August 24, 2026 // Feast of Saint Bartholomew, Apostle Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: John 1:45-51 Reflect on the Word //  There are plenty of days that go by where I feel particularly out of the mind of God. Having a large family, the needs of the children (and the challenges) can sometimes feel like a steady stream. Taxing, trying, tearful. I’ve been there a million times and I’ll be there again. It’s not always easy to see a clear path to the heart of the Father, or His love and care for me.  Before I saw you under the fig tree, I knew you.  What consolation. What intimacy.  I need to remember these words that our Lord spoke to Nathanael, also known as Bartholomew (see John 1:48). He sees me. He knows me. And He is reminding me that even before the struggle, even before I could cry out, He was there—knowing me. Knowing my needs, knowing my weakness, and knowing just how to reach me.  We are little Bartholomews too. Brooding, sulking, lost, and alone. Sometimes for good reason, and sometimes not. But Jesus is just as close to us, and He desires for us to hear those words, too—before this current state, before whatever it is that we are facing.  I see you. I know you. And I cannot abandon you.  Our Lord is good to us. He is keenly aware of who we are, and He is present here in whatever the current struggle is, looking with love upon our lack of understanding and even upon our lack of hope. He knew us and He knows us. When we find ourselves under the next fig tree, seemingly fruitless and without purpose, let’s remember these three words—I saw you.  Relate to the Lord // Imagine yourself in the Gospel today and hear Jesus’ words to Saint Bartholomew directed to you: “I saw you.”

May 1, 2026 // Friday of the Fourth Week of Easter // Optional Memorial of Saint Joseph the Worker Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: John 14:1-6  Reflect on the Word // On the day I’m writing this devotional, months before you read it, a dear local family buried their nineteen-year-old son and brother, Joseph. His sister, Monica, also writes here for Blessed is She, and she and her family have been community friends for many, many years. Imagine my surprise when I sat down to read the Gospel in my prayer today and turned to John 14. Imagine my surprise when I sat to write my assigned devotional and saw the same exact Gospel for May 1, over three months from the day I write this.  I could go on and on about Joseph, about his faith, his hope, and the beauty and resilience of his family as they have weathered this tragedy. I could share how his mother held me at Joseph’s viewing last night, and reassured me of the goodness of God. He is good. Truly.  Beyond the hope we can see in the Weinkopf family are roots buried deep in the faith of a God that is really, very good. Behold, I am going before you to prepare a place for you (see John 14:3). Is there anything that speaks to you of love more than this? I read the words this morning, hours before Joseph’s funeral Mass and thought to myself—He knew all along. God has always known. And He goes before us to ready the path, to ready the room, to be with us again.  It’s simple and yet profound beyond comprehension. God loves you and He is waiting for you to be with Him forever. He was waiting for Joseph, and He is waiting for us.  In the eulogy, Joseph’s older brother, Kolbe, shared that Joseph hard carved the word “Live” into the underside of his bunk bed slats. Let us live like he did. Let us live like women fully alive, longing for our home in Heaven, and living each day like we believe it.  Relate to the Lord // Pray the Requiem Aeternam for Joseph or for another soul who has passed into eternity:  Eternal rest grant unto him/her [or them], O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him/her [or them]. May he/she [or their souls] and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.

March 26, 2026 // Thursday of the Fifth Week of Lent Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s First Reading: Genesis 17:3-9  Reflect on the Word // Jesus calls to me most often in the ways I do not want. The complication that sidelines the day, the trustworthy kid suddenly caught in a lie, the humiliation, the broken dishwasher, the argument. It’s particularly in times of want that I realize my desire for control even more. Lent is no different. Ironically, even when I’m categorically “giving up” so much, these are the things I cling to with even more intensity. It’s as if my sacrifices are for me—my boxes to check, my plans to see through. How is it, then, that even in the middle of a season filled with so much supposed sacrifice, I am so resistant to the ways He is actually calling me? In all the small inconveniences, the changes to my plans, the disappointments, it’s as if our Lord is saying, Just be with Me here, just give this up. I long to soften my heart enough to say yes even then.  In today’s First Reading God makes a covenant with Abraham, promising to bless him and be the God of his descendants. God tells Abraham, “On your part, you and your descendants after you must keep my covenant” (Genesis 17:9). This is exactly the struggle—being faithful to God in return for His faithfulness to us. Even in the middle of so many things we can seemingly do “right”—piety, prayer, a liturgically correct approach to this Lenten season—it’s still possible to do it all wrong.  The proof is in the pudding—when we hear His voice, how do we respond? Can we move? Can we pivot? Can we forgo our ideas and our plans? Can we love Him even in the middle of the mess? In the middle of it all we will surely hear His voice and remember His promise. Relate to the Lord // Welcome the inconveniences today and look for God in them. 

February 23, 2026 // Monday of the First Week of Lent // Optional Memorial of Saint Polycarp, bishop and martyr Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 25:31-47 Reflect on the Word // I can’t tell you how many times I start Lent with some elaborate system of sacrifices. Special fasts, no screen time, changing everything around all at once. Too often I find myself blindsided by what I simply cannot accomplish, and too often my family finds themselves blindsided by the Lenten sacrifices I have volunteered them for. I’m left feeling a little unmoored. Do I know why I decided to do all this to begin with? Have I even gotten to the heart of it? Activism is an easy thing to fall into—the art of “doing.” Without even realizing it, we can become task oriented, we can be obsessed with checking the box, and we can lose sight of the simplicity of what Jesus is asking of us: “Amen, whatever you did for the least of these brothers you did for Me” (Matthew 25:40). Whatever you did.  In today's Gospel (Matthew 25:31-37), it’s so clear that Jesus is not looking so much at what we do but why we do it. Of course what we do matters, but it is the heart behind our actions that matters even more. He desires us to be motivated by love, and the deepest Love at that. We must strive to do all things for Love because of Love itself.  It’s good to get back to the drawing board, sometimes even at the very start. As we pray with the Gospel for today, we can look at this Lent and whatever we’ve decided to take on, and purify our intentions. Even if our sacrifices look smaller, less flashy, maybe even unnoticed. Perhaps this is a better way for us? Perhaps it’s the closer path to the heart of Christ? Our crosses may be small and insignificant, but it is the least of these that He is after.  Relate to the Lord // How can you inject more love into your Lenten penances today?

January 22, 2026 // Day of Prayer for the Legal Protection of Unborn Children [in USA] Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Mark 3:7-12 Reflect on the Word // The life of Jesus Christ was a continuous giveaway. Time, love, healing, helping. When He saw the multitudes, He saw their needs. When He saw just one soul, He saw his need. He saw the need and He responded—with a word, with love, with redemption. This is shown so clearly in today’s Gospel. I think this is the way we ought to approach the culture on the day-to-day. Like Jesus—see the need and respond. Our faith is made to ignite a continuous ripple outward, and grace gives us the ability to see it through. God changes us, then we change the world. Beginning with our families, our workplace, our friendships, and beyond. Even into the mainstream and into the culture itself.  On this day of Prayer for the Unborn, let’s remind ourselves that this is our time and place to start that ripple. Our sphere of influence, however small, has been given to us by a God Who can do anything. His grace is here to fill us to the brim—through prayer, through the Mass and the Sacraments, so that we are fit to be poured out for the world. It’s no mistake that we are here now; it’s no mistake that it is you and me.  On the way to school, we have a habit of saying the Morning Offering together. Inspired by a parenting book I read years ago—we add on the little tagline, “Jesus, I love You. Help me to be a saint.” The kids in my carpool learned to scream it: “Help me to be a saint!” I pray that the memory of our carpool tradition never leaves them. I pray it also never leaves me. This is how the tides of the culture will change, on the backs of the faithful. These crises are still the crises of saints. It’s up to us to be them.  Relate to the Lord // Pray the Morning Offering today and close with: Jesus, help me to be a Saint!

December 17, 2025 // Wednesday of the Third Week of Advent Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 1:1-17 Reflect on the Word //  Sometimes when I’m talking to my toddlers I like to quiz them on where they fall in the family line up. I’ll say something like, “Do you know which baby you are of mine? Are you baby number 3? How about baby number 7?  And then, “And do you know which babies came before you?” We run through all the siblings, and they smile and giggle when we get to their special spot in the line up. This conversation is mostly just silly and cute but it also firms up a beautiful reality for them and for me. Their existence has a place and a purpose in our family life. They were meant to be. People came before and people came after but their place is unique, special, unrepeatable. A spark in the narrative of humanity, and the start of something remarkable—new life. Endless possibility and optimism, ordained and ordered by the Creator of all.  I think this is a part of the beauty of humankind: Our connectedness and our place also speaks to our purpose. Who we came from and where we are going matters; our existence in a time and place matters.  It’s easy to skim through the genealogy narrative in the Gospel, but for today, let’s not. Let’s see this lineage as deeply meaningful and also deeply human. For God became Man, to be with us, to be known by us, and to elevate our humanity. The family tree is now holy; your place in the world is holy. God is so good that He loves our existence, and He sees our purpose as infinite and eternal. He is so good that Jesus Christ was born into something as normal as lineage—to be like us, so that we can be like Him. The ordinary, now super-ordinary. The day-to-day, divine.  Relate to the Lord // Today, be on the lookout for the divine in your day to day.

October 31, 2025 // Friday of the Thirtieth Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Luke 14:1-6 Reflect on the Word //  It’s hard not to reflect on the recent tragedy that has befallen my community. This past summer, three celibate members of Opus Dei drowned in a terrible accident in Northern California. Six men had hiked out for a day on the river at a familiar spot for rock jumping and swimming. However, the conditions were worse than usual. Matthew Schoenecker, a seasoned diver, jumped first and realized quickly how brutal the current was and how cold the water. Before he could tell the others, cries of help rose from the water. Val Creus, another of the men, had jumped in.  Without hesitation Matthew jumped back into the water after Val, and Matthew Anthony, another of the six, followed. They lived out the words of today’s Gospel without hesitation, “Who among you, if your son or ox fell into a cistern, would not immediately pull him out . . .” (Luke 14:5). This story could be told a million ways and with a million words, but, in short, the three men—Matthew, Val, and Matt, never resurfaced. They died that day in the water.*  As members of Opus Dei, which is a group within the Catholic Church devoted to the sanctification of ordinary life, that day was lived no differently for them. Prayer, friendship, a hike, and a swim—ordinary things made extraordinary through the lens of prayer and sacrifice. A life lived close to Jesus in the Sacraments and in prayer allowed them to live, like Christ, for others. Perhaps this is exactly why both Matts jumped in after Val without hesitation. For they had put on Christ, and Christ truly lived within them.  In our own small ways, we will find ourselves at the water’s edge today. Lord, how will You call me? What will You require of me? If we remain close to the heart of Jesus, we will surely hear His voice over the roar of the river.  These beloved sons were recovered from those waters on a Saturday evening, after three days in the tomb of the river. Requiescite in pace, Matthew, Matt, and Val. *For more about these men’s story see here and here. Relate to the Lord // Pray for the repose of the souls of Matthew, Matt, and Val, as well as any loved ones you’ve lost: Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.  

September 16, 2025 // Memorial of Saints Cornelius, Pope, and Cyprian, Bishop, Martyrs Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Luke 7:11-17 Reflect on the Word //  I tend to really struggle when it comes to my daily prayer. Try as I might, it seems that when the impulse comes to mind or when my planned time for prayer arrives, I find something else to pull me away. So many times when the Lord calls, I feel but don’t act. How many times has Jesus given me my own little opportunity to push forward into an active, moving love? Even in my prayer—which is for our Lord as much as it is for me. Today’s Gospel is such a tender reminder of the perfect humanity of Jesus Christ. For God Himself to become Man is the completion of a divine plan so perfectly good and wise. Jesus feels. Jesus feels pity.  The interaction between our Lord and the grieving woman is so instinctive. It feels completely spontaneous, which seems counterintuitive when we consider that Jesus already knew this encounter would take place. He knew this moment was coming, He saw it coming, He even ordained it to come—and yet He responds to her as though He sees her now for the first time. The same way we might scoop up a weeping child, our hearts stirred immediately at the sight of their sorrow, but not a moment before. God knows our sorrow before we know it, yet His heart is still moved at the sight of us. And not just moved in stagnant emotion, Jesus Christ is moved to action. The Lord sees us in our need, and because of it He moves.  The Lord wants His perfected love to be in us as well—for us to be tender and open enough to respond in a spontaneous moment charged by the heart, but to then go further, into real activation, in whatever way He is calling us. How, Lord, are You calling us? Children, spouses, friends, strangers, even. It’s all around us once we start seeing with the eyes of love. We need the Lord to help us, to go deeper into His very own Heart—a place where love is limitless, and He asks us to be limitless too. Relate to the Lord // When will you make time for an encounter with Jesus in quiet prayer today?  

July 11, 2025 // Memorial of Saint Benedict, Abbot Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 10:16-23 Reflect on the Word // Today is my mother’s birthday. She’s an incredible mom. Not just because she was great when I was young, but because she is great now. She has managed to bend and shift with the inevitable changes of my life, and meet them. She takes on the rides to and fro for my kids when she can, she takes my little ones on a regular basis to give me a breather, she's cheerful and available and willing. And she's taught me much about how I hope to be when my kids are grown with their own babies. I see this is her evangelism, and I know she does too. You see, it doesn’t stop. It doesn’t stop when we reach a certain age, or if we live in a certain place, or even if we have (or don’t have) certain gifts. Evangelism is the heart of Christian love, and it’s always a part of us, no matter where we are. The question is—are we looking for it right where we are? When I was young I was so inspired by missionaries to far off places. But in a way, it held me back. As if my outward Christian life couldn’t begin until I was doing something big. That was evangelism and the Christian life in my mind. But this is not the message of our faith or our God. Fueled with the fruit of the Holy Spirit, we are called to evangelize right where we are. In our friendships, in our workplaces, in our classrooms, in our homes. This is the mission field for us, and we have been sent. While we might be intimidated to share the love of God, Jesus promises us, “You will be given at that moment what you are to say. For it will not be you who speak but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you” (Matthew 10:19-20). So, go. Go forward, cast your nets into the deep, and till the soil you’ve been given. Christ, the Lord, is at your side. At the sink and the stove, the crib and the carpool, the office and the email. Go. Relate to the Lord // Where will you “go” with the Lord today? 

June 12, 2025 // Thursday of the Tenth Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 5:20-26 Reflect on the Word //  The heart matters. Imagine the massive shift of the early Church beginning to realize that what the Savior was requiring from them was conversion of heart. The law that once was the centrality of the faith for the Jews was now something that would be internalized for the believing Christian. We can see this in Christ’s words, such as those in today’s Gospel, when He says, “You have heard that it was said to your ancestors, You shall not kill; and whoever kills will be liable to judgment. But I say to you, whoever is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment” (Matthew 5:22). The law now would both be written on their hearts and would transform them into living breathing alter Christus, other Christs—whose mission would then be for the world, to love them with the love of Christ Himself. Now, maybe I don’t find myself in the early moments of Christendom, but every day in my life Jesus asks me the same thing—has my heart been transformed? Is it showing? In what I do and say, in my relationships, in my cheerfulness and my demeanor? What bitterness lies below the surface, what self-pity?  Matters of the heart: they matter to the heart, they matter to His Heart. It struck me recently how much this conversion is meant to be ongoing and how much it impacts the people around us—for me, that’s my husband and my children. If we are not constantly turning our hearts back to Christ and resolving to begin again and again, those in our periphery will inevitably suffer. Moods, sleep, tiredness—it’s all at play. And it all matters. It matters because if we are to evangelize our own homes, workplaces, and schools, we need to be resolved to this type of docility, humility, and growth. An emptying of ourselves that can only result in the filling love of Christ in our hearts—it transforms us, and then it transforms the world. It was always meant to. Relate to the Lord // Allow Christ to fill your heart today in prayerful silence, time in creation, or through His Word.

May 13, 2025 // Tuesday of the Fourth Week of Easter //  Optional Memorial of Our Lady of Fátima Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: John 10:22-30 Reflect on the Word //  The gift of being a mother goes beyond words—every mother in the world can gush about this, and really, every woman in the world can gush alongside her. In reality, as women, we all mother. It’s built right into us. Whether or not we are parenting our own biological children, we are mothering to some degree—spiritually; through mentorship; nurturing our friendships, relationships, and families; and caring for those in our orbit and for those whose orbits we are in. Don’t think of yourself as a mother? I challenge you to look deeper at your own life. I bet you mother more than you realize. Because of this we all have a sense of the sheep and shepherd dynamic; we know what it’s like to feel like we are meant to keep watch over someone, and to give it all to keep them protected. We know what it’s like to feel confident that our voices are known, heard, and trusted. “My sheep hear my voice. I know them and they follow me” (John 10:27). Of course, in our humanity we see a million flaws in our own lives, and perhaps we see a million flaws in our relationships. But this is the beauty of how God reflects His own love for us through our humanness, so that we can grasp it—even kinda sorta—and wonder at the immensity of His great care for us. If I can know the immense power of a child running into my arms for comfort, how much more does the Father desire to comfort me at any moment, and for any reason? If I can reach my hand out and know that, surely, a trusting little one will reach back to me, how much more does Jesus long for me to trust His presence in my life? Infinitely more. Relate to the Lord // Take a deep breath and pray: Jesus, help me never to see to wonder at this reality—that I am Yours, and You are mine.

April 3, 2025 // Thursday of the Fourth Week of Lent Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: John 5:31-47 Reflect on the Word //  In the opening pages of Jacques Philippe's tiny wonder Searching for and Maintaining Peace, he reminds us of a pivotal message of  Jesus Christ—that our Lord says to us, “Apart from me you can do nothing” (John 15:5). He doesn’t say “you can do something” or “you can do a little bit” or even “you can do enough,” He says we can do nothing without Him. Nothing.  Does this make you feel small? Good. I think it should. When we read today’s Gospel, Jesus is saying a similar thing; He is chastising the Jews for not having the faith required to accept Him as the Savior. They believed in Moses, they believed in John the Baptist, but still they rejected the Son. He says to them,“ But you do not want to come to me to have life” (John 5:40). How many things in our lives are similar? We put our hope in so much, with so little return. Being entertained, satisfying our senses, material things, an addiction to wasted time. Even good and worthy things we can tend to place our trust in—our own successes, our family life or marriages, our daily output, our accomplishments and abilities. But still Jesus is asking us just to desire Him, to know Him, to trust Him. Then and only then will we be filled with the stuff of Life, His own self, fueling and motivating and giving Life to every other thing, and turning our efforts into a real treasure. Then and only then will we know how small and incapable we are, and how beloved, which is ultimately at the heart of true interior peace. In this light, Christ's chastisement becomes more than just a slap on the wrist; it is so clearly the loving call of a benevolent God—trust in Me, hope in Me, believe in Me, and I will give you rest. Relate to the Lord // What would it look like to be small and loved today?

February 3, 2025 // Optional Memorial of Saint Blaise, Bishop and Martyr; Optional Memorial of Saint Ansgar, Bishop Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Responsorial Psalm: Psalm 31:20, 21, 22, 23, 24 Reflect on the Word //  I’m often proud enough to think that I’m further down the spiritual path than to need to be reminded that my heart should take comfort in the love of God. Like somehow I’m beyond that, or maybe it’s just that I feel I should know, or like it’s step one in the walk of faith. Maybe it’s simple and my goals should be more lofty. How little I know myself and my own needs! Through the Responsorial Psalm, I’m reminded of the words of Christ that I should become a child to enter into the kingdom of Heaven (see Matthew 18:2-5). Yet I’m quick to over complicate my own heart and the Heart of Christ, Who is gently calling us again today in the Psalm to be comforted and to cast our cares on Him. Do I have cares? Or worries? Or concerns? Every minute of my life. But I often think they are things that should just be overcome. Instead Jesus is reminding us to “take refuge” (Psalm 31:20), to be comforted and to be cared for, and to know the depths of His love for us. It’s easy to know how to love a child—they are honest when they are needy. If they are cold, you know! If they are hungry, you know! If they are in pain, you know! And on and on. It’s almost because of that honesty, not in spite of it, that we are so eager to give them what they need. Sincerity is precious, and even our flawed human hearts know it. So, why is it so hard to be simple and honest with the One Who is our Father? Pride (for me) or any other vice will always keep us far from Love. But let’s resolve to be small again, and to be closer than ever to Love and to the Father.  “Let your hearts take comfort, all who hope in the Lord” (Psalm 31:20-24). Relate to the Lord //  Be honest with the Lord today. How are you really? What do you need? Share your heart with Him without editing.

Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 18:12-14 Reflect on the Word//  Years ago we experienced the terrifying moments of thinking we had lost a child. It was a warm summer evening, and I remember watching the kids run back and forth through the kitchen window in a game of hide-and-seek as I finished preparing dinner. It wasn’t until we gathered around the table to pray that we realized someone was missing, and as everyone's gaze met each other’s, we all simultaneously realized that she had been missing for a while. Everyone figured someone else had seen her, but no one had. I’ll save you the panic—we found her. She had picked a hiding spot and had fallen asleep there.  But that isn’t the point; the point is that for a few really, really scary, fleeting moments, no one cared about anyone but her. Like the Good Shepherd, who left the ninety-nine (see Matthew 18:13), we dropped everything and searched. Dinner was forgotten, personal cares or needs were sidelined, tears started to fall, all that mattered was her. And when we found her, all sleepy eyed and out of sorts, we, like the Shepherd, all rejoiced. Our little one had been found.  Today’s Gospel has to strike a chord in each one of us. Whether we relate to seeking another or being sought, we all know the deep and powerful significance of being found. We have been found.  Not only are we humbled by the love in which we are sought, deeper than human love, deeper even than motherly or fatherly love, than sisterly or brotherly love, than tears. We are humbled at how utterly lovable we are to the Father, Who leaves all behind to come for us. In His deep and abiding love, we are found. Relate to the Lord // Ask the Lord to highlight someone you can seek out and share His love with today.

Jesus answered, "You say I am a king. For this I was born and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice." // John 18:37 He is King. It’s not hard for us to forget this reality. We live in a flawed earthly state—leaders and rulers, kings and queens, some good and some bad. We are all affected to a degree. Promises made, promises broken, new laws, old laws, terrible laws and good ones. We don’t see Christ crowned on the news, and we certainly don’t see His victory on a billboard on the way to the grocery store. There are no bumper stickers or yard signs for us. But we know He reigns over Heaven and Earth; we know He reigns yesterday and today. This Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe is so appropriately timed for many of us living in the United States. Every four years November suddenly becomes ground zero for political intensity as a president is elected. In the secular landscape, politics is the new religion. And we are not immune to getting sucked right in. But our God is the God of the Universe—of Earth and sky and beyond. He sees the whole plan, He authored the whole plan, and so we can rest in this reality. We are beloved daughters of the King. And He reigns. As the days and weeks roll on past this most recent election, and as we come closer to the beginning of Advent, let’s take the time to assess our allegiances, our hopes, our worries, and our fears. Let’s adjust our gazes, recalibrate our senses, and restore our faith in the only True King—Who is Jesus Christ and Who is ours.

Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said to him, “You are lacking in one thing. Go, sell what you have, and give to the poor and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me." // Mark 10:21 My life is full of stuff. It clutters the rooms just as it clutters my mind. Some I want, some I don’t want. It's not hard to be motivated to fill a Goodwill bag every once in a while. But there are a lot of things I am not as eager to give away. Things like my time, my plans, my expectations, and my schedule. In today’s Gospel our Lord is asking us to look beyond our temporal goods (see Mark 10:17-30). If we have them, we certainly ought to be detached from them, but can we take it even deeper to discover the things we cling to the most? I can think of a hundred moments where I clung to my riches. An eager child longing for time with me as I turn to take time for myself. Ignoring the alarm clock for a few more minutes of sleep instead of the morning Mass I had told myself I would attend. A friend stopping by to talk right as I finally got to the laundry. A seemingly inconvenient phone call. The list goes on and on.  I don’t have much to physically give away. The Goodwill bag, sure. But that’s easy. Much like the rich man, Jesus is asking me for more. Much more. And to let it go. What I have is me. I have time to stop and to listen, eye contact to make, a listening ear and good advice, some laughter and a conversation with my husband, affection with my kids, and flexibility and ease with the people who enter into my life. These are my riches—but ultimately they are the Lord’s—gifted to me for His good purpose.  Lord, help me to give it all away. To walk in a spirit of total self-gift and detachment and to not count the cost, the time, the money, nor the inconveniences or the derailments. This is what I have. Help me, Jesus, to give it away.

“No one who lights a lamp conceals it with a vessel or sets it under a bed; rather, he places it on a lampstand so that those who enter may see the light.” // Luke 8:16 It is no surprise to me that the Gospel for today (see Luke 8:16-18) falls on the feast of my patron—Padre Pio, canonized as Saint Pius of Pietrelcina. It is also no surprise that I was unknowingly assigned this date. He just does things like that.  Once I had lost the little Saint Padre Pio medal I wore around my neck, only to find it face up on the floor of my bedroom weeks later as I was vacuuming. His happy face staring right up at me. And again, having lost the same medal at a friend's house, it was returned days later, clutched in the chubby fist of her toddler. Or the time I reluctantly threw out a piece of mail that was only vaguely associated with him, only to find it had blown out of my trash can overnight (the only thing to have flown out of the trash can) and landed on the ground beside it. I chose him as my patron, but I think—like most good patrons—he chose me too. Even when I lose him, both literally and metaphorically, he always finds me. I imagine all the Saints are doing this for us, reaching out, in all their own ways, to remind us they are here, rooting for us, pushing us, and cheering us on. This is exactly why the Gospel is so significant for today. The Saints are lights that shine—beyond human means, and even beyond earthly realities, they shine. This, too, is our call. To be inflamed by the burning love of Jesus, so much so that our lives become magnetic, drawing all things to Him. Inward and upward, we see how the ripple effect goes on. Even on to me, on the date of my Confirmation in 2006, realizing that Padre Pio was the one calling my name, and the one asking me to call myself the same. I know countless more have followed, and countless more will follow still—drawn into the light and consumed by it. Lord, help us, too, to shine.