In this house, our first and final allegiance is with the leader of heaven, not earth. For it’s God’s policies that govern our life. God is in control. Not nations, not presidents, not political parties, not people—but God, and God alone.
He reigns in this heart and home, regardless of who runs the state or nation. We will not let the outer world affect our life any more than it must.
As a mother, I cannot imagine not feeding, bathing, dressing, protecting, hugging or educating my children. In the same way, I can’t imagine not baptizing them, or caring for their greater spiritual needs…
On the night I met Jesus, I had been trying to make myself vomit. It wasn't working; I didn’t know why. The food was refusing to come back up as it always did, as it had for years…
The simple faith of my 4-year-old son continues to humble me. I aspire to it. I’ve always been convinced that children—in their loving, earnest innocence—are inherently closer to Jesus than most adults. It’s something about their simple trust, the way they lack the barrier of logic that adults so often use to shut Him out…
I skipped my daily Bible readings and prayers. I spent most of the morning trying to order a new phone. I was hit by problem after problem…
Yesterday, my 4-year-old ran away from me at the park.
In the horror that only a mother knows, I watched as he suddenly bolted over the grass, toward a side street and parking lot. It was a ways off, but he wasn’t slowing down. I know my son. I could tell he wasn't stopping.
The Eucharist is my portal to heaven. It is small—yes. Even simple. For I, too, must become small and simple to pass through the Kingdom's narrow gate.
“Love,” scoffed the Pilate of my heart, “What is Love?”
For I had repeatedly failed to create and secure Love—even when I could have, should have, wanted to, tried to. I had little influence over Love; if anything, Love seemed to influence me.
I could never receive Jesus in the Eucharistic enough. Only this sacred vehicle—this Most Holy and Blessed Sacrament—eliminates the gap between Jesus and my soul.
I think I have consumed Him—but it is He who consumes me.
The person I have most abused is Jesus. And yet, He does not withdraw Himself from me.
More than anything, He hopes for the chance to live always in me—even in the cold and dangerous room that is my heart.
As the soldiers strap Christ’s cross to Simon’s shoulders, does he want any part in this man’s death march? Does not his whole heart cry out, “Why me?!”
