“They do not belong to the world any more than I belong to the world. Consecrate them in the truth. Your word is truth. As you sent me into the world, so I sent them into the world.” // John 17:16-18 The summer before I left for college did not go the way I thought it would. My dad, formerly a fun-loving parent willing to do anything for me, could think of nothing but all the life skills I had yet to master. I remember it as weeks of changing car tires that were not flat, replacing the wax ring in a toilet (I have not attempted that one on my own), and balancing a checkbook (back when people used to do that with a pencil). There were renewed reminders about how one should answer a phone (“Hello, Dosé residence, Kendra speaking”) and whether one should call boys (no) and that one must always keep an up-to-date Thomas Brothers map in the car (praise the Lord for GPS). It almost feels like Jesus is having the same sort of soft-launch panic over His disciples in today’s Gospel reading (see John 17:11b-19), running over all the ways He has tried to prepare them for life without Him in the world, and lamenting the trials they will face.  But guess what? My dad is still there for me for advice and encouragement and occasional bathroom repair projects, even though it’s been decades since I lived in his home. And Jesus is even more of a source of strength for His disciples after His Passion, Death, Resurrection, and Ascension than He was when they were in His physical presence.  Of course, Jesus’ words are for us today as well. Just like a good dad, Jesus teaches us and sends us out into the world to be in it, but not of it. And just as I’ve passed my dad’s lessons along to my roommates and friends and, now, my oldest three kids in a fit of enthusiasm before they left for college, we are called to share the Truth we have received from Jesus with the world.  Sister, take some time to pray with the words of today’s Gospel. How is He calling you to share His Truth with others today?

“Remain in my love.” // John 15:9 I held my breath and waited for the teams to be announced. There was a ministry project I really wanted to work on, but only a handful would be chosen. When our leader announced the names my hope bubbled up until the last name was read, which wasn’t mine. I smiled in support of the ones chosen, but I was disappointed and couldn’t help but doubt myself. Why hadn’t they picked me? Was I not good enough? The short answer was no. They just felt God calling the other ones to this project.  I can’t help but wonder if that’s how Barsabbas felt in today’s First Reading. When they were choosing between him and Matthias to become the twelfth Apostle, Matthias was chosen (see Acts 1:23-26). At that moment, was Barsabbas disappointed? God had another path for him and I imagine that he humbly accepted it.  But isn’t that how life goes sometimes? We hope and pray to be chosen for something—whether it’s for a project, for a promotion, for marriage, for motherhood, for healing . . . there are so many things we hope for in life and when they don’t happen, it can cause doubt and pain. But Jesus gives us the key in today’s Gospel when He says, “Remain in my love” (John 15:9). When we unite our hearts to God and hold His hand, we’ll be better at walking in step with Him. It sounds so simple, yet at times it’s so difficult. But when you truly love someone, you want to be with them and go where they go. Remaining in the love of Jesus strengthens us to wait patiently for our time, to trust when grief is overwhelming, to go bravely forward when we’re scared, or to rejoice in the blessings of life. His love carries us through everything.  Lord, when I’m doubting myself or doubting that You are hearing my prayers, breathe Your Spirit of love in my heart. Draw me closer to You, and please give me strength to trust in You and Your goodness. I love You. Amen.

“Blessed are you, holy Virgin Mary, deserving of all praise; from you rose the sun of justice, Christ our God.” //  Alleluia Verse (from Memorial of Our Lady of Fatima)  “Why is this happening? Why can’t people just love each other?” My sweet first grader unloaded her heart to me as she shared the biggest prayer intention of her class that day. I breathed a deep inhale as this part of parenting hadn’t come to the surface yet.  I exhaled a peaceful comforting smile to my oldest daughter so she felt safe in this space. She continued, “The children haven’t done anything.” My seven-year-old didn’t understand the need for war or the point of Russia invading Ukraine.  Fast forward to this year’s Super Bowl and the same inquisitive little girl that asked probing questions about a war she couldn’t make sense of was now inquiring about a widely anticipated football game. Perhaps it was due in part to our hometown of Las Vegas, Nevada, hosting it. The main question this time was, “How many people watch the Super Bowl?” Since it was not for a couple more weeks I had to look up previous numbers. “Last year’s Superbowl set a record of 11.5 million American viewers,” I told her.  We both looked at each other with our eyebrows raised so high that I’m pretty sure I added permanent creases to my forehead. During that conversation we both agreed how powerful it would be for us as American citizens, and others across the globe, to put into prayer as much enthusiasm as is put into watching the Super Bowl.  It has been 107 years since the miracle of the sun in Fatima, Portugal, but the message of Our Lady of Fatima, whose feast we celebrate today, is more prevalent today than ever. We need to turn to Mary’s Immaculate Heart to rescue us from a world that consumes us through distraction and pray for an end to all wars.  I may not be able to offer my daughter satisfying answers to complex questions, but her hope for the world reminds me that peace and conversion begin with me.  Our Lady of Fatima, please give us obedience to your message and be a mother to us now. Amen.

He presented himself alive to them by many proofs after he had suffered. // Acts 1:3 (Reading from the Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord)  I saw him so clearly as I prayed: sparkling eyes, playful grin, and fingers dancing passionately on the strings of his guitar. He was bathed in the radiant glow of Heavenly light, and his lips moved in muted song as he entertained an audience of loved ones whose souls had previously gone to meet the Lord. But what struck me most as I marveled at this imaginary scene was that my dad had all his limbs intact and was no longer confined to the wheelchair that had kept him bound for the better part of his long and courageous health battle.   Here in this place of joyful rest, he was happy. He was free. He was alive.    Grateful tears brimmed in my eyes. “Thank you, Lord,” I choked out, as the image I had so desperately needed to see in that moment faded away.    For reasons beyond our control, my dad’s funeral had been postponed for several weeks into the future, and it was a heavy burden being denied, even if temporarily, the hope and comfort that a Catholic burial service brings. But now, as I placed my grief at the feet of the Resurrected King, I was consoled by the hope that my dad was sharing in a destiny beyond the horizon of death. And dear sister in Christ, I can assure you that what I saw is only a glimpse of what is promised to those who believe (see 1 Peter 1: 3-5).   Today’s First Reading for the Solemnity of the Ascension proclaims the truth of why Jesus "presented himself alive” to His apostles before being taken up to the Father (Acts 1:1-11). It was precisely to show us that we, too, will one day share in His Resurrection, our glorified bodies living in the presence of God for all eternity (source).  Ponder the gift of our promised inheritance. Isn’t it astounding to know that we are united, even now, with those who have died, and that we possess the unquenchable hope of seeing them again in heaven?  Whether or not they’ll have guitars remains a mystery.

[Apollos] began to speak boldly in the synagogue; but when Priscilla and Aquila heard him, they took him aside and explained to him the Way of God more accurately. // Acts 18:26 I nudged and looked laughingly at my husband as the above verse (Acts 18:26) was read aloud at the Archdiocesan retreat day for parishioners who had been asked by their pastors to participate in a discipleship training. While I had read the book of Acts multiple times before, I had not realized until that moment that there was a precedent in Scripture for the calling my husband and I have been given. We have a similar mission to that of Saints Priscilla and Aquila. As a philosophy professor at a university with a Catholic seminary, my husband teaches many future priests and deacons, explaining to them “the Way of God more accurately.” And in my position as theological editor here at Blessed as She and in my writing for other Catholic publications, I spend a lot of my time explaining Truth to the best of my ability. The hope is that like Apollo in today’s First Reading, those we teach will be able to pass on truth with confidence and vigor. As a Catholic woman with multiple degrees in theology, I have often felt a little unsure about my place in the Church. But Saint Priscilla’s example encourages me to not be afraid to offer my gifts to the Church and to use them as God calls me, both when my pastor invites me to volunteer in the parish and when other ministries need me to share my God-given gifts.  Sister, we all can be inspired by the call of the lay married couple Saints Priscilla and Aquila. We have all been given gifts, and the Lord wants us to use them to build up the Church. My husband and I joke that as I am approaching the age of forty, I am becoming more and more of a “church lady,” but the reality is that all of us women are called to be church ladies according to our gifts. Where is the Lord calling you to serve His Church?  Saints Priscilla and Aquila, pray for us!

"Do not be afraid. Go on speaking, and do not be silent, for I am with you. No one will attack and harm you, for I have many people in this city." // Acts 18:9-10 Saint Damien of Molokai, whose feast we celebrate today, had a steadfast faith in God and took to heart the above words spoken by the Lord to Saint Paul, found in today’s First Reading from the Acts of the Apostles. In a letter written by his superior, Damien was invited to the Molokai island of Lepers to "stay as long as your devotion dictates."* And stay he did, for sixteen years in what he called the "living graveyard that was Molokai," where he died at forty-nine years old in service to people he didn't refer to as his brethren, but instead, "we lepers."  He built houses, a chapel, and a graveyard to properly bury the deceased rather than have wild animals eat their remains. He said Mass, heard Confessions, forgave sins, and placed the Holy Eucharist on their tongues, knowing that touch would give him the disease. Eventually, his entire body would carry the disease. He embraced, mourned, and grieved with them, but he also rejoiced with them. And He gave them a reason to rejoice: eternal salvation in Christ. His example reminds us to embrace the suffering of those around us: the homeless, the elderly and forgotten, the mentally and physically ill, those with addictions beyond our understanding, those with wounds we can see and those that are so internal that only God can see them. Embrace those who suffer to the point that you do not fear their suffering but instead enter into it, so they never feel alone or abandoned.  When we "stay as long as our devotion dictates," we encounter suffering that shifts to compassion and grief that evolves into joy. We also discover the pierced, Immaculate Heart of Mary and the Sacred Heart of Jesus.  Lord, like Saint Damien of Molokai, give us a heart like Yours. Hearts ready to suffer with the suffering and die to ourselves in hopes of rising with You. *Note: Facts and quotations are found in this article from EWTN. Check it out to learn more!

But they went forth and preached everywhere, while the Lord worked with them and confirmed the word through accompanying signs. // Mark 16:20 (From the Gospel for the Solemnity of the Ascension) It was a week of sickness. First my three-year-old, who, blessedly, let us know she was feeling queasy before the puke came fast and furious. My husband was next, groaning on the bathroom floor two days later. And then my six-year-old, who counted the number of times she needed the throw-up bucket, as if she were in a competition for “most sick” in the house. And I was left healthy, alone to manage it all. Now I had to wash the sheets and sanitize the surfaces and cook the soup and rub the backs and rush to three different pharmacies. It can seem, at times, that we do these things—the hard, weary, sometimes even gross work of life—all on our own. But we are not alone. In fact, the Lord is working with us. And what may seem like simple housework and basic parenting is actually a witness to the tender love of the Lord and an in-home proclamation of the Gospel. When Jesus ascended into Heaven (celebrated either today or this Sunday, depending on your diocese) and gave the command to the disciples to go and preach the Gospel to every creature (see Mark 16:16), it was a command to us today too. Sometimes we are called to witness in the explicit “evangelistic” moments, but other times it’s a witness to His love and mercy and care in the quiet moments at home, doing the unseen hard things. The Lord works with us, and in us, in the hidden moments when we get to be the hands and feet of Jesus where only we can be.  A quotation often attributed to and lived out by Servant of God Dorothy Day states, ”Everyone wants a revolution, but no one wants to do the dishes.” It reminds us that we can go forth and preach everywhere—including right here, where we are—and the Lord will work with us. Lord, help us to see how You work with us, and through us, to preach your Gospel, right where we find ourselves on this day, in this moment, however small it may seem to be.   

“What therefore you unknowingly worship, I proclaim to you.” // Acts 17:23 For more than forty years I’ve ministered to young women, and I’ve witnessed the rise and fall of so many trends—Britney to Taylor, Yeti to Stanley, skinny to slouchy, Snapchat to TikTok. It doesn’t take a Harvard degree, or media analytics, to understand the ageless and underlying need for someone or something to make our lives happy and meaningful. I love Saint Paul’s approach to evangelization in today’s First Reading (see Acts 17:15, 22–18:1); it is as relevant today as it was back then. To help others meet “the God who made the world and all that is in it” (Acts 17:24), we begin as Saint Paul did, with the fundamental assumption that we are made for more, created to worship God and give Him glory. All our human desires, which we so often look to be fulfilled through the created world, are only a dim reflection of our Creator. “Rather it is he who gives to everyone life and breath and everything” (Acts 17:25). Many years ago, a young woman I knew asked me a great question: “What do you have that I don’t? Because whatever it is, I want it!” Through the witness of our lives, personal stories of His goodness, and the proclamation of the One True God, we can help others recognize that it is  “ . . . [i]n him we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28). Trends will come and go, but God is unchanging. May we be compelled by a sense of urgency to lovingly remind others that “God has overlooked the times of ignorance, but now he demands that all people everywhere repent because he has established a day on which he will 'judge the world with justice'” (Acts 17:30-31). As we step out in faith and boldness, may the results of our endeavors be like Saint Paul’s: “ . . . some did join him, and became believers” (Acts 17:34).

When I called, you answered me; you built up strength within me. [ . . . ] Your right hand saves me, O Lord. // Psalm 138:3, 7 A few years ago, I headed out on a day trip with my two youngest children. We decided to meet my sister, my brother, and their families at a state park a few hours away. An added bonus would be seeing one of my older boys, whose college town was close to the park. About fifteen minutes before our arrival, as we sped along the two-lane state road, a car crossed the road ahead of us just as a semi-truck barreled down the on-coming lane. The car barely made it across the lanes as the truck swerved to avoid missing it. In a flash, the truck was in our lane and I was whipping our SUV into the grass to get out of the way, just as the semi corrected itself and continued on its way. It was all so fast—what happened, what could have happened. It kept going through my mind, and I put the car in park there on the side of the road to catch my breath. God protected us. His mighty hand saved us. Henry, Isabel, and I said “thank You” to God over and over. We always pray for protection as we pull out of the driveway each day and on that memorable day, the Lord answered our prayers in undeniable fashion. On that day, I saw His hand at work; perhaps I even saw angels pushing the truck back into its own lane. When we got to the park and met up with family, I told them (several times) how we had been protected. God saved us. Thank You, Jesus, for Your goodness! And while that day stands out in its answered, split second prayers, I know God is at work in my life—in all of our lives—constantly. Sometimes we are able to clearly see His mighty hand at work. Sometimes we must choose to see it. If we can get in the habit of always finding Him with us, we can walk through our days knowing God answers our prayers. He is indeed rich in mercy and eager to save!

"If you consider me a believer in the Lord, come and stay at my home," and she prevailed on us. // Acts 16:15 We had just finished dinner together, and our friend was unwrapping a large chocolate bar to split apart for a group of us to share around the table. There were maybe six or seven of us there that night, and the room wasn't spacious. So we all sat close to one another, eating homemade pasta, and the conversation was easy, laid back, and comfortable. There was nothing about our friends' hosting that was meant to impress any of us, yet the warmth and good conversation shared around that table is something we'll never forget. Experiences around tables like this one have majorly influenced how I look at hosting others in our home, particularly when it comes to last-minute inspirations to invite someone over. Instead of thinking that the living room could use vacuuming, that the mail could be moved from the dining table, or that I don't have the perfect meal planned to serve, I think back to that memorable evening and how our friends invited us all into their home—as it was. Which, in turn, made many of us feel comfortable coming as we were. In today's First Reading (see Acts 16:11-15), Lydia's heart was moved and opened by the Lord, and she followed that movement to invite Paul and his fellow missionaries into her home. I don't know how much she felt she needed to do around her home to make them feel comfortable there, but the Holy Spirit led her to share the invitation regardless. And that's the kind of hospitality I think we all enjoy most—both as the host and as the guest. So while Saint Lydia isn't the patron saint of hosting large gatherings—she happens to be the patron of dyers of cloth—her example can still inspire us to listen to that movement in our hearts to share our own invitations. Even if they’re last-minute. Even if things aren't perfect.

“It was not you who chose me, but I who chose you.” // John 15:16 It is still my favorite home video, though for different reasons now than when I was growing up. My biggest fear is not that the VHS tape will stop working, but that the old VCR in my parents’ den will give out and render the old home video unwatchable. My siblings and I delighted in the drama captured at the reception, particularly the neighbor boy getting stuck in a tree and the unmistaken ‘80s hairstyles and shoulder pads. My nostalgia has a different focus these days. Now, I watch the first half of the video with greater awe and wonder as I see the water poured over my head and my name pronounced, claiming me in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. It is a powerful moment and one that I find myself going back to frequently when I lose touch with the foundational identity I received that day—daughter of God. I can go through my days distracted by the responsibilities of life, teaching, relationships, family, etc. It can be easy to focus on the many things I need to be doing while neglecting the more important reality of who I am and need to be. At Baptism, the Father speaks over us, “[T]his is my beloved . . . ”(Matthew 3:17); the Son whispers to our hearts, “As the Father loves me, so I also love you…” (John 15:9); and the Holy Spirit falls upon us (see Acts 10:44). If we allow ourselves to become distracted by the swirling chaos that sometimes bombards us throughout the day, we forget to embrace the presence of the One who is our anchor in the storm and fail to notice that “he has done wondrous deeds” for us (see Psalm 98:1). So, I invite you to take a moment today to remember the power of the words spoken and water poured over you on the day of your Baptism, and allow yourself to bask in the truth that you are forever claimed in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

If you belonged to the world, the world would love its own; but because you do not belong to the world, and I have chosen you out of the world, the world hates you. // John 15:19 I’ve been ending my days feeling pretty overwhelmed. I look back on my conversations, gathering all the things I’ve heard, and it’s a lot. There’s so much bad news. I’m overwhelmed at how hurt I feel for people. A friend’s new diagnosis.  A text about someone’s recent loss.  A family member has been really struggling, and I didn’t know. There’s also tons of good news. I’m overwhelmed at how happy I feel for people. They finally got the job. She’s settling into her new home. I RSVP’d for another wedding. It’s totally exhausting, this constant up and down with so much to celebrate and so much to mourn. It’s a gift to catch up with the people I love, but I never know if I’m going to walk away celebrating or making room for heaviness in my heart. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that it’s just too much. I’d argue that there’s no reason to keep hoping, not when bad news keeps seeping out of the cracks.  But I do know better. Friend, I have really, really good news: Jesus chose you out of this chaos (see John 15:19). Right now, He’s preparing you a seat in Heaven, one with your name on it, and it won’t waver or end; He promises this specifically, just a few verses (see John 14:1-7) before today’s Gospel.  There’s a reason why this world feels overwhelming, inadequate, and confusing: there’s so much more than this. There’s more than what you’re feeling. There’s more than the things happening to the people around you. There’s greater love to defeat these sufferings, and even greater joy to multiply these celebrations. Maybe we’ve heard it before, but we need to hear it again and again. If today you’re sorting through a chaotic mix of good and bad news, let this be your reminder: The Good News always wins.

I am the way and the truth and the life. // John 14:6 Jesus said, “I am the way.” He is the answer to the deepest questions of our hearts. Jesus, where are You? I am here—remain close to My Heart. Jesus, where do You want me to be? I am preparing a place for you. Jesus, what if I can’t see the way? I am your faithful guide—do not be afraid.  Jesus, where is my community? I will provide—you are not alone. Jesus, where are You leading? I will bring you to a place of deeper trust and surrender, deeply rooted in My Sacraments. Jesus said, “I am the truth.” He is the answer to the deepest questions of our hearts. Jesus, how do You see me? You are My beloved, My delight, My joy. Jesus, why do I sometimes feel stuck? You are free—let My truth set you free. Jesus, why do I entertain the Enemy’s lies? The Enemy’s lies are where I place My truth—My truth conquers his empty promises. Jesus, have You completely forgiven my sins? Yes, it is a joy to encounter you in the Sacrament of Confession.   Jesus, are You truly present in the Eucharist? Yes, I give myself to you in the Most Blessed Sacrament of the Altar—in you I find My home. Jesus said, “I am the life.” He is the answer to the deepest questions of our hearts. Jesus, why have You allowed this suffering? Our suffering is abundantly fruitful.   Jesus, why is this grief excruciating? It is a place we live united together in hope. Jesus, will I always bear these wounds? Our wounds are glorious and life-giving.   Jesus, when will the dead crevices of my heart receive life? I am gently healing you—My wellspring of grace cannot be contained.  Jesus, will this pain ever go away? The Crucifixion always leads to the Resurrection—live your life united to Me in joyful hope.   Jesus said, “I am the way and the truth and the life.”  He is the answer.

“Remain in My love.” // John 15:9 In my backyard stands a beautiful, battle-weary peach tree. It’s survived blistering heat, punishing hail, epic blizzards, and a recent tornado. One particular April, the peach tree almost met its match. The fragrant pink blossoms were already in full show, a few fading to reveal fuzzy green peach nubs in the center. Then temperatures dropped and ten inches of wet, heavy snow dumped overnight. The branches were weighed down to the ground, and one main branch completely sheared away from the trunk. I watched, heartbroken, as my husband sawed it off—blossoms and all. I dragged it toward the trash barrels in the side yard, but couldn’t bring myself to take it to the curb just yet.  The next few weeks as I delayed the inevitable, I could only marvel. The unopened buds continued to bloom, blossoms gave way to fuzzy nubs, and the nubs grew into quarter-sized fruit. It was fascinating: the branch contained enough life to keep growing and bearing fruit—but only to a point. After three weeks, the fruit dried up and the whole branch shriveled and died, just as I knew it would. Tragically, I dragged it to the curb.  Jesus tells us that He is the Vine and we are the branches (see John 15). Like the peach tree branch, we cannot last long detached from our Source. We might see signs of growth and convince ourselves that we can run on self-reliance. Yet without daily, personal relationship with our Lord—which the Catechism defines as prayer—our growth will cease (source). God’s life in our souls will slowly wither and die; our fruit will inevitably shrivel up. The good news? Unlike that peach tree branch, we can be grafted back onto our Source. Jesus Himself made a way to restore us to full relationship with Him through the Sacrament of Confession and prayer. No matter how detached you are, healing and restoration are possible. How have you detached from the true Vine? Your fruit is too precious to wither away in self-reliance. Today, turn to Him in prayer. Ask Him to graft you back into His Heart, and let Him reinfuse you with His sustaining life.

“I am the vine, you are the branches. Whoever remains in me and I in him will bear much fruit, because without me you can do nothing.” // John 15:5 Everyone wants to be effective in their life. If not for the workplace, for the home, if not for the spouse, for the friend. We want to make a difference, we want to make a mark. Even though this is a totally Christian perspective, it’s also a totally human perspective. You can be secular and desire the same thing—to live a life of purpose. This longing is written on the human heart.  It is we, the faithful, who have the true gift of knowing exactly how to accomplish this mission—be connected to the Vine, which is Christ, Who fills us with every grace for the challenges that face us, for the dreams we so desire to accomplish, and for the great mission He has ordained for each of our lives.  We have to tap into the source, and we can do this in small and big ways—tiny prayerful aspirations throughout the day, developing a life of prayer, maintaining a spirit of sacrifice, attending daily Mass, or making frequent Confession. Is this a challenge? Yes. Does it require sacrifice? Yes. Is it something that will unite us more deeply to Christ? Yes. Will it change us? Yes.  Let’s all make a point to check back in with how checked in we are, so that we can bear great fruit—in our homes, in our friendships, in our work, in everything.  Dearest Jesus, You are our vine. Show us how much closer we can be to You, so that we can be You to the world.

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give it to you. Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid.” // John 14:27 Nearing the end of my graduate studies meant discernment and decision-making on what was coming next. I began my fourth year of teaching knowing that it would be my last year. I did not know what I would be doing instead, but I knew the Lord was leading me elsewhere. I was in an interior battle between wanting to trust the Lord in where He would lead me next and my desire for the worldly security of stability.  So many questions raced through my head: Could there be any way to do what I truly want and be financially stable? Would this career change mean giving up what I thought I wanted to do? What does the Lord want?  I spoke with my spiritual director, my dearest friends, and my mentors about all of the questions that had a grip on me, hoping that what they would say could somehow give me the answer I was looking for. Maybe, just maybe, their answers would be what gave me peace.  I found so much comfort in thinking about the peace the world offers, in the lie that only financial security, a stable job, and stability of place would give me peace. Sure, there is peace that comes from having all of these things, but the peace the Lord offers is far better. Ultimately, surrendering all my uncertainties to Jesus gave me the comfort I was looking for all along. I had to trust that He would take me exactly where He desired. Weeks later, I would have the position I dreamed of, mitigating every worry and fear I had.  In today’s Gospel (see John 14:27-31), Jesus breaks the hold of fear and worry that consumed the Disciples with the freedom of His peace. A peace that satisfies. A peace that alludes to joy. A peace only God can give.  Sister, let us ask the Lord for the peace He desires to give us. A peace that conquers all fear, anxiety, and doubt. A peace that is far better than this world offers. Let our hearts rest in the comfort of His peace.

He listened to Paul speaking, who looked intently at him, saw that he had the faith to be healed. // Acts 14:9 I was walking across the plaza at my university when a young woman approached me and began to speak to me about her group project that I was not a part of. She thought I was Samantha, and I am not Samantha. Once, on an airplane as I walked down the aisle, a man removed his headphones to ask if I am Heather, the former babysitter of his daughters. I am not Heather. I have been mistaken for another woman more times than I can count throughout my life. I have always hoped that it wasn’t that each of us resembled one another, but that these people recognized Christ in each of our faces. I have always wondered if it weren’t our appearances that looked similar, but our joy, our light, and Christ alive within us that did.  Today’s First Reading (see Acts 14:5-18) speaks of Paul looking intently at a crippled man and clearly seeing faith in his face . . . the faith to be healed. When the people I encounter today look intently at me, would they see faith? I am inspired to think about whether or not I live with a countenance of faith—one of hope, one of joy, and one of light. We are people of light lost in a sea of very sour faces, and sometimes—if I am truly honest with myself—I join in far too frequently with a sour countenance about anything and everything, with a face that reflects complaints, frustration, or annoyance with others.   What story is your countenance telling today? Is it the story of the Gospel, of the deep peace that a life in Christ can bring? Even in the midst of life’s difficulties, would those who look intently at you see a face full of hope, a face that reflects a heart set on Christ? Would they see a face that reflects the peace and joy so needed in our homes, schools, workplaces, and families?  Today, may we be women who radiate a countenance of faith, hope, and joy in a world full of sour faces.