It is Holy Week, the week of Christ’s Passion, the darkest week of Lent which precedes the Easter dawn.
It is Holy Week, the week of Christ’s Passion, the darkest week of Lent which precedes the Easter dawn.
I have rules because I love you; because I love you, I have rules.
My soul pleases Him. It pleases Him the same way a child’s drawing delights a parent; it is not perfect…
It’s as if a dirty filter in my soul had just been replaced, as if I have a pure, spotless soul—if only for a moment.
For who can overlook the wonder, joy, order and beauty of their simple world?
Pride is no cause to celebrate. It is a spiritual illness, a deadly form of the cancer of sin, which threatens the human soul
His work in the human heart is so beautiful, and so hidden. For in the loving hands of God, every evil is repurposed for some great good, for the ongoing conversion and reform of the sinner’s heart—our own included.
Will we not try to remove even one, small thorn or cushion wedged between His heart and ours? Or will we turn away, refuse the difficulty of gazing upon the beaten, bleeding Jesus in His time of greatest need?
Our anxiety often surges and peaks just before Christmas. So much to do, so much to do, the panic insists, growing visible by the day...
Eating has always been an intimate, nourishing act. And just as God gives us food to eat for the good of our body, so He also gives us food to eat for the good of our soul.
Before Jesus poured Himself out for the world, Mary poured herself out for Him—drop by drop—as a loving and faithful mother does…
We like to think that we Love.
But apart from God, we are utterly incapable of Love’s exchange. Only Jesus on the cross shows us Love, in its complete, unfiltered reality…
I sometimes forget how readily children can enter into the spiritual mysteries. It is much easier for children to connect with God than it is for us adults.
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We are not Christ, we do not love perfectly. We drop, avoid, offload and resent the cross of motherhood. We choose self—over service, over child, over Christ. We “play the martyr” mother, lacking the right interior disposition or loving attitude, and so our sacrifice comes out sideways. We do our share of wounding, even unintentionally.
Pregnancy is a mother’s first cross, first opportunity to unite herself to Christ by way of His Passion. For in pregnancy, we—like Christ—are called to give our very own flesh and blood for the sake of the stranger who is also our beloved child.
God has made us mothers a juncture between heaven and earth. From our very bodies, the tunnel of life extends. For a sacred second, a mother is permitted to house the presence of God the Creator—the Author and Owner of all human life…
On a day I cannot control, nor predict, my breath will cease.
My body will collapse, will remain behind to be caked in earth, as my soul is catapulted into the immortal world, the afterworld, the realm of heaven and hell, God and Satan.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph served God perfectly by serving each other. They were so fixated on doing what was best for each other that they forgot to arrange things to their own preference.