During our family rosary, we unite ourselves by offering ourselves, pouring what is in our hearts out into the little community of our family. We gather our minds and bodies back from our fragmented daily existence to the heart of family unity, if only for a few brief minutes.
Suffering refines us, as we endure it, and it refines all of humanity, as we leave it at the foot of the cross, our own small pebble added to a cairn the size of the whole world.
Acedia is a near-constant spiritual battle that is uniquely pertinent to the days we are living through ... even if you don’t happen to be a third-century hermit.
As we raise our children, we try to remember that we are their stewards for the time being. This practice is a little more intensified when your child nears the brink of death, and is brought back to life again.
You've probably heard the phrase "offer it up" as a super-Catholic, sometimes flippant response to life's problems. If you've ever wondered what it actually means, this is the post for you.
A couple months ago an unexpected wave of special needs grief hit me like a ton of bricks during Mass. Here's why, and here's what I did about it.
Sometimes discernment is hard. But sometimes, God just throws up his hands and does it for you. (Twice, if necessary.)
Brokenness lived under the blessing is transformed into a gift, not a burden. Every year in Lourdes, I get to relearn this.
This is not a simplistic "God never closes a door without opening a window" speech. It's just a reminder that a negative (or absent) response does not have to mean the end of a relationship with God.