When he saw the crowds, [Jesus] went up the mountain, and after he had sat down, his disciples came to him. He began to teach them. // Matthew 5:1-2 Years ago, I was elbow-deep in a pile of dishes when I heard my four year old’s flustered sigh from the other room. I rushed there, only to find our bedroom floor strewn with stubby crayons and creased papers. The more Kristen pressed the crayon upon the canvas, the more the picture ripped beneath her efforts. “I cannot color within the lines,” she blurted with tears streaming. That morning, in her try-hard weariness, I saw myself. I saw the mom who strived to keep a clean house and arrive everywhere on time. I saw the wife who dutifully served dinner by candlelight and who remembered everyone’s birthday. I saw the friend who thought she knew just how to comfort a friend struggling with her teen. I lived within my own set of invisible lines. But no matter how hard I tried, I kept spilling over. In the Gospel today, we hear about the Beatitudes. Jesus singled out people who didn't have it all together and who didn't live their lives within their lines. If anything, they were needy, dependent, and weak. I realize that Jesus’ words are neither innocuous nor soothing. They are an affront to my way of living. They school me in humility and free me from perfectionism. They invite me to abandon old securities and embrace my vulnerability. They call me higher to where striving ceases and communion flourishes. Sister, are you struggling to live within a set of lines too? We all have places where it feels impossible to get our lives together. But what if we traded our self-invented lines of expectation for the compassionate contours of grace? What if we saw our ‘creases’ as sacred spaces for the Spirit to move in? What if we embraced the Beatitudes, not as some sensational acts reserved only for "superwomen," but as attitudes of those who struggled through the fears and fatigues of everyday life? Today, the Church celebrates the long list of Saints and Blesseds who lived a free life infused with the Beatitudes, who are honored not because they were perfect, but because they allowed God to work through their creased canvases and crushed spirits in ways only He can. [bctt tweet="Embrace the Beatitudes. // Michelle D'Silva" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

“So they are no longer two, but one flesh.” // Matthew 19:6 “It’s dementia.” My mother’s report shook our world. For half a century, she had always been the proactive one. Now, she no longer links faces with names. As dementia slowly locks away her life, it eats away at my dad’s life too. Daily, he watches his vivacious companion of forty-five years slip into the cruel abyss of forgetfulness. Yet, even in the midst of loss and leeching memories, Dad testifies of a love so transforming, which requires no great effort on his part to serve his beloved, knowing well that she can never reciprocate his kindness. If anything, it fuels him to greater sacrifice and selfless service. In today’s Gospel, Jesus affirms the unbreakable covenant of marriage: “What God has joined together; man must not separate” (Matthew 19:6). Meaning, we can’t promise “in sickness and in health” simply based off noble intentions, but only on the solid terrain of God’s love. Only then will our marriages have the potential to thrive, not merely survive. When my mother offers no glimmer of recognition, when she lashes out, when she forgets Dad’s name, when every re-buttoned shirt and unknotted shoelace is a battle, it is transforming love that secures, soothes, and sanctifies—only Christ’s transforming love. That sight has broken my heart wide open, hollowed out the hard places, and helped me redefine my own marital commitment. It has shattered my pride and exposed my fleeting promises. And, it has taught me that without being transformed into the image of Christ, I cannot truly witness “I do.” Sister, I don’t know what painful sickness and suffering has ravaged your marriage today or the marriages of your loved ones. This I know: the grace of the Sacrament is more than sufficient to carry us through. Christ is not oblivious to our pain nor does He offer plain platitudes. He is a faithful companion Who walks through the mundane and messy places of our marriages, embodying our suffering and transforming us by His love. Sometimes working with Christ’s grace means acknowledging unsafe circumstances, reaching out, and seeking help where needed. Today, He invites us to this love that frees us to see beyond our present limitations and to hold tight to the One Who promised, “So they are no longer two, but one flesh." [bctt tweet="The grace of the Sacrament is more than sufficient to carry us through. // Michelle D'Silva" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion

“Amen, amen, I say to you, you are looking for me not because you saw signs but because you ate the loaves and were filled." // John 6:26 What’s in it for me? is the silent question behind just about everything we do today. It determines what we eat and wear, who we associate with and how we use our money. Sadly, it is also often how we approach the Gospel, like a benefit-package. No one saw this tragedy lived out more than Jesus. The crowds mobbed Him seeking ‘more’ but leaving empty, having embraced lesser things, forfeiting real treasure. They even wanted to make Him king—their Bread King. But Jesus knew, only too well, the plain and unpalatable truth: they followed Him because their bellies were filled. “You are looking for me,” Jesus said, “not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves” (John 6:26). How inconceivable the loss, when signs become the end and the One signified the means? No wonder they were incessantly unsatisfied, wrestling with want and leaving without seeking an explanation. What’s in it for me? There are days when I’m tempted to serve God for the benefits I hope to enjoy. There are times when I demand a full blueprint and succumb to quick fixes rather than wait. There are moments when I seek to save myself, when I opt for pain-free paths, when I’m looking to be filled only for now—not thinking about eternal consequences. What is my motive for the profession of my faith? Selfish and prudential? Worldly and utilitarian? Am I seeking Him for gain? Pursuing Him for reward? Jesus does not eliminate the concern for daily food. Nor does He remove concern for all that can make life more progressive. But Jesus doesn’t just want to give bread. He wants to be Bread. He wants to live in us. He wants to be at the center of our longing so we can be fully satisfied and overflow for others. Jesus gives us signs so He can elevate our earthly visions to eternal horizons, to appetites far more significant than simply fulfilling human desires. For all who are hungry, the Bread of Heaven has come down and He wants us to have everything the Father offers! [bctt tweet="The Bread of Heaven has come down. // Michelle D'Silva" username="blessedisshe__"] listen to today’s devotion