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.

July 2, 2026  // Thursday of the Thirteenth Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 9:1-8  Reflect on the Word //  The kids’ bedroom door closes behind me with a soft “click,” and I let out a long sigh. The boys are asleep at last, and now it’s time for all the day’s mistakes to begin clamoring for my attention.  The nightly self-accusations are wearyingly similar: I lost my temper too many times to count.  I said unkind things I can’t take back.  I whined and complained instead of thanking God for His countless blessings.   There are so many wrongs I can’t right, and some nights the weight of my failings presses down so heavily, I feel spiritually paralyzed.  Then I hear Jesus’ words to the paralytic in today’s Gospel: “Courage, child, your sins are forgiven” (Matthew 9:2).  I know God’s mercy is infinite, an “abyss” as He described it to Saint Faustina (Diary 1777). Yet somehow, deep down, I’m always afraid that I will eventually run out of chances. My own spiritual paralysis terrifies me, and instead of throwing myself on His mercy, I beat myself up: I should be better by now; I should have conquered these habits.  But here, laid out on my stretcher and unable to move, I see the Lord gazing down at me with love. And I know that I do not have to be afraid.  Courage. We have only to look at Him, not at ourselves. We are helpless, laid low by our sins, but He “has authority on earth to forgive sins” (Matthew 9:6). The only thing that keeps Him from working miracles in and through us is our fear—the fear that says, God can’t possibly keep forgiving me . . . He must be so disappointed in me. We can have complete confidence in this: Jesus is not afraid of our sin. He’s not scandalized by our weaknesses and daily failings. He only wants us to let Him come close and lift us to our feet. And He will happily do so again and again and again, as long as we do not lose courage—the courage that comes from trust in Him.  Relate to the Lord // Spend a moment in imaginative prayer as the paralytic on the mat. Look up at Jesus and ask Him for what you need.

July 1, 2026 // Wednesday of the Thirteenth Week in Ordinary Time // Optional Memorial of Saint Junipero Serra, Priest [In the Dioceses of the United States] Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 8:28-34 Reflect on the Word //  I sat anxiously in the wooden pew, gently swaying back and forth, taking deep breaths—anything to calm my nerves as I waited my turn for Confession. I was deeply overwhelmed by my sinfulness, my heart and thoughts swarming with discontent. I had begun to confess regularly, but my heart had yet to receive the truth of Love and Mercy Himself. The enemy’s taunts overcame my heart and mind, causing me to doubt and question. What if my sins are the exception to His compassion? What if my mistakes are too much for Him?   As I read today’s Gospel, I was struck by the words “he came” (Matthew 8:28). Jesus willingly entered the place where two demoniacs resided. It was a place to be avoided, as the demoniacs made it dangerous for anyone to pass. Jesus went where no one else was willing to go, and He entered into this area of darkness without any fear or hesitation.  As I ponder this in light of my Confession experience, I understand that His desire was never to condemn or hurt me, but to cast out the darkness that separates me from Him. He doesn’t enter into these places only to wipe away my sins, but also to give, to pour out His abundant love and mercy.  Dear sister, He’ll never tire of driving out the darkness from our hearts with His tender yet powerful healing. He’s never afraid to enter into the parts of our hearts that pain us, even the places where we don’t dare to go. We worship a King Whose mercy and loving pursuit remain inexhaustible for all eternity. There is no darkness, sin, or affliction that He isn’t willing to enter and redeem. May we allow this truth to sink deep into our souls, and continue to return to Him.  Relate to the Lord // Make time this week to receive the Sacrament of Confession. Jesus’ love and mercy are waiting for you.

June 30, 2026 // Tuesday of the Thirteenth Week in Ordinary Time // Optional Memorial of the First Holy Martyrs of the Holy Roman Church Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 8:23-27  Reflect on the Word //  Just as suddenly as I noticed the casual tone of the crowd of tourists filling the little European church, I felt Him say to me, Will you help Me? It was an answer to a prayer I had made earlier: Please fill Your beautiful churches with people who cherish You. His answer came in what should have been silence after Communion. I struggled to understand how such a church could be such a lonely place for Him, echoing not with prayers but with street-level voices, not speaking to Him. He knew well how I longed for any of these tiny, forgotten European sanctuaries to be lifted and brought back home. I felt His similar tone in the Gospel today: “Why are you terrified, O you of little faith?” (Matthew 8:26) I could sense His compassion in the ache of my heart amid those embattled waters that dare to terrify me.  His question cut me to the core, for it was a reminder of Who He is: the One Who is worthy of my complete confidence. And just as His voice brought calm to the chaos of the waters, it healed me even as it rebuked. The constancy of His Voice reminds us that even when He seems to be sleeping, He is still in the boat—and that is not far.  The Gospel proclaims a “great calm” at His voice (Matthew 8:26). Do we ask Jesus to come to us as the Lord and Prince of Peace—in His total freedom—and to act and speak into our lives as He wills? Do we recognize His presence within us, no matter what storms may rage around us?  Relate to the Lord // Give Jesus permission to speak to you, to speak into your life today. Pay attention for His practical and personal inspirations.

June 29, 2026 //Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul, Apostles Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Psalm: Psalm 34:2-3, 4-5, 6-7, 8-9 Reflect on the Word //  Our three-year-old granddaughter, unable to speak or swallow due to mouth sores from cancer treatment, gave a thumbs up to her mom’s description of the fun visit they’d just experienced with her dad and siblings. They’d  returned home now, and I watched as our daughter positioned herself next to her child in the bed, settling in for a chat with me and my husband.  Our visit was restricted to a video call that day, but even so, it was impossible to miss the exhaustion and pain on their faces. A wave of discouragement swept over me as the call ended: Where is the evidence that God hears my prayers? Why must their suffering be prolonged? But reading today’s Responsorial Psalm, I wonder, could it be that the angel God promises to rescue us is delivering us from evils more threatening than cancer or the painful side effects of its treatment? I immerse myself further in the Psalm and discover that “the lowly” who “hear me” and are “glad” (Psalm 32:3) are the parts of me that doubt, resist, cower in fear, or hide in shame. I summon them out of hiding and declare, “The angel of the LORD encamps around those who fear him and delivers them” (Psalm 34:8). Then I invite all my parts to “glorify the LORD with me” (Psalm 32:4a). I receive grace to know the unchanging goodness of God even when I don’t understand His ways. Sister, the promises of today’s Psalm are not empty. When we choose to remember God’s glory and exalt His name, a real transformation takes place in us, no matter our circumstances. We  find courage  to let go of our doubts and fears and to entrust everything to Him. Relate to the Lord // Pray with Psalm 34 today. What verse or word does the Lord highlight for you?

June 27, 2026 // Saturday of the Twelfth Week in Ordinary Time // Optional Memorial of Saint Cyril of Alexandria, Bishop and Doctor of the Church Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 8:5-17 Reflect on the Word //  Unworthy. That is the word that resonated with me most in the season that led up to my Easter welcome into the Catholic Church. I came to the Catholic faith a little later in life, when I was in my early thirties. I had two little boys who had already been baptized into the faith, but for many years I thought I was fine keeping to my Protestant roots.  There was a hubris within me that for decades recognized that Jesus lived, suffered, and died for the salvation of my soul, and yet didn’t want to recognize the Church that He founded. I was happy to ignore the apostolic succession and honor instead the Protestant Christianity my parents had chosen for me. As an adult, I found myself free to choose the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic faith, and I felt unworthy of it all. But there was a paradox in this unworthiness.  Like the centurion in today’s Gospel, I could see and acknowledge my own unworthiness and still accept the gift of grace and life He offered.  We recall the centurion during each Mass when we recite our supplication: “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.”  Jesus brings the necessary healing, and we need humility to implore not just His grace, but to answer His invitation to encounter Him in the Eucharist. We are all unworthy. And yet it is this very recognition that gives space in our hearts for greater union with Him.  Our unworthiness is not because we are horrible people. There is no shame in our unworthiness. Our unworthiness is simply because He is so good. No level of human perfection could ever make us worthy of Him—of His sacrifice, of His love. His love is not earned by the worthy; it is freely given to the contrite of heart who seek unity with His divine will. It is given to the soul that cries out to be healed.  Relate to the Lord // Ask for the grace to receive the gift of His love. 

June 26, 2026 // Friday of the Twelfth Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 8:1-4 Reflect on the Word //  I stood in front of the mirror, frustrated again. My body felt foreign—sluggish, inflamed, unresponsive. I had tried the plans, followed the routines, done “all the right things,” and still, something wasn’t clicking. That familiar temptation crept in: fix it, control it, push harder. But beneath the noise was a quieter invitation—to come closer, not to a new plan, but to a Person. In that moment, I felt the tension between striving for a solution and surrendering to the One Who sees me fully. I didn’t need another answer. I needed to approach Him. In today’s Gospel, “a leper approached, did him homage, and said, ‘Lord, if you wish, you can make me clean’” (Matthew 8:2). The leper’s suffering is visible, undeniable. Yet what strikes me is not just his need for healing, but his clarity of faith. He knows Who Jesus is. He believes in His power. And so he draws near. Before any physical healing takes place, there is already a deeper restoration unfolding—a turning of the heart toward Christ. The leper’s condition becomes the very place of encounter. His suffering leads him not into isolation, but into relationship. Jesus stretches out His hand. He touches what others would avoid. The miracle that follows reveals something greater than healing alone: the heart of God, who is not distant from our wounds, but moved by them. The healing is real, but it is not the end. It is an invitation into communion. We, too, carry places of brokenness—visible or hidden—that ache for restoration. And yet, these very places can become the doorway to intimacy with Him. When we choose to approach Jesus in trust, we find that He is already reaching toward us, drawing us not only into healing, but into deeper relationship with Him. Relate to the Lord // Share your desire for healing with Jesus vulnerably. Allow Him to respond.

June 25, 2026 // Thursday of the Twelfth Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 7:21–29 Reflect on the Word //  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” my landlady said. “I have some bad news . . .” I stopped short in the driveway and listened as she announced that she would be moving out of state in a few months and needed to end my lease on her basement apartment early. I didn’t begrudge her a new job, of course, but I did feel a keen sting of disappointment, followed closely by tearful anxiety. It hadn’t even been nine months and I was hoping to stay there for at least another year: in that perfect space where the price was right and my commute was short and I lived within walking distance of the cutest independent bookstore. It had seemed like a small miracle when I found the place the previous summer, and now I wondered if I could trust the Lord to come through for me again.  It didn’t escape my notice when I prepared to write this devotion a little later that, in today’s Gospel, the Lord compares those who hear His word but don’t act on it to “a fool who has built his house on sand” (Matthew 7:26). On the other hand, those who do act on what the Lord has spoken have built their houses “solidly on rock” (Matthew 7:25).  I hear You, Lord, I thought with a smile and a shake of my head. The choice was clear: As I looked for a new literal house, would the house of my heart stand secure on the Lord’s promises? Would I act in accordance with God’s Word as revealed in Scripture—the persistent assurance that God is good and worthy of my trust? Or would I let doubt shatter what I knew to be true? I don’t know what secret storms your heart is currently weathering, sister. But I do know this: if we place our trust in the Lord, not just in word but with an act of the will, we, too, will build our houses on solid rock. The Lord is good, and His love is the firmest foundation. Relate to the Lord // “The Lord is good.” Do you believe this? What keeps you from believing this truth. Talk to the Lord about it. 

June 24, 2026 // Solemnity of the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s First Reading: Isaiah 49:1-6 Reflect on the Word //  A few months after my husband died, my kids and I went to visit our good friends to celebrate their daughter (my goddaughter) receiving her First Holy Communion. The loss was still extremely raw and painful. We had only survived one season, and as we embarked on another, the pain was near constant and so intense as to be almost unmanageable. I was barely hanging on. That weekend was Father’s Day, as well. I felt freshly broken, and I wept into the arms of my dead husband’s friend: “Why did this happen to me?” He held me tightly and said, “Because God wanted you to be a great Saint.” In today’s First Reading, the prophet Isaiah speaks of being made a “sharp-edged sword,” and a “polished arrow” (Isaiah 49:2). Think of what it takes to forge these weapons—being sharpened and polished is certainly not a pleasant experience. When I experience suffering and pain, my first response is often, “Why me?” The Lord is teaching me, patiently, repetitively, to surrender to the process of being made, being transformed. My efforts to participate in the redemptive work done on the Cross are not wasted, though I will have to wait to see the heavenly fruit of my labor. Isaiah’s prophecy applied in the short term to the Jews’ return from exile, and in the long term to Jesus, Who saved all people from bondage to sin. It also applies to each of us, called by our baptismal vocation to continue Christ’s redemptive work until He comes again. When we allow ourselves to be refashioned by the hands which made us, the God Who has a plan for our lives, we become ever more like Christ. Jesus gave up everything so that the world would be redeemed and bathed in His light. When we join our sufferings to His, Christ’s light within us shines brighter and spreads throughout the world. Relate to the Lord // Thank God for His good plan for your life, even if you can’t see it yet.

June 23, 2026 // Tuesday of the Twelfth Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 7:6, 12-14 Reflect on the Word //  I stared at my phone longer than I’d like to admit. The message was typed out, honest but uncomfortable. I knew it needed to be said, but I kept rereading it, softening the words, wondering if I should just delete it altogether. It would’ve been easier to avoid it or stay vague in order to keep the peace. My finger hovered over “send,” caught between what was easier and what was right. In that moment, I realized how often I equate peace with ease. If something feels uncomfortable, I assume it must not be the right choice. But more often than not, the easier option isn’t the more honest one. It doesn’t require courage, or trust, or surrender—it just keeps things smooth on the surface. And yet, I’ve started to notice that the choices that shape me most are rarely the ones that feel effortless in the moment. In Matthew 7:13-14, Jesus speaks plainly: “Enter through the narrow gate; [. . .] How narrow the gate and constricted the road that leads to life.” There’s something unsettling about that. We don’t like limitation—we associate it with restriction, not freedom. But Jesus reframes it. The narrow road isn’t about confinement; it’s about direction. It leads somewhere real, somewhere lasting. What I’m learning is that the narrow path often looks like small, daily choices: choosing honesty when it’s easier to stay vague, choosing prayer when I feel distracted, choosing trust when I’d rather control the outcome. It doesn’t always feel significant at the moment. It can feel hidden, even unnoticed. But over time, these small yeses shape a life rooted in something deeper than comfort. The wide road promises ease, but the narrow one promises life. And not just any life—true life, the kind that forms us, anchors us, and ultimately leads us home. We live in a world that constantly invites us to take the easier path. May we have the courage to choose the narrow way, trusting that even when it feels small or difficult, it is leading us into the fullness of life God desires for us. Relate to the Lord // What small yes are you being invited to give today? Maybe it is going to daily Mass, forgiving someone, putting down your phone, etc.

June 22, 2026 // Monday of the Twelfth Week in Ordinary Time // Optional Memorial of Saint John Fisher, Bishop and Saint Thomas More, Martyrs // Optional Memorial of Saint Paulinus of Nola, Bishop Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 7:1-5 Reflect on the Word //  Most days the beam in my own eye makes itself apparent before breakfast is cleared away. And somehow, today’s beam is always completely different from yesterday’s. There is no shortage of the ways in which I need to evaluate my own shortcomings, be they interior or in my outward actions—and this is all before I even look at the Internet! Jesus is clearly calling me to a higher degree of discipleship when He implores me to “remove the wooden beam from your eye first; then you will see clearly to remove the splinter from your brother’s eye” (Matthew 7:5).  Jesus is calling all of us to Confession and acceptance of His grace and correction. It’s a call to action, to great holiness—not just a call to introspection. And it frees us to support those around us as they strive to root sin out of their own lives. We see this in the lives of the Saints like Saint Thomas More, whom we remember today. He let the Lord perfect him, and he was courageous in calling out the error and sin he saw in the life and actions of King Henry VIII. Saint Thomas More did not act as if the errors and sins of the king were not his problem, but bravely called the king to repentance, even when he knew it could cost him his life.  Helping others recognize truth and acknowledge their sin only works if we ourselves live a life of holy humility. How can we know whether or not we are on the road to that holy humility? We might begin by asking ourselves if we’re willing to sacrifice for the truth to the degree Saint Thomas More did—to the point of martyrdom.  Relate to the Lord // What speck have you been focusing on in your neighbor’s eye? Where do you need to remove the beam from your own? 

June 20, 2026 // Saturday of the Eleventh Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 6:24-34  Reflect on the Word //  This year my oldest child will turn twenty-two years old. My youngest, the sixth, will be eleven. Many women without large families or older children often ask me about how I “do it all”: handle the teenage years, or feed four growing boys with bottomless stomachs. “One day at a time,” I often answer, “sometimes just one moment at a time!”  The more truthful answer (which I should use more often) is “by the grace of God.” The longer I’m a wife and a mother, the more I marvel at the work of God in my life. I’d have faltered terribly long ago without His grace. Today’s Gospel ends with a verse that I memorized decades ago, possibly in eighth grade: “Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself” (Matthew 6:34). It appealed to me in a way I couldn’t express then, but enough that I committed the words to heart. At the time, I didn’t realize just how deeply rooted Jesus’ words would become. Jesus’ direction “do not worry about tomorrow” convicts me to stay focused on the present moment. Serving my family and doing only as much as today requires are plenty to occupy my mind. Worrying about the future adds unnecessary stress, prevents me from loving fully, and keeps me from trusting Jesus. In truth, worrying is exactly the opposite of what Jesus tells us to do. Worry prevents us from asking for, trusting in, and receiving God’s grace.  I’m reminded also of the words Jesus taught us to pray: “Give us this day our daily bread” (see Matthew 6:11). Just as God provided food for His people day by day in the desert, so He provides for me now. There is nothing more I could want or need; His grace is enough for today. The Lord knows we have many pressing concerns. Still He commands us to not worry about the future. When we place our needs in His hands, we grow in reliance on Him as the children we are. He will never fail to provide for what we need, one day at a time. Relate to the Lord // Have you been worrying lately? Tell Jesus and ask Him for the grace you need to trust Him today.

June 19, 2026 // Friday of the Eleventh Week in Ordinary Time // Optional Memorial of Saint Romuald, Abbot Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s First Reading: 2 Kings 11:1-4, 9-18, 20 Reflect on the Word //  I knelt in Fabriano, Italy, at the tomb of Saint Romuald on his feast day, eight years ago today. June 19  is my baptismal anniversary. This Saint has been praying for me my whole life. He is obscure, almost unknown, yet I am part of his family, connected through the Communion of Saints. How does God call us into His family and claim us as His own? He does so through His covenant with us, as we read in today’s First Reading, “by which they would be the LORD’s people” (2 Kings 11:17). In Baptism, that promise is fulfilled in our lives. Baptism is a Sacrament of belonging. Through water and the Holy Spirit, my Baptism unites me to God, welcomes me into His family, and calls me to live as His own child. In my Baptism, I am claimed, loved, and drawn into the covenant that binds me to the Lord and to others in His Church.  This belonging is not just personal but communal. Baptism joins us to a people across time and space. In the Sacraments, we are reminded that we are part of something larger.  After Mass that day, I found myself alone in the crypt at the tomb of Saint Romuald. The elderly sacristan spoke in Italian and guided me around to the other side of the altar, where more of the tomb was exposed. I did not understand his words, but his gestures were clear: I could remain. He walked away, locking the door behind him. I was free to leave at any time, and no one else would enter to disturb the silence and solitude Saint Romuald and I both treasured. The sacristan did not know who I was, but his kindness was clear, and we were quietly united in joy by the Saint whose feast we were celebrating. There, in the stillness, I felt at home in the family of the Church. We are all invited to live in the joy of being God’s people. Through Baptism, we are part of something greater than ourselves. Together, we embrace this gift, the blessing of belonging, and the call to share the joy of the Gospel with the world. In Baptism, God claims us, draws us into His family, and makes us His forever. Relate to the Lord // Look up your Baptism anniversary and make a note in the calendar to celebrate!

June 18, 2026 // Thursday of the Eleventh Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 6:7-15 Reflect on the Word //  Arms thrust heavenward he boldly declared, “Lord you are good, great, and almighty; and I am nothing, weak, and pitiful.” Father was being a little overly dramatic in his preaching this particular day. He even threw in a fake British accent for effect.  We Sisters weren’t quite sure how to react, but the drama certainly drove his point home: “Sisters, that’s not how the Saints prayed. The Saints got real with God.” We were in the midst of our immediate preparation for final vows, being exhorted to give God our authentic selves—who we truly are and not who we thought He wanted us to be. I can be tempted in prayer to ensure I’m saying, doing, asking, or sharing the correct things with the Lord. Sometimes, it looks like I am trying to make my journal entries sound like something out of Saint Thérèse’s Story of a Soul or Saint Catherine of Siena’s Dialogue. Then I realize, that’s not me. The Lord doesn’t want to hear my best imitation of the Saints, He wants to hear from me. He wants to hear my heart from me, even, if I’m being honest, “me” sounds a little raw, unpolished, confused, and vulnerable. “Do not babble like the pagans, who think they will be heard because of their many words. [. . .] Your Father knows what you need before you ask Him” (Matthew 6:7-8). The Lord doesn’t need me to come to Him with the perfect words of praise or expression of my needs. He just wants my heart as it is, with all its needs, imperfections, desires, love, and gratitude. As it is. Period. Prayer isn’t about our crafting the perfect formula so that God will hear and answer. Prayer is about an honest expression of the heart. Bring the good, the bad, and the ugly. When we pray, let us be simple. We call upon a God Who looks, not for the right phrases, but for the purity of our hearts seeking, above all, to love Him, and to be loved by Him, Who is our Heavenly Father. Let’s be real with God!  Relate to the Lord // Speak to Jesus from your heart today with honesty and vulnerability because He is a Living Person Who wants a relationship with the real you.