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.