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.

May 12, 2026 // Tuesday of the Sixth Week of Easter // Optional Memorial of Saints Nereus and Achilleus, Martyrs; Optional Memorial of Saint Pancras, Martyr Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: John 16:5-11 Reflect on the Word // I remember the deep sorrow I felt in driving away from our Georgia home for the very last time. I remember the tearful goodbyes and the difficult conversations and the looming feeling that I’d forever miss dogwood trees in the springtime. My love for that sweet southern charm was hardwon, but by the time we left it for our home state of California, it had wiggled its way past my best defenses—bless my heart.  I learned a lot while I was in Georgia. I learned that friendships run a little deeper and the pace of life runs a little slower and that Catholic infertility doctors are hard to come by. You see, we were deep in the throes of infertility at the time, yet despite it all, I was enamoured by the warmth of life there. I couldn’t understand why we were being called out of it.  In today’s Gospel, Jesus tells His disciples that He must depart from them (see John 16:5). I can’t imagine what they must have thought. They had Jesus walking alongside them. They loved Him. They followed Him. They risked their very lives for Him. So, it is fair to reason that they probably couldn’t have thought of anything better than what they already had—Jesus, in the flesh. His departure must have felt like a loss.  But God knew. Because in John 16:7, Jesus tells them that if He did not go, the Advocate (the Holy Spirit) would not come to them. He knew that their perceived loss was actually for their gain. Because the only thing better than God standing next to you is God dwelling within you.  Like the disciples, I couldn’t have known that our move to California would have been for our benefit. I couldn’t have known that we’d meet at Catholic OBGYN and that one year later I’d be delivering a son after ten long years of waiting.  But God knew.  He always does. Trust Him, sister. Relate to the Lord // When has a loss actually resulted in a gain for you? Reflect on that grace with gratitude today.

April 6, 2026 // Monday in the Octave of Easter Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 28:8-15 Reflect on the Word //  “We lost the contract,” my husband’s text said. I read it under the soft glow of our Christmas tree while visions of sugarplums died in my head. My gut response was fear. Of course it was. This contract meant food on our table and a roof over our heads. It meant paying our bills and keeping the water running. It held within it the difference between poverty and profit.  And it is there that we currently linger—in the in-between—watching our savings ebb while praying for work to flow. But it is also here, in this in-between, that I see God at work. I feel Him calling me out of my fear of the unknown and beckoning me to step into something unexpected—excitement.  In today’s Gospel, the two Marys became witnesses to the Resurrection of Christ. In the face of that reality, they were met with both fear and joy (see Matthew 28:8)—fear for the unnatural truth they were beholding and joy for the knowledge of what that truth meant. I can see the same dichotomy at work in my life right now. I feel both the fear of the unknown and the excitement for what God has planned. Yet, it is in Jesus’ greeting to the two Marys that my heart finds the most balance.  In Matthew 28:10, the very first thing Jesus says upon seeing them is, “Do not be afraid.” These words are easy to gloss over. They are simple to sit with when life is predictable and kind. They are much harder to live with when faced with an unknown fate.  Sister, I don’t know what unknowns you are walking into, but I do know that you tremble as you do. I know because I do// too. But I want to remind you that the words of Christ are alive, even today—even to you. “Do not be afraid.” Relate to the Lord // Pray with the words of Jesus today: Do not be afraid. How are His words alive and personal for you today?

March 12, 2026 // Thursday of the Third Week of Lent Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Luke 11:14-23 Reflect on the Word //  I cried on my son’s third birthday. Right there, in the only place that a mother can truly be alone, I felt hot, fat tears roll down my cheeks as I lathered shampoo into my hair.  I didn’t intend for the outburst of emotions that day, but I suppose that is how trauma works—it creeps up in the middle of the joy and celebration and reminds you of the fact that hurt and fear still reside within you.  It was the remembrance of that day that did me in, the reminder of my unexpected uterine rupture and the doctors who scurried around me in a panic as they told me to count backwards and then sent me into the blackness of medicated sleep. It was the midwife whom I awoke to with her somber face and resolute instruction for us to avoid having children at all costs, despite our ardent desire for the contrary.  I know the oppression that can overtake a person—the fear, the sorrow, the trauma it all leaves in its wake. Today’s Gospel is a beautiful reminder that we are not meant to live in the captivity of our suffering. Luke 11:22 tells us that there is One Who is stronger that can overcome, One Who seeks to free and restore us. He is with us, at our side always, working for our good, even in the midst of life’s trials. I don’t know what sort of strongholds you are living with, whether it is depression that is enslaving your mind or addiction that is grappling for your soul. I don’t know if you feel lost or scared or lonely, but we have a Savior Who is stronger than the torment you are facing, One Who seeks to break the chains of the oppression on our hearts. We may feel divided within ourselves, but He can make us whole. So, turn to Him, sweet sister. In your fear, in your weakness, in your hurt—let His love set you free.  Relate to the Lord // Share your fears with Jesus, in the chapel or the shower. Turn to Him and talk to Him from your heart.

February 6, 2026 // Memorial of Saint Paul Miki and Companions, Martyrs Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Mark 6:14-29 Reflect on the Word // It started with a simple question from my very curious nine-year-old. The sun had long since dipped down behind our house and bedtime was on the horizon, which is the natural time for any elementary school-aged boy to suddenly become inquisitive.   “Why is there no gravity in outer space?” he asked.  That was it. That was all it took to send my mind barrelling into the upheaval that occurs when you suddenly remember that there is a big, vast, dark void out there, and that your TikTok reels aren’t the center of it.  I hate thinking about outer space. I hate the vastness of it, the darkness of it, the unknowns of it. Yet, it is for those very reasons that I find it to be the best teacher. Just like today’s Gospel (see Mark 6:14-29), it serves as a good reminder to adjust our gaze beyond the finite and focus on the bigger story that we are all invited into.  I wonder what would have become of Saint John the Baptist had Herod not been caught up in the moment of what was right in front of him. I wonder if things would have changed if he had stepped back and pondered the greater story. Herod’s experience is one that I believe we’ve all struggled with. Sin has a way of finding us in the moment, of focusing our attention on the finite.   I imagine that much of our sin occurs because of our failure to see the bigger picture, to step outside of moments of temptation and look into the greatness that we are being called into.   But it is there—that greatness. Through your sorrow, your shame, your anger, there is a greater story that is beckoning you home. You must only remember to look up and truly see it.   Relate to the Lord // What have you been focusing on? Turn your gaze to Jesus today, again and again, when you’re tempted to hyperfocus on the finite.

August 27, 2025 // Memorial of Saint Monica Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 23:27-32 Reflect on the Word // I waited for her to say something, some sort of signal that would allow me to drop my guard and offer the truth of what I actually thought. Our conversation danced over all of the pleasantries while dinner dragged on in an awkward effort to find commonality. We spoke of future trips and powerful wins and mundane drudgeries. We talked our way around just about everything that didn’t matter while missing the truth at the heart of each of us.  Authenticity can be risky. It can open you up to misguided assumptions or unfair critiques. Frequently, we dodge expressing our heartfelt beliefs in an effort to protect ourselves, often at the expense of our faith. We want to be accepted and so we adjust our outward presence to mimic what we perceive as safe. We become the hypocrites in today’s Gospel, always shapeshifting ourselves to fit into a perfectly packaged mold with a shiny exterior, “like whitewashed tombs, which appear beautiful on the outside but inside are full of dead men's bones and every kind of filth” (Matthew 25:27). The problem that we so often miss is that while we’re trying to find the right mold in exchange for the approval of the right person, we overlook the very unique space that God has crafted for our hearts. It is in that space that acceptance has already been given by the One Who matters most. And when we reject who He made us to be, we live in lies instead of the truth. When we rely on ourselves and who we want to be, we are dead inside and not alive in Him.  There is no reason to hide your heart, dear sister. So when you feel the need to craft a “whitewashed tomb” for yourself in order to be accepted, remember that acceptance has already been granted to you. And it is there that true authenticity can flourish.  Relate to the Lord // Where have you been tempted to create a facade? Tell the Lord about your desire to live more authentically.  

July 3, 2025 // Feast of Saint Thomas, Apostle Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: John 20:24-29 Reflect on the Word //  I clutched the crispy crust of my gluten-free pizza like it was the answer. I held it with reverence and hope, praying that my small sacrifice would fill my belly with more than just the vegan cheese that was dripping onto my plate. Because the very instant my doctor suggested a dietary change, I sprung into action, believing that, surely, all of those years of pizza pockets were to blame for our infertility.  And so I worked . . . hard. I battled those endocrine disruptors like my life depended on it. I tossed out plastic, I ditched the phthalates, and I ate the cardboard-tasting pizza. I did everything within my power to control the circumstance. I did it all, except pray.  Whenever I read today’s Gospel, a tinge of guilt springs forth from within. I realize how akin I am to Saint Thomas the Apostle who said, “unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger into the nailmarks and put my hand into his side, I will not believe” (John 20:25). His doubt in the risen Lord required tangible proof. It required a faith that was only made evident by something tactile. I think we all have this tendency to some degree. When uncertainty begins to brew and faith begins to wane, we seek the tangible aspects of our circumstance as a way to control the outcome. We opt for what we can physically touch or do to gain the advantage. Yet, all the while, the Lord is silently waiting to reveal Himself to us. We need only faith enough to ask.  I don’t know what sort of trial you’re going through or what tactile ways you are trying to control the outcome, but there is an intangible strength that is waiting to walk you through it. Put down your shield and take off your armor, dear sister, and trust in Him to guide.  Relate to the Lord // In what ways have you been trying to control the outcome? Confess the striving to Jesus and make an act of trust in Him.

May 22, 2025 // Thursday of the Fifth Week of Easter // Optional Memorial of Saint Rita of Cascia, Religious Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: John 15:9-11 Reflect on the Word //  “I think we should go to confession today,” my husband said one Saturday morning. I bristled at the thought. Keeping a two-year-old quiet while trying to reflect on all of my wrongdoings didn’t sound like a relaxing way to spend a Saturday afternoon. The indignation in the face of the life-saving power of Confession, however, was my sign that I was, in fact, overdue for the Sacrament.  With a sigh, I scampered over to the cupboard to grab snacks and distractions that would help diminish the desire for a very loud toddler to be, well . . . loud.  And then, despite my loud toddler waiting outside, it happened the way it always does—“I absolve you of your sins,” the priest spoke over me. In that moment, all of the stress and the frustration retreated. In that moment, I was free.  Sometimes I think we complicate the simple instructions God has set before us. “If you keep my commandments, you will remain in my love,” He tells us in today’s Gospel (John 15:10).  It is a straightforward directive, yet we often muddle it with distractions and excuses. We find ways to avoid the grace we know we need and look to the world to find the life-giving joy that can only come from being in relationship with Him. It is a cycle that often leaves us empty and further from the genuine fulfillment that can be found in Christ.  I don’t know what sort of distractions are keeping you from remaining in His love, dear sister. I don’t know what hardships you’re facing or questions you have, but He is waiting to make your joy complete (see John 15:11).  Relate to the Lord // When was the last time you received the Sacrament of Confession? Make a plan to go this week.   

April 7, 2025 // Monday of the Fifth Week of Lent // Optional Memorial of Saint John Baptist de la Salle, Priest Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: John 8:12-20 Reflect on the Word // I felt the darkness envelop me as I glanced down at our monthly insurance bill. Though it had been two months since my husband stepped away from his full-time job in order to start his business, we had felt this call from the Lord in our hearts for years prior, a prompting that we finally had the courage to listen to. Still, the doubts began to plague me—how could we pay this each month? Would the finances come? I took these questions with me into the night, tossing and turning in the darkness while they coursed through my anxious mind. They were unrelenting and crippled any trust I had built. Like the Pharisees in today’s Gospel, my doubt had clouded the truth that God had spoken deep within me.  Jesus explicitly reveals a truth about Himself to the Pharisees, saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life” (John 8:12). Still, the Pharisees doubt Him by saying, “You testify on your own behalf, so your testimony cannot be verified” (John 8:13).  It is so easy to doubt in the face of uncertainty, even when the truth has been explicitly stated—as it was for the Pharisees in the Gospel today. We fall for the lie that everything is dependent on us, that we are alone, that God is not Who He says He is. In our lack of relationship with Him, we are led into the darkness of doubt.  I wonder what truths about God you are doubting in your own life, dear sister. What whispers has He spoken to your heart that you do not trust? It is easy to find yourself lost in the darkness of doubt, but He is the light. He will illuminate the way. We must only listen and trust.  Relate to the Lord // Whose voice are you listening to? Listen for words of Truth and Light today.

December 30, 2024 // The Sixth Day in the Octave of Christmas Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Luke 2:36-40 Reflect on the Word //  I plopped down next to my husband with resolve. I was determined not to allow myself to cry over this . . . again. But as the words found their way to my lips, the tears found their way to my eyes.  “It was negative,” I said to him as I felt the hope escape on my breath.  In that moment, I felt silly. Silly for allowing myself to dream of adding to our family. Silly for believing that it could happen after so many years of infertility. But perhaps the most intense emotion I felt that day was anger.  I suppose that’s why my husband’s advice fell on deaf ears. “Bring it to God,” he said. And I frowned at the thought.  Nearly a decade of negative pregnancy tests had passed, and I started to believe that God wasn’t with us in our suffering, that He didn’t hear our pleas. It became a wedge in my prayer life because I had been allowing the emotion of the pain to lie to me about the truth we know of God—that He is with us, always. As I consider the long and lonely years that Anna spent in the temple, I draw strength from her faith in the midst of deep suffering. Anna, a widow, in today’s Gospel knew the steadfast love of God and lived according to that concrete belief. In her immense suffering, she met God in the temple and “worshiped night and day with fasting and prayer” (Luke 2:37). She allowed her pain and loss to draw her closer to the Lord. In her weakness, she sought out Christ’s enduring strength.  Suffering has a way of testing us. In these most vulnerable moments, it can be hard to believe that He is listening, but the truth about His nature is unwavering: He is with you.  Always. Even in this.  Relate to the Lord // Where do you need a fresh infusion of hope? Tell God about it and ask Him for more.

Grace was given to each of us according to the measure of Christ’s gift. // Ephesians 4:7 I peered out over the deluge of dishes that were dripping with droppings from dinner. The sun was setting into our tiny kitchen as our guests began to migrate toward the door. With full bellies and contented hearts, we said our goodbyes after our long conversation spent huddled around the table.    That night I began the task of tidying up as I always do. And as I washed the soapy suds off of each plate, I felt God calling me to do this again, to break open our little home as a small offering to others.  In today’s First Reading, we are reminded of the unique call that God has placed on each of us to use our gifts for the purpose of “building up the Body of Christ” (Ephesians 4:12).  Much of the time, we think of those gifts in big, grandiose ways—in the preaching or the teaching or the doing. But sometimes the sweetest gift we have to give others is in the being, in offering our attention in a world that has become so distracted. Sometimes it looks like turning off your phone to be more present or opening your door for friends to find refuge and conversation.  I wonder, dear sister, in what ways is God calling you to build up the Body of Christ? You may not be up on a stage preaching to thousands, but your gifts can still be used in small, quiet ways. Let us each find those tiny moments to live out His truth in love.

“Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest.”  // Matthew 11:28  I walk a dusty old path full of towering oaks and magnificent mountains. I walk mainly for the  purpose of exercise, to feel my heart steadily pump as my chest rises and falls with the rapid pace of my feet. I walk right past beautiful wildflowers and cheerful woodpeckers and try to take note of their splendor as I scurry on.   Rarely do I ever stop. Rarely do I allow myself to sit and rest in the life exploding all around me.  This day I did. I sat in solitude on a park bench and stared in amazement at the beauty of life. I stopped, if only for a moment, to rest and to receive. It made me wonder how often our relationships with Christ reflect the frantic pace of the world, how much we scurry past His promise in order to meet our goals or answer demands, the burdens on our backs piled high as we huff and puff and bulldoze right through the gifts He has set out for us.  In today’s Gospel, Jesus says, “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).  I know the instinct of anxiety. I know how it causes you to work harder and do more and push limits. But God promises us rest for our weary souls. We need only to slow our pace enough in order to receive what He has ensured. We need only Him.  Sister, I don’t know what sort of burdens you’re carrying or if the weight of the anxiety is frenzying. Slow it down, dear sister. Give it to Him. He will give you rest.

I am not ashamed, for I know him in whom I have believed // 2 Timothy 1:12 The crowd cheered behind me as I made my way toward the back door. I wanted to escape quietly, to slip out without anyone noticing.  I held my head down as I bolted through the lobby and almost made it out to freedom before I heard my name being called from behind. I turned around and saw a friend looking at me with questions in her eyes. “Where are you going? You’re going to miss the biggest dance competition of the entire weekend.”  I knew that when I signed up to go to this event, I’d have to miss the largest part, the culmination of the whole thing. It was on a Sunday morning, and the local church only offered a couple of Masses.  “I’m going to church,” I said with a little bit of embarrassment in my voice. Because the truth is that going to church at such an event was a lonely endeavor; it was one that many people didn’t understand, and I was keenly aware of that fact.  In today’s First Reading, Saint Paul tells us, “For God did not give us a spirit of cowardice but rather of power and love and self-control. So do not be ashamed of your testimony to our Lord” (2 Timothy 1:7-8).  Following Christ can be difficult, especially when you are outnumbered. People may not understand and some may even make unfair assumptions about you just because of your faith.  Do not be ashamed, dear sister. Allow the Holy Spirit to empower you to keep bringing Christ’s light to the darkness. The world needs your strength, even if you tremble a little. 

And one of them, realizing he had been healed, returned, glorifying God in a loud voice; and he fell at the feet of Jesus and thanked him. // Luke 17:11-19* I stared down at the pregnancy test. Negative again, of course. I could have predicted the outcome because it was always the same. For a decade I took test after test after test, and they always resulted in that familiar singular line.  Please take this cross, I’d whisper into the depths of the darkness. It was my well-worn prayer, my plea for healing and hope.  It took nearly ten years for this prayer to be answered. The cross of infertility filled my heart with so many things for so long—doubt, bitterness, anguish. But now, as a mother, it fills my heart with something so completely different: gratitude. Because somewhere deep in the ache and the tears was an unforeseen gift, one that forever shifted my perspective of motherhood and gave me the ability to truly appreciate the wonder of it all.  Today we celebrate Thanksgiving in the United States of America, and though those outside of the country do not celebrate this holiday with us, it is still a wonderful invitation to reflect with gratitude on all we have been given. The Church has provided us with a Gospel reading for this particular celebration (see Luke 17:11-19) about the gratitude of one of ten persons healed from leprosy, and while reading it, I couldn’t help but reflect upon the goodness that so often springs forth from the crosses we carry.  There is always thanksgiving, it seems, in the healing or the answered prayers. Like the healed leper, we often return to Christ with a thankful heart once our particular problem has been solved. But I wonder, dear sister—what gift is God giving you in the hardships you are facing right now? What can you find gratitude for in the midst of this difficulty? Because while the cross is hard and heavy, He is still good.  Even in this.  *From optional readings for Thanksgiving Day in the United States.

“You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and the first commandment.” // Matthew 22:37-38 The morning sun sliced through the shutters as I glanced down at my phone. My “alarm clock” was crying in the next room for his morning milk while I took a quick inventory of what my phone was demanding of me. My fingers shuffled along the keyboard on my screen, answering only the most important requests, while the “alarm” only grew in volume.  I thought about the day ahead—the dishes that lingered in the sink from last night’s dinner, the groceries that needed to be purchased, the appointments that needed to be made. I thought about the playdates and the lesson plans and the looming deadlines.  And while my hands busied themselves in the frantic rush to go and to do and to be, I began to feel the weight of the responsibilities rise within my chest. And there it stayed, a tight knot of urgency pounding up against me all day until the sweet victory of sleep came again at night to relieve my tired soul.  I don’t know how I got here, honestly. How the ever-elusive pull of all the responsibilities became my top priority. And I wonder, dear sister, if you struggle with this, too—if the dishes take precedent over prayer or the appointments win out over your Bible.  Today’s Gospel is a beautiful invitation to reorient our lives, as Christ reminds us:  “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and the first commandment” (Matthew 22:37-38).  A life spent loving Christ requires our attention. It requires us to be intentional, to keep Him as our first priority. There is a grace that flows from a life lived in proper order, and He is inviting us into it.  Sister, may we accept His call to put Him first. Make prayer a part of your plan for today and every day.

Jesus came to his native place and taught the people in their synagogue. They were astonished and said, "Where did this man get such wisdom and mighty deeds?” // Matthew 13:54 I looked down at the test. Negative again. I wasn’t surprised because it was always negative. No matter the labs or the hormones or the fertility trackers, my pregnancy tests always turned up negative.  But not for everyone else, of course. Because every other week seemed to usher in another person with another story about another miracle.  That’s when the doubt began to take hold. It was a slow degradation of faith for me, one that fought its way to my heart through years of disappointment. It waged war on my belief in God’s ability and placed limits on what I believed He could do in our lives.  Today’s Gospel reading reminds me about the limits we so often place on Christ. The people in His native town took offense at His wisdom and mighty deeds. They could not believe that someone so close to them could perform such miracles.  I think we can all relate to the townspeople in today’s Gospel. We so often place limits on God’s ability in our lives based on assumptions we place upon Him.  And I wonder, dear sister, what sort of limits are you placing on Him? In what way do you struggle to believe that He will come through for you?  I am here to remind you of His power. Because just today I got to feed breakfast to two picky little eaters. And though I know my story is not yours, it is a reflection of God’s great ability to work outside of the limits we so often place upon Him.  Trust Him, dear sister, for He has great things in store. 

“Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest.” // Matthew 11:28 I noticed the sun glint across the thick, strong, grassy meadow before me. It sparkled in a way that ushered me back into balance, one that offered me reprieve from the hard and hefty weight of the troubles I had been carrying. And as I gazed upon the soft lush glow before me, I felt Him.  “Rest,” He said to my troubled heart.  But I couldn’t. Because I knew that when I turned away from the bright, welcoming glimmer of the meadow, I’d fall right back into that familiar darkness. After all, there were still medical bills to be paid and calendars to be filled in and health issues to be scrutinized.  “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest,” Christ tells us in today’s Gospel (Matthew 11:28). If I’m honest with you, I will admit that I don’t believe it—not deeply in my heart. Because even when He whispers rest to my weary soul, I often find myself frazzled and empty from trying to lift the burdens of life on my own. I pray about them, sure, but I don’t fully trust Him to bring me the reprieve He promises.  I don’t know if you feel similarly or what sort of burdens you might be trying to carry, but I do know the weight of it all is heavy. And I want to believe in the rest He offers. So, put it down, dear sister.  May we find the strength to trust in His promise. May we draw on His strength, and let Him bring us rest.