O God, you are my God whom I seek;for you my flesh pines and my soul thirstslike the earth, parched, lifeless and without water. // Psalm 63:2  Orange and pink streaked across the sky as I slipped out of the house, almost bolting to the minivan. As I backed it down the long driveway, a twinge of relief flickered in my heart. I was going to see Him, the one for Whom my heart longed. Pulling in front of the church, I pulled my chapel veil from my purse and adorned myself to be in the presence of my Lord. Then, finally, I was in the adoration chapel, on my knees. The strain of the day whelmed up in my chest and I let it overflow in a silent, wordless prayer before the Lord. As I poured my heart out before Him, I felt His love filling what I had emptied. A warm, engulfing peace came over me as I gave Him all the cares of my motherhood, my wifehood, and my work. His consolation showed me where my heart is truly at rest, and that is in Him. And through spending time in prayer, my longing for Him increases. Sister, today is the Feast of Saint Mary Magdalene, a woman with a desperate love and longing for her Savior. She was the one “from whom seven demons had gone out” (Luke 8:2) at the hands of Jesus, and who was so distraught by His death she went to His tomb while it was still dark. She is overwrought with weeping when His body is missing from the tomb. And when she sees Him alive, she becomes even more desperate; Jesus has to soothe her, to calm her down. Her desire, her pining and thirst for her God, is a model for us all. Let us pray today to share in her desperate love of God, to share her confidence that He alone will satisfy us. Go back to the First Reading of today (Songs 3:1-4b) or the Psalm Response (Psalm 63) and ask the Lord to foster a longing and pining for Him as your God and your Bridegroom in your heart. Saint Mary Magdalene, pray for us.

How shall I make a return to the LORD for all the good he has done for me? // Psalm 116:12 “Mom, are you complaining?” I bit my tongue and glanced into the rearview mirror. My son gave me a wry smile, and I sighed. For Lent I had given up complaining and I told my kids that if they heard me complaining to let me know. A week into it, I was ready to call it quits. I was ashamed to see how often complaints came out of my mouth! After dropping off my kids at school, I started praying in the car, asking God to help me change my attitude. I knew that gratitude was the antidote. As if to punctuate that thought, I noticed the car in front of me had (in huge letters across his back window) the question, “What are you grateful for today?” Touché, Lord.  He wasn’t done. Moments later the song “I Thank God” by Maverick City Music came on the radio. The artist sang of being grateful to God for all the ways He turned his life around. I started thinking about how God turned my own life around—bringing me out of mortal sin and setting me on a new path. I recalled all the times He saved me, in big and little ways, and the gratitude I felt bubbled up and spilled out in tears.  Refocusing my mind on the goodness of God, I cried out with the Psalmist, “How shall I make a return to the LORD for all the good he has done for me? To you will I offer sacrifice of thanksgiving, and I will call upon the name of the Lord” (Psalm 116:12-13).  Sister, what will you do the next time you feel negativity settling in and complaints forming? Let’s turn our focus to gratitude as we pray: Lord, forgive me for complaining or feeling sorry for myself. I offer this cross to you as an act of love and thanksgiving for all You’ve done for me. I love You. Amen.

“Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.” // Matthew 11:28-30 I was the very last one on the plane that morning. I was sweating profusely beneath the weight of my large hiking backpack, stuffed for a week in the Dominican Republic. Our group of high school missionaries had been delayed in the security line, and I had urged everyone to hurry to the gate without me. My heart raced wildly as I heard the last call for our flight and sprinted through the terminal and up the escalator. Finally buckled in—exhausted and relieved—I was flooded with anxious thoughts and worst-case scenarios. What if I had missed my flight and the connecting one? It would be humiliating to fail these girls, their parents, and the teachers who had entrusted them to my care. But I was most afraid of disappointing Jesus, the One Whom I was striving to love and serve. None of my fears were realized that week, and it would take time to understand what Jesus was trying to teach me. In fact, it took years of a breathless, dogged sprint through marriage, motherhood, and ministry before I could begin to unpack and relinquish the heavy load I was carrying. I was working hard for Jesus and the people I loved, but I was tired, lonely, and struggling with discouragement. “Come to Me,” Jesus spoke tenderly to me through the years, “not so I can evaluate your work, or give you more to do, but so I can relieve you of your burden of self-reliance, your need to earn My love and prove your worth.” Slowly, my identity has shifted from worker and orphan, to friend and beloved. As I respond to Jesus’ invitation to come to Him through daily prayer, the Sacraments, and His Word, I receive the rest—a deep peace and refreshment—that He promises. Dear sister in Christ, I know that I am not the only one who has labored under a heavy load, who finds it difficult to ask for help, and is motivated by fear. Today, take time in prayer to slow down, catch your breath, unstrap your backpack, and ask Jesus to teach you His way of love. May we receive, even amidst our labors and the burdens of each day, the sweetness and lightness of a life united to Christ.

Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place where you stand is holy ground. // Exodus 3:5 After a comically long (though not unusual) dinner-bath-bedtime routine complete with stories, prayers, extra hugs, and drinks of water, I tucked the last of my children in bed and sat down at my computer to get some work done. After twenty minutes or so of silence, a small voice at my doorway said, “Mama? I can’t sleep.”  Taking a deep breath to quell my initial frustration, I got up from my desk and wrapped my daughter in a big hug. She needed me, one-on-one, in a way that our busy day had not allowed. In the quiet of her bedroom, her mind and heart were racing, and she needed me to share her burdens. She needed my undivided attention. The other work would have to wait. Our lives are filled with twists, turns, and interruptions. We make plans, and inevitably have to adjust when life doesn’t quite cooperate. Maybe the things we view as inconveniences and interruptions are really our “burning bush” moments. Think back on the times when God has used something unexpected to stop you in your tracks, providing clarity on where to go next or how best to spend your time. Holiness is walking that line between virtuous pursuit of what we ought to do, and openness to the movement of the Holy Spirit. It takes a lot of humility to accept that our plans are not His. Lord, please give us the grace to welcome interruptions from You today. Help us to hold our plans loosely, and faithfully follow wherever You lead.

She named him Moses; for she said, “I drew him out of the water.” // Exodus 2:10 Bobbing in the waves for days during our annual family “beach week,” plunging into the bone- chilling water of my grandparents’ pool, splashing in our little backyard kiddie pool on a lazy summer day: whenever and wherever there was water, I was there for it! Even now, though I can’t as easily dive into the nearest lake, ocean, or pool, water still has a certain pull on my heart. There is something about being near or in water that brings me peace and rest, that revives me! Since I started teaching about the Sacraments it has become clearer to me why the presence of water is so powerful. Like Moses, each of us has been drawn from the water in the Sacrament of Baptism and, like Moses, have been adopted into the family of a king, and not just an earthly one: the King of Kings! Unfortunately, we, like Moses, sometimes react to life in ways that separate or damage our relationship with that kingly household. But we have no reason, like Moses, to run and hide (see Exodus 2:15). We do not have a father who is waiting to catch, trap, or punish us, but One who is waiting to welcome us back, desiring to fill us with Baptismal grace of his Divine Life. Sometimes we run away from God and then desire to return, but it feels like an ominous and difficult task. But, sister, the reality is, all we have to do is, “Turn to the Lord . . . and [we] will live” as we pray in today’s Psalm Response. In the midst of these warm summer days, as you plunge into the local pool, ocean, or lake, or dip your toes into a flimsy backyard kiddie pool, remember that you have been drawn from the water. You have been made a beloved daughter of a loving Father, a mighty deed done not in your midst, but in your very being. You have been drawn from the “abysmal swamp . . . the watery depths” (Psalm 69:3), the overwhelming flood of sin. Live today in your identity as one who has no need to run, but simply cry out to the one Who in His great kindness answers you (see Psalm 69:14).

"Whoever receives you receives me, and whoever receives me receives the one who sent me.” // Matthew 10:40 I've always struggled with receiving. Whether it's gifts, recognition, or help, I struggle to accept what others want to give. I don't love attention, prefer people to notice why and who I'm serving rather than what I've done—and my desire for control in these situations is always pride popping up like an ugly weed in the ground. In today’s Gospel Jesus says, "Whoever receives you receives me, and whoever receives me receives the one who sent me" (Matthew 10:40). What a powerful image to contemplate. Every act of receptivity comes with a prior action of receptiveness. Receptivity is never a one-way street. It's layered upon layers of receiving over time. Even the gift of our salvation goes back thousands of years before Christ received the Cross upon His shoulders or Mary's fiat led to her receiving the Holy Spirit and conceiving Christ in her womb. The entire genealogy of Christ, which we can read about in the Old Testament, encourages us to appreciate all the small and large acts of receptivity throughout Salvation History. When I recall times when I received abundantly from the Lord through prayer and the Sacraments, fully opening myself to His love and mercy, I am overwhelmed. It's like a cavern deep within my soul, opened to receive more of God. Letting myself live in my desire for more of the Lord allows me to receive from others, recognizing it is all a gift from God Himself. Why would anyone refuse a gift from God? Sister, where in your life is God desiring to give you more of Him, both in prayer and through other people? Put your discomfort from attention, your false humility, and pride aside, and make room to receive God's abundance.

On that day, Jesus went out of the house and sat down by the sea. Such large crowds gathered around him that he got into a boat and sat down. // Matthew 13:1-2 After the mad rush of trying to find a parking spot in downtown Denver, we walked into the Cathedral, looking for an open pew. Despite the Gothic Cathedral being dimly lit, you could feel that it was nearly full. Finally having found a few open spots, we sat down and breathed a sigh of relief that the busyness of the coming days could not reach us in this place. Having settled into our seats, I saw a light coming through the stained-glass window on the western wall of this beautiful church, an image of Mary. This moonlit image of Our Lady broke through the darkness, inviting each of us present into a moment of beauty and rest, a gift of peace. Minutes later, the candles processed in with the light of Christ and the moonlit icon was eclipsed by the radiance of her Son.  Every year on this date, we honor Mary under the title of Our Lady of Mount Carmel, patroness of the Carmelite Order whose foundation is claimed to have begun on Mount Carmel, a mountain overlooking the Mediterranean Sea, a place of beauty and peace. And even though it is liturgically the Fifteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time, we can still remember this devotion to Our Lady of Mount Carmel on her Feast of July 16.  I invite you to take time and rest with Mary this Sunday. Gaze upon her heart and ask her to show you what it means to live a life dedicated to the Heart of God. Invite this tender and beautiful Mother into your own earthly pilgrimage. Let her help light the way of the precarious climb as you continue ascending the great mountain, finding your peace in intimacy with the Triune God. Let Our Lady of Mount Carmel show you today what it means to live in the sanctuary of your soul, a place reserved for God alone and set apart from the busyness of life.  “O most beautiful Flower of Mount Carmel, Fruitful Vine, Splendor of Heaven, Blessed Mother of the Son of God, Immaculate Virgin, assist me in this my necessity.” (Flos Carmeli Prayer)

So do not be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows. // Matthew 10:31 Sitting cozily on my bed, in my dim cotton-candy-pink bedroom, I began to scroll through Instagram, because what else does a high-schooler do on a late and uneventful Saturday evening? It was the night of my junior year homecoming dance, but after conversing with my friends, it was clear that they decided not to go. I didn’t see a point in going if my friends weren’t. My heart sank when I came across a photo that one of my friends shared. She and all my other friends went to the dance. Without me.  I was confused and quite shocked. Why did no one reach out to me? Why did they hide this? Not to mention the lies that the enemy tried to plant in my heart. Lies about my worth, my personality. In today’s Gospel, we read, “So do not be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows” (Matthew 10:31).  Even though I felt abandoned, Jesus was with me. This incident took place before I had built a deeper relationship with Him, but I know He was with me. For Jesus doesn’t forget us. He isn’t hiding any secrets, but is always inviting us to be with Him.  Sister, when you feel abandoned, lonely, or forgotten, let the embrace of His love heal your aching heart. Can I gently encourage you to go to Eucharistic Adoration or simply acknowledge His presence? Turn your eyes towards the Heart of Christ and allow Him to reveal to you how precious you are in His eyes.  He’s not going to abandon, forget, or hurt you. He wants to love you. Let Him love you.  Friend, He finds you worthy. You are so worthy in His eyes. Sweet Jesus, we love You and we praise You. Thank You for loving us so well. Holy Spirit, please awaken our hearts and minds so that we may openly receive the love of Christ and know how worthy we are in His sight. Amen. 

The salvation of the just is from the LORD; he is their refuge in time of distress. // Psalm 37:39-40 Tears of betrayal taste different. This is just conjecture, of course, but it seems as though their elevated acidity highlights the emotional burn.  In today’s Gospel, Jesus addresses the pain of betrayal, acknowledging that He sends His disciples out like sheep among wolves (see Matthew 10:16-23). He is not unaware or disinterested in the heartbreak that comes with being blamed for your beliefs.  Being attacked for your convictions by a rando on the Internet hits differently than being attacked for your beliefs by a family member. The corruption-at-large in society is easier to stomach than the false accusations and misunderstandings of people you hold dear. Being “handed over by your brother” who is a Christian is more painful than being handed over by a stranger whose face discloses a twister of the soul.  The breaking of blissful bonds threaten to bend us until we break.  No, being a sheep among wolves does not diminish distress. What propels us forward is this promise: “I am God, the God of your father. Do not be afraid . . . ” (Genesis 46:3). We have hope because, in the midst of distressing wolves, we have a “refuge in time of distress” (Psalm 27:40). We are confident because “you will be given at that moment what you are to say. For it will not be you who speak but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you” (Matthew 10:20).  Even though we are sheep among wolves, we are not alone. We are seen, protected, healed, and provided for. We can be at peace in the midst of pain because we are not left vulnerable to the elements of emotional turmoil. God is our refuge. God is our salvation. God is the One Who invites us to endure and He is the One Who makes our endurance possible.  How are you feeling like a sheep among wolves in your life right now? Have you endured ongoing “handing over” by family or friends? Offer your tears of betrayal to Jesus, Who promised to provide for you in these exact moments. And rest in Him, Who is your Refuge.

“But now do not be distressed, and do not reproach yourselves for having sold me here. It was really for the sake of saving lives that God sent me here ahead of you." // Genesis 45:5 Sunday was the first anniversary of my husband’s death, at the age of forty-eight, after a long battle with cancer. At the end of today’s Old Testament reading (see Genesis 44:18-21, 23b-29; 45:1-5), Joseph forgives his brothers and reflects with them on the fact that the great wrong they inflicted upon him—by selling him into slavery—was used by God to accomplish the great good of preserving the lives of many who would otherwise have perished during the seven-year famine, including the lives of Joseph’s father and the brothers themselves. I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever be able to look back and say, “Oh, I see now the good that God created from this tragedy.” Not many of us are given the gift of the kind of clarity Joseph has. Not in this world, anyway. For most of us, our view of our lives is more like looking at a tapestry. We can only imagine the back side of it during our time on earth, and it can look like a mess. But someday, we hope to be with God on the other side, and see the beauty He was able to weave with all the complicated strands of our influences and experiences. Joseph’s example to us is twofold. He recognizes that good that came from his suffering, and he forgives the people who were responsible for it. Who must I forgive to emulate Joseph? Adam and Eve for committing the sin that brought suffering and illness into the world (see Catechism of the Catholic Church § 1521)? My husband for keeping the faith and finishing the race (see 2 Timothy 4:7)? The priests who, like the Apostles in today’s Gospel, came to us to “cure the sick, raise the dead” (Matthew 10:8) . . . but failed? God? Yeah, it’s probably God. For now, I’m content to say with Job, “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord!” (Job 1:21).  In what suffering in your life could you seek to see the good and offer forgiveness? Might God be creating something beautiful through it?

“. . . go to Joseph.” // Genesis 41:55 A vacuum hummed in the distance, and my four-year-old built a house of hymnals beside me. But the empty church still felt quiet and still. I had come in the middle of the morning as part of my preparation for a consecration to Saint Joseph. I was praying the Litany of Saint Joseph and a series of titles stood out: Glory of Family Life, Guardian of Virgins, Cornerstone of Families, Support in Difficulties. While my son gingerly added a missal as a roof, I paused in the litany to pray over those phrases. They were like neon lights, blinking the answers to so many of my desperate prayers over the last couple of years.   My daughter’s first year out of parochial school and at a public high school filled me with worry. As we navigated dress codes, new friends, and screen time, much of my parenting came from a place of fear. And then, in that moment, Jesus used Saint Joseph to help me understand. My prayers were not unheard and unanswered.  "Go to Joseph," we read in today's passage from Genesis, a message from Pharaoh to the people of Egypt. That Joseph, the son of Jacob, preceded Jesus' foster father by more than 1600 years, but the message of "Go to Joseph" is fulfilled in our beloved Saint Joseph. "Go to Joseph" is not just for the Egyptians. It's for you and me too. The man who is the “Glory of Family Life” understands my desire to keep our family values in place. The “Guardian of Virgins” would protect my own children’s innocence and chastity. The “Cornerstone of Families” would be the strong point in my own family, holding us together with one another, with Christ, and with the Church. And the “Support in Difficulties” would be there for me, my husband, and all our kids to walk with us through our mistakes and trials.  All my fear can be given to God. All of yours can too. We are not alone. Saint Joseph is waiting for us. Go to him. 

"The harvest is abundant but the laborers are few; so ask the master of the harvest to send out laborers for his harvest." // Matthew 9:38 It was so hot that day, you could smell the heat rising in the air. My husband and I were spending the summer in the heartland of America, the part of the country where they pray for good weather and safety for the farmers at Mass. Harvest season had just started, which meant over half the town was spending sunrise to sunset out in the fields. Tim was hired to help a farmer that year and always came home with stories to tell.  What I wasn’t expecting on this particular night, was the smell he brought home with him. He crawled into bed after taking a shower and still smelled like rotting wheat. Trust me, it’s not a smell you want to be familiar with.  He couldn't wash off the stink even if he tried, and he couldn’t hide the smile in his eyes either. He had fallen in love with the land he was caring for, even if it meant getting filthy in wheat mold from cleaning a grain bin. It was a small reflection of the love these seasoned farmers had for their fields and the crops that grew there. They gave their entire lives for it, and certain months of the year, they would smell like it too. In today’s Gospel passage, we receive a direct invitation from Jesus to harvest the land of lost souls. He’s not asking us to observe the crops from afar, comfortably safe in our cars as we speed by on the freeway. He’s asking us to get so close to the crops that their scent becomes our own. He’s asking us to give our very lives for them. So today, ask yourself what souls Jesus is asking you to smell like? Who is He asking you to spend more time with? Picture their faces and ask Jesus to give you His heart for them.  Don’t be afraid to smell like the harvest of Heaven.

She said to herself, "If only I can touch his cloak, I shall be cured." Jesus turned around and saw her, and said, "Courage, daughter!  Your faith has saved you." // Matthew 9:21-22 I lay in bed, letting my mind explore the thought to which I had awoken. The light of early summer already illuminated the room and the smell of my husband's coffee drifted up the stairs to the quiet sanctuary of my bed. I am not bold by nature, and once again the Lord was calling me interiorly into the unknown. In His gentle way, He was inviting me out of the routine, the safety, the normal, to do something uncomfortable.  As a psychologist, I know that we are in a constant state of equilibrium and disequilibrium. The disequilibrium or cognitive conflict causes us to shift, adapt, and grow as we strive to recalibrate our lives to new situations. Even with this knowledge, I remain attached to my comfort. Adventure or newness isn't something I seek. Meeting new people gives me genuine anxiety. I order the same thing each time at a restaurant. When I find a new author, I want to read everything she or he has written before moving on to someone else. I love living in the known.  But repeatedly the Lord calls us into the unknown. He invites each one to show courage and trust in Him. Some of us wait to put our trust in Him until we have no other options. We exhaust every option and only turn to Him once we have nowhere else to turn.  Sister, how might we live with greater faith and courage each day, like the woman in today’s Gospel (see Matthew 9:18-26)? Sit with the Lord in silence today, reach out to His cloak, and ask Him to show you an area where you can love Him more courageously, be uncomfortable, and open yourself to deepen your gift of faith. 

“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.

“My sheep hear my voice, says the Lord; I know them, and they follow me.” //  John 10:27 I was one of those kids who wandered freely wherever my parents took me. Maybe it was because I was allowed to, and probably because things were a little different in the early 90s. My favorite roaming activity was hiding in the clothing racks at retail stores. There was something about parting the clothes to the sides, hearing the hangers screech as I made room for myself, and feeling the soft fabric against my face that made it feel like an adventure, even if I was just hiding from my mom. The only rule to my game was that as long as I could still see my mom, I was good.  When she would start looking around for me, that meant she was ready to check out. I would let her call my name a couple of times because it would make me chuckle, but I always came out of my hiding spot whenever I heard a sense of frustration in her voice.  With my dad (God rest his soul), however, it was a completely different story. We could be shopping at a Mexican market or a swap meet or I could be playing inside the arcade at a casino and all he had to do was whistle to indicate that I had to wrap things up. This whistle was unlike any other I had ever heard, and I always knew it was my dad. The moment he called me by my last name I knew it meant business. “Carrasco!” he would exclaim, and it didn’t matter who was around or where we were, that meant the show was over. Sister, Jesus says in today’s Gospel Acclamation, “My sheep hear my voice . . . I know them, and they follow me” (John 10:27). Out of obedient love for God, do you allow your ears to hear His voice? Do you follow Him instantly, or do you feel like the invitation to His paternal heart is too great for you to accept?  Let's make an effort to hear God’s voice and allow ourselves to follow Him wherever we may be in our journey of faith.

“Follow me.” // Matthew 9:9 Jesus’ clear and concise words to Saint Matthew completely changed the course of his life.  Don’t we all desire that sort of clarity in life? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if each of us responded with quick obedience to His call? When I was discerning my vocation, I hoped that I could have a Matthew Moment—Jesus sees me, Jesus chooses me, Jesus calls me, Jesus delights in me as I follow Him.  The Call of Saint Matthew probably occurred in approximately one minute—my call to discern religious life occurred over the course of several years. As my heart slowly opened to the possibility of leaving everything behind to follow Jesus, so many fears bubbled up in my prayer. I could see the beauty of an undivided heart that belongs completely to the Lord, but I could also see the death of many dreams. I became more attentive to the loving gaze of Christ during my nine months set aside for intentional discernment of my vocation. I experienced the way Jesus looked at me, especially at daily Mass, daily Adoration, and frequent Confession. I knew that He saw me. Then I began to experience His choice of me—I started to understand how my life was to be set apart to follow Him more closely. Then Jesus called me to a particular community after I had visited with dozens of religious sisters across the United States. Finally, I decided to follow Him with unwavering trust in His goodness.  As I went through formation in the convent as a postulant, novice, and newly professed sister, I experienced the depths of the Matthew Moment—Jesus saw me, chose me, called me, and delighted in me, even as I began to suffer with a very painful cross. Jesus saw how I was not thriving. Jesus chose to invite me to deeper surrender. Jesus called me to a new place. And Jesus delighted in me as I followed Him into New Life outside of those convent walls. Where is He calling you today? 

I swear by myself, declares the LORD, that because you acted as you did in not withholding from me your beloved son, I will bless you abundantly and make your descendants as countless as the stars of the sky and the sands of the seashore. // Genesis 22:16-17  I’m very generous with the Lord, as evidenced by my vocation of consecrated life. Joyfully and without hesitation, I have relinquished whatever is required for the Kingdom of Heaven’s sake, denying my Divine Spouse nothing. But when I received the news of my beloved spiritual director’s departure to a far-off parish, I balked at what I was being asked to sacrifice.  With tears as my bread day and night (see Psalm 42:4), I tried to detach my heart from the consolation of Father’s daily presence. Soon after, I found myself at a diocesan ministry event for the National Eucharistic Revival. Towards the end of the evening, we were given an opportunity to adore Our Lord truly present in the Blessed Sacrament. Father sat two pews in front of me, totally immersed in prayer. As I watched him gaze at Jesus, I pondered all the times his paternal love had led me here, to the mountain of Eucharistic encounter. In my Christian imagination, I saw myself standing before Jesus, arms outstretched, hands curled tightly into a fist. Tenderly, Jesus approached me, took my hands in His, and with my consent, coaxed my fingers to relax their grip. In my heart I heard Him say: I only ask for the things I love the most. Will you withhold from me My beloved son?   We do this a lot, don’t we? We cling desperately to the people or things that are dear to us, afraid of the floodgates of emotional pain or fear that their absence will release. But when we loosen our grip and allow Jesus’ hands to take hold of our own, His healing touch will fill the empty space created by our surrender.   Sister, there are no clenched fists in love. As Saint Thérèse of Lisieux said, “He does not want to accept anything from us unless we give it with a good heart” (source). And it is this very posture of radical disposal that dilates our hearts to receive the countless blessings God has in store for us, far more than we could ask or imagine (see Ephesians 3:20). What is the Lord inviting you to give Him today?