July 22, 2026 // Feast of Saint Mary Magdalene Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: John 20:1-2, 11-18 Reflect on the Word //  I stumbled out of bed, groggy and tired. I am not a morning person. Never have been, never will be. Mornings are difficult because of my Delayed Sleep Phase Syndrome. I would not have been the first to the tomb on Easter morning, and sunrise workouts are safely off my list of spiritual practices. So I deeply admire Saint Mary Magdalene, who ran before sunrise, heart pounding, grief raw, searching for a tomb that seemed empty and impossible (John 20:1‑2). She did not tiptoe. She did not hesitate. She ran. Mary stayed outside the empty tomb weeping, desperate for answers that were out of sight (see (John 20:11). I understand her. I have felt that panic when everything you love feels gone. Then the angels asked the simple question that shakes everything: “Woman, why are you weeping?” (John 20:13) Truth lands. Sometimes God does not rush to fix things. Sometimes He simply waits for us to see what we have been missing. And then “Mary!” (John 20:16) One word, full of intimacy, and her heart explodes with recognition. That is the Resurrection moment. The Lord is alive. Right there. Not somewhere far away. Not in some abstract hope. Jesus is alive and calling her name. “I have seen the Lord” (John 20:18). Mary does not whisper. She proclaims. Her words are a declaration of a reality that transforms her fear. We can do the same. We see Him in quiet mornings, in laughter, in tears, in acts of mercy. We see Him when grief gives way to joy. We are women navigating loss, longing, our own weaknesses, and the ordinary chaos of life. We can share in Mary Magdalene’s wonder. We can share in her courage. One day, there may be a moment when Jesus calls our name and everything changes. When He does, may we proclaim with unshakable confidence: “I have seen the Lord.” Relate to the Lord // When have you heard the Lord call you by name? Share that experience with a friend.

July 21, 2026 // Tuesday of the Sixteenth Week in Ordinary Time // Optional Memorial of Saint Lawrence of Brindisi, Priest and Doctor of the Church Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 12:46-50 Reflect on the Word //  I hurried into the little country church on that beautiful summer day, heartbroken and weak, needing shelter. Some people I trusted and held very dear had hurt me deeply, and I did not know how to respond. I needed guidance from the Lord. I needed humility, so that I would be able to see past my own pain to the right path forward. In today’s Gospel, Jesus says, “whoever does the will of my heavenly Father is my brother, and sister, and mother” (Matthew 12:50). In my life, there have been times when the will of God felt utterly clear and undeniable. Discernment was easy. I saw the path brightly lit before me, and I walked confidently down it. Other times, the options feel much more hazy. As I begged for guidance that day in church, the Holy Spirit prompted me to pray the Litany of Humility. I assumed that humility would allow me to put my needs aside and turn the other cheek. Then the Lord showed me that what I assumed was humility was actually fear and pride. I prayed for deliverance from the desire of being loved and approved, the fear of being despised and forgotten.  In this instance, God’s will for me was to create a boundary that protected my family from injustice and injury. It was not easy for me to set aside my pride and risk the disapproval of people I so desperately wanted to please.  It takes a huge amount of courage to discern and follow God’s will, especially when it causes us to turn away from the approval of friends or family. But Jesus promises that when we are faithful, we become His family. He knows what it’s like to be despised and rejected. His approval is worth infinitely more than the approval of any other.  As we grow in virtue, and in intimate knowledge of Scripture, His will becomes easier to discern. And as we continue to practice obedience and experience God’s faithfulness, those courageous leaps become easier to make. Relate to the Lord // Pray the Litany of Humility today. 

July 20, 2026 // Monday of the Sixteenth Week in Ordinary Time // Optional Memorial of Saint Apollinaris, Bishop and Martyr Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s First Reading: Micah 6:1-4, 6-8 Reflect on the Word //  I sat at the kitchen table staring absently out the window, my thoughts a million miles away. I was healing and reorienting after a major personal decision, and many negative emotions now competed with good memories from the past year. My thoughts harshly accused me as I assessed my mistakes and wondered how I could “make it up” to God for falling short. At that moment, my eyes drifted to the Divine Mercy image on our kitchen wall. Christ’s face pleaded that I didn’t need to do this. Trust and humility would suffice.  Today’s First Reading takes us into the hills where the Lord and Israel hold trial. I imagine myself standing in the mountains where this exchange reverberates from the rocks and high places. Since the Lord uses many words like “hear,” “pay attention,” and “answer me,” I know I must listen carefully. Then, the divine vulnerability of God’s petition cuts me to the heart: “O my people, what have I done to you, or how have I wearied you? Answer me!” (Micah 6:3) Although He is God, He only accuses us humbly.  Do I perceive Christ’s mercy? I often anticipate an exacting God only to find Him more lenient than I am towards myself. I am sometimes like Israel, trying to offer holocausts and streams of oil: I also try to calculate how to placate God, certain that I must do something big.  But the Lord shows me I am thinking in human terms. Have I listened to what He requires? His tenderness convicts, then shows me the true solution, simple and insignificant though it may seem: “to do the right and to love goodness, and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8). His divine, merciful gaze entreats me to let this truth echo in my memory.  Sister, release your thoughts and self-accusation to Him. God does not upbraid you or measure the way we do, even in the hilly, hard places of life. He does not condemn: He calls out tenderly, mercifully, and humbly. He shows us how to act. Trust that He knows what suffices.  Relate to the Lord // Today, meditate on an image of the Divine Mercy. 

July 18, 2026 // Saturday of the Fifteenth Week in Ordinary Time // Optional Memorial of Saint Camillus de Lellis, Priest [In the Dioceses of the United States] Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel for the Memorial of Saint Camillus de Lellis: John 15:9-17 Reflect on the Word //  I love You, Lord, but . . . The word but is a conjunction to set up contrasting thoughts, and too often it comes up in my conversations with the Lord.  I love You, but . . . I know Your will, but . . . I trust You, but . . . Whatever follows the word but is a contrasting thought:  I love You, but I really don’t want to do what You are asking me to do.  I know Your will, but I really want this other thing.  I trust You, but I grow impatient.  How would my prayer life look different if I simply put a period where I use the word but? I love you. I trust you. I believe you. No contrasting thoughts, just expressions of love, trust, faith.  Jesus’ words in the Gospel today sound so simple. He invites us to remain in His love and assures us that if we keep His commandments, we will remain in His love (see John 15:9-17). The greatest of these commandments, of course, is to love God with all our hearts, our minds, and our strength.   We remain in that love simply by loving Him with our entirety. When we find ourselves using the contrasting conjunction but in our prayer, it is a sign that we are struggling to love Him fully. We need to take that to deeper prayer, because it is likely that we are spiritually attached to something of this world that is preventing us from fully remaining in His love.  We all desire to remain in God’s love. Yet keeping His commandments in order to do so can be hard. The day-to-day temptations of life can press on us. Always remember that the Sacrament of Reconciliation is there waiting for each of us, allowing us to clear away the obstacles that keep us from receiving and remaining in God’s love.  Relate to the Lord // What is  your “but”? Journal about what’s keeping your from loving or trusting God.

July 17, 2026 // Friday of the Fifteenth Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Responsorial Psalm: Isaiah 38: 10, 11, 12abcd, 16 Reflect on the Word //  I slumped into a pew in the back of the chapel, arms crossed belligerently in front of my chest, and expelled a loud huff. Grumpy from lack of sleep, overwhelmed by a mountain of assignments to grade, stewing over an email I’d just received, and hangry to boot, I felt like a mutinous toddler as I narrowed my eyes at the tabernacle. Melodramatic as it seems now, in that moment, I felt like the writer of today’s Responsorial Psalm as my spirit groaned, “To the gates of the nether world I shall be consigned for the rest of my years!” (Isaiah 38:10) Somewhere between the Gospel and the beginning of the Eucharistic Prayer, I felt my irritation dissipate. The transformation was striking in its subtlety. It was as though the Lord had pressed a finger tenderly to my chest and set my cold heart awash in the gentle warmth of His love and presence, which radiated to fill my entire being. I still felt like the writer of today’s Responsorial Psalm, but now I was singing a different tune: “Those live whom the LORD protects; yours is the life of my spirit. You have given me health and life” (Isaiah 38:16). Have you ever had a “life-saving” moment like that? Maybe yours, too, was a soul-stirring moment in the Mass, a miraculous change of perspective you’d be hard-pressed to articulate. Or maybe it was a smile from a stranger when you were being particularly hard on yourself, or a text from a friend that made you laugh when you needed it most, or the happily wagging tail of a dog who greeted you after a crummy day at work.  Sister, take heart: no matter how bleak life may seem, the Lord is always there, extending His hand to pull us out of the pit and give us new life, over and over again.  Relate to the Lord // Reflect on your own life-saving moments of grace—and thank God for them! 

July 16, 2026 // Thursday of the Fifteenth Week in Ordinary Time // Optional Memorial of Our Lady of Mount Carmel Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 11:28-30 Reflect on the Word //  “What’s going on? Do you need to talk?”  My colleague’s combative tone and demeanor suddenly softened as she sank into the chair I offered her. With tears piercing her eyes, she began to share about the heavy burdens that had prompted her outburst just moments before. I had summoned this employee to my cubicle to chastise her, but it was clear by her burnt-out and scattered state that she needed much more than the fraternal correction I had already given. Here before me was a daughter of the Father desperately in need of rest, and the Lord, by placing her in my midst, was inviting me to alleviate her load, even if only for a moment.  “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). In today’s Gospel, our tender Lord implores us to find reprieve from all that weighs down our bodies and hearts. And yet, Jesus isn’t merely offering us an escape from our problems; He is revealing His eagerness to share the load by inviting us to yoke ourselves to His love (see Matthew 11:29). Our Savior is both Burden-Bearer and Burden-Sharer, Who beautifully gives us an example of how we, too, are to love. But how often are we willing to let others unload their weight of suffering? Do we reserve a welcoming space in our hearts for the tired new mom, the over-caffeinated college student, the lonely widow? United with Christ, we can be the “easy yoke” that our brothers and sisters are seeking.  To my blessed surprise, when I asked that staff member how I could pray for her, she requested a prayer at that very moment. And as we prayed together, a lightness washed over her that hadn’t been present before.  By choosing to gently accompany others through their struggles, our lives become a radiance of Christ’s and a safe haven for every labored and burdened soul we encounter. May our witness echo the words of the Divine Shepherd, Who lovingly assures us and all those we walk with, You can find rest here.  Relate to the Lord // Look for an opportunity to pray with someone today—and take it!

July 15, 2026 // Memorial of Saint Bonaventure, Bishop and Doctor of the Church Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 11:25-27  Reflect on the Word //  I was deep in prayer with Jesus in my holy imagination, sitting with Him by a tranquil stream, when I realized I had a request for God the Father. Jesus encouraged me to go and ask immediately. So we set out, embarking on a journey to the Father’s house. I pictured how it would go: finding the grandeur of a heavenly castle, the Creator of the Universe on His glorious throne, and little girl me in a formal audience, tiptoeing toward Him, bowing, and timidly uttering my plea.  Yet as I let my prayer play out, I was amazed by what happened instead. We indeed arrived at a castle, but there were no crowds, guards, or holding rooms for an audience. The doors stood wide open, awaiting me. I heard a deep, booming chuckle echoing through the halls as I stepped inside, followed by the Father merrily calling my name.  Abba! The word instantly welled up in my heart in response, even though I’d never personally used it before. The Father continued to joyfully call my name, drawing me toward Him in a sort of divine Marco-Polo, and I continued to respond Abba! Abba! The Father’s call and my response became louder and more eager until I came upon Him waiting in the heart of the castle, in a literal heart-shaped room. He was down on one knee, arms stretched wide, ready to scoop me up and swing me around. All the while, Jesus stood by, gleeful and gratified to reveal the Father’s true nature to me: not only His loving Father, but my true Father (see Matthew 11:27). You and I are that heavenly castle. At Baptism we’re imprinted with a new, permanent identity—Child of God—and the Holy Trinity comes to dwell in us. Jesus reveals the Father as both King of the Universe and our loving, doting, caring Father. The more childlike we become, the more we experience this truth. The Father is not far away but intimately close, waiting for you. In Him, you’re never alone or abandoned. You are chosen, now and always, by a Father Who calls you by name—and calls you His.   Relate to the Lord // Imagine the Father receiving you in prayer today? What does He say? How does it feel?

July 14, 2026 // Memorial of Saint Kateri Tekakwitha, Virgin [In the Dioceses of the United States] Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s First Reading: Isaiah 7:1-9 Reflect on the Word //  My mind was already ten steps ahead of reality. One small situation turned into ten “what ifs,” each one worse than the last. I could feel the anxiety building, my thoughts spiraling faster than I could slow them down. Nothing had actually happened yet—but internally, everything felt like it was falling apart. I kept trying to reason my way out of it, to find some sense of control, but the more I thought, the less steady I felt. In that moment, I realized how quickly fear can distort what’s actually in front of me. What starts as something small can feel overwhelming when I let my thoughts run unchecked. Instead of staying grounded in what’s real, I begin reacting to what might happen. It’s exhausting—and it leaves me feeling anything but firm. In Isaiah 7:1-9, the king and his people are described as trembling, “as the trees of the forest tremble in the wind” (Isaiah 7:2). You can almost feel the panic in that image—unstable, shaken, at the mercy of forces outside their control. And it’s there, right in the middle of that fear, that God speaks: “Take care you remain tranquil and do not fear. [. . .] This shall not stand” (Isaiah 7:4, 7). God doesn’t dismiss the situation, but He reframes it. What feels overwhelming is not ultimate. What looks threatening will not last. And then comes the invitation: “Unless your faith is firm, you shall not be firm” (Isaiah 7:9). That line stays with me. Stability isn’t found in figuring everything out or controlling every outcome—it’s found in trusting the One Who already holds it all. Faith doesn’t remove uncertainty, but it anchors us within it. We all face moments when fear feels louder than truth. May we learn to pause, to listen, and to trust God’s voice over the noise. For when our faith is rooted in Him, we find a steadiness that circumstances cannot take away. Relate to the Lord // Where does your trust need to be firmed up? Ask for the grace to be steadfast in trust. 

July 13, 2026 // Monday of the Fifteenth Week in Ordinary Time // Optional Memorial of Saint Henry Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 10:34–11:1 Reflect on the Word //  I opened the email. “This isn’t going to work out,” I read. “ I need someone who is willing to help with all of my current projects. Based on what you’ve shared, I’m going to have to look for another writer.”  I closed the computer and sat back, processing what had just happened.  I’d been invited to work with and learn from a well-known writer, helping him interview some of his top clients. It was a good opportunity. But in our initial meeting, he’d mentioned a project I was not willing to be a part of. It would have required what I saw as a compromise of the Gospel’s pro-life message.  Reading his email, one part of me was indignant. Another part of me was relieved—no more wondering if this was my best use of my time and talents. Another part realized humbly that in standing for one aspect of the Gospel, I was experiencing another:  “Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it” (Matthew 10:39).   This verse from today’s Gospel reflects the paradox of martyrdom. The resurrected life of a Christian has a requirement: that we die to ourselves in union with Jesus Christ.  This was a small death, to be sure—but it was a death.  A loss. A dead end. God, I knew, would bring life and flourishing out of this tiny crucifixion. I took a deep breath, opened the computer again, and began working on my book on a Catholic martyr who’d given her very life for the truth of the Gospel.   Sister, we may be asked to make massive sacrifices for the sake of truth, like the martyrs in the canon of Saints. Or we’ll make dozens of daily decisions—little martyrdoms—that allow us to die to ourselves over and over, becoming more like Christ each time.  But martyrdom is never the end.  It makes possible true freedom, capacity for love, and the promise of eternity. And even in this life, God will bring goodness and abundance out of each small sacrifice for His sake.  Relate to the Lord // What sacrifice or death to self can you offer to the Lord today? 

July 11, 2026 // Memorial of Saint Benedict, Abbot Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 10:24–33 Reflect on the Word //   My mentor at work is a phenomenal woman—smart, kind, gentle, accomplished—and yet, being the soft-spoken one out of the two of us, she is the last person to boast of her greatness. So, when she received a well-deserved promotion in our office, I knew I wanted to use my boisterous voice to support her. Even though she was hesitant about her future in the position, I never was. I always knew she would do great, and I practically shouted her amazing accomplishment from the rooftops, wanting everyone to hear about the wonderful work she has done—and will continue to do.  Looking at today’s Gospel, I pondered how I use my voice to speak of my faith. Do I confidently proclaim the goodness of the Lord in the same way? With the same amount of pride and volume? Do I want everyone to hear Him?  Matthew shares Jesus’ request: “What I say to you in the darkness, speak in the light; what you hear whispered, proclaim on the housetops” (Matthew 10:27). Sometimes the voice of Jesus on earth is like that of my mentor: quiet and humble in its greatness. The Lord saves lives, loves us deeply, and rescues us from sin, yet He does these things in gentle, subtle ways. Jesus does not force His love onto humanity; He whispers it. It is our voice that amplifies His love for others. I believe in Him, we should all firmly believe in Him, and together, we can proclaim His saving goodness from the rooftops for all to hear!  Where is God calling you in your life to speak up and out for Him? What do you want the world to hear about Jesus and His goodness? Each of us can be a confident and proud amplifier of the One Who loves us most, using the voice He gave us. Relate to the Lord // Use your voice today to share Jesus’ love with someone.

July 10, 2026 // Friday of the Fourteenth Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 10:16-23  Reflect on the Word //  My brother called me in a panic. “I hate it here,” he said with desperation in his voice. For a man prone to depression, moving clear across the country and living in near isolation was taking its toll. For the better part of an hour, I let him sob into the phone without the slightest clue as to how I could help.  “Pray with him,” my husband gently whispered to me.  But I couldn’t. He was an atheist, after all. I was certain that my request would be immediately denied.  Still, I followed the nudge.  “Would you like to pray?” I sheepishly asked. To my surprise, he agreed, but not without making his atheistic beliefs clear to me first.  The truth is that this story doesn’t conclude with cinematic fireworks. My brother didn’t have a spiritual awakening or “come to Jesus” moment. He simply said yes to my invitation, and that was enough.  We are warned in today’s Gospel that we “will be hated by all because of [His] name” (Matthew 10:22). Rejection is part of the Christian life, and that truth can be scary—so much so that we often end up ignoring the little nudges God places on our heart. We slink back when we know we should be bold in prayer or stay silent in the face of wrongdoing.  Though scary, the beauty of leaning into God’s prompting is that we will never do it alone. The Holy Spirit, Who dwells within us, will guide us along the way. We see this in Matthew 10:19, when Jesus says, “Do not worry about how you are to speak or what you are to say. You will be given at that moment what you are to say.” In those moments when we are willing to speak up, God takes our fear of rejection and replaces it with His presence.  I wonder, sister, what nudges have you been ignoring in your life for fear of rejection? Lean into them.  He will guide your way.  Relate to the Lord // Pray for courage to respond to the little promptings of the Holy Spirit today.

July 9, 2026 // Thursday of the Fourteenth Week in Ordinary Time // Optional Memorial of Saint Augustine Zhao Rong, Priest, and Companions, Martyrs Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s First Reading: Hosea 11:1-4, 8e-9 Reflect on the Word //  I left the confessional and dropped to my knees in my choir stall. Gazing at the monstrance, my heart was pouring out gratitude for the beautiful mercy flowing from the Sacrament I had just received. Then the question surfaced in my heart: Lord, how can You be so patient with me? Time after time I have gone to Him with the same sins, the same weaknesses, the same failures, and again and again His grace has flooded my soul. His forgiveness brings peace as the words of absolution wash over me. Sure, I’m not sacrificing to the Baals and burning incense to idols as we read in today’s First Reading. Or am I? How often has the Lord called to me, and I have responded by running farther from Him? There are so many areas of my heart where I run from Him and reject my identity as His daughter, though He “[draws me] with human cords, with bands of love”(Hosea 11:4). I  have known His love—I know His love even now—and I have heard His call, not out of Egypt, but out of the world, to belong to Him. And yet, like Israel I sometimes still rebel. He has fed me, He has healed me, and still my heart desires to direct itself and fails to surrender. But His love is patient, it is unending, “[His] heart is overwhelmed, [His] pity is stirred” (Hosea 11:8). It is His heart that is so patient, His Divine Love that draws us, fosters us, and raises us to His cheeks again and again (see Hosea 11:3). Daughter, no matter how far we wander, no matter how often we fall or turn our hearts from Him, He welcomes us back. He is a patient Father, a Divine Lover, for “[He] is God and not man . . . [He] will not let the flames consume you” (Hosea 11:8).  Relate to the Lord // Make a plan to go to the Sacrament of Reconciliation this week. Receive His patient love. 

July 8, 2026 // Wednesday of the Fourteenth Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Responsorial Psalm: Psalm 105:2-3, 4-5, 6-7  Reflect on the Word //  Her gaze was penetrating as she held my face with her hard-earned wrinkling hands. We were in public, yet I felt no discomfort. She wanted to communicate something to me, a message beyond the ability of words. She had just finished telling me a story from an earlier chapter of her life, sharing about an experience that deeply shaped her and moved the trajectory of her future years. Her look’s intent was to transmit a lesson that she wanted to be sure I comprehended. Her final words to me were, “There’s always more. We have a great deal to look forward to after this life.” In that moment, this woman imparted a word of hope to me, a reminder of the end for which I was created. Her intent gaze revealed to me that the Father’s gaze constantly invites me into “the ever-more.” We are called to respond, just as we hear David exclaim in today’s Psalm: “Seek always the face of the Lord” (105:4). God’s look of love beckons, and He desires to receive a response of love from each soul He created, each soul whom He knows. Each one of us is awaited in the gaze of Christ—the icon of the Father, the second Person of the Trinity, true God and true Man.  Saint Thérèse of Lisieux was known for her devotion to the Holy Face of Jesus, a devotion she learned from  her own beloved sister. In her Canticle of the Holy Face, Thérèse prays, “Your Face is my only Homeland.” May this be the constant prayer of my own heart.  We are all invited each day to recall the wonders of the Lord and to live our lives glorifying Him. The gaze of Christ invites each of us to reorient our own gaze to the fundamental call of our lives: union with Him, the One Who thirsts for us to enter into the eternal Presence of the Holy Trinity. Relate to the Lord // Pray Saint Thérèse’s Canticle of the Holy Face today. 

July 7, 2026 // Tuesday of the Fourteenth Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 9:32-38 Reflect on the Word //  We drove home in tense silence, Jesus and I. The Gospel at daily Mass had proclaimed “the harvest is abundant” but mine was nowhere in sight (Matthew 9:37). It had been two years since God gave harvest as my word for the year, but as far as I could tell, there was no abundance in sight.  Frustrated, I turned to the Lord and vented my anger and disappointment. Did I misunderstand? Why do You promise good things if You’re not going to deliver? How much longer, Lord? Like me, I’m sure you have many needs and desires. Intentions you’ve been praying for for years, hopes you have yet to see realized. But as seasons change and years go by without the precious fruit you’ve been waiting for, it’s natural for resentment to build or trust to wane.  It is here, in the wilderness of faith, that Jesus’ heart is “moved with pity,” not only for the crowds in today’s Gospel, but for us. Like them, we so often feel “troubled and abandoned” (Matthew 9:36).  But when Jesus speaks of a harvest, He means what He says. There is a field to be cultivated and abundant fruit to be borne, in the world, in the Church, and in our souls. The harvest Jesus is bringing about is more plentiful than we can imagine—and that kind of yield takes time.  From our limited perspective, we expect the harvest to happen in a moment—a positive pregnancy test, a job offer, the remission of an illness. But harvest is a process, not an event. And that process is unfolding in every season. We’re so far removed from an agrarian society that we forget: different plants yield fruit in different seasons, but something is always in bloom.  The evidence of harvest is all around, both now and not yet, because His love and provision are always in season—if only we have eyes to see it. Relate to the Lord // Where is the harvest at hand in your life today?

July 6, 2026 // Optional Memorial of Saint Maria Goretti, Virgin and Martyr // Monday of the Fourteenth Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 9:18–26 Reflect on the Word //  It had been nearly fifteen years since we’d been in the same room, and I could hardly wait to see my dear friend—this friend who taught me to love God’s Word. A lot happened in those fifteen years, a lot of life, big life. In her case, she’d lost her only son when he was murdered by a homeless drug addict. Some years before that, her husband fell, broke his neck, and was now a quadriplegic. My dear friend is his caretaker, even as she continues to work a full-time job. As I was waiting for her, I texted and asked her what she was driving so I’d know what car to look for. She replied that she had planned on buying herself a nice luxury vehicle but instead, she was driving a wheelchair-accessible minivan. This was followed by many laughing emojis. At dinner, we sat and laughed and cried and laughed some more through a delightful three hours, trying to cram fifteen years of living into our conversation. Her sincere Christian witness, her love for the Lord, her trust in His plans was deeply moving. She even beamed as she told me the story of how the Lord had provided the ugly but necessary minivan. Through the whole dinner, I kept thinking, This is a woman who knows how to reach for Jesus. And keep reaching. Twelve long years, the unnamed woman in our Gospel reading bled (see Matthew 9:20). Twelve long years she sought treatment, spending everything she had to no avail. Still, she reached out for the Lord. She reached for Jesus and was met with His healing power. I saw that so clearly in my friend. Despite all she had suffered and lost, she continued to reach for Jesus, and He was so willing and able to fill her up to the brim with trust in Him and sincere joy. This being human, living among other broken humans, living in a broken world—it’s not easy. But if we keep reaching for the Lord, He will unleash grace upon grace, and occasionally, an ugly minivan.   Relate to the Lord // Where do you need to reach out for Jesus—again or for the first time? 

July 4, 2026 // Saturday of the Thirteenth Week in Ordinary Time // Independence Day [In the Dioceses of the United States] Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 9:14–17 Reflect on the Word //  This birthday was different. Familiar joy didn’t bubble up; instead I felt uncertainty, bittersweetness, even a pang of regret. Were my forties all they could have been? Why didn’t I feel I had anything to show for the last ten years? As I turn fifty, instead of a house full of six children, my nest is quickly emptying. How I spend my time and what I focus on are all new. Facing a new decade brings a whole new experience of life. Roles that once fit comfortably no longer do. And I can’t help but wonder: Who am I? Who am I becoming? It can be tempting to ignore the tension, to keep stretching myself to fit what has always been. But Jesus reminds me in today’s Gospel that new wine cannot be poured into old wineskins. If it is, both are lost: “the skins burst, the wine spills out, and the skins are ruined” (Matthew 9:17). Instead, new wine requires “fresh wineskins”—space that can expand, stretch, and hold what is being created. The image of the wineskins reminds us that new seasons are not meant to be forced into old patterns, identities, or expectations. The tension does not indicate failure, nor is it something to resist. Rather, we are invited to take the next step into a new season of life. While many women feel this most acutely in midlife, this truth is not limited to that season. A young woman finding her voice, a new bride adjusting to her vocation, or someone beginning again after loss—all experience moments when the old wineskins no longer fit the new wine. Today’s Gospel reminds us that in every season, God is always doing something new, inviting us forward, not backward. My sister, Jesus does not ask us to preserve what has already been stretched beyond its limits. Instead, He invites us to trust the new life unfolding within us. Let us not cling to who we have been, but become who we are being made to be—trusting that God will provide the space, grace, and courage we need to receive all that is new. Relate to the Lord // What new thing is God doing in this season? Ask for the grace to receive all that He has for you.

July 3, 2026 // Feast of Saint Thomas, Apostle Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: John 20:24–29 Reflect on the Word //  One of the most painful experiences for the human heart is to feel left behind in one’s sorrow.  There have been seasons of my life in which it seemed that everyone around me was being blessed in ways I had long desired. I wanted those joys for them; I just also wanted them for myself. In these moments, my temptation was to believe that God had forgotten me. That He had found others more worthy of His time, attention, and blessing. But God never forgets us, not for a moment.  And Saint Thomas the Apostle holds the most moving proof. Today’s Gospel places us in the Upper Room with the Apostles after Jesus’ Resurrection. The Apostles were in deep pain, confusion, and fear. Then, the Risen Jesus appeared to them and they rejoiced!  Except Thomas. Because he wasn’t there during that time. Thomas, who was undergoing the same trauma and guilt as the others, was the one Apostle who was not present at the Lord’s first appearance. At the news of Christ’s Resurrection, Thomas may have felt forgotten and left behind. All he wanted was Jesus. And everyone else seemed to get Him—but not Thomas. I can relate to the possible spiraling of Thomas’s heart and mind. Why would Jesus do this? Am I not important to Him? Am I disposable in this mission? Did He not want to see me? Then, we receive Jesus’ response. Thomas was far from forgotten, far from disposable.  Jesus, in fact, wanted something even more special and more intimate for him. When He appears again, Jesus invites Thomas to place his hands in the very wounds that would heal his wounded heart.  What Thomas most desired was to be close to the Risen Jesus. Thomas received what he most desired—it just looked different than what he thought. It was an even grander expression of love. If we desire this closeness to the Lord, should we not expect the same merciful love as well?  Saint Thomas shows us that we are never left behind, never inconsequential, and never unimportant to the Lord. On the contrary, He chooses us to come even closer, every single day. Relate to the Lord // Is there a wound that’s been coming up lately? Show it to Jesus. Tell Him about it.