Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 15:29-37 Reflect on the Word //  As the sun dipped behind the mountains, casting a golden hue over the Sea of Galilee, I found myself among a lively crowd celebrating the joys of a Friday night. On my solo pilgrimage in the Holy Land, the cool night air buzzed with laughter and chatter, yet each person carried their own stories of struggle. I was here in the sacred place where Jesus healed the lame, blind, and mute. Did Christ still long to heal these souls today? Some were spiritually lame, feeling limited and stagnant, grappling with inadequacy and isolation. Others were spiritually blind, unable to perceive the deeper aspects of life, caught in ignorance, and feeling disconnected. Still others were spiritually mute, struggling to express themselves, wrestling with feelings of being unheard, and finding it hard to voice their prayers. I placed their brokenness at Jesus’ feet. In that tender moment, I noticed His deep compassion. His Sacred Heart was moved by the sight of their hungry faces.  In today’s Gospel passage, we encounter two radiant aspects of Jesus’ ministry: compassion and provision. “My heart is moved with pity for the crowd” (Matthew 15:32), He proclaims, inviting us to picture ourselves among them, wearied yet hopeful, longing for something more. He gently asks His disciples, “How many loaves do you have?” (Matthew 15:34) This question nudges us to reflect: What small gifts do we possess that we might share? When Jesus took the seven loaves and a few fish, gave thanks, and broke them, a miracle unfolded. Everyone ate and was satisfied. But what does it mean to be truly satisfied? How can we seek fulfillment in Christ? Can we recognize our humble offerings, as the disciples did, and trust that He can multiply them beyond our dreams? We are called not only to receive Jesus’ abundance but also to share our blessings. Together, let’s open our hearts to the wondrous possibilities of God’s abundance, knowing that our contributions are never too small. Relate to the Lord // How can you offer your resources—time, love, or support—to someone in need today?

Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Luke 10:21-24 Reflect on the Word//  I rushed around the house, my mind racing through the list of tasks for the day. The all too familiar habit of hurrying grabbed hold of my heart and convinced me that I was bound by its demands. With tense shoulders I pressed forward. I allowed anxiety to build and coil itself around my body. Then the tender voice of the Lord broke in through the noise: I am here. Do you not perceive it? Jesus has a steady stream of grace to pour into my soul. Grace that would open my eyes and remind me to slow down and recollect myself. I cannot see the blessings of ordinary life if I go about spiritually blind. And I, instead, see them as burdens. After rejoicing in the Holy Spirit in Luke 10 and proclaiming that all things have been handed over to Him, Jesus turns to His disciples and says, “Blessed are the eyes that see what you see” (Luke 10:23). He shares with them that many would desire to see but would be unable.  Throughout this life, even in the simplest moments, Christ the Lord holds out His hand and invites us to see. He invites us to see that the very same tasks that we anxiously rush through can be made holy. This life is unbelievably beautiful. Every single moment. The moments we rejoice, and the moments when our breath catches and sorrowful tears roll down our cheeks. He is there. His Heart is exposed and offers to us unimaginable love, incomprehensible union, all within regular minutes of our day. We have the freedom to see, or the freedom to remain blind. Our free will allows us to live like children of God or to continue to live as though we are slaves. Jesus desires that we see. Jesus desires that we live out our belovedness and embrace this life. Behold Him as He stands before us, offering us the grace to see every blessing.  Relate to the Lord // Pause and breathe today. Practice becoming aware of the Lord Who is already with you. 

Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 8:5-11 Reflect on the Word //  I took a deep breath and mustered all of my courage. Like a boxer getting ready to step into the ring, I exhaled determinedly. “Thy will be done,” I prayed, and the Our Father rattled on around me. Every morning at 6:30 a.m., no matter how tired or distracted I was in Mass, I rallied for the big moment when I assented to God’s will. But on this particular morning, I sensed Heaven laughing at my heroics. It was as if the Lord good-naturedly asked me, Why are you bracing yourself for My will? My will is for your good.  I had been subconsciously assuming that His will for me was, in fact, not good. That God’s will automatically meant suffering and loss and a lot of other hard things that I didn’t have the strength or desire for.  Yes, holiness requires purification and detachment. And it’s true that suffering will come; we live in a fallen world and feel the consequences of our sins and others’. But I wasn’t factoring in one crucial thing: God’s love. While He permits evil because He is able to bring good out of every wrong, God is always actively willing our good because He is Love. When Jesus encounters the Roman centurion in Matthew 8, He has only to hear his request—"Lord, my servant is lying at home paralyzed, suffering dreadfully”—and He agrees to come—"I will come and cure him." But the soldier stops Jesus, astounding Him with his faith. The man was full of confidence that Jesus could and would. That God’s will for his suffering servant was only mercy and love.  Jesus’ response to us is the same. When we are wounded and soul-sick from sin, He comes to cure us. He wills our healing. Every time we receive the Eucharist, He comes under our roofs to speak a healing word to our souls. We never have to wonder if Jesus will come. He comes to us Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity, in every reception of Holy Communion at every Mass—daily if you like—because His will for you is good. Relate to the Lord // Pray the Our Father—joyfully! Meditate today on His loving will and good plan for your life.

[Jesus] said to them [Andrew and Simon],“Come after me, and I will make you fishers of men.” At once they left their nets and followed him. // Matthew 4:19-20 Hesitation grips me as I internally debate over inviting a friend to Mass.  Checking out at the grocery store, I wonder if I’m inundating the cashier with an explanation of my Miraculous Medal earrings.  I grimace, making a concerted effort to offer up my pain and embrace the suffering.  In some seasons, these actions come easily to me, and during others they are a struggle. I am inspired in these areas today by the Apostle Saint Andrew, whose feast we celebrate today, for two reasons.  First, we read in the Gospel of John that after meeting Jesus, Andrew does not hesitate to find his brother Simon and tell him, “We have found the Messiah” (John 1: 41). Andrew, called the “Protoclete” or “first of the Apostles,” had been following Saint John the Baptist, hoping in God’s promise of a Savior. He recognized in Jesus the One for whom they had been waiting. Andrew's response? Bring someone else along.  The second reason comes at the very end of Andrew’s life. Like most of the Apostles, he was martyred. Tradition holds that he died in Patras, Greece in the same way his Messiah had: by torture of crucifixion. What’s also been passed down is how he approached his death.  An ancient story from the sixth century tells of Saint Andrew greeting his own cross with joy and loving acceptance, saying: "Hail, O Cross, inaugurated by the Body of Christ and adorned with his limbs as though they were precious pearls. Before the Lord mounted you, you inspired an earthly fear. Now, instead, endowed with heavenly love, you are accepted as a gift” (source). Today is also the end of the Catholic liturgical year. So in honor of the “New Year,” ponder Saint Andrew’s bold faith and confidence. Pray about one way you can share the Gospel and embrace the crosses in your life beginning in Advent and continuing throughout this next year. 

“My words will not pass away.” // Luke 21:33 I spent many years as a single woman and often spoke on the topic of life as a single Catholic. I loved being single, and I loved everything the Lord was able to do with me in those years because I was single. My single years were colorful, adventurous, contemplative, not the least bit dull or dowdy. When I married, it wasn’t because I was lonely or afraid to be on my own, but because I felt called to create a new kind of life, an even more fruitful life, with my husband. And thus it has been. But in those years and for many years now after, I have ministered to women on their own, especially women who’ve been on their own far longer than they anticipated they would be, mature women with real prayer lives who feel called to marriage and yet remain single. It can be really hard: to sit with impermanence. Marriage as a Sacrament bears a permanent, lifelong character. The soul of a priest bears an indelible mark, a permanent mark. A woman called to religious life takes vows progressively, but eventually, of permanence, “final vows.” A woman called to be a consecrated virgin does not consecrate herself for a period of time but for her lifetime. The heart in love wants to vow itself, longs to be “all in.” The human heart was created for permanence, for eternity, for Heaven, where Jesus reigns forevermore. And to enjoy a taste of that permanence in this life. If you find yourself or someone you love sitting in that place of impermanence, for whatever reason, I encourage you, rest in God’s Word. Jesus says so clearly in today’s Gospel, “My words will not pass away” (Luke 21:33). Neither does His love for you. They are eternal, everlasting. He knows that ache inside for permanence, for resolution, for your place in the world—both this world and the next. Trust in that ache, lean into it, and take Jesus at His Word, like Psalm 37:4: “Take delight in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart.”

“Where are the other nine? Has none but this foreigner returned to give thanks to God?” // Luke 17 (from the Gospel for Thanksgiving Day) I blinked groggily and reached for my phone to silence the alarm. As I rolled over I heard the familiar jangle of my rosary hitting the floor. I’d done it again, fallen asleep as I prayed my daily Rosary. Did I even make it to the second mystery? This was becoming a nightly routine.  I had started a 54-Day Rosary Novena a few weeks earlier, but when the intention shifted from petition to thanksgiving I started to fall off—or rather, doze off. When I was praying for the thing I so desperately wanted, I was pious and attentive. But when day 28 rolled around and nothing “happened,” I had a hard time convincing myself to thank God for a miracle that had yet to be seen.  Instead of sitting up and meditating on the mysteries, I laid down and was usually out by the end of the first decade. I tried to spin it, but the truth was that it was tough to give thanks when all I felt was disappointment.  For most Americans, today as Thanksgiving Day is special. We celebrate all the good in our lives as we gather around crowded tables overflowing with food and gratitude. But when life isn’t so abundant, thanksgiving can be harder to muster. And sometimes, even when it is, we simply forget to thank God or fail to recognize His love behind our every blessing.  So whether things are good or bad, bountiful or scarce, most of us are not great at giving thanks. After all, only one in ten lepers came back to thank Jesus even though they all got what they wanted. So if thanksgiving isn’t dependent upon our circumstances then we must develop a habit of thanksgiving and grow in the virtue of gratitude.  Perhaps the grace I received during those first 27 days wasn’t the desired outcome of my prayers, but it was the chance to practice thanking God no matter how I felt or what I could see. So if, like me, your gratitude muscle could use a little strengthening, maybe a 54-Day Rosary Novena is a good place to start.

All the nations will come and worship before you, for your righteous acts have been revealed. // Revelation 15:4 I talked to my mom yesterday on the phone—she struggled to form the words she wanted to speak as her ALS is steadily destroying her nerves and limiting her physical abilities. We used to have deep spiritual conversations and I am not sure how many more months we have. Her illness is progressing, and I wish it would stop and go away.  My husband and I spent a day with dear college friends this summer—our children playing with theirs while we shared meals, drinks, and deep conversations. I wish they did not live ten hours away. I went to my brother’s beautiful wedding Mass earlier this year. He was the image of the magnanimous bridegroom, his love for his bride emanating from his being, and the love of the guests overflowing for the two of them. It was an anticipation of the Heavenly banquet-—no one wanted the day to end and we left the reception way past bedtime. I have been blessed in my life to have formed deep, faith-based relationships in the different places I have lived—within my family and with friends. And then there are the people I have bonded with at a retreat or a conference, or met briefly, whom I know I would be close friends with if they lived nearby. Sometimes I am overwhelmed with an ache to just be with everyone I love—to be in community with them all forever.Sister, perhaps you feel the same. The end of the liturgical year with Readings from the Book of Revelation promises us that this desire is not in vain. When I ache for my dear ones, I can turn that ache into an offering of hope, that one day, we will all be together, worshiping with the nations before God. For while death, distance, and differences in beliefs keep us apart for a time, the Lord is bigger than all of these limitations. He can change any heart, overcome any obstacle, and accomplish anything. Offer your loved ones to Him and ask the Lord to renew your hope today.

Say among the nations: The LORD is king. // Psalm 96:10 Flailing my arms with cheerful four-year-old abandon and twirling in my socked feet and soft nightgown, I slid into the center of my grandparents’ tiled foyer and struck a dramatic pose in front of the grand staircase. My family stood in the wings on either side, acting every bit the appreciative audience with oohs and aahs aplenty, and shining makeshift spotlights (read: flashlights) on my sister and me as we belted out the final line of our favorite song: “Oh, I just can’t waiiiiit to be kiiiiiiing!!” This little ditty from The Lion King shaped much of my earliest imaginings about adulthood. Not that I ever thought I would turn into a lion, but I was allured by the promise of someday living on the, ahem, wild side, doing whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted—you know, like having ice cream for dinner or staying up past my bedtime.  It didn’t take me long to realize that growing up and gaining independence also involves a lot of baffling tasks, frenetic worry, and not-so-fun obligations—or that satisfying my own whims can sometimes lead to stomach aches and sleep deprivation. These days I find myself longing for someone else to be “in charge” of my life. I take great comfort in today’s Responsorial Psalm, delivered in the wake of last Sunday’s Solemnity of Christ the King, which declares: “The LORD is king” (Psalm 96:10). The Lord is King. Not me. And while He respects my freedom and will never force me to follow His commands, it is only in submitting myself to them that I find the fullness of joy and peace, that I will “be glad” and “rejoice,” along with the rest of creation (see Psalm 96:11-12).  Sister, I invite you to prepare for the new Church year coming up on Sunday with a “new year’s resolution”: what in your life are you struggling to place under the Lord’s Kingship? Can you relax your grip on it? Nothing is wilder or more wonderful than seeing what the Lord will do with what we surrender to Him. 

Our soul has been rescued like a bird from the fowler's snare. Had not the LORD been with us–  When men rose up against us, then would they have swallowed us alive. // Psalm 124:2-3 (from the Readings for the Optional Memorial of Saint Catherine of Alexandria) Today we celebrate the feast of Saint Catherine of Alexandria. Not much about her life is left to us in the historical record. But her story, found in the book The Golden Legend, speaks volumes.* According to the legend, Catherine was born at the end of the third century, the pampered daughter of the governor of Egypt, which was then part of the Roman Empire. She converted to Christianity at the age of fourteen and devoted the next few years to studying apologetics and theology.  The story goes that in the midst of the persecutions under Emperor Maxentius, she sought an audience with him through her father, and rebuked the emperor for his cruelty to Christians. In response, he summoned his fifty greatest pagan scholars to debate her, hoping to disprove Christianity once and for all. She bested them. Several of her adversaries professed themselves Christians right then and there and were immediately put to death.  Catherine was arrested. During her imprisonment, she was visited by two hundred members of the emperor’s court, including Maxentius's wife, Valeria Maximilla. Each converted to Christianity and was subsequently martyred. When Catherine couldn’t be swayed by torture, Maxentius tried proposing marriage to her—as the position of his wife had recently become available—but she declined. She was eventually sentenced to death by torture on the breaking wheel (now known as a Saint Catherine’s wheel), but it shattered at her touch and she was beheaded instead. She was nineteen years old. Over a thousand years after her death, she was one of the saints who spoke to another self-confident nineteen-year-old, Saint Joan of Arc. Saint Catherine’s is a great story. I hope every word is historically accurate. But even if it’s not, this is a story that has been told to Catholics for at least a thousand years. This is how our Church sees women, holding up Saint Catherine to us as one of the many different examples of perfect Christian womanhood.  So, perhaps God and His Church are calling you to be a kick-butt debate team champ girlboss. Or maybe it’s something a little less dramatic? But He has a plan for you. *Compiled by Blessed Father Jacobus de Voragine, this collection of Saint stories was the second most-read book in medieval Europe, after the Bible.

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

Blessed be the LORD, my rock, who trains my hands for battle. // Psalm 144:1 “I believe in you. You’ve already begun your new ministry with me.” These words reverberated as I gazed at the courageous young person whose body language stated, “Look at me and see evidence.” I was stunned, so she nodded too, beckoning me to listen and soak it in.  We had been simply discussing how very difficult it can be to hold on to faith even though it’s the only game for sanity in town, and we were marveling at how staying close to our Blessed Lord and His Mother is our lifeline even though it seems outlandish sometimes to belong to the Church.  She was a convert and I am a revert.  “This is reality!” she declared. “I’ve nowhere else to go,” she reflected as she opened her hands and expanded her shoulders. Cruciform! I thought. Wow. She gets it in a deep way! We’d repeat the phrase “This is reality!” for fun because it had become packed with meaning.  Like so many young people, she was discovering things I rediscovered years ago in the intense continuity of the Faith. We reflected on how wild it is that the Most Sacred Heart, the Real Presence, Divine Mercy, and Sacred Scripture are all one movement that holds together. She was discovering what I rediscovered or what rediscovered me when God taught me how He is present at the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.  She told me that day and many others how much I’ve helped her to stay in the flowing current of grace which is the Church. I never cease to be amazed at this because I simply share what I know to be true and the One Who is Truth. I do not presume to grasp the fullness, but rather, I’m like a friend standing with another, identifying star constellations.  Sister, perhaps you are also being called to reach out to those who have left the Church and are furthest from her heart. We are called, dear sister, to be prophets—ones who speak of reality in God. He trains us to love our brothers and sisters enough to invite them home.

My sheep hear my voice, says the Lord; I know them, and they follow me. // John 10:27 (From the Alleluia)  What is Your voice, Lord? And what is it not? I found myself asking every day in prayer during a difficult season of my life. There were many voices coming at me, well intentioned, but all of them contradicting each other, which sent me into even more confusion. I was desperate to hear His voice, no matter what it would cost me.  As I prayed and asked the Lord for guidance, I finally heard His voice. It was rare that I received such clarity about what to pray with, but He led me to today’s Alleluia verse (John 10:27). Through it, He invited me to stay with the Good Shepherd and learn to trust His words wherever they may lead. I did not know how much fear was holding me back from doing His will. To listen to His voice meant to obey His call, even if it would cost me everything. In that moment I needed to surrender deeper than my heart had known before.  Sister, perhaps you, too, have been in a season where you desire ardently to hear the Shepherd’s voice and yet fear what He will say. The fear here can be so real, so crippling, and so dark, but His promise is one of peace and freedom. Wherever He leads you, He goes with you on the way. What is one thing you may have been holding back from asking the Lord out of fear of what He will speak? Bring that to Him today. Pray to Him: My sweet Shepherd, help me to follow You even if I fear Your voice. Give me the grace to trust that You only have goodness and kindness coming every step of the way.

As Jesus drew near Jerusalem, he saw the city and wept over it, saying, “If this day you only knew what makes for peace.” // Luke 19:41-42 I was annoyed. I had a lot to do that day. Errands to run, meetings to prepare for, and dinner to cook. But she lingered in my entryway after returning a borrowed book, making small talk while our children settled into playing. I could tell she wanted to talk. To really talk. I just wished I had prior notice.  But my glance swept over the sign above our front door. It reads: “There is always room in the inn.” We placed that there as soon as we moved in because we want to live with open hearts and homes. And, clearly, I need the reminder to prefer others to myself.  Convicted, I invited her in for some tea and a sit. She confided the struggles of her heart, and we were able to spend lovely, encouraging time together.  Jesus makes a clear connection in today’s Gospel: “what makes for peace” is “recognizing the time of your visitation” (see Luke 19:41-44). We lack peace when we lack the vision to see His visitation to us in others. Do I want to be annoyed by the Lord showing up? Do I want to dismiss Him because I have “more important” things to tend to? Of course not. And so I must train myself to set aside my scurrying and stuffing so I can slow down enough to see Who is actually before me. When I saw my acquaintance’s visit as an interruption, I was agitated. When I reframed it and saw it as a visitation, I was joyful.  Friend, we want to do great things for God, and, really, it is not complicated. Will we accept God’s will in our lives as revealed in the present moment? Will we recognize His visitation in the events and people before us this very day? Or will we be like Jerusalem, rejecting Him because He does not come when and how it is convenient or ideal for us?  Today, look at your life with fresh eyes. Look for Jesus in everyone you encounter and every task that comes your way. He is visiting you, and in this is your peace.

“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.

“Now a man there named Zacchaeus, who [. . .] was seeking to see who Jesus was; but he could not see him because of the crowd.” // Luke 19: 2-3 I look up from my phone and feel shame as I see how much time has passed. My thumb scrolls through West Coast Swing dance reels and a photo of a toddler from a family I don’t know carrying carrots from a vegetable garden. I read an inspirational post of my friend-turned-life coach, and a famous billionaire tells me how to build wealth in real estate.  What am I seeking?  I see the ad for the hair care product I’m not yet using, another striking sculpture of the artist I want to study under, and I wonder if I could join those surfer girls on one of their trips to Nicaragua . . .  Like Zacchaeus in today’s Gospel, I can’t see Jesus because of the crowd (see Luke 19:1-10). Who are You, Jesus? I ask as I lay back on the mat in the medical clinic, shifting from numbing and turning to prayer, while I await my next treatment. Jesus invites me to come down. Everything has changed so quickly and health matters have humbled me so low. Jesus invites me to come down from even the good things that have been a support to me and the ways I’ve been climbing for success. In this moment, even in the discomfort, Jesus is passing by. In fact, He’s coming to stay in the home of my heart. I want to receive Him with joy.  And I feel so afraid of the suffering. I feel afraid to let go and feel the grief of the loss of what has already been taken.  But Jesus is passing by. He comes to seek and save me. Yes, Lord. I give You all I am and all I have. I don’t know what will happen or how this will unfold, but I’m ready. Teach me to see as You see and to love as You love. Welcome into the home in my heart. Come, stay with me.  Sister, where are you in today’s Gospel story of Jesus with Zacchaeus? What is the “crowd” that blocks your ability to see Jesus? How is Jesus seeking to stay in the home of your heart today?

“You have lost the love you had at first.” // Revelation 2:4 I have been in professional ministry in the Church for almost thirty years and admit I have worked, labored, and endured a lot for the sake of the Kingdom. I am very protective about the people I minister alongside and scarcely tolerate people who call themselves “apostles” but are impostors (see Revelation 2:2). I need authentic women and men who love the Lord and do everything in their lives out of their love for Him. Most importantly, I need friendships that recognize when I am growing weary and losing the love I had when I first said yes to the Lord.  Last night, I was blessed to have dinner with women who have been there for me across the miles. I cannot hide anything from them, and they call me out when I'm being a "faith impostor," putting on the "everything is fine" face so no one detects vulnerability in my soul. They do not allow me to listen to even a whisper Satan mutters to my mind and heart. They make sure I'm praying, sleeping, adoring, consuming, and in relationship with Christ. So, when I read in Revelation that the Lord sees my works, labors, and endurance and isn't particularly thrilled, like my girlfriends, I know all He cares about is whether I am in love with Him!  This idea of still being in love with the Lord is something I am incredibly protective of, and I have equally protective friends for whom I praise the Lord. We all know that unless we spend time with Christ, listen to Him in His Word, and receive Him in the Eucharist, our love story will end faster than a song Taylor Swift writes after a relationship ends. My sisters ensure I spend time with Him, listen to Him in His Word, and receive Him Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity in the Eucharist.  Maybe my love isn't the first kiss, honeymoon or early dating period, Disneyland fireworks love I once had. But it is the same love that has grown into a quiet night gazing into His eyes in Adoration and with that, I am satisfied.

“Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.” // Mark 13:31 I walked around in my teenage years with insecurities that made their way into my heart, and slowly but surely, I began to recognize the burden of them. However, I attempted to alleviate this burden on my own terms, with my own strength. Which eventually led to pride in my heart, as I dug for compliments and made self-deprecating comments, trying to relieve my burden through the affirmations of my peers. However, even when my friends provided me with reassurance, it still wasn’t enough to heal or satisfy my heart.  There was a shift in my heart as I began to invite the Lord into those dark places, the places where I couldn’t love myself, and allow Him to shine the light of His truth and love upon them. This wasn’t a one-and-done experience; this is something that I have to ask Him to consistently do when these insecurities arise.  In today's Gospel, we hear, “Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away” (Mark 13:31). Sister, what the Lord says about you is true. He is not a liar. His words are healing, and they invite us into deeper intimacy. His words about you do not pass away. Friend, ask Him today. Ask Him how He sees you. He wants to bring you to life. Welcome Him into the dwelling place of your heart to bring light into those places of darkness. He doesn’t come to your heart to condemn or punish, but He comes to heal and to love you with a compassionate love. Allow His tender love to engulf your heart and bring about new life in you with His truth.  Lord, we love You. Tell us who we are. Show us who we are to You. May our hearts be opened to receive the truth, reality, and beauty of our identity in You. Amen.