“Rejoice and be glad, for your reward will be great in heaven.” // Matthew 5:12 There’s a scene in The Chosen TV Series that I really love.  Jesus has been preparing His famous Sermon on the Mount, and He comes to Matthew to share words that He wants to include. “Directions,” He says. “Where people should look to find Me.” What follows are the words that we now know as the Beatitudes. As each phrase is said, the screen flashes to images of the close friends of Jesus.  “Blessed are the poor in spirit . . . ” Nathanael under the fig tree. “Blessed are those who mourn . . . ” Andrew mourning John the Baptist’s arrest. “Blessed are the meek . . . ” James and Jude quietly doing tasks to aid Jesus’ ministry.  And so on.  Of course it’s not certain that this scene is actually what occurred when this Scripture was written, but the imaginative prayer that it has given me makes the words of Jesus even more personal.  Jesus notices every heart that walks with Him. He sees every wound, every effort, and every sliver of hope in their stories. With a look of pure love on His face, He knows that these are the stories of saints.  Often, no one sees the Beatitudes in action. Poverty, grief, meekness, hunger, mercy, purity, peacemaking, persecution—these are quiet, hidden places to live out of faith.  The heavy sigh from a spirit that feels too tired to handle any more bad news. The act of generosity or humility that never gets recognized. Seasons of mourning that feel utterly hopeless.  Jesus sees every hidden moment, and He promises endless reward for our perseverance.   Today we celebrate All Saints Day. Sainthood is fostered in a heart that is attentive to the things that Christ is attentive to. In today’s Gospel (see Matthew 5:1-12a), Jesus tells us explicitly the kind of hearts that will live forever in Heaven. May we look for people like this now, love them well, and walk with them closely.  And if you see your own messy story in these words, may you also see the message of hope tucked in the second half of every Beatitude: Jesus sees you.

I consider that the sufferings of this present time are as nothing compared with the glory to be revealed for us. // Romans 8:18 “You’re perimenopausal,” the doctor said as she looked me directly in the eyes. And as a thirty-one-year-old receiving those words, my heart sunk. Shock and despair are the best ways to describe the emotions that circulated within. Chronic pain was my story—sometimes debilitating, sometimes manageable, always exhausting. It was easy to feel hopeless, confused, frustrated with the body that God entrusted me with, and frequently lost for answers. Yet within the physical suffering and mental anguish, I continued to come back to these verses from our First Reading today (see Romans 8:18-35). “Redemption of our bodies” took on a whole new meaning for me. I realized in prayer that we are not simply bodies with souls, but that we are souls with bodies. And that all of the suffering we experience here on earth—when we allow it to—can become the foundation for supernatural joy and gratitude. With this understanding, my bitterness, frustration, and despair began to be replaced with the desire to learn from my suffering while experiencing it and the knowledge that God walked with me through every moment of suffering. He was not simply a spectator on the sidelines, but a teammate alongside me. When it felt as if I could find nothing to cling to, He stood firm. God answered my prayers not by taking all of my suffering away, but by turning my hopelessness into hope—not based on what my body could or could not do—but based on the glory He revealed to me along the way. He constantly reminded me of the strength He created me for, even amidst my weakness. So today, may we trust that He is for us and never against us. May we surrender our sufferings to His care and know that He cares deeply for us too. May we freely hope in the glory that is to be revealed to us, because He is a God that never withholds what we need.

When Jesus saw her, he called to her and said, “Woman, you are set free of your infirmity.” He laid his hands on her, and she at once stood up straight and glorified God. // Luke 13:12-13 I look at the piles of laundry, papers on the counter and am cognizant of the minutes I have before hungry voices come looking for food. Do I work on lunch first or get to sorting the stuff? Should I throw in the next load or have the kids get started on their own laundry? Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest but ignoring the housework is anxiety producing, not relaxing. How can we set aside the day for rest, free of work, when our vocation calls us to serve on a 24-7 clock?  As a mom and a writer, there is always something that I feel I should be doing. Changing my external habits and doing my laundry on Saturday isn’t going to change my mindset. I will simply find other ways of “working” because the work is never done.  I don’t want to neglect my responsibilities to my children or husband—I know the Lord isn’t asking that of me. Jesus shows us today that we shouldn’t ignore the needs of others. Merely doing or not doing chores won’t lead us closer to Him. Whether we are moms or not, sometimes what is needed is a shift internally in how we approach the sabbath. That is what will lead to a growth in holiness and the ability to rest in Him.  Although the sabbath is still supposed to be set aside as holy, a day of rest, in today’s Gospel Jesus shows us that the sabbath can also be a day to be set free and accept healing from the Lord. Intentionally consecrating our Sundays to Him, chores and all, may help us see where we need the Lord’s healing as well. Even the busiest of us can slow down a little, pray more, keep things simple, and focus on being with Him.   What is keeping you from really living life differently on the sabbath? How can you set your sabbath aside for the Lord?

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

We praise you, O God, we acclaim you as Lord; the glorious company of Apostles praise you. // Te Deum (Alleluia verse of the day) I recently moved to a deeply Catholic farming community. Being born and raised in a big city and attending public schools through high school, part of me always longed to know my neighbors by name and to have conversations where our encounters with Jesus in the Sacraments are an integrated source of life. I never imagined a place like this could actually exist, especially in today’s secularized society, but here it is.  And without fail the people in my new community are evangelizing me with their authentic goodness and valor.  Being evangelized by another person’s goodness, or in my case by many good people, is a startling thing. I am confronted by the fact that I had let my hope fade and become jaded. I had allowed the toxic air of skepticism to silently invade my thoughts. So I am grateful for this humble pie and wakeup call. Because it is better to live our lives in the truth of Christ, where the hope of the Gospel shines brighter and more enduringly, as Saint Paul says in the First Reading: “[Y]ou are fellow citizens with the holy ones and members of the household of God” (Ephesians 2:19). It is hard in our day to hold on to the light of faith. So many things vie for our attention. They grasp and try to pull down my hope with ever-new shocking “truths” about what is “really going on.”  But in the end, like Saints Simon and Jude, whom we celebrate today, I only have a finite number of days to live, and I am ridiculously blessed to have received the gift of faith. I pray that like them and the other Apostles whom Jesus names in the Gospel today—I can live ever closer to the heart of God and sing with all the Church Triumphant, Suffering, and Militant: “We praise you, O God, we acclaim you as Lord; the glorious company of Apostles praise you.”

You know how to interpret the appearance of the earth and the sky; why do you not know how to interpret the present time? // Luke 12:56 Toddlers seemed to be everywhere. A few babies gummed their mothers’ knuckles and children passed in and out of the room. I pulled my daughter onto my lap as she flipped through a board book while the other moms talked and laughed. The swirling chaos made it almost impossible to be part of the conversation, but I tried, desperate for a connection. On that sunny autumn day, surrounded by cheerful women and their cute kids, I sank further into my black sweater, the corner of the room, and my dejection.  Tears began to blur my vision as I swallowed back the pain when, from across the room, the hostess made eye contact. I didn’t look away in embarrassment as she ever-so-gently cocked her head toward me, because her eyes were filled with a subtle but genuine concern. I knew that she saw me and what’s more, I knew she understood. I blinked back the tears and she nodded and looked away, not missing a beat in the conversation and never calling attention to our exchange. But as I walked to my car at the end of the gathering she ran after me and the next day she texted me. She sought me out at school pick-up and after Sunday Mass. You see, she could interpret the present time (see Luke 12:56).  When she looked at me, she didn’t just see a woman about to cry. She saw a woman in pain who needed connection—not attention in the moment, but an on-going availability. This woman, who has spent countless hours nurturing her devotion to our Eucharistic Lord and praying with Scripture and the Mass, paid attention to the promptings of the Holy Spirit, judged for herself what was right (see Luke 12:57), and did her part in building up the Kingdom of God in my heart.  Having our hearts conformed to Christ’s through prayer, Scripture, and the Sacraments makes us available to see what is happening and know what needs to come next. Sister, we all need this life of prayer to be open to the Holy Spirit; recommit today to a deeper life of prayer.

But now that you have been freed from sin and have become slaves of God, the benefit that you have leads to sanctification, and its end is eternal life. // Romans 6:22 I roll over, bleary-eyed, poised to pick up my phone, unread notifications pleading for my attention. But I stop, remembering to Whom I owe the first fruits of my day, the first moments of waking. I know changing positions or turning on a light will waken the toddler to my left or the lump across the end of the bed, which of course is another child who has crawled in for comfort.  I close my eyes and recite in a whisper a morning offering, three Hail Marys, and an Our Father. Simple, but a start. A moment of silence contemplating Christ’s suffering on the Cross and how that changes me. Mutterings behind me, and it’s time to start the day. Day in and day out, the temptation to see what I’ve missed or just “quickly” check in on the glowing device beckons tantalizingly. But the time spent racks up quickly. It’s far too easy to become slaves of our devices. Today’s First Reading of Romans 6:19-23 talks of being “slaves of sin” and queries: “But what profit did you get then from the things of which you are now ashamed?” (Romans 6:21) It’s not that our phones and tablets are evil—in reality they are just tools, but if they control us, they are, in a way, enslaving us. When we cannot say no to their tempting pull to glance at notifications or flip through Instagram Stories, they win. God deserves our best, our first and last moments of each day. He is essential for our well being, the path to our sanctification.  Sister, let’s make it our goal that at the end of the week our recreational Screen Time reports would show less time than our time spent in prayer and service. How can you make that happen in your life?

"Be sure of this: if the master of the house had known the hour when the thief was coming, he would not have let his house be broken into. You also must be prepared,for at an hour you do not expect, the Son of Man will come." // Luke 12:39-40 Have you ever had your home or car broken into? I've had a vehicle broken into twice. The first time I had borrowed my mom's car, and the second time involved a rental car I was driving for work. If I had known someone would break into the car, I would have taken my backpack with me or dropped off the luggage before getting dinner with a friend. If I had known, my friend would still have her diamond earrings, and my laptop would never have been taken. No one expects their car to be broken into or a Home Alone scene to unfold in their house when they travel for Christmas. But if we didn't anticipate it, we would never pay for insurance. Insurance is saying to expect the unexpected! Luke's Gospel for today encourages us to take out spiritual life insurance and "be prepared." Our souls have been broken into by the thief of all thieves, Satan. And the tragic part of it is that we have let him do it. Something far more valuable than diamonds or a laptop has been stolen from us. Our innocence, trust, and vulnerability have been taken. We have been traumatized by choices, relationships, and the unthinkable happening to us and around us.  When have you experienced a spiritual thief in your life? Where do you need to install some alarms to alert you when Satan attempts to break into your soul with temptation?   God has entrusted us with a priceless relationship with His Son, Jesus Christ, requiring us to bring to Him for healing what has been broken. So let Christ replace and mend with His healing mercy and grace what Satan has stolen and shattered. Allow Christ to heal the wounds caused by trauma, choices, and relationships. Permit Christ to reveal how Satan attempts to manipulate and deceive you. We must be prepared, "for at an hour you do not expect, the Son of Man will come" (Luke 12:40).

[E]ars open to obedience you gave me. // Psalm 40:6 It was undeniable. All the evidence was spread before me. My failure to obey God’s direction led to a failure in my life. The still, small voice I had silenced by my selfishness could no longer be ignored.  The Lord was right. He wanted my good. I thought I knew better. And I was wrong. Now, instead of walking in the clear freedom of obedience, I was stumbling, attempting to pick up the pieces shattered by my self-will.  I wish I could tell you that this singular occurrence settled so deeply in my soul that all my days henceforth were lived in perfect obedience. But it had happened before and it has happened since. I make excuses for my wants, I justify my fear, and I listen to worldly counselors over my heavenly Counselor.  Every time I choose to ignore the direction of the Holy Spirit, I regret it. It doesn’t always end in obvious failure, but the discontent in my soul is a bad fruit of the knowledge that I chose against God’s desire for me.  I want the song of my life to harmonize with the words of the Psalm Response for today: “Here I am, Lord; I come to do your will.” This will require a lifelong refining. But upon each failure, the Lord meets me with mercy and reminds me that He gave me ears open to obedience. He has given me everything I need to follow Him. He does not withhold from me; it is my heart that must choose to conform my will to His. So let us pray for more obedient hearts! Let us invite the Holy Spirit into our lives each morning, knowing that humble, quiet obedience pleases Him more than our most extravagant offerings.  Here we are, Lord; we come to do Your will! 

"Take care to guard against all greed, for though one may be rich, one's life does not consist of possessions." // Luke 12:15 My heart used to ache to be noticed by those around me back when I went to my public high school. There’s always something so painful about being terribly insecure. And looking at other girls at my school caused great discomfort in my heart, as I thought that I needed to be like them or possess the same material items that they had in order to be seen. What I didn’t know was that possessing what these other girls had would not bring satisfaction to my heart. It would leave me still thirsting for more.  In today’s Gospel, Jesus tells us, "Take care to guard against all greed, for though one may be rich, one's life does not consist of possessions” (Luke 12:15).  While material things are glorified in our world, we can be certain that the most valuable riches that we can ever receive are actually contained within the Eucharist. The Eucharist rejuvenates our hearts and our entire lives here on Earth. In moments where I don’t feel like praying, when I am caught up in material riches or concerns, the Lord gently reminds me of how deeply the Eucharistic presence of Jesus affects my heart. His Divine Love speaks volume to our hearts and produces a deep peace that we’re constantly hungering for.  Whereas our world tells us to be busy, productive, and constantly on the go, the Eucharistic Heart of Jesus invites us to be still and to find our true rest in Him.  There's nothing more beautiful than being rich in the Love that we were created for and finding our identity in Him. Not in our material possessions. Not in our relationship status. Not in what we have or don’t have, but in Him and Him alone.  And when we take time to know Who He is, we will also learn who we truly are. Jesus, we love You. Help us to know our worth and identity in You and You alone. May You reveal to us the riches of Your Eucharistic heart, so that we may enter in Your love more deeply. Help us to know Who You are. Amen.

He said to him the third time, "Simon, son of John, do you love me?" // John 21:17 (Gospel from the Optional Memorial of Pope Saint John Paul II) When I want my children to really know something, I say it a lot. Make your beds. Say you’re sorry. Be kind. Remember to say, “Thank you.” And on and on and on. If a simple human like me understands the importance of repetition when it comes to instruction, how much more does Our Lord? In today’s Gospel for the Memorial of Pope Saint John Paul II, He uses repetition in giving instructions to Saint Peter (see John 21:15-17). “Do you love me? Feed my lambs.” “Do you love me? Tend my sheep.” “Do you love me? Feed my lambs.” “Do you love me?”  It’s not hard for me to find the “lambs” in my life . . . I have eleven of them. And a husband, brother, parents, friends, and more. But how often do I really make a firm connection in my head and in my heart that my love for Jesus is lived out in my care for the people in front of me? Not often enough. Do you love me? Our hearts yearn to say the words just like Saint Peter—“Lord, you know that I love you” (John 21:17). “Tend my sheep.” Jesus, help us to see this reality in our lives each day. The tenderness of the Good Shepherd has been entrusted to us in each little action of every moment. We love Him in each meal, in each act of service, in each gesture of kindness, in each moment of patience, and in each second of self-gift. It’s what He is asking of us . . . again and again.  Lord, you know that I love You. Help me, then, to love You.

The Lord remembers his covenant forever. // Psalm 105:8 The Lord remembers. I do not (always) remember.  During the pandemic, a friend and I committed to sharing one good thing, one tiny miracle, with each other every day. Our families were in crisis, and not just because of the global shutdown. We needed a lifeline. We needed something to help us keep trusting. Recalling even the simplest good things strengthened our hope and trust. I don’t think I’m being dramatic when I suggest that “learning to remember” changed our lives.  Because I tend to be easily swayed by emotion and the drama du jour, the hard situations threatened to shake my trust in the goodness of God’s plan—and not only my trust, but also my memory of the good He had already done in my life.  Our small daily habit taught us to remember God’s goodness and His promise to work good in our lives. Since my friend and I shared good things almost daily, we could recall those moments for each other when life’s storms threatened to overwhelm. “Gina, think about what was happening last month, and what progress you have made. God is with you and has a plan.” In turn, I recalled God’s work in my friend’s life. By remembering God’s work in our past, we held more firmly to His promise for the present and future. We learned together to trust that His promise is true, and for forever. Lord, I want to be faithful to Your promise. I want to remember Your goodness, to hope against hope like Abraham (see Romans 4:18), to be a woman of joy because I know Your promise is true. Thank You for the good You have done, are doing, and will do in my life. May I never forget.

“Even the hairs of your head have all been counted. Do not be afraid. You are worth more than many sparrows.” // Luke 12:7 I have a tendency to be a Martha—always searching for something to be done, some way I can make myself useful and contribute—rather than being like her sister Mary, who sat meditatively at the feet of Jesus (see Luke 10:38-42). In praying about this recently, I realized there was an emphasis on the word “I” in the phrasing: “How can I make myself useful?” And through continued prayer, the Lord has slowly been helping me to understand that my usefulness, my worthiness, my anything, is not dependent on me. I cannot make myself useful, worthy, lovable, etc. God has already done so. In today’s First Reading, Paul informs the Roman Christians that it was Abraham’s belief in God, not his works, that “was credited to him as righteousness” (Romans 4:3). What a beautiful reminder that it is not what we accomplish that makes us righteous in God’s eyes, but rather, in our believing God—believing in God’s mercy and goodness and indescribable love for us—that makes us so. In a world that is so consumed with ideas of productivity and usefulness, it is hard to let that sink in. We so often measure our value in what we produce and how quickly we can do so. But in the eyes of God, our value is found simply in being His. “Even the hairs of your head have all been counted. Do not be afraid. You are worth more than many sparrows” (Luke 12:7).Sister, let us remember that it is not what we can do that makes us valued by Our Beloved. I invite you today to take an inventory, not of what you did that was “useful,” but of where you noticed God and the little reminders He shows that you are loved. 

My soul waits for the LORD More than sentinels wait for the dawn. // Psalm 130:5-6ab My palm started to sweat as I wrapped my hand more tightly around my cell phone and listened for my therapist’s voice on the other end of the line. My heart thrummed insistently against my ribcage, underscoring the crowd of worries running helter-skelter through my mind. I knew that they came from a desire to protect myself but found the task of planning for all contingencies exhausting. I paused, bit my lip, and waited for her to respond.  What she offered in reply was a simple perspective shift: “Lord, I can’t wait to see how You’re going to figure this out.”   I received the advice to pray this warily at first, with great skepticism. I imagined myself saying it to God the same way I’d say “good luck” to someone trying to unscrew the lid from a stubborn glass jar that I’d already been attempting to dislodge for ten minutes: “I can’t wait to see how You’re going to figure this one out, because I’ve tried literally everything already.” Psh.  But so much of my anxiety comes from a place of wanting to save myself, of believing that worrying helps me plan and prepare for the worst, of desiring to ensure I’ll be okay if and when disaster strikes.  That’s a lot of responsibility to carry.  Telling the Lord I can’t wait to see how He will move has slowly lifted the responsibility of figuring out my problems from my shoulders, and has shifted my outlook from one of fear to that of joyful expectancy. Now I am a sentinel, or more than a sentinel, keeping a vigilant lookout for the first possible movement of God’s grace and tender provision in the face of uncertainty. Sister, won’t you keep your eyes turned toward the dawn with me? And together, full of confidence that He will act, we will run to our Savior in the first light of day. Lord, no matter how dark my world seems, help me to wait for You, trusting that nothing escapes Your notice and that Your gentle care provides for all of my needs. Amen.

Luke is the only one with me. //  2 Timothy 4:11a As we approached the façade of the Basilica of Saint Paul Outside the Walls in Rome, it was impossible to ignore the towering statue of the Apostle to the Gentiles appearing ready to wield his uplifted sword at any moment. Its force drew our little group to the center of the courtyard where we looked up at the marble eyes. Standing at a certain angle it feels as though the eyes of his downward gaze pierces the heart. In the midst of the large courtyard he stands alone, or so it seems. Taking a step back, there is a pillar marking each of the four corners. Looking at three of those pillars you would still perceive that Paul is standing alone. But look closely to the back right corner and we see another statue. In this space Saint Paul does not stand alone, and he can truly say, “Luke alone is with me” (2 Timothy 4:11a). Often in our lives it can seem as though we have been abandoned by those closest to us, those upon whom we’ve depended for strength, support, affirmation, or consolation.  It can be tempting in those moments to enumerate the ways in which others have wronged, abandoned, or betrayed us. Sometimes we are blinded to the end we have before us and want to blame our seeming failures on others. Sister, take heart when you feel abandoned, when it feels like those in whom you placed your earthly trust have turned their back on you. Take that betrayed trust and place it in the One who remains faithful. Call upon the intercession of Saint Luke—whose feast is today—and Saint Paul, and pray that those wrongs may “not be held against them!” Experience the reality of the Lord who will stand by you in your time of trial and give you strength (see 2 Timothy 4:17). And, just when you think you’re standing alone, sword raised, ready to fight the world, take a look behind you; you never know when the Lord will send another to be the only one with you!

I am not ashamed of the Gospel. // Romans 1:16 My fingers stopped dancing across the keyboard as I stared at the words on the screen. I love today’s verse from Romans 1:16: “I am not ashamed of the Gospel.” For this devotion, I started writing about being a witness to the faith, but something wasn’t clicking. I felt the Holy Spirit nudging me to look at it from another angle.  God was highlighting this verse, but today He wanted me to focus on my own heart and consider, do I sometimes feel ashamed and undeserving of the saving love of Christ? Yes, I am a faithful Catholic who loves Our Lord, but He wants more.  So now I’m asking myself . . . Do I allow negative self-talk, fear, guilt, selfishness, or pride stop me from giving my heart completely to God? Are there hidden wounds stopping me from trusting in God and His goodness? Am I allowing Jesus to go deeper into my heart and heal me? If I’m unashamed of the Gospel, then I would believe that Jesus can heal my blindness, cure my woundedness, cast out the lies I’ve grown to believe, and create in me a new heart.  Although Jesus has already healed so much in our lives and taught us many things, we’re never really done. Conversion is an ongoing journey and sometimes it’s easy to become complacent with (or in denial of) the areas that still need work. Today Jesus is beckoning us to go deeper.  Where are you in your spiritual life? Ask the Holy Spirit to reveal to you an area in which He wants to bring you further healing or into a more profound love and commitment.  Lord, I stand before You with open arms. Open my eyes to see the areas in my life that You want to heal and bring greater freedom. Please give me the courage to look at myself honestly and the strength to trust in You completely. I love You. Amen.

“This generation is an evil generation; it seeks a sign, but no sign will be given it.” // Luke 11:29 I had to have major surgery and would need some help afterward. My sister, an attorney, who frequently puts in sixteen-hour days and is one of the most wonderful humans I know, offered to come and help take care of me for a week. She said, “I feel called to help you through this.” And I do not know what we would have done without her. She arrived a day early to settle in and help me prepare, including attending a beautiful healing Mass with me. After my surgery, in between the hours she worked tirelessly at her job, she helped tend my wounds, she brought me breakfast in bed and ice packs on command, she helped me to shower and change my clothes, and she cleaned and cooked and filled our house with groceries. She walked the dogs and bought my husband’s favorite desserts and libations. She insisted on paying for her own ticket and taxi. The procedure ended up being far more difficult than I had anticipated, and she patiently listened as I wept and complained—a bit of an emotional wreck who was also on pain meds. You can imagine. We also had time to catch up, to get to know one another again, to pray together each evening, and I hope and pray that her visit was a blessing for her as much as it was for me and my husband. When I read the Lord’s words today about a wicked generation seeking a sign, I think of my sister. She wasn’t looking for signs, she was a sign—of generosity, patience, compassion, humor, fidelity in hardship. When Jesus warns us so pointedly about seeking signs, I want to check myself and ask, am I foolishly looking for signs to assuage my fickle heart, or am I living so as to be a sign for those around me, that the Lord is living and active and has His hand on my life? Am I a sign to the world that Jesus lives and loves, heals and restores? Sister, don’t look for signs—be the sign for your generation.