At the beginning of Mass this week, a simple refrain caught my heart in a way I didn’t expect: “Everyone needs compassion… love that’s never failing… let mercy fall on me.
Everyone needs forgiveness… the kindness of a Savior… the hope of nations.”
There comes a moment in the second half of life when the pace finally slows enough for us to notice what may have always been there. A quiet and subtle tightrope stretched across the landscape of our inner world. I think I ran too fast in the first half of my life to see it. But now, with more years behind me than ahead, I can feel that subtle sway especially between the movement between hope and hopelessness.
Continue reading “The Tightrope of Hope”
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”
Jesus offers us a way of living shaped by gentleness and humility, a rhythm that stands in contrast to the pressure and urgency that so often define our days. His “easy task” and “light burden” don’t mean life is effortless, but that we are never meant to carry it alone.
Continue reading “Where Burdens Become Light”
John’s words in 1 John 4:11–18 draw us back to the very heart of the Christian life: love. Not the fragile, shifting kind we often encounter in the world, but the steady, self-giving love that begins in God and flows through us. “Beloved, if God so loved us, we also must love one another.” It’s both a command and a revelation. We love because we have first been loved.
Continue reading “Remaining in the Love That Remains in Us”
As the final hours of the year slip quietly toward midnight, something in us naturally slows down. This moment—this “hour”—has a way of gathering up everything that came before it: the joys and the disappointments, the surprises and the sorrows, the ordinary days that passed almost unnoticed. It invites us to look back with honesty and to look forward with hope.
Continue reading “A Moment to Pause, Give Thanks, and Begin Again”
Advent is a season of waiting, of longing, of preparing our hearts for the coming of Christ. In the quiet rhythm of prayer, two petitions from the Liturgy of the Hours have struck me with fresh urgency:
“Bring low the mountains of our pride,
— and fill up the valleys of our weakness.
Lord, may your kingdom come.”
“Break down the wall of hatred that divides the nations,
— and make level for mankind the paths to peace.
Lord, may your kingdom come.”
As the candles of Hanukkah are kindled, we remember a story of courage, faith, and divine providence. Hanukkah, the Festival of Lights, commemorates the rededication of the Temple in Jerusalem after its desecration and the miracle of the oil that lasted eight days. It is a celebration of God’s faithfulness and the resilience of His people in the face of oppression.
Continue reading “Honoring the Festival of Light: Hanukkah and Our Shared Heritage”
This second week of Advent moves us from hope into peace. The candles we light on our Advent wreath remind us that peace is not simply the absence of conflict, but the deep assurance that flows from trusting God. Without hope prepared in our hearts, peace cannot take root. Hope steadies us; peace settles us.
Continue reading “Are You Anchored in Peace?”
Advent is a season of waiting, but not of uncertainty. We wait anchored in hope—the hope that is not wishful thinking or fragile optimism, but the steady promise of God. Hope is the anchor that holds us fast when the waters of life grow restless, when shadows lengthen and the night feels long.
Continue reading “Anchored in Hope: A Gift for Advent”
Smitten With Goodness 