Catholic Journey Today’s Gospel Reflections

Readings: 

📖 Ezekiel 47:1–9, 12 – In a breathtaking vision, the prophet Ezekiel sees water flowing from the Temple—first a trickle, then a stream, then a river too deep to cross. And wherever this river flows, life explodes. Barren lands flourish, saltwater turns fresh, and trees bear fruit all year round. This is not just a vision of nature restored—it’s the promise of grace unleashed. God’s presence doesn’t just refresh—it transforms. No place is too dry. No soul is too far gone. When God’s Spirit moves, dead things come to life.

📖 Psalm 46:2–3, 5–6, 8–9 – This psalm is a bold declaration of trust in the midst of chaos. Even if the earth quakes or the mountains crumble, God is a refuge—steady, present, unshaken. The river of His presence brings joy to the city of God, even while the nations rage. The Lord is not distant. He is with us—our stronghold, our peace, our ever-present help in trouble. In a world of uncertainty, this psalm anchors us in God’s unshakable love.

📖 John 5:1–16 – At the Pool of Bethesda, Jesus encounters a man who’s been sick for 38 years—lying in the same place, hoping for healing, but stuck in despair. Jesus asks a surprising question: “Do you want to be well?” The man offers excuses, but Jesus offers transformation. In a moment, He restores what decades had stolen. This Gospel reminds us: healing doesn’t always wait for perfect conditions. Sometimes, it begins the moment we let Jesus speak into our paralysis and say, “Rise, take up your mat, and walk.”

Tuesday,  April 1
Let the Waters Flow

“Wherever the river flows, every sort of living creature that can multiply shall live.”
—Ezekiel 47:9

In today’s first reading, the prophet Ezekiel is shown a vision of a river bursting forth from the Temple. At first, it’s a small stream trickling from the threshold. But as the prophet walks further, the water rises—ankle-deep, then knee-deep, then waist-deep—until it becomes a mighty river, too deep to cross. And wherever that water flows, life appears. Trees bloom on both banks. Fish swarm in the waters. Saltwater turns fresh. Deserts are transformed.

It’s more than a vision of nature—it’s a promise of grace.
That river is Christ. It flows from the heart of God and carries healing, mercy, and restoration to every dry and weary place.

We all have places in us that feel like wastelands—parts of our story, our relationships, our inner life, where nothing seems to grow anymore. Maybe it’s the ache of a broken relationship that never healed. Or a hope that faded with time. Or a sense of joy that dried up beneath layers of busyness, disappointment, or regret.

Maybe, like the man at the pool in today’s Gospel, we’ve been lying beside the same sorrow for years—hoping something or someone might come along and stir the waters.

The Good News is that we don’t have to wait.
Jesus is the river. And He isn’t afraid of our barrenness.
He flows toward it—deliberately, powerfully, persistently.

He doesn’t just sprinkle grace where we feel strong.
He rushes toward the places we feel most lifeless, most ashamed, most tired.
And His water doesn’t trickle. It floods. It saturates. It transforms.

But here’s the challenge: We have to let it in.
And not just a little.
We tend to sip when we should be soaking. We want just enough grace to get through the day, but God wants to immerse us in something far deeper—to flood us with life and make us fertile again.

So today, take a moment to ask:
Where have I stopped expecting anything new to grow?
Where have I settled for surviving instead of living?
And then—open the gates. Let the water in. Let grace do what only it can do.

Prayer

Lord Jesus,
You are the Living Water that flows from the heart of the Father.
You see the cracked soil of my soul and are not afraid of the dryness.
Rush into the places in me that feel forgotten—where dreams have withered, where faith feels fragile, where love has gone silent.

Wash over my hurts.
Soften the hardened ground of my heart.
Make what is bitter in me sweet again.
Bring life to what I thought was lost.

Don’t let me settle for small sips of Your grace when You long to drench me in mercy.
Flood me, Lord. Fill me. Heal me.
And let Your life flow through me into others who are dry and weary too.

Amen.

Readings: 

📖 Isaiah 65:17–21 – Through the prophet Isaiah, God speaks words of stunning hope: “Behold, I am creating new heavens and a new earth.” To a people weary from exile and loss, God promises not just restoration but transformation. The former things—the pain, the sorrow, the tears—will be forgotten. In their place: joy, life, and peace. God is not done with His people. He is still creating, still redeeming, still making all things new.

📖 Psalm 30:2 and 4, 5–6, 11–12a and 13b – This psalm is a joyful song of rescue. The psalmist gives thanks for God’s healing and mercy, testifying that sorrow may linger through the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning. God turns mourning into dancing, and sackcloth into garments of gladness. Even when we fall, even when we cry, the Lord lifts us up. He is near, He is good, and He is faithful.

📖 John 4:43–54 – A royal official approaches Jesus in desperation—his son is dying. Jesus challenges him (and us): “Will you not believe unless you see signs and wonders?” Yet, in humility and faith, the man pleads, and Jesus answers. The child is healed from a distance, and the man believes—not just because of the miracle, but because of the encounter with Christ. This Gospel reminds us: faith begins when we take Jesus at His word, even before we see the outcome.

monday,  March 31
New Beginnings

“Lo, I am about to create new heavens and a new earth.” (Isaiah 65:17)

There’s something powerful—almost breathtaking—about that word: new. Not patched up. Not improved. Not restored. But new.

God doesn’t just rewind the tape or glue the pieces back together. He creates afresh. When Isaiah spoke these words, the people of Israel were weary, exiled, and burdened by the memory of what they’d lost—home, temple, dignity, dreams. To these broken hearts, God didn’t offer a return to the past. He promised something they couldn’t yet imagine: a new heavens and a new earth.

And that same God speaks to you today.

Because we all know what it’s like to carry disappointment—to stand in the ashes of what was and wonder if anything good can come next. Maybe it’s the loss of a loved one, a marriage that ended, a career that slipped away, or simply the sense that life hasn’t turned out the way we hoped. It’s tempting to live there—in the shadows of what’s gone. To replay the past or shrink our dreams to fit the brokenness we now know.

But God doesn’t shrink. And He doesn’t stop creating.

He is always doing something new—not just out there in the cosmos, but in you. Maybe the grief you carry will soften into compassion. Maybe the failure you feel will become the soil for wisdom. Maybe what feels like an ending is the first line of the next chapter.

The hard part? New beginnings rarely feel like beginnings at all. They look like uncertainty. They feel like endings. They require letting go. But if we dare to trust, we might glimpse something holy sprouting through the cracks.

So today, don’t just look around—look within. God is not done. Your life is not a finished painting. The Artist is still at work. The brush is still in His hand.

Trust Him. He’s creating something beautiful.

Prayer:
Creator God,
You are the author of life, the painter of sunsets, the whisperer of new beginnings.
When I am weary from the weight of what’s been, remind me that You are already at work in what is yet to be.
Give me courage to release my tight grip on the past—the dreams that faded, the doors that closed, the hopes that didn’t come to be. Help me not to stare so long at what’s gone that I miss the grace unfolding right now.

Plant in me the kind of hope that leans forward.
Open my heart to the quiet miracles—an unexpected smile, a sliver of peace, a small act of kindness—seeds of new life You are sowing in my soul.
When I’m afraid to begin again, give me faith to step forward.
When I doubt that anything good can come, speak softly to my spirit: “Behold, I am doing something new.”

Make me new, Lord. In my thoughts, my habits, my faith.
Write Your story in me—a story of redemption, of second chances, of joy rising from sorrow.
And when I cannot yet see the beauty You are creating, help me to trust the hands that are still shaping me.
I place my today—and all my tomorrows—in Your loving care.
Amen.

Readings: 

📖 Joshua 5:9a, 10–12 – After years of wandering in the wilderness, the Israelites finally cross into the Promised Land. God declares their shame removed, and they celebrate Passover in their new home. For the first time, they eat the produce of the land instead of manna. This marks a moment of new beginnings—freedom, fulfillment, and the end of their long journey. God is faithful to His promises.

📖 Psalm 34:2–3, 4–5, 6–7 – A psalm of praise and thanksgiving, sung by one who has been rescued by God. The psalmist invites us to “taste and see the goodness of the Lord.” It’s a testimony of deliverance—God hears the cries of the lowly, saves the brokenhearted, and surrounds those who take refuge in Him. His mercy is close, personal, and real.

📖 2 Corinthians 5:17–21 – St. Paul declares a bold truth: in Christ, we are new creations. The old life is gone; something new has begun. Through Christ’s self-giving love, God reconciles the world to Himself and entrusts us with that same ministry of reconciliation. We are ambassadors of mercy, called not only to be forgiven—but to forgive, to heal, and to bring others home to God.

📖 Luke 15:1–3, 11–32 – Jesus tells the unforgettable parable of the Prodigal Son. A young man squanders everything, only to find himself broken and hungry. When he returns, hoping to be a servant, his father runs to embrace him. This is the Gospel in a story—radical grace, reckless mercy, and a love that never stops hoping. Whether we are the rebellious son or the resentful older brother, the Father’s heart remains open. Always.

Sunday,  March 30
Coming Home

“While he was still a long way off, his father caught sight of him, and was filled with compassion.” (Luke 15:20)

We know this story. We’ve heard it again and again. And yet—like a familiar melody that still stirs something deep—it keeps speaking to us. Because this isn’t just a story about a long-lost son. It’s a story about every one of us.

The Prodigal Son may never have had our face, our name, or our particular regrets—but we’ve all known what it feels like to wander. To reach for something we thought would satisfy, only to come up empty. To stand in a far-off place, wondering if we’ve burned the bridge behind us.

We’ve had seasons where prayer felt dry, when we wore a smile but felt far from God. Times when shame whispered, You’ve gone too far. God must be tired of you.

But that’s where the parable shatters our expectations. The father in the story isn’t just waiting—he’s watching. Not with folded arms or a disappointed frown, but with a heart aching for reunion. Every day, he scans the road. And then one day, he sees a figure on the horizon. Tired. Thin. Hesitant.

And the father runs.

That’s the line that undoes us every time. He ran.

In the culture of the time, a man of dignity wouldn’t run. It was undignified. Improper. But love doesn’t care about dignity. Mercy doesn’t wait for explanations. Grace doesn’t walk—it sprints.

He runs toward the dirt, the failure, the brokenness. He runs toward the one who squandered it all, because that’s who our God is. Not a cold judge tallying sins, but a Father whose heart breaks until His children are home.

And maybe that’s the real invitation of Lent. Not to punish ourselves with guilt, but to trust that no matter how far we’ve drifted, there’s always a way back. That turning around doesn’t begin with shame—it begins with hope.

Lent is a reminder that we don’t have to be perfect to be welcomed. We just have to be willing to come home.

So stop where you are. Look up. Take one step. And know this: long before you reach the door, the Father is already running toward you.

Prayer:
Merciful Father,
You know every corner of my heart—the restless parts, the wounded parts, the parts I try to hide. You know the roads I’ve taken, the shortcuts that led nowhere, the voices I’ve believed that told me I wasn’t enough.

And yet, You wait. You never stop watching the horizon. You never stop loving me—even when I’ve stopped loving myself.

Thank You for being the kind of Father who runs toward me. Not with anger, but with compassion. Not with punishment, but with embrace. When I expect to be scolded, You silence me with mercy. When I fear rejection, You clothe me in belonging.

Lord, I am tired of the far country. Tired of pretending. Tired of running from the only One who truly loves me. Give me the grace to turn around. The strength to take one small step toward home. And the courage to believe that Your arms are already reaching for me.

Heal the parts of me that still resist Your love. Quiet the shame that tells me I don’t deserve it. Remind me that Your mercy isn’t based on my worthiness, but on Your faithfulness.

And for every soul who feels lost tonight—for every prodigal still wandering—let them know, deep in their bones, that You are not far off. You are near. You are watching. You are already on the move.

Teach us all how to come home. And when we do, let us rest not in fear or striving, but in the peace of being found. The peace of being Yours. Forever.

Amen.

Readings: 

📖 Hosea 6:1–6 – The prophet Hosea invites the people of Israel to return to the Lord, who wounds only to heal and strikes only to restore. God longs for His people’s love, not empty rituals. True faithfulness is found in mercy and knowledge of God—not in outward sacrifices, but in hearts that seek Him sincerely.

📖 Psalm 51:3–4, 18–19, 20–21ab – A powerful cry for mercy and cleansing, this psalm expresses deep repentance and trust in God’s compassion. The psalmist acknowledges his sins and pleads for a renewed spirit. God desires a humble and contrite heart more than burnt offerings, and He restores the broken with grace.

📖 Luke 18:9–14 – Jesus tells a parable of two men praying in the Temple: a self-righteous Pharisee and a humble tax collector. The Pharisee boasts; the tax collector begs for mercy. Jesus shocks His listeners by declaring that it is the repentant sinner—not the religious elite—who goes home justified before God. Humility opens the door to grace.

Saturday,  March 29
The Humble Will Be Lifted Up

“For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and the one who humbles himself will be exalted.” (Luke 18:14)

It’s one of the simplest parables Jesus tells—and one of the most piercing. Two men walk into the Temple to pray. One leaves justified. The other doesn’t. What made the difference?

It wasn’t how many prayers they said, or how much they gave to the Temple. It wasn’t even their behavior—surprisingly, the Pharisee had a pretty good résumé. What made the difference was the posture of the heart.

The Pharisee stood tall and thanked God—not for mercy, but for how great he was. “I’m not like those people,” he said. “I fast, I tithe, I check every box.” His prayer wasn’t really directed to God at all—it was a performance. A spiritual selfie.

The tax collector, on the other hand, stood at a distance. He couldn’t even raise his eyes. All he could do was whisper, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” And that small, broken, honest cry was enough. Jesus says he left the Temple right with God—justified, renewed.

Pride builds walls. It makes us focus on appearances, on being right, on winning. Humility builds bridges. It lets us be vulnerable. It says, “I need help,” or, “I was wrong.” And that’s where grace can pour in.

We all wrestle with pride in different forms. Sometimes it’s obvious—a hunger for attention, for praise, for control. Other times, it’s more subtle: a quiet sense of superiority, a reluctance to ask for help, or even the fear of being seen as weak. Pride isolates us. Humility invites relationship—with God, and with others.

Today’s readings remind us that God isn’t impressed by showy sacrifices or polished performances. As Hosea says, “It is mercy I desire, not sacrifice.” God isn’t looking for the biggest offering—He’s looking for the most open heart.

So here’s a question to carry into your day:
Where is pride creeping into my heart? Where am I tempted to put on a mask instead of being honest with God and others? And where is God inviting me to kneel, not to prove myself, but to receive what only He can give?

Prayer:
Lord Jesus,
You see into the depths of my heart—past my words, my image, my intentions.
You know the ways I try to prove myself, to look put-together, to avoid weakness.
But I don’t want to live behind walls.

Teach me the freedom of humility.
Remind me that I don’t have to earn Your love—it’s already given.
Strip away my pride, the quiet self-righteousness that keeps me from real grace.
Give me the courage to be small in the eyes of the world,
if it means being known and lifted up by You.

Like the tax collector, I bring you my heart today—no excuses, no masks.
Be merciful to me, a sinner.
And help me to live with compassion, patience, and honesty toward those around me.
Make me a vessel of Your mercy.

Readings: 

📖 Hosea 14:2–10 – The prophet Hosea calls Israel to return to the Lord with sincere repentance. God responds with a promise of healing, forgiveness, and flourishing, offering His people a future rooted in mercy and faithfulness, like a tree deeply planted and bearing fruit.

📖 Psalm 81:6c–8a, 8bc–9, 10–11ab, 14 and 17 – God speaks to His people, reminding them of how He rescued them and asking why they refuse to listen. If only they would hear and follow Him, He would bless them abundantly and defend them with His power.

📖 Mark 12:28–34 – A scribe asks Jesus which commandment is the greatest. Jesus answers with clarity and depth: love God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength—and love your neighbor as yourself. The scribe agrees, and Jesus affirms his understanding: “You are not far from the kingdom of God.”

Friday,  March 27
A Heart That Listens

“Hear, O Israel! The Lord our God is Lord alone! You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart.”
(Mark 12:29–30)

When the scribe asks Jesus which commandment is the greatest, Jesus doesn’t hesitate. He begins with a word that is more than a command—it’s a plea: “Hear.”

“Hear, O Israel.” In other words: Pay attention. Open your heart. Listen deeply. Before God asks us to do anything, He asks us to listen.

That’s harder than it sounds, isn’t it? Most of us are not short on noise—news, texts, distractions, obligations, anxieties. But we may be short on silence. And without silence, it’s almost impossible to listen.

Jesus reminds us that to love God isn’t about occasional feelings or Sunday habits—it’s about the whole person: heart, soul, mind, and strength. That means loving God in the way we think, the way we feel, the way we make decisions, the way we serve, the way we use our time and energy.

It’s easy to give God the leftovers: a prayer when we’re not too tired, an act of kindness when it doesn’t cost much, a few moments of Scripture when nothing else is pressing. But Jesus challenges us to a full-hearted love. Not a convenient love. Not a love of appearances. But a love that flows through everything.

That’s why Lent is such a gift. It’s a season that gently (or sometimes not-so-gently) asks us:
Does my life reflect a deep love for God—or just a polite acknowledgment?
Where am I holding back?
What areas of my heart have I kept “off-limits” to God?

In the first reading, the prophet Hosea invites the people to return to the Lord, to confess honestly, and to listen to God’s response: “I will heal their defection,” the Lord says. “I will love them freely.” Even when we wander, God’s desire is always to restore, never to reject.

The Psalm echoes this: “If only my people would hear me… I would feed them with the best of wheat.” Again, the invitation begins with listening.

Maybe today is the day to start listening more deeply—not just hearing God’s Word, but letting it sink in. Maybe today is the day to offer God not just the edges of our heart, but the center.

Prayer:
Lord God,
You alone are worthy of my whole heart.
But so often, I give You only part of myself—
what’s easy, what’s comfortable, what doesn’t demand too much.
You ask me to love You with heart, soul, mind, and strength—
and I confess there are days when I hold back.

Help me, Lord, to listen to You more deeply.
To tune out the noise that distracts,
to make space in my busy days for silence,
and to recognize Your voice speaking in the stillness.

Heal the places in my heart that have grown cold.
Stir in me a desire to put You first in all things—
not just in my prayers, but in my priorities.
Not just with my lips, but with my life.

Teach me, Lord, how to love You fully.
Teach me how to listen with an open heart.
And when I stray, draw me back—not with guilt, but with grace.
Because more than anything, I want to love You well.

Amen.

Today’s Reflection Questions:

	•	Where in my life am I loving God only halfway?
	•	What noise do I need to turn down to hear God more clearly?
	•	What would change if I truly loved God with all my heart today?

Readings: 

📖 Jeremiah 7:23–28 – The prophet Jeremiah speaks on behalf of God, lamenting the people’s refusal to listen. Though God called them to obedience and relationship, they turned away, growing more stubborn and distant with each generation.

📖 Psalm 95:1–2, 6–7, 8–9 – A joyful call to worship and reverence, this psalm invites God’s people to listen to His voice and not harden their hearts, remembering the past when their ancestors tested Him in the wilderness.

📖 Luke 11:14–23 – Jesus casts out a demon, and the crowd is divided—some accuse Him of working by Satan’s power. Jesus responds with sharp clarity: a kingdom divided cannot stand, and those who are not with Him are against Him.

thursday,  March 27
Hearing, But Not Listening

“But they did not listen or pay heed; they walked in the hardness of their evil hearts.”
—Jeremiah 7:24

We’ve all done it. A friend is talking, and we’re nodding along—smiling, saying “mm-hmm”—but inside, we’re not really present. We’re thinking about the next thing on our list, mentally checking out, maybe even scrolling our phone. We heard them. But we didn’t listen.

God’s people did the same thing with Him.

In today’s reading from Jeremiah, God’s heartbreak echoes through the prophet’s words. “I spoke to them,” God says. “I sent messengers. I gave them My law. I called out to them daily.” But they closed their ears and hardened their hearts. They tuned Him out—not with malice at first, but with neglect. And neglect, over time, becomes rebellion.

It’s a sobering image—not of a people violently rejecting God, but of a people too busy, too self-assured, too distracted to care. That’s the real danger. Sin often begins not with a shout, but with a shrug.

We’re no different. We may pray, but are we listening—or just reciting? We may attend Mass, but are we tuned in—or daydreaming about lunch? God is speaking—through Scripture, through silence, through people we love and even people we find hard to love. But are we making room in our hearts to receive His voice? Or are we nodding politely and carrying on with our own plans?

Lent is not just a time to do more spiritually—it’s a time to hear more clearly. It’s a sacred season for softening the heart, tuning the soul, and creating space for God’s voice to actually change us. Because His Word is not background noise. It’s not ambient sound. It’s the voice that spoke galaxies into being. And it’s the same voice that longs to speak into the chaos of your life—today.

Don’t settle for hearing. Listen. And let His Word move you.

Prayer:
Loving Father,
You are always speaking—
In the stillness, in the Scriptures, in the laughter of children, in the quiet ache of the suffering,
In the beauty of Your world and the whispers of conscience.

But I confess: I often hear You without listening.
I get caught in the noise of my own thoughts,
In the pressure of schedules,
In the comfort of familiar routines.
My ears grow dull.
My heart grows calloused.
And I walk forward without You.

So today, Lord, I ask for something more than spiritual discipline—
I ask for a tender, listening heart.
Break the hardness that has grown in me—
Through pride, through disappointment, through apathy.
Heal the part of me that resists surrender.
And speak, Lord—not just to my ears, but to my soul.

When I read Your Word, awaken me.
When I pray, focus me.
When I worship, transform me.
And when I am tempted to tune You out,
Remind me that life without Your voice is only noise.

Teach me to listen—not for what I want to hear,
But for what I need to become.
Speak, Lord. Your servant is listening.
And this time, I mean it.
Amen.

Readings: 

📖 Deuteronomy 4:1, 5–9 – Moses urges the people to listen carefully to God’s commands and to remember the wonders they’ve seen, so that faith and wisdom may be passed down through generations.

📖 Psalm 147:12–13, 15–16, 19–20 – The psalm celebrates God’s care and power: strengthening His people, commanding nature, and revealing His word uniquely to Israel.

📖 Matthew 5:17–19 – Jesus affirms that He has not come to abolish the Law, but to fulfill it—calling His followers to live with faithful integrity and teach others to do the same.

wednesday,  March 26
A Faith That Sticks

“Take care and be earnestly on your guard not to forget the things which your own eyes have seen.”
—Deuteronomy 4:9

We all forget.

Not intentionally, of course. But life gets loud. The noise of daily stress, the weight of unexpected burdens, and the sting of disappointment can drown out the quiet memory of God’s goodness. One day we’re rejoicing because a prayer has been answered, and the next we’re wondering where God has gone.

It’s not a new problem. The Israelites saw the sea split in two. They followed pillars of fire and cloud. They tasted bread from heaven. And yet—again and again—they forgot. So Moses pleads with them: “Take care… do not forget what your own eyes have seen.”

Faith isn’t only built in mountaintop moments. It’s sustained in the quiet work of remembering—remembering how God has acted, how He’s provided, healed, guided, and loved. If we don’t actively recall those moments, they fade. That’s why writing them down—answered prayers, unexpected blessings, even narrow escapes—matters. Memory feeds faith. And faith that remembers becomes faith that endures.

Try keeping a “God journal” or starting a simple list on your phone: the times God made a way, sent the right person, brought comfort, or gave clarity. Read it when doubt creeps in. Share it with others when they need encouragement. Teach it to your children. Let it shape your prayers.

Because a faith that sticks is one that remembers.

Prayer:
Faithful and ever-present God,
How quickly I forget. In moments of joy, I praise You. But when trials come, I grow anxious, I waver, I wonder if You’re still near. Yet when I look back—truly look back—I see You everywhere: in the quiet mercies, the gentle nudges, the strength You gave me when I thought I had none left.

You have carried me more times than I can count. You’ve opened doors I couldn’t see, and closed ones that would have led me astray. You’ve comforted me through tears, surprised me with joy, and walked beside me even when I wasn’t looking for You.

Lord, plant those memories deep in my heart. Let them rise to the surface when fear or doubt takes hold. Remind me that I have seen Your goodness, tasted Your grace, and known Your love.

Help me build a faith that sticks—not just one that feels strong when life is easy, but one that endures through every storm because it remembers. Give me the grace to recall, to give thanks, and to trust again and again.

I do believe, Lord—help my unbelief. And help me never forget.
Amen.

Readings: 
📖 Isaiah 7:10–14; 8:10 – Though King Ahaz refuses to ask for a sign, God offers one anyway: a virgin will conceive and bear a son named Emmanuel—“God with us”—a promise of divine presence amid fear.

📖 Psalm 40:7–8a, 8b–9, 10, 11 – The psalmist delights in doing God’s will, proclaiming His faithfulness and love, and trusting that God’s mercy will never be withheld.

📖 Hebrews 10:4–10 – Christ comes into the world not to offer ritual sacrifices, but to do God’s will—becoming the perfect offering through His obedience, once for all.

📖 Luke 1:26–38 – The angel Gabriel announces to Mary that she will bear the Son of God. In faith and humility, Mary gives her yes—opening the door for salvation to enter the world.

tuesday,  March 25
Solemnity of the Annunciation of the Lord

“Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.” (Luke 1:38)

Picture this: a young teenage girl in a quiet village, going about her ordinary day. Maybe she was drawing water, sweeping the floor, helping her mother prepare bread. Then suddenly—an angel appears. Not just any angel, but Gabriel himself, standing in front of her with a message that would turn the world upside down: “You will conceive and bear a son… and He will be called Son of the Most High.”

It’s almost unimaginable. Mary was young, poor, and likely planning a very ordinary life with Joseph. No spotlight. No drama. No divine detours. She had every reason to feel afraid or overwhelmed. She could have said, “Let me think about it.” She could have asked for clearer instructions, a list of pros and cons, or even just a moment to process. But she didn’t.

Instead, she said yes. A wholehearted, unconditional yes. Not because she understood everything, but because she trusted the One who asked.

And that yes changed everything.

It’s easy to admire Mary from a distance, but her story is meant to echo in our own lives. God still speaks. He still calls. Not through angels in radiant light—at least, not usually—but through the small, persistent nudges in our hearts. Through the difficult person who needs our patience. Through the quiet opportunity to serve when no one is watching. Through the unexpected detours that disrupt our plans.

And we—unlike Mary—are often hesitant. We want guarantees. We want comfort. We want to see how everything will turn out before we agree to take the first step. But faith doesn’t work like that. It’s not about having control—it’s about surrendering it.

Mary’s yes wasn’t just a moment; it was a lifelong response. It carried her through joy and sorrow, from the cradle to the cross. And yet she never looked back. Her trust in God didn’t protect her from pain, but it gave her the strength to walk through it with grace.

So today, on this Solemnity of the Annunciation, we’re invited to echo that yes in our own lives. Not perfectly, not fearlessly, but sincerely. God doesn’t ask us to understand everything. He simply asks us to trust Him enough to say, “Let it be done to me according to your word.”

Prayer:
Lord, give me a heart like Mary’s—quiet, listening, and open to Your voice. Teach me to welcome Your will, not just when it’s easy or clear, but when it’s uncertain, challenging, and asks more of me than I think I can give.

Help me to trust that You are with me even when I don’t see the whole picture. When I feel afraid, remind me that You are faithful. When I feel inadequate, remind me that You choose the humble. When I feel alone, remind me that You are Emmanuel—God with us.

Let my yes to You be more than words. Let it be the way I live—how I serve, how I forgive, how I love. May I follow You in the quiet of ordinary days, in the interruptions I didn’t plan, and in the callings I didn’t expect.

Mary said yes, and the world was never the same. Lord, may my yes—however small—be part of Your work in the world today. Amen.

Readings: 
📖 2 Kings 5:1–15ab – Naaman, a powerful commander, is healed of leprosy not through spectacle, but by humbly obeying a simple command from the prophet Elisha.

📖 Psalm 42:2, 3; 43:3, 4 – A longing soul thirsts for God, seeking His light and truth to lead back to the joy of His presence.

📖 Luke 4:24–30 – Jesus challenges the expectations of His hometown crowd, reminding them that God’s grace often comes in surprising ways—and is not limited to those we assume deserve it.

monday,  March 24
The Unexpected Messenger

“If the prophet had told you to do something extraordinary, would you not have done it?” (2 Kings 5:13)

Naaman was a man of status, used to commanding respect and expecting the best. When he sought healing from the prophet Elisha, he came with gifts, entourage, and assumptions. Surely, the cure for his leprosy would be something dramatic—a ceremony, a powerful prayer, maybe even fire from heaven. Instead, Elisha didn’t even come to the door. He sent a messenger telling Naaman to go bathe in the Jordan River. Not once. Seven times.

Naaman was furious. The Jordan was no grand, sparkling river; it was muddy, unimpressive, and ordinary. “That’s it?” he scoffed. “I could’ve stayed home and washed in cleaner water!” He nearly walked away from his miracle because it didn’t look the way he expected.

We can be a lot like Naaman. We ask God for help—guidance, healing, answers—but we often expect them to arrive with flair and drama. A booming voice, a sudden insight, a powerful sign. But God rarely works like that. More often, He whispers through small, daily things: a kind word from a stranger, an unexpected delay that turns out to be a blessing, a quiet nudge in prayer. And sometimes, like Naaman, we resist what feels too ordinary. We think, “This can’t be it. It’s too simple.”

But maybe that’s the point. God doesn’t need fanfare to work wonders. His grace is at home in the humble and the hidden. A small act of obedience—making that call, offering that apology, taking a quiet moment for prayer—can bring about transformation we didn’t even know we needed.

Naaman was healed not by something dramatic, but by humbling himself and trusting the unlikely messenger. What if the healing or peace we’ve been waiting for is already near, wrapped in the ordinary and overlooked?

A Prayer for Trusting the Ordinary

Lord, You know how often I look for You in the big, the bold, the miraculous—expecting answers that shine and shake the ground. But so often, You come to me quietly, through the ordinary and unexpected. Forgive me for the times I’ve dismissed Your voice because it didn’t sound the way I thought it would.

Teach me to be still and to trust, even when I don’t understand. Give me the humility to follow where You lead, even when the path seems unimpressive or unclear. Soften my heart to recognize Your grace in everyday moments—in the kindness of others, in the silence of prayer, in the messiness of life.

Help me not to miss the healing You offer just because it comes through muddy waters. Strengthen my faith to obey, even when the steps are small. Remind me that Your power is not limited to the spectacular—and that Your love often meets me in the simplest of ways.

Amen.

sunday,  March 23
A Second Chance

“‘Sir, leave it for this year also, and I shall cultivate the ground around it and fertilize it; it may bear fruit in the future.’”
(Luke 13:8–9)

Have you ever tried to keep a struggling houseplant alive? Its leaves are drooping, the soil’s dry, and to anyone else, it looks beyond hope. But for some reason, you water it. Move it to the sunlight. Maybe even talk to it. Why? Because you still believe it might come back.

That’s how God sees us.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus tells the story of a barren fig tree. The landowner is ready to give up on it. But the gardener—who represents God—says, “Wait. Let me work on it. Give it one more year.”

This small parable reveals something profound: God never gives up on us. Even when we’ve gone fruitless—when our prayer life is dry, our spiritual habits stale, or our hearts a bit hardened—He steps in, not to cut us down, but to cultivate us back to life.

God is not afraid to dig into the hard parts. He loosens what’s stuck. He fertilizes what’s starving. And sometimes, He uses the messy parts of life—disappointments, struggles, setbacks—to prepare the soil for real growth.

We all go through seasons of spiritual drought. But Lent is a time for second chances. Not because we earn them, but because God offers them. Over and over again.

So if your faith feels flat, your habits have slipped, or your hope feels small—take heart. God isn’t done with you. He’s still tending. Still waiting. Still believing in the fruit you can bear.

Prayer: The Gardener of My Soul

Lord, You are the patient Gardener of my soul.
Thank You for not giving up on me—especially when I give up on myself.
You see what’s dry, what’s tangled, what’s broken—and You don’t turn away.
You dig in. You stay close. You whisper, “Let’s try again.”

You know my regrets and the habits I keep falling into.
You know the prayers I forget and the hopes I’ve buried.
And still, You choose to keep working with me.

This Lent, help me stop pretending I’ve got it all together.
Help me to trust You with the real mess of my heart.
Break up what’s hardened. Nourish what needs healing.
And grow something new in me—even if it takes time.

Use even my flaws, Lord.
Let my life bear fruit—not because I’m strong,
but because You are faithful.

And when I feel like giving up, remind me:
You’re not finished with me yet.

Amen.

saturday,  March 22
The Father’s Heart

“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion.”
(Luke 15:20)

We’ve all had a “What was I thinking?” moment—maybe it involved a regrettable text, a poorly timed haircut, or, like the Prodigal Son, a string of bad decisions that landed us far from where we hoped to be. His story is our story: full of mistakes, but also—thankfully—overflowing with mercy.

Jesus paints this unforgettable picture of a young man who messes up royally, burns every bridge, and finally, desperate and ashamed, decides to return home. He rehearses his apology, probably practicing it over and over like we would before a hard conversation. But here’s the shock: the father sees him from a distance and runs. No questions. No lectures. No “I told you so.” Just compassion. Just love.

That’s the heart of our Heavenly Father.

He doesn’t love you after you get your life in order. He loves you before the apology. He doesn’t wait for your perfect confession speech—He’s already on the road, running toward you.

You don’t have to clean yourself up before you come to God. You just have to come.

Let’s be real: sometimes we stay stuck in the “pigpen” longer than we should because we think God must be as disappointed in us as we are in ourselves. But this parable tells the truth: God doesn’t deal in shame. He deals in restoration. The robe. The ring. The party. God doesn’t just tolerate our return—He celebrates it.

So if you’ve wandered a little… or a lot… it’s not too late. God hasn’t moved away from you. He’s been watching the road, waiting for you to take the first step home.

And maybe today, that step is just this prayer.

Prayer: Coming Home

Father of Mercy,
Sometimes I feel like the Prodigal—tired, ashamed, and unsure if You still want me. And yet, You come running. Before I can explain myself, before I can fix what I’ve broken, You’re already there—arms wide open.

Thank You for loving me not because I’m perfect, but because I’m Yours. Thank You for meeting me in my weakness and lifting me up with Your grace.

When I’m afraid to come back, remind me that You’re not waiting to scold me—you’re longing to embrace me. When I doubt my worth, remind me that I’m still Your beloved child. When guilt whispers that I’m too far gone, drown it out with the sound of Your footsteps running toward me.

Lord, I come home today—not with excuses, but with hope. Let Your love wash over every part of me that feels lost, broken, or unworthy. Heal what’s wounded. Restore what’s missing. And let me rest in the joy of being found.

Teach me to live in Your mercy—and to share it freely with others.
Amen.

Friday,  March 21
When Jealousy Wins

“They sold Joseph to the Ishmaelites for twenty pieces of silver.” (Genesis 37:28)

Sibling rivalry has always existed, but Joseph’s brothers took it to an extreme—selling him into slavery because they resented his dreams and their father’s favoritism. Their jealousy blinded them to the love they should have had for their own brother. And in their anger, they justified an act so cruel that it changed all their lives forever.

Jealousy is subtle and corrosive. It creeps in quietly, making us believe that someone else’s success is a threat to our own worth. It whispers that we are less, that we are being overlooked, that life is unfair. It can turn friendships into rivalries, workplace camaraderie into tension, and even damage family relationships. Have you ever scrolled through social media and felt a sting of envy? A friend’s promotion, a neighbor’s new house, someone else’s seemingly perfect life—it’s easy to let comparison rob us of joy.

But what if, instead of envying others, we learned to rejoice in their blessings? What if we trusted that God’s goodness isn’t limited—that His plans for us are just as beautiful in their own time? Lent is a season of conversion, a time to ask God to free us from the chains of comparison and help us see His hand at work in our own lives. Jealousy diminishes us, but gratitude transforms us. When we focus on what God is doing for us, rather than what He’s doing for others, our hearts are set free.

The truth is, jealousy is a sign that we’ve forgotten who we are in God’s eyes. He is not withholding blessings from us. He is not playing favorites. Each of us has been given a path that is tailor-made for our growth and salvation. If we truly believe in His love, we will trust that what He has for us is good—even if it doesn’t look like what we expected. Instead of asking, “Why them and not me?”, we should ask, “Lord, what are You teaching me in this season?” Every moment of waiting, every time we feel overlooked, is an opportunity to deepen our faith. God is always working, even in the unseen.

Prayer

Heavenly Father, cleanse my heart of envy and comparison. Help me to see others’ blessings not as threats, but as reminders of Your abundant goodness. When I am tempted to feel small or forgotten, remind me that I am deeply loved and known by You. Teach me to trust in Your perfect plan and timing for my life. Give me the grace to celebrate others sincerely, knowing that their success does not diminish my worth.

Lord, help me to keep my eyes on You, rather than on the achievements or possessions of others. Let me find my joy in Your presence, not in worldly measures of success. If jealousy creeps into my heart, replace it with gratitude. If I feel overlooked, remind me that You see me. If I grow impatient, grant me peace in Your divine timing.

Father, may my words and actions always reflect Your love. Let me be a source of encouragement rather than competition. May my heart be a wellspring of generosity, freely rejoicing in the blessings of my friends, family, and even strangers. Lord, shape me into a person who uplifts rather than envies, who trusts rather than doubts, and who loves as You love. Amen.

thursday,  March 20
Where Is Your Trust?

“Cursed is the one who trusts in human beings… Blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord.” (Jeremiah 17:5, 7)

We put our trust in all sorts of things—our jobs, our financial security, our routines, even our own knowledge and problem-solving skills. We tell ourselves, “If I just work a little harder, plan a little better, or prepare for every possible outcome, then I’ll be secure.”

But what happens when life doesn’t go according to plan? What happens when the unexpected strikes—a sudden job loss, a health crisis, the betrayal of a friend, or the loss of someone we love? What happens when everything we’ve relied on suddenly feels shaky?

Jeremiah gives us a stark warning: “Cursed is the one who trusts in human beings.” That’s not because people are bad or because planning is wrong, but because when we put our ultimate trust in human strength alone, we set ourselves up for disappointment. People will fail us. Plans will fall apart. The things we thought were rock-solid may turn to dust in our hands.

But then Jeremiah gives us the alternative: “Blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord.” Why? Because God is unshakable. His love does not waver. His power is not limited. His plans for us are greater than we can imagine.

Think of the tree planted by the stream in Psalm 1—its roots go deep, and no matter what storms come, it stands firm. That is the kind of life we are called to live. A life deeply rooted in trust, not in the temporary securities of this world, but in the eternal faithfulness of God.

If you find yourself feeling anxious, overwhelmed, or uncertain about the future, ask yourself: Where is my trust? Have I been relying too much on my own strength? Have I placed my security in things that can be taken away? If so, today is an invitation to refocus, to surrender, and to anchor yourself once more in the only foundation that will never fail—God Himself.

Prayer: A Heart Surrendered in Trust

Heavenly Father,

You are my refuge and my strength, my rock and my salvation. Yet so often, I find myself placing my trust in things that are fleeting—in my own plans, my own abilities, my financial security, my relationships. I cling to the illusion of control, believing that if I just work harder, plan better, or prepare for every possible outcome, I will be safe. But deep down, I know that the security I seek can only be found in You.

Lord, I come before You today with an open heart, asking for the grace to trust You more. When life feels uncertain, when my plans unravel, when I am faced with challenges I cannot fix, remind me that You are already there, holding me in Your loving hands. You are not surprised by anything that happens in my life. You see the road ahead, even when I do not. Help me to rest in the knowledge that Your ways are higher than mine, that Your wisdom is greater than my understanding, and that Your love for me is unfailing.

Father, when I am afraid, give me courage. When I am anxious, fill me with Your peace. When I am tempted to rely only on my own strength, gently remind me that true strength comes from You. Like a tree planted by living water, let my roots grow deep in faith so that no storm can shake me. When the winds of life blow, let me stand firm, knowing that You are my foundation.

I lift up to You all my worries and burdens—every fear, every uncertainty, every longing of my heart. I place them at Your feet, trusting that You are working all things for my good, even when I cannot see it. Teach me to let go of my need for control and to surrender fully to Your divine plan. Help me to trust You not just with my words, but with my life, my future, my everything.

Lord, guide my heart each day to seek You first. May I not be like the one who places their hope in human strength, only to be left empty and dry, but instead, may I be like the one who trusts in You and is filled with Your life-giving grace.

Thank You for Your patience with me, for Your never-ending mercy, and for Your faithful love. I trust in You today and always.

Amen.

wednesday,  March 19
Trusting the Unknown

“Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid…” (Matthew 1:20)

Joseph was a man with a plan—an honest carpenter, preparing for a quiet, respectable life with Mary. He likely envisioned a future of hard work, stability, and the joy of raising a family in Nazareth. But then, everything changed.

Mary was found to be with child—something that could bring scandal, disgrace, and deep personal heartbreak. Can you imagine the weight of this revelation? The questions, the doubts, the sleepless nights? And yet, before Joseph could make a final decision, an angel appeared to him in a dream with a simple but powerful message: “Do not be afraid… take Mary as your wife.”

Joseph had no roadmap, no clear explanations—only a call to trust. And he did. Without hesitation, he surrendered his plans to God’s will, embracing the unknown with faith.

Faith in the Unseen

How often do we find ourselves in a similar place? Maybe we’ve carefully planned our lives, only to face an unexpected turn—a diagnosis, a job loss, a fractured relationship, an uncertain future. We stand at a crossroads, faced with the question: Will I trust God, even when nothing makes sense?

Our natural instinct is to seek control, to demand answers. Why is this happening? Where is God in this? But Joseph’s story reminds us that faith is not about having all the answers—it’s about trusting the One who does.

God’s plan was far greater than Joseph could have imagined. His quiet “yes” helped bring salvation to the world. And the same is true for us: when we step forward in faith, even when we don’t understand, God is at work in ways we cannot yet see.

Letting Go of Fear

Maybe today you are standing in the middle of uncertainty. You don’t know what’s next. You don’t see a way forward. But the angel’s words to Joseph are meant for you, too:

Do not be afraid.

God is already in the places you cannot see. He is ahead of you, preparing the way. Trusting Him does not mean the road will be easy, but it does mean you will never walk it alone.

A Prayer for Trust in the Unknown

St. Joseph,

You were a man of deep faith, a quiet servant of God, and a protector of those entrusted to you. When your world was turned upside down, when confusion and fear threatened to overwhelm you, you chose to trust. You did not demand explanations. You did not walk away. Instead, you placed your life in God’s hands, believing that His plan was greater than anything you could understand.

I come to you now, carrying my own fears, doubts, and uncertainties. Life has not unfolded the way I expected. I face challenges I do not fully understand, and the road ahead feels unclear. My heart longs for certainty, for answers, for control—but you, St. Joseph, teach me a different way. You teach me that true strength lies not in having all the answers, but in trusting the One who does.

Help me, like you, to surrender my plans to God. Give me the courage to walk forward in faith, even when I cannot see the whole picture. Remind me that God is always working for my good, even in the moments that feel confusing or difficult.

St. Joseph, protector of families, watch over my loved ones. Keep them safe, just as you kept watch over Mary and Jesus. Shelter us under your care and intercede for us in our struggles.

St. Joseph, worker and provider, help me to trust that God will supply my every need. When I feel anxious about the future, remind me that my Father in Heaven knows my every concern and will never abandon me.

St. Joseph, faithful servant, teach me to listen for God’s voice in my life. When I am tempted to rely on my own understanding, remind me to be still, to pray, and to wait with patience. Help me to have the humility to follow where He leads, even when the path is uncertain.

I place my worries, my hopes, my fears, and my dreams into your hands, asking that you bring them before the Lord with your powerful intercession. Guide me, protect me, and strengthen me, so that like you, I may live with unwavering faith and trust in God’s plan.

Amen.

Tuesday,  March 18
Walk the Talk

“They preach but do not practice.” (Matthew 23:3)

We’ve all met people who give great advice but don’t quite follow it themselves. The doctor who warns you to cut back on sugar—while sipping a jumbo-sized soda. The fitness coach who tells you to exercise daily but drives circles around the parking lot to get the closest spot. The parent who preaches patience but loses their mind when Wi-Fi is slow. Hypocrisy is easy to spot in others—but much harder to recognize in ourselves.

Jesus calls out the Pharisees not because their teachings were wrong, but because their lives didn’t reflect them. They imposed heavy burdens on others while refusing to lift a finger themselves. They loved being seen as holy more than actually being holy. Their faith was more about performance than transformation.

But before we roll our eyes at them, Jesus invites us to take an honest look at our own lives. Do I encourage kindness but snap at the slow cashier? Do I talk about trusting God but spend my days worrying? Do I preach forgiveness but hold onto grudges like they’re prized possessions?

Lent isn’t about pretending to be perfect—it’s about becoming real. It’s about aligning what we say with how we live. The more we bring our inconsistencies before God, the more He refines us. The goal isn’t just to talk about faith, but to embody it—so that when people look at our lives, they don’t just hear about Christ—they see Him.

A Prayer for Authentic Faith

Lord Jesus, You see beyond my words into my heart. You know the moments when my actions contradict my beliefs. When I proclaim faith but live in fear. When I preach patience but let frustration take over. When I speak of love but struggle to forgive.

I don’t want to be someone who only talks about You—I want to live like You. I want my faith to be more than words, more than appearances, more than empty gestures. I want it to be real.

So refine me, Lord. Help me close the gap between my words and my actions. Teach me to live with integrity, to let my faith shape my choices, my relationships, and my daily life. When I’m tempted to judge others, turn my gaze inward. When I feel weak, remind me that Your strength is made perfect in my weakness.

Let my faith be genuine. Let my love be sincere. Let my life reflect You. And when people see me, may they catch a glimpse of You.

Amen.

As you go about your day, ask yourself: Where is God calling me to not just speak faith, but truly live it?

monday,  March 17
The Measure You Give

“Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful… For the measure with which you measure will in return be measured out to you.” (Luke 6:36, 38)

We all love mercy—when it’s coming our way. When we make a mistake, say the wrong thing, or let someone down, we hope for understanding. We long for that gentle reassurance: “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” We breathe easier when someone chooses compassion over condemnation.

But when the roles are reversed, it’s a different story. Suddenly, we want justice. “I forgive, but I don’t forget,” we say, as if keeping a detailed record of wrongs is somehow virtuous. We expect God to erase our sins completely, yet we hesitate to let go of the wounds others have caused us. If we’re honest, we sometimes hold onto grudges like prized possessions, revisiting them like old battle scars, proof of how deeply we’ve been wronged.

Yet Jesus makes it clear: the way we treat others sets the standard for how we will be treated. If we measure out mercy in teaspoons, we shouldn’t expect to receive it by the bucketful.

What if God forgave us the way we forgive others? Would we be in trouble?

Imagine standing before God, and instead of His infinite mercy, He says: “I forgive you, but I don’t forget.” Or, “I’ll let this go, but I’m keeping a record, just in case.” Wouldn’t that be terrifying? And yet, isn’t that sometimes exactly what we do to each other?

Think of a time when you were shown mercy—when someone let something go that they could have rightfully held against you. How did it feel? Did it humble you? Did it make you want to be a better person? That’s the power of mercy: it doesn’t just free the one who receives it; it transforms the one who gives it.

This Lent, Jesus challenges us to be generous with the mercy we offer. Let’s ask ourselves:

	•	Do I hold onto past hurts, allowing them to harden my heart?
	•	Do I secretly take pleasure in someone else’s failures because it “evens the score”?
	•	Do I find it easier to ask for mercy than to give it?

God’s mercy toward us is limitless. He doesn’t say, “I forgive you, but let’s see if you really deserve it.” He wipes the slate clean. What if we did the same? What if, instead of withholding kindness until someone has “earned” it, we extended it freely, just as God does for us?

If we want to live in God’s mercy, we must learn to be people of mercy. This Lent, let’s not just seek His forgiveness—we will all need it—but let’s give it as abundantly as we hope to receive it.

Prayer:

Lord, I stand before You in need of mercy. Not just once, not just occasionally, but every single day. And yet, You never turn me away. You do not hold my past over my head. You do not remind me of every failure or demand that I prove myself worthy. You simply forgive, love, and invite me to begin again.

Give me a heart like Yours, Lord—patient, merciful, and slow to anger. Soften my heart when I am tempted to hold onto resentment. Help me to let go of past hurts, to replace judgment with compassion, and to see others as You see them—not as their worst mistakes, but as souls in need of love.

May I never be stingy with the mercy that You have so freely poured into my life. May the measure I give always reflect the measure of Your boundless love.

And may I, one day, stand before You—not as someone who demanded justice, but as someone who chose mercy. Amen.

sunday,  March 16
A Glimpse of Glory

“While He was praying, His face changed in appearance and His clothing became dazzling white.” (Luke 9:29)

Peter, James, and John weren’t expecting anything unusual when they followed Jesus up that mountain. Maybe they thought He just needed a quiet place to pray, and they were tagging along as His inner circle. But then—boom!—Jesus is transfigured, His face shining like the sun, His clothes glowing dazzling white. And if that wasn’t enough, two of Israel’s greatest figures, Moses and Elijah, show up for a heavenly conversation.

Peter, caught up in the wonder of the moment, blurts out something about building tents to keep them all there. You have to love Peter—he always had a big heart and a big mouth to match. Maybe he thought he was being helpful. Maybe he was overwhelmed and just said the first thing that came to mind. Either way, he missed the point.

And don’t we do the same? When we have a powerful spiritual experience—maybe during a retreat, a beautiful Mass, or even a simple, unexpected moment of peace—we want to hold onto it forever. We want to stay where God feels close, where faith feels easy, where the rest of life doesn’t intrude.

But Jesus doesn’t let them stay on the mountain. The vision fades, and soon they’re headed back down, where real life awaits—people in need, problems to solve, and a long road to the cross. The Transfiguration wasn’t meant to be a permanent escape; it was meant to strengthen their faith for what lay ahead.

That’s how God works with us too. We don’t live on the mountaintop. Most of our days aren’t filled with dramatic spiritual encounters. They’re filled with everyday struggles, small decisions, and unseen acts of faithfulness. But the grace of the mountaintop moments isn’t lost; they sustain us when the road gets tough.

Maybe you’re in a season where God feels close, and faith comes easily. Cherish it, but don’t try to cling to it. Or maybe you’re in a season where everything feels dry and difficult, where prayer feels like work and faith feels like walking in the dark. If so, remember this: Jesus is still with you. The light of the Transfiguration wasn’t meant to stay on the mountain—it was meant to go with them into the valleys. And it goes with you too.

Prayer:

Lord, how often I want to stay in the safe and beautiful places where I feel Your presence, where faith is easy and life makes sense. I want to cling to the mountaintop moments, to keep You shining before my eyes so I never have to doubt. But You call me back down, into the world, into the messiness of life, into the places where faith isn’t always felt but is lived out in love, patience, and trust.

When I struggle, remind me of Your glory. When I feel alone, remind me of Your presence. When I’m tempted to think You are distant, remind me that You are just as near in the ordinary as You are in the extraordinary. Help me not just to seek You in dazzling moments, but to recognize You in the small ones—the smile of a friend, the quiet of morning prayer, the strength to get through a difficult day.

And Lord, if I, like Peter, ever get too caught up in trying to build something permanent out of what is meant to be a passing grace, gently remind me to stop, listen, and trust. Because You are not just the God of mountaintops—you are the God who walks with me in every step of life. Amen.

saturday,  March 15
Loving the Unlovable

“Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” (Matthew 5:44)

Loving difficult people isn’t just a suggestion—it’s a command. And not just any command, but one of the most challenging ones Jesus ever gave. He doesn’t say, “Love your enemies when they realize their mistakes.” He doesn’t say, “Pray for them once they’ve apologized.” No—He simply says, “Love them. Pray for them.” No conditions. No loopholes. No escape clauses.

That’s tough.

Because sometimes, our “enemies” aren’t people we’d label as villains. They’re the family member we’ve grown distant from, the old friend who hurt us, the coworker who always finds a way to test our patience. They’re the neighbor who never has a kind word, the person at church who always seems critical, or even the driver who cuts us off and then somehow acts like we were in the wrong.

Loving them doesn’t mean pretending the hurt never happened. It doesn’t mean tolerating toxic behavior or keeping unhealthy relationships. It means refusing to let bitterness take over. It means choosing kindness when we want to be indifferent, mercy when we want to retaliate, and prayer when we’d rather complain.

This is where it gets even harder: Jesus doesn’t just ask us to love them—He asks us to pray for them. And not the kind of prayer where we say, “Lord, please fix them.” No, He calls us to entrust them to His love and grace, to ask for their good, and to desire their healing just as much as we desire our own.

That’s a love that goes beyond human strength. It’s a love that doesn’t come naturally to us. But here’s the secret: we don’t have to do it alone.

The moment we surrender our anger, our pain, our grudges—even if just for a moment—God steps in. He softens our hearts, loosens the grip of resentment, and fills us with something far greater: a love that is not our own, but His.

Loving our enemies may be the hardest thing Jesus asks of us, but it is also the most transformative. When we love those who don’t deserve it, we reflect the very heart of God. Because after all, He loved us first—even when we didn’t deserve it.

Prayer:

Jesus, You ask me to love my enemies, but You know how hard that is for me. You know the names, the faces, the memories that come to mind—the people who have hurt me, frustrated me, or left wounds that still ache. You know how much easier it is to hold onto anger than to let go.

But, Lord, You also know that I wasn’t meant to carry that weight. And so today, I lay it before You.

Soften my heart where it has grown hard. Fill me with Your mercy when I feel empty of my own. Let Your love be my strength when I don’t have it in me to love.

Help me to see my enemies the way You see them—not as obstacles, but as souls in need of grace, just as I am. Help me to pray for them, not begrudgingly, but with sincerity. Not so that they may change into who I want them to be, but so that they may become who You created them to be.

And Lord, where my heart still resists, be patient with me. Keep working on me. Keep molding me into someone who reflects Your love—not just when it’s easy, but when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.

Thank You for loving me when I was difficult to love. Help me to do the same for others.

Amen.

friday,  March 14
More Than Just Rules

“Unless your righteousness surpasses that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 5:20)

The Pharisees were the religious elite of their time. They followed every rule with precision, memorized Scripture, and made a great show of their righteousness. But Jesus wasn’t impressed. He saw past their outward obedience to the coldness in their hearts. Their faith was mechanical, driven by duty rather than love.

Jesus challenges us to something greater. It is not enough to avoid sin—we must actively pursue love, mercy, and justice. Imagine two employees at a company. One does the bare minimum to avoid getting fired, clocking in and out without any real investment in their work. The other is passionate, going above and beyond because they care about their mission. Which one truly contributes?

Faith is the same way. If we live as Christians merely to avoid punishment, we have missed the point. Righteousness isn’t about staying within the lines—it’s about letting God’s love reshape our hearts. We can follow every commandment, attend Mass every Sunday, and still be far from God if our hearts are closed.

Jesus calls us beyond rule-keeping into a life of radical love. Instead of merely avoiding hatred, we are called to actively forgive. Instead of just refraining from selfishness, we are invited to be extravagantly generous. Instead of simply abstaining from evil, we must deliberately seek the good.

Today, don’t just ask yourself, “What should I avoid?” Ask, “What good can I do?” Move beyond the minimum. Let your righteousness be more than obligation—let it be love in action.

Prayer:

Lord, You are not interested in empty rituals or lifeless obedience. You desire my heart. Yet so often, I settle for the bare minimum—doing what is required but never reaching for more. I avoid sin, but do I pursue holiness? I follow the rules, but do I follow You?

Transform me, O God. Shape my heart until righteousness is not just something I do, but something I am. Let my faith be more than a checklist. Let it be a living, breathing response to Your love. May I hunger not just for correctness, but for closeness with You.

Lord, when I am tempted to settle for comfort, call me to courage. When I want to do just enough, inspire me to go further. When I struggle to love, remind me of how deeply You love me. Help me to forgive, to show mercy, to choose kindness—not because I must, but because my heart has been changed by You.

Let my righteousness surpass that of the scribes and Pharisees—not in appearance, but in truth. Make me a person of compassion, of generosity, of integrity. Make me a reflection of Your own heart. Amen.

Thursday,  March 13
Ask, Seek, Knock

“Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.” (Matthew 7:7)

We’ve all experienced the ache of unanswered prayers—the moments when we cry out for healing, for direction, for peace, only to be met with silence. It’s in those times that doubt creeps in. Is God even listening? Does He care? But Jesus gives us a simple yet profound command: Keep asking. Keep seeking. Keep knocking.

God is not indifferent, nor does He ignore our cries. He is a loving Father, always near, always attentive. But His answers don’t always come the way we expect. Sometimes, His yes is different from what we envisioned. His wait stretches our patience beyond what we think we can bear. And His no is often a hidden mercy, closing doors that would lead us away from His perfect plan.

Think of a child pleading with a parent. A toddler wants candy before dinner—the loving answer is no. A teenager wants a car the moment they turn sixteen—the wise answer may be not yet. The child may not understand in the moment, but the parent sees the bigger picture. So does God. When He delays or redirects our prayers, it’s not because He is cruel or unloving, but because He sees what we cannot.

Faith is trusting Him even when we don’t understand. It is believing that, even in the silence, God is working. His timing is never late, and when the right door finally opens, we will look back and realize that He was guiding us all along.

Prayer

Lord, I come before You as a child before a loving Father, asking, seeking, knocking. Yet, I confess, when Your answers seem delayed or unclear, I grow restless, even discouraged. Teach me to trust that Your silence is not absence, that Your delays are not denials, but moments of preparation.

When I ask and hear only quiet, give me the patience to wait in faith. When I seek but cannot find the way, grant me the wisdom to recognize Your gentle leading. When I knock and the door does not open, help me to believe that You are protecting me, guiding me toward something greater than I can imagine.

I surrender my desires, my plans, my need for control into Your hands. If Your answer is yes, may I receive it with gratitude and humility. If Your answer is wait, give me the grace to endure without losing hope. If Your answer is no, help me to trust that Your love for me is greater than my understanding.

Above all, Lord, let my heart desire not just Your gifts, but You. Let me seek not only Your blessings, but Your presence. Draw me closer each day, shaping my faith not by what I receive, but by my growing trust in Your goodness.

I will keep asking. I will keep seeking. I will keep knocking. And I will keep believing that You, Lord, are always with me, always leading me, always loving me—whether I see it or not.  Amen.

wednesday,  March 12
Change Is Possible

“When God saw by their actions how they turned from their evil way, He repented of the evil He had threatened to do to them; He did not carry it out.” (Jonah 3:10)

Nineveh was a city known for its wickedness. It was the kind of place where no one expected change, let alone a spiritual revival. The people were corrupt, self-indulgent, and far from God. Even Jonah, the reluctant prophet, had little hope that his message would make a difference. He went through the city announcing its coming destruction, probably assuming no one would listen.

But they did.

The people of Nineveh, from the greatest to the least, heard Jonah’s warning and took it to heart. They repented—genuinely, humbly, and completely. They didn’t just feel sorry; they changed. And because they changed, God, in His great mercy, forgave them.

If God could transform an entire city, He can transform you too.

It’s easy to believe that change is impossible. We tell ourselves we’ll always be the way we are—too impatient, too weak, too hurt, too sinful. Maybe we’ve tried before and failed. Maybe we think it’s too late, or that we don’t deserve another chance.

But the story of Nineveh reminds us of a powerful truth: God never stops calling us back. His mercy is greater than our mistakes. He is not waiting to condemn us; He is waiting to restore us.

Lent is a season of second chances, a time to take an honest look at ourselves and ask:

	•	What is keeping me from becoming the person God is calling me to be?
	•	What sins, habits, or attitudes am I holding onto that I need to surrender?
	•	What is one small step I can take today to draw closer to Him?

Real change doesn’t happen overnight. It happens in the small moments—the choice to forgive, the decision to turn away from temptation, the commitment to pray even when we don’t feel like it. It happens when we trust that no matter how many times we’ve fallen, God’s grace is always enough to lift us back up.

Whatever is weighing on your heart today, know this: it is not too late. You are not too far gone. And God is not finished with you yet.

Prayer:

Lord, You are the God of mercy, the God of second chances, the God who never gives up on me. Even when I resist, even when I fail, even when I convince myself that change is impossible, You keep calling me back to You.

I come before You today just as I am—imperfect, weak, and in need of Your grace. I don’t want to stay the same. I don’t want to keep making the same mistakes, carrying the same burdens, or clinging to the same fears. But I know I cannot change on my own.

Give me the courage to take the first step. Help me to recognize the things in my life that are keeping me from You—whether it’s sin, distraction, resentment, or fear. And give me the strength to let them go.

Lord, I trust in Your mercy. I trust that You see more in me than I see in myself. I trust that no matter how many times I have fallen, Your love will always be greater. Shape my heart, guide my steps, and lead me closer to You, one moment at a time.

Thank You for never giving up on me. Thank You for the gift of today, for the grace to begin again, and for the hope that with You, true transformation is always possible.  Amen.

Tuesday,  March 11
Pray Like You Mean It

“Your Father knows what you need before you ask Him.” (Matthew 6:8)

Prayer isn’t about getting the words just right—it’s about relationship. Imagine if you only spoke to your closest friend through stiff, formal letters:

“Dearest Jim, I humbly request a brief gathering over coffee at your earliest convenience. I remain, as always, your devoted acquaintance.”

It would be unnatural, distant—almost ridiculous. And yet, how often do we approach God that way? Carefully chosen words, repeated phrases, saying what we think He wants to hear rather than what’s really on our hearts.

But God isn’t grading our grammar or critiquing our phrasing. He just wants us to show up, honestly, as we are.

The Lord’s Prayer: A Relationship, Not a Ritual

When Jesus taught us to pray, He didn’t give us a formula to mindlessly repeat. He gave us an invitation—to trust, to surrender, to forgive, and to rest in the love of a Father who already knows our needs.

Each line of the Lord’s Prayer reveals something profound about how God wants us to communicate with Him:

1. “Our Father, who art in heaven…”

Jesus doesn’t say, “My Father”—He says, “Our Father”. From the very first words, we’re reminded that we belong to a family. God is not distant, cold, or impersonal. He is close. He is loving. He is a Father. And He is not just my Father—He is ours.

When we pray, we are never alone. We are part of something bigger—a body of believers, a communion of saints, a people who can come to Him together.

2. “Hallowed be Thy name…”

To “hallow” means to set apart, to honor, to revere. This isn’t about flattering God—He doesn’t need our praise. It’s about remembering who He is. Before we ask for anything, we remind ourselves: God is holy, wise, and good. He is the Creator, and I am His creation. He is in control, and I am not.

When we forget who God is, we begin to treat Him like a vending machine: inserting our requests, hoping to get the right outcome. But when we recognize His holiness, we learn to pray not just to get something, but to be with Someone.

3. “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

This is the hardest part. It means surrendering our agenda. Our plans. Our control. It means trusting that God’s way is better, even when we don’t understand it.

How often do we come to prayer demanding rather than submitting? How often do we say, “God, please make my life easier,” instead of “God, make me stronger”? How often do we ask for our will instead of His?

4. “Give us this day our daily bread.”

Not this year’s savings. Not a five-year plan. Just today’s bread.

God invites us to trust Him one day at a time. This is hard in a world where we crave certainty, long-term security, and detailed plans. But God calls us to depend on Him daily.

Think about the Israelites in the desert. God provided manna—but only enough for one day. If they tried to store it, it rotted. Why? Because God wanted them to trust Him every single morning.

And He wants the same from us.

5. “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

We love the first part. We struggle with the second.

Jesus doesn’t say, “Forgive me because I deserve it.” He says, “Forgive me as I forgive others.”

God’s mercy is abundant, but it comes with a challenge: We can’t hold onto grudges and expect to receive His grace.

Who do you need to forgive? Who are you still holding bitterness against? True prayer transforms our hearts—not just in how we relate to God, but in how we relate to others.

6. “Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

We live in a world full of distractions, temptations, and spiritual battles. But Jesus reminds us: God is our protector. He is our strength.

Are we asking for His help? Are we relying on His grace to overcome sin, or are we trying to fight our battles alone?

Is Your Prayer Life a Chore or a Conversation?

For many of us, prayer feels like a duty—a checkbox on the Christian to-do list. We rush through grace before meals, mumble a quick request before bed, or repeat words out of habit rather than conviction.

But what if we prayed like we actually believed Someone was listening?

What if we prayed like we were talking to a God who loves us, who delights in us, who isn’t waiting for perfect words but just for us to show up?

Maybe today is the day to put aside scripted, rushed, or distracted prayers and instead—pray like you mean it.

Prayer:

Father, You already know my heart, my needs, my struggles, and my fears. Yet You invite me to come to You—not with perfect words, but with an open heart.

Teach me to pray, not out of obligation, but out of desire to be near You. Strip away my doubts, my distractions, my need for control. Help me trust in You, to surrender my plans for Yours, to seek Your will over my own.

When I am weak, remind me that You are strong. When I am anxious, remind me that You are my peace. When I don’t have the words, remind me that You hear even my silent prayers.

Lord, let my prayer life be real. Let it be messy, honest, and alive. Let me come to You not just when I need something, but simply because I need You.

Thank You for always listening, always loving, always knowing what I need before I even ask. Amen.

monday,  March 10
Love Your Neighbor—Even the Difficult Ones

“You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” (Leviticus 19:18)

Jesus didn’t say, “Love your neighbor, as long as they agree with you,” or “Love your neighbor, unless they’re rude.” He simply said, love your neighbor. And that command isn’t just for the easy-to-love people—the ones who share our values, treat us kindly, or make life pleasant. It includes the ones who test our patience, push our buttons, and make our lives more complicated.

Think about the people who challenge you the most: the coworker who always takes credit for your work, the relative who criticizes your every move, the neighbor whose dog seems to think your yard is a public restroom. It’s natural to feel frustration or resentment. But Jesus calls us to something higher—to see every person as a child of God, just as He sees us, flaws and all.

Loving difficult people doesn’t mean tolerating bad behavior or never setting boundaries. It means choosing kindness over bitterness, patience over irritation, and grace over retaliation. It means remembering that just as we struggle, so do they. Maybe their unkindness comes from their own wounds. Maybe their arrogance masks insecurity. Maybe, just maybe, they are longing for love just as much as we are.

And here’s the challenge: Jesus tells us that when we serve even the most frustrating among us, we are serving Him. He is in the needy, the forgotten, the irritating, and yes, even the difficult. Today, instead of reacting with annoyance, try to see those people through His eyes. Ask yourself: What if this person is in my life for a reason? What if God is using them to stretch my heart and teach me how to love more like Him?

Prayer:

Lord, You have called me to love—not just when it’s easy, but when it’s hard. Help me to see others as You see them, even when they frustrate me, hurt me, or challenge me. Give me a heart that is patient when I want to be short-tempered, gentle when I want to be harsh, and merciful when I want to hold a grudge.

Teach me to love not with empty words, but with real actions—choosing kindness over anger, forgiveness over resentment, and grace over judgment. When I struggle to love, remind me of how You love me: unconditionally, endlessly, even in my worst moments.

Lord, shape my heart to reflect Yours. Let me be an instrument of Your peace, even in difficult relationships. And when I fail, give me the humility to try again. Amen.

Sunday,  March 9
When Temptation Knocks

“Jesus, filled with the Holy Spirit, was led by the Spirit into the desert for forty days, to be tempted by the devil.” (Luke 4:1-2)

Temptation is rarely obvious. It doesn’t announce itself with flashing lights or a dramatic showdown. More often, it slips into our lives unnoticed—like an extra helping of dessert after we promised to cut back, a small lie to avoid discomfort, or a moment of gossip disguised as concern. It shows up in the choice between holding our tongue or firing off a sarcastic remark, between generosity and self-interest, between faithfulness and compromise.

Even Jesus faced temptation. Hungry and alone in the desert, He was offered food, power, and an easy way out. The devil didn’t attack with force but with subtle half-truths and manipulations. Yet Jesus didn’t waver. He didn’t argue or try to justify a small concession. He simply stood firm, grounding Himself in the truth of God’s Word.

How often do we try to rationalize our temptations? “It’s just one little indulgence,” we tell ourselves. “No one will know.” “It’s not that big of a deal.” But the small compromises add up, slowly pulling us away from the path God calls us to walk. Temptation isn’t just about big moral failures—it’s about the daily choices that shape our character and our relationship with God.

When temptation knocks at your door, how do you respond? Do you waver, offering excuses and justifications? Or do you, like Jesus, stand firm in God’s truth, refusing to be swayed by whispers of doubt and desire?

The good news is that we don’t face temptation alone. Jesus, who endured the desert and overcame temptation, walks with us in our struggles. When we turn to Him, He gives us the strength to resist, the wisdom to discern right from wrong, and the grace to begin again when we stumble.

Prayer

Lord, You know my heart. You see the struggles I face, the temptations that pull at me, the moments when I wrestle with choosing what is right over what is easy. You walked this road before me, standing firm in the desert when the enemy whispered lies and half-truths. You know how weak I can be, how easily I justify small compromises, how often I let my desires drown out Your voice.

But Lord, I don’t want to live that way. I don’t want to settle for less than the life You call me to. When I am tempted, strengthen me. When I hesitate, give me courage. When I waver, remind me of Your truth. Help me to see temptation for what it is—not just a moment of weakness, but a chance to choose You, to grow in faith, to trust in Your promises.

And when I fail, Lord, as I sometimes will, don’t let me hide in shame. Draw me back to You with mercy, lift me up with love, and teach me to begin again. Because more than anything, I want to walk this journey with You, one faithful step at a time. Amen.

SATURDAY,  March 8
No One is Too Far Gone

“Follow me.” (Luke 5:27)

Levi was a tax collector—despised by his own people, seen as a traitor, someone who had likely given up hope of being anything more than what the world had labeled him. People avoided him. They judged him. He was stuck in a life that made him wealthy but lonely. Yet, when Jesus walked by and said, “Follow me,” Levi didn’t hesitate. He didn’t negotiate or ask for time to settle his affairs. He simply got up and followed.

Why? Because Jesus saw him—not as the world did, but as he truly was. Jesus looked beyond Levi’s past, his failures, and his reputation. He saw his potential, his worth, his heart. That’s how Jesus sees us, too.

Maybe you’ve felt written off. Maybe you’ve made choices you regret. Maybe others have labeled you in a way that feels permanent. But Jesus doesn’t see you as beyond hope. He isn’t waiting for you to be perfect or “ready” before calling you. He simply says, “Follow me.” The question is—will you?

Following Jesus often means leaving something behind. It could be a habit, a grudge, a fear, or even a comfort zone. What might Jesus be asking you to walk away from today? What’s holding you back from fully surrendering to Him?

Jesus doesn’t call the perfect; He perfects those He calls. So whatever your past, whatever your struggle, remember: you are not too far gone. His invitation stands. Will you take that step?

Prayer:

Jesus, You see me as I truly am—beyond my past, my mistakes, and my fears. You call me, not because I am perfect, but because You love me. You see potential where I see failure, hope where I see regret. You call me to something greater, to a life not defined by my past but by Your grace.

Give me the courage to let go of anything that holds me back from fully following You—whether it’s fear, doubt, pride, comfort, or sin. Help me to trust that whatever I leave behind is nothing compared to what I gain in You. When I hesitate, remind me that You are always faithful. When I feel unworthy, remind me that Your mercy is greater than my shortcomings.

Lord, shape my heart to desire what You desire. Open my ears to hear Your voice and my feet to walk the path You set before me. May my life be a witness to Your love and redemption. Strengthen me when the road is difficult, and remind me that I never walk alone.

Today, I choose to follow You. Give me the grace to follow not just in words but in action, in trust, and in love. Amen.

Friday,  March 7
Fasting That Matters

“This is the fasting that I wish: releasing those bound unjustly… setting free the oppressed.” (Isaiah 58:6)

Fasting is often seen as a personal sacrifice—a way to strengthen our willpower or prove our devotion. Many of us give up sweets, social media, or our favorite indulgences during Lent. But today’s reading reminds us that fasting is not just about denying ourselves; it’s about offering ourselves.

God calls us to a deeper kind of fasting—one that shifts our focus away from ourselves and toward others. True fasting isn’t just about saying “no” to something—it’s about saying “yes” to God’s call to love more, serve more, and be more. It’s about breaking the habits that keep us inwardly focused and choosing to live with open hands and open hearts.

What if our fasting looked like patience instead of frustration? Encouragement instead of criticism? Gratitude instead of complaining? What if, instead of merely giving something up, we made a conscious effort to lift someone up?

Maybe it’s time to fast from resentment and embrace forgiveness. Maybe it’s time to fast from indifference and become more aware of the lonely, the struggling, the forgotten. Maybe the most meaningful fast we can offer God is to make space for His presence in our daily interactions—to fast from distractions that keep us from prayer, from selfishness that keeps us from serving, from pride that keeps us from seeking reconciliation.

What’s one thing you can fast from that will truly change your heart? And what’s one thing you can do today to bring light into someone else’s life?

Prayer:

Lord, teach me to fast in a way that pleases You. Let my fasting be more than a ritual—let it be a transformation.
Help me to fast from anything that keeps me from loving You and others fully.
When I am tempted to focus on myself, turn my heart outward toward those in need.
When I am quick to judge, slow me down with compassion.
When I am consumed by worry, fill me with trust in Your providence.
May my fasting open my eyes to the burdens of others and inspire me to be Your hands and feet in the world.
Shape me, Lord, so that my sacrifices are not empty, but life-giving.
May my fasting not just change my habits, but truly transform my heart. Amen.

Thursday, March 6
Decisions, Decisions

“I have set before you life and death, the blessing and the curse. Choose life.” (Deuteronomy 30:19)
Life is full of decisions. Some are easy: Coffee or tea? (Coffee—always coffee.) Others are a little more complicated: Should I be patient with the person who just cut me off in traffic, or should I test how well my horn works?
Then there are the big ones—the ones that shape our character and our relationship with God. Moses lays it out plainly: Choose life or choose death. No pressure, right? But choosing life doesn’t just mean “existing” or taking the path of least resistance. It means choosing to love when it’s inconvenient, choosing to forgive when holding a grudge would feel so much better, and choosing faith when fear is screaming in our ears.
Jesus doesn’t sugarcoat it, either. He tells us following Him means taking up our cross daily. And let’s be honest—sometimes that cross feels more like a little splinter, like being stuck in the slowest checkout line at the grocery store. Other times, it feels like a full-blown tree trunk, like forgiving someone who deeply hurt us. But here’s the thing: every small, faithful choice strengthens us for the bigger ones.
So, what choices are you making today? Are they leading you toward life, joy, and peace—or toward stress, bitterness, and spiritual indigestion?
Prayer:
Lord, You know I don’t always make the best choices. Sometimes, I choose comfort over courage, convenience over kindness, and grumbling over gratitude. But today, I want to do better.
Give me the wisdom to choose what leads me closer to You. When I’m tempted to be impatient, give me grace (and maybe a deep breath). When I want to hold onto resentment, remind me that forgiveness sets me free. When fear creeps in, help me to trust that You are always in control—even when life feels as unpredictable as a squirrel on espresso.
Lord, You have given me this day as a gift. Help me to use it well, to choose life in my words, my actions, and my heart. Walk with me, guide me, and—if needed—give me a little nudge (or a big shove) in the right direction.
I choose You today, Lord. Help me to keep choosing You. Amen.

wednesday, March 5
Lent: Not Just About Giving Up Chocolate

“Even now, says the Lord, return to Me with your whole heart.” (Joel 2:12)
Ash Wednesday is here, marking the beginning of our Lenten journey. For many of us, the first thought is: What am I giving up? Coffee? Sweets? Social media? While fasting from these things can be valuable, Lent is about something much deeper—it’s about turning back to God with sincerity and love.
The ashes on our foreheads remind us of our mortality and call us to repentance. But true repentance isn’t just about temporary sacrifices; it’s about a lasting change of heart. Jesus warns us not to fast, pray, or give alms just to be seen by others. God isn’t impressed by religious performances. He desires an authentic conversion—one that transforms how we love, serve, and live.
So this Lent, instead of only subtracting something from our lives, let’s ask: What can I add? More prayer? More patience? More acts of kindness? More time in silence with God? Fasting has value when it empties us of distractions and makes space for Christ. Let’s not just make Lent about changing a habit—let’s make it about changing our hearts.
Prayer:
Lord, I come before You at the start of this Lenten journey, knowing I need You more than I sometimes admit. I don’t just want to go through the motions—giving something up, saying extra prayers, or doing good deeds just to check a box. I want this Lent to be real.
Help me strip away the things that distract me from You. Teach me to let go of my selfishness, my impatience, my need for control. Fill the empty spaces with more of You—with Your peace, Your mercy, and Your love.
When I struggle, remind me that You are patient. When I fall, help me to get back up. And when I feel discouraged, remind me that You never stop calling me back to You.
Lord, let this Lent be a time of real change—not just in what I do, but in who I am. Amen.

Tuesday, March 4
Giving Without a Calculator

“Give to the Most High as He has given to you, generously, according to your means.” (Sirach 35:9)
We live in a world of measurements and limits. We budget our money, track our calories, count our steps, and even measure our screen time. Without realizing it, we often apply the same mindset to our generosity. How much can I give without it affecting my comfort? How much time can I spare without disrupting my schedule? We like to give—but within reason, within limits, and sometimes only when it’s convenient.
But God doesn’t give with a calculator. He doesn’t measure out His love or ration His mercy. He pours out His grace freely, without hesitation or conditions. Imagine if God blessed us only when it was convenient for Him or only in amounts He deemed “manageable.” Yet, every breath we take, every moment of peace, and every undeserved second chance is proof of His extravagant generosity.
In today’s Gospel, Peter tells Jesus, “We have given up everything to follow You.” It’s as if he’s asking, “Was it worth it?” And Jesus responds with a promise: “There is no one who has given up house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or lands for my sake and for the gospel who will not receive a hundred times more now in this present age.” (Mark 10:29-30) No sacrifice made for God—whether big or small—is ever wasted.
But generosity isn’t just about finances. It’s about presence. It’s about listening when someone needs to talk, offering patience when it’s easier to be annoyed, or going out of your way to help when you’d rather stay comfortable. Sometimes, the most generous gift we can give is our time, our attention, or a simple act of kindness that reminds someone they are seen and valued.
So today, challenge yourself to give without calculating. Instead of asking “How much do I have to give?” ask “How much can I give?” Trust that God, who never holds back from blessing us, sees and cherishes every act of generosity, no matter how small.
Prayer: A Heart That Gives Freely
Lord, You never give with hesitation. You don’t measure out Your mercy or set limits on Your love. You bless me beyond what I deserve, pouring grace upon grace into my life.
Yet, I confess that I often give with conditions. I weigh my sacrifices, making sure they are comfortable. I hold back when I feel stretched, fearing I will have too little left for myself. I am generous when it’s easy but hesitant when it requires real sacrifice.
Teach me, Lord, to give as You give. Not with calculation, but with faith. Not out of obligation, but out of love. Help me to be generous not only with my money but with my time, my kindness, my patience, and my forgiveness.
When I am tempted to hold back, remind me of the countless ways You have never held back from me. When I am afraid of being left empty, remind me that Your generosity never runs dry.
Fill my heart with the joy of giving—not because I seek rewards, but because I long to reflect Your love in the world. May my generosity be a small glimpse of Your boundless goodness.
Amen.

Monday, March 3
No Expiration Date on Mercy

“To those who repent, He grants return, and He encourages those whose hope is fading.” (Sirach 17:24)
Have you ever delayed something important because you thought you had more time? Maybe it was an overdue phone call, a long-postponed apology, or a commitment you kept pushing aside. We tend to do this with many things, including our relationship with God.
Sometimes, we convince ourselves that we’ve strayed too far, made too many mistakes, or let too much time pass. We may feel unworthy of God’s love or think that He has given up on us. But the good news is that God’s mercy has no expiration date. His grace is always available, no matter how long we’ve been away.
In today’s Gospel, the rich man asks Jesus what he must do to inherit eternal life. He seems eager, sincere, and even confident that he is on the right path. But when Jesus tells him to sell his possessions and follow Him, the man walks away sad. Why? Because his wealth held a stronger grip on his heart than his desire for God.
This moment is a powerful reminder that following Christ requires trust—and sometimes, letting go. What are we clinging to that keeps us from fully surrendering to Him? Fear? Comfort? Control? Old wounds or regrets? Whatever it is, God’s mercy is not out of reach. He is always ready to receive us when we turn back to Him, no matter how much time has passed.

Prayer
Merciful Father,Thank You for Your love that never gives up on me. Even when I wander, You wait with open arms, ready to welcome me home. Your mercy knows no limits, no deadlines, no conditions—only love.
Give me the courage to trust You completely, to surrender the things that hold me back, and to let go of my fears, my pride, and my doubts. Soften my heart, Lord, and draw me closer to You. When I hesitate, remind me that Your grace is always greater than my failures.
I come before You now, not because I deserve it, but because You invite me. Take my burdens, renew my heart, and lead me in Your ways.
I am Yours, Lord. Help me to follow You.
Amen.

Sunday, March 2
What’s in Your Heart?

“The fruit of a tree shows the care it has had; so too does one’s speech disclose the bent of one’s mind.” (Sirach 27:6)
You don’t have to be a mind reader to know what’s in someone’s heart—just listen to how they speak. Words are like windows into the soul, revealing our thoughts, attitudes, and priorities. A person filled with gratitude and peace will naturally speak with kindness and encouragement, while someone weighed down by anger, resentment, or pride will often speak with sharpness and negativity.
Jesus challenges us in today’s Gospel with a powerful image: Before you worry about the splinter in your brother’s eye, take a good look at the wooden beam in your own. In other words, before pointing out someone else’s flaws, examine your own heart first. It’s easy to criticize others, but much harder to recognize and correct our own shortcomings.
So what do your words say about your heart? Do they reflect patience, kindness, and truth? Or do they reveal frustration, harshness, or self-centeredness? If you’re unsure, pay attention to your daily conversations. Do you build others up, or do you tear them down? Do your words bring peace, or do they stir up tension?
The good news is that we are not stuck with the hearts we have today. God desires to transform us from the inside out, filling us with His love so that our words reflect His goodness. Let’s ask Him to shape our hearts so that our speech becomes a source of encouragement, healing, and truth.
Prayer: Lord, purify my heart so that my words bring life and reflect Your love, patience, and truth. Help me to speak in a way that honors You and builds up those around me. Amen.

Prayer: A Heart That Reflects You
Lord, You are the source of all goodness, truth, and love. You spoke the world into existence, and Your words bring life, healing, and hope. Yet, too often, my own words fall short of Your example. In moments of frustration, I speak with impatience. In times of insecurity, I use words to tear down instead of build up. When I am hurt, I let bitterness shape my speech instead of grace.
But Lord, I know that my words are only a reflection of what is within me. My tongue is not the problem—my heart is. So I come before You, asking for a deeper transformation. Cleanse my heart of pride, anger, and selfishness. Fill me with Your Spirit so that love, patience, and wisdom overflow from within me. May my words be seasoned with kindness and truth, offering encouragement to the weary, healing to the wounded, and hope to the discouraged.
Help me to listen more than I speak, to understand before I respond, and to choose words that reflect Your presence in my life. When I am tempted to gossip, remind me to guard my tongue. When I feel the urge to criticize, teach me to correct with gentleness and humility. And when I am faced with conflict, let my words be instruments of peace, not division.
Lord, shape my heart so that my speech becomes a reflection of Your love. May the words I speak today and every day be pleasing in Your sight, bringing honor to You and grace to those around me. Amen.

DAILY Reflections

Tuesday, April 1 Let the Waters Flow

monday, March 31 New Beginnings

Sunday, March 30 Coming Home

Saturday, March 29 The Humble Will Be Lifted Up

Friday, March 27 A Heart That Listens

thursday, March 27 Hearing, But Not Listening

wednesday, March 26 A Faith That Sticks

tuesday, March 25 Solemnity of the Annunciation of the Lord

monday, March 24 The Unexpected Messenger

sunday, March 23 A Second Chance

saturday, March 22 The Father’s Heart

Friday, March 21 When Jealousy Wins

thursday, March 20 Where Is Your Trust?

wednesday, March 19 Trusting the Unknown

Tuesday, March 18 Walk the Talk

monday, March 17 The Measure You Give

sunday, March 16 A Glimpse of Glory

saturday, March 15 Loving the Unlovable

friday, March 14 More Than Just Rules

Thursday, March 13 Ask, Seek, Knock

wednesday, March 12 Change Is Possible

Tuesday, March 11 Pray Like You Mean It

monday, March 10 Love Your Neighbor—Even the Difficult Ones

Sunday, March 9 When Temptation Knocks

SATURDAY, March 8 No One is Too Far Gone

Friday, March 7 Fasting That Matters

Thursday, March 6 Decisions, Decisions

wednesday, March 5 Lent: Not Just About Giving Up Chocolate

Tuesday, March 4 Giving Without a Calculator

Monday, March 3 No Expiration Date on Mercy

Sunday, March 2 What’s in Your Heart?