Jesus said to him in reply, “What do you want Me to do for you?” // Mark 10:51 With my phone pressed up against my ear, I listened despondently as the doctor shared the results of my most recent procedure. Silently, I ticked off the litany of tests I had undergone since my car accident six months prior. Although I was praying for a shred of insight as to why I had blacked out at the wheel, I wasn’t surprised that this last-ditch effort to unblur the answers confirmed nothing.    By an outpouring of grace, I offered up the severe fatigue that continued to deplete my strength and disrupt my daily life. The constancy of the cross had clouded my view of Christ as Healer until these words from my spiritual director changed everything: “Cathy, Christ knows you will accept any cross He sends you. But will you accept healing? There’s nothing unsaintly about asking Him to make it better. Maybe this time, He’s guiding you to ask.”   Father’s insight echoes the story of the blind man in today’s Gospel. Jesus doesn’t just barge onto the scene and make everything better on the spot. Before working a miracle, Jesus asks Bartimaeus what he wants. And then—and I love this—Bartimaeus doesn’t water down what he wants. In courage and desperation, he casts off his cloak and reveals his deepest longing: “Master, I want to see” (Mark 10:51). And in that moment, daring love births immediate redemption.   Dear sister, what “cloaks” are shrouding the craters of your heart that need healing? What obstacles are hindering you from telling God what you want from Him? Perhaps it’s an addiction you can’t shake, a disbelief in your own worth, or a fear of being vulnerable. Whether you are burdened by physical illness or debilitating heartache, He wants to heal all. The One Who plumbs the depths and penetrates the heart (see Sirach 42:18) already knows our deepest desires, but intimacy flows when we name our unmet needs in His presence.   In prayer today, cry out His Name, and when He says, “What do you want Me to do for you?” be honest. And boldly believe that He will do it.

Jesus said to him in reply, “What do you want Me to do for you?” // Mark 10:51 With my phone pressed up against my ear, I listened despondently as the doctor shared the results of my most recent procedure. Silently, I ticked off the litany of tests I had undergone since my car accident six months prior. Although I was praying for a shred of insight as to why I had blacked out at the wheel, I wasn’t surprised that this last-ditch effort to unblur the answers confirmed nothing. By an outpouring of grace, I offered up the severe fatigue that continued to deplete my strength and disrupt my daily life. The constancy of the cross had clouded my view of Christ as Healer until these words from my spiritual director changed everything: “Cathy, Christ knows you will accept any cross He sends you. But will you accept healing? There’s nothing unsaintly about asking Him to make it better. Maybe this time, He’s guiding you to ask.” Father’s insight echoes the story of the blind man in today’s Gospel. Jesus doesn’t just barge onto the scene and make everything better on the spot. Before working a miracle, Jesus asks Bartimaeus what he wants. And then—and I love this—Bartimaeus doesn’t water down what he wants. In courage and desperation, he casts off his cloak and reveals his deepest longing: “Master, I want to see” (Mark 10:51). And in that moment, daring love births immediate redemption. Dear sister, what “cloaks” are shrouding the craters of your heart that need healing? What obstacles are hindering you from telling God what you want from Him? Perhaps it’s an addiction you can’t shake, a disbelief in your own worth, or a fear of being vulnerable. Whether you are burdened by physical illness or debilitating heartache, He wants to heal all. The One Who plumbs the depths and penetrates the heart (see Sirach 42:18) already knows our deepest desires, but intimacy flows when we name our unmet needs in His presence. In prayer today, cry out His Name, and when He says, “What do you want Me to do for you?” be honest. And boldly believe that He will do it.

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord; my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on his lowly servant. // Luke 1:47-48 When I ponder the Visitation from today’s Gospel, I usually think about how beautiful it is that Mary sought out her older, wiser female relative. How joyous was their meeting as Saint John the Baptist leapt within Elizabeth’s womb! These two women could share with each other the experience of God directly touching their lives and the lives of their unborn children in a special way. But the other side of the story I don’t think about often is the fact that Mary probably was trying to get away for a while. And not to simply chill out and relax, or help Elizabeth with her nesting. Mary might have felt in danger from her community and culture. What could happen to her as a betrothed woman made pregnant by someone beside her betrothed would be a frightening thought as they would have seen her as having committed adultery. Since we do not know from the Gospels in which month Saint Joseph was made aware of her pregnancy, she may have felt the need for the safety and refuge of her relative’s home. The fear though would not have been eliminated. Mary’s fiat at the Annunciation is a model for the spiritual life. It is a perfect response of God’s love to us: a free and wholehearted cooperation with His will. So, too, does Mary’s magnificat: her practice of joy and praise of God in the midst of fear and uncertainty give us practical spiritual advice. There are always areas in our lives that are uncertain, where we may even fear particular outcomes. It feels contrary to our instincts to respond to fear and uncertainty with rejoicing and praise to God. But Mary’s example shows us that faith grows not by letting fear overtake our prayer; through praising God, our faith will be increased. Mary let joy grow amidst fear, and not a joy that comes from shallow comfort, but a joy that comes from knowing that the love of God will change your life. Pray with the Magnificat today for your own life and any particular struggles.

Peter began to say to him, “We have given up everything and followed you.” // Mark 10:28 Sitting in a dimly lit room, only two little candles illuminated the little monstrance holding Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. With praise and worship being sung in the back of the room, the dark room held the voices of young adults singing of the Lord’s goodness. With my journal and favorite pen in hand, I was also singing, but experienced a shift in my heart. I couldn’t help but stare at the blue wall off to the side with open curtains leaving way for the night’s moon to shine. Even as I sang beautiful songs of praise to Jesus, that shift opened me up to the realization that, like the disciples, I doubted the Lord’s rewards for me, His view of me, even as I was singing His praises. I doubted His ability to bring truth, beauty, and goodness into the garden of my heart as I walked in what seemed like a desert. I doubted that He was a good Father Who gives good gifts to His beloveds. I doubted my daughterhood in light of His Fatherhood. Isn’t that how we approach prayer at times? We like to sing these songs or pray certain prayers to fit in with the crowd or because they are second-nature or simply out of habit. Yet, in the crevices of our hearts, we still doubt the Lord’s goodness in our own life. Allow Him to soften those areas of doubt in your heart. Let Him convict you of truth that He is a Good Father Who desires nothing but truth, goodness, and beauty for your life. Allow God the Father to father you and show you what true daughterhood looks like, allow God the Son to show you how to live out your daughterhood, and allow God the Holy Spirit to give you the grace to be able to live as His daughter with the tender guide of Our Lady. Ask the Lord to give you the faith to give up everything.

“Have you eaten from the tree of which I had forbidden you to eat?” // Genesis 3:11 “But whyyyyyyy do I have to wear white socks? Why can’t I wear pink socks?” My headstrong little girl was standing in front of me wearing the wrong socks. “Those are the rules, bud. Come on, let’s change . . . .” “Well, who made those rules?” I didn’t want to answer her questions. I just wanted her to change her socks so we could leave for school. But she was curious. And, even in her combativeness, she seemed to want to understand. “The uniform rules were made by the principal, who runs our school. And, white socks look neat and tidy with your jumper and shirt. Trust me. You want to wear the white socks.” I wish I could say she was satisfied with my answer. But, she was not. Instead, she grumbled as she put them on, moped about it the whole way to school, and told me she planned to ask the principal about why she couldn’t wear pink socks if she wanted. At the risk of sounding a little harsh, the only thing I could think as we battled over socks was, “Them’s the breaks, kid.” Sometimes, it just doesn’t seem to make sense. Even when we ask, even when we think we have a better way, and especially when someone else is in charge. Why couldn't Adam and Eve eat from that one tree in the Garden? God must have had His reasons. We seem to exist in a perpetual state of “wanting to know why,” usually because we want to be in control. Our curiosity is certainly something that can guide and lead us to Truth. But when our curiosity leads to questioning God’s commands and His will, it can lead us to a place of doubting His goodness and providence in our lives. It’s not so much that we aren’t meant to wonder or to seek. It’s that in our wondering, wandering, and seeking, we come to see that God’s commands and will for us, sometimes mysterious and beyond our comprehension, as a profoundly good gift, a unique and graced opportunity, and ultimately, what is best for us. What are you struggling with today? Take it to Jesus in prayer.

The Spirit enabled them to proclaim. // Acts 2:4 My prayer group meets every two weeks. Just seven of us, we meet faithfully over video conference to discuss our prayer and to share intentions. We are currently working through an Ignatian workbook. It’s taking us about one year to complete this work, and then we’ll move on to the next. I don’t know what I’d do without these women. It’s not just that they help keep me accountable to my prayer, and it’s not only the fact that I know they are praying for me and for all the women I minister to through my retreats and speaking. It’s not even the fact that I learn so much from them as they share about their prayer lives. It’s that every time we meet, it’s like a mini-Pentecost. We gather in our own virtual Upper Room and wait for the Holy Spirit to descend upon us. We are “all in one place together,” (Acts 2:1) and something about our gathering in anticipation of the Holy Spirit brings Him about. He comes because we gather and wait for Him together, trusting in His ability to bless us, to “enable us to proclaim” His good works—first to one another and then to the world around us. I know it can be a challenge to find a good small group. But I’d encourage you, if you can’t find one, start one. I started this group myself, just reached out to prayerful women I knew and admired and suggested we start meeting regularly. Those who said yes, said yes, and we’ve been together ever since. I’ve heard the Apostles referred to as the Church’s first small group ministry. There’s a reason Jesus encourages us to seek Him in community. Powerful graces are unleashed when we link arms and seek the Lord together. We were created for community, as surely as the Trinity is a community, Three Persons in One. Are you struggling to find community? Are there two women you might invite to meet regularly, even for something as simple as a monthly Rosary? There’s no shame in humble beginnings.

He received all who came to him, and with complete assurance and without hindrance he proclaimed the Kingdom of God and taught about the Lord Jesus. // Acts 28:31 Make it stop, Lord, I prayed. A pang of annoyance and guilt shot through me as I read yet another direct message on my phone screen. Would you be willing to chat with me sometime about your vocation?   I had started my Instagram account two years earlier in order to share my vocational story and raise awareness about consecrated virginity. As my following increased, so did the women who wanted to learn more about this ancient and little-known calling. Passionate about embracing my spiritual motherhood, it was a privilege to help unpack what the Lord was doing in their hearts and pray for them as they walked their own paths of discernment. But now, newly consecrated, I craved space to savor this sacred dance of espousal with Jesus. And yet the requests kept coming, and the overwhelm on my heart—not to mention the grating on my conscience—was real. Make it stop, Lord.    My cry for help quickly turned into kind correction as Christ gently revealed that although my heart was open and spacious to receive Him, it was chained off to those who were seeking Him. OOF.  The First Reading from Acts today is a convicting reminder that we are called to proclaim the Kingdom of God always, being careful not to become so shackled by our own circumstances that it causes us to turn others away. As Saint Paul’s example shows, the presence of God breaks through every time our hearts are poised to receive someone else in His Name, whether that’s an aggravating in-law or a stranger on the internet. While daily Zoom dates are impractical, I can offer each and every person a Pauline-esque reception by making them feel seen. A quicker response. An encouraging word. A promised prayer. Sister, it doesn’t take much to show the world that Love, the Hope of Israel, has found us. A few days after receiving that message, I opened it again, and with total sincerity in my heart, I wrote back, Hi, friend! I’m so glad you reached out . . . .   How can you receive someone well in love for Christ today?

After Jesus had revealed himself to his disciples and eaten breakfast with them, he said to Simon Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” // John 21:15 We had all just finished dinner, and I was talking afterwards with a Sister of Life. As we were talking, one of Saint Elizabeth of the Trinity’s letters came up where she mentions Saint Peter in today’s Gospel passage, excerpted today for you below: He tells you: “Let yourself be loved more than these! That is, without fearing that any obstacle will be a hindrance to it, for I am free to pour out My love on whom I wish! ‘Let yourself be loved more than these’ is your vocation. It is in being faithful to it that you will make Me happy for you will magnify the power of My love. This love can rebuild what you have destroyed. Let yourself be loved more than these.” (St. Elizabeth of the Trinity, The Complete Works, Volume 1, page 179). Jesus encountered Simon again because He loved him. The Risen Lord desired to redeem his threefold betrayal during His Passion with this threefold conversion merited by His Death and Resurrection. On that seashore, He reminded Simon, Son of John, of his identity as Peter. In His Presence, Simon Peter was loved by the Love that knows no end. Christ Our Savior, remind each of us of our identity like You reminded Simon of his as Peter. Save us from the idols and distractions that take our hearts’ gaze away from You. Give us the grace to let Your love permeate our lives so that we may find rest in Your invitation and joy in Your mission to us: “Follow Me” (John 21:19).

“Father, they are your gift to me.” // John 17:24 I decided to run a marathon one day in October. It had been on my bucket list after finishing my first half-marathon in college, and running had been my passion since my teen cross-country days. This race felt much different, though. I was making a decision at that point in my life to fight for my joy, and this race was going to push me through the tempting swamps of despair. When I woke up that morning to run twenty-six miles in the desert of Arizona, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for my life and the joy my Heavenly Father has for me. I started to imagine God watching me run this race on a big screen television in Heaven with all the angels and my favorite Saints. I imagined Him turning towards them, His eyes still on me, saying: “Look at my daughter! There she is!” with the overflowing pride of a Father. With a deep sense of my belovedness and worth, I ran that race as if I was truly flying. Sure, mile twenty was daunting and blazing hot by 10 a.m. on the asphalt streets of Phoenix, but I still felt like laughing and smiling every step of the way, with no thoughts of stopping. I could see Jesus smiling as He looked at me. His gaze felt like supernatural strength. In today’s Gospel, we hear that Jesus uttered a prayer to Heaven right before He went out and laid down on His deathbed under a full moon in a garden. The most raw outpouring of His heart spilled over for every child in the world to hear. In reality, you don’t have to run a marathon or have a triumphant moment to make Jesus overwhelmed with love and joy for you. He smiles big and wide at the very sight of you. “Father, she is your gift to me . . .” (see John 17:24). Sit with Jesus and listen to Him speak these words. You, dear one, are a precious gift to Him.

“Consecrate them in the truth. Your word is truth.” // John 17:17 I closed the classroom door and collapsed in tears at the table beside my desk, hiding my humiliation in hands smeared with dry-erase ink. In the year between earning my master’s degree in English and returning to school for my PhD, I felt called to teach fourth grade at a Catholic school. I had precisely zero background in elementary education but was willing to overlook that minor detail for the sake of forming disciples, and I trusted the credentialing process I’d undergo on the job to teach me everything I needed to know. What was that thing I’d heard about how God equips the called? Still, the learning curve was so steep that most days it felt like I was staring up at a jagged cliffside. I worked long days on campus and ended most nights in tears on my couch, and then one afternoon, a tough meeting left me feeling particularly vulnerable to accusations from the enemy: What a joke. You’re such a failure. You can’t do this. I went home that night and filled a playlist with music that sang of God’s goodness and of His love for me. I called it “TRUTH.”—its capital letters and period a declaration of war, a battle cry, a reminder of who and Whose I was. Over time, as I added to it and sang along in my apartment, my car, and my classroom before school started each day—and as it slowly became the soundtrack to a host of other bad days—I started to learn what it means to consecrate myself in God’s truth. The refrains of its songs became those of my own heart as I let Him tell me Who He is, and who I am as His beloved. Sister, we are not the lies the evil one whispers to us when we’re down and out. We are the Lord’s, Who loves and delights in us. We belong to Him. That is the truth. Wrap yourself up in that knowledge today; consecrate yourself in it.

“I glorified you on earth by accomplishing the work that you gave me to do.” // John 17:4 I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. If I had not been so physically and emotionally exhausted, I would have laughed because this scene was straight out of a sitcom. My preschooler was crying hysterically, the baby in my arms just had an explosive diaper that leaked on me, and topping it off, the sick toddler on my lap then threw up on me. As I dragged my children to the bathtub, I glanced over at the computer where I was supposed to be writing a post about building the Kingdom of God. Covered in bodily fluids, I felt defeated and mused, So is this my life now? Gently, God spoke to my heart and answered, For now, yes. Fast forward a decade or so, and now I’m juggling life with preteens and teenagers in between caring for my aging mother-in-law and running the household. There are moments when I’m exhausted and muse, So is this my life now? Gently, God speaks to my heart and answers, For now, yes. There were times in my life when I was active in outward ministry. It was tangible. I could see the fruit of my labor. However, many seasons are filled with commonplace, unglamorous work, whether it's caring for babies and elderly parents, or keeping the peace at school or work. In those seemingly tedious tasks, God forms our hearts. He weeds out our pride and challenges us to live in charity and generosity. In turn, we can serve Jesus through the people in our lives. What tedious or thankless job must you do in your life? The next time you do it, offer it to God. Pray for the people you are serving. God is pleased when we give Him all the little things and do them with love to bring Him greater glory. What can you offer to God today so that you too can say, “I glorified you on earth by accomplishing the work that you gave me to do” (John 17:4)?

“But I am not alone, because the Father is with me.” // John 16:32 These words of Jesus have become an anchor for my life. As a single woman, I spend a lot of time alone in solitude and silence. My life might appear lonely and unattractive in the eyes of the world, but I do not feel alone. I know that the Holy Trinity dwells within me and is calling me right now to a contemplative life. It is a unique vocation that is surprisingly joyful. I truly love my life. I do not think that my freshman-year-in-college self would have believed that my future self could be happily living alone in an artist loft after six years of community life in a convent. I do not think that she could imagine the freedom I experience in being attentive to the Holy Spirit and radically available to be poured out in love to the needs that arise in my family, friends, and parish. I also think that she would be surprised to see how the solitude that God is calling me is a place of deep union with Him and a school of profound dependence on His Providence. It has taken me several years to come to this place of peace in the Father’s will. My life has zigzagged all over the place. I have struggled through many troubles, fears, and lies. There have been some very dark moments of discouragement and confusion. But even in the midst of this darkness, Jesus was my light. I knew His presence, especially in the Sacraments. I experienced His faithfulness. Christ was gentle and patient as I learned to trust the Father more and more. I still have a lot to learn, but it is so helpful to be reminded of Jesus’ words: “I am not alone, because the Father is with me.” Do you know this truth today?

"Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations . . . I am with you always, until the end of the age." // Matthew 28:19, 20 He walked up towards the altar in his freshly ironed suit, bowed his head, and made his way to the ambo. He carefully positioned the step stool so he could reach the microphone and began reading the First Reading for his First Holy Communion Mass. This was his first time doing something like this. This same little boy was chosen to be Baby Jesus at six months of age for the Midnight Mass even though I had originally declined the priest’s request because he was such a colicky baby. I couldn’t imagine losing another sleepless night, but the Catholic guilt set in, and we agreed. This is also the church where he was baptized. This same church is where I begged Jesus to heal our son from the strabismus he had been diagnosed with at two years of age. Same church, same kid, just a little bigger. As I witnessed our son reading at his First Holy Communion Mass, my role as mother shifted to student. The congregation faded, and it was just me listening to God's word through my son. In today’s Gospel, we read, “"Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations . . . I am with you always, until the end of the age" (Matthew 28:19, 20). The call to make disciples of all nations may seem insurmountable, however, when we consider that we have been baptized by the Holy Spirit, we can be confident that we have what it takes. It's not just me teaching my kids now. It’s my children witnessing to me what it means to have faith and offer it back. Their witness is simpler. It’s filled with head knowledge, but they lead with their hearts too. They know Him and don’t have to be filled with the intelligence of Aquinas to teach the nations. We all share the baptismal call to evangelize, regardless of our age, education level, or experiences. On this Feast of the Ascension, how are you called to be a light to the nations? Does your head knowledge get in the way of allowing your heart to lead? Sister, today I am praying with you to ask the Holy Spirit to give us the grace to instruct one another with the heart of a child.

“Ask and you will receive, so that your joy may be complete.” // John 16:24b I remember walking out of the movie theater as a freshly turned sixteen year old and feeling a sense of wonder and awe that I hadn’t before. I had just watched the movie La La Land for the first time and left with a newfound excitement in my heart. That night, I stayed up in my icicle-lit room with lime green walls until the wee hours of the morning to write my first poem. That scribbled together poem wasn’t anything magical or awe-inspiring. But I remember the happiness that took root in me through having an opportunity to create something beautiful through words. Jump forward a few years, I am still writing poetry sporadically. The biggest change between now and then is that I have discovered the radical importance of prayer in my life. I was recently sitting down to pray and felt the Lord speak in my heart: I talk to the angels about you. Through these words, I found myself being drawn into the Lord’s love and filled with a joy like none other. Those words were more beautiful than any poem I could write. In that moment, I was brought back to the reality that the Lord is madly in love with me and finds my life beautiful—a fact I easily and often forget. I didn’t sense that He talks to the angels about what I’ve done or what I will do. Simply about me. For every moment that I spent jotting together a few words that I thought sounded nice together, the Lord was desiring to remind me of His profoundly intimate love. Sister, the Lord is desiring to fill you with good things and give you fullness of joy. He desires it despite the fact that we do not deserve His goodness and love and turn away from Him every day. Even so He is always waiting for you to ask. What will you ask Him for and open yourself up to receive from Him today?

"When a woman is in labor, she is in anguish because her hour has arrived; but when she has given birth to a child, she no longer remembers the pain because of her joy that a child has been born into the world." // John 16:21 I think perhaps this Gospel passage doesn’t apply to all mothers. Some certainly do seem to remember the pain of labor quite well, despite their joy of a child. But it does apply to me. I’ve given birth ten times without medications or interventions. I remember that I experienced pain, but I genuinely don’t remember the pain itself. My most distinct memory from my first labor was lying there, thinking, I can do this, I will get through this. But I will NEVER do this again. Of course, in high school, I mentally quit the cross-country team in the middle of every race, but always stuck it out in the end. So I’m really not to be trusted on that sort of thing. As soon as Jack was born, any memory of the pain itself dissipated in the experience of the joy of that squishy little baby, and I definitely wanted to do it again. Jesus’ words to His disciples in today’s Gospel reading make me think about a lovely little children’s book we have called Angel in the Waters. In the book, an unborn baby’s guardian angel assures him that, despite the fear and uncertainty he might feel about the birth process, and his attachment to where he is now, in the womb, he will certainly be glad to have been born. He will be able to experience the world and “mother” in a new and better way. The angel tells the baby that, later, the angel will be with him again, as he makes another journey to another world that will be better again. Reading this little picture book forever changed the way I think about death. It gives me comfort and hope. This world and the people and places in it are wonderful. But as a Christian, I cannot fear death. I know that the world to come will be so much better, in ways I cannot now imagine. God willing, I will see Jesus, and my heart will rejoice. Are you facing something or in the middle of a hardship you want to be done with or quit? It will pass eventually, but call upon Jesus to help strengthen you today.

He went to visit them and, because he practiced the same trade, stayed with them and worked. // Acts 18:2-3 Piles of laundry, stacks of moving boxes to unpack, dinner to prepare, a spiritual life to nourish, children to raise to adulthood . . . part of me wistfully wanted the power to snap my fingers and get from here—the messy state of my life—to there—the “good part” where all things are accomplished—in an instant. Ordinary life can be so ordinary. Skipping the mundane and the challenges sounds appealing. I daydream about accomplishing grand things or having life-changing conversations . . . only to be snapped back to reality by a cry of, “Mom, I need more toilet paper!” coming from the bathroom. I sigh, bring toilet paper to the child in need, and grumble, “Why doesn’t anyone replace the toilet paper?!” Many of the small things in my life as a wife and mother seem insignificant, but every moment matters and every day weaves into God’s plan for my life. It turns out that the work of the present moment is necessary, even good and holy, when offered to the Lord in prayer. I have to believe that Saint Paul figured out this secret about the holy ordinary while he was in Corinth. Before he spent time preaching, traveling, and exchanging letters with growing Christian communities, Saint Paul spent time making tents. That time spent working side-by-side with Aquila and Priscilla made history. Perhaps his tent-making time is not as memorable as being knocked to the ground by Jesus or as inspirational as the quotable lines in his letters. Yet the writer of Acts found it significant enough to include in the story. Perhaps Saint Paul anticipated the many discussions with non-believers he would have. And maybe he felt impatient at times, waiting on the fulfillment of the Lord’s will. If he did, he didn’t let those feelings get in the way of the present moment. Today I’m looking at my duties with inspiration from Saint Paul. Pray with me today for our hearts and minds to be more fully present to the people and duties God places before us. No effort is insignificant in His eyes.

He made from one the whole human race to dwell on the entire surface of the earth, and he fixed the ordered seasons and the boundaries of their regions, so that people might seek God, even perhaps grope for him and find him, though indeed he is not far from any one of us. // Acts 17:26-27 I buried my toes in the sand, a light breeze ruffling my hair. I was sharing a picnic dinner on the beach with friends, a group of people brought together by tragedy—all of us grieving the loss of our spouses early in life and facing the formidable challenge of raising small children alone. I had joined this group for camaraderie and commiseration, but I quickly learned that I was the only one among us who hoped in Christ. I ached for the people around me, all of whom expressed despair, confusion, and deep pain. One woman asked, in raw honesty, how we found the motivation to get out of bed each morning. Feeling a gentle nudge from the Holy Spirit, I ventured to answer: “Jesus.” Looking around at the clouds, rosy-peach in the fading sun, reflected in a million sparkles on the waves of Lake Michigan, I wondered: How do people who don’t believe in God explain all the perfect, intricate designs in nature? The particular ways in which things work together, even at the smallest level? I watched my children playing along the shore, each one a unique miracle woven together with infinite potential. Who could deny the presence of a Creator so clearly reflected in each of their faces? How do people make sense of pain and loss without the love of a Savior Who lost everything to make us His? Join me in prayer today, sister, for all those in our lives who are seeking God, but have not yet found Him. Live your life in a way that invites people to see God’s beauty. When you see it, delight in it, raise your voice in praise, point it out to others. Pray that their hearts will be softened, that one day the scales will fall from their eyes and they will see, finally, what was there all along. “I tell you, in just the same way there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous people who have no need of repentance” (Luke 15:7).