Each morning offers a quiet moment to remember who God is and who we are in His sight. Before the day gathers its weight, there is an invitation to open our hearts—to praise the One whose power is always shaped by goodness, whose love sees us fully and still delights in us. When we pause long enough to breathe that truth in, trust begins to rise almost on its own.
Continue reading “The Breath of Truth”
There is a moment in Psalm 57 that feels almost like a held breath—a pause between fear and trust, between the storm and the shelter. The psalmist cries out, “Have mercy on me, God, have mercy,” and then, almost in the same breath, rests in the shadow of God’s wings. It is a movement so small you could miss it, yet it holds the whole shape of repentance.
Continue reading “The Mercy of the Moment”
Each new morning is a quiet resurrection, a gentle invitation to open our eyes and say, “This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad.” Even when the night has been long—filled with worry, sleeplessness, or sorrow—Scripture promises that joy comes with the dawn.
Continue reading “Joy Comes With the Dawn”
The Beatitudes are among Jesus’ most tender and challenging words. They reveal a way of living that doesn’t rely on strength, status, or success, but on openness to God. In these blessings, Jesus names the qualities that make room for grace—poverty of spirit, mercy, purity of heart, a longing for righteousness, the courage to make peace. They are not commands to achieve but invitations to receive.
Continue reading “You Are Blessed”
Recently I read a quote from St. Catherine of Genoa that almost feels like a spiritual tightrope. It’s a place when surrender and responsibility meet:
Continue reading “The Spiritual Tightrope”
Scripture loves the language of growth. Vines, branches, roots, seeds, soil—images that are alive, slow, and stubbornly organic. They remind us that God never hands us a detailed itinerary toward perfection. Instead, he offers something far more intimate: a glimpse into the ongoing work of the Creator and the quiet, recurring rhythms of our cooperation.
Continue reading “To Be Grounded”
I recently sat with someone who doesn’t believe in God. What he does believe in is the ache inside him, the heaviness of not knowing what to do with the heaviness of the world. He seemed paralyzed, like he was in a fog with no map, no compass, and no voice to guide him.
And honestly, who hasn’t felt that way at some point.
Continue reading “When You Don’t Know What to Do”
There are passages in Scripture that refuse to let us drift. Ephesians 4 is one of them. St. Paul speaks with the urgency of someone who knows what is at stake: “You must no longer live as the Gentiles do… darkened in understanding… alienated from the life of God because of their hardness of heart.”
Continue reading “Called To Holiness From the Dark”
Every invitation from Christ is an invitation into life—not a smaller, safer life, but the kind that stretches us, awakens us, and draws us into something far greater than we could build on our own. When Jesus says, “Come, follow me,” He isn’t offering a suggestion. He’s offering a way of being that transports us into the fullness of who we were created to become.
Continue reading “Come, Follow Me”
Psalm 93 invites us to stand before a God whose majesty is not distant, but deeply personal. “The Lord is king, with majesty enrobed.” His strength steadies the world, His voice rises above the roar of the waters, and His presence remains firm from all eternity. Yet this same God desires to dwell within the fragile, shifting places of our own hearts.
Continue reading “Letting Christ Clothe Our Heart”
Smitten With Goodness 