I keep asking to grow, while also hoping He keeps most of my growing private.

Our Lady of Prompt Succor I am not a cradle Catholic. I did not grow up with a Rosary on the nightstand or faithful parents taking me to weekly Mass. Instead, our little, messed-up, and broken family was in survival mode, and no one was reaching for the cross for any kind of salvation.   Thankfully, my siblings and I were at least baptized as babies. Maybe two of my three siblings were confirmed. As the youngest, I do not think I saw the inside of a church, Catholic or otherw

We owe everyone love and respect. That does not mean we are required to invite everyone into the quiet center of our lives.

Sometimes, He's a showoff!

.... your words will live long after that “little something” is discarded, donated, and/or forgotten.

I know that God meets us in chairs pulled close and stories told out loud.

“Do I look like Jesus who was killed by this world, or do I look like the world that killed Jesus?”

In hard weeks, God and family steady me.

We will not live in fear. We are united in His name. It is here. A Turning Point.

We’ve all got ’em. I don’t think I’ve ever had a single problem-free day in my life. Not one. Certainly not today.   But I’ve found this:...

In the end, His red-lined map, twisting every way but straight, always gets me exactly where I need to be.

Each picture helps me appreciate the very second I said goodbye. It just feels sacred, the way most goodbyes do.

Some days I run out of words and simply sit there, letting their names rest on my lips, trusting He already knows the rest.

Here’s to the people who show up for strangers. May they never have an unmet need for the rest of their precious lives!

It’s one thing to KNOW that God is present, but to unexpectedly NOTICE him… well… I. Was. Struck.

Maybe that’s the whole point of prayer: not polish, but presence.

Not helpless. We can pray.

What we see and what we feel depends not just on our surroundings but on what’s going on inside us.

Come to think of it, if not knowing brings me to Him, maybe my ignorance is a quiet kind of wisdom, a master in disguise.

With every encouraging word, every quiet act of care, every moment you show up in someone else’s mess, you’re fulfilling your purpose.  Your Divine purpose.  

May God guide the work in us, visible and invisible, so that the lives we’re building reflect not just our strength but His direction.

We all need to feel seen. We all need to know someone remembers us.

We just have to pay close attention because the best moments are too often wearing camouflage.

We stiff-arm life and do our level best to protect our children from the sacks, the tackles, the late hits, and the heartbreaks. (Even when they're adults!)

And the culmination of it all, as we enter the Triduum, is incomparable. There’s no duplicating that sense of holy momentum any other time of year.

Our calling is an inside job. Planted deep. Watered quietly. Guarded fiercely. By us. And by God.  

God had other plans, and apparently, He prefers mine with plenty of edits. PLENTY!

All I could repeatedly say for the next (at least) twenty-five or more miles was, “Thank you, God.”

So now, before I speak, I think about that weight and try to choose my words like they matter. Because they do.

But I’m Not Writing This to Say My Priest Is Better Than Yours! That would be rude! Hahahaha!