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.

Be the Light: A Journey of Faith and Hope

This past weekend, I traveled to Bethesda, Maryland, for the National Christ Child Society Conference, held under the theme Be the Light. Before the conference officially began, we took a day trip into Washington, D.C., that became much more than sightseeing; it became a living reflection of what it means to carry Christ’s light into the world.

Our first stop was the Opportunity Shop run by the DC Chapter of the Christ Child Society. This high-end resale shop raises money to fund the chapter’s programs for children and families in need. Walking through the shop, I saw how gently used items - clothing, jewelry, household goods - are transformed into hope and opportunity for others. The shop embodied the theme so beautifully: ordinary things, given with love, become extraordinary light for those in need.

From there, we went to the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. Stepping into the Basilica was like stepping into a sacred embrace. The brilliance of the mosaics and the peaceful silence reminded me that Christ is the true Light of the world, and Mary reflects that light by leading us closer to Him. In that space, I felt the call of our Society’s mission: just as Mary said “yes” to God, we are called to say “yes” to serving children and families. Surrounded by Christ Child members from across the country, I felt encouraged to bring this light back to my own community.

Next, we visited the Washington Monument. Rising high above the Reflecting Pool, its marble tower gleamed in the afternoon light. To me, it stood as a symbol of aspiration, an invitation to live lives marked by integrity, service, and hope. Even in playful moments, like holding the monument in my hand for a photo, I was reminded that each of us, no matter how small we feel in history’s sweep, is called to be a light in the time and place where God has planted us.

At the World War II Memorial and the Lincoln Memorial, I reflected on the light of courage and sacrifice. The WWII Memorial honors men and women who gave their lives so others could live in freedom. At the same time, the Lincoln Memorial enshrines the memory of a leader who guided a divided nation. Their legacies challenge us to be the light in times of division by defending dignity, praying for peace, and seeking reconciliation. Just as these memorials shine as reminders of resilience, our own lives are meant to shine with God’s love in difficult times. 

When the conference began, one of the highlights was hearing Dr. Ben Carson deliver his keynote address. He spoke about his upbringing, the challenges he faced, and the way his mother instilled in him the importance of reading. Literacy, he said, opened the door to his future. His story resonated deeply with me and with the Christ Child Society’s programs, many of which focus on literacy for children. 

As I listened, I thought about why I write children’s books. Stories shape hearts and minds, spark imagination, and plant seeds of faith and hope. Books can open a child’s world, just as they did for Dr. Carson, and provide a foundation for dignity and opportunity. Writing for children is, for me, one way to be the light as I place words and images into young hands that affirm their worth and point them toward God’s love. Dr. Carson’s story was a confirmation that literacy is not just about learning to read; it is about opening doors to the future and helping children see the light within themselves.

Throughout the weekend, I was also blessed by the people God placed in my path. Getting to know MaryAnne and Barb, fellow members of the Quad Cities Chapter, deepened my appreciation for the friendships and shared mission that sustain us. An unexpected joy was reuniting with Sister Miriam Caritas (Beth McMurray) from the Sisters of Life. Her community’s charism - to protect and enhance the sacredness of every human life - mirrors the heart of the Christ Child Society’s mission. Their witness reminded me that being the light is not something we do alone, but together, through community and shared purpose.

As I reflect on the weekend, I see how every moment, the Opportunity Shop, the Basilica, the monuments, Dr. Carson’s words, and the people I encountered were all threads in a single tapestry. They reminded me that to Be the Light means transforming the ordinary into hope, saying yes to God’s call, aspiring higher, honoring sacrifice, investing in literacy, cherishing life, and building community.

I left Washington, D.C., and the Christ Child Society Conference in Bethesda with a renewed sense of purpose. Just as Mary carried the light of Christ into the world, I want to say “yes” in my own ways to serve, to love, to build, and to shine with His light. In a world and a nation that so desperately need healing and hope, the call to Be the Light feels more urgent and more beautiful than ever.

The whole group that attended the National Christ Child Society Conference in front of the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in Washington, DC.

Christ Child Society of the Quad Cities Members: Mary Anne Dockery-Jackson, President (Center), Barb Singleton, Layett Coordinator (Right), and myself, Website and Social Media Coordinator.

A window dedicated to Mary Virginia Merrick,
Foundress of the Christ Child Society

The Washington Monument

The Lincoln Memorial

Dr. Ben Carson (pictured with his wife, Candy) gave a keynote talk on his life and the importance of literacy at an early age. His mother, who had less than a third-grade education, ensured that her sons received a good education and were successful in life.

An unexpected reunion with Sister Miriam Caritas of the Sisters of Life. We haven't seen each other in more than 20 years. It was a joy and a blessing to catch up with her. 

St. Carlo Acutis and the Mission of the Christ Child Society

Today, the Catholic Church declared Carlo Acutis a saint. Though only 15 when he died, Carlo showed the world how holiness is possible in the ordinary, everyday moments of life. His love for Christ and his ability to see technology as a tool for good inspire me deeply.

As I reflect on his canonization, I see a connection to my own work with the Christ Child Society of the Quad Cities. Our chapter, like all across the nation, is rooted in the vision of our foundress, Mary Virginia Merrick, serving Christ through serving children. In our community, that means providing layettes for newborns, coats and clothing for schoolchildren, books and toys for families in need, and countless other acts of love. We exist to meet the material, emotional, and spiritual needs of children and families, reminding them they are seen, valued, and loved.

My role as Website and Social Media Coordinator sometimes feels behind the scenes, yet I now see it through a new lens. Carlo used the internet to spread faith and joy, and I strive to use these same tools to spread awareness of our mission. Every story shared, every update posted, and every picture uploaded has the power to touch someone’s heart. It may inspire a new member to join, a donor to give, or a struggling parent to reach out for help. Just like Carlo believed that even the digital world could become a path to holiness, I see our Christ Child mission shining through in the work I do online.

How fitting it is that this coming weekend I will be attending the National Christ Child Society Conference in Maryland, where the main topic will be the very thing Carlo championed - social media as a means of connection and mission. His canonization today feels like a providential reminder that my work is not just communications, it is ministry. It is another way of answering the call to serve Christ through serving His children.

Another sign of God’s timing, St. Carlo will also be featured in my upcoming children’s coloring book, Miriam's Heavenly Tea Party, set to release in time for All Saints’ Day. His story of youthful holiness, love of the Eucharist, and creative use of technology will inspire children to see that sainthood is also possible for them. I feel honored to include him among the saints whose lives continue to shine light for the next generation.

Carlo reminds me that holiness is not limited to the convent, the rectory, or the mission field; it can be found in a Facebook post, a website page, or an Instagram story, as long as it points people closer to love. His life inspires me to be braver in using technology with purpose, knowing that when I amplify the mission of the Christ Child Society of the Quad Cities, I’m helping to carry forward both Mary Virginia Merrick’s legacy and Carlo’s example of evangelizing through modern tools.

St. Carlo Acutis, pray for me, for all Christ Child Society chapters, and for every child and family we serve. May our digital presence always be a beacon of Christ’s love.

Happiness is an Inside Job

This morning I sent a text after a photo popped up on my Facebook Memories. It was from five years
ago - me preparing to burn my old journals. I remember how much resistance I felt at the time, clinging to those pages filled with pain, confusion, and old versions of myself. It was Mary Ann’s firm yet loving encouragement that gave me the courage to let go. She reminded me that healing doesn’t mean forgetting, but choosing to release what no longer serves the soul. I only agreed to the burning after reading through them one last time, a ritual of both remembering and releasing.

Shortly after I sent that text, I received a reply from Ray, Mary Ann’s son. He shared that he’s having a sticker made with a ladybug and the words, “Happiness is an inside job.” His timing felt like no coincidence. That phrase was one of Mary Ann’s constant refrains . . . her way of reminding me that happiness is not handed to me by others or dependent on circumstances, but grown from within. The ashes of those journals, heavy as they were, became the soil where healing could take root. And the ladybug, small and bright, symbolizes the joy that emerges once that hard work of release has been done.

For ten years, Mary Ann was my therapist. She was steady, wise, and unwavering in her belief that I could grow through even the hardest struggles. Over time, she became more than a therapist; she became my friend. She never sugarcoated the truth. She taught me that healing doesn’t come quickly or easily, but through hard work. It was through showing up, digging deep, and doing the uncomfortable things that ultimately set the soul free.

She also had another favorite saying: “Shift Happens.” At first, it always made me smile with its playfulness and play on words, but the meaning ran much deeper. Life changes. Sometimes in ways we choose, sometimes in ways we don’t. Healing requires leaning into those shifts, allowing ourselves to transform rather than resist. That phrase became so important to me that I had it tattooed on my forearm, a permanent reminder that change is inevitable, and with it comes growth if I am willing to embrace it.

The ladybug, the butterfly, and Mary Ann’s wisdom all speak to the same truth. The ladybug whispers of joy in small moments. The butterfly reminds me that transformation requires struggle, darkness, and patience before wings can unfold. And Mary Ann’s words remind me that both happiness and healing are inside jobs, born from courage and hard work.

Now, as I continue my own journey, I see how much of her wisdom lives in me. I hear her words when I start looking outward for validation. I remember her laugh when I forget to notice the little blessings in front of me. And I carry her lessons with me everyday: that happiness is an inside job, that shift always happens, and that transformation is worth the struggle. They remind me that healing is hard work, but also that new life, joy, and freedom can emerge if I trust the process, just as the butterfly trusts its wings.

When Ladybugs Whisper and Butterflies Rise

A ladybug lands, a quiet sign,
Happiness blooms from the heart, not the line.
Not in the world, nor the praise that I seek,
But inside my soul, steady and meek.

A butterfly stirs where shadows reside,
Shift happens, transformation inside.
The struggle, the waiting, the breaking apart,
Are the very beginnings of wings for the heart.
 
Ladybug whispers of joy in the small,
Butterfly teaches to rise after fall.
Together they tell me of work and of grace,
Of healing that happens in time and in place.
 
Mary Ann’s wisdom still lives in my day:
Happiness is an inside job – choose it, I pray.
Shift happens, change comes, and courage takes flight,
From cocoon into freedom, from shadow to light.

In-to-Me-See: Learning Intimacy with God

Today I listened to a talk that my friend Amy sent me: Sr. Miriam James Heidland’s “Intimacy with God: Receiving the Heart of the One Who Loves Us” from the 2018 Power and Purpose Conference. 

It felt like no coincidence that Amy was the one who sent it. Her very name means Beloved, and that word has been echoing through everything God has been stirring in me lately. I have been practicing vulnerability by opening up about what God has been doing in me regarding intimacy and learning to accept my identity as His beloved. Sharing these tender stirrings felt risky, but Amy is such a good friend, always giving me space and gentle encouragement, which permitted me to let myself be seen.

In our conversation, Amy said something that stopped me in my tracks – she told me that intimacy means “in-to-me-see.” The beauty of that definition struck me, especially because just this weekend, another friend had said those exact same words to me. I couldn’t help but smile at the way God weaves threads together, repeating a truth until I really hear it. It was as though He was whispering: Pay attention, this is for you.

Sr. Miriam’s talk felt like an extension of that same message. She emphasized that intimacy with God is not earned by doing or performing but is received by opening up and allowing oneself to be seen. That resonated so deeply with where I am right now. I have been realizing that intimacy means bringing God my authentic self, not the polished, capable version, but the vulnerable, unfinished, even wounded self. To receive His gaze there, in the unguarded places, is both terrifying and liberating.

Her reminder that intimacy is the very heart of the Christian life also connected with my journaling about humility. Humility creates the space for intimacy because it strips away pride, defenses, and control, allowing for genuine connection. It allows me to come before God small, weak, and dependent, which is precisely where His love can meet me. That is where intimacy shifts from being an idea to being an encounter.

The most striking part for me was recognizing how consistently God has been speaking this message: through my journaling, and through both friends, and now through Sr. Miriam’s talk. It feels as if God is lovingly, persistently repeating Himself: Stop striving. Stop performing. Let Me see you. Let Me love you. I sense His invitation to daily carve out space not to achieve but to receive, not to prove but to rest, not to hide but to let Him in.

Intimacy with God is in-to-me-see, and it begins with letting myself be seen as I truly am, His beloved.

A Journey of Faith, Friendship, and Courage

More than 25 years ago, Lori and I first crossed paths as young women eager to serve. We joined the Sisters of St. Francis of the Immaculate Conception, known as the Heading Avenue Franciscans in West Peoria, IL, to teach Vacation Bible School on the Standing Rock Indian Reservation in South Dakota. Those days of prayer, teaching, and laughter formed a bond that has lasted a lifetime. We became fast friends. Our birthdays are only a day apart, and over the years, we've celebrated milestones together. I was at her wedding, and later, at the baptism of her oldest son.

Life, as it often does, carried us down different roads. Though we’ve only seen each other three or four times in person since those early days, we never lost touch. Social media, texts, cards, and, most importantly, prayer have kept our friendship alive.

In 2014, Lori received a diagnosis that changed everything: Adrenal Cortical Carcinoma (ACC), also known as cancer of the adrenal gland. It is a one-in-a-million cancer, with a devastatingly low survival rate, because there are typically no symptoms until it has already spread into other organs. By the time it is discovered, treatment is incredibly difficult. Since that moment, Lori has been living not only with ACC but also with additional cancers that have followed.

And yet, she continues to live with extraordinary courage, humor, and faith. In her own words, she describes how “not all cancer - or illnesses - are visible.” Just this summer, she hiked for miles at scout camp and trekked around Michigan, seemingly healthy on the outside, even while carrying an invisible battle within. She is honest not only about the frustration, the anger, and the fatigue, but also about the grace of God that keeps her grounded. “God is good,” she reminds us. “He hears my cries, my anger, my frustration, and still He wraps me in His arms and loves me.”

Lori’s story is a reminder that faith doesn’t erase suffering, but it does transform it. It gives us strength to face the unthinkable, hope when fear feels overwhelming, and community when isolation tries to take hold.

For me, Lori’s journey is personal. She is not just a “friend from long ago,” but a sister of the heart whose witness inspires me daily. Though our paths don’t cross often, every message, every update, every shared prayer ties us together across the miles. I pray for her, by name, at the Consecration of Holy Eucharist without fail, knowing that at that moment, Heaven and Earth are as close as they ever are, and the Communion of Saints is right there.

I share Lori’s story not only to honor her courage but to remind us all: be kind. You never know what battles someone else is fighting, especially when those battles are invisible. Check in on one another. Offer support. Love one another because that is what we are called to do.

Please join me in keeping Lori and her family in your prayers. Pray for strength on the hard days, for wisdom for her doctors, for moments of joy in the midst of struggle, and for the unshakable peace that only God can provide.

Lori, my dear friend, you are not alone. You are deeply loved.

Prayers for Annunciation: When Violence Touches the Sacred

"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." 
— Psalm 34:18

Today, my heart is heavy as I process the devastating news of the shooting at Annunciation Catholic Church in Minneapolis, during what should have been a safe, sacred moment: an All-School Mass.

As a former teacher with over fifteen years of experience, primarily in Catholic schools, I understand the significance of those Masses. They are not just a time of worship; they are moments of community, of formation, of children learning that their faith is a refuge. To imagine such a holy space pierced by violence is almost too much to bear.

I have lived through two real-life lockdowns during my teaching years. Neither time was due to violence inside the school, but because danger was just outside our doors. I remember the pounding in my chest, the way the silence in the classroom felt suffocating, and the weight of trying to keep my students calm when I myself was trembling inside. Those memories came flooding back as I watched the news this morning. 

Right now, my prayers are with the students, who should never have to carry the memory of seeing or hearing violence in their place of learning and worship. I pray for the teachers and faculty, who will have to guide young hearts through fear and trauma while holding their own. I pray for the families who entrusted their children to the safety of a school and parish that suddenly feels broken. And I pray for the parishioners, whose church walls now hold echoes of grief when they were meant to have only praise.

We must surround them all with love, prayer, and tangible support. May God’s peace comfort every heart, may His healing cover every wound, and may His light break through even the darkest shadows.

Please join me in lifting up Annunciation Catholic School and Parish. Let us be united in prayer for safety, healing, and hope.

You Don’t Owe Your Past a Lifetime

Taped to the corner of my computer monitor is a faded sticky note that reads: “No matter how long you have lived one way, you are allowed to change everything. You don’t owe your past a lifetime.” I can’t remember where I first heard it or even when I stuck it there, but it’s been in my line of sight every single day – quietly waiting, like a seed pressed into the soil, unnoticed until the right season.

This morning, the words didn’t just sit on the page. They cracked open, like that seed finally breaking through the ground. The truth of them surged through me, not softly but with force as if a dam had given way and living water rushed into every dry corner of my mind, body, and soul.

The last four months have been a season of deep change for me. Moving to a new city, stepping into a new role, beginning graduate school at a different university, and continuing to do the hard work of healing have all stirred something inside. At times it has felt like the ground beneath me was shifting, and I wasn’t sure if I could find my footing again. But in the midst of all that, I’ve heard this quiet truth: I don’t owe my past a lifetime.

For a long time, I lived as though I did. I believed that if I had walked a path for years, I was required to stay on it, even if it no longer brought life. I thought loyalty to what was familiar was the same as faithfulness. But what I’m learning is that God doesn’t call us to stay bound to what keeps us small. He invites us into freedom. He reminds us that His mercies are new every morning, that beginnings are always possible, even after long seasons of living one way.

Letting go hasn’t been easy. Old patterns – perfectionism, striving for approval, measuring my worth by what I do – have clung tightly. Slowly, I’ve realized those patterns don’t fit who I’m becoming. They once helped me survive, but they cannot help me grow. The changes of these past months have peeled back those layers, and while it’s uncomfortable, it’s also liberating.

Starting again doesn’t erase the past. It honors it for what it was, thanks it for its lessons, and then releases it to make space for something new. God has been teaching me that change isn’t a betrayal of who I was, but an act of faith in who He is shaping me to be. Each day I get to take small steps into that truth: writing new words, building new friendships, creating rhythms of rest, and trusting that the story unfolding now is worth embracing.

So, if you find yourself carrying the weight of your past as though it’s a debt you’ll never be free from, hear this: you don’t owe your past a lifetime. You are free to change everything, even now, even here. God’s love makes room for it. And I am learning, day by day, to step into that freedom.

A Roller Coaster of a Day

The last 24+ hours have been nothing short of a roller coaster. What began with disappointment has ended with renewed hope, and somewhere in between, I was reminded that God has a way of redirecting paths when our own plans feel like they’re falling apart.

Yesterday, I lost my illustrator. After all the dreaming, planning, and advertising for Miriam’s Heavenly Tea Party coloring book, the news hit like a punch to the stomach. For a moment, I feared that everything: the timeline, the excitement, and the joy of sharing this project was about to unravel.

Instead of sitting in discouragement, I went to work. I interviewed potential illustrators, each conversation a mix of cautious hope and whispered prayer that someone would not only see the vision but also share the heart behind it because this project has never been just about a coloring book; it’s about creating something beautiful for children while supporting organizations that serve those who have suffered abuse of any kind.

And today, God provided. I found a new illustrator, through a mutual friend, who not only has the creativity to bring Miriam’s tea party to life, but also understands and supports the mission that fuels it. Their compassion and passion breathe fresh life into this project, and together we are moving forward with renewed energy.

Best of all, the printing of Miriam’s Heavenly Tea Party is still on track! What first looked like a detour has instead turned into confirmation that the right people will always come alongside when the mission is clear and the purpose is greater than ourselves.

Yes, the last 24 hours have been dizzying, but they’ve also been filled with grace. I step forward grateful, hopeful, and more certain than ever that this book will bless the children and organizations it is meant to serve.

✨ Pre-orders are now open! Reserve your copy of Miriam’s Heavenly Tea Party today and be part of a mission that brings joy to children and support to those who need it most.

Summer Palooza and the Spiritual Life

This Thursday is our Summer Palooza at work, and I volunteered to bring a beach-themed cake. At first, it was just meant to be something fun and lighthearted, a way to add a little summer whimsy to the celebration. But as I worked on it, I found myself smiling at how each little piece of the cake carried a quiet reminder of the spiritual life.

The “ocean” side of the cake was made with bright blue frosting, sprinkled with gummy fish swimming through the “waves.” It reminded me of the times in life when I feel caught up in the flow of God’s grace, moving freely, carried along by something much bigger than myself. Those are the seasons when faith feels easy, when prayer flows naturally, when I sense God’s nearness, and when I feel like I’m swimming joyfully in His presence.

On the other side of the pan, I crushed graham crackers into soft “sand,” complete with teddy grahams stretched out on rainbow candy towels and bright umbrellas offering shade. That part of the cake spoke to me, too. There are times in life when I need to step out of the waves and rest—times when stillness, patience, and even waiting in God’s presence are more important than motion. Just like those little teddy grahams soaking up the sun, I sometimes need to simply be, letting God refresh me. The umbrellas reminded me of how God covers and protects me in those seasons when the sun of life feels too strong, when challenges threaten to overwhelm. His promises are always my shade.

As I decorated, I chuckled at the gummy fish. They made me think of Jesus’ words: “Come, follow me, and I will make you fishers of men” (Matthew 4:19). Even something playful like a cake can carry meaning. Just as those little fish swam across the frosting sea, I’m reminded that I’m called to carry God’s joy wherever I go; yes, even to an office party with cake and laughter.

What struck me most as I finished was how God can be found in the simplest things. Who would have thought a cake could carry so many quiet lessons? It reminded me that faith doesn’t have to live only in the pews on Sunday or in the silence of prayer; it’s also in the kitchen as I stir frosting, in the office as I share a laugh with coworkers, and even in the silly creativity of gummy fish and graham cracker sand. God is present everywhere, in the ordinary as much as the extraordinary.

So when Thursday comes and we gather for Summer Palooza, I’ll bring my cake with joy. But more than that, I’ll bring a heart that has been reminded to look for God in every detail - in the waves and in the sand, in work and in play, in laughter and in rest.

Lord, thank You for being present in every part of my life - in the waves that carry me forward, in the sands where I rest, in the shade when life feels heavy, and in the laughter of community. Help me to notice You not only in grand moments of faith, but also in the simple, playful details of everyday life.
May I carry Your joy with me to Summer Palooza and beyond. Amen.

Trusting the Timing, Embracing the Beginning

 Lately, two simple, yet profound, phrases have been weaving their way into my life:

“Trust the timing of your life.”

“What feels like the end is often the beginning.”

These aren’t just pretty words on a page or a bookmark; they’ve been a message that keeps finding me, over and over again. And most beautifully, it’s been coming to me through Mary Ann in my dreams.

Today, that message showed up again. This time in the most unexpected way. I stopped into Hurley’s Catholic Bookstore, not looking for anything in particular, when my eyes immediately landed on two wooden blocks. They carried these exact words that have been echoing in my heart. In that moment, I knew I couldn’t leave without them. It felt like Mary Ann had placed them there just for me, as if to say, “See? I’m still speaking. Keep listening.”

Her presence in these dreams feels warm and familiar, like she’s both encouraging me forward and assuring me that I am exactly where I’m meant to be.

In the waking world, I’ve been carrying my own questions about timing. I’ve wondered if I’ve missed opportunities or if certain doors will ever open again. But when I hear these words - her words - they cut through the noise and settle into my soul. They tell me that the pauses, detours, and even the heartbreaks are not mistakes; they’re part of a divine unfolding.

“What feels like the end is often the beginning” has been especially comforting. Sometimes we only see loss in the moment - the job that ends, the relationship that shifts, the plan that unravels. But in time, we see that those endings are often the very soil in which something new takes root.

Maybe that’s why the image of a butterfly feels so fitting for these sayings. A butterfly’s beauty is only possible because it surrendered to the cocoon, trusting the stillness before it could fly.

So today, I hold onto these reminders, Mary Ann’s reminders, to trust the process, welcome the unknown, and believe that every ending is simply a disguised beginning.