August 17, 2026 // Monday of the Twentieth Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 19:16-22 Reflect on the Word //  I stared at the checklist on my phone, mentally calculating what still needed to get done before the day was over. School drop off? Check. Workout? Check. Grocery pick up order? Check. As I scrolled through the list, a thought of awareness surfaced: I've been so busy doing things for God that I haven't actually been with Him today. The rich young man in today's Gospel approaches Jesus with a sincere question: "Teacher, what good deed must I do to have eternal life?" (Matthew 19:16) He wants to know what task remains unfinished, what box is left unchecked, what achievement will finally secure the life he longs for. Jesus' response reveals something deeper. Eternal life is not something we earn through perfect performance. It is received through a relationship with God. The young man's riches are measured by his earthly possessions, not by his love for God. His priorities are disordered. He assumes there is one more thing he can do to attain what only God can give. When Jesus tells him to sell what he has, give to the poor, and follow Him, He requests more than a change in behavior. He invites the man to be sincerely transformed in mind and heart. The tragedy of the story is not that the man had many possessions. It is that he walked away from the One thing he truly needed. I recognize myself in him. I can treat holiness like a project to manage rather than a Person to follow. Yet, Jesus continually invites me to loosen my grip on achievement, control, and self-reliance so that He can reorder my loves and make me new. Eternal life begins not in doing, but in following. The Lord extends the same invitation to us. As we surrender whatever competes for first place in our hearts, He teaches us what true riches are. In following Him, we discover that eternal life is not earned by what we do, but received from the One Who calls us to become His own. Relate to the Lord // Be with Jesus today. When, where, and how will you prioritize prayer today?

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.

June 26, 2026 // Friday of the Twelfth Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 8:1-4 Reflect on the Word //  I stood in front of the mirror, frustrated again. My body felt foreign—sluggish, inflamed, unresponsive. I had tried the plans, followed the routines, done “all the right things,” and still, something wasn’t clicking. That familiar temptation crept in: fix it, control it, push harder. But beneath the noise was a quieter invitation—to come closer, not to a new plan, but to a Person. In that moment, I felt the tension between striving for a solution and surrendering to the One Who sees me fully. I didn’t need another answer. I needed to approach Him. In today’s Gospel, “a leper approached, did him homage, and said, ‘Lord, if you wish, you can make me clean’” (Matthew 8:2). The leper’s suffering is visible, undeniable. Yet what strikes me is not just his need for healing, but his clarity of faith. He knows Who Jesus is. He believes in His power. And so he draws near. Before any physical healing takes place, there is already a deeper restoration unfolding—a turning of the heart toward Christ. The leper’s condition becomes the very place of encounter. His suffering leads him not into isolation, but into relationship. Jesus stretches out His hand. He touches what others would avoid. The miracle that follows reveals something greater than healing alone: the heart of God, who is not distant from our wounds, but moved by them. The healing is real, but it is not the end. It is an invitation into communion. We, too, carry places of brokenness—visible or hidden—that ache for restoration. And yet, these very places can become the doorway to intimacy with Him. When we choose to approach Jesus in trust, we find that He is already reaching toward us, drawing us not only into healing, but into deeper relationship with Him. Relate to the Lord // Share your desire for healing with Jesus vulnerably. Allow Him to respond.

May 28, 2026 // Thursday of the Eighth Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Mark 10:46-52 Reflect on the Word //  The nurse gently wheeled me into the recovery room, and the light blurred as my eyes fluttered open post-surgery. Shapes came before clarity. Sound before sight. Soft, muddled voices floated past as we moved down the hall. The steady beeping of monitors. Doors opening and closing. The quiet rhythm of wheels rolling beneath me. I couldn’t see clearly yet, but I was aware—deeply aware—of my environment, even if I couldn’t fully perceive it. Though my vision lagged behind, I had faith that this was where I needed to be in order to heal. Bartimaeus, though he could not see, knew and believed that he was exactly where he needed to be to receive the healing he had desired for so long. He cries out, “Jesus, son of David, have pity on me” (Mark 10:47). He is silenced, and yet persists. It is his persistence in faith that draws Jesus’ attention as Bartimaeus calls out all the more. Jesus literally stops in His tracks. “What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus asks (Mark 10:51). And Bartimaeus replies without missing a beat, “Lord, let me receive my sight” (Mark 10:51). Bartimaeus, though blind, was familiar with his surroundings. He listened to the crowd. He heard the name of Jesus and saw with his heart. How did he know of Jesus? Had Jesus passed him by before? Had he asked to be healed before? How long had he waited for this moment? Bartimaeus did not wonder if Jesus could heal him— he already knew. It is through Bartimaeus’ direct request that I realized that I often approach Jesus with caution, reluctance, and doubt—is my need worthy of Jesus’ attention? What if He doesn’t come through? How long must I persist? Jesus will not pass you by. He never has and never will. Perhaps we keep trying to make sense of our circumstances with our physical eyes, and He's inviting us—instead—to see with our hearts. We can trust Him with our healing. We can let go of control today and, like Bartimaeus, believe that He will not pass us by. Relate to the Lord // Have you been reluctant to share with God how you feel and what you need? Tell Jesus about it.

March 9, 2026 // Monday of the Third Week of Lent // Optional Memorial of Saint Frances of Rome, religious Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Luke 4:24-30 Reflect on the Word //  With my heart open and a bit tender, I bring before the Lord the places where rejection has left its subtle sting. Not the dramatic moments but the quieter ones. The hesitations. The misunderstandings. The times I felt unseen or dismissed, even when I believed I was standing exactly where He asked me to stand. It is the post on social media and the realization that I was not invited. It is the sharing of a great joy, and feeling unheard and unseen. It is the experience of deep sorrow that has no safe place to land. It is the advice given but not well received. It is the offering of myself and still not feeling like enough. In today’s Gospel, Jesus returns to His hometown of Nazareth, the place where He learned to walk, where He grew up, where neighbors knew His family, His trade, His story. And instead of celebrating Him, instead of receiving Him, they reject Him. They question His authority. They narrow Him to what they think they know. Jesus, steady and unshaken, responds to their dismissal of Him, “No prophet is accepted in his own native place” (Luke 4:24). His words aren’t bitter. They’re not defensive. They’re simply His lived experience. His identity is not rooted in human approval, but in His Father's love for and knowledge of Him. He knows exactly Who He is. He knows Who His Father is. And because of that, even when He is rejected, misunderstood, and overlooked, He does not collapse inward. He does not panic or plead. He simply moves on—humble, anchored, unmovable, held. How often do we brace ourselves against rejection? How often do we shrink back from acting boldly because we are afraid of being misunderstood, afraid of being “too much," and afraid of being unwanted in the very places we expect to belong? Jesus' return to Nazareth stands as an invitation for us all: Rejection is not the end of the story. It is often the opportunity we need to become more deeply rooted in our Father's heart for us. Relate to the Lord // How have you experienced rejection? Open that tender place to the Lord and share your heart with Him.

February 3, 2026 // Optional Memorial of Saint Blaise, Bishop and Martyr; Optional Memorial of Saint Ansgar, Bishop Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Mark 5:21-43 Reflect on the Word // I sat silently and with great intent before the Blessed Sacrament. Within my heart hung prayer request upon prayer request, the majority of which—at present—seemed ignored and dismissed. The dull ache I felt in my chest was a physical reminder of how long these intentions had sat heavily within—still without an obvious response. Tired yet filled with peace, I looked intently at Jesus. The unwavering conviction I felt in my heart tangled with my exhaustion as I adjusted my posture and leaned in, resting my elbows on my knees. I believe that He is Who He says He is, and so I entrusted myself to Him once more. I chose to lean in. In today's Gospel, we see the juxtaposition of God's timing and our preferred timelines. We witness the tension between waiting well in the midst of crisis and challenge, and persevering with faith and inexhaustible hope. Both Jairus, the leader of the synagogue, and the hemorrhaging woman hold great faith in their own ways. Jairus, about to lose his daughter, falls at Jesus' feet and begs him to heal her. How often do I feel I'm in the same position? Begging the Lord to come, to heal, to be close? Jairus' humility reminds me to continue to run to the Lord, in every season and for everything. To ask and request and persevere with expectation. Perhaps begging is a holy endeavor: It is perseverance—an outward sign of the belief I hold within.  Just like the hemorrhaging woman, may we continue to reach for the Lord’s cloak. Though we endure much, may we believe that He can and He will according to His will, and entrust ourselves freely and confidently into His care. May we move toward Him with great faith. Jesus cannot be rushed and He is at work within our hearts as we wait (or learn to wait!). Though at times it feels as if Jesus is delayed, healing happens especially in our waiting, for it presents an opportunity to bolster our belief and align ourselves with His great will. His care for us is always on time. Relate to the Lord // Make a visit to Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament today (or this week). Entrust yourself and your intentions to Him once more.

December 4, 2025 // Optional Memorial of Saint John of Damascus, Priest and Doctor of the Church Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Psalm from the Memorial of Saint John of Damascus: Psalm 19:8, 9, 10, 11 Reflect on the Word //  Words. I am surrounded by words. And whose words they are matters more than I'd ever taken the time to notice. I wake up and groggily meander to our kitchen for my morning cup of coffee. The mug I grab reads "full of grace" and I smile as the Lord’s words greet me. I plop down in my prayer chair, open the daily Readings and His words meet me again in the present moment. I sense my body relax further into my chair as my mind lets go of the to-dos, worries, and distractions. His words really are “more precious than gold” and sweeter than syrup or honey (Psalm 19:11); all of me experiences this truth. Our day begins and we're on the go. A song plays on my playlist, and the lyrics echo within my car. I scroll social media and am surrounded by words. So many words.  I feel the tension in my body, heart, and mind rise from the day’s exposure to so many words. And the words keep coming as my day carries on. Words and more words—the stream is endless. "Your words, Lord, are Spirit and life” (John 6:63). I am reminded to turn to God's Word within my day-to-day, to check in with myself about what I am consuming and from where or whom. Today we celebrate the memorial of Saint John of Damascus, who was an avid proponent of iconography—an art form that serves as a window to heaven, making known the invisible by way of the visible. God calls each of us to be an "icon," to reflect God's Word, Spirit, and life into the world today.  He wants His Word to be our refuge, so that it may guide our words, accompanying us throughout the ebbs and flows of each day, anchoring us in and through all things regardless of what each day brings. He wants His Word to be our Spirit and life today—that we may breathe Him in in order to breathe Him out.  Relate to the Lord // What words from the Lord in the daily Readings will you cherish in your heart today?

November 13, 2025 // Memorial of Saint Frances Xavier Cabrini, Virgin [In the Dioceses of the United States] Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s First Reading: Wisdom 7:22b–8:1 Reflect on the Word //  The pain of the past hits me like a ton of bricks to the heart. I am suddenly brought back to a time and place in which hope felt too hard to hold. As God reveals the hurt once more, my thoughts float from I wish this were different to Will this always feel so raw? to God is already at work on my behalf. I feel much like a ping-pong ball being paddled from one side to the other, and each extreme feels like a heavy weight. It feels confusing and like too much to bear. It is Wisdom that comes to meet me in prayer. She is a gift of the Holy Spirit—to be received and pondered. To sit with and lean into. "In Wisdom is a spirit intelligent, holy, unique, Manifold, subtle, agile, clear, unstained, certain, not baneful, loving the good, keen, unhampered, beneficent, kindly, Firm, secure, tranquil, all-powerful, all-seeing, And pervading all spirits" (Wisdom 7:22-23). Each description of Wisdom leads me to beg God to stir within me a desire to be right here, with Wisdom. To stop looking back and focus, instead, on where my feet are in these very moments. The pain of the past begins to be transformed in my heart into resurrection light. Though my reality and circumstances remain the same, Wisdom comes to help me see with the eyes of the Father—a vantage point that I could not reach without His help. There is no such thing as wasted pain for the believer. God desires to gift us with and lead us from our place of self-reliance to trust in His Wisdom. As pain rises to the surface, He reveals only to heal and never to simply leave us abandoned in that seemingly empty, painful place. Wisdom is "the refulgence of eternal light, the spotless mirror of the power of God, the image of His goodness" (Wisdom 7:26), and you can rest and remain still as the gift of Wisdom comes to soothe you in your pain. He will transform it all. Relate to the Lord // How has the Lord healed and transformed your pain? Thank Him today.

October 22, 2025 // Optional Memorial of Saint John Paul II, Pope Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel from the Readings for the Memorial: John 21:15-17 Reflect on the Word // I sense His gentle invitation: It presents as another opportunity to extend outside the parameters of my self-imposed comfort zone. I feel my insides twist and swirl: it would be far easier to ignore His invitation and carry on as I'd planned. A few moments pass and again that gentle invitation meets my heart, yet this time it is posed as a question: Shalini, do you love Me?  Of course I love You, Lord! What kind of silly question is that?! I think to myself, slightly frustrated with the Lord. And there it was—in that moment—that my heart pivoted: a realization that love begs of us an active, open, and willing response. That day, though, I met Love with a stony heart. I am much like Peter from our Gospel for today’s Feast of Pope Saint John Paul II. I imagine Peter looking at Jesus each time Jesus asked if he loved Him with a bit of confusion, frustration and—as Scripture says—distress. Of course Peter loved Jesus! And Jesus—hearing each of Peter's responses—calls him into action. “Feed my lambs. [. . .]  Tend my sheep. [. . .] Feed my sheep” (John 21:15, 16, 17). Love is a verb. It is an action that springs forth from surrendered joy and trust that Jesus already knows it all. He knows our fears, our doubts, anxieties, the boundaries of our self-imposed comfort zones, the struggles and obstacles. And that does not stop Him from inviting us into action—movement forward, movement outside of ourselves—and closer to Him and who He created us to be. God is not asking you to act from a place of perfect clarity, but from a place of deep trust in Him and great love for Him. Our Saint of today, who was a successor of Peter, and a model of how to love God, reminds us of a deep truth: “Today Christ is asking each of you the same question: do you love Me? He is not asking you whether you know how to speak to crowds, whether you can direct an organization or manage an estate. He is asking you to love Him. All the rest will ensue” (source). Relate to the Lord // How is God inviting you to trust and love Him in action today?  

September 24, 2025 // Wednesday of the Twenty-fifth Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Responsorial Psalm: Tobit 13:2-4, 7-8 Reflect on the Word // There I sat in the driver's seat, as I drove our daughter to school. It was an ordinary Tuesday morning—and yet, the Lord’s gentle voice was as loud as it had ever been. Will you let Me show you your motherhood—as I created it to be? I shuddered at the thought on that Tuesday morning. Motherhood was hard for me. It was a role He chose me for, but I felt so frequently that I didn't fit the part. As His question rested on my heart, I continued to drive. Would I allow Him into this place of identity that felt broken and abandoned? Forgotten and wrecked? I'd spend the next year leaning into His Heart as He showed me the hard places of my heart: the wounds and hurts amidst my motherhood. He did not come to reveal my brokenness for the sake of showing it to me. He came to bring light, healing, and restoration to parts of my heart that had died in the darkness. Going to those places with Him was uncomfortable, raw, and painful. And yet, it was because He accompanied me into those places that I can look back now and see His healing and tender care for me. In today's Responsorial Psalm from Tobit, we are invited to reflect on the seemingly contradictory human experience. The seasons of scourging that lead to mercy. The being cast down only to be brought back up. Our Father does not point to our pain only to sit back, scoff at us, and let us figure it out on our own. Rather, He brings light to those raw yet hardened places of our hearts. He meets us in the depths of our difficulties and promises to turn those depths to heights. He reminds us that it is not our striving that leads to holiness, but His Holy Spirit that lives always within us and transforms us from the inside out. So now we praise Him with full voice—knowing and trusting that He will take and transform all that is cast down into beauty and life. Relate to the Lord // Pause in quiet prayer and listen for God’s voice. What does He want to say to your heart?   

July 31, 2025 // Memorial of Saint Ignatius of Loyola, Priest Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Psalm: Psalm 84:3, 4, 5-6a, and 8a, 11 Reflect on the Word //  This mounting tension never seemed to lift: my mind and heart—consistently cluttered with the noise of the world. With worries and doubts and anxieties. With overwhelm as I tried to keep up with a pace of life that I knew would eventually bury me. I was exhausted, yet chose to ignore the gentle voice that invited me to be still. It was the last straw and the tension finally broke. And in the breaking, I realized in the rubble that I could choose to leave these "courts of noise" at any time. No one held me captive in this space—I was free to enter a different dwelling place. "How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord, mighty God!" (Psalm 84:2) In this silent stillness, I finally see: the Father has been here waiting all along for me. Beckoning my pining soul to come to Him, that He may lead me into the home of His Heart. A dwelling place that offers peace, joy, love, rest, hope, and increased faith. His Heart—this dwelling place—is where my heart and flesh were created to live. Whether literally or figuratively, we often live our lives at a pace that is set not by Him, but by the world. Yet His invitation to each of us stands in every moment: to come! To enter into this sacred dwelling place with Him. To rest—if even for a moment—in order to reorient our lives towards Him. To turn down the noise. To leave behind the false altars and cluttered places. To trust always that it is in our surrender that we can receive with open hands the invitation to dwell with and in Him. On this Memorial of Saint Ignatius of Loyola, may we give ourselves to Him.  Relate to the Lord // Pray today the Suscipe prayer of Saint Ignatius of Loyola: Take, O Lord, and receive my entire liberty, my memory, my understanding and my whole will. All that I am and all that I possess You have given me: I surrender it all to You to be disposed of according to Your will. Give me only Your love and Your grace; with these I will be rich enough, and will desire nothing more.  

June 17, 2025 // Tuesday of the Eleventh Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 5:43-48 Reflect on the Word //  I felt the tender, formerly wounded part of my heart make its appearance for the first time in years. It was the part of my heart that had been deeply hurt by female friendship. A place within myself that for many years, I'd buried deep under the surface. I'd sworn off the intimacy and goodness that female friendship could bring to my life and remained suspicious of friendliness. By God's grace and intentional internal work, I'd come away from those wounds—healed and excited about the friendships that God desired to place in my life. So in this moment, as I stood there in the kitchen of a new acquaintance surrounded by numerous women I had only just met, I felt deeply raw all over again and surprised to be feeling the way I did. Didn't we already work through all of this, Lord? The fears began to rise before friendship even began: Who will betray my friendship in this room? In today's Gospel reading, Jesus encourages us to love everyone He places in our lives without pre-judgment or preconceived notions of who they are or what hurt might come in the future. He is not asking us to be without boundaries in relationships, but reminds us to remain in the grace of the present moment without allowing our former or current woundedness to cloud the way. He tells us, "But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your heavenly Father" (Matthew 5:44-45). Perhaps the scars left behind by former relationships may make an appearance from time to time in our lives. But we need not be afraid of those feelings or close ourselves off from the relationships God has planned for our present and future. He promises continual restoration and healing as we choose to pray for those who've hurt us and for those we've also hurt. He promises to give us the grace we need to perfect our love for the other just as His love remains perfect for us. He will help you. Do not be afraid! Relate to the Lord // How do you need the Lord’s help today? Open your heart to Him.  

April 24, 2025 // Thursday in the Octave of Easter Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Luke 24:35-48  Reflect on the Word // This is nothing short of a miracle, I think to myself. Between another invitation to a baby shower, another birth announcement on social media, and a close friend sharing the same all in one day—I approach Him and am at complete and total peace. I head outside to catch a breath of fresh air and I'm gently reminded that this peace hasn't always been my reality. As I stand in the warmth of the sun, I remember being the overwhelmed recipient of all of the invites. I'd crumble into myself instead of approaching Him. I begged for a miraculous turn of events. I begged for less anger and the grace to surrender. I begged for less sadness and the grace to be at peace. I begged God for years, and the miracle came in time—it wasn't a positive pregnancy test but a profound awareness that He was born in me like He'd never been before. "Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts?" (Luke 24:38) Jesus asks me just as He did the disciples so long ago. I wrestled with disbelief and wonder. With anger and sadness. Until finally, a desire to believe that He is Who He says He is rose within me and then—He opened my mind to understand. Sometimes the miracles we beg God for cloud out and close us off from the beauty and good He intends for us instead. We forget that the miracles we long for and experience are gifts we are given to make the presence of Jesus more fully known in our lives. Miracles are meant to increase our awareness of Emmanuel—God with us. Do the miracles we pray for become an end in and of themselves instead of sign posts that direct us to Him? Sometimes, our miracles come just as we've prayed. And sometimes, it is Jesus Himself that greets us in our requests for the miraculous. He stands among us and says, "Peace be with you" (Luke 34:26). He invites us to come close, to "touch [Him] and see" (Luke 24:39), that the culmination of all that is miraculous is right here beside us, and has always been. Relate to the Lord // Ponder the miracle of Jesus’ personal love for you today.

March 31, 2025 // Monday of the Fourth Week of Lent Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Responsorial Psalm: Psalm 30:2, 4, 5-6, 11-12a, 13b Reflect on the Word // *trigger warning of pregnancy loss* I sat on our bathroom floor wondering how one body could hold so much pain within it—both emotional and physical. It had been a handful of years since we'd experienced our first miscarriage and even more since we'd been able to conceive again. The physical pain of endometriosis and the emotional pain of the season we were in sat heavily within me that afternoon—one of many afternoons on which I'd wondered if He saw me, heard me, or understood me at all. “Hear, O LORD, and have pity on me;     O LORD, be my helper” (Psalm 30:11). I'd prayed and begged ceaselessly for healing. I was at my wit’s end. In that moment, a tiny bit of openness was the result—honestly, out of pure desperation and sheer exhaustion. His response? I felt Him, in my prayer, come to me that day and sit with me there on that bathroom floor and catch each and every tear that left my weeping eyes. It was my personal pain paired with broken-openness to His presence that drew Him all the more near. The Psalmist today praises the Lord for having rescued him (see Psalm 30:2). Sometimes it seems like the Lord is not actively answering any of our prayers, but He is—in fact—doing so in ways we can't articulate for ourselves. I look back and see clearly how God continues to answer my prayers for healing. Not because I no longer struggle with bouts of physical or emotional pain. Not because we've welcomed a sweet new life into our family. Not because my prayer requests are granted exactly as I want. But because He—in my struggle—embraces my weakest parts. My deepest hopes. My tight-gripped dreams. And invites me to exchange my will for His Own. The Lord turns “mourning into dancing” (Psalm 30:12). He brings us “up from the nether world” (Psalm 30:4) of our crushed dreams and the depths of our pain. With each new day dawning, He takes our pain and transforms it into a deeper knowledge of His grand plan for us and it is this: eternity. Relate to the Lord // How has He turned your mourning into dancing? What mourning would you like Him to turn into dancing?  

February 18, 2025 // Tuesday of the Sixth Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Mark 8:14-21 Reflect on the Word //  The pile of brown moving boxes stashed in the far corner of our room greet my gaze; they are filled to the brim with books we have yet to unpack. These boxes have undoubtedly begun to blend into this space—as each day passes, they become increasingly easy to forget, neglect, and ignore.  More often than I care to admit, these boxes are a lot like the miracles the Lord has worked in my own life—both big and small. In the busyness of my day, I am quick to forget, neglect, and ignore the ways in which He has miraculously multiplied my meager offerings: my patience, my trust, my surrender, my gratitude . . .  I am like the disciples in today’s Gospel, whom Jesus asks, “Do you have eyes and not see, ears and not hear? And do you not remember when I broke the five loaves for the five thousand?” (Mark 8:18-19) How often do we long to see and hear Him, but shirk the invitation to sit at His feet? I approach a box that sits on top of three others. I open it and there lies a prayer journal from the early years of my relationship with the Lord. I flip it open and read: “It is in the ordinary that I come to you. It is in the day-to-day that I desire to be near you. It is here, right here, in this space that My Spirit attends to your own! Do you have eyes and not see? Ears and not hear?”  The Lord is continually speaking to us all the message of today’s Gospel. With gentleness, patience, and delight, He has led us to where we are now. He has never not seen or heard us. He sees and hears all of each of us. And He asks us to remember what He has done for us, to see Him in the day-to-day miracles of life, to hear His voice in all we do.  He was with us—at the very beginning when He first drew us to Him—and is with us now. Right here—wherever we are—is where He wants to be. Relate to the Lord // Ask Jesus to open your eyes and ears to His presence today. Where do you see and hear Him in your daily life?

January 28, 2025 //Memorial of Saint Thomas Aquinas, Priest and Doctor of the Church Read the Word // Open your Bible to the First Reading for today’s Memorial: Wisdom 7:7-10, 15-16  Reflect on the Word//  As a trainer and nutritional therapy practitioner, it’s my job to help women grow in health. I spend time walking with each woman as she grows in knowledge of the ways to best support her body, her mind, her soul, her health. It’s been much of my own journey that’s inspired my approach: I spent years simply longing to transform my exterior on my own, rather than hand my health to Him and invite Him to transform all of me from the inside out. I go to Him in honest prayer. I am tired and have spent so much time trying to figure out “the best way” to be healthy. I am confused—which direction might I go next? And it is here, in my wandering and wondering, that You approach. You stop in front of me and it is only—finally—in the moment Your gaze meets my own that I am at peace. In Your presence, all things become incredibly clear: even in this—a desire for greater health—You want to lead the way. To remind me that there is so much more to health than the numbers on a scale. That yes, both our bodies and our souls are worth tending to. "For He is the guide of Wisdom and the director of the wise" (Wisdom 7:14).  God desires to free us from a disordered  "love [of] health and comeliness" that eventually leads to exhaustion, confusion, wondering, and wandering. Yet, when we seek Him and His Wisdom first—seeking happiness with Him above all else—we no longer have to wonder which way to go. As I fall into Your arms, overcome with gratitude, clarity, and peace, I desire never to let go. As if You hear my thought, You lean just far enough away to whisper these words into my ear: I will see you in the Eucharist—where My Body meets your own. He sees you in the Blessed Sacrament, and deeply wants to accompany you in your health journey, to fill you with His Wisdom to know what is most important. He will help you order your steps forward—that you may experience new life from the inside out. Relate to the Lord // As we celebrate the Memorial of Saint Thomas Aquinas, who loved Wisdom with his whole life, pray with his hymn to the Eucharist.

“He called ten of his servants and gave them ten gold coins and told them, ‘Engage in trade with these until I return.’” // Luke 19:13 I sat in the back corner of my law school classroom filled with anxiety and fear once again. I could hear my heart in my ears—pounding loudly within my chest as I slumped in my chair, trying diligently not to be noticed.  Those three years of my life were some of the most excruciatingly challenging for me. I looked around at my classmates who seemed to enjoy all things law school and wondered what was wrong with me. How could I be in the midst of such an incredible learning opportunity and despise every second of it? I hated myself in many ways—for not being smart enough, quick enough, witty enough, studious enough, good enough . . . I believed the lie that I had nothing to offer and never would, and so I hid. I shrank into a shell of myself and I stayed there. In today’s Gospel, we read the parable of the nobleman and his servants (see Luke 19:11-28). The nobleman entrusts each servant with one gold coin and commands each to “engage in trade” until he returns. The first and second servants earn additional coins, but the third—we learn—stores away all he was given instead of stepping out into the world as he was instructed to do. He received what was entrusted to him yet stayed stuck. He didn't believe that he could offer anything more, so he buried what he'd been given. He chose what felt safe over true faith. He bought the lie instead of the belief for which he was made. Over time, I've come to understand that the "coins" that God entrusts to each of us are invitations to faith. Faith that He has gifted you and me with all we need. Faith that He can transform our fears and disbelief into hope and steadfast courage. Faith that He sees us in our circumstances and wants us to believe that we are enough just as we are, right now, already. And that belief, He'll take and multiply along with our faith in Him. And together—with faith in God and belief in His good gifts—we will bear lasting fruit in the world.