There are some things in life that should be measured – and others that should not.

Take sewing, for example. If you don’t measure to the 16th of an inch, the final product will be a flop. I can’t think of one sewing project in my 20 years of sewing that actually functioned properly. No matter how skilled or knowledgable I became at the art of sewing, I inevitably ended up with uneven seams, scooping hemlines, and safety pinned waistbands. Why? Because as my mom would so often say, “Mary, you sew like you cook. You don’t measure.”

On the flip side: I may not be Bobby Flay or Giada de Laurentiis, but I can honestly admit to being a decent cook. Recipes, to me, are like the framework of a delicious meal, where no two meals are alike. An extra egg here, a dash of maple syrup there, and a splash of fresh garlic everywhere can add sweetness, volume, and spice to a any dish. And while there may be an occasional catastrophic curry here or there, the “diving in” with flavors, ingredients, and techniques usually pays off in the end.

I’ve been pondering the art of measuring lately, when it comes to love, and it occurred to me that while some forms of measuring are essential (as in the case of sewing) other forms of keeping a gauge on something can hold us back and make life rather bland.

Think about the person or people you love the most in this life. Have you ever thought, “Oh, I’m just not sure I really love them…” No! You may think, “Gosh, how can I love them more? How can I express that love better?”

Love expresses itself in action, no?

The art of loving is a lot like cooking; it blossoms when it is cultivated, seasoned, and chanced for additional sweetness. Love thrives on action not gauged by time or ability, but by the effort and sweet joy that is poured from a heart that cares.

Like ingredients for a master meal, love can’t grow if it’s kept from rising, if it’s stuffed in an airtight container, or if it’s skimped. In fact, as soon as we start to measure our love, we find ourselves not really focused on love, but self.

There isn’t a child on earth that would feel truly loved because her mother looked at her and said, “I’m just not sure I really love you enough…” A loving mother wouldn’t even contemplate that thought, let alone express it. Instead, she would seek every opportunity to show, to give, and to nourish the lasting love within her.

Friendships, too, can’t be exacting, can they? Those relationships that involve “one favor for another” in equal measure usually aren’t quite friendships after all. They create a relationship of pressure and paybacks.

Measuring love doesn’t stop with being generous – it includes those times in our lives we are not able show love in certain ways, having unrealistic expectations of ourselves and others in how love is expressed. It’s the new mom we’re not able to make a meal for… the child we feel like we’re not giving enough attention to… the spouse we couldn’t make dinner for that evening – or series of evenings.

True Love can never be measured. We have the perfect example of this in the Author of Love Himself, who makes it His prerogative to help us achieve ultimate happiness with Him, despite our inability to even fathom how much He loves us.

He calls us to love Him back with zero strings attached; He loves us beyond measure.

The next time we start to gauge the inadequacies of our love or someone else’s love, we should put out that soul-gripping thought with a spiritual fire extinguisher! We should kindle our love, instead. Cultivate it like a meal in the making – adding and learning what spices and techniques we can to make our love ever beautiful, ever-satisfying, and everlasting.

It happens (almost always) as I wait in line for confession. Sometimes I feel it in my gut as I enter the stillness of the adoration chapel. Or just before I divulge a previously hidden feeling to a close friend. It’s that fight or flight instinct which suggests I’d be better off hightailing it the other direction rather than laying my heart bare.

Why is it that so many times, we as human beings find ourselves terrified by the idea of intimacy and vulnerability?

After all, it is the very thing which we were created for—intimate relationship with our Creator.

The desire for intimacy with Him is literally written upon our hearts, authored into that which makes us human… yet (for me at least) it seems like so often the act of putting a ‘comfortable’ distance between ourselves and God is a deliberate one.

Whether its the want to avoid facing our wounds and disappointments, the shame we feel we must keep hidden from our all-perfect Lord or the fear of what vulnerability with Jesus might cost us, we fall so easily into the same old pattern brought upon us by that first sin in the garden- the inclination to falsely believe that somehow God isn’t enough to fill our voids.

In this past Sunday’s gospel reading, Jesus asks the apostles “Who do you say that I am?” and their immediate, knee-jerk reaction is  to deflect, to list off the speculations of others rather than bare their own thoughts and hearts wide open before Him.

Patiently, ever so patiently, Jesus pursues them. “Who do YOU say that I am?”

Perhaps in so many words, what Jesus was really asking them (what He’s asking each of us) is “Who am I to you?”

And facing that question can actually be terrifying.

Because answering it honestly requires a delve into our own interior life. Its not a question which can be answered from behind walls or within a locked room. It s a question which does its job, quickly and effectively, of drawing us out from behind our masks, our pretenses, of crossing the distance from comfortable, to intimate in a single bound. It’s a question when, faced, does not allow us to run or to medicate or to distract, despite the instinct we may have to do so.

It draws us into intimate proximity with our Creator, into a space where He can look into our hearts and see the boundaries we have drawn, the ones, perhaps, we’ve asked Him not to cross. He sees the compartmentalized boxes of our lives, strewn in disarray, some marked boldly with the words “God is allowed here”, and others with “I can take care of this myself” or “not good enough for God to touch.”

Today, as Jesus asks you that question “Who do you say that I am?”, I beseech you, sisters, to let Him in. Let his loving gaze dissipate your borders, wipe away your labels.

With one, honest answer, you can dive headfirst into that for which you were created. 

With one look, He can sweep you away from yourself and into the brilliant light of His embrace.

Let Him.

You are courageous. There’s no doubt about it.

Every single day you open your eyes to a bright world and advance into an unknown series of minutes and hours – sometimes replaying yesterday’s monotony, other times building on tomorrow’s promises. It may seem insignificant and even petty to suggest that this is courageous, with women like St Joan of Arc, Queen Esther, and Chiara Petrillo among our faith-filled, womanly ancestry. But what I’m going to suggest doesn’t stop there.

Every day you seek God’s will, pray for guidance, offer up the pains, and press on. Do you fall? Um, yes! Who doesn’t! I’m at the top of this list of daily failures – I lose my patience, complain, react uncharitably, and let my mouth do way more talking than it should. (And that’s just to name a few!)

But here’s where the secret of courage lies…

By a strange and beautiful working of the battle between good and evil, our fears ad failures can become the very key to some of the greatest acts of courage we can imagine.

“The devil’s in the details,” quoth the saying old, but true. I think we can safely add, “discouragement” to his list of crimes – don’t you?

When we get discouraged, we are giving in to the very meaning of the word itself – a falling from courage. We doubt what we know – that God is our creator, wants our good, and loves us beyond compare. A thought of discouragement tempts us to lose the virtue of faith and hope. Our lack of skill, perseverance, and even our failures all cause us to get discouraged, many many times a day!

This week, I nearly quit my Couch to 5K routine half-way through every. single. day. “I just can’t do it,” I said to myself (because if I said one word out loud, I was convinced I’d go into cardiac arrest. 🙂 Like a good angel on my right shoulder, a voice countered mine, saying, “Mary! Is this how you live your life? No! Keep running, like you do to Me, and I will see you through.”

Guess what? I survived. And the triumph of not quitting was worth the pain.

My dear sisters, this is exactly how I propose we should handle our daily discouragements – be they little or big. I suggest we not only “keep running” – we push those discouraging thoughts out of our head immediately. Turn away from them. Flee from them – like you would from any impending evil.

Let’s defy discouragement.

And in doing so, find courage. The same type of courage that made St. Joan of Arc, Esther, and Chiara Pietrillo able to make their supreme acts of courage. Because if you think for a moment that the virtue of courage was instilled in that ONE moment of their current fame, you are wrong. They were holy, persistent, and resilient women before they said “yes” to the grand calling of courage the the Church and history continue to write about to this day.

We can choose to be courageous in the big things and the little things.

Courage, sister!

“We shall steer safely through every storm so long as our heart is right, our intention fervent, our courage steadfast, and our trust fixed on God.” – St. Francis de Sales

“Shh.”

I sway back and forth in the dark, cool cocoon of my son’s nursery as I press a pacifier gently into his mouth. I close my eyes and begin counting backwards from sixty.

29…28…I quickly glimpse down at him and sigh quietly in relief as his eyelids, heavy with sleepiness, finally begin to close.

I gently place him in his crib, marveling at the sudden stillness of the baby who, only moments before, was wriggling fiercely in an attempt to escape my arms. He looks so peaceful now, as his eyelids flutter and his chest rises and falls softly.

Before I’ve even closed the door to his room, my mind has already jumped ahead to  the never ending to do list awaiting me as always. I glance at the clock- mentally calculating how much time I’ll have to return some emails, get dinner in the crock pot, unload the dishes and start a project for work. On a good day, I know I’ll have about an hour and ten minutes to get as much done as possible. On a tough day, it’ll only be about forty minutes (which sounds like a lot- until you try to cram your entire list of tasks into it.)

Dishes first. I decide as I step towards the kitchen, only to be stopped in my tracks by the clarity of a still, small voice in my ear and a gentle knock upon my heart.

“Give this time to Me.”

I stifle a chuckle (because I at least know better than to laugh outright at God) and respond patronizingly,

“But Jesus…I have so much to do. You in fact know how many items are on my list today. I have to get at least some of it done before Joseph wakes up”

A second of stillness, and then,

“Give this time to me…and I will give you rest.”

I sigh. Rest. What an elusive concept that seems to be in these long but blessed days filled with wifery, motherhood and ministry.

Dinner, laundry,  emails, design projects, writing- the hallmark responsibilities of my vocation at the present moment.

All that doing, and still, there’s more to do.

“When was the last time you rested?” Jesus gently prompts.

“Well…” I hesitate.

Because I know I’ve had plenty of moments, despite my busy schedule and very mobile nine month old, of sitting in front of screens, scrolling mindlessly. Or delving into the plot line of a show on Netflix as I rest against my husband on the couch.

“I’ve sat…” I begin to respond.

But I stop.

Because deep in my heart of hearts, I know what Jesus means by resting…and I know the idle distractions I’ve given into now and then don’t quantify. Sure, I’ve sat…sat on my phone, at my computer, in front of the T.V.

All that sitting, and still, I haven’t rested.

When it comes to the Scriptures, there is perhaps no one who’s story resonates more with me at this point in my life than Martha, the hostess too busy making her home feel welcome to actually stop and bid welcome the King of Kings in her presence. 

Despite all her good intentions, her well-meaning attempts at checking off the boxes on her to-do list…she still missed the point.

I can only imagine how humbled Martha must’ve felt as Jesus’ kind eyes met hers and he gently exclaimed “Martha, Martha…you are upset and worried about many things, but few things are needed—indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better…”

“I want to choose what is better, Lord.” I whisper.

And so I sit in stillness, no screens to distract me from who I am with.

I let Him fill me as I pause long enough to accept and appreciate His generous love.

And as I sit with Him, I think back to earlier, to my son striving to wriggle from my arms, resisting the rest I knew he was so in need of. And I realize how often that is me, resisting the Lord’s embrace, disregarding His invitation to soak in the REST my soul so desperately needs.

So, today, I resolve to choose what is better.

To give not only the gift of my service, but the gift of my TIME (even if it means the dishes sit in the sink or the laundry goes unfolded for an extra day.) —to my husband, my child, my Lord…to give them not merely the gift of what I do, but the gift of who I am…and know that that is enough.

We all do it – we forget where we are going and who is in charge.

It looks different in each woman’s life, but it’s there – moments of seemingly insurmountable odds. Have you ever felt that the room is caving in? That the floor is falling out from under you? Or that you’re at the edge of a precipice?

Sounds pretty dramatic, but it’s true. It can happen in the most serious and insignificant moments in our lives. Like a ship lost at sea, when faced with the impossible, our hearts search for every single opportunity for sun or land on the horizon.

Some face financial issues or the unending job search. Others question their methods of motherhood. Still others wonder if they’ll ever get married – or have a baby.

As women, we do a pretty good job of worrying about things we cannot control in an instant and instead, let those things control us! Trust me.. I know from experience! I’m a pro at placing hope in all of the wrong places. I condition my hope, thinking: “If only… XYZ.” Do you ever do this?

“We could be financially stable if only…”

“Our marriage could be stronger if only..”

“My loved one would become Catholic if only..”

“I know the next guy could be “the one” if only…”

If only! If only we knew how to channel our hope instead of conditioning God’s participation in our lives. Because rather than becoming opportunities for hope, these conditions actually become limits! We tell the story the way that incorporates our own “brand” of hope as a sure-fire solution, instead of letting God BE the solution. His way of handling things is so much better than ours, anyway. 🙂 

He’s with our story and all it’s impossibilities from the beginning to the end. 

St. Monica once said, “Nothing is far from God.” Her story alone is fuel for our measure and source of all hope. She prayed and hoped her wayward son to becoming a Doctor of the Church. Was it because she put conditions on God? No! It was because she knew that God was her hope and Heaven was her home. 

Let’s think about that last word for a minute – home! We were not created to produce a perfect story. We were literally made for Heaven – to know Him, love Him, and serve Him to an absolutely glorious end. Heaven is our home; that’s where it all begins and ends. If that’s not epic, I don’t know what is!

The hope of St. Monica is ours to share and emulate. The next time we are faced with a worry, be it big or small, let’s leave it with hope to the One who is truly in charge. It’s amazing how even the greatest of problems can shrink and even disappear with this whispered reminder, “God is my hope and Heaven is my home.”

I often feel it lurking in the recesses of my thoughts- a weight so heavy, yet so familiar that I don’t even realize I’m carrying it.

It’s the nagging sensation to raise my eyes from prayer and assess the wardrobe of those passing my pew as they go up to communion. It’s the heat that rises to my cheeks like a pink flag of surrender as I carry my screaming son out of mass, past the mother whose children are sitting like sweet cherubs in their places. It’s the heavy sigh that fills my lungs as I mindlessly scroll through  my Instagram feed, measuring my current state of couch-sitting against the highlight reels of everyone else’s lives- and coming up short, every. single. time.

It’s Comparison.  and it’s the thief of joy, or so I’ve heard it called.

It seems as though my feminine heart is hardwired to compare. Or more likely, its just the influence of a culture which has built its empire on teaching girls how to scrutinize every aspect of themselves by constantly looking to the other for validation.

Regardless, I think its fair to say- we’ve all been there. We know all too well the wounds that stem from subjecting our worth – as mothers, as employees, as friends, as women- to how we stack up next to someone else.

Comparison, when done with the intention of assessing one’s worth or ability or ‘status’, begets jealousy and pride. Its the thief in our hearts which most certainly can steal our joy- and, in its most monstrous forms, even destroy our relationships with others.

And the more we feed it, the more we fuel it, the bigger it will become…until its no longer stealing our joy, but engulfing it entirely.

It will only do so, however, if we let it.

So how, you ask, do we combat something which seems to come so ‘naturally’?

With humility, sisters, I offer you these thoughts:

1. If you’re like me, and struggle already with the habit of comparison (and the hurtful, even sinful mindset it can create) seek reconciliation and sound counsel in the sacrament of confession, as often as you need to.
2. As you strive to break the harmful habit of comparing, try also to replace it with a fruitful one- find a time and a place each day in which to voice your gratitude to God; perhaps pick out a spot to write down a specific person/blessing/experience you are grateful for and read over your collection at the end of the week. Seeing this tangible reminder of God’s goodness in your own life will surely be of great encouragement!
3. Hold within your heart the verse from 1 Corinthians Chapter 13 which reminds us that love does not delight in evil, but REJOICES in the truth. For me personally, calling to mind this verse when faced with the temptation to compare has given me the inspiration I need to feel joy for the blessings that others are given or for the good that they do, even if it is different than my own. Praise God that those around me have different talents and gifts than I do- after all, how would the body function properly if each member was the same?
4. Finally, and most importantly, steep your worth in Jesus. It sounds so simple (and it probably should be), but as most things in life, its easier said than done. Go before our Lord in prayerful adoration, let His gaze rest on you, and BELIEVE with your whole heart that you are more your true, authentic self in that gaze than in the eyes of anyone else, most especially your own. Ask Him for the grace to see yoursself and those around you through those eyes of mercy.

In the words of St. Catherine of Sienna, “Be who God meant YOU to be, and you will set the world on fire.”

There is no need to be another or to have what another has in order to live an abundant life…that can be done at each moment, right where you are. With hearts transformed by this truth, may our God who is bigger than our uncertainties give us the grace always to do so.

Regularly. It’ll do your heart and home a world of good!

They’re only $3.74 at Aldi’s – and they’re worth every single penny. I promise.

A bouquet may last only a week, but I’d say it’s effects are everlasting. A flower reminds us of something greater that this world cannot satisfy – the ultimate beauty of heaven.

Every bouquet is different. Sometimes I look around a room in my home and realize I haven’t used or appreciated the things I’ve worked hard to furnish it with – from the glass bottles on top of my bookshelf in the corner to the budded wreath on the wall. But a fresh bouquet of flowers is always the first thing to catch my eye! When it finds that posy, it will rest – even for a few seconds, oblivious to the rest of the room’s plastic and plaster. It’s just the kind of rest I need in this world of distractions and stimulations!

A fresh bouquet of flowers serves not just one, but anyone else who lives or visits your home. And that aroma! I like to think of it as the “soundtrack” to our life; that unheard compliment to the one’s day.

But Mary, you say…

That’s what husbands and boyfriends are for! Buying me flowers is their job.

Uh huh. For some reason, society has deemed flowers and chocolate the official treats for women to enjoy from the men that love them. While that’s all well and good – it doesn’t have to stop or begin there. Why do you think men buy women flowers in the first place? Maybe its because they represent that which is beautiful, resilient, and living in their own hearts. Let the men in your life shower you with flowers because they associate them with you!

Let them see your bouquet – and raise you one. 🙂

I don’t have a man in my life. Buying myself flowers is lame.

Do you enjoy a beautiful sunset? Stand in awe at the ocean’s edge? Do you make a nice dinner every once and awhile? Of course you do! I don’t know about you, but while enjoying these things with someone else is always preferred, I don’t need that someone else in order to enjoy them. Let’s be good in our own skin and surround ourselves with an extra sunbeam for a change.

Buy yourself that bouquet. You’ll be that much more content with who you are and where you’re going.

And when someday that man does give you flowers – you’ll remember back to the ones you enjoyed and take even more joy from those given from the heart of someone who thinks you deserve them.

More than anything else, that bouquet you buy or are given, is an invitation to see something deeper and further still:

“When we see a beautiful object, a beautiful garden, or a beautiful flower, let us think that there we behold a ray of the infinite beauty of God, who has given existence to that object.” – St Alphonsus Maria de Liguori

Why are you waiting for? Let’s go find a bouquet!

It happens to me on a daily basis.

Little chances come my way- the chance to be faith-filled, to be brave, to be humble—to pray instead of worry, to step away from the gossip (or better yet, combat it with positivity) or to refrain from seeking recognition for the fact that I’ve washed the dishes for the third time in a day.

Yet, so often (too often), I fail miserably in the face of opportunity. In great irony, I cling to my pride as if it were a life preserver or I sink beneath the waves of anxiety thrashing around me as I refuse to acknowledge the all-powerful God in my midst.

I am so much like Thomas as he ruefully brushes aside his friends’ assertions that they have indeed witnessed the risen Lord. I am so much like Peter, sinking into the ocean’s depths as I avert my eyes from Jesus’ to the angry waves below me.

Out of all the apostles, Thomas was the one who hadn’t yet seen the risen Lord with his own two eyes. When I put myself in Thomas’ shoes, I can see the situation through the same narrow humanity- surely he was at least a little crushed to be the ONLY one who hadn’t experienced the joy the rest of his friends were reveling in. Maybe he felt betrayed, even a little resentful. And so he chose his pride. He chose to build a wall, to voice his doubts in a way that made those around him feel frustrated and small.

Jesus reminds us in the gospel that “Blessed are they who have not seen and still believed.” ‘That could have been YOU, Thomas’ I always think somewhat scornfully whenever I read this passage. ‘You could have been MORE blessed by what you perceived as an injustice, if you’d just had a little humility, a little faith.’

When Jesus came to the apostles, walking on water as they cried out in fear through the storm, Peter asked for an opportunity, and Jesus graciously gave it. So, Peter climbs out of the boat and begins placing one foot in front of the other, literally walking atop the unforgiving sea towards the outstretched arms of His Lord. Yet, somewhere along the way, his faith gives in.

When I picture myself in Peter’s shoes, again, I can all too closely understand what happened. It probably only took a glance away from the gaze of the savior to draw his whole attention towards the fact that the wind was crashing mightily against his body as waves rose up ready to engulf him. Never mind the fact that two seconds before he had been WALKING ON  WATER- the sight of the storm was enough to shake him…to steal away the opportunity before he even realized it had been missed.

Thomas failed. Peter wavered. They missed their opportunities to be holy, to choose truth. They were broken, wounded, human men…as human as you and I.

But…just because their opportunities were missed, doesn’t mean that God’s was.

Jesus appeared to Thomas, surrounded by the apostles in the locked upper room. Those around him witnessed his transformation of faith as he touched his shaking fingers to the wounds in His savior’s hands and feet and the gash in His side. Jesus reached out to Peter as He sank, pulling him to safety in one swift and powerful motion, affirming once again to the scared group left in the boat that indeed this man was their Lord, and that they were safe in His presence.

Even in Thomas’ doubt, Even in Peter’s fear, God’s glory was magnified.

I can’t always see the bigger picture waiting outside of myself- the one that God wants to orchestrate in order to bless me in bigger ways than I could ever imagine…and sometimes, when I fail to look at my life through eyes of faith, opportunities are missed. I take a few steps backwards. But always, always Jesus is there, in every failing, giving me exactly what I need- ready and waiting to draw beauty from the mess I’ve made.

My God is SUPER-abundant, and lucky for me, He can and will use even my brokenness, my ugliness, my emptiness to do His will…He only needs me to let Him. To surrender to Him those places in me of which I’m so ashamed.

He isn’t afraid of my failure.

His light is so much deeper than my darkness ever could be.

I may be lost, but I am not a lost cause.

And the same goes for you.

There’s an enemy who would love to keep us in that dim, lonely place we shut ourselves into when we miss opportunities, or just completely dishevel the ones we are given. By God’s grace, may we never let him.

When (not if, but when) we fail, may we only ever reach out to Jesus who is already reaching out for us.

And may we trust that not merely in spite of our failure, but from our failures, Jesus will draw us closer to His most sacred heart.

That word. You see it and you groan, if not externally, most definitely with an inward pang of sharp pain. As you read the word in this blog title, you likely imagined an hour-glass timer with sand twirling around your internet browser as if to convince you into thinking that it’s actually working magic and not taunting you, instead. Or maybe your dreaded icon goes around and around so many times you begin to wonder about the “righty-tighty” theory.

Whoever came up with the term “buffering” must have been having a bad day, when you think about it. It sounds impossible and huge, not to mention terribly ugly. We see “buffering” and we think, “Gosh, I’m going to be here all day.”

Interesting enough, the computing definition is, quite literally, “to store (data) in a buffer while it is being processed or transferred.”

It’s actually a way of saying, “Hang in there, we’ve got this. Just give us time to process your request.”

If this isn’t like my life, I don’t know what is!

I work and pray and focus on the good things and goals I’ve set out for myself. I strive to love more fully, live more intentionally, and to choose joy in every situation. And when I don’t do all of the above, I get discouraged.

Sound familiar?

And I pray! Novenas, rosaries, holy hours – you name it! In the past, I prayed for specific things with all my might, thinking about the “rose” at the end, the “sign” to show me the decision I should make, or the actual gift, grace, or miracle I’m begging God to grant.

But not anymore. Because I realized that in waiting, hoping, and focusing on the end goal, I forgot that the process in getting there is just as important – actually contributes to the end I’m so eager to achieve. 

Sometimes the process includes falling. Crying. Staring blankly at the Monstrance in Adoration. Praying with lips and searching for the connection to the heart. Heaving through heavy doubts and worries. Trying over and over again to trust in a living, faithful God.

And frankly, sometimes this includes the simple resolution to try again tomorrow as I lay my head upon the pillow.

Guess what? A priest friend recently reminded me: God is more interested in the process than we are. He sees our end-of-the-road desire and smiles at our zeal. He sees us struggling to get to the end and reaches out His hand, instead, to take the process from us! He wants us to seek Him, lay our heads on His shoulder, give our Hearts to His care, let Him in on the process. He doesn’t have a magic wand. He doesn’t say, “Bippity-boppity-boo.”

No! He cries with you, stares back at you, treasures your prayers, and caresses your worries. He is a living, true, and faithful God that is in love with YOU – and your process!

And, as I continue to learn with every day behind me – the process actually carves out the path to the end goal. Like a treasure map’s dotted line, extending all over the universe to the “x” marking the spot – the end goal can’t be found without the process.

So the next time you see the hourglass appear in your life with a seemingly endless supply of sand, be grateful for the process. Think of it as God saying, “Hang in there, I’ve got this. Share it with me. Let me process your request in my own Perfect Time. I promise – it will be even better than what you think it should be.”