[Jesus] said, “‘Those who are well do not need a physician, but the sick do.’” // Matthew 9:12 A light knock sounded on the bedroom door. I struggled to sit upright in bed, grimacing at my tender surgical site. My husband cracked open the door and a Eucharistic Minister stepped into the room behind him. My eyes darted about the room subconsciously. A mound of clothes was draped precariously over the chair, papers littered the nightstand, and a thickening layer of dust blanketed the dresser.  As I took in the state of the room, I realized that it was nothing compared to the needs of my soul. The Eucharistic Minister was looking not at the room, but at me. He cradled the pouch that held our Eucharistic Lord and invited me to join him in prayer. I whispered an act of contrition, opening my heart to Christ’s presence despite my messy room and messier, soul-deep imperfections. A moment later, the Eucharistic Minister reverently placed Jesus on my tongue and gently bid me farewell.  I sank back into bed, understanding Christ’s words from today’s Gospel with a humbling new clarity: “I did not come to call the righteous, but sinners,” and “Those who are well do not need a physician, but the sick do” (Matthew 9:12-13). Jesus did not simply happen upon Matthew at his tax booth, but intentionally encountered him there. He sought out Matthew in his moment of greatest depravity, and begged immediate entry into Matthew’s home and disordered life (see Matthew 9:9-11). Matthew’s humble receptivity despite his iniquity allowed Christ to transform him from the most public of sinners to one of the greatest Saints.  Jesus bids us to follow Him not so that we might impress Him, but so that He might heal us.  Our Lord doesn’t demand perfection as a prerequisite, but meets us in the middle of our sin. From there, He begs immediate entry into our lives, unprepared and messy as they may be.  Your willingness to let Him in is the key to your freedom and healing.  Today, consider Christ’s desire to meet you in your imperfection. Hear the invitation to follow Him into the messiest parts of your life—and let the transformation begin.   

“Courage, child, your sins are forgiven.” // Matthew 9:2 I hated him at first, the man who hit me with his car. How he had knocked me to the asphalt when he turned into the parking lot and then yelled at me for walking in his way. How he had left me there in shock, without offering his insurance information, so he wasn’t going to be held accountable for hurting me: for the months of chronic back pain, physical therapy, and trips to medical specialists that ensued as I prayed for restoration. I hated him.  Until one day, I didn’t. I don’t know how it happened. Perhaps it was because I noticed God’s tender care for me in my physical pain. Perhaps it was because I had begun to relate my anger and sorrow honestly to the Lord in Eucharistic Adoration. Or perhaps it was because I realized I had no clue what that stranger had actually been thinking when he struck me, or what he’d been feeling since: maybe he felt pierced with remorse and regret and agonized because he had no way to make it right. Suddenly I desired his healing as much as my own.  It’s surprising, isn’t it, the story of the paralytic in today’s Gospel? Here he is, suffering from a severe physical ailment; it’s pretty clear just from looking at him what kind of healing he needs. But the Lord speaks first to the man’s heart: “Courage, child, your sins are forgiven” (Matthew 9:2). And then He shows His solicitous care for the man’s body, which also suffers as a result of sin. So often we, too, think we need one specific type of healing, but God has something else in mind while we’re waiting for it. While I was (and still am) awaiting complete bodily healing from that accident, the Lord has used this time to gently cleanse me of my rancor toward this man and teach me His forgiveness.  Sister, I invite you to bring to the Lord whatever suffering you feel burdened by today. Rest assured: He is not silent while you wait. He is always about the work of restoring your heart.

“Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger into the nail marks and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.” // John 20:25 Could you really love me like this, Lord?  Maybe I shouldn't go to Mass; I am too broken.  Perhaps I am really too far gone.  These were words that often ran through my mind that year before stepping into a chapel, and, while they usually went away, this time they stuck. I had given my life back to the Lord earlier that year and so desired to feel at peace with Him. But Mass after Mass, I still came in anxious and dripping in shame. All through Mass I prayed and prayed until I finally came to my wits’ end.  I received the Eucharist and felt no consolation. In desperation, and with a boldness I had not known previously, I prayed, I will not walk out of this chapel until You heal me. I am not taking no for an answer. And a miracle He gave me.  Moments after praying that prayer, I ran into two Dominican sisters whose pure gaze that night melted the final remnants of shame on my heart. I couldn’t sleep that night, for I was so giddy and happy. While I was tempted to feel sheepish about my bold and honest prayer, all I could do was laugh at His generous love and delight and good humor. I was daring to be sure, but He was all the more delighted.  Sister, since that moment I have related to Saint Thomas in today’s Gospel (see John 20:24-29). His words were demanding no doubt, but paved the way for Christ to come in His mercy and show off His goodness to Saint Thomas. I know there may be prayers in your own heart that seem too bold to be prayed, but He desires to hear them and to show you the abundance of His heart. He is not surprised by your boldness; in fact, He is honored by it. Where is one place in your heart where He is inviting you to be bold and honest today?

“Why are you terrified, O you of little faith?” // Matthew 8:26 Last year, my family carried a heavy cross as we dealt with a heartbreaking situation with one of my siblings. I found myself constantly anxious, not knowing what the outcome was going to be. I tried my best to numb the pain with all kinds of distractions. Instead of bringing all of my pain to the Lord, I thought I could handle all of it on my own.  In today’s Gospel, we hear Jesus say to His disciples,”Why are you terrified, O you of little faith?” (Matthew 8:26) Jesus doesn’t propose this question to the disciples to condemn them, but He uses it to build their relationship with Him. He wants them to know Him and know His heart towards them. I was terrified because I didn’t know Him as well as I should. Sister, I know how hard it is to trust, especially when you’ve been disappointed or hurt by others.  Building a relationship with the Lord takes time, and He invites us to be honest with Him. You can tell Him about your fears, doubts, wounds, etc. You can tell Him that you’re having a hard time trusting Him. Again, He’s not here to condemn, but to love and transform our hearts to be in union with Him. He wants to show you that you can trust Him, that He’s true to His promises. The disciples thought the storm was too much for Jesus to handle, and Jesus showed them how He can do the impossible.  Sister, I don’t know what storms are rushing through your life right now, but I want you to know that you don’t have to muscle through on your own strength or numb the pain with distractions. I want to gently invite you to present all of your struggles to Jesus. Allow Him to hold you. Allow Him to comfort you and to speak truth into your heart about His trustworthiness. Let Him show you Who He is.  Jesus, we love You. Please reveal Your heart to us. Help us to know that You are good and trustworthy. Amen.

Jesus answered him, "Foxes have dens and birds of the sky have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to rest his head." // Matthew 8:20 “Goodnight,” I whisper to my eldest son, tiptoeing out of the room to avoid waking his younger sister who is finally asleep. I make my way downstairs to rest on the couch for five minutes before tidying. No sooner do I sit down than I hear a cry. The baby is up, and so am I, rushing to make a bottle.  His eyelids droop as he nears the end of his snack and I’m able to return him to his crib in one try. Thank you, Jesus! Maybe I can take that break now? I head back to the living room and hear another cry from the monitor: “Mama!” It’s my daughter. She’s had a bad dream—and woken up her brother. I head back upstairs to calm them and bring the house peace (and hopefully quiet). There are times in motherhood where I feel exhausted from all that needs doing. I’m often critical of the fact that I am tired and fall into fits of comparison to other seemingly thriving moms I know. But needing rest is not sinful, nor is it a sign of weakness. Jesus needed rest, and given context clues, I imagine He is quite tired in today’s Gospel. Earlier in the chapter, He’s pulled in many directions, asked to perform miracles like cleansing a leper and healing the centurion's servant (Matthew 8:1-13). Then after sharing that “the Son of man has nowhere to lay his head” (Matthew 8:20), Jesus is woken up by His disciples for fear of a storm at sea (Matthew 8:23-27).  In the midst of examples of Christ’s divinity, we are given a glimpse of His humanity: the need for sleep. And I feel a sense of permission from God—Who rested on the seventh day of Creation—it is okay to need rest.  So, as we go about our days, especially when they feel extra full, let us take time to rest. And if we cannot find that time for ourselves, may we ask Jesus to help locate it and rest with us.

"Do not be afraid; just have faith." // Mark 5:36 The night of prayer began and I found myself juggling checking on my kids in childcare and having some much-needed prayer time.  And then it happened. We transitioned into a Holy Hour after some time of praise. Jesus was coming to sit before us, loving us while we adored Him. Little did I know, I was about to experience moments similar to those of today’s Gospel (see Mark 5:21-43). A heavy weight smushed my heart as I felt the responsibility of interceding strongly for a friend. But the Lord first gave me a glimpse of the pain and healing He led me through for the past couple of years. I was reminded of His faithfulness. Jairus and the hemorrhaging woman both desired healing. Jairus pleaded on behalf of his twelve-year-old daughter while the hemorrhaging woman wanted healing from a twelve-year condition which made her ritually unclean to her own people. Jairus was reputable and “worthy” of approaching Jesus. The woman was not. She was ostracized and unworthy.  Often, I find myself in both roles. There have been moments I have felt comfortable and responsible bringing petitions to the Lord. However, there have also been times (and plenty of them) where I have felt unworthy, desperate, and in haste for Jesus to save me. Sister, I invite you to give yourself the same grace that you give those who desperately need our intercession. Your healing matters to Jesus as much as the healing of your loved ones you default to in prayer. He asks only one thing of us: “Just have faith” (Mark 5:36).  The love for the daughter was not reserved for the little girl. Jesus sees the woman and calls her “daughter” after she acted in faith (see Mark 5:34). Meanwhile, Jairus was next to Jesus, listening to this woman testify about what had occurred.  In the same way, the love of the Lord is unreserved, waiting for you. He sees you, His beautiful daughter, and He is ready for you to arise. Just have faith.

So [Peter] followed him out, not realizing that what was happening through the angel was real. // Acts 12:9  Chained, sandwiched between guards, locked in a cell guarded by more guards at the door, Peter’s situation looked grim. By normal human efforts, it would be next to impossible to peacefully walk away to freedom. Yet that is precisely what Peter did. He walked away from his chains and right out into freedom (see Acts 12:1-11).   Surely it was a miracle; we know from Acts that an angel of God helped Peter. As I read the story again, I’m marveling about another miracle I find: that Peter followed the angel without question. Without proof, understanding, or hesitation Peter obeyed the angel’s words. Imagine if he picked the chains back up, spoke to the angel, or doubted the angel. I wonder if Peter would have been free had he doubted or hesitated. I’ve been thinking about the weight of Peter’s chains (I’ve seen them in the Basilica of Saint Peter in Chains in Rome; they appeared quite heavy), how he let the angel lead him to freedom, and the great faith Peter demonstrated. My thoughts turn inward, and I consider the things that weigh me down as chains do. I wonder about how God is already at work freeing me from these chains—the fears, worries, and sins in my life—that keep me from living and loving fully.  My life has room for greater trust in God’s plan, a trust and faith that exceeds understanding. I want to walk in faith and freedom as Peter did, even when I don’t understand how God is at work. Sister, if you, too, feel the weight of chains in your life, trust that God is already making a way for you to live in greater freedom. Jesus already conquered sin; we have only to trust and follow Him.  Let us pray for each other, and step boldly each day into life with Christ. Saint Peter, pray for our faith and trust to increase! Guardian Angels, guide us and guard us!

 “Lord, if you wish, you can make me clean.” // Matthew 8:1-4 I recently heard a wise priest say that humility is simply living in reality. The reality of who we are—human, fallen, in need of grace, yet still a child of God. It is also the reality of who God is—all giving, all merciful, all good and loving Father. The leper in today’s Gospel simply says, “Lord, if you wish, you can make me clean” (Matthew 8:1-4). In so many ways, this line is the picture of humility. It is not a request for more than just what’s needed, it is not excuse making, or lengthy explanations; it is simply an honest acknowledgement of a real and true need, and an unwavering trust that the God of all creation can do it. I would be remiss not to use this image of the poor leper when examining my own conscience and, in particular, my own struggle against pride. It’s too easy to be falsely humble, to demur and to shy away from either our struggle or our need. It’s too easy to reason away our reliance on the healing touch of the Father, and too easy to rationalize our own sin as the fault of others, or an accident, or whatever else we might come up with to dumb down the reality of our state. It is also too easy to think that the mercy of God is conditional, and not free.  We are in need of healing, and God is a God Who desires to heal. He is not asking for a lengthy explanation for whatever sickness of sin we currently face, and He does not require the perfect circumstance to bring His mercy down. He is asking us to be simple, to be children, and to reach out fearlessly for His healing touch. To be truly humble.  Lord, if you wish, you can make me clean.

May your compassion quickly come to us, for we are brought very low. // Psalm 79:8 I scribbled hurriedly on the index card. Names, needs, questions, and charges poured forth with only the sound of the pen stroke. My brain—my heart—could no longer contain the suffering and petitions. The dam overflowed through the ink and my eyes.  Mine was like the cry of the Israelites in today’s Responsorial Psalm (see Psalm 79:1b-2, 3-5, 8, 9). I prayed: Look at all these things Your people are suffering! Look at how abandoned they feel. Look at how very low we have been brought. The course of just a few months had brought great tragedy and pain in my life and the lives of most people I loved. It seemed that every text message I received heralded new bad news, fresh blood poured out (see Psalm 79:3). Not only was the rain falling, but we were flooded and blown about by the wind (see Matthew 7:25).  I was crumbling like sand.  The longer I walk with the Lord, the more I see that my peace is not found in human solutions but in relationship with Him. In knowing Him (see Matthew 7:23). In my suffering, I could wring my hands trying to fix problems beyond my influence or I could open my hands to Him, waiting for Him to “deliver us” (Psalm 79:9). So I continued to write. Some needs I recorded with sadness, some with anger, some with hopelessness. With every circumstance I entrusted to Him, I laid a brick of the foundation of my heart on the Rock. With every suffering offered to Him, my faith was set on solid ground (see Matthew 7:24). This is not because He gave me immediate answers or understanding; it is because He gave me Himself.  What are you “scribbling down” today? What are the sufferings you—or people you love—enduring and how are they buffeting the house of your heart? Take just a few moments today to cease attempts to resolve the issues and instead give them to Jesus. He wants to know you, to hear the cries of your heart. Your great comfort is found in knowing Him.

“Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep's clothing, but underneath are ravenous wolves. By their fruits you will know them. Do people pick grapes from thornbushes, or figs from thistles?” // Matthew 7:15-16 Phew, it’s a good thing I never fall for false prophets! If you had a reaction similar to mine when reading today’s Gospel (see Matthew 7:15-20), then you, like me, might struggle with pride! Pride itself is a familiar false prophet. I know we like to think of false prophets as only those blatantly ridiculous or bombastic personalities touting the newest thing on YouTube, but in reality we listen to not just other voices but to our own sinful inclinations more than we think.  Pride likes to sneak into our habits of thinking: how we think about ourselves, how we think about others, and how we think about the world around us. It happens little by little, and all of sudden it is a giant wall that has blocked off our heart from God’s love, relationships with others, and a proper understanding of ourselves. The fruits are obviously bad!  It is so difficult to recognize when we start to follow the false prophet of pride in our own lives. It is much easier to recognize the voices that are outside us, the misguided messages bombarding us at every turn, but not so much our own bad habits or the way we begin to think that our way is best, even when held up beside God’s way.  Pride, with its insistence that our way is best, is always tempting to follow. It is a siren call that pulls us towards individualization and selfishness. To be connected to Christ, and to not only enjoy the fruits of His teaching, but to be a channel for the fruits of His love to flow to others, means following His Word in humility and submitting our way to His.  Is there an area of your life today that is being led by pride instead of God’s Word? Ask the Holy Spirit to shine a light on your intentions and motivations today.

“Enter through the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the road broad that leads to destruction, and those who enter through it are many. How narrow the gate and constricted the road that leads to life. And those who find it are few.” // Matthew 7:13-14 When my husband Paul and I visited the Holy Land a few years ago, one of my favorite stops was the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. This is the church that has been built around Calvary and includes—and is named for— the sacred tomb where Jesus was buried. Inside the large church is a small free-standing chapel built around the tomb with a small door to enter. Once you enter, there is a smaller door that leads to an even smaller space: the tomb itself. I remember ducking down to get in that second door and suddenly there I was—in the exact spot they placed Jesus after He died. Through this tiny door came the place of everlasting life.  It did not feel impossibly small, once you squeezed in through the door. I managed to get in just as a very small gathering was starting Mass, and there we stood—in that sacred space that once held everything for us—our hope, our freedom, our joy. It had all been contained in this tomb so many years ago. Here it was still. In today’s Gospel we hear about the narrow gate (see Matthew 7:6, 12-14). We know about this gate because every day we as Christians all strive to follow the road to which it leads us. Some days we recognize the joy of living on this constricted road, how protected we are by the Lord when we stay in the pasture where He cares for us. But some days it can be a challenge. It might seem easier to have a broader space to roam and we are tempted to get off our narrow path and find the freedom our fallen human nature thinks we deserve. Thankfully, Jesus is our Good Shepherd. When we wander off the road that leads to life, He seeks us. He gently draws us back to Himself, through the narrow door, back into the space of deep freedom and abiding joy. The place of everlasting life.  Lord, as we go about our day today, show us Your guiding hand and keep us on the road that leads to life everlasting. Amen.  

The LORD called me from birth, from my mother’s womb he gave me my name. // Isaiah 49:1 Today the Church celebrates the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist. Although there is much that can be said about him, I want to invite you, sister, to turn with me for a moment first to his father, Zechariah.  Zechariah is sometimes only described as the doubter who did not believe the promise made to him by the angel Gabriel. But I think we can be a bit more forgiving, since he was, after all, an “old man” (Luke 1:18). In today’s Gospel  we can see that the faith of this man grew stronger and wider in the silence as John grew strong in the seclusion of his mother’s womb (see Luke 1:57-66, 80). The boldness of Zechariah’s deepening faith went on full display at the birth of his son.  As the relatives came and sought to name the child after his father—an honor, no doubt—Zechariah did not hesitate. He confirmed the words of his wife, Elizabeth, by writing, “John is his name” (Luke 1:63). He did not try to defend their decision or give an acceptable explanation as to why his only son was not going to bear his name. Instead, he spoke with the authority that comes when one knows and believes in the divine will that is revealed to him.  This son of theirs belonged to the Lord from the moment he was in his mother’s womb. There was a mission that the Lord had for John to fulfill. Zechariah was a witness to the miracle of life which is in fact true of each human being: the Lord knows us. We were hidden from others, yes, but not from His gaze. He has formed us in our mother’s womb (see Psalm 139:13). And He calls us (see Isaiah 49:1).  Sister, take a moment to reflect on your parents, the time you spent growing in the silence of your mother’s womb, your birth. The Lord formed you with purpose and care. You are here for a reason.  Saint John the Baptist, pray for us that we may know the Lord in greater measure and fulfill His mission for our lives. Amen.

He woke up, rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Quiet! Be still!” The wind ceased and there was great calm. // Mark 4:39 It’s a busy Wednesday, our longest and busiest day of the week. After breakfast, we rush out the door to drop my son off at his outdoor nature preschool program, go for a quick nature walk, and then come back home for school. By 1:45 p.m. we are back in the car, running back and forth to appointments and extracurriculars—this one has ballet, that one has tae kwon do, Oh right, what’s for dinner?—before finally landing back at home around 7:30 p.m. If we’re lucky, I’ve already made dinner, and we can eat a hasty meal before reading stories, saying prayers, and getting everyone tucked in. Whew.  I am not great at stillness. I like to be busy, to make plans, to see people and go places and do things. Rest is hard for me. It can feel uncomfortable, like a waste of time. So I multitask, pretend I can do with less sleep, fill empty time with scrolling. What is stillness, really? Put simply, stillness is trust. If I believe God is faithful and will do what He has promised in my life, I can take my foot off the accelerator and let Him drive. I don’t need to push, rush, or be in control. I can let Him lead.  It’s Sunday today, the new sabbath day. In the beginning God placed the sabbath at the end of the week. Through His Resurrection it is now also at the beginning of the week because He intended our lives to flow forth from rest. He wanted stillness to be our source. Rest isn’t something we earn by having a perfectly productive week—it is a gift from God. A chance to worship and delight in His presence.  I wonder, dear sister, where you feel the waves crashing in your life right now. Are there external factors making you doubt God’s provision for you? Maybe your heart feels wind-tossed and anxious? Place yourself in His presence. Look into His eyes as He says to you, Quiet. Be still. The one who made you can calm any storm.

Forever I will maintain my kindness toward him, and my covenant with him stands firm. // Psalm 89:29 The phone started ringing as I wept in silence on my bed. My body froze as I waited to hear the doctor confirm what we feared most. “Are you and your husband together right now?” were the words that took my breath away completely.  They couldn’t find a heartbeat. The child we so desperately prayed and longed for did not survive. The miracle pregnancy we celebrated and claimed as a victory had suddenly ended.  Where are You, God?  What were You thinking?  How could You be asking this of us? Can You save me from the face of despair?  These questions haunted me in the coming weeks, but God’s responses to them were much louder. They emerged out of the deafening silence accompanied by grief and loss. They grew out of the empty space so severely carved out by our first miscarriage of our first baby.   My daughter, do not worry about your life (see Matthew 6:25). Is your life not more important to me than the entire created world? (see Matthew 6:26) Does your Heavenly Father not see exactly what you need at every moment of your life? (see Matthew 6:32) My steadfast love for you endures forever (see Psalm 89:28). Even in your darkest pit, I will not withhold my steadfast love for you (see Psalm 89:33). Even when you have every reason to lose hope, I could never betray you (see Psalm 89:34). My covenant with you is firmer than heaven itself (see Psalm 89:3). I don’t know where you feel abandoned by God, and I don’t know where you feel like you can’t be saved. All I know is that when the Son of Man asked God why He had forsaken Him from the Cross, God chose to save the entire world (see Matthew 27:46).  Joash in today’s First Reading perished because he forgot the Lord’s fidelity to Him (see 2 Chronicles 24:17-25). Do not forget God's fidelity to you. Do not abandon God because you’ve convinced yourself that He has abandoned you. Surrender your emptiness to the One Who left the tomb empty for the redemption of your soul. He has not forgotten you.

“For where your treasure is, there also will your heart be.” // Matthew 6:21 I huffed as I tossed my phone on the couch—how long had I been scrolling again? I checked my watch and realized that it wasn’t the quick thirty seconds I thought I’d need; it was far more. Disappointed in myself, I checked in on our daughter: “Can I have a bowl of grapes, Mommy?”  “Absolutely!” I responded. And without thinking, as I began to walk back into the kitchen, I reached for my phone, unlocked it, and began to scroll once more. I stopped mid-kitchen and was stuck, mid-step, on my way to provide for our kiddo’s spoken needs. Grapes were my mission at that moment, yet the treasure of a quick dopamine hit via a scrolling screen led me away yet again. Who knows, this time, how much time had passed—me standing still in the middle of my God-given mission. “Mommy, are you getting my grapes or are you on your phone again?” And just like that, I snapped back into reality. My heart sank as I realized that yet again distraction had led me far from the here and now—the place I desired to be with my daughter. As I looked up and looked into her eyes, I could see her disappointment too. There are few prayers I’ve prayed harder than this, and her question served as a moment of grace, an opportunity to ask for her forgiveness and His too. God, teach me to be detached from my devices. Teach me to rightly order their use. Teach me to lean into the monotony of motherhood and give me the desire to be all here—where my feet are. Today’s Gospel reminds us that where our treasure is our heart remains there too (see Matthew 6:19-23). What worldly and materialistic treasures have you stored up that keep you distracted from your God-given mission? How may God be inviting you to place these treasures in the right order today?

You have received a spirit of adoption as sons through which we cry: Abba! Father!  // Romans 8:15 (Alleluia Verse) Years ago, one of my children tried to convince her little sister that the little one was adopted. The big sister told a fairly convincing story in a very compassionate way. Yet the lie did not have the effect she was looking for. The little one argued against the logic a bit, then simply said, “Okay.” The effect my older child thought she would elicit simply didn't occur, because, in the mind of the youngest, it didn’t matter. In her mind, adoption is a beautiful thing.  Their father was adopted as an infant and raised in a wonderful family. With five pregnancies in ten years and four living children, adoption wasn’t something on the forefront of our minds or the minds of my children, but adoption was always discussed as a blessing.  No matter how your earthly origin story begins, through Baptism you are given a new life as an adopted daughter of the Heavenly Father. You enter into a familial relationship with your Creator and this changes everything. His love for you is not something that is earned, but rather, freely given. It is not contingent upon your perfection or performance, but simply your desire to open yourself to a relationship with Him. Jesus Himself teaches us to pray, “Our Father” (Matthew 6:9, emphasis mine). Likewise, Saint Paul instructs us to cry out to Him by that name: “Abba! Father!” (Romans 8:15) A spirit of adoption claims us as His and changes everything. Everything we do and every other role we occupy should be informed and fed through this primary relationship with God the Father.* If we let Him, our Heavenly Father will guide, protect, and provide for us our entire life.  Whether things are going your way or not today, continue to cry out to the Father. He will hear your cries and answer them in His perfect timing.  *For more on your relationship to God as daughter, check out my book Daughter by Design.

As they walked on conversing, a flaming chariot and flaming horses came between them, and Elijah went up to heaven in a whirlwind. // 1 Kings 2:11 I watched as the smoke from the incense curled up toward the crucifix. It is a moment in the Mass that always draws my heart toward the Lord. I imagine each prayer floating up to the attentive ear of Jesus, the Lover of our souls, so close that every whisper is heard by Him, every hope-filled plea and utterance of praise given to the One who is all powerful. I could trust Him. I could have the courage to hope in His promises. Hope in His goodness. Hope in His most perfect will. This gave me the comfort I had been longing for during a time of great change in our family.  The Lord had been calling us to new places and new adventures, and inviting us to work in His vineyard with radical love and surrender. With this came a whirlwind of job changes for my husband, school changes for my children, and saying yes to Jesus even when it seemed as if everything was being swiftly uprooted.  I take comfort in today’s First Reading about two Old Testament prophets Elijah and Elisha, “[w]hen the Lord was about to take Elijah up to heaven in a whirlwind” (see 2 Kings 2:1, 6-14). They walked together guided by the Holy Spirit, and Elijah was about to leave Elisha to prophesy on his own. I think of how walking with the Lord is yielding to the movements of the Spirit. Parting from what once was, and entering into the new places the Lord is calling us to. Knowing that we are being given an abundance of grace, greater than all our expectations. Trusting that, like He did for Elisha, the Lord will give us the portion of the Spirit that we need to follow Him. Sister, where is the Lord calling you? What fears are holding you back from giving Him your complete and total trust? Tell Him all your troubles, all your apprehensions, and step forward. Step forward and let Him lead you. This life of following the Lord is a pilgrimage to everlasting love.