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

June 6, 2026 // Saturday of the Ninth Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s First Reading: 2 Timothy 4:1–8 Reflect on the Word // I straightened up to answer the phone, leaning the broom against the kitchen counter. “Hello?” I answered, tapping the dustpan against the edge of the trash can. The voice on the other end was friendly and familiar. I wondered, Why is the head of our local Catholic women’s conference calling me? “Will you keynote our conference next spring?” she asked. I gripped the counter. You don’t have anything to say. Why is she asking you? How could you possibly say yes? The enemy didn’t waste any time telling me to say no. “Yes,” I answered, before he could have his way. I’ve since come to understand, many talks and retreats later, that my Baptism has empowered me to put my prophetic gifts in service of the Gospel. That doesn’t mean I’ll wander the desert eating locusts. What it means is that I was baptized to share in the priestly, prophetic, and kingly mission of Jesus Christ. The Holy Spirit empowered me to do so. I have the calling, the gifting, and the commission to do as Saint Paul instructs in today’s First Reading: to “proclaim the word; be persistent whether it is convenient or inconvenient; convince, reprimand, encourage through all patience and teaching” (2 Timothy 4:2). For me, that involves writing during early mornings and late nights, long flights to speaking engagements, and travel delays. It means intense bouts of desolation and long stretches of self-doubt. But I must be faithful to the unfolding graces of my Baptism. Sister, you, too, are given the baptismal grace to proclaim the Gospel. In an age when souls are hungry for what is spiritual, but often unable to untangle truth from “myths,” we all can be the witnesses proclaiming Jesus. We can bring light and hope to a world unaware of its own darkness. It might not be on a stage. Your call will honor your unique gifts and opportunities. You may bring the Gospel to the woman in line behind you at the coffee shop or simply by writing a note to a coworker. But a word of hope, when infused with the Spirit, can bring forth untold light and life. Don’t let the enemy tell you otherwise.  Relate to the Lord // Ask the Lord to show you ways to use your prophetic gifts today to share Jesus with others.

May 6, 2026 // Wednesday of the Fifth Week of Easter Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: John 15:1-8 Reflect on the Word // I pulled the dog-eared book off the shelf in preparation for an interview for my new podcast. Father Dave Pivonka, TOR, the President of Franciscan University of Steubenville, was going to walk me and future listeners through the “tests” for decision-making laid out by the late Father Michael Scanlan, TOR, in What Does God Want? As I flipped through the creased pages, I realized how much the book had shaped my ability to know and follow God’s will.  In the introduction, Father Scanlan reassures readers that the questions he posits for discernment need not be considered in any particular order.  Except for one. There is one vital question that we need to ask before even beginning to consider any action: Is the decision I am considering in line with Church teaching? This is what Father Scanlan calls the “conformity test.” And if the answer is no—if the opportunity or idea or proposed action violates what God has already revealed through Scripture and through the teaching of the Catholic Church, entrusted with its interpretation and application—then we must not take the matter any further.  In the Gospel for today, Jesus explains this concept using the image of a vine: “Just as a branch cannot bear fruit on its own unless it remains on the vine, so neither can you unless you remain in me” (John 15:4). Apart from the Church, separated from its wisdom and life-giving sacramental grace, we cannot expect to flourish, to bear fruit. God loves us, sweet sister, and He has provided guardrails—trellises—for our flowering. When we stay faithful to what He’s already revealed, our decisions will become easier and far more fulfilling and fruitful.  We may not always understand completely or find it easy to follow God’s revealed will in Scripture or the teaching authority of the Church, but we should find it freeing that there are solid, Spirit-given foundations on which we can and must make our decisions. If we want to follow His will, we’ll never find it apart from the place He promised He’d remain forever: His Church.  Relate to the Lord // Is there a decision that needs to be made in your life? Consider this question in prayer: Is the decision I am considering in line with Church teaching?

March 19, 2026 // Solemnity of Saint Joseph, Spouse of the Blessed Virgin Mary Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Matthew 1:16, 18-21, 24a  Reflect on the Word //  “Here it is,” I said, flipping open Father Mark Mary Ames’ book The Father to show my son the final chapter. It tells the story of Tom Vander Woude, the dad who dove into a septic cistern on the family farm to save his youngest child, a son with Down syndrome. My own son had heard part of the story of this heroic father and coach who laid down his life for his boy, and I wanted him to read more. Young men need stories of real manhood, of perfect love casting out fear.  Today’s Gospel reveals that even the best—the very best—of men need the grace of God to go before them (see Matthew 1:16, 18-21, 24a). Saint Joseph, betrothed to Mary, wonders at the mysteries unfolding around him and within her. Righteous and rule-following, yet “unwilling to expose her to shame” (Matthew 1:19), he makes a decision to divorce her quietly. This reveals that there must have been something of an internal back-and-forth within Joseph. There are two paths he can see, and he resolves to do what he thinks is best.  God intervenes, seeing from an eternal perspective another way.   Jesus needs an earthly father, and so the Father mercifully illuminates Joseph’s mind and casts out the fear in his heart. With the angels’s words, “do not be afraid” (Matthew 1:20), Joseph has the strength and wisdom to now, unhesitatingly, follow God’s will and take Mary into his home.  God’s love drives out fear. Sister, let us pray for the men in our lives and our culture to draw near to the One Whose presence will strengthen them to be the fathers—physical and spiritual—we need them to be. Deep down, they have unseen insecurities and doubts, anxieties and uncertainties. One Father, with a single word of love, can drive away the darkness and call them forward to serve and lead and sacrifice—even unto death. The Saint whose Solemnity we celebrate today, the Terror of Demons himself, can intercede, protect, and lead our men into the perfect fearless freedom of holy sonship.  St. Joseph, pray for us. Relate to the Lord // Ask for Saint Joseph’s intercession for the men in your life today. 

February 5, 2026 // Memorial of Saint Agatha, Virgin and Martyr Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Mark 6:7-13 Reflect on the Word //  I was stunned by the size of the pile growing on the floor of my closet. Give away. I tossed another pair of pants into the heap. Never gonna fit into those again. Disappointed with myself, I wondered what had made me buy these clothes—many of them multiples, most barely worn. I had to do a major clean-out. Turns out, I also needed to root some things out of my heart.  In the Gospel today (see Mark 6:7-13), Jesus instructs His disciples to go out on their first mission trip without even a second tunic. They are to trust in God’s providence, travel lightly and swiftly, and carry the Gospel, not extra baggage. It was a practical decision, yes, but also a spiritual one. These were the men taught to pray for “daily bread.” Not just in case. Not one for the road.  Only enough for today.  I say that prayer—the Our Father— daily too.  But somehow I’m still in the habit of hoarding away extras, afraid of a tomorrow of not enough. If I’m honest, there’s a trace of fear in my wallet, my closet, my refrigerator. I pray for daily bread, but I squirrel away a little more just in case God doesn’t come through. Maybe not consciously, but how else can I explain the excess? Sometimes the daily bread is in abundance; sometimes it is just enough to get me to tomorrow. But it has never failed to arrive like His mercy, new and freshly baked every morning. If I can unclench my grasp of yesterday’s stale crumbs, I can pull up a seat at the breakfast table.  Likely, sister, you have known moments of fear that there will not be enough. And maybe you really have known cold, hunger, loneliness. There are very real moments in life that test our trust. But you are here now, proof that He has always come through. So see the invitation in today’s Gospel: Take only one tunic and trust Him with the rest.  Relate to the Lord // What have you been hoarding—just in case? Today share your heart with the Lord and your excess with others.  

January 20, 2026 // Optional Memorial of Saint Fabian, Pope and Martyr // Optional Memorial of Saint Sebastian, Martyr Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s First Reading: 1 Samuel 16:1-13  Reflect on the Word //  Cleaning out my garage, I unearthed a relic from my past: a dusty high school trophy. Was it for volleyball? Track? Softball? Maybe the sport all my kids have excelled at—basketball?  Nope. My single skill back then (and arguably now) was creative writing.  What’s interesting is that for a long time after high school, that gift remained dormant. Sure, I wrote papers in college. I journaled and dabbled in poetry as a young mom. But writing with intention, for others, in obedience to what I began to realize was a calling? That came much later. And when I stepped fully into that vocation of writer, I found the fulfillment of what had been hinted at years before. Sometimes, the anointing comes before the appointing.  It was that way for David in today’s First Reading: “Then Samuel, with the horn of oil in hand, anointed him in the midst of his brothers; and from that day on, the Spirit of the LORD rushed upon David” (1 Samuel 16:13).  David was just a teenager when Samuel’s anointing set him apart for God’s sacred purpose. But what did he do after Samuel left that day?  He went back to tending sheep.  It would be a full fifteen years before he became king of all of Israel. In that time, he would mature as a leader, be tested and trained, and step into the role of king, ready to lead a newly unified kingdom.  I still marvel when I read that story—how God lavishly anoints us with a full “horn of oil” even when the appointment isn’t ready. Our gifts and charisms emerge fully only when the opportunity is right. Before then, they glimmer and flicker beneath the surface, dropping hints about our future place in the courts of Christ.  Sometimes we grow impatient, wanting to grasp at an appointment before our time. The problem is, whatever we try to possess—especially when it is not ours to have—ends up possessing us.  Sister, let’s allow God to choose the timing for the fullness of our personal calling. Until then, we’ll be obedient to the moment at hand, whether it be laundry, dinner—or herding sheep.  Relate to the Lord // Where have you been anointed by God? Ask for the grace to step into your calling.

December 5, 2025 // Friday of the First Week of Advent Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s First Reading: Isaiah 29:17-24 Reflect on the Word //  I put my phone down, stunned and grieved. Another violent attack, more bloodshed, more devastation, more senseless violence. It seemed like the news lately brought an endless stream of pain.  I groaned in the depths of my being, feeling very much lost in the “valley of death” (see Psalm 23:4). How long would we have to grope around in darkness? How long would the long shadow hang over us, cold and dank?  I moved on with my chores, heavy-limbed and clammy. Not much got done that afternoon. That day, God didn’t take away my pain. He invited me into His own.  But in the evening, as I clutched my rosary, He also sent His Holy Spirit to remind me of the words of Saint Ignatius of Loyola in his eighth Rule for the Discernment of Spirits, encouraging those experiencing spiritual desolation: “Let him who is in desolation labor to be in patience [. . .] and let him think he will soon be consoled” (source). In other words, this too shall pass.  The sun will rise again, the Lord reminded me, and you will feel warmth on your arms and your face. You will laugh, and dance, and feel joy. The heaviness will lift. Life is a litany of rising and  falling, a sea of waves and seasons.  In the First Reading today, we see a similar promise: “Thus says the Lord GOD: But a very little while, and Lebanon shall be changed into an orchard, and the orchard be regarded as a forest!” (Isaiah 29:17, emphasis mine) We tend to forget, in times of suffering, that it won’t always be this way. It’s a fallen human tendency to feel that things will always be the same. Moreover, we have an enemy with a vested interest in keeping us forgetful of the “rising again” part of the story. It’s his way of tempting us to despair. But sister, God wants to remind us that this pain, in the grand scheme of things—and even in your life—is for “a very little while.” He, Who has given you a share in His suffering, will not give you a portion longer than you can bear.  And you will laugh again.  Relate to the Lord // Pick up and pray your Rosary today. As you meditate on the mysteries, remember that every detail of your story is held and revealed in His.

November 3, 2025 // Optional Memorial of Saint Martin de Porres, Religious Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Luke 14:12-14  Reflect on the Word //  The woman stirring a pot of rice in our kitchen mesmerized me. And if I’m honest, she frightened me a little too. Irma was a Cuban refugee who had been welcomed into our home by my generous parents.  She looked different, sounded different—and her food sure smelled different. Little me, a preschooler at the time, didn’t know what to think of her, this strange person from a strange land suddenly sharing our family’s space. The secular world wouldn’t have known what to think either. After all, in an age where most things, even relationships, are transactional (“you do this for me, I’ll do that for you”), giving freely without expectation of return is foolish. Gullible. Nonsensical. Why would you share your home with someone you don’t know, someone who can’t—in any human way—possibly pay you back?  But my parents weren’t thinking in worldly terms. They were looking at Irma and her situation through a Christ-centered lens. They saw Him when they saw her. And they knew that in the reward of being united to the One Who gave them all they have, what they’d receive would surpass anything she, or anyone, could give them in a worldly sense.  We are challenged to do the same by the words of Jesus in today’s Gospel. He specifically invites us to open our homes (and we can extend that to our hearts, too, our inner sanctuaries) to those who cannot possibly pay us back. How would such radical generosity challenge and change us? We can only find out by taking Him at His word and doing as He says. After all, when we flip the script, we realize that truly, we are refugees from Eden who can never repay God for His redemptive, merciful love. With that in mind, sister, how can we say no? Relate to the Lord // Who will you open your heart (or home) to today?

September 26, 2025 // Optional Memorial of Saints Cosmas and Damian, Martyrs Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s First Reading: Haggai 2:1-9 Reflect on the Word //  “Look—here it is!” I wiped my hands on my apron and took the phone from my brother. I squinted at the image he’d pulled up of our childhood home, much smaller and humbler than I remembered it.  Later that night, finding myself hungering to remember more, I searched online for our first parish and found images of the majestic St. Anne’s. Seeing the red brick bell towers and arched stained-glass windows brought back floods of memories of my First Communion and the grainy photos of my Baptism. Sadly, I read that the building had been sold and was now home to a Protestant congregation. I ached as I thought of what it must look like inside: stripped of statues and bereft of its marble altar with no tabernacle, no Easter candle, no kneelers. I clicked off the phone. I didn’t want to think about it anymore, not that way. In today’s First Reading, the prophet Haggai is speaking to a people who must have had similar feelings about the Temple in Jerusalem. Their exile over, they’d begun to rebuild their house of worship but were feeling discouraged as they sifted through desecrated rubble. Those who remembered the Temple “in its former glory” were desolate as they surveyed the ruins (Haggai 2:3). Jerusalem’s glory days were over, their resources scarce. This temple would pale in comparison to the one they remembered. But Haggai mysteriously prophesies that the future glory of “this house” will surpass the former (Haggai 2:9).  This prophecy is fulfilled in Jesus’ time, as the splendor of the Second Temple is added to by the Persians and by Herod the Great. But the more important temple is that of Jesus’ Body, which is also to be destroyed, but miraculously restored again in three days, and where “treasures of all the nations will come in” (Haggai 2:7). Sister, we are this treasure, the living stones that build up the Body of Christ. We will see buildings—even sacred places—crumble. We long for things to last but will see them wither. But strengthened by the grace of our Baptism, we put our faith in the One to Whom we have been united, Who holds us all together in Himself—home and temple both, eternally. Relate to the Lord // What places from your own childhood or early life come to mind as you read Claire’s experience? Share your memories with the Lord.   

July 4, 2025 // Friday of the Thirteenth Week in Ordinary Time  Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s First Reading: Genesis 23:1-4, 19; 24:1-8, 62-67 Reflect on the Word //  All of my belongings fit into a suitcase and the couple cardboard boxes we’d sent ahead. After the college graduation ceremonies, I packed my cap and gown, hugged my parents, family, and friends goodbye and flew out to Phoenix to begin a new life.   Before I knew it, I was a wife, a homeowner, a mom, and a desert dweller. I loved discovering my new “homeland”—and myself—as I grew into all my roles. But a couple years in, I realized something was off. I felt listless and a heaviness seemed to descend.  With so much to rejoice in, why was I sad? I realize now, decades later, that I had not adequately processed such a massive life change. Even good changes are goodbyes to places and people and ways of life, and these farewells rock us in ways we were never originally meant to be rocked. Remember, in Eden there would have been no goodbyes. No flights out. No packing and leaving.  Over time, I regained my equilibrium and rediscovered joy. But I have a deep appreciation for what the Old Testament women, like Rebekah in today’s First Reading, suffered as they said goodbye to the only life they’d known. Abraham tells his servant that God “will send his messenger before you, and you will obtain a wife for my son there” (Genesis 24:7). Rebekah was not forced to go. She was prepared and asked. She made a free choice for Isaac, for God, for a future for countless others, and left with her family’s blessing. But no doubt she had her misgivings and tender moments of mourning the girlhood she could never go back to.  Sister, you too have known changes and goodbyes. You have made courageous moves into unknown territories where only the single step ahead was illuminated. Or maybe you set forth into a new career, a new school, a new home, or a new friendship in only darkness. Yet God sent a messenger before you. His providence was present before you even arrived. And His promises never left you. Your future, too, is full of blessings as countless as the stars.  Relate to the Lord // Where do you see the Lord’s presence and providence in your life’s transitions, now and in the past?   

May 9, 2025 // Friday of the Third Week of Easter Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s First Reading: Acts 9:1-20 Reflect on the Word //  Kicking up a riot of colorful leaves with each step, my family and I would make our way through the canopied woods, stopping at each station to pray: “For the sake of His Sorrowful Passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world.” We’d genuflect and then rise to make our way to the next stop, the youngest in the group eagerly scurrying ahead. Others, pensive, would follow prayerfully behind.  As a child, I often visited the beautiful National Shrine of Mary, Help of Christians in Hubertus, Wisconsin (affectionately known as “Holy Hill”) to pray the Stations of the Cross, nestled on a forest trail below the Basilica. This was more than a family tradition, of course. It was—and still is—a reminder and re-presentation of the Way of the Cross, the path Jesus climbed as He neared the place of his execution. It is the way, the path of the Christian life.  In today’s reading from Acts, Paul is on his way to Damascus to imprison and persecute men and women who belonged to “the Way.” In the early Church, Christianity was called the Way, because it was a way of being in the world as a follower of Jesus Christ. It meant being different. Followers of Jesus stood out. They drew countless people to themselves, and to God, but they also made many people uncomfortable. Including Paul.  Today we read about Paul’s life-changing intervention with the Way Himself—“I am the Way”( John 14:6)—which shatters Paul’s misconceptions and opens his eyes to not only the Way, but the Truth and the Life. In this moment, Paul becomes different and one of the greatest followers of the Way in the history of the Church he once persecuted.  This begs the question with me, within us: Are we living the Way in such a way that others would recognize us as followers of Jesus? Are we walking a path of martyrdom each day, stopping to reverence and to imitate each sign of God’s immense, self-sacrificial love? The Way of Christianity is the Way of the Cross. Are we on that path? Relate to the Lord // Which of the stations from the Station of the Cross will you identify with today and unite your sufferings to those of Jesus?  

March 3, 2025 // Optional Memorial of Saint Katharine Drexel, Virgin [In the Dioceses of the United States] Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s First Reading: Sirach 17:20-24 Reflect on the Word //  “Stay in the right two lanes.” “Turn left.” I gripped the steering wheel and felt the muscles in my shoulders become tense as my phone recalculated directions to the airport. I had missed a turn and was lost—again. As I navigated through the dark streets of the most unsavory part of town, I berated myself for my lack of a sense of direction.  My husband, waiting at the curb of the airport with our daughter, called. He’d expected me to be there a long time ago. “Where are you?” he asked, his voice strained. Good question. Where are you? That’s the first question in the Bible too. The question God asks to draw Adam and Eve out of hiding and back to Himself. It’s the question we are asked when we find ourselves lost in our own sin and shame—not because we can find the way ourselves, but because we can’t.  And we need to cry out to the One Who has provided the way home.  “To the penitent God provides a way back, he encourages those who are losing hope” (Sirach 17:24). The Lord provides “a way back” when we are tempted to despair. Our bad choices, our wrong turns, the sinful ways we’ve steered ourselves into some dismal alleys—it can lead us to believe it is too late, that we’re simply too off course.  The First Reading from Sirach today reminds us that if we are willing to repent, to turn to Him, there is always a way back. There is, in fact, one Way back.  Jesus Christ is the Way.  And He is always, always ready to recalculate, taking our missed opportunities and failures and turning them into our exact path to holiness. Nothing is wasted in the spiritual life. Not even wrong turns. Sister, your story may include some detours and “scenic routes,” but never doubt God’s ability to re-route you back to Himself.  Just answer the question, “Where are you?” with humility and honesty, and ask for help getting home. He’s put the path on your heart, and the Way is waiting to carry you there.  Relate to the Lord // How has Jesus been the Way for you when you’ve gotten off track? How is He leading you back to Himself even now?  

January 30, 2025 // Thursday of the Third Week in Ordinary Time Read the Word // Open your Bible to today’s Gospel: Mark 4: 21-25 Reflect on the Word // I choked on my tears as I read the final pages of Chiara Corbella Petrillo: A Witness to Joy. The story of the young Italian mother who had buried two babies only to be diagnosed with cancer during her third pregnancy had captivated me from the beginning. Now, as the narrative turned to her final hours, and her family gathered for one last Mass at her bedside, I found my heart twisting within me. How could such suffering be endured? The priest, Father Vito, turned to the dying Chiara during the homily. “Then he asked her: ‘What is Jesus’ lampstand?’ And she said, ‘The lampstand is the Cross’” (A Witness to Joy, 151). The lampstand is the Cross. In today’s Gospel, Jesus, the Light of the World, reminds His disciples of the proper place for the light from a burning lamp: a tall stand, a place from which the light can radiate to the corners of the room, revealing, warming, and clarifying.  Only one like Chiara could recognize, in her agony, the highest, most radiant lampstand: the Cross of Jesus Christ. Only one who shared that Cross, who hung on it with Jesus, writhing and gasping, could understand the luminous privilege and power of sharing in the suffering of Jesus Christ. The Lord invites you to bring your own suffering, be it great or small, into His suffering. He brings you into the light onto the lampstand of the Cross, and you begin to burn with a light the night cannot overcome.  Sister, we become radiant when we willingly share the Cross with Christ. We become little sanctuary lamps burning to signify, God is here.  The world, drawn out of its darkness by our flames, will look up and wonder, How can such suffering be endured? And we will stretch out our arms, bringing them in to hear the secret. We will tell them what we have learned as we’ve walked, prayed, worked, rested, and suffered with Jesus Christ:  It cannot simply be endured. It is the highest, brightest union with a God Who suffered for us. It must be embraced. Relate to the Lord // Look lovingly on a crucifix. Spend five minutes meditating on Jesus’ love for you.

“Do not move about from one house to another.” // Luke 10:7 The sinking feeling in my stomach started as soon as I pressed “send.” I had just said yes to another great opportunity—a way to share the Gospel, inspire women, use my gifts. But I was already overcommitted and on the edge of burnout. Previously, I had discerned that I needed to say no to more in order to make a better yes to the things which I knew for sure God had called me to: a deeper prayer life, attentiveness to my family, focus at work, and making real progress on the book I owed the publisher.  As I regretfully closed my computer, I determined again to pay attention to the still, small voice inside that was growing more adamant in its request that I stay: stay focused, stay committed, and stay put in my current projects. I needed to stay in my inner “house.”  In today’s Gospel, Jesus tells the seventy-two as He sends them out that they are not to “move about from one house to another” (Luke 10:7). They are to establish deep relationships in each town and operate from a place of serenity and stability. I imagine, as they preached the Gospel, healed the sick, and drove out demons, that these men received invitations and requests to stay in many different houses. It would have been flattering but distracting from the work at hand.  I often say: “If the devil can’t destroy you, he’ll dilute you.” In our commitment to do great things for the God we love, we can neglect the necessary things—the things only we can do, our singular contributions to the Kingdom. And then the enemy wins. He steals our single-heartedness by dangling shiny—yet often in themselves very good—things in front of us.  Sister, as we discern each yes or no, let’s listen to the Holy Spirit, Who gently reveals to us the parameters of our inner house and our personal calling and invites us to remain with Him there.

“Therefore, stay awake, for you know neither the day nor the hour.” // Matthew 25:13 (from readings for Memorial of Saint Teresa Benedicta of the Cross) I became aware of a low rumbling sound as I awoke from a midday nap. The bed in the dim hotel room was moving.  I tried to open my eyes. On heavy painkillers for an infection, I was only vaguely aware that something was wrong. Must be an earthquake, I thought groggily.   And I fell back asleep. I don’t know how much time passed until I became fully conscious. Wondering if it had been a dream, I ventured to the nearby theme park to look for my family. It took just a minute for me to realize the rides had all been shut down. The park was closed.  Because of the earthquake.  The earthquake I had slept through. The weight of what had happened—and what could have happened—hit me. I was stunned that even an earthquake hadn’t shaken me awake. But the Gospel for today’s Optional Memorial of Saint Teresa Benedicta of the Cross reminds us that we are all capable of sleeping through even greater comings (see Matthew 25:1-13).  Jesus tells in the Parable of the Ten Virgins that all of them—both wise and foolish—almost sleep through the coming of the bridegroom. A sharp cry pierces the night, announces His approach, and warns them to make ready. Only the five wise virgins can re-light their lamps in time and accompany Him to the feast. But I suspect that amid the joy and celebration, their hearts would have been beating rapidly at this terrifying thought: I almost missed Him. How many times have we daydreamed or sleep-walked right through or past the coming of Jesus Christ into our lives? How many invitations has He extended to us that, drugged by distractions and our little mind-numbing addictions, we may have missed? How often have we been lulled into lethargy? Every hour is His hour. Every present moment is a little paradise full of Him. As Pope Saint John Paul II wrote in his play The Jeweler’s Shop, “The Bridegroom is coming. This is His precise hour.”   Lord, make us attentive to Your approach in the people, circumstances, and prayer we experience today.