“My sheep hear my voice,” says the Lord;  “I know them, and they follow me.” // Alleluia Verse from John 10:27 I open the door just as she ducks under water. She knows her time in the pool is up, but perhaps I will give up and return inside. It has never worked before. I wait in the doorway, neglectfully letting the cool air out to mix with the sweltering summer heat. In my mind I hear the voices of my own parents saying, “Stop air conditioning the neighborhood.”  Calling to her underwater is useless. She will ignore the muffled directives just as I did in my own Arizona childhood. Any motion by the door would cause us to flee to the bottom of the pool or take off swimming laps just so that we could have a few more minutes in the water.  And so I stand and wait until she surfaces, and she can hear me clearly.  “It’s time. Come on in.”   She knew what I was going to say before I said it, just as I knew she would try to pretend she couldn’t hear me before I even opened the door. And I realize I do the same thing. Even as an adult, there are times when I pretend I don’t hear My Father clearly. In other situations I simply stay underwater so that I can’t hear His voice. Maybe if I don’t hear the instructions clearly, I won’t have to do that hard thing I know He desires of me.  But He knows me. He knows my heart just as I know His voice. And even when it is muffled, or when I doubt the message, when I take it to prayer, the answers are clear. He will wait for me patiently. He will call to me in the depths. He will call me out of the waters. Can you hear the Lord clearly or are you ducking into the deep? What in your life is muffling his voice?

Owe nothing to anyone, except to love one another; for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law. // Romans 13:8 You’ve GOT to be kidding me. I thought silently to myself. I could feel the inner groanings and grumblings begin to make their sneaky appearance. If she would just LET me in, we could sort all of this out . . . ! The thoughts kept coming. Thoughts of judgment. Thoughts of: If she would just . . .  Thoughts of duty and responsibility continued to toss and turn in my mind and heart—each thought reflecting my eagerness to try and “fix” instead of focus on the Lord, first. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, more like the millionth. Years had gone by before I’d exhausted myself. I’d tried so hard to lend the resources, share words of wisdom, and offer advice. And though my actions were meant to serve, they ultimately did more harm than good. And out of sheer exhaustion, I found myself finally asking Jesus to help me love her instead of praying for ways to help “fix” her. It was a transformative moment for me because I realized that love DOES help all those on whom it lands—whether seen or not. And when help is first ordered behind the intention to love, all else falls into place. Today’s First Reading (see Romans 13:8-10) reminds us to love, and love well. Not from a place of wanting to fix the people in our lives, but to love them with hearts wide open—meeting them exactly where they are without pushing on them our own perceptions, expectations, or hopes for them. It is a hard task, absolutely. But when we are open to it, the grace to love permeates our perceptions and allows us to see the person in front of us as God desires us to see them—as a person to love and love well.  Trust, today, that Jesus will do the rest in His own time.

O God, by your name save me. By your strength defend my cause. O God, hear my prayer. Listen to the words of my mouth. // Psalm 54:3-4 “Gracias, gracias a Dios, gracias,” my patient cried while hugging me. I had just extracted her tooth after weeks of pain and years of no dental care. I hugged her back and released her back into the dental chair while my assistant explained post-extraction care instructions. My patient’s husband warmly shook my hand and thanked me for the care I provided. My patient suffers from severe dental anxiety. I had met her several appointments before, where she was crying and shaking in the chair. She had been turned away from provider after provider due to her anxiety. I felt such compassion for her suffering, but I knew it would be a challenge to treat her needs. I listened to that nudge on my heart compelling me to do what I could for her. It took multiple visits to calm her enough to extract her infected tooth but with guided breathing and patience, she was able to make it through the procedure. After the visit, her husband took her arm and walked towards the waiting room. She looked exhausted but finally out of pain. I was emotionally drained, but content and at peace. Sister, we are often inundated with the noise of the world, the hectic pace, and the demands of our time. It is hard to hear that still small voice—that prompting from the Holy Spirit—when everything else is so loud.  Make space for some quiet so when you feel that nudge or hear that whisper to your heart, you are able to listen. You may be an answer to someone’s prayer.  Sister, what can you do to hold space for the Holy Spirit today? Can you travel your commute in silence? Can you leave your phone in another room for an hour? Listen to Him.

All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet: Behold, the virgin shall be with child and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel, which means "God is with us." // Matthew 1:22-23 It was a well-known fact in my Midwest town: The very best birthday cakes were baked out of a small kitchen in a renovated barn, by a semi-retired lady named Donna. Year after year and with childlike wonder I would watch as she airbrushed onto her sheet cakes the things that meant the most to me and my brothers: flowers and dolphins and whales for me, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and footballs for my brothers. Her cakes blessed not just my own family, but many in our small town. Every birthday, every First Communion, every Boy Scout awards ceremony, every high school graduation, almost always included a cake baked by Donna. It’s a beautifully thoughtful tradition in the Church that, nine months after our celebration of our Blessed Mother Mary’s Immaculate Conception on December 8th, we celebrate Mary’s own birthday today. Each and every September 8th we honor Mary’s birthday as the day of “dawn of our own salvation” (Marialis Cultus 7), for it is through Mary’s birth and subsequent yes that our world is redeemed from sin and death. But today is also special for a different reason: Mary’s own parents, Saints Joachim and Anne, once struggled to conceive. They knew the heartache of disappointment and the fear of the unknown. Their dear little Mary was (and still is) a sign of God’s abiding Providence, a glimmer of hope in times of doubt. Her life reminds us that God is faithful, and that we are never overlooked.  Dear Blessed Mother Mary, may our celebration of your birthday today remind us of all of these things. As we light a candle in honor of you today, pray for us that we might hold fast to hope as your own parents did. Amen.

When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at the knees of Jesus and said, "Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man." // Luke 5:8 My eyes open and I fumble for my phone, ready to check the time. I think to myself: Wow, I feel pretty rested. It has to be what, 8:30 a.m.? Maybe 9?  Nope. 12 p.m. Ugh. This happens to me all the time. I’ll make plans in my head for the most productive morning ever, only to wake up disappointed that I slept through multiple alarms. In a world that’s always up and moving, I constantly feel one step behind. Even still, the Lord works with me in generous ways every single day. Rather than early mornings of to-do lists and perfect routines, it’s a random idea coming to life in the quiet of a late night or an unplanned joyful time with a friend. And these moments are great miracles. I’m not a productivity machine, but I am participating in God’s work with an open heart for the unexpected. Almost every morning, like Peter in the face of God’s abundance, I fall wearily at the feet of Jesus. Depart from me, Jesus—there has to be someone else. Someone with more energy and less moodiness. Someone with better ideas and fewer bad habits.  Every time, He gently reminds me that He’s equipping me to do the work He’s called me to. He intimately knows my unique strengths and my chronic weaknesses, and He simply asks me to join Him.  I’m laughing to myself as I write this truth: My human limitations don’t shock the Lord, and they definitely won’t stop Him from working miracles. He is not thrown by our tiredness or shaken by our moods. He’s not even surprised by our bursts of inspiration or amazing accomplishments. Our best ideas and most fruitful days are always from Him. Desperate productivity will achieve nothing; He’s the steady One filling our lives, just like He filled Peter’s boat.  I’ll continue to fall at the feet of Jesus in the moments where I don’t feel enough. You probably will too. Without hesitation, He’ll lift us up every time. Day after day, we can leave our doubts behind and follow Him into an ordinary life of extraordinary miracles. 

We always give thanks to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, when we pray for you, for we have heard of your faith in Christ Jesus and the love that you have for all the holy ones because of the hope reserved for you in heaven. // Colossians 1:3-5 I wasn’t raised in a practicing Catholic family. My father isn’t Catholic and as a parent now, I can see just how difficult it must have been for my mom to bring her kids to Mass alone on the occasions she did. There wasn’t much prayer in our home, and apart from the few catechism classes in grade school, my education in the Faith was practically nonexistent. But by the grace of God, while I was at college, the Holy Spirit inflamed a desire in me to learn more about the Faith and dive into a deeper understanding of God’s mercy and love for us and the Church. And in an act of abundant generosity, at that same time, God placed me in a community of Catholic friends who were on fire for their faith and set beautiful examples for me to learn from as I strived to become rooted in a love of Christ.Saint Paul’s words in today’s First Reading from Colossians echo the gratitude I have for the examples of faithfulness that have been placed in my life as I seek Heaven—not only those passionately Catholic friends from college, but so many other examples of goodness and love that have been set before me. In my Biblical Studies graduate professor who spent her “free time” working at a medical clinic for those on the margins. In the Frassati Young Adult group I encountered living alone in a new city who made time in their busy professional lives to gather and pray in front of the Blessed Sacrament. In more experienced mothers who remind me that my days filled with diapers and tantrums are only a stage and who show me an example of how to share the beauty of Catholicism with littles.  The list goes on. So, just as Paul gave thanks when praying for the example of faithfulness shown in the people of Colossae, I do the same for those examples in my life. And sister, I invite you to recall those models of faith in your life. Remember their goodness and give thanks to God for their witness. 

Therefore, encourage one another and build one another up. // 1 Thessalonians 5:11 Some friends and I often quip about Saint Thérèse of Lisieux's strategy for avoiding sin in conversation.  In her autobiography, The Story of a Soul, Thérèse tells the story of a time in which she and some of her sisters in the convent were chatting in the hallway. The conversation took a less-than-noble turn. How did one of the greatest Saints of modernity handle this temptation? She ran away. She literally fled the scene!  After reading this, my friends and I joke that we pull a “Thérèse” when we need to control our tongues but can’t apart from dismissing ourselves from a situation. While the visual of this departure is humorous, there is wisdom in training ourselves to engage in speech that is uplifting and encouraging, as Saint Paul tells us in today’s First Reading (see 1 Thessalonians 5:1-6, 9-11). We know we should not tear down through speech, but how often do we truly examine our days and our conversations to identify problems and pitfalls?  In today’s Gospel (see Luke 4:31-37), we see that Jesus’ Word has power. His Word brings freedom and healing. We are made in God’s image and likeness. So we should strive to be like Him. Do the words we use toward others speak freedom, healing, and encouragement? Do the words we use about others do the same? Most of us have experienced the gift of receiving encouraging or kind words from another. Take a moment to remember how that felt in your soul. Don’t we want to offer that same gift to other people? Or, at the very least, avoid robbing someone of it through hurtful or careless words? This week, be intentional about your words. Model our Savior. Try to build up someone else through your words at least once a day. If a conversation is littered with gossip, say something kind about the person being spoken about or change the subject. And, of course, you can always pull a Thérèse!

“He has sent me to proclaim liberty to captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free . . . ” // Luke 4:16-19 As I was chatting with a fellow mom in the school parking lot, the conversation took a turn and tears welled up in her eyes. She shared with me struggles she was dealing with in her life and my heart broke for her.  I felt the Holy Spirit nudging me with words to share with her, but I hesitated. I didn’t know this woman's spiritual journey and didn’t want to come off as sounding too religious. However, I shared something similar that I experienced and how God helped me work through it.  After we talked, I offered to pray for her and she was grateful and seemed more at peace. It was humbling to see the Holy Spirit move in her heart at that moment. I thanked God for giving me the courage to speak and plant a little seed of hope. Lately, it feels like one friend after another has been dealing with difficult circumstances or working through issues that were upsetting their mental health. It’s so easy for me to just be quiet in situations like this, but today’s Gospel is a reminder of Jesus’ mission on earth:  “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring glad tidings to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free . . . ” (Luke 4:18-19). As Catholics, you and I are called to carry on that mission. It’s easy to get caught up in our own little world and miss the promptings of the Holy Spirit, but there are countless people in our lives in need of words and actions that will encourage, strengthen, and draw them closer to Our Lord. Has there been a family member, friend, coworker, or someone in your community on your mind lately? Reach out to them and see how you can help or pray for them. Lord, may my heart always be open to hear Your voice. Don’t let fear or self-centeredness hold me back from going where You lead me. I love You. Amen.  

“God forbid, Lord!” [ . . . ] “Get behind me, Satan! You are an obstacle to me!” // Matthew 16:22-23 My college roommate once wrote a paper about Jesus calling Peter “Satan.” Shocking words from the Lover of our souls. I cringed thinking about Peter being equated to the Evil One. That was part of the Gospel I opted to ignore; thinking about the next verses––and about how much I don’t want to carry my cross––instead. I haven’t thought about it much since then, no matter how many times this Gospel is read at Mass. But now it’s my assigned devotion day and the Holy Spirit has a word for me that I can’t ignore any more. It’s me. I am the obstacle to God’s work in my life. The number of times I’ve cried in prayer, Lord, no. Jesus, this can’t be happening, are many. I may as well echo Peter’s words: “God forbid!” Jesus hasn’t called me out like He did to Peter, yet any time I choose my way over His, I may as well side with Satan. I once heard a priest say that we either choose God or “not God.” Every time I drag my feet to do His will or choose a task less important than what needs to be done, I choose “not God.” God cannot work in my life when I avoid His will.  When I pay more attention to news headlines and other people’s lives captured in tiny squares before I check in with God, I leave little room for His Word to take root in my life. I’ve filled my mind with noise, instead of quieting it to listen to the Holy Spirit. I am the obstacle. Until I surrender my pride and selfish will, Jesus’ action in my life is limited––by me. He won’t force me to follow Him, and He won’t force me to talk to Him. His omnipotence will never supersede my free will, precisely because He loves me so much.  Your will, not mine, Lord. Reform my heart and my desires so that I am no longer an obstacle to Your loving work in my life. I want what You want for me, Lord. Increase my trust in Your plan.

Nevertheless we urge you, brothers and sisters, to progress even more, and to aspire to live a tranquil life, to mind your own affairs, and to work with your own hands, as we instructed you. // 1 Thessalonians 4:10-12 It was going to be another fun themed Vacation Bible School (VBS) week, and I looked forward to leading again. I couldn’t wait to partake in the singing, learn the hand motions that go along with the catchy songs, and enjoy the contagious energy of the participants. It’s pretty much an extrovert’s playground: an engaged audience, lots of people around, and being silly for Jesus.   I have always been paired with someone who I instantly click with. You know, the kind of person who reads the room with you, picks up on your nonverbal cues when it’s time to change the activity to suit the needs of the participants, adds an ice-breaker to get the kids’ attention, and pumps up the kids with you for the next station.  That had always been my experience until that summer, when I was paired with someone who wasn’t so into gelling with me. There wasn’t a mutual give and take like I had experienced in the past.   I wondered if it was something I had said or done. But like Saint Paul reminded me in the First Reading, sometimes the way to stay tranquil is to stay in my lane, or to use his words, we ought “to mind your own affairs, and to work with your own hands” (1 Thessalonians 4:10-12). This individual made it clear that we were not going to be friends post-VBS, and I resolved to not force my friendship (which, if you know me, is very challenging because I enjoy meeting new friends everywhere I go).  While I didn’t understand my partner’s indifference, I couldn’t make it personal nor allow it to break my peace. I remembered this person was loved by God the same way He loves me. Sister, we can so easily become consumed in someone else’s business—be it at VBS, the way someone attends Mass, or forming opinions of others when we do not actually know them and their circumstances. However, love of neighbor is always the antidote, and it frees us to live a tranquil life. 

“The Kingdom of heaven will be like ten virgins who took their lamps and went out to meet the bridegroom.” // Matthew 25:1 Wisdom and fortitude.  A few weeks ago I was in a conversation with a wise priest about praying for my family, and how much I feel I lack when it comes to discipline in this area. He told me my prayer for them ought to be simple, and it ought to be for this—wisdom and fortitude. Wisdom to know what ought to be done, and fortitude to carry it out.  There was something so completely consoling in the distillation of these two virtues. When it comes to prayer, and when it comes to what we should pray for one another, it often feels an overwhelming task. I could pray for so much; how do I even know where to begin? The simplicity of this prayer was balm to my soul, because it was clear to me that it really covered it all. All other virtues are so beautifully blanketed in these two. Wisdom and fortitude.  I desire my children to know God—wisdom. I desire them to love Him and serve Him with their lives—fortitude. Patience? Fortitude. Purity? Fortitude. Humility? Wisdom . . . and fortitude. It’s all there.  And we see it displayed so beautifully in the Gospel today (see Matthew 25:1-13), in the image of these ten virgins waiting for the bridegroom—an analogy that, so clearly, speaks of us and Our Lord. Wisdom to know that we must prepare our hearts for the coming of our Bridegroom, and fortitude to stay awake. To not fall into comforts, or distractions, or a spiritual sleepiness. We’ve got to struggle to live these virtues well so that we, too, can be ready to see Him passing by.  Lord, help me to remember this simple prayer often, and to live it well: wisdom and fortitude, wisdom and fortitude.

Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain wisdom of heart. // Psalm 90:12 As I braked for the stop sign, I saw them out of the corner of my eye. The familiarity of the scene turned my head fully toward them. She was a young mother, pushing her baby—likely her first—in a stroller on a magnificent spring afternoon. I smiled and waved them safely across the street.  I experienced the memory in my entire body. Just under a decade ago, I was that first time mother pushing my son in a stroller on sunny afternoons. In fact, it was those same streets we walked, day after day, as he became acquainted with the world and I became acquainted with motherhood.  A heavy sigh escaped my chest as I closed my eyes. It really does go quickly, I thought. The chorus of my now-four-children’s chatter brought me back to the present, and I prayed today’s Psalm. Teach me to number my days, Lord. They are fleeting. Make my heart wise so I may walk in Your ways and live my days well. True wisdom is gained through numbering our days. When we view our lives through the lens of the end of them, perspective becomes clearer. Suddenly, we know exactly what matters most. We know where we want to be and what decisions will help us get there (even if they seem painful in the present moment).  These swift but important times of reflection are what help us to remember our eternal destination and to allow the Lord to teach us how to number, order, and prioritize our days to that end.  In what areas of your life are you feeling overwhelmed? What feels confusing or scary? In prayer, consider your days and your ultimate goal of Heaven. Ask the Holy Spirit for His gift of wisdom, for it goes more quickly than we realize.

You have searched me and you know me, Lord. // Psalm 139:1 For years, I pondered on where I belonged. I always felt different from my peers at school and my friends . . . even sometimes in my family circle I felt like the odd-one-out. My heart had been searching for not only my belonging, but something or someone to belong to. I found myself filling my empty heart with things that would only produce temporary satisfaction, and it always left me hungering for something more, something greater.  In today’s Responsorial Psalm, we read, “You have searched me and you know me, Lord” (Psalm 139:1). As I was attempting to satisfy my heart, I wasn’t aware of the Love that was after it. He saw my ache, and He had a desire to fill my heart.  The Lord sees your emptiness. He yearns to fill the areas where you feel unloved, unseen, and unwanted. Friend, I know how intimidating it can be to open up those dark places. It’s a vulnerable thing to do, but know that there’s not a single moment where the Lord isn’t pursuing you. You are His. I found my identity because of His love. Being confident in my identity is still an ongoing journey. I can question myself from time to time, but the good news is that the Lord doesn’t get tired of re-rooting my heart in His delight for me. All I have to do is ask. Sister, can I gently encourage you to ask Him? Ask The Father to reveal His love for you. Ask Him to help you to root your heart in the Truth about who you are in His eyes.  Allow the Father’s love to reveal your identity. Your identity rests in Him, and Him alone. Father, we love You and we thank You. Please gently and lovingly root our hearts in Your love, so that we may have a deeper understanding and confidence in You and in our identity as Your beloved daughters. Amen. 

He went off and beheaded [John] in the prison. He brought in the head on a platter and gave it to the girl. The girl in turn gave it to her mother. When his disciples heard about it, they came and took his body and laid it in a tomb. // Mark 6:27-29   It’s a summer memory that I think might be burned into my brain for all eternity: I can picture my ten-year-old self, persuaded by friends to ride the Tilt-A-Whirl at the local 4th of July carnival. It was painted sparkling red and blue, with concave seats that spun round with enough centrifugal force to make you feel as though your stomach could, in fact, truly leave your body.  I remember my friends letting go of the center wheel and leaning all the way back into the shelled seats, letting the pull of the ride take control as we spun faster and faster. I also remember my own clenched fists white-knuckling the center wheel, and I remember the uncontrollable swirling of my stomach. Every fiber of my being seemed to be shouting, “Stop the ride, I want to get off!” Years later, I’ve found that this phrase takes root in my heart whenever I’m feeling overwhelmed in navigating the life that the Lord has chosen for me: This life demands too much.  I’m not made for this. Stop the ride, Lord. I want to get off. When I read today’s Gospel on the Feast of Saint John the Baptist (see Mark 6:17-29), I can’t help but marvel at the intensity of his life, and the simple docility with which he lived it. John paved the way for the Messiah. His steady courage prepared many hearts to hear the words of Jesus. He died a martyr’s death at the hands of a few shallow and vengeful people who hated him. His ride, so to speak, was one for the books.  When I feel overwhelmed, it is Saints like John the Baptist that help me to again fix my vision. Whether our current tumult is related to vocation or family or finances, John’s witness reminds us that we can cast our gaze on the Messiah and ask for enough courage to cling to Him.  Jesus, in our overwhelm, help us to hold tight to You in this ride of life. Amen.

We give thanks to God always for all of you, remembering you in our prayers, unceasingly calling to mind your work of faith and labor of love and endurance in hope of our Lord Jesus Christ. // 1 Thessalonians 1:2 If you’re like me, you have a prayer list of people you pray for on the regular. It’s typically a list of prayers people need answered: illnesses needing healing, anxieties facing family and friends, vocational trials and desires, and unanswered prayers. But have you ever been caught up in pure delight and awe in thanks to God for all the people He has placed in your life and how active He is in their individual lives? In May, I was taken aback in prayer, almost removed from the moment happening before me. We celebrated Confirmations at our parish, one that ministers to college students. As one young man received the Sacrament of Confirmation, I recalled the student who drove to Texas during the pandemic to meet him face-to-face and welcome him into our faith community. I remembered the classes he took, the retreats we shared together, the way he served our community, and the continual exploration of his faith. I saw all the “labor[s] of love and endurance in hope of our Lord Jesus Christ” that poured into and out of this young man that led him to receive the Holy Spirit that day. In this moment I understood the depths of Saint Paul’s gratitude in the First Reading (see 1 Thessalonians 1:1-5, 8b-10). I felt like I was a drone hovering over the congregation as I scanned the students and community in the pews, marveling at all God had done, will do, and is doing it their lives. Sister, take time to re-read the First Reading, and really pause over the words and ask the Holy Spirit to inspire you. And next time you’re at church, look around in praise to God, knowing this is a small selection of the Church, and marvel “how you were chosen” alongside the “brothers and sisters loved by God” surrounding you (1 Thessalonians 1:4).

“But who do you say that I am?” // Matthew 16:15 I’ve gone by a lot of names in my life. My baptismal name, my religious name, and countless nicknames that were anywhere from fitting and flattering, to . . . well, not so flattering. At any given time I could have taken on these names as my identity, clung to it, and made it who I am. But they were just names, ways I could be called, or identified in a crowd; sometimes they came from things I did or was able to do. It took some time, but I eventually learned that my name is not my identity. What I’ve done, what I do, or what I am capable of, are not who I am. An identity is deeper than simply a name. Who we are, our identity, comes from our relationships with others, especially those who love us. When Jesus asks His disciples who people say that He is, they respond with names—Elijah, John the Baptist, one of the prophets—all just names. These all came from what they’d seen Jesus do, watching from the outside. But Peter, he got it. He understood that when Jesus asked Who people said He was, He wasn’t asking what people were calling Him, He wasn’t asking how people were perceiving Him. He was asking Who they thought He was, where He came from, His identity, the Source of Who He is—“The Messiah, the Son of The Living God” (Matthew 16:16). Jesus “strictly ordered his disciples to tell no one that he was the Christ” (Matthew 16:20), but since His Death and Resurrection we are now called to declare Him to all we encounter—He is “the Messiah, the Son of the living God” (Matthew 16:16) through Whom we are adopted as beloved daughters of that same living God! Sister, Who do you say that Jesus is in your life? Are you with the crowds? Do you throw out names for Jesus to explain how He fits into your life? Or are you with Peter? Do you declare Who He is, the Source of your life, the Source of your identity as a beloved daughter?

Blessed are all who fear the LORD, and who walk in his ways. // Psalm 128:1 Even before I stepped over the threshold of the house, I had a feeling. Driving into the neighborhood, walking around the property . . . there was something special here. A dream I didn’t know I had. Then, as I went inside and walked around, it washed over me: this is it.  A month earlier, I wasn’t considering moving back to my hometown. A day earlier, I wasn’t planning to buy a house. But the Spirit was moving, and I was just trying to keep up.  Ever since the sudden death of my husband two years earlier, I had been praying fervently for clarity about my future. Then, even as I waited for an answer, I kept stepping forward in faith, always trying to do the next right thing. And when the time was right, God moved in a big way, perfectly orchestrating a series of blessings in a way that can only be attributed to a good Father.  When Ruth, in today’s First Reading, went into the field of her relative, she wasn’t looking for a whole new life. She was looking for enough food for herself and her mother-in-law for that day. She did the right thing in that moment, trusting that God would provide. And He did—not only that day’s bread, but safety, security, hope, and a future. More than she could have asked for or imagined.  How often do we go searching for scraps from God when He desires to bless us abundantly, extravagantly? Today, I challenge you to believe in a future that is better than you can imagine, and to participate in the gift by faithfully attending to the work that is presented to you today. Wait in joyful hope—His plan lies ahead.