I originally wrote this as a guest post for the substack “Undaunted Joy” published by after meeting her at the University of St. Thomas Summer Writers Institute a couple of years ago. It was a privilege to write this guest post, and it is gardening season again in my yard so I thought I would share the essay here.

The Accidental Gardner

I am an accidental gardener. I put new plants in the ground each year, and I am pleasantly surprised when they return the following year. As I step outside in the early morning and see a new bloom, I think, “Was that a perennial? Excellent.”

I have experienced that more than once recently. This spring, I was thrilled to discover that I had planted jonquils the previous spring around my birdbath. They reappeared – cheerful and yellow – at about the same time that the swath of daffodils bloomed behind our baby dogwood. The daffodils and jonquils look wonderful together, as if I planned my garden that way. But, of course, I didn’t. Later in the spring, dainty pink blossoms appeared where the jonquils had been. I had to Google them to identify the flower – phlox. When I noticed another plant growing among the phlox, I realized that lilies would bloom next. Large and lush and nearly as tall as the birdbath, their scent fills the front yard. Their strong, bright petals remind me of that day in June when I wore a white dress and carried pink lilies to begin my marriage 29 years ago.

The lilies and phlox are a perfect match for the knock-out roses I put in long ago in front of my statue of the Blessed Mother – a riot of pink petals as a counterpoint to the serene, silent statue. Another happy accident in my unplanned garden. Without method or much knowledge, I have created an ever-changing landscape in my front yard, one that brings me joy and small surprises daily. It gives me a lot of satisfaction to cooperate with the Creator in this way.

As summer goes on, I look forward to seeing my zinnias in bloom. They are the happiest and most carefree of flowers. But they are the ones I have to be most intentional about planting because they are annuals. Each spring, I mix zinnia seeds saved from the previous year into the muddy ground and – like magic – zinnias of all colors spring up in the greenery around the dogwood, looking accidental when, in fact, they aren’t.

I expect that I will continue to add to my accidental garden, bringing light and color to my little patch of land in the middle of one of the most violent cities in the U.S., Memphis, Tennessee. Today I choose to cultivate what I have been given and to love where I am. This garden is a gift and a reminder to me not to worry, which I am prone to do. As Our Lord says in Matthew 6: 28-29:

“And why are you concerned about what you are to wear? Consider the lilies of the field and how they grow. They neither labor nor spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his royal splendor was clothed like one of these.”

The first post I ever wrote for the CatholicMom.com website was on the Litany of Humility. I had just attended the Catholic Writers Guild Conference in Chicago where I learned about this wonderful website, which is part of Holy Cross Family Ministries. I have since become a regular contributor to CatholicMom.com, and it’s been a great blessing. I am sharing the post again below because humility seems to me to be the cornerstone of faith and wisdom.

Devotion to the Sacred Heart

For Catholics, June is a month devoted to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. As I considered ways to draw closer to Jesus this month, my mind turned to the Litany of Humility. What better way to walk with Jesus than to pray this litany? The heart of Jesus is the throne of humility. Christ refused Satan’s temptation in the wilderness to deny his Father and rule the world. Christ suffered the ignominy of dying between two thieves as his kingship was mocked. But our Lord assured his persecutors that His kingdom is not of this world. Ours isn’t either.

During the month of June, when it can be tempting to be distracted by popular culture, it is a good time to look with fresh eyes at the Litany of Humility. This year, I decided to meditate on one of the 23 supplications in the litany on each weekday of the month. On June 1, I sat on an airplane following a wonderful writers’ conference and considered the first supplication: “From the desire of being esteemed, deliver me Jesus.” While I admit that I would like for my writing to be esteemed, the litany reminds me that my writing goals are really not about me. Instead, those goals are about the good that writing can do in the world.

As I reflect on each of the litany’s supplications, I see that the purpose of the prayer is to move self-seeking out of the center of my world and place God in the center where He belongs. As the first week of June goes on, I will ask Jesus to deliver me from the desire of being loved, extolled, honored, and praised. How can it be wrong to want to be loved? It is not, of course. But I don’t need to desire that love. God’s love formed each of us and holds us in existence at this moment. It is the bedrock of my life, which also includes the love of my husband, children, and friends.

When it comes to being honored or praised, I can happily ask Jesus to remove the desire for these from my heart. When I receive inordinate praise, it only opens the door to pride, which is among the worst of the Seven Deadly Sins. I know from experience that pride blocks the light of God’s love and never leads to good for me or others.

The next section of the litany is really about being set apart – put on a pedestal. We ask Jesus to free us from the desire of being consulted, preferred, or approved. Basically, I am asking to be treated like everyone else. That is OK with me because it protects me from the temptation to esteem myself too highly.

The fear requests in the litany really hit home for me. The world can be a scary place. I happen to live in a high-crime city, for example. But the fears listed in the Litany of Humility are less about physical safety and more about the safety of one’s reputation. We ask Jesus to deliver us from the fear of being despised, humiliated, rebuked, calumniated, ridiculed, wronged, suspected, or forgotten. For me, those fears represent a person building up their stock of emotional security in the wrong account. God is love. He will not despise, humiliate, or ridicule us. Humans might do that, especially if our ideas, actions, or values conflict with theirs. I am not suggesting that Catholics go about picking a fight with popular culture. But when one must take a stand, it is better to speak the truth in love and risk the ridicule of people rather than acquiesce silently and betray our faith and our Lord.

The final supplications in the litany were originally the most difficult for me. We are to ask that Jesus grant us the grace to desire always to be second – or worse – last. In these supplications, I must ask that others be esteemed more than I, that others may be chosen and I set aside, that others may be praised while I go unnoticed. These seem like unnatural requests. But there is another way to look at it. Perhaps these are just different ways to ask to be preserved or protected from the temptation of pride. When viewed in that light, these are perhaps the most valuable of all the supplications.

Humility is the beginning of wisdom. Focusing on this litany is a wonderful way to lead us away from self, toward God, and into the circle of fellowship with all who are on the journey.

I went to my first Ordination to the Order of Priests yesterday. It was truly humbling to be part of this complete surrender of life by two men to serve God and His Church.

I have been thinking about how all of us are called to surrender ourselves – both the good and bad aspects – to God and His Will, and this liturgy was a beautiful illustration of what that can look like.

During the Litany of Supplication, the ordinands lie prostrate as the congregation kneels and invokes the saints. Then the Bishop lays his hands on the head of each of the elect, followed by all of the priests present. So many priests and deacons were there, all clothed in white representing the joy and purity of the celebration.

The two men being ordained were then clothed with the stole and chausuble. I looked up what those signify and was happy to learn that the chausuble represents charity. Charity as in love and kindness, not as in donating money. The stole represents the yoke of Christ, the responsibility of ministry.

I love that the new priests are clothed in charity as they begin their ministry. Shouldn’t we all be? As I have been considering the virtues that I should cultivate in my own life, charity and humility have come up quite a bit. Although my vocation is obviously to marriage, charity and humility are probably just as important in marriage as they are in a religious vocation.

I was struck by the freedom that surrender brings. As our Bishop said, “They surrender their whole lives to the One who is Life.” These men have given their lives to God so that they are free to serve Him completely. Not everyone is called to the religious life, but we are all called to give our lives freely to God to serve in our own unique way, as it says in Ephesians 4:11-3, which was part of the second reading during the Mass:

“And he gave some as apostles, others as prophets, others as evangelists, others as pastors and teachers, to equip the holy ones for the work of ministry,^* for building up the body of Christ,

until we all attain to the unity of faith and knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood,^* to the extent of the full stature of Christ.” Ephesians 4:11-13

We all have a vocation and a gift. We are here to share those gifts to lift up our brothers and sisters and bring glory to God. The liturgy provided great food for thought about what I need to surrender in order to best use my gifts in the service of God.

It’s definitely a question to take to prayer, along with this beautiful thought from St. Frances “Mother” Cabrini that was on one of the priest’s prayer cards:

“Make my heart as wide as the universe. May I never think of myself, but always and

solely of your glory. Jesus, carve your heart in mine.”

A colleague at work recently described her husband to me as a “recovering Catholic.” I didn’t recover from the comment quickly enough to respond to it, so I let it pass unaddressed.

Yes, I have heard that phrase before, but it definitely hit me differently this time. Would someone describe another person as a recovering Jew or as a recovering Christian? I doubt it.

The interaction reminded me of the quote from the late Archbishop Fulton Sheen: “There are not one hundred people in the United States who hate The Catholic Church, but there are millions who hate what they wrongly perceive the Catholic Church to be.”

I am not implying that this colleague, who seems like a very kind-hearted person, hates the Church. But I believe she may hold some misconceptions of the Church, as many people do. And I wonder if those perceptions are on us – the members of the Church? In some cases, I would say yes. At other times, negative perceptions and stereotypes can be amplified by the media or entertainment industry.

Some people view the Church as a set of rules. Others may view it as a bunch of intolerant old men making life miserable for people who should live their lives in whatever way makes them happiest.

Why We Need the Church

My understanding of the Church is that Jesus established it to share His divine life with humanity and as part of His plan of salvation. It is through the Church that we receive the sacraments, and the sacraments bring us closer to God. Roman Catholics believe that the Eucharist is the Real Presence of Jesus – Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity. We can receive it every day if we wish to go to daily Mass. We are not obliged to go to daily Mass, but we are obligated to go to Mass on Sunday and can receive the Eucharist if we are in a state of grace.

Some might ask why all this matters. Isn’t it enough just to be a good person?

If that was all that mattered, it would not have been necessary for Christ to die on a cross for the redemption of mankind. Left to our own devices, humans are not going to make good choices. Any history lesson will prove that.

I love going to Mass because it is there that I receive important teaching that guides my daily life. It is at Mass that I receive the Eucharist, the life of Christ to sustain me on the journey. The Church also provides the sacrament of confession, and I need that because I am just a sinful human being who needs to acknowledge my sins and receive forgiveness.

I honestly don’t feel a need to “recover” from the love of a God who sent His Son for the expiation of our sins and who established a Church to that offers sacraments, community, and hope. I know that many people have had negative experiences of the Church, including those who have been harmed by people in authority. That happens in many organizations and institutions and is never, ever acceptable.

Becoming an Ambassador for the Faith

For my part, I don’t want to be the reason someone decides to leave the Church or needs to recover from Catholicism. As a member of the Church who truly loves the faith, I would like to be a better ambassador for the Church when these spontaneous opportunities arise.

Perhaps it is as simple as saying, “I’m sorry you had a bad experience. I’d be happy to listen if you want to talk about it.” At some point along the way, there may be an opportunity to share my love for the faith. By listening first, I can be sure my response will be appropriate, faithful, and loving.

I would welcome thoughts from readers about how you share your faith.

I have been going to Memphis National Cemetery on Memorial Day Weekend for 16 years. Our son’s Boy Scout troop was among the many that would descend on the cemetery on that weekend annually to make sure that every grave – and there are more than 42,000 – had a small American flag placed on it.

That was before my father-in-law passed away. A U.S. Army veteran who served two tours of duty in Vietnam and two tours in Korea, Jose Roman is buried at Memphis National. He died in 2013. His wife, Martha, was buried there when she died in 2023. Martha served in the Women’s Army Corps. in the 1950s, but spouses don’t have to be military veterans to be buried at Memphis National.

Today, my husband and I went to decorate their graves as we do every Memorial Day Weekend, and I was struck by the vastness of this cemetery, which is operated by the Department of Veteran’s Affairs under the National Cemetery Administration.

I was reminded of the absolute patriotism of my in-laws. Born in Puerto Rico, my father-in-law joined the U.S. Army to fight in Korea. He met his future wife on a Massachusetts Army base. They were both born in Puerto Rico, then as now a U.S. territory, and both were always very proud of their service.

All service comes with sacrifice, and today is a day that reminds us of that.

It was a privilege for me to know my in-laws and experience their commitment to serving the U.S. Army. Likewise, my own dear Dad, a peacetime veteran, willingly gave his time and service to his country during the years of the draft.

But I learned something today that I didn’t know before. Memphis National has the second-highest number of Unknown Soldier graves of any national cemetery in the United States. So many are unknown because the cemetery was established two years after the Civil War, and bodies in unmarked graves were re-interred at the cemetery.

The cemetery also contains the graves of many people who died in the worst inland marine disaster in U.S. history. The U.S.S. Sultana was licensed to carry 356 passengers, but the ship was overloaded with about 2,480 former Union prisoners bound for Illinois to muster out of service after the Civil War. The Sultana’s boiler exploded on April 27, 1865, on the Mississippi River near Memphis. The official death toll was 1,547 and many of its victims are buried at the same cemetery.

The quiet, calm field of headstones is a testament to the sacrifice that comes with service. It is awe-inspiring to realize that each of the nearly identical markers marching across the field row after row represents the story of a life given in service to our country.

So many of these people died fighting for what they believed in. Many others gave up years of their lives and sometimes their health in service to their country. Do we live in a culture today that recognizes the sacrifice that comes with service?

I was with a group of women recently, and they were discussing what brings them joy. Some of these ladies were older, as in over 70, and a few had moved out of their homes to apartments or other living situations.

I was not surprised to learn that leaving a long-time home was a cause for sadness. Nearly every person there talked about the joy they feel in their gardens or their own backyards, and the older ladies were talking about finding ways to replicate the feeling of home in their new living spaces. Although I’m not planning to move anytime soon, I took their wisdom to heart. I also took some time to consider what brings me the most joy in my own life, and I can tell you it is not dinner in a fancy restaurant or even a really big vacation.

It’s the little things, and a lot of them are in my own backyard. My husband, who is now retired, has set up some birdfeeders and a birdbath in the backyard and we both enjoy sitting on the deck or at the little kitchen counter and watching them. This is a sign of age, I’m sure, as all of my friends are suddenly posting their bird-cams on Facebook. But it is so pleasant to sit out back and watch the cardinals and blue jays and see the squirrels try to outrun our dog Bear. He hasn’t caught a squirrel yet, except his stuffed squirrel toy.

Another thing that brings me joy is my chair. It is possibly the ugliest recliner in America, and I can still remember the day we purchased it for $40 from an estate sale in the neighborhood. My husband and son rolled it home on a hand truck. I do my best reading, writing, and napping there. I also talk to my sister on the phone there a lot. She lives far away in Wisconsin.

I also love the little bench in front of our house. My husband and son built it as a surprise for me when my daughter and I were on her school’s eighth-grade trip to the beach. It has definitely weathered with age, and some of the wood has rotted. But it has been a good place for conversations with my neighbors over the years.

My home itself brings me a lot of contentment. It is small and definitely not perfect. We have lived here longer than anywhere else – 15 years. We have renovated the kitchen and one of the bathrooms, replaced part of the roof, and all of the windows, and the list goes on. A tree fell on the house one day, which is why we replaced part of the roof and all of the siding along the back.

We have made memories and a home here. We have launched the children and buried all of our parents during these years. Our house is cozy and furnished in a style that could be best described as “other people’s old stuff.” As our own parents aged and downsized, we ended up inheriting some larger items of furniture that they couldn’t take. Other furniture was purchased second-hand and is very comfortable.

The art in our home trends heavily Catholic. There is the painting of the Angelus that my husband gave me for my 50^th birthday, and an antique framed Sacred Heart of Jesus and Immaculate Heart of Mary. Much of the art is also family photos of big moments, such as First Communion or graduation.

Like our home, our lives are made up of small moments and memories that together build up something worthwhile. It’s not the big decisions that make a life, but the everyday choice to get up again and do the right thing. To make sure the child does his homework, to make that call to your mother in assisted living, to go to the job you do not love because you do love your family.

The reward at the end of the day is to come home to a place that means something and to people who mean even more.

When talk turns to mothers, I tend to go quiet – especially in group settings. I don’t have much to contribute that would be easily understood.

My mother lived a life overshadowed by mental illness. But she was also the first person who introduced me to Catholicism through her stories about the Catholic nursing school she attended. Because of that, I had an openness to the faith that was not common in Appalachia, where I grew up. Since my conversion, Catholicism has become the cornerstone of my life, and it is something for which I am endlessly grateful. On the seventh anniversary of my mother’s death, I am reflecting on how God can work in all lives – even the most broken. Revisiting this story reminds me of the power and mercy of God.

I was about 17 when I realized that there was something distinctly wrong in my home. My mother’s mercurial behavior and threats of leaving were something to which I was accustomed. It took a summer away and then seeing my family again to realize this was not normal.

Decades later, I understand that she was acting out of her own trauma, of course. Her mother left her children with their grandparents when my mother was just five, and she was in and out of their lives afterward. My mom grew up in a very harsh environment. I learned at her funeral that her own mother had worked as a call girl in our hometown. Mom’s grandmother, who was barely literate, was the most stable and loving force in my mom’s life.

As a young woman, Mom was smart, pretty, and funny, but those unaddressed issues from childhood definitely caught up with her. Her life was marked by instability and difficult relationships. She struggled to get along with people and changed jobs often. At home, we walked on eggshells lest we inspire a negative reaction. I heard a couple of different diagnoses over the years, but the bottom line is that she never received – or never accepted – appropriate treatment.

The year I got married, my parents were getting divorced. A move across the state and a quick remarriage by my mother preceded her major nervous breakdown, which coincided with my first pregnancy. She was unable to live on her own for years afterward and lived in a personal care home.

Meeting the Blessed Mother

All of this drama occurred while I was being re-introduced to Catholicism by some new friends in Memphis. Through the gift of a Rosary, I met the Blessed Mother and the mysteries of the faith. My husband and I converted the year that we had our first child – a few months before her birth.

What a gift the faith is! The beauty of the Eucharist, the mercy of confession, and the presence of a Blessed Mother who Jesus gave to all of us from the cross in John 19:25-27. I have noticed that people who have suffered some loss of their mother, like St. Pope John Paul II, for example, are often very devoted to the Blessed Mother. I see that devotion in my own life. The guidance of the faith and my reference to the Blessed Mother as a role model has given me a much-needed foundation of stability.

After a few years in the personal care home, my mom was able to return to our hometown. By then, I had two children and was a busy mother living in Memphis. I maintained an arm’s-length relationship with my mom to prevent her from affecting my kids.

On the Way Home

Unfortunately, Mom developed Parkinson’s Disease as she aged, and we moved her to Memphis to assist her. She never lived with us, but her physical illness combined with her persistent mental health problems became the primary fact of my life for seven years while my husband and I were also raising children.

Mom’s calls and crises seemed constant. She was asked to leave at least two care facilities because of her behavior. My only sibling was unable to participate in her care.

In the midst of what seemed like unmitigated misery, a miracle occurred. My mother called me one day and told me she was converting to Catholicism thanks to the nursing home ministry of a local Catholic Church.

Mom spent her last year of life as a Catholic, and I believe she found comfort and some peace in that decision. She had considered conversion as a young woman but decided against it due, in part, to the prejudice of her family and her fear of “all the rules.”

During her last hospitalization, my priest came to offer Mom Viaticum. She was unable to eat solids at that point, so she received a tiny sliver of the Eucharist while I consumed the rest. When it was clear that her death was near, I prayed the Divine Mercy Chaplet at her bedside, before even knowing the promise associated with that.

Mom received a Catholic burial in our hometown, and I was at peace knowing she was truly home at last. I continue to pray for her and my father, especially in the Rosary. I am comforted by the thought that her very difficult life ended with a decision for faith. On Mother’s Day, I am grateful for that and for the Blessed Mother – to whom I turn on good days and bad and to whom I entrust my own children every day.

I never thought I would feel at home outside of Kentucky. My sense of place was strongly rooted to the Ohio River valley in the hills of Eastern Kentucky where my family had lived for generations.

I know my future husband was surprised when I told him we had to live within driving distance of my hometown – as in a one-day drive. For most of my adult life, however, our home has been in Memphis, and I find that my sense of home here is just as deep as it was in Kentucky.

I’ve been considering sense of place and the definition of home lately as I watch my twenty-something children start on their paths to a future that none of us can yet see. One is adamant about leaving Memphis and building a life elsewhere. The other seems a bit more attached to the Memphis community.

Like my children, I ventured forth in my twenties – living in London, England, briefly, as well as Pittsburgh, Nashville, and Grand Rapids, Mich. I thought I would eventually move back to Kentucky, but ultimately, I landed in Memphis, and it became home.

As a young adult, I felt defined by my family of origin and the hills and rivers that shaped my home. Kentuckians, in particular, seem very tied to the geography of our region. Most who leave will eventually return.

As I have grown older, I have allowed my faith to define me – a faith life that originated in Memphis, where my husband and I converted to Catholicism.

I love the vibrance of the Catholic community here, although it is tiny in proportion to the overall religious landscape. Most estimates have us at 4% of the Memphis religious community, but our impact is significant. Catholics founded several of the hospitals in town, including St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital. The city also has a network of Catholic schools, including some run by the Diocese and others operated by religious orders.

The churches, especially the older ones, are beautiful. We have so many opportunities for worship, including the traditional Latin Mass, Spanish-language Mass, and the occasional Polish Mass. The city also has dedicated Adoration Chapels and its own Catholic bookstore. I realize that not all Catholic communities have this to offer, and I am very grateful that Memphis does.

But just as important as the Catholic community are the many experiences that have made Memphis home over the years. Events like our wedding (before we became Catholic) at the Memphis Botanic Gardens. Then, of course, there was the birth of our children whose schooling included the local homeschool group, our parish school, and two different Catholic high schools. Both children also graduated from the University of Memphis, where we have season football tickets.

Nearly three decades of daily commitment to the city, the schools, the churches, colleges, and community have made Memphis home. You often hear it said that Memphis is a big smalltown, and that has some truth to it. I know that no matter where I go, I see someone I know. There is so much more to Memphis than the poverty, racial division, and crime you see on the news.

Commitment to one place, one person, and one faith can seem to make life more circumscribed. But it also makes for a deep and rewarding life. I’m not sure I know how to live a big life, but I’m grateful for the life I have chosen.

Edited by Heidi Bollich-Erne and Jane Clark Scharl, it contains something for any Catholic woman who contemplates her role in the world, her workplace, and her family. Section titles include Ecclesial and Intellectual Foundations, Disruptions and Discernment, and Witness and Vocation. I am a subscriber, and I highly recommend it. More information about subscriptions can be found at their website.

One article that caught my attention was “Ecclesial Feminism: Why the Church Needs a Feminine Voice” by Victoria Cardona. This essay invokes two of my favorite female role models and Catholic women, St. Edith Stein and the Blessed Mother, in making the case that the feminine voice is vital to our Catholic Church and faith.

Famous as a Jewish convert to Catholicism who became a religious sister and still was killed in the concentration camps, Edith Stein was also a very well-regarded phenomenologist in Germany. She wrote that there is no profession that a woman should not practice and rejected the idea that women should model themselves after men in order to participate in the larger culture. Instead, “she argued for the presence of women to transform the nature of the professional and social life itself, humanizing institutions increasingly shaped by abstraction,” Cardona says.

In speaking of Mary, Cardona writes, “As the Church’s preeminent disciple, she reveals to men as well as women what it means to receive Christ, to trust the Father and to exercise authority through obedience instead of desiring to be in control.”

This importance of letting go of control is echoed in the journal in an essay by Shemaiah Gonzalez, who has written the book, Undaunted Joy: The Revolutionary Act of Cultivating Delight. She writes, “We must let go of control, which is so difficult for most of us to do . . . . When we surrender to Jesus, we experience the freedom He has promised us.”

Gonzalez also emphasizes the importance of gratitude in finding joy in the world. It is about appreciating all the small moments that build beauty into daily life. I could not agree with her more. Learning to let go and to maintain gratitude are two disciplines that have made my life much happier and easier in middle age than in my early adulthood.

I am not through reading the journal, but I love the way it combines poetry and philosophy in understanding a woman’s role in the world. A truly touching article by Betsy K. Brown, “Motherhood, Poetry, and Prayer,” wove the writer’s original poetry into a contemplation of the different phases of motherhood.

I will leave you with a stanza of her poem, “Bird, Gift”:

You hold the bird with open hands
Until it flies to distant lands.
You love when it returns again,
Within your palm, you see it then,
but if you try to tightly grasp
this gift, embrace it, hold it fast,
You lose it by its being too near --
By being free it is more dear.

On Good Friday, I was inspired to re-read The Practice of the Presence of God by Brother Lawrence. It’s interesting that on the only day of the year when Catholics do not celebrate Mass, I was reminded of this small volume.

The book is made up of the conversations and letters of Brother Lawrence, a humble and unlearned man who was admitted as Lay Brother to the barefooted Carmelites in Paris in 1666 – more than 300 years before I was born. According to the book’s preface, the conversations were written by M. Beaufort, Grand Vicar to M. de Chalons. Brother Lawrence maintained a close and constant conversation with God from the time of his conversion by making the simple effort to place his attention on God before all else.

In the conversations, the writer says, “He told me that all consists in one hearty renunciation of everything which we are sensible does not lead to God that we might accustom ourselves to continual conversation with Him in freedom and simplicity.”

As I made an effort to place my attention to continually on God over this weekend, I was struck by just how often I am thinking of other things – like myself, my ambitions, other people, politics. You name it, and I am thinking about something other than God. It also occurred to me that being on social media is the opposite of practicing the presence of God.

Brother Lawrence emphasizes the importance of simply drawing one’s mind intentionally back to God when it wanders to other things. He speaks of the importance of doing this rather than imposing penances or devotions on oneself.

This approach seems like a realistic one to me because I often wonder at the amount of devotions that some Catholics are able to shoulder. I mean, I like to pray a daily Rosary, but I don’t do a lot of devotions because of my full-time job and other responsibilities.

It’s almost as if Brother Lawrence is offering a prayer program for busy people. He says that “our sanctification does not depend on changing our works but in doing for God’s sake what we commonly do for our own.” So, while I continue my regular job, I can do it for the love of God rather than my own ambition for career advancement. That attitude would definitely help when I am dealing with difficult people, which is just par for the course in any workplace.

While Brother Lawrence’s program of spiritual development is simple, it is not easy. Renouncing all that does not lead to God is actually a pretty tall order. But even as I made the attempt this weekend to turn my mind toward God’s goodness, I was aware of seeing the world through a very different lens.

The beauty of nature, the joy of children, and the goodness of family all moved to the forefront of my mind, and negative thoughts moved to the margins. While I may not practice the presence of God perfectly, I’m going to make the effort.

During this Easter season, I will focus on the simple goodness of God. After all, that what inspired Brother’s Lawrence’s initial conversion. He happened to see a tree in midwinter, dry and leafless. He thought then about how it would soon grow leaves and blossom. From this reflection, “he received a high view of the Providence and Power of God, which has never since been effaced from his soul. That this view had perfectly set him loose from the world and kindled in him such a love for God that he could not tell whether it had increased during the more than 40 years he had lived since.”

Happy Easter! Christ is Risen. He is risen indeed!

I came away from the experience full of gratitude for the many opportunities we have to practice our faith in the Catholic Diocese of Memphis. We are so blessed with beautiful churches and good priests in this city.

Monday found me at the 5:30 pm Mass at St. Mary’s Catholic Church, pictured above. St. Mary’s was dedicated in 1870, and the parish opened the first parochial school in Tennessee in 1887. The soup kitchen also opened in 1870 and is still in operation.

On Tuesday and Friday, when I work at home, I attended the noon Mass at the parish closest to my house, which is not my home parish. I chose a good week for daily Mass because, beginning the fifth Sunday of Lent, we enter Passiontide. At this time, many churches cover crosses and images throughout the church with purple cloth. Crosses remain covered until the end of the Celebration of the Lord’s Passion on Good Friday, but images remain covered until the beginning of the Easter Vigil, according to an article by St. John’s Seminary in Boston, Mass. I’m unsure why some parishes in Memphis do this while others do not, but it is visually striking. The parish pictured below is St. Louis Catholic Church, which hadn’t yet covered its images.

On my other workdays, I attended Mass at two different Midtown parishes. One was the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, the mother church of the diocese. The other was Sacred Heart, a beautiful old church that now serves communities in three different languages: Vietnamese, Spanish, and English. Sacred Heart typically offers daily Mass in a small side chapel so I didn’t take a picture because it would have been very distracting. As it turns out, four of the seven people present at that small Mass were actually priests.

No matter whether I was in a side chapel or beneath a vaulted ceiling, daily Mass was an important reminder of the good, true, and beautiful in what turned out to be a busy and stressful work week. It made prayer and forgiveness easier for me, and both were vital this week.

My husband and I attended our parish’s penance service on Wednesday, which was full of people lining up for the six different priests who had arrived to make the sacrament available. And I was back at my parish on Friday for the last fish fry of Lent. The line stretched around the cafeteria and out the door. Children were playing everywhere outside.

As we begin Holy Week, I continue to be grateful for the beauty and community of our faith. I wish everyone a wonderful, fruitful Holy Week and blessed Easter.

Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, Memphis, TN

All of us are called to conversion, but it takes a lifetime.

That is one of the lessons I learned at Casa Maria in Irondale, Alabama, this weekend on a women’s retreat. Rather than being discouraged by the long-term nature of the project, I am grateful – grateful to be Catholic and to have a lifetime to grow closer to God and to walk the path He wills for me.

The theme of the retreat was “The Light of Christ’’ with Fr. James Clark of Memphis. Too often, we guard our eyes against the light. When we encounter Christ, He challenges us, Fr. Clark said. An encounter with Christ is vital to true conversion.

My experience of Christ has not been a “bright light” moment, but a more gradual movement toward light. As I continue down the path, my vision improves and my confidence in the One who loves us all and died to redeem us continues to grow.

Fr. Clark discussed many verses from Scripture that use light in relation to Christ, including the Christmas Day reading from John 1: “The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world came to be through Him, but the world did not know Him.”

When we see by the true light, it changes our life. Suddenly, the material things that took up our time and attention fall back into the shadows. A conversion turns our thoughts to things invisible, such as love, humility, and service.

During the retreat, I found myself wishing for the light to see people as God sees. In truth. Not the face we all show the world, but instead every human with his burdens and gifts. Vision like that could change the world and enable us to treat one another with greater mercy.

I believe it is possible, but it requires grace. God Himself is divine light. God’s grace makes us more like God, if we cooperate with that grace. The sacraments enable us to receive grace, which is God sharing His Divine life with us.

I left the retreat encouraged and determined to participate more often in the sacraments, to attend daily Mass regularly, and to participate frequently in the sacrament of penance. I have faith that the sacraments are indeed efficacious in sharing God’s life with us. “Faith is the assurance of things hoped form, the conviction of things not seen.” Hebrews 11:1.

I’ll close with this beautiful prayer that I learned at Casa Maria. It is the Prayer Before a Crucifix by St. Francis.

“Most High, Glorious God,
cast your light
into the darkness of my heart.
Give me, Lord,
right faith,
firm hope,
perfect charity,
and profound humility with wisdom and perception,
so that I may carry out
what is truly your holy will.” Amen.

Many years ago, when my family and I were preparing for a cross-country move, I gave a rosary to a dear friend as a going-away gift. Praying the Rosary had made a huge impact on my life and led to my conversion to Catholicism, which I have written about at CatholicMom.com.

The rosary that I gave away was one that had played a significant role in my turnaround. It was a blue macramé rosary, given to me by a wacky friend who also was a devout Catholic. Watching her life had planted the seed of faith in my soul and the idea of conversion in my mind. That seed was watered by some of life’s tribulations plus my decision to reach for the blue rosary one day. The daily habit of praying the Rosary led my husband and me to begin our conversion to the Church within a year.

As we prepared to move to Virginia, I kept feeling it was time to pass on the gift of the rosary, so I gave it to a close friend who is also a convert.

A Messenger Before the Journey

One day later, I was at an unlikely location for rosaries – a nail salon. I had never been there before, but it was my last chance to use a coupon given to me as a birthday gift. I noticed that the elderly lady who gave me the manicure wore many religious medals, and there was a big picture of the Blessed Mother on the salon wall.

Because she didn’t want me to mar the polish, the lady insisted on getting my car keys out of my purse for me. My keychain, a Mother’s Day gift, had a disc at one end with a picture of the late Pope John Paul II on one side and then-Pope Benedict XVI on the other. The manicurist, who was from Vietnam, immediately stopped. “Oh, do you love him?” She asked, pointing at Pope John Paul II.

“Yes,” I said. “Turn it over.”

She beamed at the picture of Pope Benedict. What followed was a wonderful, unexpected sharing about our own faith lives between two people who might have otherwise never met. The lady showed me the bracelet rosary I had seen her holding. “You pray to God and Mary every day and you have everything good in your life,” she said.

In Giving, We Receive

We talked a little more and then, as I was leaving, she placed the one-decade rosary on the table in front of me. “If you don’t mind, have this please,” she said.

When I protested, she insisted that she had many other rosaries, so I accepted her gift — receiving a new rosary one day after I had given away my own. We ended our visit with a hug, and I will always remember her. I honestly think she was sent by God, as so many people are, to remind us that He is with us even when we can’t see Him. That was a comfort to me before such a big move.

The move was short-lived, however. We were back in Memphis within three years, and grateful to be here. What is funny, though, is that we moved into a house down the street from the friend to whom I had given the blue rosary. We have been neighbors now for 15 years, and she is one of my oldest and dearest friends.

Shared faith can be such a strong bond. I am so grateful for all the people of faith who have crossed my path, and for the ones who have walked with me on the journey. I have heard it said, and maybe you have too, “We are all just walking each other home.”

I met C.S. Lewis early in my conversion journey, and he has been a true friend on the long road to holiness. When I was pregnant with my second child and pushing my first in a stroller, we lived in a small, rural small town outside Memphis. Because of my toddler’s eating and napping schedule, I didn’t get into the city much at all. But our little town had a tiny library in a renovated house that I went to often. While looking for a book by Malcolm Muggeridge there one day, I discovered “The Screwtape Letters” by Lewis.

It could not have come at a better time. As many Lewis fans know, this book is a series of letters from an experienced devil, Screwtape, to a novice tempter named Wormwood who is charged with securing the eternal damnation of his human, called the Patient. The epistles from the senior demon highlight the subtle ways we humans can be led away from God and down the road to sin.

One of the most on point suggestions from Screwtape to Wormwood is to exacerbate the daily domestic irritations so that the Patient’s conversion doesn’t result in better behavior toward his mother. In my experience, focusing on the negative behavior of others definitely prevents me from concentrating on improving my own behavior. But it is our actions that are evidence of our conversion, not our intentions or spiritual ruminations. Reading the book was very helpful to me at a time in my life when I was in constant contact with my in-laws and could find myself easily irritated by their many suggestions on childcare, for example.

Originally published in 1942, the book is still timely. Its references to World War II and how people can politicize their faith ring true today. When the Patient begins dating a Christian girl, the senior tempter is upset, but he recommends a strategy to Wormwood. “I find that the best point of attack would be the borderline between theology and politics.”

While the tempters recognize that allowing Christianity to overflow into political life could result in a just society, they still find a way to use that to advance their goals. Screwtape says, “The thing to do is to get a man at first to value social justice as a thing which the Enemy demands and then work him on to the stage at which he values Christianity because it may produce social justice.” (Lewis, pp. 126-127) I see that in our world today, and it is a dangerous distraction from the purpose of our faith, which is redemption.

The Temptation of Wasting Time

I am re-reading the book now as a Lenten exercise, and I find it is relevant to my everyday life, although it has been more than 20 years since my first reading. One section that jumped out at me was on wasting time, which the senior tempter suggested as a way to keep the Patient from facing himself and his sins. Like many people, I spend too much time on social media, and modern life is full of such distractions. “You can make him waste his time not only in conversation he enjoys with people whom he likes, but in conversations with those he cares nothing about on subjects that bore him.” (Lewis, p. 59)

Screwtape adds, “It does not matter how small the sins are provided that their cumulative effect is to edge the man away from the Light and out into Nothing. Murder is no better than cards if cards can do the trick. Indeed, the safest road to Hell is the gradual one - the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts.” (Lewis, pp. 60-61) That last sentence is pretty terrifying. The easier, softer way is always available, and many of us fall for it.

I recommend this book to read and re-read. It has been a great practice for me so far this Lent. I would love to hear from readers about how the book has illuminated your walk of faith.

What if we could build a bridge that would connect people living a mostly secular life to people whose lives are formed by their faith?

I am thinking about this because, one day in the middle of middle age, I looked up and realized that I lived in a different world than most of the people who had made up my core group in college. The turning point had been my conversion to Catholicism at age 31. Shortly thereafter, my husband and I had two children within 16 months, and my choice to stay home with them also placed me on a different path than many of my peers from journalism school.

The trajectory was slow but steady. By my early 50s, I was still connected to the group through social media and occasional get-togethers, but our day-to-day lives looked nothing alike, and our values were far more different than I realized.

A Polarized Society

I’m a person who never wants to let a friendship go, but the polarization that was occurring in America was just under the surface in some of these friendships. Then COVID happened, and any cracks under the surface of our society split open. People became very willing to see those who disagreed with them as potentially dangerous. I think I have been grieving it ever since.

Although my life is far from perfect, I am so grateful for the connection, community, faith, and meaning that Catholicism has brought into my world. I still love my friends from college, and I wish I could build a bridge from this life of faith to them so they could walk across and see what it’s like. I would like to find a way to share the beauty of the faith in a friendly, non-threatening way, but the changes in society seem to make any approach fraught with potential conflict.

The biggest change is the arrival of the Internet with the curse of social media, which has become a substitute for community. Another big change is how the media operate. The days of objectivity seem to be over, and the days of reaction (thanks social media) are upon us.

On a personal level, we have all lived a lot of life since college. Most of us have cared for and eventually buried our aging parents. Some of us have raised children, although not as many as you would think. About half of the 50 friends from college I am still connected to are married with children. About 20 of my friends are either unmarried or married with no children. A few are divorced and have children. That is probably normal for America today. We are in a baby bust.

Living Generously

The child-free life is a great example of our how different our life experiences have been for the last 25 years. When I saw a friend recently who is very successful and has chosen not to have children, I enjoyed visiting. But later, I felt sad over what this good person is missing in life.

Back to the bridge: How to share the beauty of faith with people who are just in a very different place in their lives? I think of the people who were part of my conversion, and I know they didn’t preach to me. They lived in a way that was generous. They invited me to events at church, which I think is a key that many Catholics overlook.

Lent is a great time to practice the generosity of invitation because of all of the extra activities at church – fish fries, parish missions, and the like. Perhaps I will make a late Lenten resolution to simply invite friends in and let God take it from there. I welcome any ideas from readers on building the bridge of faith.

When I got married 30 years ago, I didn’t know that marriage was a sacrament. That may sound crazy to most Catholics, but I grew up Protestant in Kentucky, where I don’t remember learning much about sacraments at all. I believe that both denominations in which I grew up have two sacraments: Baptism and Holy Communion.

Most of what I knew about marriage at that time was what I had learned from my parents – who actually got divorced the year I got married. When my husband and I became Catholic four years into our marriage, our faith strengthened our marital commitment, but I don’t remember hearing much about marriage as a sacrament.

It was when I took a catechetical course on Teaching the Sacraments 10 years ago that I learned that marriage is a sacrament of service.

If someone landed on Earth from outer space today, he would have no idea that marriage was about service based on what we see in our culture. Our alien visitor might think marriage is about personal fulfillment, sex, or maybe power struggles. But service? You don’t see that so much. In fact, the service aspect of marriage is one of the best-kept secrets of the 21^st Century.

The other sacrament of service in the Catholic Church is Holy Orders, in which a priest is ordained so that he may serve as Christ’s instrument for the church. For married couples, the grace of the marriage sacrament is to “help one another attain holiness in their married life and in welcoming and educating their children,” according to the Catechism. The ministers of the sacrament are the bride and groom. The priest is the witness for the sacrament.

Growing in Holiness

As we walk the long road to holiness, our spouse is a vital part of that journey. Sometimes it can be that person’s imperfections – or our own – that make us turn to God and ask for guidance and the grace to surrender our selfishness for the good of the other. It is the Catholic Church that taught me that real love is willing the good of the other. That is quite a contrast to the way love is portrayed in the culture.

Understanding that marriage is a sacrament of service is actually a relief. It doesn’t say a spouse has to be perfect, keep her wedding day figure, or be the best cook in the world. We are simply to love and serve one another and to grow in holiness and in our love of God. Of course, attaining holiness is no small matter. But the idea is that the husband and wife are here to help each other.

I can think of many examples of service in our own household. Some mundane, some not so much. At our house, I am the paperwork person. I take care of the taxes, keep up with the checkbook and clip the coupons. I do most of the regular housework and plan the vacations.

Now that my husband has retired, he is definitely the grocery person and often the cook. But he has also been a major contributor to home maintenance over the years. He takes care of the cars and once replaced our home’s water heater by himself. And one morning, when I was on the way to run my first half marathon at 6 a.m., I got a flat tire 20 minutes from home in a bad neighborhood. So my dear, capable husband jumped in his car, drove to where I was stranded, changed my tire and sent me to my race in the good car – driving home on the spare.

Service doesn’t always have to mean action, however. Sometimes service is simply listening to your spouse talk about a problem – or share a success. And praying for and with one another. In a marriage, there are so many opportunities for service, large and small, and these change and grow through the seasons of a marriage.

I am so grateful for the genius of the Catholic Church in giving us the sacraments as avenues of grace – and especially in designating marriage as a sacrament of service that places spouses in right relationship to one another and to their Creator.

An earlier original version of this column first appeared in Faith West Tennessee.

When I had the opportunity to write an article for Holy Women’s History Month last year, I knew I had to write about Elisabeth Leseur. Servant of God Elisabeth Leseur has been a wonderful guide to me on the long road to holiness, although she died before I was born. These articles were published by CatholicMom.com, a website for Catholic moms of all ages, and I wanted to share Elisabeth’s story again as we approach Lent.

I first met Elisabeth in the pages of the monthly publication Magnificat. which had published one of her writings as a daily meditation. When I learned about The Secret Diary of Elisabeth LeSeur, I knew I had to buy it. As a lifelong journal-keeper, I felt an immediate kinship with her.

The more I learned about Elisabeth, the more humbled I was by her life. This upper-class Frenchwoman who died at 48 from cancer counted among her sufferings the atheism of her beloved husband Felix. Although she grew in holiness and piety during their marriage, she maintained a gracious quiet about her convictions when interacting with her husband or his like-minded friends. She kept her own counsel and wrote in her private journal about her developing faith life – a life she could not share with the one she loved the most. Her spiritual isolation brought great suffering, which she offered for her husband.

When Felix discovered the journals after her death, he was moved to revisit the Catholic faith he had abandoned so many years before. He returned to the Church and later became a priest. He also published her beautiful writings and reflections on faith. By 1930, the book had sold 100,000 copies and had been translated into every major European language.

The Value of Silence

From Elisabeth, I learned the importance of silence – gracious silence. I am not great at this, but I try. Although I do not live with any atheists, it would be safe to say I am the most enthusiastic Catholic in my family. Elisabeth, more than anyone, demonstrated to me that we do more for others by our own personal transformation than by any other means. This especially was relevant during my children’s teen years and is still helpful now that they are in their twenties.

“It is not in arguing or in lecturing that I can make them know what God is to the human soul. But in struggling with myself, in becoming, with His help, more Christian and more valiant, I will bear witness to Him whose humble disciple I am.” (The Secret Diary of Elisabeth Leseur, p. 10)

It is notable that Elisabeth never sought fame but attained it. In fact, she valued the hidden life and wrote often about doing good so that God alone might see it. Her approach encourages me because I sometimes wonder if my average life as a wife and mother in Memphis, TN, is accomplishing God’s will. The impact of Elisabeth’s life on her husband offers reassurance that seeking to live a life of holiness is the highest goal for any Christian.

Elisabeth was bedridden at the end of her life, but people still came to her for conversation, consolation, and guidance. She made a life-changing difference simply by talking to people and writing letters. In this way she lived out her belief that we must focus more on the individual than on humanity as a whole.

Although she died more than 100 years ago, in 1914, I value Elisabeth’s counsel in a very opinionated and polarized world. And I am grateful to revisit her journal and listen to her guidance again and again, thanks to her husband who made those words available to the world at large. I hope more people learn about her contributions, and I would love to hear from readers about their favorite saints or Servants of God.

When I first walked into a Catholic Church years ago, I took no notice of the red candle that glowed continuously near the golden box behind the altar – the beating heart of the faith, truly alive and present in every Catholic Church around the world. The Real Presence of our Lord Jesus Christ. Eventually, of course, I did notice the light as I learned more about the faith. The teaching about the Real Presence of our Lord in the Eucharist both captivated me and helped me to make sense of the Catholic world view.

Catholics orient their faith to a person and a reality rather than a scripture or a ministry. The faith is one of flesh and blood. From the time that understanding penetrated my thinking, I have been returning to the temple to find Jesus. And He is always there.

Making a Habit of Adoration

From my earliest days as a Catholic, I took my hopes, fears, and joys straight to the living Christ in Adoration. I can remember, as a new Catholic mother, taking my baby daughter in her car seat to spend time in Adoration. I set her car seat in the aisle and knelt down in the simple church of my small-town parish where the monstrance had none of the grand engraving or beautiful gems I would see elsewhere. Where the crucifix hung suspended from the ceiling by heavy chains.

Fast forward two years, and my time in Adoration was limited to how long it would take my two toddlers to get bored after munching on Cheerios and raisins and flipping through their board books. Those years found me in the upstairs cry room were the soundproof glass kept my children from disturbing anyone and where they had more room to move. At the balcony level, I was closer to the crucifix than the monstrance, and the juxtaposition of the two made a big impression on me. I looked forward to First Friday when I could go to see Jesus as I would go to visit a friend.

When we moved to Virginia a few years later, I was shocked to learn that the beautiful church known to locals as Cinderella’s Castle only offered Adoration four hours per month. I felt bereft and lonelier than ever as a newcomer. I made a point to get to Adoration as often as possible and would take the children, stopping for ice cream on the way home to make it a sweet memory. I was happy when we moved back to Memphis, which has a larger Catholic community, although the move meant I would have to stop homeschooling and return to full-time work. In the midst of that transition, I tried to make time to stop at the 24-hour Adoration Chapel just a mile from my house as often as possible.

Focusing on the Love of Christ

This time with Jesus was not an escape; it was a time to rest in the light of His presence and to allow that light to show me my life from a very different perspective – His. Spending time before the Blessed Sacrament moved me out of the center of my life and allowed Him to take the primary place.

When the pandemic began in 2020, having access to the light of Christ became even more important to me. Early in the COVID-19 response when public Masses were canceled, our pastor made a very wise decision. He opened the church for Adoration on specific days to allow parishioners time with the Real Presence of their beloved Jesus. All safety guidelines were followed, and no more than 10 people were allowed in the church at once. But our pastor knew that the people would be hungering for their Lord, as He did for them.

The Adoration hours for the parish continued after public Masses resumed. It is a beautiful example of God bringing good – increased devotion, out of evil – a worldwide pandemic and limited access to the sacraments. Thankfully, the pandemic is over, but the polarization of our society has only increased. I keep a weekly holy hour now at my nearby parish. My time with Jesus keeps me focused on the love of Christ rather than the problems in the world. When I leave the chapel, I hope to always bring Christ with me.

Last week, I went to a Holy Hour for Life at a Catholic Church in Memphis, followed by a procession from the church to Planned Parenthood. Part of our prayer before the Blessed Sacrament was, “By the power of your Eucharistic Presence, help us to defend the life of every human person at every stage.” During his homily, the priest emphasized that we must hold sacred the lives of all the people. To be pro-life is to value life in every phase and presentation.

We are at a difficult moment in American history, a moment of outrage and anger that seems to primarily value power. At this time, a person whose writing I find helpful is a Michigan priest who posts at @joeinblack on X.

I’m going to quote him here: “For clarity’s sake, I detest all killing. It’s literally true that my heart breaks every day for the 3,000 children we kill through abortion.” He goes on to say that some may have been wondering where the pro-lifers are in the ICE protests in Minnesota. He says he tries to remember that not everyone has the same calling. Some may be called to risk arrest praying outside abortion clinics; others may be called to risk arrest by protesting the current tactics of ICE.

His final statement is very well-said:

“What I do know is God’s way can’t be the way we’re doing it right now; God’s People defending murderers on the left and on the right and believing with all their heart that the murder they are comfortable with is somehow less awful than the murder they hate. I wish with all my heart we were as obedient to Jesus, as formed by Jesus, as we are to our ideological masters.”

For my part, I abhor the unnecessary deaths in Minneapolis. I hope they are investigated objectively and pray that there are no more. I also abhor the divisive rhetoric of people who can only see the current political moment rather than the corrosive effect their response to that moment is having on our souls and on society.

The second reading at Mass today urges us to remember to whom we belong, and I can assure you it is not Donald Trump or Tim Walz.

1 Corinthians 1: 10-13, 17

I urge you, brothers and sisters, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ,
that all of you agree in what you say,
and that there be no divisions among you,
but that you be united in the same mind and in the same purpose.
For it has been reported to me about you, my brothers and sisters,
by Chloe’s people, that there are rivalries among you.
I mean that each of you is saying,
“I belong to Paul,” or “I belong to Apollos,”
or “I belong to Cephas,” or “I belong to Christ.”
Is Christ divided?
Was Paul crucified for you?
Or were you baptized in the name of Paul?
For Christ did not send me to baptize but to preach the gospel,
and not with the wisdom of human eloquence,
so that the cross of Christ might not be emptied of its meaning.”

Let us remember that we belong to Christ and to one another and begin to live accordingly.

A focus on personal conversion is vital to my spiritual survival in the current political climate. In our overwrought media cycle, just getting on Facebook can lead to emotional whiplash. When social media is part of your job, as it is mine, it’s impossible to shut out the noise of people trumpeting opinions based on the media they consume. It can be exhausting.

What I find most helpful during these contentious days is to remember that my primary job in the world is to become a saint. To some that sounds outlandish, but as Catholics we know that we are called to holiness first.

I am not hiding my head in the sand; rather, I am guarding my heart and mind by keeping them focused on Christ through daily morning prayer, extra Mass attendance and increased spiritual reading. Keeping this peace requires effort and spiritual growth. For someone like me, an outspoken Kentucky native and former journalist, the struggle is real.

Personal conversion leads to interior freedom

As a reader of all things Catholic, both fiction and non-fiction, I find guidance in the books of Father Jacques Philippe, especially Interior Freedom. I picked up this treasure at a book swap offered by the Women’s Guild at my parish. It’s a game-changer, full of nuggets like: “At times of struggle, we need to recall the conversion we should be concerned about is not our neighbor’s but our own” and “It does more good to seek to reform our hearts than to reform the world or the Church. Everyone will benefit.”

Thanks to this important reminder, I can hold my peace rather than constantly stating my opinions about what others are saying or doing. In fact, I am unusually quiet these days. That is not because I’m uninterested; it’s because I’m praying for the grace to not say something I will later regret.

Meeting evil with love

Fr. Philippe says that the more holy a person is, the more that person suffers due to the evil in the world. But the true harm to us comes by our own negative internal reactions to that external evil, such as fear, worry, or resentment. He even discourages concentrating on and talking about what is wrong in society, lest we give it more strength. Instead, he encourages a focus on love, as described in 1 Corinthians 13: 5-7:

“it (love) is not rude, it does not seek its own interests, it is not quick-tempered, it does not brood over injury,
it does not rejoice over wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth.
It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.^”

This is not a natural reaction to life. It is a supernatural reaction, and I don’t think it’s something I can do under my own power. Fr. Philippe says it is a gift of God, but one that is given to us more quickly the more we strive to practice the attitude of love and acceptance.

This is a lifelong endeavor for me, and it is one in which I fail regularly. But the more I practice this, the more quickly I can see my fault and pick myself back up and place myself again in God’s hands, asking Him for the grace to do for me what I cannot do for myself.

Perhaps that is why my constant prayers these days are simply: “Jesus, I trust in You,” and “Lord, Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”