A few weekends ago, my husband and I and our three young children attended our very first ever family retreat. It was a beautiful weekend of prayer, community and reflection put on by families, for families.

The Lord blessed us with so many beautiful moments of recreation- kayaking, playing mini golf, exploring the grounds with friends, and creating artwork, just to name a few. There were also some incredibly moving spiritual moments- sitting in Adoration with my daughter and watching her bring drawing after drawing up to the altar to give to Jesus, hearing my son sing in worship as He sat before the monstrance in the group adoration night, and praying over my godson in the stillness of the chapel as a way to celebrate and commemorate his baptismal birthday. My heart is still pondering it all.

Strewn among all of this beauty and goodness were interruptions. LOTS of them. Because, that IS the essence of family life with little people running around. Sometimes bathroom breaks are needed, and then needed again, five minutes later. Sometimes squeals and wiggles cannot be contained- even at the most pivotal moments of the Mass. Sometimes emotions erupt after a night of little sleep in a new place, running too fast results in scraped knees and demands for band aids, and boundaries must be pushed, and limits tested. (also will we ever not fight over who gets to press the elevator button?)

It happened all weekend long. Prayer was interrupted. Sleep was interrupted. Adult conversations were interrupted. And meals? You guessed it. Interrupted.

In a different time and space, I would have been bound by frustration, perhaps even desolation. Praise God it was here, on retreat, surrounded by many other families experiencing the same thing and leaders and Clergy who responded with only kindness, that God saw my chaos and said in His infinitely loving way, “come anyways. stay anyways. your place is here. Come AS YOU ARE (not as you think you should be)” and because of the grace abounding around me, I was able to say, wearily but trusting, “okay.”

And then the Lord asked me to consider how interruptions, so often seen by us as merely frustrating and inconvenient, can actually be very holy opportunities to minister.

Even Jesus’ own ministry was filled with them; the sick, tormented and desperate seeking Him out, reaching out to touch His clothing, places and people not ‘on the schedule’ that popped up everywhere He went. Rather than sigh, scoff, or try to avoid, Jesus stepped into those moments with those people and gave the undeniably abundant gift of His presence. And I can do the same.

When my child decides he or she simply ‘can’t hold it’ after we’ve already buckled everyone into the car.

When my toddler’s melt down happens mid phone conversation with a friend.

When the cup (inevitably) spills, the child wakes in the middle of the night, the plans are postponed or canceled altogether because sickness, emotions, or plain old unforeseen LIFE happens, I can choose to see what’s outside of my control as a chance to choose holiness.

To choose patience, to choose humor, to choose death to self without complaint…to step into the raw, messy, murky human moment and impart grace, forgiveness, compassion, or help.

I heard it proclaimed in recent times and it’s been echoing in my mind ever since – “so that nothing goes to waste.”

That’s how it works in the Kingdom of God. No moment, no interruption, no setback ever has to be a “waste” of my time. The God is working out all things for my good is TRULY doing, just that, working out ALL things for His glory, even those things which, at first glance, seem to be a distraction from all the “doing” I’m trying to cram into this life. When offered to Him, even the most mundane or inconvenient can draw me closer to His heart. Even deviations from “the plan” or “the prayer” can be opportunities to experience His goodness, and to CHOOSE that over my own frustrations.

Be assured that nothing is outside of His reach- no worry too insignificant, or space too small- there is nothing He cannot redeem. So I challenge you friend, especially in the upcoming Advent season that will no doubt be filled with interruptions and distractions- give those little irritations, aches, and unforeseen circumstances to the God who wastes nothing, and watch what He does with even the smallest bit of your faith.

And truly- It takes eyes of faith to see, and a heart set in the posture of humility to recognize that God’s presence is what makes holiness. It is He who makes spaces sacred. It is He who makes people saints. It is He who gives suffering purpose.

and It is He who can take the interruptions, and make them holy.

“Behold I make all things new.” (Rev. 21:5)

This verse has always been such a deep and abiding comfort to me.

When I fall into the muddy, messy darkness of sin, when I make a mistake that I fear deep in my gut may harm a relationship, when a season of suffering seems to meld one day into the next until my prayer life resides in a dry, lifeless desert….

I hear Him whisper it… as I come forth from the confessional, as I witness the fruit which springs forth from forgiveness and vulnerability, when the light breaks forth like the dawn and I can finally feel His presence again- the words shake my soul.

“I make all things new.”

It is a promise that is, at any given moment, always true, for any part of our lives that we allow Him into. The hope this produces in me has been amplified amidst the political and social climate of the past year. How many times in the past 13 months have I found myself sighing, shuddering, muttering in anger, despair, frustration and wondering “God WHAT are you doing? WHERE are you? What are we doing? What has this world COME to?”

And then I hear the sound of hope. “My daughter, my beloved, behold, I am making all things new.”

And then, I remember. He’s in it. He’s in all of it. In the craziness that is unfolding- He is present, powerful, loving us, pursuing us, molding us and making us new. Doing a new thing.

If you haven’t seen “the Chosen” yet, dear sister (or brother) YOU MUST. This inspired work of art and creative cinematics has changed the way I read the Gospels and has deepened my relationship with Christ and my recognition of His voice in my life. And in one of my all time favorite scenes- the one in which Jesus calls Matthew, the tax collector, to follow Him, His response to the guffaws and indignation of others is to cast a mischievous, edgy but still entirely loving glance at them and say simply “Get used to different.” This has become a tagline for the show, and, in sorts, an anthem for how I understand the Spirit moving in my life.

When I am tempted to doubt that our future has any sort of trajectory that could lead anywhere good, I remember those who walked closely with Christ, and how surprised they must have felt when they saw Him love so fiercely on sinners and outcasts, take care to heal those society had deemed unworthy, how He fearlessly interacted with lepers and slept peacefully through the storm, undisturbed by the waves…. Isn’t that what makes Him so beautiful, so enticing, so GOOD? He is different than what we thought, what we were told, what we projected onto Him from our own woundedness. He is SO much more.

Isn’t that what the apostles learned as they left everything they knew behind and followed Jesus into the homes of sinners and gentiles and ultimately to the cross? Perhaps it’s what the shepherds felt when they rushed to meet a Messiah and found a sleeping newborn?

He didn’t come for political conquest…but to do a new thing, a better thing. A different thing than what we expected. A thing we can only experience when we let ourselves be intimate with Him, and Him with us. When we activate the Holy Spirit that is so deeply ours, and let him transform. Praise Him for it!

And, sister, He’s doing it, still, today. His Spirit is alive, moving, healing- ready to recreate our understanding of who we are to Him.

Let’s be here for it, sisters, for what God’s doing in our world, in our Church and within our own stories. Even when it pushes us into the uncomfortable, or challenges cultural norms, even when it doesn’t look like imminent victory, or simply just looks different than we thought it would. Let’s get used to different, and in the same breath, never cease to expect God to be at work in a new way.

What if politics didn’t disturb our peace? What if we put down our phones and lifted our hands? What if we started encountering our neighbors with a genuine love, a real interest in their stories and desire to see Jesus heal them? What if we changed our “why” to “show me” and remained convicted that He will.

When God does a new thing, the whole earth shakes. Nations of disciples are made. Our hearts feast on a wholeness we were never thought possible.

I’m so sure of it, I can feel it in my bones…and in the quickening of my heart as I type the words I know are meant for YOU, and for the world and for a time such as this-

“Behold, I make all things new.”

This morning at 4 AM, my bed was empty.

There was an indent on my husband’s side of the mattress, left by him a few hours prior when the anguished cries of our toddler beckoned him down the hall to his room. When I checked the video monitor, I saw him laying there on the wood floor next to Joseph’s bed- a silent, sleeping guardian keeping any further nightmares at bay.

There was an indent on my side, too, left by me as I jumped quickly out of bed to tend to the needs of my 2 month old daughter when her cries pierced the early morning stillness. I bounced, rocked, nursed and “shushed”  until, finally, her eyelids closed and I collapsed onto the couch, her little body snug against my side.

And it was there, lying in the dark of the living room watching twilight shadows dance across the floor that I heard Jesus whisper: “Do you see me?”

The raw, tired, not yet caffeinated response I gave came curtly- “No.”

And immediately I thought of the word I had been given for this new year-

Encounter.

At first, I thought I was mistaken when the word came to mind as I prayed about how the Holy Spirit might want to frame what is to come in 2020. But the Lord persisted. Encounter. As I prayed on it further, I began to see snippets of this word and its potential impact for my life everywhere- a Facebook post, a mention in Fr.’s Sunday homily, in the generous reminder from my co-blogger and dearest friend, Mary, that the Gospels are quite literally filled with men and women encountering Christ, and having their lives completely transformed by but a brief few moments of conversation.

An “encounter”, a ‘chance meeting, but one of great significance’- took on an entirely new meaning as I pondered it in light of God’s providence and considered what it might mean to Him; that, perhaps, His desire is for me to encounter Him in every single moment of this year, even the seemingly insignificant ones.

It was with this in mind that, despite my sleepiness, I saw what the Lord was offering me with the question He had posed. “Do you see me?”- was an opportunity to meet the Lord in this private sacrifice and go deeper with Him. To encounter Him in those He had placed in my life.

And so, where I might normally grumble to myself or let the tired wear me down, I looked more closely. And I saw.

Baby Jesus, pressed to His mother’s chest as she swayed back and forth to calm His cries.

Toddler Jesus, reaching for the strong arms of his father to calm the feelings of fear brought on by a darkened room.

My Heavenly Father, willing to meet me in my own darkness to protect and calm, despite what it costs Him.

Through the lens of “encounter”, this small, secret moment of motherhood became Holy ground- an intimate experience of Jesus steeped in his humanity, of the Father loving me SO well, of the Holy Spirit turning small sacrifice into abundant grace.

And then, without skipping a beat, came the Lord’s gentle, loving whisper:

“I see you.”

In the dancing twilight shadows, rocking my crying baby, worrying over my husband and son, fighting the urge to pity myself about the early morning wake up call, Jesus saw me.

He sees me, in every little moment- every private failure, every small victory. And the littleness of my life suddenly becomes tremendous in His sight. The “moment” becomes a glimpse into the eternal. A chance, rather, providential encounter within the walls of my own home leads to the transformation required that I might more fully live out my call to love and my identity as beloved.

This morning at 4 AM, my bed was empty…but, in the gaze of my Father, my heart was abundantly full.

It felt like it could have been a scene straight out of a movie. Just moments before, my three year old son had entered our hospital room with my mom to meet his new baby sister. It was one of the sweetest experiences my heart will ever have to cherish – the way he gazed lovingly at her, stretching to plant kisses on her forehead – the high-pitched voice he used to exclaim her name over and over as the concept we had been discussing for months suddenly became a tangible embodiment before his very eyes. It lasted for some brief moments before the chaos ensued….

…that sweet, tiny baby he was so charitably loving on began to wail and my son began to bounce around the room trying to touch things, wondering aloud “why is she crying” – a nurse entered the room to collect vitals, my mom hung up the phone in frustration with my dad who could not for the life of him find a parking spot and a sweet, little old lady  entered the room and began offering suggestions to my husband as he tried to pacify our daughter. Perhaps it doesn’t sound all that chaotic- but to a less than 24 hour postpartum mom with ALL the hormones, it was enough to fill the corners of my eyes with overwhelmed tears.

The soft spoken little old lady remarked repeatedly how beautiful our children were and how my crying daughter “might be hungry,” before finally stating the reason she had entered the room in the first place. “I’m here to bring you Communion.” She said over the sound of wailing and toddler babbling and my mom speaking in hushed, frustrated tones on the phone. My heart leaped within me – Jesus! But another part of me wanted to kindly ask this woman to leave until things were a bit less chaotic and overwhelming – perhaps she could come back when I was presentable, and my baby was sleeping peacefully and my son wasn’t trying to interrupt the “Our Father” with loud gibberish. I felt deep within me that very human inclination to want to be in control of the situation before I welcomed anyone else – let alone Jesus – into it.

But… as she placed the Host upon my tongue and Jesus drew as near to me as He possibly could, I heard His voice whisper to my frazzled heart “This is exactly where I want to be.”

In the chaos. In the messiness. In the middle of the tantrums, and frustration and overwhelm.

That’s where Christ seeks me.

Seeks us.

He doesn’t wait for things to look (or feel) presentable. He comes. and He comes without judgement or disdain or impatience or even hesitation. He comes into our not-so-instagrammable moments with only love and kindness – with the sweet vulnerability and gentleness of a newborn babe. And as I’ve held my own newborn daughter

snuggled close to my chest over these past three weeks, I continue to marvel at the heart of our God- that this is how He would choose to come to us- small and fragile and humble- physically incapable of ruling or judging or dictating. Not a distant, far off King, but a child tiny enough to be held close to our hearts.

And that’s where He wishes to be. So close to us. In the middle of our unplanned, unregulated messy humanity, He wants to rest against our hearts and just be with us, bringing the peace that only a sleeping newborn could possess so effortlessly.

I have been thinking back to the hospital incident over and over again since the start of Advent- a season so easily overtaken by the hustle and bustle of trying to make things “picture perfect.”

I continue to hear that whisper, particularly at the moments I feel the sense of overwhelm crashing down on me- the sleepless 2 AM feeds, and the arguments and mom fails and the house that simply won’t stay clean- there is Jesus, whispering how deeply He longs to be present in all of it.

From the small frustrations of the mundane day to day to the deepest valleys of our most difficult sufferings, Christ wants to be there with you. To wash over you with His worthiness, and to fill the lacking spaces and to just love you.

So let us remember in these remaining two weeks before our Savior’s birth that Jesus doesn’t need us to “be prepared.” He just needs us to be ready to receive. If our hearts and homes feel more the haphazardly thrown together manger than halls perfectly decked- its simply all the more space for Him to rest in…and He rests there gladly, for no other reason than how intimately close it allows Him to be to His beloved.

Oh Come, Oh Come Emmanuel…into our brokenness, messiness, chaos. Bring the Peace no human hand could create, and be adored by the hearts who so desperately need You in every moment. Amen.

Love + Advent Blessings,

Faith

 

To my sister suffering beneath the weight of infertility,

to the one whose heart is crushed month after month, left in an endless cycle of waiting-

to the one whose whole strength goes into holding it together in the face of another pregnancy announcement-

to the one whose bitterness feels unbearable, whose joy has been stolen and faith crippled by this cross-

I think there is a sweet hope and precious promise meant just for you- and it is found in perhaps an unlikely place, in the story of St. Thomas’ doubt which we hear accounted for in the Gospels.

Poor St. Thomas- still remembered two thousand years later for the doubt he displayed in the face of the Resurrection. I used to look at his story from a place of pride and wonder how He could ever doubt the God-man He walked alongside through so much. But then I was given a diagnosis: secondary infertility; and my scorn turned to understanding. It suddenly made painfully clear sense- how a disciple so close to the heart of Christ could struggle with such profound doubt.

In my 25 years of life, I had seen suffering and known hurt. I had grieved the loss of loved ones, mourned the disintegration of friendships, felt the stab of heartbreak and walked through the uncertainty of lost opportunities and closed doors. In all of this, nothing has had the power of shaking my faith and distancing me from my Jesus the way infertility did.

It was never that I questioned God’s sovereignty- I prayed every day for the miracle I knew without a doubt He was powerful enough to give. It was His character that I began to doubt; it was my conviction that He loved me and was working all things for good which wavered beneath the weight of my aching heart. And in the midst of that raw pain- the Enemy of goodness began sowing his lies.

I began to believe them….the things I heard whispered in the back of my heart…’that if I were a better mother to the son I have, that if I were a more faithful disciple…then maybe I could earn God’s favor…that this was just “my cross” and God’s expectation was that I grin and bear it as He needn’t busy Himself with what I was feeling and experiencing.’

My subconscious acceptance of these falsehoods slowly turned to bitterness as I began to compare my life to those around me. All across my social media feeds, pregnancy announcements emerged, within my job I was met with the reality of women seeking abortion when all I wanted was to be able to conceive and I felt deep in my bones the shock of knowing that the family I had pictured and planned may never come to pass.

I felt so hurt.

And it was within this hurt and healing from it that I read the gospel account of doubting Thomas with new eyes.

Thomas must have felt so hurt, too.

He had walked alongside Jesus, too, after all. He had been counted among His dearest friends. He had been there, huddled alongside his faith community after living through the total devastation of the crucifixion and the uncertainty and fear which marked the days following.

But He wasn’t there when Jesus came…when Jesus chose to come. He wasn’t counted among those the Resurrected Lord appeared to- He wasn’t bid peace by the voice of the risen Savior. Others were given that gift…but not Him. He was left out.

I imagine that the Enemy sought Thomas in His vulnerable longing to experience the Lord in the same way those around Him had, and began whispering… “you’re not enough Thomas…maybe Jesus just didn’t want to appear to you...”

And maybe Thomas mulled over the lies until they were all he heard…until he was angry.

Until he saw the gift of the Resurrection, of New Life, as something meant for others and not for Him.

Maybe his heart ached and his faith reeled…not because He didn’t believe in Jesus’ sovereignty, but because he was no longer sure how to believe in His goodness- when it seemed to be something he had been excluded from.

Maybe that’s what fueled the seemingly bitter assertion given to his fellow apostles- “I won’t believe unless…”

Perhaps the words came from the loneliness and isolation he felt as a wearied soul surrounded by vibrant belief- his mourning set against the background of rejoicing. It’s a lonely place to be.

That was where I found myself 13 months into trying without success to conceive. I fell on my knees before Jesus in adoration, my tears hitting the carpet beneath me. As He gazed upon my pain, He whispered to the depths of my heart “I am goodness.”

I didn’t understand, right in that moment, why it mattered so much that I believe Jesus’ words…or even why these were the words He bade me amidst so painful a cross.

The deep healing came in the following weeks, when I jet set the across the country to a Blessed is She retreat , where I encountered the risen Lord in all of His goodness and glory in a way that I never had before.

I cannot completely explain the healing that took place (and words would never do it justice), I can only say that the veil of doubt was torn from my eyes in Love’s reckless pursuit of my heart. The lies I had begun to believe about who I am and who God is were put to their shame. I came to see that my hurt could not supersede God’s goodness. I experienced firsthand the truth- that He can fulfill and satisfy beyond our longings and make the desert a place of abundance.

This is the hope for us then, sisters.

Jesus pursues.

Just as He did through the locked doors of that upper room, through the closed walls of Thomas’ heart. Jesus enters. He gives Thomas what His heart so desires- an encounter of His goodness- and more. He places Thomas’ shaking hands to his wounds and in doing so, assures Thomas of His faithfulness. Not just that He has truly appeared, but that He has truly conquered death…not just that He has returned, but that He never left in the first place.

And then Jesus tells Him, “Blessed are those who have not seen and still believe.”

I used to think this was an admonishment of Thomas’ doubt. But now, through the eyes of one who has been healed, I see it as a promise.

“Even in your hurt, know that I am trustworthy. I am good. I am willing good for you. Even in your doubt, I am pursuing you to the ends of the earth. Even in the stillness and loneliness of an unfulfilled request, I am blessing you. I can heal you- if you let me.”

Look up to Jesus, sister. Let your pain and your anger and your doubt spill out before Him. Don’t flinch when He reaches for your hand and places it in His side. Don’t hesitate when He scoops your woundedness into the folds of His own. Fall into Him.

I can’t promise you in what way Jesus will transform your story or what goodness He will draw from your deepest place of suffering- only that He will.

He can’t help it. It’s who He is.

And even though it may feel like you’ve fallen through the cracks- you must know- He wants you to know– that you are far too precious in His sight to fall to a place where He doesn’t see every part of you and love you all the more.

So, to my sister suffering beneath the weight of infertility, know that He has come to give you life, and give it to you in abundance.

Let Him crush the cold voice that whispers to your heart the falsehood that this promise isn’t meant for you. The Holy Spirit, the advocate who cries out on your behalf, assures you that this promise is uniquely yours- that Jesus never left you, and that He never will. In your darkest heartache, His love is YOURS, to cover you, to shelter you, to fight for you, to HEAL you.

For most of the Good Fridays I can remember, I would sit and look at the cross, focusing on how my sins nailed Jesus there. As a mode of reflective prayer, I would focus on each suffering Jesus endured- the scourging, crowning with thorns, incessant mockery and insult- thinking of the countless ways I have sinned- thinking, a heart heavy with guilt, “I did this to you.”

But this Good Friday, for the first time, I am accepting Jesus’ offer to look away from my own sin and into His loving gaze and to let His words cover my own as He whispers gently- “I did this for you.”

I am stepping from the interior of my own heart and into the interior of His- so that the identity I embrace during this solemn day is not ‘betrayer’ but “beloved”. To realize that the voice of my crucified God-man is not one of accusation, but invitation- that when He looks at me from the cross and says “I did this for you” it’s not in an “I told you so manner”- not “I did this for you because you are unworthy” but “I did this for you to DEEM you worthy.”

Good Friday- Jesus’s sacrifice, its not (and has never been) about my own inadequacy; it’s always been about our God’s abundance.

Jesus always transforms. He always redeems. There is no sin He cannot cast from our lives, no sorrow in us He cannot overcome with His joy, no darkness He cannot illuminate.

That’s what Good Friday is about, my sisters- even in its very name it shows God’s trans-formative power- that He could take humanity’s worst day ever and deem it “good”.

He does the same for you and I, wherever we’re at, whatever we’re struggling with or suffering through. He deems us good. He deems our suffering restorative as He enters into with us.

He looks to us at every step of His passion, his eyes burning not with betrayal, but with love.

And as we follow Him, let our hearts weep- not from guilt- but from wonder, absolute awe at a love so great, so big, so powerful and perfect that it makes all things new.

Jesus, as you walk this journey with and for us, create in us new hearts- hearts which encounter your Love and by it find themselves transformed. Amen.

Love+Blessings,

Faith

“Mama sit.”

My two year old, Joseph, looks up from where he is playing with the moon-sand we’ve created using flour and baby oil. He is sitting at his “little table”, in a chair just his size. Across from him, there is an empty chair which I have just vacated in my constant need to remain “busy”. “Mama, please.” He beckons earnestly. I set down the bowl I had just been drying and come kneel next to him, a smile lighting his face as I do so.

“Mama come.”

Joseph calls as he runs down the hallway towards his play room. He is off on his next adventure, and though he doesn’t necessarily need me to play “with” him, he wants me to be there to watch as he stirs his imaginary soup and races his cars along the toy track. If I get up even to go to the bathroom a few feet away, the worried call pierces the air as soon as I’m no longer in eye-sight. “Mama, COME!”

“Mama, show you!”

-are the words which excitedly follow Joseph’s every new discovery, each new mastered skill. It is not so much validation he seeks as it is being seen and known and taken joy in.

Every time I am called for and tugged at and beckoned to look, I am reminded of the most beautiful part of motherhood I’ve experienced thus far- the reality that I am enough; That while I can plan all the activities, make all the snacks and buy all the toys, at the end of the day, it is me that is sought. “What a sweet way to be loved.” I muse one afternoon as I sit watching Joseph play after being called back from the house hold chores I was attempting to get done.

In the interior of my heart, I hear a warm voice whisper, “that’s the way I love you.”

Tears spring to my eyes at the very thought of the God of the universe loving me so simply and purely. Just like my toddler, the Creator of the World wants ME, not the accomplishments I can offer Him. He wants my attention, my gaze. He just wants to be with me, to invite me into His world every chance He gets.

Scripture reminds us that God calls our trust in and love of Him to be child-like, but sometimes we forget that we are never called to do anything He hasn’t first done for us.

Take a moment today, sister, to set down your check lists, and hit the pause button on your thoughts and look to the Lord. Give Him your gaze, give him your moment. Relish in the reality that the God who created galaxies and continents wants YOU, the way that you are in THIS moment. He wants to give you every good thing, and not in the self-seeking or conditional way adults sometimes give, but in the all-encompassing, pure and joy-filled way a toddler would hand you a picture he has painted.

“The birds are signing Joseph” I say as we throw open a window to the fresh spring air that has greeted us this morning.  “birds are singing for us!” Joseph cries happily.

“Yes, my precious little one, they are.” I smile, as I draw him near.

The birds are singing, the sun is shining, the flowers are blooming, just for YOU, because God, in his child-like love, has made it so.

Love+Blessings,

Faith

When I (Faith, here!) think about the story of how original sin entered the world, I imagine that the original lie came as a whisper; Eve must have felt it like a chill down her spine when the dark voice spoke slowly and suggestively to her heart. “But why? why would God tell you not to eat from this tree. He must be keeping something from you. He must be holding out on you, Eve. Maybe He’s not really who He says He is…maybe you’re not who He says you are.”

Fast forward thousands of years later, and still, humanity is bearing the heavy, painful baggage that comes from believing that original lie. The Enemy of Goodness whispers it to our hearts on a daily basis, particularly, I think, in the midst of our hardships and sufferings. When our relationships crumble, and our loved ones wound us, when we walk through the valley of longing feeling like our prayers have gone long unanswered, when we feel ourselves overwhelmed by the storms raging around us-  Satan slips in that horrid suggestion that our God isn’t really all that good, that He is far from, if not indifferent to, our suffering.

I experienced this in a big way recently. Over a year of struggling with secondary infertility had lead my heart to a dark, deserted place, a space where I found myself entertaining that possibility that perhaps God was holding out on me….and the lies snowballed from there. I was being punished…and forgotten. God was clearly not the loving Father He promised He was (the one He’d always proven to be), but a distant judge. My silent suffering didn’t -couldn’t- matter all that much to Him, in the grand scheme of things.

It was this tower of falsehood which had begun to loom its ugly shadow over my heart and life and relationship with the Lord that finally lead me to a place on my knees in front of Jesus in the blessed Sacrament. I looked up at Him through my tears and whispered brokenly “I’m trying to give this to you, Jesus.”

His response came gently, but clear as day.

“I am goodness.”

I can’t adequately explain what happened in the weeks following that encounter, only to say that Jesus used that small, uncertain invitation into my real, raw pain to rock. my. world. I went on retreat a few weekends later, and Jesus not only spoke the light of truth into my darkness, He overwhelmed the darkness. Restoration. Healing. A newfound, rightly restored relationship with Him shattered all the falsehood I had begun to believe. It uprooted the doubt, and filled me with conviction, a conviction I now can’t help but share- a conviction that has shifted my gaze from the cross to the Resurrection, from my own inadequacy to my Father’s overabundance, from my suffering to His goodness.

Sisters- it’s true! God is who He says He is- and there is a freedom and a healing here that is meant just for YOU!

I know for many of us, this Lenten season is all about how we can grow closer to God. True, we sacrifice things to rid ourselves of bad habits (and form holy ones) and root out sin during this time. But this Lent, I want you to consider the possibility that its not about how you can grow closer to God, but instead how He wants to draw near to you…to consider that this Lent is less about our offerings, and more about the crosses we already carry, the one’s we’ve brought with us into this season. The places of deep hurt, or confusion or longing…the wounds that make it all too easy to believe that original lie. The places Jesus wants to enter into, to be with you in the midst of.

There is one scripture passage in particular (from John Chapter 11) in which we see the way the Divine Father feels about our suffering. “When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, He was deeply moved in spirit and troubled and he said “where have you laid him?” they said to him, ‘lord come and see’. Jesus wept.”

In this moment, even before the trials of the Crucifixion, the Creator of the Universe steeps Himself in our humanity. He enters into our heartache. He is troubled by it. He feels the ache of loss deep in His bones. The hearts and bodies of his friends weep- and He weeps alongside them- His human heart for the loss of His friend and His Divine Heart for the suffering of His beloved.

All throughout scripture and all throughout our lives, God tells us who He is and what He wants to do for us. He sings a narrative of truth, and beauty and goodness over us. He shows us through a perfect track record of fidelity that He will never abandon us.

Sisters, His plan for us was never our suffering. And when we (humanity) freely chose the path of suffering, He pursued us down that path with everything He had. Where we chose suffering, He chose redemption. Where we chose separation, He chose to draw near. He became intimate with our hurt and shame preciously to void the lie that those things have the final word in our lives. Your hidden suffering, your “messiness”, the places in your heart where you weep…this is precisely where God wants to meet you and hold you and infuse you with His healing to bring about your restoration. His heart is entirely open to the entirety of yours- sin, suffering, pain and all.

Jesus sees the sacrifices you are making, the chocolate you’re not eating, the extra hours of prayer that you’re putting in, and He is so pleased by your every effort to grow. But He also sees your heartache, your frustration, your anger, your bitterness….and He wants to ENTER into it with you. He wants you to look away from the cross you’re holding and see Him standing next to you, His loving face only inches from yours, His gaze never once leaving your tears as He holds the cross beside you. He wants you to lean into Him, to press your forehead to His so that you hear, clear as day, as He whispers to your heart the truth about who you are: “daughter”.

Daughter.

Not orphaned. Not abandoned. Not unredeemable….but daughter.

Chosen. Beloved. Saved.

Remember as your walking the road to Calvary with Jesus this Lent that He’s not leading you to the cross, but BEYOND it. He’s leading you to where love proves sufficient…where light tears through the darkness and casts it aside.

In the shadow of the cross it can be so difficult to see the light of the One who is waiting for us with open arms to take our burdens upon Himself and transform them from bitter death into the sweetness of new life…but He’s there. And, oh, sisters, how good He is. How good we are, because of what He’s done for us.

His warm voice beckons you “Talitha Koum, arise, little girl, from your bitterness, your woundedness, your hurt, your questioning. Know the truth…and by the truth, be set free.”

Faith, here 🙂 …I’ve been reflecting a lot lately on the story of ‘the widow’s offering’ as told in last Sunday’s Gospel (Mark 12:41-44):

^” Jesus sat down opposite the place where the offerings were put and watched the crowd putting their money into the temple treasury. Many rich people threw in large amounts. But a poor widow came and put in two very small copper coins, worth only a few cents.

Calling his disciples to him, Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had to live on.”

When most of us hear the phrase “she gave everything”—we think of the big things, the medical doctor who dropped it all to become a missionary in a foreign country, those who bravely forfeited their lives in martyrdom out of love for their faith… “everything” feels like such a big, unreachable concept to most of us living in the humdrum of our day to day lives.

I think that’s why, for many years, I read this Gospel story and, while moved by the widow’s generosity, never felt that I could claim solidarity with her or know what it is to give out of my poverty- I have always been very blessed when it comes to having my needs met.

Yet, when we look at our lives a little more closely , a little more through the eyes of Christ, we may see things differently….we find that we have the opportunity, more often than we realize, to imitate this generous widow in the way that she gives…out of her poverty, from her own places of need.

To my dear sisters who give from your poverty-

to the sleep deprived mother who, despite her own utter exhaustion from all that this vocation asks of her, stays awake long into the night to tend to her sick child,

to the teacher who stays after class to encourage and pour into the struggling student, who gives the time she doesn’t have to make an investment into another,

to the college student overwhelmed by responsibility who, despite her growing to do list, spends an hour in adoration to pray for those she loves,

to the woman experiencing loneliness who takes the time to comfort a friend with a hurting heart, even as her own aches within her,

to the woman in her season of waiting who chooses to sing praise even as her hope wearies,

to the women who’s ministries have sprung from their woundedness, those who have lost children and spouses and mothers and fathers, who have every right to mourn yet who use their proximity to pain to bring empathy and healing to others,

to the woman worn down by the weight of her own cross, who sees the need in the life of another and meets it even as her tired heart cries out “I have nothing left to give”-

To you, this giving may feel small, “ordinary”, perhaps even meaningless, but to Jesus who sees to the depths of you, it means everything.

And when this happens, when we give in this way, we are graced with understanding in a tangible way that Jesus IS sufficient, that He IS enough- even when we are not.

Oh- how learning this, how understanding it, how accepting its truth to the deepest fiber of our beings can transform our lives.

The belief that we CAN do all things through Christ who strengthens us becomes a tangible sign of His might and power- when we give that which should empty us completely only to find that still more remains.

When that wise and generous widow gave up her last two coins, she knew what she was doing was not merely an act of generosity, but one of trust. She gave everything because she trusted completely. She held nothing back because she did not fear the vulnerability it would require.

In so many ways, her generosity mirrors that of our blessed Mother- who held nothing back from her Father, not even her own life. She gave her “yes”, she surrendered all that she had…and out of over poverty, God raised our Salvation.

What about us, sisters? We all have places of poverty. We all have needs. And often, I think, we are more generous than we realize.

But the question we need to ask ourselves is- do we let Christ in to those places of poverty? Do we welcome Him into our moments and seasons of need? Do we recognize that we have the power to give everything away, even in the chaos and lackluster of our ordinary lives? Do we do so joyfully because we trust that our God is who He says He is?

I pray that we will.  That we will look at our hearts, and our lives, and all that we give through new eyes- so we can see the places God is working to transform and sustain us.

Let us put in everything and watch as from our poverty, God brings forth abundance.