January 20, 2025 // Optional Memorial of Saint Fabian, Pope and Martyr; Optional Memorial of Saint Sebastian, Martyr Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Mark 2:18-22 Reflect on the Word//  Fairly set in my ways, I knew shifting to a new morning routine wouldn’t necessarily be easy. But I was willing to try. After all, a baby needs an adaptable mom. It became clear my morning routine of slow sips of coffee and a leisurely wake up wasn’t viable anymore. There was now a new baby, with lots of needs, first thing in the morning. She was new, and in some ways, so was I. And my old ways couldn’t fit into the newness of it all. I needed to make some room in my routines, or even build new ones all together, and not just try to squeeze old things into this new life as a new mom.  The usual ways, the familiar routines, the old wine is comfortable and what we’re used to, so making those changes isn’t always easy. New wine may taste different. New routines might require new methods. And why do something new when old is usual and expected, familiar and practiced? But the new wine and the old wineskins aren’t compatible, for the fermentation process would burst the old leather. The old wineskins are already stretched to their limit. They’ve held wine before, so the new wine, freshly fermented, would burst the seams because of the expanding gasses in this new wine. The new demands of wholehearted faith, and the new invitations to be with Jesus, require a flexibility and openness to what more the Lord has to offer.  When Jesus reminded His listeners (who surely knew already) that the new wine can’t go into the old wineskins (see Mark 2:22), it wasn’t because He was being legalistic or meticulous about a beverage. He was challenging us to consider that we might need to embrace Him in new ways, not just trying to shove Jesus into old routines or rhythms in our life. He calls each of us to continually open our hearts to receive something new from Him. Jesus isn’t an afterthought to be in the leftover parts of our heart. Jesus is the new wine, the Bridegroom, for Whom space must be made, and newness in our own life embraced. He wants to make our hearts new every single day. Relate to the Lord // What “old ways” do you need to let go of to make room for Jesus? 

“When a strong man fully armed guards his palace, his possessions are safe.” // Luke 11:21  Despite the fact that I was riding the “mountaintop high” following a great youth conference, I couldn’t help but feel discouraged as the gate agent announced yet another flight delay. The priest I was traveling with would likely miss his connecting flight. I wanted to get home. We both felt defeated, as if the good work we’d just done was negated because we were stuck in a Canadian airport for who knew how long. Spiritual attack seems most real when you’ve done God’s work and then can’t get home after. “Let’s pray,” Father said, and he asked the Lord to “provide a hedge of protection around us.” I sort of rolled my eyes in the airport. Prayer is great, but Jesus’ “hedge of protection” wasn’t going to get me on a flight. But it did unify me to the Lord in the moment. Eventually, we did fly out of Halifax. Father made his connection. I got in my car, ready to drive two hours home from the airport. Ninety minutes later, as rain poured, I hit a pothole and popped a tire. When I was conveniently able to pull right off the interstate into the parking lot of a Holiday Inn, I felt Jesus’ “hedge of protection.”  Jesus tells us in today’s Gospel (see Luke 11:15-26) to fully arm ourselves to be protected against the attacks sure to come. However those attacks may manifest, and whenever the evil one tries to separate us from the Lord, the simplest of prayers can unite us to the Lord. When united to Jesus, nothing can stand against us. He helps us see spiritual attacks for what they are: the silly attempts of a desperate devil trying to distract us from the love of the Lord.  How can you unite yourself to the Lord today? Ask for a hedge of protection, and to be armed with His love, so that we can stand in the glory of the Lord while the chaos of our world swirls around us. Stand united in the house of the Lord, and nothing will stand against us. 

“And so I say to you, you are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it.” // Matthew 16:18 His hands were soft, and he was wearing an ivory colored sweatshirt with frayed cuffs under his white cassock. There I stood, staring into the eyes of Pope Francis, holding his warm, wrinkled hand. And as my heart beat rapidly and I stumbled over my greeting, handing him a pair of socks with his face on them, a LEGO pope minifigure in a LEGO popemobile, and a letter from my six-year-old daughter, he smiled widely and said softly, “Please pray for me.” I was talking to the consummate Catholic grandpa and holding the hand of the successor of Saint Peter all at once, and in that moment, the words etched into the dome of Saint Peter’s Basilica and heard in the Gospel today—“You are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my Church”—echoed in my mind (Matthew 16:18). Here was Peter. The 266th “Peter” we’ve had, an unbroken line of succession established by Jesus Himself, to guide, protect, defend, and shape our Church, the servant of the servants of God. And it all began in a moment when the first Peter, Simon Peter himself, seemed to doubt what Jesus was even saying. We hear in the Gospel today (see Matthew 16:13-23) how Jesus asks His disciples to share what they understand of Him, and Peter is able to proclaim Him the Christ. Boldly, and without delay, he then proclaims Jesus as the Son of God. This, in the end, is at the heart of discipleship, and the call to us all, not just the pope. All of us are invited to say confidently that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that He loves us beyond compare and without end. Can we say that boldly? Can we say that without hesitation? Do we? As I held the Holy Father’s hand, and looked at his wrinkled face and warm smile, I was reminded that he is the Rock, in the line of succession from Peter himself, and that he is guiding me, and inviting us all, to confidently say that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God. 

Lent starts February 14, and so does the RESCUED Blessed is She Lent devotional. This year, you’ll be receiving an excerpt from the Lent devotional every day in your inbox (in lieu of our regular daily devo). We want to pray with one heart and one mind as the BIS sisterhood. If you prefer to have the book, purchase the 2024 Blessed is She Lent devotional RESCUED right here. Right upon purchase, you’ll receive a link to come into the free Blessed is She app to walk through the Lenten season with us in daily live prayer, small groups, and more. Together let’s look to the Lamb of God who came to rescue each one of us.   How lovely is your dwelling place, Lord, mighty God! // Psalm 84:2 I didn’t much like praise and worship music when I was in high school—I thought it was cheesy. And, to be fair, some of it was in the early 2000s. “Yes, Lord, Yes, Lord, Yes, Yes, Lord” with hand gestures did not help me have an open heart to Jesus. But then one night, at a parish holy hour, there was a song that was one part catchy and two parts profound. “Better is one day in your courts, better is one day in your house, better is one day in your courts, than thousands elsewhere . . . ”  Over and over, we sang about the desire to be in the court of God, and as I knelt in the church, my knees stuck to the faux leather kneeler, I realized what I was saying.  God’s court, His lovely dwelling place, is where I belong. God’s presence, right before me in the Blessed Sacrament, was where my soul found rest. Even the threshold of God’s house was better than any luxurious offering of this world. I was convicted in that moment, at seventeen, to make time in His house a priority. His presence is not limited by church buildings. For truly, when we are in our own homes, sometimes messy and cluttered and noisy, we can remember the Lord’s presence and dwell with Him. Whether we are traveling, sitting at a desk, waiting in the school pickup line, cooking a dinner no one will say “thank you” for, or folding laundry for the tenth time this week, we can think of God’s altars, where our hearts and flesh cry out for the living God.  His dwelling place is lovely, and for what we long. His dwelling place is worthy of building in our hearts, a place where the living and true God can rest in our yearning souls. Do you long for his courts, just one day with the Lord, more than the thousands elsewhere? How can you build his court, dwell in His kingdom, today?

“For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted." // Luke 14:11 There are two types of people: the ones who want to get on a plane first and sit and wait and the ones who wait to board at the last possible chance. I like to board first. Get myself situated. Put my bag in the overhead bin and pull my Kindle out so I can start reading. But lately, I’ve challenged myself to board last. Well, Jesus challenged me.  It came to me in prayer, as most of His ideas do. Why do you rush to get on? Why not just wait a moment?  I could tell that Jesus was asking me to give up this little luxury, of boarding with Group 1, sitting down for a pre-boarding drink when I’d gotten a free upgrade, mindlessly scrolling my phone or stressing about short connections. There will be plenty of bin space, or you can check your bag. Just wait. For Me.  Jesus only ever asks us to stretch in such a way that He knows will be good for us. And I knew He was trying to teach me humility.  Humility bears fruit. It grows an awareness of God’s goodness within us. It helps us notice the goodness, or even the needs, of others. Humility ultimately exalts, not placing us in a position of power or to a better seat on the plane, but making us more like God Who pours Himself out in love. It helps us to see that God alone is worthy of praise.  Today’s Gospel (see Luke 14:1, 7-11) challenges us to not board first, or speak first, or brag first. It asks us to remain humble, quiet, and to be patient to jump in, so that we can see God’s goodness first and our goodness in light of His. Where is God asking you to be humble? What small (or big) sacrifice is He inviting you to make?  The Litany of Humility (a challenging prayer, so be careful) is a great place to start in embracing God’s call to humility. Pray it today, and embrace the exaltation of God as you yourself are humbled.

“Whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and whoever sows bountifully will also reap bountifully.” // 2 Corinthians 9:6 I always thought I had a bit of a “brown thumb.” I couldn’t grow anything. House plants died. Strawberry bushes shriveled. I even managed to kill a 20-year-old fig tree at my Aunt Mimi’s house. But then, last summer, we were given a peace lily, and it somehow became my responsibility. I repotted it, set it by the window, put calendar alerts in my phone to remember to water it twice a week, and that “we’re so sorry for your loss” peace lily is thriving.  It just took a little effort. Some attention. And a willingness to let it be. I’d killed the fig tree by over watering it. I drowned the poor thing. And my strawberry bushes in college shriveled up because I didn’t stop a friend from tossing cigarette butts into the dirt. And the house plants had always died because I’d forgotten about them. Without effort, there was no growth. Without tending, there was no fruit. Without proper care, there was no chance for survival.  Sowing does not happen by accident, and reaping doesn’t just occur whenever we feel like it. We are called to put intention and effort into the life we live, the faith we cling to, with a cheerfulness that comes from a joy that is rooted in God’s promises. His promise is that if we show up, ready to tend, and care, and put forth effort, the Lord will increase the harvest. He will tend to us, care for us, and show us how great the effort is that He makes for us, the ones He loves and delights in. Our effort is not merely for its own sake. It is a response to the effort God has made for us. Our love of Him is a response to the love He’s poured out for us, which will produce much fruit.  We don’t necessarily have brown thumbs that kill whatever we touch. We sometimes just have darkened hearts unable to receive the tender care of the Lord. How is the Lord tending to your heart? And what is the Lord calling you to tend to and care for? 

“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.

He said to them, “When you pray, say: Father, hallowed be your name . . . .” // Luke 11:2 It’s the third prayer I learned how to pray, after the Sign of the Cross and the Hail Mary. Taught in Catholic grade school by a warm hearted, imminently huggable kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Miller, I still remember when she tried to explain to us what “hallow” meant. “Holy. Like something very very special and like nothing else in the world. That’s God’s name. Very different than your name, or mine.” But then that night, when my mom told me, “Listen to your father,” I became confused. My dad was “father.” And Father Danny at the church was “Father.” But this new prayer, my third one, with this super special very different holy name, was addressed to Father . . . . Perhaps that’s the real beauty of this prayer, the one we learn as children and recite from memory, often too quickly. We don’t turn to God with flowery language we don’t understand, with words foreign to our vocabulary. We turn to God and address Him as our Father, knowing His fatherhood is very special, like nothing else in the world, set apart in the most unique of ways. Because He is a Father Who never leaves, a Father Who provides, a Father Who does not fail in lavishing perfect love upon us. Even the best of fathers in this world make mistakes and can fall short. But God, our Father, with this hallowed name, provides our daily bread, forgives us our sins, holds us close as we face temptation, guides us ever closer to His perfect heart. I invite you to pray the Our Father today, slowly, from your heart. See how it feels to really call out to our Father. [bctt tweet="He is a Father Who never leaves. // @KatiePMcGrady" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

With what shall I come before the Lord? // Micah 6:6 We rescued the statue from the clearance pile, Jesus and His Sacred Heart tossed among the concrete turtles and squirrels, marked down to $17. We didn’t quite know where to put it at first . . . the statue of Jesus wasn’t as tall as our statue of Mary, and it looked funny having short Jesus next to tall Mary. We tried placing it next to the Little Free Library in our front yard, but then it looked like we had a kiosk for Catholic pamphlets in the middle of the neighborhood. So, we set it next to the crepe myrtle tree with every intention of moving it within a few days. But then the eighteen-month-old found it, and every afternoon while we piddled in the front yard with bikes and watering flowers, Clare would toddle over to “shorter-than-His-mom Jesus” and sit down and start talking. Just toddler babble, though we could make out “bubbles” and “hello” and “yes,” so clearly she was telling Him important things. She approached Him with empty hands and a mouth full of words, not carrying flowers or burnt offerings or thousands of rams—she just brought herself and sat down in front of “not-very-tall Jesus” and talked to Him. I wish I could do the same. We so often complicate how we approach the Lord. We ask Him if we need to bring all this stuff, all these projects, these tasks we’ve accomplished, these offerings we think we must make to win His approval and affection. The Prophet Micah laments about it in today’s reading and then reminds us of what the Lord wants most of all: just you and me and our hearts. He wants us to walk with Him, to do good and to love Him above all else, and to even just sit down with Him, even in the front yard, in what might seem like not the right spot, and share the simple things that race through our head and tug at our heart. With what shall we come before the Lord? (Micah 6:6) Just ourselves. That’s all. And that’s enough. [bctt tweet="Bring Yourself and That’s Enough. // @katiepmcgrady" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

"It was not you who chose me, but I who chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit that will remain." // John 15:16 I shouldn’t have been upset. It was silly. It was just a person unfollowing me on Instagram. And yet somehow, realizing this person I know in real life had chosen to stop following me on social media somehow hurt my heart. Was it something I said? Or something I didn’t? Was it an unfollow out of spite, maybe jealousy? Had I made her mad? What was wrong with her? What was wrong with me . . . ? I stewed all night, allowed it to bug me long enough to vent to my husband, who gently asked, “Do you think maybe following you was just not bearing fruit in her life anymore? It could’ve been her, babe. Not you.” What does that even mean, bearing fruit? And why should we be concerned about it? Because Jesus invites us to take note of His words, His presence, and His perfect love, and bear fruit, and note the things that are (or are not) bringing abundant fruit forth in our lives. He chooses us, draws us close, loves us in the most perfect way, and sends us forth to love others mightily, and as perfectly as we can, and to remain in His love. And perhaps there are things—or people—that aren’t helping us do that, maybe even preventing us from both receiving His perfect love and abiding in that love with others. If that prompts an unfollow, or a pruning, or a departure, or distance, then maybe that should be welcomed, not lamented. That should be seen as fruit being born, not necessarily friendship being squashed. God invites us to love one another—to not think of merely the moments where love seems lost, but perhaps to embrace the moments where love, His above all else, is being perfected. How is God asking you to think of the things that are (or are not) bearing fruit in your life, and how can you invite Him into a necessary pruning so as to focus more intently on His love for you? [bctt tweet="Love is being perfected. // @KatiePMcGrady" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

“The harvest is abundant but the laborers are few.” // Luke 10:2 All my cousin wanted was a pumpkin pie, and there I was, three days before Christmas, frantically running the grocery store aisles with no pumpkin to be found. The Kroger employee could see the distress all over my face. “What you need, baby?” Her southern drawl floating down the aisle. “Pumpkin,” I sheepishly replied. Who needs pumpkin for Christmas . . . ? “Oh, right over here,” she ushered me over to a stack of blue plastic bins blocking an entire three shelves of Libby’s cans of pumpkin. I grabbed a half dozen cans and turned to thank her for her help when she said, “You forgot to make the pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving and now someone wants one, huh? Good for you for making it happen.” We both laughed as I nodded, and it occurred to me that even in my frustration and anxiousness, I was doing something good, maybe even holy, by making this out-of-season pumpkin pie for our Christmas feast. I was serving a family member. I was entering into a moment to harvest kindness and love for my family. By striving to be generous, and not just count the cost of my time, but instead consider the joy it would bring others, I could maybe answer God’s invitation to labor for Him, and those He and I both love. Today we celebrate a Saint who shows us how to do that every day. Saint Nicholas, a fierce defender of Christ’s divinity and a generous servant to God’s own people, went out of his way to generously give of his riches and wielded his powerful influence to defend and protect the hurt and hurting. He did so, not because it was necessarily popular or convenient, but because it was the labor the Lord needed most, and what Nicholas knew he was called to do. At a time of the year when there is so much to be done, would that we all give generously like Saint Nicholas and labor out of love in the abundant harvests the Lord places before us and where He needs us most. Where is He calling you to harvest? * readings for Memorial of Saint Nicholas [bctt tweet="Answer God’s invitation to labor for Him. // @KatiePMcGrady " username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

Dishes had been washed, laundry folded, kitchen cleaned, house tidied, all after a long day of work. I just wanted watch an episode of some stupid sitcom before going to bed. And then I remembered my pre-k’er needed cookies for her class Easter party the next day. So into the kitchen I returned, trying my best to not make a huge mess since I’d already cleaned. The next morning, as I showed my family the beautifully decorated cookies I’d stayed up late to bake, I got a quick, “Nice!” and life continued on. I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe a compliment that the cookies looked and tasted good. Maybe a "thank you" for giving up my little bit of relaxation time to bake cookies that would be consumed in two bites by a gaggle of three year olds. Maybe some recognition for signing up to send cookies in the first place. Our work sometimes goes unnoticed. A lot of times, we do quiet work, carrying the logistics and burdens of life all on our own. Those tiny things that have to be taken care of, and if we don’t take care of it, no one will, but yet no one seems to notice that we are doing it, and we just wish we were a little less alone, a little more acknowledged, as we do it all. A prophet (read a wife, mother, co-worker, sister, friend) is not without honor, it seems . . . . Jesus faced the same thing. He too was not without honor. He too was sometimes unnoticed, no matter what He said or did. It’s in those moments of going unnoticed, when I just want a “thank you” or a “wow, good job,” that I remember even Jesus didn’t hear those words, perhaps even when He might have liked to hear them, and I’m comforted knowing that even the greatest prophet—the Savior Himself—sometimes had to work in quiet, unseen, unrecognized ways. You may feel like you are not without honor in the eyes of others, but you hold the most honored place in the heart of the One Who abundantly and perfectly loves you. Pray with that today. [bctt tweet="You hold the most honored place in the heart of the One Who abundantly and perfectly loves you. // @KatiePMcGrady" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion  

It was always a treat to go to the mall with my mom. Walking to store after store, stopping for a hot pretzel at Auntie Anne’s, maybe picking up Chick-Fil-A to bring home for dinner . . . it was a weekly tradition. Mom only had one very strict rule when it came to our mall-walking afternoons: “You have to hold my hand.” The stores were often crowded, the food court packed. She didn’t want us to get lost. The day we did get separated, my sister and I were pushed back as people surged forward for napkins and ketchup at the Chick-Fil-A. But it didn’t take long to be reunited with mom, because in a loud, bold voice we heard her shout, “Katie, Laura, stay RIGHT THERE!” Cutting through the noise of the crowds, mom’s voice carried and we heard it—clearly, distinctly. We, her daughters, knew her voice. And, hearing her instructions, we stayed right where we were, reunited with her moments later. A familiar voice can be an anchor in a storm, a comfort in chaos. It can direct and instruct us. And it is Jesus’ voice, above all others, that we should listen for, heed, and know best. Like children with a mom in the mall, or sheep on the countryside being led by their shepherd, Jesus wants us to be close to Him. It is in that closeness we can hear Him, ponder what He is saying, and be changed by the invitations He extends. Listening to Jesus, even asking Him to speak to us and staying quiet long enough to hear what He has to say, transforms us. We are forever changed by hearing the voice of the One Who perfectly loves us, holds us in His hand, and speaks so lovingly to us. In what moments have you heard Jesus speaking to you? When has His voice cut through the noise and chaos of life? Pray with this today. listen to today’s devotion [bctt tweet="We are forever changed by hearing the voice of the One Who perfectly loves us. // @KatiePrejean" username="blessedisshe__"] Jesus, help me hear You clearly today and hold me close to You.  

My dad sends my mom flowers every other week. The arrangements are simple, a dozen roses, some daisies, or her favorite, hydrangeas. But every other week, usually on Monday or Tuesday, flowers are delivered to her, and they sit on her desk, greeting clients and brightening up an otherwise normal, mundane CPA’s office. I asked him once why he spent so much money on flowers, the frugal muscle in me flexing at the thought of throwing a hundred bucks away on bouquets you could get from the grocery store and stick in a cheap vase. His answer was simple: “Your mother is worth it.” My dad, the hopeless romantic. I like to think that those twice-monthly delivered flowers, the beautiful arrangements in colorful vases, are an anchor of their relationship. My dad telling my mom I love you with the very best flowers he can send. Jesus is given a gift in the Gospel today—expensive oil, poured over His feet while He is with His friends, sharing a meal. Martha, Lazarus, and Mary are spending time with the Jesus they knew and loved. And Mary celebrates his presence. The three would’ve been so grateful to have Him there. Jesus had raised Lazarus from the dead, after all. Martha probably knew (and prepared) His favorite foods. Mary loved to listen to His stories, probably learning something new each time. Their time together was so valuable and precious. And so Mary celebrates him. She serves Him. She gives Him the very best. It makes no sense to penny pinching, greedy Judas, and it almost makes no sense to us. Dumping oil on feet? Sending flowers each month? What’s the point? Save your money. Do it the cheap way. Spend it on something else. But Jesus is worth it because He is there with them. He is worth the very best—in this case, expensive, fragrant oil. So when He is with me, do I both rejoice in His presence and give Him the very best I have to offer? Jesus is worth it. listen to today’s devotion [bctt tweet="Jesus is worth it. // @KatiePrejean " username="blessedisshe__"] What do you want to offer to Jesus today? Pick something small or large, just make it meaningful.

My sense of justice was quite strong as a kid, which is why in the third grade I reminded my teacher that the boys had left the classroom first for recess the day before, so it was the girls' turn that particular Tuesday. I vividly remember the teacher looking at me and saying, “Well, the last will be first someday . . . .” I think I knew she was quoting today's Gospel, Matthew 19:30, albeit poorly and way out of context. But I’ll never forget it, because in that moment, a whole new cry for justice rose up in my heart. I needed to be last, so I could be one day be first. It was a tit-for-tat. I do this now, I get something else later. Third grade perceptions of justice don’t really translate into adulthood very well. Of course that's not how it works. We can’t merely put ourselves at the back of the line in life with the hope of one day being rewarded, God finally giving us Heaven because we earned enough “I was last” points here on earth. We’re called instead to look every day for how to serve, sacrifice, and be generous. To not run to the front because we think we deserve it, but to hold back and look around so we can see where we can instead step forward to generously and joyfully give to those in need, to those who have something to say, to work toward the better world we long to bring into fruition. We don't adopt a posture of “I deserve this because so-and-so got that,” but instead one that asks, “How can I take what I have—riches, influence, privilege—and share with those who have not?” We give up everything for Him and for others, not merely because we know it’s right, or because the Gospel tells us to, but because it is possible to do so with Him. We set aside our desire for recognition, fame, fortune, power, or to stand at the front, because we know nothing here can ever compare to the eternal life to come. We are okay with being last, because ultimately, we have placed Him—and the people He calls us to love and serve—first. listen to today’s devotion [bctt tweet="We give up everything for Him and for others, not merely because we know it’s right, or because the Gospel tells us to, but because it is possible to do so with Him. // @katieprejean" username="blessedisshe__"] Explore ways to give back, including supporting communities like this one.

The flight landed late, and for the life of me I couldn’t remember where I parked the car. After nearly a half hour of searching, furiously punching the key-fob as I huffed and puffed my way through the garage, I found it—covered in what looked like dead love bugs. Two and a half hours. That’s all I had to drive to get home. I’d been in Canada for five days, speaking at a conference that had proven stressful and frustrating with glitchy technology, team tension, and lots of loneliness. Forty-five minutes from home, rain pouring, I hit a giant pot-hole, popped a tire, pulled off at a Holiday Inn, got a room just before midnight, and defeatedly called my husband to tell him what happened. I laid down in the hotel bed, furious that I was so close to home and disheartened by yet another seeming failure. “I did all that hard work for you and this is what I get?!” I thought, the angry prayer bubbling up inside of me. “I spent the weekend in a foreign country preaching the Gospel, and you give me a popped tire and another night away!” I fumed at God. I was angry because I expected the work I’d done for Him to yield nothing but good results, right away. I thought my efforts are what bring about God’s blessings. And yet, I’d built my foundation on sand by thinking that (see Matthew 7:21-29). It’s not my work, no matter how well done, that brings me close to the Father. At least not at first. We grow close to Him and become attuned to His will when we give Him our heart. We become firmly rooted in knowing and resting in His love. This love is shown to us not just when we do the good work, but when we listen to His voice, a voice speaking love, tenderness, mercy, and peace into our life. It’s knowledge of His perfect love that lets us live within His abundant blessings, setting us on that firm foundation we hear about in the Gospel today. Our work flows forth from the solid rock upon which we stand. We stand there, even with popped tires, forty-five minutes away from home after five nights away, knowing we’re going to be okay because He is there, too, with us as the winds blow. [bctt tweet="We grow close to Him and become attuned to His will when we give Him our heart. // @KatiePrejean" username="blessedisshe__"] Lord Jesus, hold me close to You and instruct me in the ways of Your perfect love.