She turned around and saw Jesus there. // John 20:14 Several years ago, I made a month-long pilgrimage to the Holy Land and visited the Church of the Holy Sepulchre every day while I was in Jerusalem. It is a massive building with over twenty chapels, including the site of the crucifixion on Calvary and the empty tomb. As I wandered through the countless nooks and crannies day after day, I remembered the holy women who courageously accompanied Jesus through His Passion and Death. Near the empty tomb, the Franciscans have a chapel and altar dedicated to Saint Mary Magdalene in the place where Jesus appeared to her on Easter morning. Saint John gives us a detailed account of Saint Mary Magdalene's devotion, eagerness, confusion, and joy as she encountered our Risen Lord in the garden. Mary Magdalene turned towards Jesus. In Latin, the phrase is conserva est—which reminds us of her conversion. This Saint whom we honor today throughout her life turned away from darkness towards the light. During my pilgrimage, I prayed several Holy Hours near the Chapel of Saint Mary Magdalene. On my last day in Jerusalem, I prayed with today's Gospel account of Easter morning (see John 20:1-2, 11-18). As I turned towards Jesus in prayer, the Holy Spirit gently helped me to see some areas in my heart that were still in need of conversion. He carefully shone His light into the places I wanted to ignore. I noticed a deep desire to bring these things to Jesus in the Sacrament of Confession. I mustered up some courage, tracked down a Franciscan priest who lived at the adjacent monastery, and asked him if he spoke English and could hear my Confession. This priest was incredibly generous to me—he heard my Confession and then we talked for almost an hour. I encountered the Father's love in the most tender way in that humble confessional by the Chapel of Saint Mary Magdalene.  In honor of her feast day, let's open our hearts to the grace of deeper conversion. Consider seeking out the Sacrament of Confession today. Turn away from the darkness towards the radiant light of our Risen Christ.

The apostles gathered together with Jesus and reported all they had done and taught. He said to them, “Come away by yourselves to a deserted place and rest a while.” People were coming and going in great numbers, and they had no opportunity even to eat. // Mark 6:30-31 This is just a really busy time of the year; it will settle down.  As I looked at  my to-do list, it was evident that I didn’t have time for anything else. I let out a big sigh, knowing this wasn’t even everything I needed or wanted to do. Once this month passes, I will be able to rest.  I love a busy schedule; there’s something so exciting about going from one place to another. So it was no surprise for me to see a full calendar month after month. But that day I realized the truth. I just need a retreat. I need silence.  I decided that my upcoming spring break needed to be dedicated to Jesus: it needed to be a time to rest, pray, and reset. It would look very different from all my spring breaks in the past.  In today’s Gospel (see Mark 6:30-34), the Apostles had just returned from their first mission trip and were excited. They gathered around Jesus and told Him everything they had done. Imagine their excitement as they shared stories about healing the sick, casting out unclean spirits, and proclaiming the Gospel. And they were ready to do more, eager to be in action again.  But Jesus responded to their enthusiasm with this invitation to “Come away by yourselves to a deserted place and rest a while” (Mark 6:31). Jesus knew that this rest was the most important thing that His disciples could do in that moment, the most needed thing. They had done important work, but now it was time to rest with Him.  When we think of rest, we usually think of resting our bodies. But when Jesus thinks of rest, He also desires rest for our souls. Something all of us need—something we desire.  Sister, the Lord desires to offer you that rest. He invites you and me to the deserted place to rest awhile. Just like the Apostles, tell Him everything you have done, and everything that fills your calendar. Then, accept His invitation to go and rest a while.

“And in His name the Gentiles will hope.” //  Matthew 12:21 I stood at the edge of the swimming pool. The pavement was warm beneath my feet, and the sun beat against my back as I stared into the deep, glistening water. At nine years old, I was not a strong swimmer. In fact, the only thing I could do was swim back and forth underwater in the shallow end. When I ran out of breath, I could easily put my feet down and pop up for air.  But on this particular day I was feeling brave and adventurous. I thought I would try to swim underwater from the deep end to the shallow end. It didn’t look far, and all I had to do was stay close to the pool wall and pull myself out if I got tired. I took a deep breath and jumped, and while I confidently swam for a few feet, there came a moment when I lost track of the wall and came up in an area too deep to stand. Panic seized my little body, and I began to thrash around, trying to kick with all my strength but failing to get any closer to safety. I was paralyzed by fear, and kept my eyes and mouth shut tight.  Until I remembered that my stepfather was close by. He would hear me if I cried out, and between choking gulps of water I yelled his name, then felt myself lifted out of the water. Felt myself safe again. All I had to do was call his name.  Today’s Gospel refers to the fulfillment of the words spoken by the prophet Isaiah: “And in His name the Gentiles will hope” (Matthew 12:21). Hope. I know that I often forget to speak the name of Jesus with the hope that He will come.  Sister, sometimes we try to face the anxieties of life without the help of the Lord. We feel ourselves drowning in our circumstances, afraid to cry out to Jesus. But I pray that you remember that the name of Jesus has power. He is our Savior. All you have to do is call His name. 

“For the Son of Man is Lord of the Sabbath.” // Matthew 12:8 “Mom,” my teenage son asked, “aren’t we supposed to rest and not work on Sunday?” I could tell he was wrestling with the morally-correctness of my request for help with yard work one Sunday afternoon. I love the time outdoors, sprucing up our yard and cooperating with the Lord to make a beautiful space around our home. While I find it rejuvenating (albeit sweaty and dirty), it doesn’t feel like work in the way doing laundry, scrubbing toilets, or managing business is work. When I answered my son’s question, I told him some agree that yard work should be avoided on Sunday. We talked about how some Christians don’t prepare any food on Sunday. In contrast, our family prepares and enjoys a brunch every Sunday morning. Some rest by reading quietly, others by hiking with friends. Volumes can be said about how best to live the sabbath and keep the Lord’s day holy. Jesus Himself met with criticism about His actions on the sabbath, as we read in today’s Gospel (see Matthew 12:1-8).  Perhaps a few questions we ought to ask ourselves are these: What holds my attention on Sunday? What or whom is my priority? Is Jesus Lord of my Sunday? I could rest, yet avoid prayer and Mass, ignoring the Lord. I could make an idol of “how” to rest, forgetting why we rest, and lose sight of the joy of living in God’s love. Or I can rejoice in the Resurrection, attend Mass, rest from normal work, and live in a way that glorifies God in my state in life (which sometimes includes a smidge of “work” for me, as a wife and mother). Like Hezekiah who cried out, “O LORD, remember how faithfully and wholeheartedly I conducted myself in your presence, doing what was pleasing to you!” (Isaiah 38:3), I want to live faithfully and wholeheartedly for Jesus.  With that in mind, I pray the Holy Spirit will convict me as needed when I need to adjust how I rest, work, and play. Let’s pray together, sister, that we’ll glorify God with our actions on Sunday and every day.

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

“[ . . . ] and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son wishes to reveal him.” // Matthew 11:27 I couldn’t wrap my mind around it: I knew Jesus, I knew the Holy Spirit, but the Father? He was “out of sight, out of mind” for me. After my conversion, it was easy for me to pray to Jesus since I came to know His true presence in the Eucharist. After Holy Communion or while in Eucharistic Adoration, I could really talk to Him.  I grew up in the charismatic movement of the Catholic Church and had my conversion within this context, so the Holy Spirit was not foreign to me. I knew that the Spirit was real and at work in my life personally. Yet still, this First Person of the Godhead was missing in my conscious prayer life somehow. I didn’t avoid the Father on purpose, but I just did not know how to pray to the Father specifically—what to say or what to think.  I see now that I had so much pride and self-reliance keeping me from knowing the Lord better. As Jesus says in today’s Gospel, these things are hidden from the “wise and learned” but revealed to the childlike (Matthew 11:25). The Lord was patient with me and tenderly guided my heart from its pompous ways to an understanding of true humility.  And as I descended from my throne, as I became more dependent on Him instead of myself, as I was sobered by the reality of my sinfulness and my need for the Lord, Jesus began revealing the Father to me. In my heart, I began to know better this Person of the Trinity that had once seemed to evade me. I could perceive the Father’s knowledge of me, His love for me, and that He cared for me.  Sister, I invite you today to pray with me for the full revelation of the Father’s love in your heart. That Jesus would lead you to the Father, as the Holy Spirit purifies your heart, so there may be a kindling of love and devotion “like the kindling of fire” (Isaiah 10:16).

Take care you remain tranquil and do not fear; let not your courage fail. // Isaiah 7:4 My heart was smoldering, offended and angry at the words that had been spoken to me. In the moment, I had remained calm, but as weeks went by, those words—untrue and unfair—had burrowed deeply into my heart until I felt I had to respond. I needed to call that person to account for what they said and establish some firm boundaries. I knew they were lashing out from a place of woundedness and pain, but did that mean I needed to just sit there and take it? Heck no. I was not about to be a doormat. I thought about Jesus going into the temple with His whips and driving out the moneychangers. I fumed with righteous anger, feeling justified in crafting a direct but not overly harsh response. I thought about what I might say for weeks, all along praying that the Lord would show me which words were necessary. And then I sat down with my kids one afternoon and watched an episode of The Chosen. I watched as the actor portraying Jesus recited the Beatitudes. “Blessed are the meek [ . . .  ] Blessed are the peacemakers [ . . . ] Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake [ . . . ]” (see Mathew 5:3-12). I thought about the kind of person I wanted to be, the kind of person Jesus was calling me to be. And in that moment, I decided to forgive those who had offended me. Not to demand justice or recognition of how I had been hurt, not even to wait for an apology. To practice meekness, and bring my wounded heart directly to Jesus.  It takes courage to come to this place. To trust the Lord to go before you and take care of everything. It takes a massive effort for me to cede control—to recognize that I never had it in the first place.  What is Jesus calling you to let go of today? Where can you practice meekness, for the sake of the Kingdom? Give it over to Him, and let His tranquility wash over you.

“Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me, and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever does not take up his cross and follow after me is not worthy of me.” // Matthew 10:37–38  “Please change before going out. Your clothing communicates something. Others judge you by what you wear.” No matter how many times I gave advice, my son’s rejection of my attempts to guide him felt like a rejection of my love for him. We’re sometimes blind to the ways our grasping love robs our most cherished relationships of life and joy, but when we put Him first, Christ heals our blindness. Then we see our impoverished love for what it is: wanting what we want and wanting others to be who and what we want them to be. Our desire to love on our own terms becomes our cross.  If we refuse to embrace the cross of dying to our own desires, our family relationships weaken. Members turn in on themselves, forgetting their dignity and worth. But when we embrace Christ’s rightful claim on our love, Love Himself renews us. Trust Me, He beckons. Trust what I’m doing in all those you love. Come with Me and die to your own ideas about what is best for you and your loved ones.  How can we refuse Christ’s invitation? Although the weight of the cross threatens to crush us, we hear Him whisper, Let’s do this together. He weeps with us, watches through sleepless nights with us, prays with us, remains with us (see John 15:9–11).  My sister, we can embrace the cross of offering our family to Him—yes, even joyfully—because death isn’t the end! We will rise with Him! Today ask God to help you clearly see your own impoverished love, to strengthen you as you embrace your cross, and to fill you with His self-donating love.  Jesus, I love You most. I’m sorry for trying to love without You. I want to die to myself and live with You. I entrust all my loved ones to You. Amen. Lani Bogart was born in Hawaii and grew up in Ohio and Michigan. She was a small child when she first loved Jesus. Married to a woodworker Deacon, she enjoys his skilled work and delights in her children and grandchildren. Her perfect day involves singing softly while holding a sleeping baby, dancing, or loudly singing while cooking in her own kitchen.

He instructed them to take nothing for the journey but a walking stick—no food, no sack, no money in their belts. // Mark 6:8 I listened to my friend and tried not to be impatient with her. I simply asked what time we’d leave and what activities we'd do on our outing. I wanted to make plans, reservations, and know what to pack. She, however, didn’t like to have the constraints of set plans. She preferred to wing it and see where the day would lead. I can’t live like that. I need notations in my planner, a sample schedule, a list of things to cross off. It gives me a sense of security, so I will be prepared for what may come. It’s no wonder that today's Gospel stresses me. Jesus is sending the Apostles out and He instructs them to “take nothing for the journey but a walking stick—no food, no sack, no money in their belts” (Mark 6:8). They were to go where they were welcomed and leave where they were not (see Mark 6:10-11). Unless we are missionaries, we probably don’t have that level of practical uncertainty in our lives. We most likely have normal days of school, work, or caring for our family. But there’s no guarantee that our day or plans will go as scheduled. Life is full of uncertainty. Sometimes it’s a minor thing that causes us to stop and pivot—a call from a friend in need, a sick child, an unexpected visitor. Sometimes disruptions are life changing—a job loss, a major illness, or the death of a loved one.  Regardless, they require us to surrender our desire to control things. Instead, we are challenged to humbly place our hands in the Father’s and go where He leads, knowing that He’ll give us the grace to adapt and trust.  Is there something in your life you have been trying to control, or to which you are holding on too tightly? How is God asking you to let go? Lord, I don’t like not having control or knowing what will happen next. Help me to surrender my need to know. May I trust in Your goodness and be willing to go wherever You lead me. I love You. Amen.

If you are insulted for the name of Christ, blessed are you, for the Spirit of God rests upon you. // 1 Peter 4:14  I was voted the next Mother Teresa in our eighth grade superlatives. There is a picture of me in the yearbook, kneeling, with my hands in prayer and eyes gazing up to heaven. It's as cheesy as you can imagine. I thought it was a cruel joke by my classmates. I was perplexed why I would have “won” this title; after all, we were attending the same Catholic school. I guess I wasn’t as Catholic-on-the-down-low or as cool as I thought. As if that wasn’t enough to bruise my ego, a classmate wrote to me, “You wear your heart on your sleeve.” I wasn’t sure whether to take that as a compliment or as a jab at my coolness. What did everyone know about me that I didn’t? In high school I ran for class president and I cited a Scripture passage in my speech in front of the whole student body. Again, I didn’t think I was doing anything anyone else wouldn’t do.  Afterwards came the flack, though. One classmate in particular said, “I can’t believe you would quote Scripture.” And, yes, he covered his mouth, snickered, pointed, and laughed as he walked away. Again, a Catholic school and a flashback to eighth grade, only this time I felt the sting of embarrassment. After several more of these encounters, I have been able to sift through these experiences and search for their meaning. I have found that all of these words have been pointing to something greater that I was not seeing before because of my pride. They all point to my relationship with Jesus in one way or another.  Sister, when have you been teased or belittled because of the way you live your faith? Take time to ponder these moments and ask the Holy Spirit to shed light on the truth of your identity as a daughter of God. Ask the Lord to take away your shame and fill you with truth.      

“[D]o not worry about how you are to speak or what you are to say. You will be given at that moment what you are to say.” // Matthew 10:19  I love writing things in my head. Ever since childhood, I have had imaginary conversations where I plan out what I will say if ever asked about this and such. In these imaginary conversations, I am smart, well-spoken, articulate, and convincing. But in the life that exists outside of my head, when faced with a tough conversation, I generally pull back. It would be dishonest to say that I do this to listen more carefully. Generally, it is because I am in a state of fear that I am going to misspeak, reveal my ineptitude to the world, and fail to convince the listener. Better to keep one's mouth shut than to confirm others’ suspicions of my foolishness.   When I converted to Catholicism, I experienced a conversation that deviated from this script. It was a few days before the Holy Saturday night Easter Vigil and I was speaking with a loved one who is not Catholic. As I broached the subject of the Vigil Mass, I unintentionally opened myself up to hear a litany of reasons why I should never become Catholic. I stood in the doorway, car keys in hand and ready to leave, but rather than apologizing and making a rapid retreat, I listened with love. An unearthly peace came upon me and with each attack against my beloved new Church, I felt greater peace. Somehow I was able to answer each accusation with a calm and clear statement of truth from a place of love, not defensiveness or fear.  Jesus tells his disciples not to worry about how they will speak. This doesn't mean that they shouldn’t seek to understand the faith and His teachings. It doesn't mean that they shouldn't listen carefully and think clearly. It means that they should trust in Him, in His teaching, and in the Holy Spirit to guide them.  What worries are you holding in your mind that you can more fully entrust to the Holy Spirit? Ask Him to help guide your words and deeds this day.

I drew them with human cords, with bands of love; I fostered them like one who raises an infant to his cheeks. // Hosea 11:4 Saint Benedict, whose feast day we celebrate today, traveled once a year to visit his twin sister, Saint Scholastica, at a house between his monastery and her convent. Because of their commitment to consecrated religious life, they were rarely able to see one another. They enjoyed their time together, spending the day praying and talking together about the things of the Lord. Finally, when it was time for them to part before nightfall, Scholastica wasn’t ready for the visit to be over. She asked the Lord for a few more hours with her brother. That night, a storm rolled through the area, making travel by foot impossible until the morning. It turned out to be their last visit on earth, as three days later Saint Scholastica passed into eternity (source).  With this gift, the Lord loved Saint Scholastica and Saint Benedict in a particular way. It was a simple thing, really, but that is what makes it magnificent. Nothing is too small for Jesus. He offers to give us everything we need.  This is what He proclaimed to His disciples in today’s Gospel (see Matthew 10:7-15). As they went from town to town preaching the Gospel, healing the sick, and casting out demons, they were not to bring provisions. Their shelter, clothing, and sustenance would come through the generosity of those in the cities they were visiting. It was an invitation to trust that the Lord would provide what they need.  The disciples and these holy twins show us what this radical trust looks like lived out. Every need and every desire was brought before Jesus. In their immense trust in His particular love, they believed that He would give them all that they required.  What would our lives look like if we lived the same?  What need feels impossible to be provided for by God? What desire feels too small or silly to be satisfied by Him? Spend a few minutes in prayer today with this consideration. Let your mind settle. Allow your needs and desires to rise to the surface. In faith, present them to Jesus and ask Him to take care of you. He always will.

Seek always the face of the Lord. // Psalm 105:4b “You’re really pretty—stunning, actually.”  The statement surprised me as much as the person making it. But as I exited the checkout line, it occurred to me that something similar had happened before, and I smiled to myself. Lord, it’s Your beauty they see and long for, my heart whispered.   Earlier that Saturday morning, I had prayed a Holy Hour in my parish’s adoration chapel. It was one of those rare days that Jesus and I were alone for the majority of our time together, and I experienced the joy and intimacy of that encounter in a particularly striking way.      In the preceding weeks, I had started to notice that whenever I was the only adorer in Christ’s Sacramental presence and received the gift of His loving embrace in prayer, people made it a point to comment on my beauty afterwards.      “It’s Jesus telling you how beautiful you are after encountering Him,” a friend observed when I shared my experience. “Him pursuing you. Plus,” she continued, “He lives so presently in you, it’s also just Him.”    In the book A Flame of God Himself, Joshua Elzner writes this: “By the beauty that the Bridegroom has bestowed upon [the bride] she attracts others to him who is all beautiful, and whose beauty is so radiantly manifested in and through her” (source). He means that in Christ’s beauty, we shine, by His pure gift, with our own unique and unrepeatable beauty, pointing others to its source.  It's amazing, isn’t it? When we are in constant intimate contact with Beauty Himself, we naturally become more beautiful, interiorly and exteriorly. The pure light of His gaze penetrates every fiber of our being and causes us to glow with an attractive radiance that captivates those around us. We become lovely by receiving His look of love. We become beautiful by immersing our souls in His beauty. We become transformed by a daily face-to-face encounter with the One Who is the “fairest of the sons of men” (Psalm 45:2).  This day, dear sister, seek the face of the Lord, and shine with the beauty of holiness.

Jesus went around to all the towns and villages, teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the gospel of the kingdom, and curing every disease and illness. At the sight of the crowds, his heart was moved with pity for them, because they were troubled and abandoned, like sheep without a shepherd. // Matthew 9:35-36 It is one of my most favorite things to do on a Saturday morning. Cup of coffee in hand, I make a beeline to my local thrift store to check out all the pretty treasures that beckon from the shelves. Last weekend, what caught my eye was a gorgeous vintage walnut rocking chair.  Do I need another rocking chair? No. Do I have space for another rocking chair? Nope. Is said rocking chair in my budget? Not even close. But did I take a few extra spins around the store just to sit in said chair (more than once) and contemplate how adorable it would look in my living room? Yes, oh yes. There is something about the thrill of a deal and the discovery of “something-old-made-new-to-me” that makes me love thrifting. A single fella could make me swoon with seven simple words: “Can I take you thrifting this weekend?” So when today’s First Reading reminds us of the idols we can so easily make for ourselves (see Hosea 8:4-7) I can’t help but ask: What idols have I made for myself?  Last week it was the rocking chair. A few days later it was that super cute home in the countryside that I could never afford. A few days after that, it was the pervasive thought that I would never measure up to those more financially successful than myself. Over time I’ve discovered certain idols that surface often in my heart, while others pop up out of the blue whenever I feel lonely, unloved, tired, or afraid.  The Good Shepherd is the antidote to these idols, friend (see Matthew 9:35-36). He sees our lost little hearts and our longings for pretty walnut rocking chairs, financial assurance, and vocational certainty. He reminds us that He will provide for our every need, and (more than any thrift store idol), He will shepherd us into greater joy than we could ever dream possible. Let’s reflect today on the idols that take up space in our hearts, and ask for the grace to give Him that room instead.

When the crowd was put out, he came and took her by the hand, and the little girl arose. // Matthew 9:25 When I think of many long nights when I’ve had sick children, when they’ve needed to be held close as infants or cuddled as small children, I remember how important the simple action of touch can be. I may not be able to take away their pain, to relieve their suffering immediately, but nothing comforted them like my touch.  The warmth of a physical gesture meant that they were not alone, that they were in the presence of someone who loves them dearly, and that their suffering was not going unnoticed. It is incredible how much the act of a comforting touch can affect us. It’s in thinking of these times when physical touch was so important to my own children that I see how beautiful it is that Christ’s miraculous healing was through touch. In today’s Gospel the act of touching is mentioned three times: by the official begging for the healing of his daughter, in the hemorrhaging woman just touching the tassel of Christ’s cloak, and the miraculous act of Christ taking the little girl by the hand (see Matthew 9:18-26).  It is so profound that those asking Christ for healing believe so strongly in simply His touch. It is a testament not only to Christ’s obvious holiness, but also the power in the act of touch. How wonderful to know that Christ chose to heal through this vital form of human communication. Jesus could have simply willed with a thought and the hemorrhaging woman would have been healed. Or waved His hand and the girl would have been brought back to life. But instead Jesus, the Son of God Himself, touched these people with His own human hands and allowed Himself to be touched, the power of healing moving through His very clothing.  What does Christ’s touch in the Gospel say about His love for us? How can this transformative love change our hearts today?

“Therefore, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and constraints, for the sake of Christ; for when I am weak, then I am strong.” // 2 Corinthians 12:10 The benefits of frequent sacramental Confession are myriad: reconciliation with God and therefore the forgiveness of sins; reconciliation with the Church; recovery, if it has been lost, of the state of grace; remission of the eternal punishment merited by mortal sins, and remission, at least in part, of the temporal punishment which is the consequence of sin; peace, serenity of conscience and spiritual consolation; and an increase of spiritual strength for the struggle of Christian living (see Catechism of the Catholic Church § 1468-1470, 1496). The downside, for me at least, is that disheartening feeling of bringing the same sins to Confession over and over again. As a friend likes to joke, “Bless me Father, for I have sinned. Please insert tape two and hit play.”  A couple of consolations come to mind.  The first is, hey, at least it is the same sins over and over again. As hard as it can be to continue to struggle with my signature sins, I do make progress. There are small victories. Imagine how dreadful it would be to be failing in brand new ways every week, and having to start from scratch each time, learning how to avoid and conquer all-new sins.  The second is that I’m in good company. Saint Paul, in today’s Second Reading, talks about his “thorn in the flesh” (2 Corinthians 12:7). No one knows for sure what it was. But we do know that Paul suffered because of it and begged God to take it away, but God would not. God’s reply to him was, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9). Whether Paul’s thorn was physical suffering, or persecution, or temptation, or habitual sin, we know that he came to appreciate that God was using that thorn to bring Paul closer to Him.   As I continue to struggle against sin and to strive for perfection, I can recognize—along with Saint Paul—that awareness of my weaknesses brings me closer to God, and for that I can be grateful. In what weaknesses is God calling out to you, to love Him more and rely on Him more deeply?

The LORD himself will give his benefits; our land shall yield its increase. // Psalm 85:13 It was the beginning of our first summer in our new home. We had been gone on vacation for ten days, and pulled up to a backyard full of exploding rose bushes. Petals of soft pinks, magentas, and crimson reds, dripping with fresh rain drops. I couldn’t believe the abundance of beauty before my eyes. Beauty that someone else’s hands sowed the seeds for, and I was reaping the rewards.  As the summer months unfolded, so did many more blossoms of all kinds. Cascades of golden yarrow in July, dainty pink cosmos in August, and bright wildflowers through September. Many of them were my personal favorite varieties, and each of them were a complete surprise as they emerged from the soil.  Although I had high hopes of planting my own flowers earlier that spring after we moved in, God decided to gift me more flowers than I ever imagined that season. In fact, it was the second wettest year Colorado Springs had recorded in history. I did absolutely nothing, and yet the Master Gardener increased a little desire I had. He let glory bud and burst forth on my land. Is this not the way the Lord chooses to work in our lives? We have our own ideas and plans of how we can bring our desires and dreams to fruition, but God is always in the background, plowing the soil, preparing something completely new and unexpected. As Psalm 85 reminds us in today’s Responsorial, He is the giver of good things, and He is the God Who increases.  Sister, do you believe that God is planting the seeds of glory in your life? Do you believe that He hears your desires, and does more than you could ever possibly do on your own? Today, ask for the grace to believe in the God Who increases.