The Eucharist and the Beauty of Waiting

The Eucharist and the Beauty of Waiting

I’ve never been one to wait idly. I’m methodical in my approach—thinking, researching, planning, and praying are all part of my process. But once I’ve made a decision, I’m eager to act on it. This was especially true when I decided to become part of the Catholic Church.

I kept calling to mind Harry’s line from “When Harry Met Sally”: “Once you realize that you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”

That’s how I felt about receiving Jesus in the Eucharist. I wanted it — Him — immediately.

Sentir Y Gustar

Sentir Y Gustar

It’s All Saints Day and I find myself at Mass alone. It’s the year of the pandemic, and the only place I’ve been without my children for months is in the shower. And I do feel alone. Maybe it’s all the covered faces, or all the space spreading us out across this outdoor armada - a space meant for gathering that we’re using to spread us apart.

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How Questioning My Faith Led to Knowing Jesus

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How Questioning My Faith Led to Knowing Jesus

I sat on a large rock, knees pulled up, arms stretched behind me for support. The dry desert breeze whispered past as I gazed at the stars hovering overhead. Majestic and distant, they magnified the smallness I felt confronting larger-than-life questions I could no longer ignore.

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A Prayer for Hope in the Darkness

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A Prayer for Hope in the Darkness

We’ve given up a lot this Lent, haven’t we? Mostly, I’ve been struck with gratitude for what we do have: a comfortable home, enough food to eat, a yard for the kids to run around, financial stability. Still, even for our family whose sacrifice in staying home is minimal – This. Is. Hard.

It’s hard to give up Mass. It’s hard to give up spending time with our loved ones. It’s hard to change our routine, to give up small comforts, and to adjust our lives so dramatically. It’s hard to wait in the anxious unknown….

An Open Letter

An Open Letter

Dear Priest,

When we met, I wasn’t Catholic. I wasn’t part of the people you are called to care for. But I came to you, and you spoke with me, I suppose because “even the dogs eat the scraps that fall from the Master’s table.” You did not give me the sacrament of confession. I was not prepared to receive it. Instead, you gave me the gift of your presence.