Where I Was Meant to Be

Father Pedro Arrupe, S.J.

Some days have a way of holding more than one emotion at the same time. Yesterday was one of those days for me.

For months, I had known the beatification of Blessed Fulton J. Sheen was coming. As someone who has spent time learning about his life, writing about him, and developing an even greater appreciation for his witness, I knew it would be a meaningful day. I also knew I wouldn't be there in person.

Still, when yesterday finally arrived and I began seeing pictures from friends who were there, I felt something I hadn't quite expected. I was extremely jealous. Not in a way that took away from how happy I was for them. I loved seeing their pictures and hearing about what they were experiencing. But there was also a little ache in knowing that this beautiful and historic moment was happening and I was watching it from hundreds of miles away.

So I kept EWTN on throughout the day. It became the background to my Thursday, allowing me to catch pieces of the celebration and feel connected in some small way. But as the day unfolded, I began to realize there was something rather fitting about where I would spend part of the evening.

Somewhere Else

Because I knew I wouldn't be able to attend the beatification, I had volunteered to help with Women Adoring Jesus, an event at my parish. I served on the planning committee, and the evening included Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, Confession, a talk on prayer by Father Luke, and time afterward for refreshments and conversation. About 50 women came.

As I sat in the church during Adoration, there was still a part of me thinking about everything that had happened earlier in the day. I thought about my friends who had been there for the beatification. I thought about Blessed Fulton Sheen. Then the connection hit me. Here I was wishing I could have been there to celebrate a man who had built his life around showing up before Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament, and I was sitting before Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament.

I couldn't help but smile at that. Maybe I didn't need to be anywhere else.

Learning to Just Be

Father Luke's talk last night was about prayer, but what stayed with me wasn't a new method or a list of things I should be doing. It was almost the opposite. He talked about opening our hearts to God's presence and learning how to simply spend time with Him, to “waste time” with God.

That phrase stayed with me because I am not particularly good at wasting time. I like to know what I'm accomplishing. I like checking things off lists. There always seems to be something that needs my attention, and sometimes I carry that same mentality into prayer. Am I concentrating enough? Am I saying the right things? Should I be reading something? Should I be getting something out of this? Suddenly, even sitting quietly with Jesus can become another thing I am trying to accomplish.

Father's words invited me to think about prayer differently. What if I didn't have to accomplish anything? What if I could just be there?

He spoke about Mary and her willingness to receive. There was something about that word, receive, that caught my attention. Receiving requires a different posture than doing. It means allowing myself to stop long enough to recognize that I don't have to earn what God wants to give me.

A Prayer I Keep Coming Back To

At one point, Father offered a very simple prayer: “Lord, help me to know how much You love me.”

I wrote it down. There is something about that prayer that feels both simple and incredibly difficult. It is one thing to know intellectually that God loves me. It is another thing entirely to allow that truth to reach all the places inside of me that aren't always convinced.

Maybe sometimes the more honest prayer is, Lord, I want to believe You love me, but there is a part of me that struggles with that. Maybe I don't have to fix that part before I bring it to Him. I can simply bring it.

Father also shared a few lines attributed to Jesuit Father Pedro Arrupe about falling in love with God: “Fall in Love, stay in love, and it will decide everything.”

I've heard those words before, but they sounded different to me yesterday, maybe because I was sitting there thinking about Blessed Fulton Sheen. What makes someone return to a chapel every day for a Holy Hour? Discipline certainly matters. Commitment matters. But I wonder if, underneath all of that, there is something much simpler: love.

Maybe Sheen kept showing up because somewhere along the way, that hour stopped being merely something he did and became time spent with Someone he loved. That thought has stayed with me.

What Happens in the Silence?

Father Luke also mentioned Pope Benedict XVI's 2012 World Communications Day message and his reflections on silence and communication. That immediately caught my attention because communication has been such a large part of my professional and academic life. We usually think communication requires words. Someone speaks, someone listens, and information is exchanged.

But Father asked a question I haven't stopped thinking about: What kind of communication happens in silence?

I thought about sitting before the Blessed Sacrament. Sometimes silence feels uncomfortable because I want to fill it. I want to say another prayer, read another page, or give my mind something to do. But perhaps silence doesn't always need to be filled.

Father described it as an awareness of the “even more.” I loved that. There is always more happening than I can see, more than I can understand, and more than I can put into words. Maybe silence gives me enough room to notice that.

Not Where I Expected to Be

When I woke up yesterday morning, part of me wished I were somewhere else. I wanted to be there for the beatification. I wanted to celebrate with my friends. I wanted to experience that moment firsthand.

By the end of the evening, though, I found myself thinking about the strange beauty of how the day had unfolded. I had spent the day watching Blessed Fulton Sheen's beatification from a distance, and then I ended it sitting before the same Jesus Sheen had chosen to sit before every day.

There was no grand spiritual moment or sudden revelation. Mostly, there was just quiet. Maybe that was the point. I didn't have to understand everything. I didn't have to produce anything. I didn't even have to know exactly what to say. I just had to show up.

Lord, here I am.

Those words feel different to me today. Maybe some days, that really is enough. While I still wish I could have been there yesterday, I'm beginning to appreciate where I was instead.

God Sees the Whole Puzzle: Trusting the One Who Sees All

Yesterday morning, as I was getting ready for Mass, I listened to the Season 4 finale of the Butterfly Girl Podcast, “Walking Forward Whole.” I wasn't prepared for how emotional I would become listening to my own words. Season 4 has been about moving from wounds to wholeness, and in the finale, I reflected not only on what each of my guests had shared but also on my own journey. I talked about how healing hasn't meant forgetting what happened or reaching some imaginary place where nothing hurts anymore. It has meant learning that my wounds don't get to tell me who I am. Jesus does.

As I listened, I found myself thinking about where my life has been and where it is now. There was a time when I saw so much of my life through the lens of what had happened to me. Over time, God began changing that slowly and patiently. Through people, prayer, therapy, spiritual direction, Scripture, the sacraments, friendships, and countless ordinary moments, He began showing me that my story was bigger than the things that had wounded me.

In the episode, I said something that struck me differently when I heard myself say it. I used to think peace would come once everything finally made sense. Now I know I can still have questions and trust the One who has the answers. Maybe that was why the tears came. I could look back and see things I couldn't see when I was living through them.

Then I went to Mass. Throughout the Mass, we sang O Bless the Lord, My Soul, Come, Ye Thankful People, Come, Fairest Lord Jesus, and I Sing the Mighty Power of God. The readings were from Isaiah, Psalm 145, Philippians, and Matthew. I was already carrying everything I had been thinking and feeling while listening to the podcast when Father Littlefield began talking about these words from Isaiah: “My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord.”

Suddenly, the morning connected. Father talked about the times when our thoughts and ways don't align with God's because we don't see all the pieces of the puzzle, but God does. That was exactly what I had just been reflecting on while getting ready for Mass.

There have been so many moments in my life when I was holding one painful piece of the puzzle and couldn't understand what God was doing. I wanted answers. I wanted things to be different. I wanted to know why certain things had happened and why God wasn't changing circumstances the way I thought He should. I couldn't see the picture. I could only see the piece in my hand.

Now, looking back, I can see more of the picture. Not all of it, of course. There are still things I don't understand, and I suspect there always will be. But I can see God's fingerprints in places where I couldn't recognize them before. That is something I talked about in the podcast too. There were seasons when I couldn't feel God's presence, but He was still providing what I needed. Sometimes I simply didn't recognize that He was carrying me.

Maybe that is why the words from Psalm 145 felt so fitting too: “The Lord is near to all who call upon him.” God's nearness doesn't mean we will always understand what He is doing. Sometimes we won't. Sometimes the piece in our hands won't make any sense at all, but He is still near.

Father Littlefield also talked about how God is continually calling us to conversion, to change, and to grow closer to His Sacred Heart. That connected with another theme that ran throughout the podcast season. Healing and transformation aren't things we finish. We are always becoming. God continues to work in us one day, one surrender, and one yes at a time. That is where I am. I am still becoming, still healing, still learning to surrender, still discovering places in my life where my ways aren't God's ways, and still learning that I don't need to understand everything before I trust Him.

Then came Communion. At some point, some of the Precious Blood was spilled on the floor. I watched as one of the Eucharistic Ministers carefully and reverently purified the place where it had fallen, and I became teary-eyed again. After everything I had been thinking about that morning, there was something about watching that moment that touched me deeply.

That was the Blood of Christ. The Blood of the One who had been with me through every piece of the puzzle. The One who was there when I knew He was there and when I couldn't feel Him at all. The One who was there through the wounds and the healing. The One who has patiently been changing the way I see myself and my story, while teaching me to recognize His presence even in the moments I didn't understand. The One who sees the entire picture. And perhaps most importantly, the One who doesn't stand at a distance waiting for me to figure everything out. He gives Himself to me.

That may be what tied the entire morning together for me. Before Mass, I had listened to myself reflect on how far God has brought me. During Mass, I was reminded that His ways are not my ways because He sees what I cannot see. Then, in the Eucharist, I was reminded that the God who sees the whole picture is not distant. He is near.

Looking back over my life, I can see more pieces now than I could years ago. I can see people God placed in my path. I can see moments of grace I didn't recognize at the time. I can see ways He was working when I thought nothing was happening. But I still don't see the whole puzzle, and maybe I never will in this life.

Perhaps walking forward whole isn't about finally understanding every piece. Maybe it is about reaching the place where I can look at the piece in my hand, even the one I don't understand, and trust the God who sees where it belongs. Yesterday reminded me that I don't need to see the whole picture.

I know the One who does.

Sometimes Success Looks Like a Conversation

Yesterday, I had the opportunity to spend part of my Saturday at Overbooked Bookstore in downtown Fargo for an author meet-and-greet and book signing. Just outside, downtown was full of activity as the Red River Market, North Dakota’s largest farmers’ market, brought people into the area for a beautiful September Saturday.

Going into a book signing, it can be easy to measure the success of the event by one thing: how many books you sell. If that were the only measure, yesterday might have seemed like a quiet event. There were not a lot of book sales. But I have learned that sometimes the most important moments at an author event have very little to do with how many books leave the table. They happen in the conversations.

Throughout the event, people stopped to look at the books, ask questions, share pieces of their own stories, and learn why I write. Those conversations gave me opportunities to talk about faith, children, healing, courage, and the mission behind my books. And that matters just as much as making a sale.

One of the sweetest surprises of the day was a visit from a friend who was in town from Illinois. I was not expecting to see her, which made the visit even more special. In the middle of a busy downtown Fargo Saturday, that familiar face was such a gift and another reminder that sometimes the moments we remember most are the ones we never planned.

One of the things I have tried to remain grounded in throughout this journey as an author is remembering why I began writing in the first place. It was never simply about selling books. My books have become another way for me to tell stories that encourage children and families, share faith, talk honestly about difficult experiences, and remind people that hope can still be found in places where life has been painful. It is also why 100% of the proceeds from my books are donated to organizations that help children who have experienced abuse or trauma.

So when someone stops at my table and asks about that mission, when a parent picks up a book and wants to know the story behind it, or when a conversation opens the door to talk about faith and healing, something important has already happened.

Yesterday was also a reminder that being an author sometimes means simply being present. You bring the books, set up the table, smile at the people walking past, answer questions, and tell the story when someone wants to hear it. Then you trust that you may never know what God chooses to do with those small encounters.

There is something special about doing that in downtown Fargo, especially on a day when the sidewalks were busy with people enjoying the Red River Market and everything happening downtown. I am grateful to Overbooked Bookstore for giving me the opportunity to be there and for continuing to create a space where local authors and readers can connect.

Of course, I am grateful every time someone chooses to purchase one of my books. Every sale helps support the organizations at the heart of this ministry. But yesterday reminded me that numbers do not always tell the whole story. Sometimes success looks like selling a book. Sometimes it looks like meeting a new reader. Sometimes it looks like someone stopping for five minutes and having a conversation you never expected to have. Sometimes it looks like a friend from Illinois walking through the door when you least expect it. And sometimes our job is simply to show up, offer what God has placed in our hands, and trust Him with what happens next.

Yesterday, there were not many sales, but there were conversations, connections, and a few unexpected gifts. And I am learning more and more that those moments may be every bit as important.