoughts harshly accused me as I assessed my mistakes and wondered how I could “make it up” to God for falling short. At that moment, my eyes drifted to the Divine Mercy image on our kitchen wall. Christ’s face pleaded that I didn’t need to do this. Trust and humility would suffice.  Today’s First Reading takes us into the hills where the Lord and Israel hold trial. I imagine myself standing in the mountains where this exchange reverberates from the rocks and high places. Since the Lord uses many words like “hear,” “pay attention,” and “answer me,” I know I must listen carefully. Then, the divine vulnerability of God’s petition cuts me to the heart: “O my people, what have I done to you, or how have I wearied you? Answer me!” (Micah 6:3) Although He is God, He only accuses us humbly.  Do I perceive Christ’s mercy? I often anticipate an exacting God only to find Him more lenient than I am towards myself. I am sometimes like Israel, trying to offer holocausts and streams of oil: I also try to calculate how to placate God, certain that I must do something big.  But the Lord shows me I am thinking in human terms. Have I listened to what He requires? His tenderness convicts, then shows me the true solution, simple and insignificant though it may seem: “to do the right and to love goodness, and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8). His divine, merciful gaze entreats me to let this truth echo in my memory.  Sister, release your thoughts and self-accusation to Him. God does not upbraid you or measure the way we do, even in the hilly, hard places of life. He does not condemn: He calls out tenderly, mercifully, and humbly. He shows us how to act. Trust that He knows what suffices.  Relate to the Lord // Today, meditate on an image of the Divine Mercy. 

July 18, 2026 // Saturday of the Fifteenth Week in Ordinary Time // Optional Memorial of Saint Camillus de Lellis, Priest [In the Dioceses of the United States] Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel for the Memorial of Saint Camillus de Lellis: John 15:9-17 Reflect on the Word //  I love You, Lord, but . . . The word but is a conjunction to set up contrasting thoughts, and too often it comes up in my conversations with the Lord.  I love You, but . . . I know Your will, but . . . I trust You, but . . . Whatever follows the word but is a contrasting thought:  I love You, but I really don’t want to do what You are asking me to do.  I know Your will, but I really want this other thing.  I trust You, but I grow impatient.  How would my prayer life look different if I simply put a period where I use the word but? I love you. I trust you. I believe you. No contrasting thoughts, just expressions of love, trust, faith.  Jesus’ words in the Gospel today sound so simple. He invites us to remain in His love and assures us that if we keep His commandments, we will remain in His love (see John 15:9-17). The greatest of these commandments, of course, is to love God with all our hearts, our minds, and our strength.   We remain in that love simply by loving Him with our entirety. When we find ourselves using the contrasting conjunction but in our prayer, it is a sign that we are struggling to love Him fully. We need to take that to deeper prayer, because it is likely that we are spiritually attached to something of this world that is preventing us from fully remaining in His love.  We all desire to remain in God’s love. Yet keeping His commandments in order to do so can be hard. The day-to-day temptations of life can press on us. Always remember that the Sacrament of Reconciliation is there waiting for each of us, allowing us to clear away the obstacles that keep us from receiving and remaining in God’s love.  Relate to the Lord // What is  your “but”? Journal about what’s keeping your from loving or trusting God.

July 17, 2026 // Friday of the Fifteenth Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Responsorial Psalm: Isaiah 38: 10, 11, 12abcd, 16 Reflect on the Word //  I slumped into a pew in the back of the chapel, arms crossed belligerently in front of my chest, and expelled a loud huff. Grumpy from lack of sleep, overwhelmed by a mountain of assignments to grade, stewing over an email I’d just received, and hangry to boot, I felt like a mutinous toddler as I narrowed my eyes at the tabernacle. Melodramatic as it seems now, in that moment, I felt like the writer of today’s Responsorial Psalm as my spirit groaned, “To the gates of the nether world I shall be consigned for the rest of my years!” (Isaiah 38:10) Somewhere between the Gospel and the beginning of the Eucharistic Prayer, I felt my irritation dissipate. The transformation was striking in its subtlety. It was as though the Lord had pressed a finger tenderly to my chest and set my cold heart awash in the gentle warmth of His love and presence, which radiated to fill my entire being. I still felt like the writer of today’s Responsorial Psalm, but now I was singing a different tune: “Those live whom the LORD protects; yours is the life of my spirit. You have given me health and life” (Isaiah 38:16). Have you ever had a “life-saving” moment like that? Maybe yours, too, was a soul-stirring moment in the Mass, a miraculous change of perspective you’d be hard-pressed to articulate. Or maybe it was a smile from a stranger when you were being particularly hard on yourself, or a text from a friend that made you laugh when you needed it most, or the happily wagging tail of a dog who greeted you after a crummy day at work.  Sister, take heart: no matter how bleak life may seem, the Lord is always there, extending His hand to pull us out of the pit and give us new life, over and over again.  Relate to the Lord // Reflect on your own life-saving moments of grace—and thank God for them! 

July 16, 2026 // Thursday of the Fifteenth Week in Ordinary Time // Optional Memorial of Our Lady of Mount Carmel Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 11:28-30 Reflect on the Word //  “What’s going on? Do you need to talk?”  My colleague’s combative tone and demeanor suddenly softened as she sank into the chair I offered her. With tears piercing her eyes, she began to share about the heavy burdens that had prompted her outburst just moments before. I had summoned this employee to my cubicle to chastise her, but it was clear by her burnt-out and scattered state that she needed much more than the fraternal correction I had already given. Here before me was a daughter of the Father desperately in need of rest, and the Lord, by placing her in my midst, was inviting me to alleviate her load, even if only for a moment.  “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). In today’s Gospel, our tender Lord implores us to find reprieve from all that weighs down our bodies and hearts. And yet, Jesus isn’t merely offering us an escape from our problems; He is revealing His eagerness to share the load by inviting us to yoke ourselves to His love (see Matthew 11:29). Our Savior is both Burden-Bearer and Burden-Sharer, Who beautifully gives us an example of how we, too, are to love. But how often are we willing to let others unload their weight of suffering? Do we reserve a welcoming space in our hearts for the tired new mom, the over-caffeinated college student, the lonely widow? United with Christ, we can be the “easy yoke” that our brothers and sisters are seeking.  To my blessed surprise, when I asked that staff member how I could pray for her, she requested a prayer at that very moment. And as we prayed together, a lightness washed over her that hadn’t been present before.  By choosing to gently accompany others through their struggles, our lives become a radiance of Christ’s and a safe haven for every labored and burdened soul we encounter. May our witness echo the words of the Divine Shepherd, Who lovingly assures us and all those we walk with, You can find rest here.  Relate to the Lord // Look for an opportunity to pray with someone today—and take it!

July 15, 2026 // Memorial of Saint Bonaventure, Bishop and Doctor of the Church Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 11:25-27  Reflect on the Word //  I was deep in prayer with Jesus in my holy imagination, sitting with Him by a tranquil stream, when I realized I had a request for God the Father. Jesus encouraged me to go and ask immediately. So we set out, embarking on a journey to the Father’s house. I pictured how it would go: finding the grandeur of a heavenly castle, the Creator of the Universe on His glorious throne, and little girl me in a formal audience, tiptoeing toward Him, bowing, and timidly uttering my plea.  Yet as I let my prayer play out, I was amazed by what happened instead. We indeed arrived at a castle, but there were no crowds, guards, or holding rooms for an audience. The doors stood wide open, awaiting me. I heard a deep, booming chuckle echoing through the halls as I stepped inside, followed by the Father merrily calling my name.  Abba! The word instantly welled up in my heart in response, even though I’d never personally used it before. The Father continued to joyfully call my name, drawing me toward Him in a sort of divine Marco-Polo, and I continued to respond Abba! Abba! The Father’s call and my response became louder and more eager until I came upon Him waiting in the heart of the castle, in a literal heart-shaped room. He was down on one knee, arms stretched wide, ready to scoop me up and swing me around. All the while, Jesus stood by, gleeful and gratified to reveal the Father’s true nature to me: not only His loving Father, but my true Father (see Matthew 11:27). You and I are that heavenly castle. At Baptism we’re imprinted with a new, permanent identity—Child of God—and the Holy Trinity comes to dwell in us. Jesus reveals the Father as both King of the Universe and our loving, doting, caring Father. The more childlike we become, the more we experience this truth. The Father is not far away but intimately close, waiting for you. In Him, you’re never alone or abandoned. You are chosen, now and always, by a Father Who calls you by name—and calls you His.   Relate to the Lord // Imagine the Father receiving you in prayer today? What does He say? How does it feel?

July 14, 2026 // Memorial of Saint Kateri Tekakwitha, Virgin [In the Dioceses of the United States] Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s First Reading: Isaiah 7:1-9 Reflect on the Word //  My mind was already ten steps ahead of reality. One small situation turned into ten “what ifs,” each one worse than the last. I could feel the anxiety building, my thoughts spiraling faster than I could slow them down. Nothing had actually happened yet—but internally, everything felt like it was falling apart. I kept trying to reason my way out of it, to find some sense of control, but the more I thought, the less steady I felt. In that moment, I realized how quickly fear can distort what’s actually in front of me. What starts as something small can feel overwhelming when I let my thoughts run unchecked. Instead of staying grounded in what’s real, I begin reacting to what might happen. It’s exhausting—and it leaves me feeling anything but firm. In Isaiah 7:1-9, the king and his people are described as trembling, “as the trees of the forest tremble in the wind” (Isaiah 7:2). You can almost feel the panic in that image—unstable, shaken, at the mercy of forces outside their control. And it’s there, right in the middle of that fear, that God speaks: “Take care you remain tranquil and do not fear. [. . .] This shall not stand” (Isaiah 7:4, 7). God doesn’t dismiss the situation, but He reframes it. What feels overwhelming is not ultimate. What looks threatening will not last. And then comes the invitation: “Unless your faith is firm, you shall not be firm” (Isaiah 7:9). That line stays with me. Stability isn’t found in figuring everything out or controlling every outcome—it’s found in trusting the One Who already holds it all. Faith doesn’t remove uncertainty, but it anchors us within it. We all face moments when fear feels louder than truth. May we learn to pause, to listen, and to trust God’s voice over the noise. For when our faith is rooted in Him, we find a steadiness that circumstances cannot take away. Relate to the Lord // Where does your trust need to be firmed up? Ask for the grace to be steadfast in trust.