Becoming Little: Lessons from St. André

I recently realized I had been listening to a lie: You can’t become a saint like this. You’re just a mom.

As a woman who writes and reflects on how our vocation as parents leads us along the path of holiness, I was shocked I could be so deceived. When I shared this with my confessor, he shepherded me back to the simple truth that my ego loves to forget. He said, “Caitlan, we are called to become little.”

My ego is repulsed by humility—You can only become a saint if people know who you are. The hiddenness of your life isn’t doing real work for the Kingdom. You’re not doing enough.

But, the saints didn’t live outside of sin, temptation, or the mess of life. They don’t show us the perfect, easy, or sanitized way. They journey with us along the demanding but well-trodden path of authentic love, self-sacrifice, repentance, praise, and prayer. They show us how to set our gaze on and remain in God’s love over and over and over again.

Today, we celebrate the feast day of St. André Bessette, who was born Alfred Bessette in Quebec on August 9, 1845. Alfred was sickly from birth—he was baptized immediately after being born in case he lived only a few days. By the time Alfred was 12 years old, he had been orphaned. He continued to have poor health and lacked formal education. 

However, from a young age, Alfred had fervent faith and a devotion to St. Joseph. Alfred’s childhood pastor (named Fr. André) encouraged a vocation to the priesthood, and sent Alfred to the Congregation of Holy Cross with a note that said, “I am sending you a saint.” The Congregation did not accept Alfred, because of his poor health. Rather than become discouraged, Alfred gained assistance from the Archbishop of Montreal, and was accepted into the Holy Cross Novitiate in 1870.

The Congregation assigned Alfred—now, Brother André—to be doorkeeper of Notre Dame College in Montreal. His poor health and lack of education seemed suitable for this simple position. As doorkeeper, Brother André greeted visitors and tended to their needs. 

Visitors to the College who prayed with Brother André experienced physical healing. News spread and pilgrims traveled to see Brother André, pray with him, and experience healing. Brother André was confused by his popularity and attributed all healing to St. Joseph’s intercession. 

Brother André desired to increase devotion to St. Joseph, and so founded a shrine to St. Joseph—the Oratory of St. Joseph—across the street from the college. In 1909, Brother André was released from his duty as doorkeeper to become caretaker of the Oratory and tend to sick pilgrims who traveled to the Oratory to see him. Thousands of miraculous healings were attributed to the “Miracle Man of Montreal” over the next decades until Brother André’s death on January 6, 1937.

Pope Benedict XVI canonized St. André Bessette on October 17, 2020, making him the first saint from the Congregation of the Holy Cross.

One may assume that being a mom automatically equals being humble. After all, cleaning poopy bottoms, having food smeared on our clothes, caring for sick children, and driving to and fro is the status quo. 

However, external realities like these don’t always show forth the state of our hearts. We might ask ourselves: Do I give joyfully? Do I serve out of love for Jesus? Do I freely entrust myself to God’s will for me and my family? Do I trust that God is always good, trustworthy, and faithful?

When I beg God to give me a humble heart, he does that and more—he fills that humble heart with joy, peace, and desire to love.

As we celebrate the feast of St. André Bessette today, let’s join together in asking his intercession for faithful and humble hearts. For, in the words of St. André, “It is with the smallest brushes that the Artist paints the best paintings.” 

Waiting in the Garden

My family’s little garden always bears fruit by way of the lessons it teaches me. As Southern Californians, we get the great gift of planting in the fall to harvest in the winter. The winter garden is a special treat—it bears peppery arugula, intensely purple beets, sweet broccoli, and carrots perfect for picking by my children. This season, the garden is teaching me about how we wait. An aptly timed lesson (Holy Spirit, you are always on point) as we walk through Advent, the liturgical season of watching and waiting.

Sanguine (temperament) that he is, my son talks a lot and expresses how he feels from one moment to the next. The reality of waiting is often the tragedy of the moment: “I can’t wait anymore!” I’ll respond, “You’re right. Waiting is not easy.”

It can be hard to accept waiting. It is difficult for my children to wait for exciting events on the horizon. (For me, too!) As adults, it can be even more difficult to wait as we bear the crosses of life. Periods of seeming silence from God. Uncertainty at work. Sickness. Marital struggles. Infertility. Financial stress. Family members who stay away from faith. Sorrows we experience in life cannot be done away with by the click of a mouse or tap on a screen. Instead of detest our crosses or become discouraged by them, what can we do?

Let’s walk back to the garden together.

We planted several sunflowers from seed in our garden in the late summer after a workshop at a local farm. The planting time was not ideal, given that we planted sun-loving flowers on the cusp of shorter days and cooler weather. We’ve had to wait much longer for our flowers to bloom. 

Over the past two and a half months, my children and I have cultivated a daily habit of watching and waiting for our sunflowers to bloom. In the waiting, we have witnessed seed become seedling and stalk shoot up past the fence. We have marveled together at how the buds unfurled a bit at a time, and opened their intricate and bright faces to the sky. Waiting has grown us in patience, gratitude, and awe for God’s creation and our collaboration in it.

The garden can give us hope and faith that God works on us in the waiting. The waiting time is holy because of how it forms us. Waiting is not easy, but it compels us to return again and again to the garden. Again and again to our Blessed Mother, and to the feet of Jesus. If God can bring such beauty from out-of-season sunflowers, imagine what he can do with us, his crown of creation.

An End, A Beginning, & Coffee with Jesus

This month, we end our current liturgical year, and begin a new liturgical year with the first Sunday of Advent on November 28. The secular world gets excited for new beginnings, resolutions, and a better way with New Year’s Day. As a Church, though, we have an opportunity now, at this liturgical transition time, to have a conversation with Jesus. To reflect back, look around, turn in, and step out again in love. The autumn weather and nature scenes remind us that things die, there is time for rest, and God is always at work, bringing new life to our hearts, our homes, and the world.

What has this past liturgical year looked like for you? How has God been at work in your life over the past year?

If Jesus was sitting with you, how would you describe your life right now to him? 

If Jesus was sitting on the sofa with me right now, I’d offer him a cup of coffee (I wonder how he’d take that) and a cozy blanket. I’d tell him I’m both tired and grateful. I’d tell him I love my husband and children, and I feel so blessed by them. Blessed both by their love and by the ways they stretch me to become a holy woman. I’d tell Jesus I know he’s working in my life, but I can’t see the whole path ahead. I’d tell him I hear him when he plants the Jesus Prayer (Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner) in my heart when I’ve got no other words, or when I can’t get the lyrics, “Abba, I belong to you” out of my head. I’d thank him for the saints, and their words of wisdom and consolation. I’d say, “Remember when Saint John of the Cross said, ‘Faith and love are like the blind man’s guides. They will lead you along a path unknown to you, to the place where God is hidden.’—that’s kind of how I feel right now.” And if Jesus was sitting on the sofa with me, I think I’d like to sit with him for a nice long time. No words necessary. 

We have the grace of entering into a new liturgical year when Advent begins. We can intentionally simplify our homes and our schedules, even when the world tempts us to speed up for fear of missing out. We will begin again by waiting on the Lord to come. We will not begin the new liturgical year as we often begin the New Year, sure of our own resolve and ability to change our lives. We begin with hearts set on Jesus—the One who is to come.

As Jesus would finish his coffee (I’m presuming), and before I’d offer him a refill, I think I’d like to turn to him, and out of the quiet say, “Jesus, I entrust this day to you. Jesus, I entrust my work and my worries to you. Jesus, I entrust my children to you. Jesus, I entrust my marriage to you. Jesus, I entrust this next year to you.”

So, as one year in the Church ends and another begins, let’s entrust what has been, what is now, and what will be to God. In the words of the late Rev. John Dunne, C.S.C., “For what I have been given, Thanks; for what is to be, Yes.”

Cradled

I sat down on the sofa with my mug of coffee to start the day with prayer. The house was quiet apart from the patter of rain and song of birds that reached my ears through cracked open windows. I’d slept alright, but I was tired. Tired from long hours, packed into days, stacked into weeks, collected into months. 

Do you feel that way too, at times? 

Do you sense that there is hope for a new beginning—a new school year, the new season of fall, new relationships—and also that what we would like to leave behind still lingers?

I opened my devotional and read from the prophet Isaiah: “You shall nurse, carried in her arms,/ cradled upon her knees;/ As a mother comforts her child,/ so I will comfort you;/ in Jerusalem you shall find your comfort” (Isaiah 66:12-13).

The word that stayed with me: “cradled.” 

This word spoke to a deep longing in me. In that word, I knew my prayer for the day: “Lord, I want to be cradled by you. Let me sit in your lap. Hold me in your arms. When I’m cradled by you, I find rest and peace.”

God is sure and steady, but by midday I felt myself getting rocked right out of that cradle. Child crying (alas, screaming) unless held. Child melting down the chair at the thought of math. Text chiming with messages of sickness, news of a death, prayer requests. 

Gaze no longer on God’s face, my tear-filled tired eyes looked down at the bathroom floor as I rested where parents of young kids rest.

I mustered the energy to leave the bathroom, to put one foot in front of the other, and figure out what to do next.

And then I remembered our Mother, Mary. And she invited me to rest with her.

So, while my littlest napped, and my bigger kids played with LEGOs, I laid down and prayed a Rosary. Every prayer held me. Mary cradled me in her arms. I laid, cradled in love. Secure. At peace.

How does our Mother, Mary desire to cradle you? Will you accept her invitation?

God, you are a good Father. You comfort us. You embrace us with tenderness. Thank you for the gift of our Mother, Mary. As we move through the minutes and hours of our days, give us the grace to remember that Mary is always present to us. She knows this journey, Lord, and she loves to cradle her children in her arms. Amen.

A Simple Path to Peace

Peace.

One of Jesus’ most moving words to his disciples post-resurrection.

Peace.

Jesus’ promise to us.

Peace.

We all want it. And yet, our world and personal lives can seem to be anything but peaceful. News bites, social media, tense conversations, loud kids, and incessant interior chatter can eat away at our peace.

Where is this eternal reality to be found?

The Simple Path

During my last semester of college, I read a book that changed my life’s course, A Simple Path by Mother Teresa. The book introduced me to Saint Teresa of Calcutta, and she became kin to my heart. The book created space for the Holy Spirit to work simply and powerfully in my life. The Spirit led me into a deeper relationship with God, gave me the courage to make difficult decisions, and filled me with confidence and peace. 

As we approach Saint Teresa’s feast day on September 5, I offer you her Simple Path. I pray that it provides enough light for you to see the next step on your journey toward peace.

Mother Teresa’s Simple Path:

The fruit of silence is prayer;

The fruit of prayer is faith;

The fruit of faith is love;

The fruit of love is service;

The fruit of service is peace.

The Fruit of Silence is Prayer

Mother Teresa begins her Simple Path with silence. We know that silence is the font from which we draw spiritual hydration. We watch Jesus seek silence in Scripture. We hear the prophet Elijah’s words about how God speaks in a “a light silent sound” (1 Kings 19:12). 

C.S. Lewis writes about how the devil hates silence in The Screwtape Letters. The senior demon, Screwtape, says, “We will make the whole universe a noise…We have already made great strides in this direction as regards the Earth. The melodies and silences of Heaven will be shouted down in the end. (The Screwtape Letters, 119-120). 

Our world and our homes may be noisy, but silence is non-negotiable if we want to make space for God’s peace to dwell in us. Can you find silence for a few minutes before your family wakes up? On a morning walk? During your work commute? After your kids go to sleep? 

In the silence, prayer begins. God speaks to our hearts and we respond.

The Fruit of Prayer is Faith

When we habitualize silence and prayer, we grow in our desire for it. We know the strength, comfort, and peace that comes from resting with our God. The Holy Spirit gives us faith that God is with us. 

The Catechism of the Catholic Church says, “Faith is a gift of God, a supernatural virtue infused by him. ‘Before this faith can be exercised, man must have the grace of God to move and assist him; he must have the interior helps of the Holy Spirit, who moves the heart and converts it to God’” (CCC 153).

The Fruit of Faith is Love

When we spend time with God, God inspires and assists us to act like him. We grow in our likeness to God. We may pray for someone who has hurt us and desire to forgive them. We may desire to grow in virtue—to practice self-control, patience, courage, or wisdom. We may feel some of our hard edges—our defensiveness, resentments, bitterness—begin to soften, sensing there is a better way to live. Through silence, prayer, and faith, we are formed to be people of love.

The Fruit of Love is Service

Authentic love cannot stay within us; it moves out toward and for others. Love is a habit of self-gift. Saint Thomas Aquinas tells us that to love is to consistently will and choose the good of the other. In his practical sensibilities, Saint Francis de Sales advises, “You learn to speak by speaking, to study by studying, to run by running, to work by working; and just so, you learn to love by loving.” 

What happens when we become weary in our service of others? When our service lacks joy and feels exhausted, perhaps we have forgotten to lean on the One from whom our strength comes. We might ask ourselves if we are striving to serve apart from Jesus. We remember that true service is the fruit of loving relationship with Jesus.

The Fruit of Service is Peace

Saint Elizabeth of the Trinity speaks encouraging words to us on our journeys of everyday holiness. She reminds us that no matter where we are, God dwells within us. She says, “The entire Trinity rests within us, this whole mystery that will be ours in Heaven: let this be your cloister.” As we sit, stand, walk, and talk, God is with us. As we cook, change, teach, and work, God is with us. 

The Holy Spirit guides our steps. The Spirit guides us to seek silence, and gives us the confidence to respond to God in prayer. The Holy Spirit sits with us in prayer and gives us the gift of faith. The Holy Spirit moves us to love, and strengthens us for service. The Holy Spirit whispers words of truth to our hearts that God abides in us, and desires to give us his peace. 

Friends in Heaven

Saint Teresa of Calcutta introduced me to her Simple Path one decade ago, and continues to work in my life. Reflecting on her Simple Path now reveals how many heavenly friends she has helped introduce me to along the way. It seems that these friends of God all knew something of God’s eternal peace even as they lived surrounded by noise, sickness, chaos, and uncertainty on earth. I rejoice knowing that they now live with the Source of all peace, and I pray that someday we will join them.

Receiving and Giving Mercy

Motherhood brings me face-to-face with my own weakness and vulnerability like nothing else. Beauty, truth, and goodness emerge in simple moments on a daily basis. Moments of difficulty sometimes seem to be just as regular. 

Our culture trains us to prioritize and become proficient in productivity, independence, and power. When we desire to parent our children as listeners of God’s will, those worldly values get rocked. 

Sometimes I hold onto those worldly values even though I know there’s a better, more life giving way. I’m like a toddler with fists full of Cheerios, staring at a toy I yearn to play with, but am unable to because I won’t let go of the Cheerios. 

When I hold onto my Cheerios, I turn in on myself. I allow my imperfection to fill me with shame. 

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Wisdom and Everyday Holiness

For years the Holy Spirit has drawn me toward Saint Teresa of Calcutta (our family affectionately calls her Mama T). I think one of the reasons is the way she lived the Spirit’s gift of wisdom.

In 2014, Pope Francis did a series of general audiences on the gifts of the Holy Spirit. He described the Holy Spirit’s gift of wisdom by saying: 

And wisdom is precisely this: it is the grace of being able to see everything with the eyes of God. It is simply this: it is to see the world, to see situations, circumstances, problems, everything through God’s eyes. This is wisdom. Sometimes we see things according to our liking or according to the condition of our heart, with love or with hate, with envy…. No, this is not God’s perspective. Wisdom is what the Holy Spirit works in us so as to enable us to see things with the eyes of God. This is the gift of wisdom.

Pope Francis, General Audience, 04/09/14, 1

The Spirit’s wisdom is a gift, so it cannot be taken or earned. But, God is good and draws near to us. He pours out his gifts upon and within us so that we might come close to him. 

Let’s reflect together on three ways the Holy Spirit encourages us to live holy wisdom in our everyday lives. 

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Hot Pink Humility

My mom says, “we all have our strengths and weaknesses.” Well, laundry is not a strength of mine. I throw everything in together, and only recently learned that loads should not be unilaterally washed with warm water. There have been more than one shrunken casualties in the war I inflict on our clothing. 

Now that you know the truth about my laundering skills, I can share a supremely humbling moment of my motherhood with you.

My children went through a phase of total enchantment with the PAW Patrol. Our daughter loved Skye with a passionate love, most especially because of her hot pink attire. Anyone who meets our daughter on any given day can gather that her favorite color is pink—pink tights, pink shirt, pink shoes, pink socks. You get the picture. We bought our daughter a Skye costume for Halloween. She wore it on Halloween—and every other day.

As you might imagine, the expensive-cheap costume became quite grimy. So, I decided to wash it.

Yes, let the horror soak in. 

I washed that expensive-cheap costume just like any other piece of our unfortunate clothing, and you can guess what happened. It fell right apart—strings hanging off, “radio” necklace broken. 

So, what did I do? Yep, you guessed it. I threw it in the trash. (As an aside, it is kind of funny, not so funny, how similar I still am to Eve—something went wrong and I just covered it with some fig leaves, aka threw it in the trash.)

Trash day came around. I was standing downstairs in the kitchen, cleaning up after breakfast, listening to our children excitedly await the trash truck from their second story bedroom window. 

And then—“OH NO!!! SKYE!!!!!”

Yes. Our daughter watched, terrified, as her Skye costume flew through the air from our trash bin into the trash truck.

Sometimes humility comes in a blaze of hot pink. 

Being a mother is one of my greatest joys. It is also something that I, quite honestly, really don’t want to mess up. I try to understand my children’s temperaments, build rapport with them, stay close but give space, do all the learning things together, keep my cool when I want to rip my hair out. And yet—I still ruin the (real and metaphorical) Skye costume in the wash, sneakily throw it away, and get caught in a blaze of glory (at least God is a humorous teacher).

In her gracious love, our Mother, Mary is teaching me about my imperfection. Though she is perfect, she does not scorn me or look down upon my imperfection. She loves and encourages me in it. She says, “My daughter, you do not have to be a perfect mother in order to be a great mother. In your imperfection, you are learning about forgiveness and humility. When you know your imperfection and give it to my Son, you become more fully human. Let God stretch you in your motherhood. He wants to stretch you so that you can become more loving, and more authentically yourself.”

And so, I am growing in humility—looking honestly at my imperfection, and instead of turning inward in shame, allowing God to gently lift my chin and gaze toward him, my perfect Father.

So, to all the Mamas out there who have been caught hot-pink-handed in their imperfection—I see you, because that’s me too. We don’t have to be perfect mothers in order to be great mothers. We don’t have to be perfect mothers in order to be holy mothers. Our Mother is perfect, and she is walking with us, guiding us, encouraging us. Thanks be to God for entrusting us to a Mother who gives us hope for all the opportunities we have to grow closer to her Son.

As an important note, we did buy our daughter another Skye costume, and I have not attempted to wash it.

For Jesus

I spoke with my friend, Fr. Tim, about a difficult parenting day I had earlier in the week. More than any sort of misbehaving from my children, I felt in a fog—distracted, uneasy, and weighed down by whispers of inadequacy.

Fr. Tim listened, affirmed, and offered me this counsel: “You know, parenting doesn’t have to be a drudgery. Because you are doing it for Jesus.”

While the ego-filled part of me wanted to push back—sometimes parenting does feel like drudgery!—the deeper part of me listened. Those words of truth—you are doing it for Jesus—cut through interior darkness I had been facing in parenting, and brought me into a space of light that I am still discovering.

Of course I’d heard it and read it before—“whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did it for me” (Matt 25:40). But Fr. Tim said these words in a way that entered right into the heart of my life as a mother. What I do for my children, I do for Jesus.

This reality continues to unfold for me in two primary ways: the first is that my works can be an offering for Jesus. The second pertains to the mystery of truly serving Jesus by serving another member of the Mystical Body of Christ.

To the first—there are many mundane things parents do each day that are not fun or glamorous in any way, shape, or form. Cleaning up spit up—stinky. Wiping a dirty behind—even stinkier. Laundry—never ending. Spills and food on the floor—back bending and breaking. I don’t know about you, but I don’t always want to do these things. Sometimes I am just tired, and the tasks seem too ordinary to matter. 

But, when I do these things for Jesus, they change and I change. My work becomes a sacrifice of love for my Savior. I don’t want to do this Jesus, but I will do it for you. I know you accept this act of love as a worthy sacrifice. There is a shift—I think it’s called grace.

To the second—what I do for my children, I do for Jesus. My daughter calls out from the bathroom, “Mama, can you help me wipe my bottom?” And, in all honesty, I just want to finish my cup of coffee and bowl of granola when they are the temperatures at which I want them to be. But, I stand up and care for the basic need of my daughter, finding peace in the fact that when I care for her needs, I care for Jesus.

It’s a mystery that I’m still trying to wrap my mind around, but Jesus tells us this is how it works—“whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did it for me” (Matt 25:40). And again: “As the Father loves me, so I also love you. Remain in my love…This is my commandment: love one another as I love you” (Jn 15:10, 12). 

As parents, we daily live the works of mercy as we care for our children. We care for their most essential needs of hunger, thirst, being clothed, being sheltered. We also care for their spiritual, emotional, and intellectual wellbeing as we console, instruct, comfort, and teach the virtuous life in our homes.

Scripture, Tradition, and the holy men and women the Holy Spirit continues to move through give us keys to both joy in this life and inklings of eternal life. When we listen to stories, wipe dirty behinds, clean up Cheerios, and do the dishes for Jesus, these ordinary tasks change, and we are changed by the One we love.

A bit of the mystery is opened up, and we sense the wondrous truth in G.K. Chesterton’s words: “The most extraordinary thing in the world is an ordinary man and an ordinary woman and their ordinary children.” When they are seeking to love each other for Jesus? Yes, indeed.

Surrender Starts with Listening

Until recently, I didn’t ask God to help me surrender to him each day. I don’t know if I thought it was possible. I don’t know if I really wanted it. Only through witnessing the deep surrender of a dear friend have I heard God’s invitation to surrender in the circumstances of my daily life. Here’s a glimpse of my friend’s story, and suggestions for how we can listen to and act on God’s desires for us each day.

My friend texted, asking for prayers as her two-year-old son was on his way to the ER. She found a mass in his belly weeks prior and the doctor had said it was a hernia. But as her family was on vacation, her son developed another fever, and she knew something wasn’t right. 

Parents know that feeling—something’s not right. We know the pangs of fear and anxiety for our children’s health and wellbeing.

Waiting and testing, more testing and waiting. The results: tumor, cancer, surgery, chemo.

And as my friend was cold-water-shocked into this new reality of having a child with cancer, I witnessed a level of trust and surrender that shocked and inspired my faith-life-system.

Of her strength she said, “It’s not me. It’s the Lord.” Of their struggle and pain she said, “If we have to go through this, I want to help others come closer to Jesus by our witness.” Of the words of doubt, resistance to prayer, or whispers to not reach out for help, she said, “That is not of God.”

And as I walked alongside my friend, disintegrating whispers infiltrated my awe—You can’t surrender like she does. That terrible pain and trauma is necessary for surrender

You know those whispers—the ones filled with distorted envy, anxiety, and hopelessness. The one from whom they come wants to take us down, take us away from the service of God and others. 

When I perked up to whom those whispers belonged, I put my foot down, and said, “No thank you, not today.”

And I listened again. And words of truth flooded in and poured out: Help me to listen to you, Lord, and thereby surrender to your plan for me today. Amen.

God calls every single one of us to surrender each day in the circumstances of our lives. It starts with listening.

Listening to Faithful Friends (Real & Podcast)  

We practice surrender when we listen, really listen, to the words of faithful friends and family who love us. When we listen to their wisdom, affirmations, words of encouragement, and challenges for us. When we listen to their stories—how their days look, what challenges they face, where they need our support.

We practice surrender when we listen for how the Holy Spirit speaks to us through the day. I’ve felt the Holy Spirit at work like crazy through the gift of certain podcasts. In particular, Abiding Together creates sacred space for the listener, offering beautiful encouragement and sense of community. I really do praise and thank God for these women and their podcast.

Listening to Desires God Places in My Heart (Good Things!)

We practice surrender when we listen to and act on the desires that God places in our hearts. God also whispers—but, his voice is gentle; he pulls us toward what is good, beautiful, and true. He beckons us toward his pace, his vision. 

I practice surrender when I pick up a book midday (instead of using every moment for “productivity”), and sit down to read while my children play around me. I practice surrender when I pause reading to give a hug, answer a question, or pick up a crying little one.

What pulls does God place on your heart? Do you recognize them as his? Do you listen?

(Not) Listening to the Evil One

We practice surrender to God’s voice of truth, when we let go of and stand against lies. The evil one hates us and hates what God wants to do in us. His voice seems to sneak up on us and we indulge in his lies. Every day, we need to perk up our ears and hearts to what words are not of God. Those words that cause anxiety and fear—nope, not of God. Those words that brew envy and jealous—get out of here, Satan. 

God restores order, brings integration. He is the one who makes us whole, who leads us in holiness. 

Listening, Surrendering Today

It has been an honor to journey with my friend as she carries the cross of having a child with cancer. To listen to her. To pray for her. To learn from her. To see God at work in and through her. Thanks be to God for living in every one of us, for leading us closer to him through each other

How can you create the space and practices to foster listening to the tender voice of God? He desires to speak with you of his good plans for you today.