I was made to be a mom. Every since I was little, I loved helping my mom separate the laundry into 8 little piles, one for each kid. I would fake sick just to be able to stay home with her and watch the Home & Garden channel. Every baby I saw I couldn't stop admiring, and you had to wrestle me to get the baby from my arms. I don't mind the cooking, the cleaning, the million diapers and twice a day baths. I enjoy it, and I crave it. So when Nate and I got married last August, it was no surprise to anyone that we wanted to have children right away. The first month passed and then the second and no little blue plus sign yet! Then finally, I felt it in my soul, I was a mother; I knew it in my heart and I rejoiced. But my little baby left me at 5 weeks and 6 days and the world came to a stop. No more dreaming, no more excitement. Can this be real? Sometimes I feel like I’m wearing a scarlet “M” for miscarriage. I feel as if each person I pass can see right through my skin into my heart and know what I had lost. But I’ve come to realize that that little “M” scarred on my heart isn’t for miscarriage – it's for mother. See I do have a baby, a boy, I think, and I love him greatly. How can I love what I have never known? Never seen? Well, I do know him. I know that his name is Hiro after Nate’s great great uncle Hironemous. I know that he grew and was a part of me for a few short weeks. I know that God placed a soul inside this tiny little seed that was to become a baby and I know that life isn’t always about believing in what is seen. I know that I him and am grateful for his life. I’ve realized that being a mother isn’t about being able to do all the laundry or rocking your kids to sleep or feeding them. It’s about becoming better each day – giving all of yourself. Always. It’s about becoming more like our Father in Heaven – loving and compassionate, patient and kind. So I wear this scar proudly. I have what I had hoped and prayed for all those years. God is faithful and good. He has made me a mom and I couldn’t ask for more. Kiera is a missionary, alongside her husband, with Life Teen Missions serving in St. Louis, MO. She is an aspiring writer with the hope to assist Catholic woman in believing in the freedom and victory that Christ has for them.

Today we are talking about the CROWN OF CREATION. Saint John Paul the Great spoke of man as the "crown of creation" and, in a special way, woman as that crowning diadem. How do you identify with this special dignity? You can find all the themes here. Welcome to the #BISsisterhood link-up. Every Thursday, we get together as one community to share our hearts. Here's how you can participate: Link-up a post that goes with the weekly theme. Share your thoughts of the theme on Instagram/Twitter/Facebook using #BISsisterhood so we can see each other's posts. Comment below with your thoughts on the prompt. Basically, let's talk to each other. Remember to use #BISsisterhood so we can all communicate well with each other out in the social media world. [bctt tweet="The #BISsisterhood link-up is where it's at. I just added my post here:"] Here is the button to our link-up that you are more than welcome to place on your blog, share on your social media, and/or save for a rainy day. An InLinkz Link-up

I love capturing raw and beautiful moments through the lens. I love being able to capture a friend smiling or laughing as the beauty of her soul is unveiled in this glorious moment of pure joy! I can’t help but feel joyful myself. Whenever I’m with girlfriends and we bust a gut laughing, there is something so real and so beautiful in that split second of time (or maybe it’s five minutes of uncontrollable laughter). We are all connected and sharing in a moment of love together! How I wish women would share and partake in this opportunity of joy and love more often! Radiating authenticity through a smile or a laugh is so tangible, beautiful, and real. God didn’t create us to be stoic or to be by ourselves. He created us for relationship with Him and with others and He created us for love and to share love. What a beautiful and amazing gift we have been given! A friend of mine gave me a birthday card that had the following inscription: “You is kind, you is smart, you is important, you is the crown of creation.” I have that pinned at my wall at work, so whenever I feel frustrated or stressed by a project, I remember the greater purpose of my existence and the greater reality of my role: to share love, to be loved. To radiate joy. We are the crown of creation. Let’s just take a minute to think on that. This is incredible, beautiful news, lady friends! This ties in so beautifully with JPII’s Letter to Women and his desire for the feminine genius to be more present in our society, in our vocations, in our lives. And this is only one facet of the beauty of the feminine genius, in which we have the invitation to participate in! When we give out of love in our lives and openly choose to love others in our homes, in our relationships, at our jobs, on the streets, we are allowing Christ to shine forth. We can be an example of what it means to be the crown of creation and to love as Christ loves us. Don’t underestimate the power that love and joy can offer this world. Be a light amidst the darkness, stress, sadness, and heartbreak. Let your feminine genius shine forth in your daily life and offer your gifts authentically as Christ has made you. He loves you--share that love with those around you! “Spread love everywhere you go. Let no one ever come to you without leaving happier.” - Mother Teresa photo by Corynne Olivia Bridget Scott is a recent graduate of the University of Minnesota with a B.A. in Strategic Communication & Public Health. In her free time, you can find her enjoying weekends at the lake, capturing life through the lens, shopping for Grace Kelly-inspired wardrobe pieces, having coffee chats with friends about faith, and going on adventures with her handsome fiancé.

Today we are talking about COMMUNION OF SAINTS. As we approach the feasts of All Saints and All Souls this weekend, it is a good time to reflect on the communion of saints of which we are all a part. As members of the Church Militant on earth, we round out the trio of the Church Triumphant and the Church Suffering. How are you consciously living out your part in this great communion? We are pleased to announce the themes for December: December 3: HOPE December 10: PEACE December 17: JOY December 24: LOVE December 31: NEW You can find all the themes here. Welcome to the #BISsisterhood link-up. Every Thursday, we get together as one community to share our hearts. Here's how you can participate: Link-up a post that goes with the weekly theme. Share your thoughts of the theme on Instagram/Twitter/Facebook using #BISsisterhood so we can see each other's posts. Comment below with your thoughts on the prompt. Basically, let's talk to each other. Remember to use #BISsisterhood so we can all communicate well with each other out in the social media world. [bctt tweet="The #BISsisterhood link-up is where it's at. I just added my post here:"] Here is the button to our link-up that you are more than welcome to place on your blog, share on your social media, and/or save for a rainy day. An InLinkz Link-up

Can I let you in on a little secret? The only tears I cried during my trip to Lourdes were not good tears; they weren’t tears of gratefulness, of joy or of overwhelmed-with-love-ness. They were big, ugly, selfish tears. I arrived in Lourdes with a large group of pilgrims, on our way to Madrid for World Youth Day in 2011; I had just started working for our diocese’s office and had been offered (ahem, told) to step in as a last minute staff member for the trip. I had never been on a plane or out of the country and suddenly, it was all thrust upon me. I was jet-lagged, grumpy and experiencing more than a little culture shock. Before our arrival, I knew very little of Lourdes or the apparitions that had occurred there. I had no idea how many people would be milling around the city on any given day; to say the least, I was overwhelmed. I hadn’t even been there two full hours before I sat on my hotel bed and bawled my eyes out. The noise, the crowds and some of our rather … stubborn … pilgrims were getting the best of me. In my mind, this was the worst place on earth and I never wanted to leave the Midwest again; there were far too many days/hours/minutes separating me from all that I held dear. Classy, right? I can assure you that my grim attitude did not last. Lourdes in the sunshine the next morning seemed much more beautiful. Mass and confession helped soften my hard heart. I made some new friends and laughed. I ate some delicious food and admired the beauty of the river. I prayed at the Grotto and filled bottles with the precious water. I sang with countless pilgrims in the candlelight procession and followed Jesus in a Eucharistic procession. The time that I thought would never end ended all too soon. We took our leave of Lourdes and continued on our journey to Madrid. But Lourdes has never really left me. I know it was Our Lady working overtime to soften my heart of stone that first night in France – and on the rest of that trip, for that matter. I know she followed me home, quietly and patiently waiting, as she always does. And I know she heard my begging and pleading last summer as I went in for blood test after blood test to diagnosis my mysterious medical issues. She comforted me when I was scared and helped give me hope when I felt so lost. The beautiful woman who first appeared to Bernadette all those years ago has become a very dear friend of mine; a mother-figure who has gently made herself a part of my life. And I am so very glad that she is here. Our Lady of Lourdes, pray for us! photo by Sara Miller Emily is a wife and stay-at-home mom living the Midwestern dream with her little family. She is a lover of chocolate, coffee and comfy sweaters. You can find out more about her and read her ramblings over at Raising Barnes.

For the past two weeks I have had the opportunity to observe something so beautiful that I was moved to tears while sitting in the pew at Mass. Although I love our parish and the ways we celebrate the Liturgy, this observation had nothing to do with any formal Rite or ritual specific for this Sunday. And yet, the sacrament I observed has had a lasting impact and its memory has lingered into the weeks that have followed. Something about the way that it happened, I suppose. On retreat this past spring with the women from my small church community, I confided that (at my best) I have experienced this deep appreciation for my participation in the Communion of Saints—particularly as the gathered community approaches the Eucharist. That there is something so compelling and intimate in the way we physically sign onto this belief by way of approaching the Eucharistic table, all together. It is to say, “Yes!,” “Amen,” and getting onto my feet to walk with the aged, the young, those who seem to have it all together and those who wear their lives on their bodies and faces; all to approach the God that loves and created each of us. A priest friend of mine might remind me that I am appreciating the many ‘unique expressions of God’s creative love.’ The first experience I can recall of this deep love for Christ’s Body in-the-pews was at a Good Friday service in my home parish in high school. I remember staring as everyone in our gathered community, approached the altar and tenderly kissed the cross. Simultaneously, such an intimate and public expression of the love for the Savior and a glimpse into the relationship between humanity and God. Years later, in a small parish in the rural Midwest, I began assisting with the distribution of Holy Communion. This time it was the hands of Christ’s Body that moved me. As each member approached the Eucharist, hands extended, I gleaned a small bit of their story. From very practiced grade-schoolers, hands folded across their chests; men whose hands so clearly indicated the effects that toiling the land had had on them; young manicured hands; arthritic hands, soft and frail from a lifetime of nourishing and nurturing others. All of these stories offered up and reaching for the source of strength before heading back into daily life. And so it is with this vision that I hope to participate in the Mystical Body. Years of working with a boy with Cerebral Palsy and reading the insights of Jean Vanier have helped me to recognize the sacred vulnerability and realness in individuals with physical limitations whose journey necessitates a companion. This interdependence cuts to the core of who we are and who God calls us to be for others. So I know myself well enough to acknowledge my awareness of those in our parish with physical disabilities, especially as of late. There is one man in our parish who I have recently noticed. He appears to be my own father’s age. He sits in the back of church with his family in a reclining wheel chair, under a Broncos blanket. He is assisted by a young man—a senior in high school or college maybe. I suspect he may be this man’s son. It is the tenderness with which this young man accompanies his charge that, I have realized, elicits such an emotional response in me. As the man appears to be unable to receive the host, each week his companion lovingly and carefully becomes his Eucharistic minister—in a physical and spiritual sense—creatively and reverently assisting in his reception from the cup. I cannot but be reminded of the Transubstantiation—the act that took place minutes earlier when we believe that the bread and wine becomes Jesus. Take. Eat. And become what you have received. Companionship is unscripted work. It can be awkward, and it always means getting involved in the lived experience of another person. Each Gospel writer includes a description of the first Eucharist, though John’s description stands out as a bit more direct—and a perfect metaphor in this instance. Rather than any formal instruction on the meaning of bread and wine, John’s Jesus takes off his outer garments, kneels and takes the worn and dirty feet of the disciples into his hands and washes them—lovingly and creatively leading by example (John 13:4-15). To the young man who sits behind me at Mass—I want you to know that I see your lived participation in the Eucharist. You are a sacrament in my life. An outward sign of an inward grace. Your lived example inspires me and I am honored to approach our Lord at table with you in this Communion of Saints.

Today we are talking about THE WAY. Christ says: "I am the WAY, the TRUTH, and the LIFE. No one comes to the Father except through me." How is your relationship with Christ? You can find all the themes here. Welcome to the #BISsisterhood link-up. Every Thursday, we get together as one community to share our hearts. Here's how you can participate: Link-up a post that goes with the weekly theme. Share your thoughts of the theme on Instagram/Twitter/Facebook using #BISsisterhood so we can see each other's posts. Comment below with your thoughts on the prompt. Basically, let's talk to each other. Remember to use #BISsisterhood so we can all communicate well with each other out in the social media world. [bctt tweet="The #BISsisterhood link-up is where it's at. I just added my post here:"] Here is the button to our link-up that you are more than welcome to place on your blog, share on your social media, and/or save for a rainy day. An InLinkz Link-up

You are standing at a fork in the road with two possible paths. One way leads to paradise, the other to devastation. As you are, you cannot know which path leads to which outcome. Once you begin on a path, you cannot turn around. Two identical guards stand at the fork. These guards have an indistinguishable but distinct difference: one is perpetually honest while the other is eternally deceitful. They both know which path is which, but you are only permitted to ask one guard one question. What do you ask? This classic riddle has startling spiritual implications. Like the disciples in the Last Supper Discourse of the Gospel of John, desperately wanting security before Jesus’ death, in moments of intense doubt I too question the Lord. I do not feel secure enough in Him to stake my life on Him. I hide my doubt with pleading. I beg Him to show me something, do something, prove something, so I’ll have faith to do His will. In His infinite wisdom, Jesus offers something better. Instead of a sign, He gently reminds me who He is. As He told doubting Thomas and the doubters in all of us today, He is the way, the truth, and the life (John 14:6). The fictitious TV character Dr. House frequently reminded his underlings that everybody lies. How spot on. As a nurse, I am told lies all the time, and that is not even the worst of human nature I see. I witness abuse, violence, apathy, manipulation, and heartlessness regularly. Trust is extremely difficult for me. I subconsciously question everyone’s intentions and honesty. The Lord is no exception. I question Him the most, Him whom I ought to trust the most. But the Lord has shown me that He is not everybody. The Lord is not human. He is God. He is not honest in one moment then deceitful in the next. He is not compassionate at one moment then callous in another. He is not benevolent in one moment then malicious in another. Jesus has a consistency unlike any human person. He consistently loves us and wills our good. He alone is worthy of total trust. As Jesus told His beloved disciples at the Last Supper, He would not have promised them something that was not true. He is like the perpetually honest guard of the riddle. He will lead us to paradise. Yet, unlike the riddle, our path is never sealed after one choice. Jesus allows us to continually change our ways toward Him or away from Him, towards paradise or devastation. How will we recognize Him? The answer to the riddle is this: ask either guard what gate the other says leads to paradise. The honest guard will answer truthfully with the deceitful guard’s lie. The deceitful guard will lie and say his gate is the way. For both, the opposite action of the guards’ answers will lead to paradise. Like the honest guard, Jesus will always answer us truthfully. His path leads us to paradise, home in heaven and peace here on earth. In His own way, by His own truth, through His own earthly life, He reveals Himself to each one of us. Marissa is a registered nurse in her mid-twenties who works in a busy Emergency Department in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. She is a cradle Catholic who marvels at how the Good Lord has been cradling her throughout her life.

Today we are talking about GOD'S TIMING. Our ideas about when and how things should take place don't always coincide with God's ideas. When has this occurred in your life and what do you think He was trying to reveal to you in the process? You can find all the themes here. Welcome to the #BISsisterhood link-up. Every Thursday, we get together as one community to share our hearts. Here's how you can participate: Link-up a post that goes with the weekly theme. Share your thoughts of the theme on Instagram/Twitter/Facebook using #BISsisterhood so we can see each other's posts. Comment below with your thoughts on the prompt. Basically, let's talk to each other. Remember to use #BISsisterhood so we can all communicate well with each other out in the social media world. [bctt tweet="The #BISsisterhood link-up is where it's at. I just added my post here:"] Here is the button to our link-up that you are more than welcome to place on your blog, share on your social media, and/or save for a rainy day. photo by Sara Miller An InLinkz Link-up

When we first got married (3 years ago this past August), my husband, Matt, and I had been instructed in depth how to chart my fertility cycles and were prepared to follow the Creighton Model of Natural Family Planning to space our children. We were pro-life and never had a question of how we would plan our family, knowing we would be adherent to the teachings of the Church. Matt, who comes from a family of 12, had communicated to me, since before we were married, that he was truly looking forward to the prospect of being a father, sooner rather than later. Somehow, though, I was missing something. I knew I wanted a (big) family, but I was also afraid to mis-chart and get pregnant in my first year of marriage. Those charts which had seemed so clear before, weren't so clear after all. Why, when I had longed for a family and children, was I afraid? Because I had subtly bought into the idea that having kids right away was something shameful, that it showed a lack of “responsibility”, that a couple was foolish not to wait until they were financially stable/used to the idea of being married. I clung tightly to my idea of waiting. I had just been through one change, and I didn’t want to lose my identity yet, or fall into that category of newly-married couples who have a “honeymoon baby.” It sounded so embarrassing. We lived in an apartment. We didn’t make “enough” money. I liked having my coffee everyday. I didn’t want too much change too soon. I quickly realized that these weren’t reasons enough for waiting. Sure, we’d have to rely on God and trust in Him, but we were not destitute. And being afraid of losing my figure was NOT reason enough to delay life. One night, in front of our huge crucifix, I finally surrendered my fears and literally gave them up to God, embracing the possibility of having a baby. Two months after our wedding, we found out we were pregnant with our son, Alejandro. I never knew such joy and such deep worry for a life, which far surpassed any worry for my own. Pregnancy was a struggle in and of itself, with constantly changing hormones and a complete body transformation. I struggled with the pain. I struggled with the worry. I struggled with birth and the recovery afterward. I struggled with breastfeeding. But the fierce love that transforms a woman through motherhood far outweighed the struggle. I wouldn’t have traded my precious baby boy for ANYTHING. Then, 6 months after having him, while my body was beginning to regain composure postpartum, Matt and I both shared a mutual desire for more children. Were we crazy?? I had been so afraid of having another child immediately after the discomfort of pregnancy and the intense pain of childbirth. Yet, I wanted more. When Alejandro was 7 months old, we found out we were pregnant with his sister, Marielena. We were elated. I was also panic-stricken. I was still exclusively breastfeeding and had fought hard for it. I was so attached to Alejandro and he was such a young baby. Would I be able to do this? Would he get enough attention? Would Matt and I be judged? Why did that even matter? Again, we trusted. Again, we fought hard against sly comments (from complete strangers!) about how we should space our family. We were fighting against a whole culture that condemns us for wanting to be parents early and for wanting more than one child. We were prepared for the difficulties, but I realized as time went on, that I wasn’t as prepared for the rewards and the graces God would grant us as we were serving Him in our YES to life. God provided good jobs, miraculous healthcare (when insurance companies said I couldn’t qualify), and He worked within our hearts, growing them and expanding them with an unquenchable love and fire for our growing family. Now, Alejandro is two and Marielena is 10 months (they’re 15 months apart) and I can honestly say parenting is probably the hardest thing I have done in my life so far. But it also carries the most intense, heart-brimming joy. It has strengthened Matt’s and my bond to each other and caused us to work harder than ever on our relationship. Having two babies close in age has given me the amazing privilege of allowing God to mold me from the inside out – which has stretched me in incredible ways, yet brought the most joy I have ever experienced. I have witnessed my babies form a closeness that has both surprised and humbled me. Would I do it again? Yes, a million times over. And please, Lord God, if You see fit, bless us again and give us the opportunity to say YES with arms open and hearts ready to love all the children You desire to give us. Amen. photo by Corynne Olivia Bianca is a deeply Catholic mama to two sweet babies: Alejandro and Marielena, and a wife to my husband, Matt. I love attachment parenting, following the awesome teachings of our Catholic Faith, working out while baby-wearing, leading the Choir as Music Director at Church, and keeping my family healthy.

The first time I met the child of a friend, my heart yearned uncomfortably for a baby of my own. It was painful, and there were tears… but, it wasn’t our time yet. A few years later, when this realization escalated and became a daily conversation and discernment, it was beautiful, and there were indeed many more tears… but, it just wasn’t our time yet. And finally, when we felt called to conceive a child of our own, what a glorious feeling it was when we embraced that call. We encountered a new freedom we had never experienced before, but, painfully, and with so many more tears, our freedom and joy turned to the devastating loss of an early miscarriage just seven short weeks later…. It still wasn’t our time yet. I look at this synopsis of our three years of marriage and it’s painful to recall. How is it that I long so deeply for a child to call my own, but yet our time still has not come? It is easy to wallow in the grief and ask, why? What makes us different? Why is it that we lost our first child? What’s wrong with me? I. Just. Don’t. Get. It. Those questions will forever be on my lips, but one realization has been placed so assertively on my heart throughout it all: God’s timing is precarious – it is hazardous to our own plans; we usually don’t ever want it, and sometimes, it even feels unjustified and unfair. I ask, why, Lord? Why couldn’t I have it my way just this once? I’m not going to sugar-coat it. Sometimes God’s timing sucks. Yeah, I said it. God, that sucked! I was so ready to bring my child into this world, next April. I had imagined plans for her nursery. We had shared the exciting news with our family and close friends. I had consented to the fact that I could not drink beer for the next 40 weeks (oh yeah, that one was a huge sacrifice of love). My heart was changed. But then you took that away from me, and it sucked. And I feel like a roller coaster of emotions. Every. Single. Day. (Insert long deep sigh.) But, regardless of my ability to contrive the antidote to being a mess of emotions, or answer why we lost our first child, I am okay trusting Him on this one. Because the truth of Christ still remains: The cross surely was not fair to Mary’s plan for her son, but, she trusted that God’s plans were bigger, albeit more mysterious. What my empty womb cries out as an injustice, my sweet Lord cries back as a blessing. What is so lonely and so heartbreaking could destroy my heart if it weren’t for this reality: We are now and will always be parents. God did gift us with a child. He did answer my prayers and my longing heart. Regardless of the longevity of my sweet little one’s life, she did indeed gain life. And although losing my child still sucks and I have to bury her before I ever got to hold and kiss her, I will always know her and be known by her. And the incredible loneliness I feel without being able to bring her into this world is given peace by the knowledge that I will always be her mom and I will meet her someday. Because we chose to give her life, she will live in the gaze of our Lord for all eternity. That alone deserves my praise and gratitude – that my Father in heaven would be so kind to gift us with this life. Joyous. Precious. Vibrant. Beautiful. That plan doesn’t at all suck. To know that Our Father in heaven loves our unborn child as radically and unconditionally as He loves those who live 100 years on this earth changes everything. This is what brings my heart peace. This is what causes me to trust in God’s plan. If He can bring joy out of even the most devastating situations, He can take care of my weary little heart. I don’t know what our future holds for our journey of parenthood. I pray that the Lord surprises us with so much good. But, I’m not holding my breath for my “perfect” plan to be conspired, for there is so much anxiety when we try to do it our own way. And I don’t want any part of that. To the couples: who have so many kids random strangers feel the need to remind them (rather rudely) that contraception exists, who are due to have their second and have no idea how they will be able to handle two under two, who find themselves pregnant with their first (or second… or third…) and only receive negativity from their in-laws, who are judged because they don’t have any children but secretly have been struggling with infertility, who have suffered multiple miscarriages and are criticized for continuing to try for their own, who desire so much to adopt, but just cannot afford the cost of the paperwork, who have authentically discerned waiting but are constantly bombarded with the question: “Why aren’t you pregnant yet?” God has a plan. It may be precarious in comparison to your own. But, He’s got your weary little heart covered. I promise to pray for you and to love you. I pray that God gives you peace in even the most perilous of heartaches, and the most aggravating of frustrations. And, may Mary be at your side as you encounter the cross. May she teach you how to trust and have hope that God’s plans are bigger, more exciting, and more fulfilling than your (and my) own. God’s peace to you today and always, amen! A small note: We decided to name our daughter Sarah Grace. Although we don’t know for sure if our unborn child was a girl, there is a small part of me that believes she was. She is named Sarah because of God’s promise to Sarah and Abraham that although they experienced years of infertility, He still fulfilled the promise of new life. I pray God doesn’t make me wait as long as Sarah to conceive again and bring a healthy baby into this world, but I do believe His promises are true. And there is so much hope that our time will be soon. And she is named Grace because it is grace alone that gives me the strength to move forward. Sarah Grace will always be a reminder of God’s love, peace, and hope. And for that, I am forever grateful. Rachel Penate is a 20-something year old Wisconsin girl at heart who has a slight obsession with the band Switchfoot. She loves most: working for Life Teen, a hot cup of coffee, the smell of the ocean, running my little tooshie off, my dog Gus, handsome husband Robbie, and above all — my Lord. PS: If you or someone you know has suffered from infant loss and/or infertility, we recently started a Life After Loss Facebook Group. Feel free to message me (Jenna Guizar) if you'd like to be added to it.

Today we are talking about LIVING FAITH. Having faith is more than just an interior disposition of the heart. Faith is meant to be LIVED. How are you living it out today? You can find all the themes here. Welcome to the #BISsisterhood link-up. Every Thursday, we get together as one community to share our hearts. Here's how you can participate: Link-up a post that goes with the weekly theme. Share your thoughts of the theme on Instagram/Twitter/Facebook using #BISsisterhood so we can see each other's posts. Comment below with your thoughts on the prompt. Basically, let's talk to each other. Remember to use #BISsisterhood so we can all communicate well with each other out in the social media world. [bctt tweet="The #BISsisterhood link-up is where it's at. I just added my post here:"] Here is the button to our link-up that you are more than welcome to place on your blog, share on your social media, and/or save for a rainy day. An InLinkz Link-up

It is the ultimate paradox. A scandal, really. In Roman times, the cross was the greatest image of humiliation, of torture, of criminals, of death. It was bloody and horrifying and gruesome. I wonder how many people turned away from the scene of Christ on the cross, his side cut open by a spear and his body bruised and broken. I wonder how many people sensed that there was something different about this crucifixion. I wonder who recognized with the centurion at the foot of the cross, “Surely, this man was the son of God.” And I wonder how many felt that recognition or felt the call of Christ and still turned away. I, too, turn away from that call. The crosses we are called to take up daily are often frightening. We are given people to love, roles to fill, tasks to complete. Every cross calls us to death. We are asked to die to ourselves, to sacrifice our own needs and desires on the cross. Whether single or married, a parent or a sibling, whatever our place in life, we are called to many deaths, to a myriad of letting things go, to a daily releasing our own plans and desires. It often hurts. This fall, I will leave my three-month old daughter at home to return to work so that my little family can eat and pay rent. It feels like a death. There is death even in those smallest moments of our day like when I put the dishes in the dishwasher instead of subtly criticizing my husband for leaving them in the sink. We all have deaths like this—great and small—that we are walking through or that we see ahead on the horizon. The cross is suffering, yes. It is even agony at times. But do not fear. Do not shrink back. Here lies the paradox. Here is the glorious reality that is more than a nice-sounding idea. The cross is life. Your cross is your life—and not just life on this earth, but life eternal. Every cross we face is another part of our journey to sainthood. We are asked to pick up our cross and carry it as we struggle up the hill to glory. It is not always easy, and we need not be ashamed when it hurts. Christ stumbled and even fell under the weight of His cross. So, too, we may fall and fail but Christ carried His own cross so that He could then give us strength to carry our own. Christ’s cross led him to complete isolation, to a death we are never asked to die. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Our deaths are a small joining with His, but we can be confident that He will never forsake us. God’s good will for us is perfection, and every cross that we carry is chiseling us and fashioning us into the likeness of Christ. And our small deaths—even in all of their pain—lead to life, to life eternal in the presence of Him who is Life itself. So we take heart and pray with Christ in the garden, “Not my will, but Thine be done.” photo by Corynne Olivia Shannon Lacy is a wife to a theology student and the mother of their first daughter. She is a recent convert to the Catholic faith. Shannon's other blog posts at Blessed is She: Comparison: A Failure of the Imagination Remember Your Baptism

The parts I play in my head rarely look like the life I lead in my home. In my brain I serve my children quinoa and granola, knit the days away and tend to our small farm animals all while my children run in a field of wild flowers. My days are slow and quiet. I have plenty of time to light a candle, reflect, and praise God daily for the life I’ve been given. In reality, I feed my children boxed cereal, work as an elementary school teacher, and navigate the dirty and congested city of Mumbai, India on a daily basis. My days are loud and chaotic. The only quiet I find are the moments that I scrape away from my early morning sleep. I often pray, but I sometimes use that time to squeeze in a run. Rarely I can do both before six o’clock when my children wake up and the morning rush begins. In the life I lead in my head, I’ve embraced my Catholic Faith since childhood. I’ve accepted the Church’s teaching without doubt or question and my children and I parade down to our local parish every Sunday morning. My Catholic husband holds my hand and we look on in adoration at our three obedient children kneeling in the pew beside us. In actuality, my faith is messy. I’ve struggled with doubt and questions since adolescence trying on different Protestant churches and Bible studies until, ultimately, finding my way back to Catholicism. On Sundays, I take a quick rickshaw ride to the only Catholic Church in our predominantly Muslim neighborhood. My daughter and I are the expats among a sea of Indians when we walk the lane down to the open-air church. The prayers sound different than the ones of my childhood. They take on a different cadence with the strong accents of the congregation and I find myself struggling to keep pace. My husband is not Catholic, and while my youngest daughter attends mass with me, the other two children only take part sporadically. Since winding my way back to the faith, I’ve struggled to embrace the idea that there are many ways to live an authentically Catholic life and very few of them involve granola, knitting and farm animals. It is only recently that I’ve accepted that I cannot wait to become holy until my life reflects the picture-perfect Catholic life in my head. I must seek holiness in the midst of my daily ordinary life. For me, it is the children I welcome to school every day, the colleagues I collaborate with, the lunches I pack, and the morning rush out the door. For others, it may be the diapers they change, the noses they wipe, and crumbs they sweep. Our challenge is not to determine the value of my Catholic faith based on these differences because we are all called to answer the same charge. We are to spend each day loving, praising, and thanking God for His love even when our lives follow his design instead of our own. Abigail Kasky juggles the roles of wife, mama and teacher all across the globe. She's fueled by a steady stream of caffeine, Instagram, and HGTV.

Today we are talking about WHOLENESS. “We are not the sum of our weaknesses and failures. We are the sum of the Father’s love for us and our real capacity to become the image of his Son." ~St. John Paul II Sometimes it's easy to feel like a bunch of fragmented pieces, not worthy of any true integrity. But in Him, we find our wholeness. HE makes us whole. You can find all the themes here. We are happy to announce November's topics! November 5: CROWN OF CREATION November 12: REMEMBRANCE November 19: UNCONDITIONAL November 26: GIVE THANKS Welcome to the #BISsisterhood link-up. Every Thursday, we get together as one community to share our hearts. Here's how you can participate: Link-up a post that goes with the weekly theme. Share your thoughts of the theme on Instagram/Twitter/Facebook using #BISsisterhood so we can see each other's posts. Comment below with your thoughts on the prompt. Basically, let's talk to each other. Remember to use #BISsisterhood so we can all communicate well with each other out in the social media world. [bctt tweet="The #BISsisterhood link-up is where it's at. I just added my post here:"] Here is the button to our link-up that you are more than welcome to place on your blog, share on your social media, and/or save for a rainy day. An InLinkz Link-up

Imagine peering through a magnifying glass at a small object, a leaf or a flower. The impulse of the human condition is to look closely, ever more closely at this item of beauty. What are its fragments? How do its parts work? It's a heady thing, to have the perceived ability to understand the inner workings of something that looks from afar to be magical. But upon closer look, the simple thing – the leaf or flower – loses some of its magic. It no longer has the mystical whole with which to redeem itself. What you see are details, small and disparate, often confusing. The details may intrigue or repulse you, fascinate or disgust you; it all depends on where you are looking. The result of such magnification is that you can only see one part of the leaf, of the flower. No longer do you see the magic of the whole, but rather an incomplete network of parts. The frame of your lens blocks out the beauty, the fragility, the singularity. The closer you get, the less you actually understand. You were desperate to see its inner workings, and yet now all the interest has gone out of it and you say to yourself, “What is this leaf but a collection of dried up veins? What is this flower but a broken and withering stamen?” We do the same thing with people. Social media gives us the ability to share pieces and parts of ourselves with a wide group of people. The way we dress, the company we keep, the causes we champion, these things focus the lens upon a certain aspect of our nature. Posting something on Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter is like handing someone a magnifying glass and saying, “Look here at this important part of me. What do you make of it?” Sometimes what you share might be funny or silly, other times a deeply-held value or belief. But it is still only a piece of you, a thread. A thread which, when put together with all your other wonderful and not-so-wonderful parts, weaves a tapestry of you. A strikingly colorful, remarkably unique, irreplaceable you. We are not the sum total of our social media posts, of our wardrobes, of hours worked, of paychecks deposited, of meals cooked, of diapers changed, of blogs posted. We are more. We are flowers unfolding, tapestries on the loom, halfway woven. Someone could pluck out a thread and say, “LOOK! Look how ugly this piece is. It’s tattered and weak, unsightly and worn. You aren’t a tapestry, you’re a rug destined for the trash heap.” But this is a lie. God our Creator tells us it isn’t true; He is still weaving and has the choicest silks to offer. Now, if that is true for you, it must be true for everyone else, too, right? Think about the person, the other, that in our myopic vision, we so easily dismiss. I’ve taken up the practice lately of looking at friends and strangers (especially those with whom I have very little in common) and praying this prayer. “This person is a tapestry woven by your hands, Divine Weaver. He is irreplaceable. God, you love him with a ferocity I can only imagine. Let me ignore the threads and see only the tapestry.” It is a simple prayer, but a powerful one. It reminds me in the moment to lay down the magnifying glass, to step back from the loom. It's an invitation to open my eyes and see the glory of creation rather than the minutiae. "And God saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good." Genesis 1:31 Micaela is a wife, mother, teacher, and blogger. She writes from Southern California, where she does it all with as much love (and coffee) as she can muster.

Today we are talking about CHANGED. How have you been changed? Do you allow God to change your heart for the better? You can find all the themes here. Welcome to the #BISsisterhood link-up. Every Thursday, we get together as one community to share our hearts. Here's how you can participate: Link-up a post that goes with the weekly theme. Share your thoughts of the theme on Instagram/Twitter/Facebook using #BISsisterhood so we can see each other's posts. Comment below with your thoughts on the prompt. Basically, let's talk to each other. Remember to use #BISsisterhood so we can all communicate well with each other out in the social media world. [bctt tweet="The #BISsisterhood link-up is where it's at. I just added my post here:"] Here is the button to our link-up that you are more than welcome to place on your blog, share on your social media, and/or save for a rainy day. An InLinkz Link-up