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


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


Jesus’ promise to us.


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. 

Holy Play

This week I sat on the floor with my children, my head covered in a muslin baby swaddle as my three-year-old gave me instructions on how to play with them. Three-year-olds can be incredibly particular. Mama, do this and say that. There are rules to play, ya know.

After ten minutes of playing, I got antsy to do something else, preferably something productive. But I stayed longer, out of desire and discipline to be a mom who is present, and out of awe for the way my children play.

Our three and five-year-olds, Ellie and Thomas, can imagination-play for hours. They are doctors, climber-boy and climber-girl, mommy and daddy, Elsa and Anna, Leila and Jack, Mama Mary and Baby Jesus, etc., etc. Some days I get in trouble for calling them by their names because they are so deeply entrenched in another world. Thomas will state, “Mama, why do you keep calling me Thomas? My name is Jack.” Some days, they are perturbed with me when I ask to be just their Mama instead of Mary Poppins or Mommy Elsa.

While play is simply the way they inhabit the world much of the time, there is also something holy about it. How so?

Several years back, I had a spiritual director who frequently assigned me to make a “holy waste of time.” She said, sit on a bench somewhere and do nothing. Just sit, look around or close your eyes, be attentive to the present moment.  There was a reason this assignment was frequent—I always needed it. I struggle with simply sitting and being. I yearn for it, and also resist it.

When my children play, they are focused, creative, emotionally present, and attentive (to each other and the task at hand). When I listen to them play, I hear them processing—happy occasions, fears, and ordinary life. In play, I see my kids living deeply.

Their play reminds me of this Scripture from the prophet Isaiah: “Thus says the LORD,/…The designer and maker of the earth/ who established it,/ Not as an empty waste did he create it,/ but designing it to be lived in” (45:18). They are living in the world in the way their Creator intended—immersed in the present moment. It’s not always sunshine and butterflies. Sometimes they play about the Coronavirus or death (most of the time the person comes back to life like Jesus), and get in fights that need to be resolved and forgiven—preparation for life. 

True mom confession—in the past year of Coronavirus quarantine, preschool shutdown, and learning to be at home with my kids full time, I had guilt over my kids playing so much. Like, is this enriching enough? Are they learning enough? Should I be doing more? I’m learning though, that play isn’t just something kids do, but good and worthwhile. It is practice for some of the most important skills in life and the spiritual life. And it is true that God delights when his children are at play.

God did not create the world or us as a waste (Is. 45:18). He created us with intention and goodness. It turns out that when we make a holy waste of our time—sitting on the ground with our kids or pets, lingering at the table, resisting the urge to scroll, remaining outside a few more minutes—we can see our faithful God living in and with us, working to make us holy.

I’m Leaning In

As the day nears 5pm, our home becomes exponentially louder. Siblings who have had fun all day irritate more easily. “Listening ears” turn to *very* selectively listening ears. Dinner is in half swing and I’ve forgotten to turn on the timer for something in the oven (again). 

On one such evening, my husband exasperatedly walked out of the chaos and into the garage for a hot second of quiet. Who could blame him? 

He returned to my side quickly–crying baby on one of my hips, alternate hand grinding the coffee for the next morning (I often do optional tasks at inopportune times). He said, “I’m leaning in.” And he took our crying daughter from my arms, easing my work.

Our lives are made up of these moments, which make up our days, and weeks and months and years. And I don’t know about you, but one of the last things I’m inclined to do in December 2020 is “lean in.”

It might have been nice to lean in during March and April with funny-true memes going around about it being “the Lentiest Lent I ever Lented.” But here we are in December and boy has the novelty of quarantine time worn off.

I’ve had countless conversations with friends who are just tired– reserves are low, low, low. Folks are running on fumes.

What do we do with our emotional and energetic poverty?

Do we pretend like we are good, hanging on with white-knuckles and fake smiles until this is over? Do we shove our exhaustion down, only to let it unexpectedly explode on those we love? Do we turn inward in pity and forget the larger suffering around us?

During recent prayer time, Jesus showed me a good looking heart. But there was a problem with it. It was covered in armor. When I asked what he desired for me, he began to peel back the armor. I saw a heart of flesh beneath. That raw, reddish-purple flesh of organs. 

My reaction? I told him I was uncomfortable. This kind of vulnerability? Now? After this kind of a year? But, I stayed with him. 

And he peeled off more armor. And I stayed with him.

And then he removed the armor. 

What remained was a heart of flesh. 

I was vulnerable, but I was safe. Vulnerable but loved.

We are almost to Christmas, the Incarnation of God in Jesus. God “taking on flesh” to teach us what it means to have hearts of flesh.

Sit with me for a moment and imagine the physical nature of Jesus’ life. Close your eyes and imagine holding the Christ Child in your arms, running your finger across his soft-as-clouds newborn skin. Imagine holding his little hands as he learned to take steps. Imagine kissing his young boy forehead and blessing him goodnight. Imagine leaning into each other, two adults shoulder-to-shoulder, talking around the dinner table. 

For us to “lean in” is at the heart of the Incarnation. 

We lean in by easing the burden of those with whom we spend daily life. We lean in by calling someone who is lonely or sick, *especially* because it is no longer novel. We lean in by providing food or donations to nonprofits that serve the most vulnerable, or by volunteering our time.

But in order to lean in and embody God’s love to those around us, we must first lean in to the One who shows us how.

We sit with Jesus. We can say, “Help me to sit with you, to lean in to you, to lean in to your love. Show me what you desire for me. Help me to follow you. Help me to trust in you and your love for me.”

Where We Walk

Most days, I would rather be hiking. I grew up adventuring with my dad in the canyon below our home. When I was in college, my mom and I hiked Mount Whitney. Those hours totaled would be days of fresh air in my face, dirt and rock crunching beneath my feet, undistracted conversation being shared, eyes taking in whatever the land had in store.

While my mind at first travels to me hiking alone, surrounded by openness, my imagination soon welcomes in my children and husband. Little feet running and tripping on the trail. Baby carriers strapped on. Toddlers seeking to be carried once their legs have tired on the hills.

And, my heart is still at peace. In fact, it is filled with increased joy.

“How beautiful upon the mountains/ are the feet of the one bringing good news,/ Announcing peace, bearing good news,/ announcing salvation, saying to Zion,/ ‘Your God is King.’” (Isaiah 52:7)

Though my feet love the trails, most days my bare feet walk across the kitchen floor making meals, cleaning, and refilling my coffee. They walk from the washer and dryer in the garage to the couch with baskets of clothes ready to be folded. They walk over to a crying or fussy child who needs a hug and some sympathy.

“How beautiful… are the feet of the one bringing good news.”

It is beautiful to comfort, encourage, love, embrace, and be present to the ones we have been given. It is beautiful to read together, play together, speak about Jesus together, cook together, and learn from each other. It is utterly ordinary, and it is also the good news of which the prophet Isaiah speaks.

While these things are beautiful, we often resist them. How could these be the things that bring us peace? These things that are so mundane? These things (and people) that sometimes feel like burdens?

When our hearts and minds callous against those that we love, God asks us to recognize it and call it out. We can ask God’s Spirit to come in, to assist us, to renew us.

With the Psalmist, we can pray for God’s grace to speak the words, “My heart is ready, O God;/ my heart is ready.” (Psalm 108:2)

Today, consider: To whom do I bring good news? To whom do I bring words of peace? 

Wherever your feet might be, that place has the potential to be beautiful. Sacred ground unfurls under “the feet of the one bringing good news.”