Be Not Afraid: Reflections on Healing and Trust

Yesterday brought an unexpected reminder of faith and courage. I found myself sitting in a waiting room, uncertain about what the afternoon/evening would bring. It wasn’t a place anyone looks forward to, but sometimes life slows us down just enough to make us listen to our bodies, our hearts, and to God’s quiet voice within us.

As I sat there, I thought of the woman in Scripture who had been hemorrhaging for twelve years (Mark 5:25–34). Her story has always touched me, but this time it felt especially close. She lived with uncertainty and pain, yet she never stopped believing in the possibility of healing. With quiet courage, she reached out to touch the hem of Jesus’ cloak, and in that moment of faith, everything changed. Jesus didn’t just heal her physically, He looked into her soul and said, “Daughter, your faith has made you well.”

That story is one of courage in the face of fear. And today, on the Feast of Pope St. John Paul II, those same words he so often spoke - Be not afraid” - echo through my heart. He faced immense suffering in his life, yet he carried hope with him wherever he went. His faith didn’t erase the challenges he faced; it illuminated them with peace.

I think that’s what faith is meant to do. It doesn’t always give us immediate answers or clear outcomes, but it gives us something better. It gives us trust. The kind of trust that reminds us we don’t walk through uncertainty alone. The kind that allows us to breathe, pray, and rest in God’s presence, even when the path ahead feels unclear.

Yesterday reminded me that faith can look quiet. It can look like patience, like seeking help, or like waiting with grace. It’s the steady belief that God is already at work, even when we can’t see how.

So today, as I reflect on St. John Paul II’s life and the faith of the woman who reached for Jesus, I carry those three words close to my heart: Be not afraid. Whatever we face, may we reach out in faith, trust that God sees us, and find peace in knowing that we are never alone.

Lord Jesus, When we feel uncertain or afraid, help us to remember Your words: “Do not be afraid; just have faith.” Give us the courage to reach out to You as the woman in the Gospel did and to trust that even the smallest act of faith can open the door to grace. Teach us to rest in Your timing, to find peace in Your presence, and to believe that You are working for my good even when I cannot see it. Through the intercession of Pope St. John Paul II, may we learn to live with faith that is bold, hope that is steady, and love that never fails. Amen.

Witnessing a Heart Awakened to Christ

Tonight, I attended the new parishioner event at Sts. Anne and Joachim Catholic Church, and it felt like stepping into the warmth of a family I didn’t know I was missing. The parish social hall glowed softly beneath the warm lights, filled with friendly conversation and the hum of community. Along one side of the room, a table was beautifully set with trays of hors d’oeuvres - bacon-wrapped water chestnuts, cheeses, fruit, chips and dip, and cheesecake - that seemed to invite people to gather, linger, and talk. The joyful giggles of children playing on the stage echoed through the room like music. It was the sound of life, of faith being lived out in real time through fellowship, welcome, and joy.

By God’s gentle design, I found myself seated at a table with Kelvin, a gentleman I had met a few months ago. I remembered his warmth and sincerity right away, but tonight I noticed something even more radiant: a deep, unmistakable fire for the Lord. As we talked, Kelvin shared that he’s currently in the OCIA program and will be entering the Catholic Church this November. His eyes lit up as he spoke about yearning for Jesus in the Eucharist, describing it with such purity and conviction that it caught my breath. His longing was not merely intellectual; it was the kind that springs from the soul, a holy ache for union with Christ.

Listening to him speak took me back nearly three decades, to my own journey into the Catholic Church in 1997. I could almost feel the same anticipation stirring within me again, that mixture of wonder, humility, and reverence filling my heart when I first knelt before the Blessed Sacrament, knowing that Jesus was truly present. Kelvin’s story rekindled that sacred awe and reminded me of how faith, once awakened, continues to grow and deepen in ways we can never fully predict.

I thought about how the Holy Spirit weaves these encounters into our lives, connecting one person’s story of conversion to another’s story of renewal. Perhaps that is how God draws us closer, through the quiet intersections of faith shared over simple conversations and hors d’oeuvres, laughter and grace, old memories and new beginnings.

As the evening came to an end, I lingered for a moment before leaving. The children were still laughing and playing on the stage. Their joy echoed like a benediction over the room. I closed my eyes for a second, offering a silent prayer of gratitude for Kelvin’s courage and zeal, for the beauty of our Church, and for the reminder that God is always at work, awakening hearts to His love in ways both grand and gentle.

Walking out into the cool night air, I felt that same warmth within me: a quiet renewal, a rekindled flame. What a blessing it is to witness someone discovering the treasure that has sustained me all these years. And what a gift to be reminded that conversion is not a single moment in time, but a lifelong invitation to fall in love with Christ again and again.

Lord Jesus, thank You for the gift of Your presence in the Eucharist,
the source and summit of our faith. Thank You for the ways You reveal
Yourself through others, through stories, conversations, and moments that
remind us of Your nearness. Bless Kelvin as he prepares to enter Your Church,
and bless all who are still searching for You. Rekindle in each of us
the fire of Your love, that our hearts may burn brightly with faith, gratitude, and joy. 

Amen.

Grace Amid the Storm: Reflections on Hazel After a Busy Week

This past week was one for the books – full of deadlines, deliverables, and long hours as I worked to complete a few major projects. By Friday evening, I felt both proud and completely spent. Yet, as He so often does, God found a way to meet me in the midst of the exhaustion. When a couple of Sisters invited me to see the new movie Hazel, I said yes without hesitation, not realizing just how much my heart needed that quiet pause.

Hazel is based on the true story of Hazel Miner, a 16-year-old North Dakota farm girl who, during a blizzard in 1920, gave her life to save her younger siblings. The film was beautifully made – a honest, emotional, and grounded in faith. What struck me most was how ordinary Hazel was. She wasn’t seeking heroism or recognition; she was simply a young woman rooted in love, courage, and faith. When the storm hit, her instinct was to protect those entrusted to her care, no matter the cost. Her calm determination and unwavering love became a reflection of Christ’s own sacrificial love, reminding me that holiness is found not in perfection but in the quiet courage of choosing love again and again.

The filmmakers captured that truth with grace. Faith wasn’t something preached, but lived. The blizzard became more than a storm; it became a symbol of every trial that tests our faith, a moment of surrender when trust in God is the only thing left to hold onto. Watching Hazel’s selflessness unfold on screen felt like witnessing a modern parable, a living Eucharist. It moved me to tears and left me pondering how I respond when life’s own storms arise. Do I cling to control, or do I trust that God will provide what I need?

In the midst of such a demanding week, the movie was a profound reminder that our strength doesn’t come from ourselves but from grace. Hazel’s story brought me back to the truth that God calls us to love sacrificially every day to serve faithfully, even when no one notices, and to find holiness in the ordinary moments. Her courage also made me think about the quiet saints around us: the people who give, suffer, and persevere with faith, often unseen.

As I left the theater, walking alongside the Sisters, I felt both humbled and renewed. The week’s noise and busyness faded into perspective. I realized that even in long workdays and deadlines, my efforts can become an offering, an act of love given back to God. Hazel reminded me that in every storm, no matter how fierce, Christ is near. Sometimes He speaks through Scripture, sometimes through silence, and sometimes through the powerful witness of a young girl whose love outlasted the cold.

Even in the fiercest storm, grace is never far away. Love – pure, steadfast,
and self-giving – a will always find a way to shine through the cold.

Sacred Simplicity: Friendship, Faith, and Rest

This past weekend, I spent time in Rochester with one of my dearest friends, Shauna. From the moment I arrived, everything felt familiar and easy like stepping into a space where you can simply be. There was no need for plans or perfection, no rush to fill the hours. Just the quiet joy of spending time with someone who knows you well and meets you right where you are.

We talked about school, work, faith, and the things that make us laugh. We wandered through shops, tried on cozy sweatpants and smelled candles, and shared small discoveries that made us smile. We did homework side by side, each lost in our own focus yet grounded in the comfort of companionship. Even when we ate food that was, at best, mediocre, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t about the meal; it was about the company, the laughter between bites, and the ease that comes with not needing anything to be perfect.

There’s something sacred about friendships like the ones that don’t demand, but invite; that don’t exhaust, but restore. Our conversations weren’t filled with grand revelations, but with realness. We listened to each other’s hopes, frustrations, and prayers. And in those moments, I was reminded of how God often works through the steady presence of people He places in our lives.

On Sunday morning, we ended the weekend with Mass at the Co-Cathedral of St. John the Evangelist. Before Mass began, we prayed a rosary together, our voices soft and unhurried in the quiet of the church. Bead by bead, the prayers felt like a thread weaving gratitude, intention, and peace through our hearts. There was something profoundly comforting about sharing that time with a friend: two women, side by side, offering our joys and burdens to Mary and her Son.

When Mass began, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace. The beauty of the liturgy, the soft echo of the cantor, and the sacredness of being present before the Lord. All of it felt like a fitting close to a weekend rooted in grace. I found myself whispering a quiet thank you for friendship, for faith, for rest, and for the reminder that sometimes holiness looks like an ordinary weekend spent with someone who helps you see God more clearly.

Sometimes we think joy is found in big adventures or perfectly planned getaways. But more often, it’s found in these small, gentle moments: laughter over a subpar meal, shared silence over textbooks and laptops, and in prayers whispered before Mass. It’s in the presence of someone who reminds you that you’re not walking this journey alone.

A Closing Prayer

Lord, thank You for the gift of friendship that reflects Your love.

Thank You for the people who bring light into our lives
through simple moments and honest conversations.

Bless our time together, even the ordinary parts,
and let them draw us closer to You.

May every shared laugh, quiet prayer, and peaceful pause
remind us that Your grace is found not only in the extraordinary,
but in the everyday.

Amen.

Boundaries, Healing, and the Culture of Love: The Quiet Work of Renewal

**NOTE: Last night I listened to a discussion that stirred something deep in me, and it inspired today’s reflection.

When I think about boundaries, healing, and the culture of love, I realize how much of this has unfolded for me since moving to Fargo. Life in Illinois was full and busy, with constant commitments and responsibilities pulling me in different directions. In Fargo, I’ve been given the gift of quiet, which has allowed me to slow down, step back, and spend more intentional time with God. This quieter pace has become fertile ground for what I now see as the quiet work of renewal.

We often hear the call to “change the world,” but it can feel overwhelming like a burden too heavy to carry. When I hear that phrase, I sometimes imagine huge movements, world leaders, or people who have platforms far beyond my reach. But the truth is, real transformation begins much closer to home. When your culture changes, your community’s culture changes, and then the whole world’s culture changes.

This truth echoes the wisdom of St. Teresa of Calcutta, who said, “If you want to change the world, go home and love your family.” She understood something profound: world change doesn’t start on a grand stage. It begins in the ordinary, in the everyday, and in the way we treat those closest to us with love, patience, forgiveness, and kindness.

In my own life, I’ve had seasons when I needed to take a step back from organizations I was heavily involved in, from friendships that left me drained, and even at times from family relationships that weighed heavily on my heart. These choices weren’t easy. At first, I felt guilt for creating distance. I wondered if I was letting people down or failing to live up to expectations. But through prayer and reflection, I’ve learned that boundaries are not rejections. They are acts of love, ways of protecting peace in my own personal culture so that I can show up more lovingly, more authentically, and more fully for the people God has entrusted to me.

My faith reminds me that even Jesus withdrew from the crowds. He went up the mountain alone to pray. He sought quiet spaces to rest and to reconnect with His Father. If the Son of God needed solitude, how much more do I? Those pauses are not selfish; they are sacred. They are where healing begins. They are where I remember who I am: God’s beloved daughter. They are where God equips me to return to others not empty or resentful, but with a heart renewed, ready to love.

For me, healing has meant learning the hard but necessary art of saying “no.” No to unhealthy expectations. No to being everything for everyone. No to staying in patterns that steal my peace. Each “no” creates room for a greater “yes.” Yes to forgiveness, yes to hope, yes to grace, and yes to joy. This isn’t always easy, and sometimes I stumble. But even in my failures, I see how God works. When my heart shifts, even slightly, the ripple spreads: my family feels more peace, my friends experience more compassion, my community begins to reflect the love God is planting in me.

And that’s what St. Teresa meant when she said to “go home and love your family.” Love starts small. It doesn’t need a stage, a spotlight, or a worldwide audience. It begins in the quiet culture of our own hearts and homes: how we greet one another at the end of a long day, how we speak in moments of frustration, how we choose to forgive, how we decide to serve one another in ordinary ways. These small beginnings matter, because love is contagious. It spreads outward to our families first, then to our communities, and eventually to the world.

That is the quiet work of renewal. Personal transformation is never just personal; it is the seed of cultural renewal. When I change, my culture changes. And when we choose to love those closest to us, as Christ calls us to, we participate in something far greater than ourselves. We participate in God’s quiet, powerful work of changing the world one heart, one home, one relationship at a time.

Grace in Simple Moments

Yesterday I made the 4.5-hour drive with a heart full of anticipation. What unfolded reminded me that sometimes the most ordinary days hold the most extraordinary graces.

There was nothing flashy about the setting - just a warm breeze, sunshine spilling across the yard, and the scent of fresh-cut grass hanging in the air. Yet, in that simplicity, I felt God’s presence so clearly. I’ve been praying and pondering what it means to truly know and live as His beloved daughter, and yesterday became a lived answer to that prayer. To sit, breathe, and simply be without striving, this is where God speaks gently and reminds me that His love is already mine.

That quiet awareness deepened as the evening unfolded. The highlight was CC stepping onto the stage as Wilbur in Charlotte’s Web. Watching her embody such joy and courage was a gift. With floppy ears and a beaming smile, she radiated life, heart, and wonder. She was indeed “some pig - terrific and radiant.” What struck me most was not just the performance itself but the way her joy overflowed into all of us. It was impossible not to smile, not to feel lifted, not to see God’s light shining through her.

Driving home, I carried with me more than the memory of a play. I carried the reminder that joy is contagious, that love shows up in laughter and shared presence, and that God’s grace is often revealed in the faces of those we love. Yesterday was a nudge to rest in who I am - His beloved - and to see His goodness stitched into both the quiet and the celebratory moments.

Lord, thank You for the gift of joy, for the courage of children who remind us to shine freely, and for the grace of ordinary days that reveal Your extraordinary love. Help me rest in the truth that I am Your beloved, and may I carry that truth into the world with peace, gratitude, and joy. Amen.

Adventures in Faith and Imagination

I’ve always believed that stories have the power to open hearts, spark imagination, and draw us closer to God. Over the years, I’ve had the privilege of writing books that blend faith, creativity, and wonder. This season, I’m especially excited to share not just one, but two new releases that have been on my heart for a long time.

As a writer, educator, and lifelong learner, I find great joy in helping children and families encounter the beauty of God in ways that are approachable, joyful, and inspiring. These upcoming books reflect that calling: one invites young readers to celebrate the saints through creativity, and the other welcomes them on a backyard adventure where faith, imagination, and even dinosaurs come together in the most delightful way.

Whether you’re a parent, grandparent, teacher, catechist, or simply someone who loves to share meaningful stories, these books are designed to create special moments of faith and fun. And what makes these projects even more meaningful is that all proceeds will go directly to organizations that support abused children, so every page turned is also a step toward healing and hope for those in need.

Miriam’s Heavenly Tea Party - A Coloring Book for All Saints’ Day

Arriving just in time for All Saints’ Day, my new coloring book, Miriam’s Heavenly Tea Party, invites children to gather around the table with some of the Church’s most beloved saints. From St. Francis to St. Teresa of Calcutta, young readers can bring these holy men and women to life with color while learning their stories in a fun, prayerful way.

This book is perfect for classrooms, parish activities, family celebrations of All Saints’ Day, or simply a cozy afternoon of coloring that nurtures faith and creativity.

Mary, Dinosaurs, and the Wonders of God: A Backyard Adventure with Momma Mary - A Children’s Story for the Holidays

Just in time for the holiday season, I’ll also be releasing my next children’s storybook: Mary, Dinosaurs, and the Wonders of God: A Backyard Adventure with Momma Mary. This whimsical and faith-filled tale follows two children as they explore the beauty of God’s creation with Mary by their side even discovering the playful world of dinosaurs along the way!

It’s a story of faith, imagination, and discovery. Perfect for reading together during the holidays, gifting to loved ones, or adding to your family’s bookshelf for year-round inspiration.

Sharing Faith Through Story & Creativity

Both of these new books reflect my passion to help

children and families discover the wonder of God through story. Whether through coloring pages filled with saints or a backyard adventure that mixes faith with dinosaurs, my hope is that these books will spark joy, nurture curiosity, and strengthen faith for readers of all ages.

Pre-Order & Purpose

Both books are now available for pre-order at my website.

Witness Through Words: Reflections on St. Maximilian Kolbe

Last night, I went to see "Triumph of the Heart," the latest movie about St. Maximilian Kolbe. His story of sacrificial love and courage stirred something deep within me. It reminded me of my days as a journalist for The Catholic Post, a former newspaper for the Diocese of Peoria, when I felt a profound responsibility to capture stories that carried the light of Christ into people’s homes. Even though I’m no longer in that role, my love of writing remains a central part of who I am, and St. Maximilian's witness reminded me why words matter so much.

St. Maximilian used every tool available to him - pen, press, radio - not for personal gain, but to spread truth, defend the faith, and encourage hope. Watching the movie, I realized that while his final act of stepping into another man’s place in Auschwitz was the ultimate testimony, his earlier dedication to communication was also a form of martyrdom: day after day, he poured himself out through the written and spoken word so that others might know Christ.

That realization struck me. My own writing may never carry the gravity of his, but I’ve always believed that stories - whether news articles, reflections, or children’s books - can become channels of grace. They remind people they are not alone, that God is present, that truth and love still triumph in a world so often shadowed by fear and division.

I left the theater feeling challenged to see my writing, both past and present, as a continuation of that mission: to be a witness through words, to use the gifts God gave me as a way of bringing light into dark places.

Lord Jesus, thank You for the vocation of writing and for the example of St. Maximilian Kolbe. Help me to use my words wisely, with courage and humility, so that they point others toward You. May my pen, like Kolbe’s, always serve Your kingdom.

A Sacred Moment at Blaze Pizza

While having lunch at Blaze Pizza today, I witnessed a moment of quiet grace that stirred my heart. A family of seven or eight entered, their children waiting with a stillness that felt rare in such a busy place. Their father sat with them, while their mother, balancing a baby close to her heart, placed the order with a quiet strength and tenderness.

As the meal was prepared, the father and older daughters filled water cups for everyone. Meanwhile, the younger children visited softly with one another, calm and content until the pizzas were brought to the table.

Then it happened.

One of the youngest little boys turned to his mom and asked, “Mom, can we pray now so we can eat?”

For a moment, I thought I had misheard him. But then, in unison, I heard: “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.” Together they prayed, right there in the middle of a busy restaurant.

I was stunned in the best possible way. I had never seen a family I didn’t know pray publicly before a meal in a restaurant. It wasn’t a performance. It wasn’t for show. It was natural, faithful, and rooted in love. In a world where it often feels easier to keep faith private, this small act of devotion radiated something powerful.

It reminded me of the theme of the National Christ Child Society Conference I attended last week. We spoke about the courage it takes to live our mission boldly in today’s world: serving children, advocating for families, and letting faith guide our actions, not just in church pews or behind closed doors, but wherever God places us.

This family’s prayer was a living witness to that same theme. They didn’t hide their light. They didn’t wait until they were home. They offered thanks in the middle of an ordinary lunch, reminding me that holiness is often found in the most ordinary moments.

In that simple, public prayer, this family became the light of Christ for me. Their quiet witness reminded me that faith doesn’t have to be loud to be powerful; it only needs to shine where it is, unafraid and unashamed. Just as the conference encouraged us to carry Christ’s light into the world, that family brought it into a pizza shop, and in doing so, they lit a spark in my own heart.

Waking Up in Song: Carrying the Light Forward

This morning I woke up with a song on my lips and in my heart. The lyrics echoed softly as I opened my eyes, almost as if they had been sung over me during the night. I didn’t plan it, and yet the melody and words were there, rising up from within me. Waking up in song is more than coincidence; it feels like prayer, like the Spirit’s way of reminding me of what I most need to carry forward.

In the glow of the National Christ Child Society Conference, with its theme “Be the Light,” the timing of these lyrics feels especially significant. Singing in the quiet morning reminds me that light often begins in hidden, unexpected places like a melody stirring in the early dawn. Light doesn’t always arrive in dramatic ways. Sometimes it comes as a gentle nudge, a reminder to let joy and hope lead before anything else has a chance to take root.

The conference called each of us to become bearers of light for children, families, and communities in need. It challenged me to look closely at my own life: Am I radiating light in my words, in my work, in my presence with others? The song that woke me up feels like a personal answer. Light is not only what I do; it’s also what I carry inside. If my heart is filled with song, even in sleep, then God is showing me that His light is already planted within me, ready to shine outward.

I think of the women I met at the conference - their dedication, their generosity, their passion for service. Each of them reflected light in a unique way, like many voices blending into a choir. My own morning song is a continuation of that harmony, reminding me that when we share light, the music of hope and love keeps playing long after the gathering ends.

Today, I want to carry that song with me, not only in melody but in action. To sing with my life by speaking words of encouragement, offering compassion, and choosing joy. To let my light rise like morning song, so that others may hear it and feel its warmth.

Jesus, Light of the World, thank You for planting a song of joy within me.
Help me to carry that song into the lives of others,
so that my words and actions may reflect Your love.
May my life be a hymn of light, drawing others closer to You.
Amen.