It’s A Child’s World

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We sometimes hear the rather foolish comment that “It’s a man’s world.”

That peculiar remark seems to be made in reaction to excesses of power and violence demonstrated by some men. But sinful instances of unjust power and violence exerted by men never leave the circles of this world.

Sin is locked within the circumference of the fallen natural world, and cannot reach to heaven. It cannot participate in divine eternity. Cruel displays of power and violence don’t pass the boundaries of the world and only further stain its landscape.

Sin is alienated from the supernatural, and is a form of self-delusion, a false image of force that is actually self-defeating weakness. Exercises of sin can’t lead to heaven, yet they might lead … elsewhere; to that place where evil is destined to reside forever.

Sinners only get to heaven through the forgiveness of God and a contrite heart, rather than a prideful one.  This is a requisite to mercy.

No, this is not “a man’s world.” It is a child’s world. The world has been made for the nurturance and love of children. The world is designed to bring children into it and to foster their growth, to protect them from dangers and to give space and support to their talents and their wonder at the surprises of this world!

The path from earth to heaven is traveled by children, and children of all ages.

God did not enter the world to save it as its king, but as its child. In fact, He tells us that the kingdom of God belongs to children.

An argument arose among the disciples about which of them was the greatest. Jesus realized the intention of their hearts and took a child and placed it by his side and said to them, “Whoever receives this child in my name receives me, and whoever receives me receives the one who sent me. For the one who is least among all of you is the one who is greatest. (Lk. 9:46-48)

We come to the side of Jesus as a child and receive Him and His father. The child who is the least, not the disciple striving to be the greatest, is the greatest in the eyes of God.

I give you praise, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, for although you have hidden these things from the wise and learned you have revealed them to the childlike. (Lk. 10:21)

The most important supernatural truths are revealed to the child-like, rather than to those who see themselves as wise and learned and deserving.

People were bringing even infants to him that he might touch them, and when the disciples saw this, they rebuked them. Jesus, however, called the children to himself and said, “Let the children come to me and do not prevent them; for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Amen, I say to you, whoever does not accept the kingdom of God like a child will not enter it. (Lk. 18:15-17)

Children, and adults who approach God in the reliant and trusting manner of a child, are those welcomed into the kingdom, not those who falsely act as God’s gatekeepers.

He called a child over, placed it in their midst, and said, “Amen, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever receives one child such as this in my name receives me. (Mt. 18: 2-5)

Go and gaze with astonishment at the glory of the innocence and openness to love of a young child. The world has been tainted by sin, yet the child enters unstained and in need of the encompassing embrace of love.

The duty of adults is to reduce the sin in the world, not to use sin as an imagined way of overcoming the world. Our task is to turn and become trusting and dependent on the love and protection of our Heavenly Father in order to enter into His kingdom.

The world is made for children and belongs to children, and heaven is the same. Our job as adults is to serve the needs of children. To do that, we need to understand that this is a child’s world.

Adults must turn from the sins of seeking power over others and viewing unjust violence as a proper means to a proper end. The proper end has already been prepared for us, if we might be willing to cast off our false crowns, and humble ourselves to an appropriate recognition of our need for our heavenly father’s loving welcome home.

copyright 2026 Tom Medlar

Edited by Sarah Pedrozo

Wounded Images of Self and God

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“Among all my patients in the second half of life – there has not been one whose problem in the last resort was not finding a religious outlook on life. It is safe to say that every one of them fell ill because he had lost what the living religions of every age have given to their followers, and
none of them have been healed who did not regain his religious outlook.

This of course has nothing to do with a particular creed or membership in a church.”
Carl Jung, “Psychotherapists or the Clergy” (1932)

Psychotherapy can assist persons who wrestle with questions of faith, with wounded images of self and God. Psychotherapy with clients in nursing homes is not the same as pastoral counseling, and must make room for individual religious differences, or a lack of religion.

But in my experience as a psychotherapist, even persons who verbalize an atheist viewpoint still grapple with faith questions as they near death. A person who professes no beliefs might say to me that they still hope to see their loved ones after they die.

A lady in her 90’s asked, “Tom, how will I know if I’m dead?” She thought that if there is nothing, then nothing knows nothing. But if she knew she was dead, then she must have a soul that was knowing.

Another lady, Grace, was 103 years old and living in a Rest Home. She was referred to me for psychotherapy with a question of possible depression.

“Well, I don’t know if I’m depressed or not, I just can no longer do all the things I love. I love to read but my eyes are bad, and my fingers can’t hold a book or turn the page,” she said and held up her fingers, gnarled by arthritis.”I always did needlework; knitting and crocheting, but look, I can’t do that anymore.”

Using her walker to get to the bathroom was a slow and painful excursion for Grace because of her arthritis.

“I do have something I want to tell you, but I don’t want you to think I’m crazy,” Grace said. “I have a vision, it’s the same thing over and over, and it’s not a dream – it happens when I’m awake, like this, sitting up in bed.

There is an old man standing in my door, and he is twisted like a tree that has long been out in the wind. He slowly shuffles to the foot of the bed, and in a deep voice that sounds like it’s coming from under the earth, he says, “We have to get together in the midst of this pain and work it out.”

Well, this same thing keeps happening again and again,” Grace explained.

Grace had earlier referred to her history of religious faith, and her current spiritual questions. I inquired further about her beliefs and doubts. She had always been a person of faith, yet now she felt inadequate and unlovable because she could no longer be the active and productive person she was.

We explored what the visionary experience might mean for her if she considered it in light of that cluster of feelings and thoughts. Perhaps, she came to consider, God was mirroring her current pain and asking to be close to her in its midst, and if she might allow that, rather than judging and dismissing her worth, it might be the solution to her troubles. With that understanding she suggested, “I think I’ll be okay now, Tom. I don’t have to think I’m no good just because I’m not like I used to be.”

Larry was 74 years old and had spent the last three years in a nursing home. He was nearing the end of his life and was dreading it. He was born with a birth defect. His father had been alcoholic, and physically and emotionally abusive.

Larry loved and hated his father. During nearly every psychotherapy session he made comments about hating God. He experienced a conflict of love and hate for his father, and he was unconsciously able to partially hold on to the love side of that conflict by projecting the hate side upwards.

“But I did see the light one time, Tom,” he said. Larry had been scuba diving, doing restoration work beneath a large ship, and he became stuck, ran out of oxygen, and knew he was about to die.

“Suddenly there was a beautiful light all around, and I never felt better in all my life, and I was loose, and I came to the top.”

“Did that change any of your thoughts about God?” I asked.

“Aw, no, I still hated God. But, you know, I did see the light two more times.”

Larry went on to describe two additional near-death experiences, with bright light and peaceful feelings, but he was not able to consciously draw comfort from those experiences as he neared the end of life.

Chris was a 64-year-old resident in a nursing facility, and in one therapy session he shared an essay he’d written about mental illness and religious faith.

“In our struggle with schizophrenia, we have much to contend with. The many highs and lows, confusions and crises in the life of a schizophrenic. We try medication, psychiatrists and the like. These things work to a degree, but not something that sustains you or makes you stable. God is good for the mentally ill. The only concern is we have to be careful not to confuse spirituality with our mental illness. Mental illness makes it difficult to believe in God. We are so confused and not sure what to believe anyway with hallucinations and such. God is aware of this, and He knows the plight of the mentally ill.”

Yes, but how might one differentiate mental illness from spirituality?

Certainly, some people with a mental illness do confuse the two. But many individuals experience both a mental illness and a vibrant religious faith, and they can be distinctly different.

What might be characteristics of a wholesome religious outlook versus psychopathological distortions?

Unhelpful and pathological religious elements are characterized by fear, anxiety, avoidance, grandiosity, aggression, subjective idiosyncrasy, irrationality, and hatred. Whereas productive and encouraging spiritual viewpoints include humility, patience, peace, insight, fortitude, and tend to be conventional and doctrinal, as well as rational, and foster love.

In psychotherapy I follow the lead of spiritual symptoms, signals, questions and comments of clients, and help them sort through questions and influences of past experiences, and create space for a life-affirming and personality-broadening religious outlook, based on their individual beliefs, and on our shared existential challenges regarding illness, aging, and death.

 

copyright 2026 Tom Medlar

The Faithfulness That Waited

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The Faithfulness That Waited

When my mother, Violet, was dying in the fall of 2020, my sisters and I found ourselves watching the calendar and counting the days. On what would have been her seventieth wedding anniversary, she asked for tea, then stopped herself: “I’ll never drink tea again.”

Mummy had always said that the day she couldn’t have her tea, she would die.

I wondered and wrote in my journal that morning: Is today that day? Somewhere beyond the tumor’s tentacles, does she know she will see Daddy today?

It wasn’t. A few days later, it was the Feast of the Archangels. We told her it was alright to go. She didn’t. Then the Feast of St. Thérèse of the Child Jesus—we prayed, we sang, half-hoping the Little Flower herself might come carry her home. She didn’t. The next day, the Feast of the Guardian Angels, I wrote: Is this going to be the day? Lord, only you know. She held on two more days, and died on October 4th—the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi, a day none of us had been watching for at all.

We searched for why. Mummy wasn’t especially devoted to animals, and St. Francis is often pictured surrounded by them. We guessed it was simply the beauty of his prayer that fit her as she left this world. Then we let the question go.

Six years later, writing the afterword to a memoir about those twenty-six days, my sister Natalia sent me a text that stopped me cold. She was reading a 1691 book on devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, which mentioned that Pope Clement X had granted great indulgences for that devotion, dated October 4, 1674.

October 4th. My mother’s exact date of death—three hundred forty-six years later, to the day.

My mother spent her whole life treating Jesus as her closest friend—kissing the crucifix, greeting Him each morning at her altar, deflecting every compliment with the same quiet line: “It’s not me, it’s the Lord in me.” That she was called home on the very date, centuries earlier, when the Church granted indulgences to the faithful who practice devotion to His Most Sacred Heart, it felt like an answer we hadn’t known to ask for.

Then, during my daily reading time, a line in today’s Mass reading from Jeremiah called to me: “I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore I have continued my faithfulness to you.”— Jeremiah 31:3

That is the sentence I would say about both of my parents’ deaths now. My father died on the Feast of the Ascension, shortly after receiving Holy Communion. Sixteen years later, my mother died on the anniversary of an indulgence granted for the devotion she carried her entire life. Not just one answer, but two—each on an already sacred day, each marked by a sacrament.

We asked why, six years ago, and got no answer. We got it in God’s time, not ours—which, I am slowly learning, is the whole lesson of holy surrender. The question doesn’t disappear when you let it go unanswered. Sometimes it just waits, faithfully, for you to be ready to hear it.

 

The Prayer of St. Francis

 

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;

Where there is injury, pardon;

Where there is doubt, faith;

Where there is despair, hope;

Where there is darkness, light;

Where there is sadness, joy;

 

O Divine Master,

Grant that I may not so much seek

To be consoled as to console;

To be understood as to understand;

To be loved as to love.

 

For it is in giving that we receive;

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;

And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

AMEN

 

(Prayer commonly attributed to St. Francis of Assisi)

 

© 2026 Paula Veloso Babadi

Image credit: Family photo of Sacred Heart image from the Veloso home

Edited by Gabriella Batel

Cairns Along the Way

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As you read this, chances are I’m hiking somewhere above 10,000 feet in southwest Colorado, where we have a family vacation home. While Katie shows her love for us by staying at the house with our dogs, we’re enjoying two weeks at our cabin. As much as I love the water and never want to live away from the Chesapeake Bay, I look forward to these two weeks all year. It’s here in the mountains where my soul feels refreshed and renewed. It’s where I’ve learned some important lessons about life, particularly about the markers God and others leave for us along our journey.

Anyone who follows me knows I’m a big walker. I typically walk five miles a day and am training for Camino number three. Out here, I could walk for days, breathing in the fresh, clean air and tilting my face toward the sky, feeling as though Heaven is just beyond the reach of my fingertips.

 

Finding Markers

As a hiker, I’m always on the lookout for cairns. These are human-made piles or stacks of stones used as markers along a trail. They mark hidden trails, safe passages, memorials, historic events, and even burial places. Hikers will leave them as a testament that they were there, usually on a high peak or a remote trail. They’re a common sight throughout the Rockies and along the Camino, as well as other famous and not-so-famous trails around the world.

Perhaps it’s in my biology to be pulled toward these monuments. After all, they’re a Scottish tradition, and despite my married name, I have Highland blood flowing through my veins. Maybe it’s because I’m a walker and hiker and feel a kinship to those who have walked before me. But I believe it’s something even deeper than that. Even if I had never ventured further than my front door, I believe I would be looking for cairns. Each of us has a life journey full of cairns just waiting to be discovered.

 

Finding Answers

When I met my husband and he told me he was a waterman, I have no doubt that was a cairn (see my last blog). I’m certain my grandfather laid the foundation stone to that one.

When my grandmother passed, I was a mess, but she sent me a cairn I’ll never forget. I was on my way to school to pick up my girls just after I got the call, and Vince Gill’s voice floated through my car speakers. Vince was my grandmother’s favorite singer, and I’d taken her to see him in concert only a few years prior. I know this was more than just a song on the radio, though, as Vince consoled my heart with as he sang “Go Rest High on the Mountain,” about a loved one who goes home to God.

The first time I laid my eyes on the Sea of Galilee, I knew that pilgrimage was changing my life, and it did. Standing on Mount Precipice next to a cairn marking the Gospel Trail, I felt at peace and at home.

 

 

 

Finding Meaning

As I look back at the past fifty-six years, I see many cairns I’ve encountered along the way. Some led me down hidden trails I never thought I would go. Some afforded me safe passage when my world had been shaken. Others have served as memorials and symbols, reminders to where I’ve been, where I am, and where I need to go.

Wherever we go, our family seeks cairns already built and leaves cairns behind, to mark where we’ve been and lead others where they need to go. Much like life itself, some of these are mounds we’ve piled ourselves, and others are stacks we’ve contributed to along the way. Some are too high to reach and require a leap of faith. Others are small and easily overlooked unless we’re looking for them.

These all have become somewhat of a symbol for me in life, a tie to the trails I’ve walked and the lifelong journey I’m making toward my final destination.

 

Finding Joy

I always advise hikers to keep an eye out for the cairns that pop up along the way. You’re not alone in this journey. Those who have gone before you often leave signs for you to follow, pieces of stone to ground you, and markers to help you find your way. We would all be lost without these precious cairns that typically show up when least expected but most needed, bringing us reassurance and even happiness. Follow your cairns, and your journey will be one of peace and joy.

Copyright 2026 Amy Schisler

Photos copyright 2026 Amy Schisler, all rights reserved.

Follow Me to Little Jesus: Part 3

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Follow Me to Little Jesus:  Part 3

 

Bart revealed the first message of the Little Jesus vision.

“‘Follow me,” he said the first week. Only Amie heard him.

“Catholics aren’t required to believe in private revelation,” Maeve said impatiently.

“Right you are, Miss,” Mel agreed. “But I would challenge you to tell that to anyone who’s been to Medjugorje. And not everyone on that day believed. Some saw and just went about their business. If you recall, folks didn’t much take to the visions of Fatima and Lourdes at first. Or to St. Faustina and the Lord’s message of Divine Mercy.”

Maeve blushed and looked down, examining her hands. Her cousin experienced healing at Medjugorje, one Maeve believed.

“You said the first week, Bart. Did he come back?” Ross was captivated by the story and images.

The sequence showed people kneeling around the little boy.

“Indeed, he did,” Mel said like an animated docent giving a tour. For two more Sundays. He came to the shore, each time walking out from the early morning fog, delivering his message to Amie, then disappearing back into the mist.

“What were the other messages?” Maeve asked, surprised by her sudden interest.

“His second message was ‘Fear not.’ Just like Jesus said so many times in Scripture,” Mel said.

They moved to another sketch. The people in the image were kneeling like the other, but the focal point was Amie and Little Jesus. Amie was also kneeling, with both arms outstretched toward him, looking as though she were pleading with him.

“She didn’t want him to go,” Bart said. “She begged him to stay. ‘We need you, Little Jesus, please stay!’ Before he left, he said, ‘I am with you always.’ Until her dying day, Aunt Amie cried when she told people that part.”

“Bart, what did the people think the vision was trying to tell them?” Ross asked.

“As I said, it wasn’t much of a Christian community. You might say it was downright heathen. The only catechesis Amie and her family had was from a missionary priest who got lost trying to find the city. He stayed for a week, preaching and teaching, and baptizing. He left Bibles, rosaries, crucifixes, and a Baltimore Catechism. Amie took it all to heart and believed.”

“What did she think about the vision?” Maeve said. She couldn’t even feign disinterest at this point. Still skeptical, she also wanted to know more.

“Amie thought it was a call to conversion. She essentially became the community’s spiritual leader – at only 13 years old — because she read all of it, over and over, and talked about it all the time. On the night of the first vision, she began leading rosaries at her home for the community. They were out the door, on the porch, and in the yard, praying. Some thought the catches would improve again. But Amie believed the vision wasn’t about them. She said it was about Jesus, and he was calling them.”

Ross continued to scrutinize the sketches. “The messages are eternal,” he said thoughtfully. “Amie must have known that to record everything so meticulously.”

Leo ran over to his parents and held out a plastic statuette of the boy.

“I think Little Jesus is about my age,” he told them. “He grew up to be a carpenter, but he must have loved to fish.”

“Most people had to back then, Leo,” Maeve told him flatly. “But Jesus Christ’s childhood is a mystery to us, other than for a few events recorded in Scripture.”

Bart showed them to their table and took their pie orders. When he returned with the slices, Leo peered at each one and lowered his face to sniff each flavor.

“Mine’s chocolate, but I like the fruit pies too!”

“Sure you do, Son,” Ross said, taking off a large corner of his cherry pie and putting it on Leo’s plate. Maeve did the same with her blueberry. Leo tried those first before his chocolate. He finished his pie quickly without leaving a crumb on the plate and asked to be excused to pick out a statue or picture for their priest, Fr. Ted.

The brothers laughed, delighted by the boy and the closeness of the family. They continued with the history of their little community.

“Around 1930, the catches started to dwindle, and no one knew why. Little by little, it died away,” Mel said. “When the Little Jesus appeared, they were already feeling it. By 1935, there wasn’t enough shellfish to keep a family in stew for a week. Generations had lived off the bay, but now they had to go to the city to work in factories. Times were dire here. Decades later, we learned a rare disease killed off marine life.”

“It killed life around here, too,” Mel continued. “Folks had to leave to survive. Our little spot wasn’t worth anything to anyone but us.”

They remained silent until Leo burst into the dining room.

“Hey, Dad! Dad! Jesus was a little boy just like me! He was eight years old once. I never think of him that way. I just think of him as a grown man on the cross. But he had friends, and went to church and to school, played baseball, and helped his mom set the table, and made his bed. If I lived during ancient times, we might’ve been friends. We could’ve gone fishing together and played on the same team. Boy, that’s a guy who’d never let you down!”

“I think you’re right, Son,” Ross said, pleased. “But how did you come to these theories?”

“I just kept looking at the picture on the wall, Dad, and thought about it, and it just came to me! I’m gonna see what else I can find out!” Leo ran off again to study the picture. Bart and Mel also left to greet more guests. The dining room was filling up, but Maeve noticed no one else was getting the same attention as the little family.

Once they were alone, Maeve leaned in toward her husband and spoke quietly.

“Well, this has been interesting,” she said.

“You say that like you think they’re crazy,” Ross said. “I’ll admit it’s a little far out, but fascinating. I’d love copies of these drawings. Amie had some natural talent.”

“It’s just that Leo seems so taken with this idea. And they’re giving us so much attention. We don’t know these people; we’ve never heard of this vision. We live 30 miles from here. I go to the diocese for meetings a few times each year, and I’ve never heard anyone speak of it.”

“How often do people talk about the 1930s, Maeve? Whether or not it’s what they say it is, they seem sincere. Each of us needs to address it with the discernment God gave us and take it to Him in prayer and Confession. And discuss it as a family with Fr. Ted.”

Ross reached over to Maeve’s plate and used his fork to cut a bite of her blueberry pie. He chewed the pie piece slowly, and Maeve pushed her plate toward him to finish the slice.

“Do you want to know what I’m taking from this?” Ross continued between bites. “Did you hear how Leo talked about Jesus? Like a friend. Like someone he wants to spend time with and someone he knows he can count on. Maeve, if nothing else, this day has shown Leo who Jesus is. My concern is that, as sports and hormones take over his life, he’ll start to forget that. Our job is to make sure he doesn’t.”

The family was late heading back from their outing. They drove home silently in the dark, exhausted from what started as a search for pie. Maeve noticed the whole car smelled like pie. Not just the beef pot pie in the box they were bringing home, or the extra slice of chocolate for Leo. It was like a harmonious blending of many pies. It was just … heavenly? How could the aroma be so overwhelming? Maeve inhaled the homey scent. Is this what Jesus smells like, she thought and laughed to herself.

She glanced at her husband, who was wide awake and alert, determined to get his family home safely. She looked back at her son, peacefully asleep. Two heads peeked out from his jacket pocket—the statuettes they had bought for Leo and Fr. Ted. She reflected on her husband’s quiet and steadfast faith that she saw today, and her son’s joyful and innocent faith. She thought about the dedication and perseverance that stemmed from Mel, Bart, and their sister, Amie’s faith.

Follow me. Fear not. I am with you always.

But did she? Lately, she felt like she had been following fear more than God. Afraid of Ross losing his job since his company was bought by big corporate. A lack of trust in his ability to start his own business. Did today have a special message for her? Maeve sighed and put her head back on the seat. The old car’s engine sounded quieter than usual tonight. Or maybe it was her anxiety that was calmer. For the first time, she didn’t feel the need to keep watch during a night drive. She relaxed back in the seat, content to see how this day would rest on her family in the morning.

 

Read Part 1

Read Part 2

Author’s note: The Biblical references noted are inspired by the following Scripture passages:

  • Follow Me: Matthew 4:19
  • Not all who saw believed: John 22: 26-28
  • Fear Not: Acts 18:9
  • I Am with You Always: Matthew 28:20

© Mary McWilliams 2026

Banner Image generated in Adobe Firefly Gemini 3.1 (with nano Banana 2)

Edited by: PV Babadi

That Your Joy Might Be Complete

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“I have told you this so that my joy might be in you and your joy might be complete.” (John 13:9)

What do you think of when you hear these words:

Happiness?

Pleasure?

Joy?

Are they the same? Do they conjure the same thoughts, feelings, and needs? Of these three, which would you most desire in your life?

The great writer C.S. Lewis wrote time and again about joy. Even his memoir, one of my favorite books, is titled Surprised by Joy: The Shape of My Early Life. In it, he writes,

Joy must be sharply distinguished both from Happiness and Pleasure. Joy (in my sense) has indeed one characteristic, and one only, in common with them; the fact that anyone who has experienced it will want it again … I doubt whether anyone who has tasted it would ever, if both were in his power, exchange it for all the pleasures in the world. But then Joy is never in our power and Pleasure often is.

When my husband returned from a parish mission trip to Guatemala, several things made impressions on him. He witnessed extreme poverty, a health crisis, and great love for our priest in every town the group visited. What struck Ken most, though, was the joy the people felt. It was tangible and contagious. No matter how poor, how sick, how deprived they were, every person he met was filled with joy which stemmed from their deep faith and appreciation for what they had.

 

 

Some years ago, I wrote of the joy of those who work at Castel Gandolfo, the summer home of the Pope. I was amazed not by their happiness, not by their pleasure at being able to guide and assist, but by their sheer joy, a palpable feeling of something we simply cannot sustain here on earth.

Later, I found myself immersed in the sentiment of joy once again as I read the delightful novel, Becoming Mrs. Lewis. While the story is meant to tell the love story of Joy Davidman and C.S. Lewis, what I found the most intriguing were the many ways Lewis found and relished those moments of joy, just as my husband witnessed from the people in the remote mountains of Guatemala.

And it makes me wonder …

Do I truly stop and savor moments of joy?

Do I live each day seeking those moments, those fleeting times we experience something more profound than happiness, more desirable than pleasure, yet more elusive than a ray of sun on a cloudy day?

We all are seeking joy. It is the gift from God which all men and women desire, but it’s not easily found. Often mistaken for other emotions, joy cannot be captured. It cannot be contained. It cannot be sustained in this life. We reach for it, long for it, pray for it because it is the feeling which our souls desire. St Peter describes it as “inexpressible and glorious … the result of your faith [felt by] the salvation of your souls” (1 Peter 1:8-9).

The result of your faith [felt by] the salvation of our souls.

Joy is a result of faith.

Only those with true faith can discover true joy.

There is a lot of truth in the saying, “crying tears of joy.” Perhaps we shed “happy tears” now and then, but there is a difference I’m sure you can recognize. The difference lies not in how you feel in your head, but in your heart. Those rare moments when you can honestly say that your soul is bursting with so much joy that tears fall impulsively and beyond control. It’s as if your heart is so full of love, happiness, peace, and all things good that only one word can describe it: JOY. It’s that feeling that your heart is going to leap from your chest in a burst of “inexpressible and glorious” elation.

There are times when I have felt that song of joy in a quick beat of my heart:

Seeing true happiness in someone who has suffered.

Holding a newborn baby for the first time.

Welcoming and being welcomed by a friend you haven’t seen in a long time, making you want to leap into their arms.

Witnessing the sunrise or sunset and recognizing it as a gift from God–a glimpse of the everlasting joy that awaits.

Recognizing those moments when we bring joy to others with our words and actions.

 

 

Those are the moments we must remind ourselves to seek and share.

Rejoice in and proclaim that joy when you experience it. When you feel that tug of your heart, that leap of your soul, remember it, cherish it, hold fast to it with the knowledge that it is but a foreshadowing. Pray for the day you feel never-ending joy, the day promised when “everlasting joy will crown their heads. Gladness and joy will overtake them, and sorrow and sighing will flee away” (Isaiah 35:10).

Only those with true faith can experience true joy here and in the life to come.

Copyright 2026 Amy Schisler
Images: copyright 2026 Amy Schisler, all rights reserved.

Becoming Peter

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Becoming Peter

 

“Master, then not only my feet, but my hands and head as well.” (John 13:9)

Over the course of Lent this year, I traveled around the county leading a retreat titled Surrender: Living Without Fear. It was about learning to let go and let God. I encouraged the women, through prayer and the sacraments, to do God’s will and trust Him, His Word, His authority, and His Divine guidance. It’s not an easy thing to do. Just look at the man who would become our first pope. He struggled with this more than anyone.

“God forbid, Lord!”

Back at Caesarea Philippi, just after Jesus declares Peter to be the rock on which He will build His Church, Peter displays his lack of understanding and refusal to follow God’s will. Jesus tries to get his disciples to understand that He must go to Jerusalem where He will suffer and be killed. Peter declares, “God forbid, Lord! No such thing shall ever happen to you” (Matthew 16:22).

 

 

How often do we do the same? How often do we look at God’s plan for our lives and declare, God forbid, I’m not doing that? We choose our own method and our own path, often leading to destruction of our souls.

 

“You shall never…”

In today’s Gospel for Holy Thursday, Peter rebukes Jesus when it comes time for his feet to be washed:

“’You shall never wash my feet.’ Jesus answered him, ‘Unless I wash you, you will have no inheritance with me.’ Simon Peter said to him, ‘Master, then not only my feet, but my hands and head as well.’” (John 13:8-9)

Once again, Peter believes he knows better than the Lord. Even when Jesus tries to tell Peter that he will understand in time why Jesus is doing this, what He is teaching them, Peter balks. Note here that Peter is referred to as Simon Peter in this exchange. He is still becoming the rock Jesus knows he will be.

How often do we balk when we don’t understand the Lord’s plan? So often, we think we know better than God, we know what’s right for us. We don’t always see the lesson He wants to teach us or the reason we must do what is asked of us. We fall back into our old habits, our old selves, forgetting to trust.

 

“I will not.”

St. Matthew tells us that Jesus predicted all his disciples would fall away once he was arrested, but

“Peter said to him in reply, ‘Though all may have their faith in you shaken, mine will never be. Jesus said to him, ‘Amen, I say to you, this very night before the cock crows, you will deny me three times.’ Peter said to him, “Even though I should have to die with you, I will not deny you.’” (Matthew 26:33-35)

Peter always had to have the last word. He knew what was best. He knew what Jesus should and should not do, and he knew what he would or would not do. He gave no thought to what the Lord was trying to tell him but relied on his own understanding and desires.

How often do we rely on our own understanding or desires? Even when others try to tell us the error of our ways or what God wants us to do, we choose to plow ahead, forsake the consequences, and proceed with pride instead of the humility it takes to follow God’s plan for us.

 

“You know that I love you.”

Despite all this, Jesus still had faith in Peter. He knew the man Peter would become even when Peter still had doubts. After the Resurrection, Jesus appears on the Sea of Galilee and invites the Apostles to sit down to eat with Him. He asks Peter — referred to throughout this passage as Simon Peter once again — three times if Peter loves Him. Our modern translation loses so much of the importance of this conversation. Jesus asks “Simon” twice if he loves Him with agape love, the kind of love willing to lay down his life for Jesus. Both times, Peter responds that he loves Jesus with philia, brotherly love. The third time, Jesus asks if “Simon” loves Him with brotherly love, and Peter responds, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you” (John 21:19). Then Jesus proceeds to tell Peter that one day, he will lay down his life for Jesus, displaying agape love. Simon would become Peter, the man capable of laying down his life for Jesus.

 

 

Like Peter, Jesus knows we often aren’t ready for whatever He’s asking of us. He knows that our journey of faith is a long one. When we disagree, balk, or deny, He doesn’t stop loving us. He knows that we are imperfect and can see only what is right before us. But He also knows that we can and will grow in our faith and understanding if we continue to follow Him.

Pray every day that you learn to trust in the Lord, to surrender your cares, worries, and your very life to Him. Know that He is waiting with open arms even when we think our choices are better than His. All of us, no matter our age, are still growing, still learning, still seeking the path God has laid out for us. We are all, at this time and still becoming, Peter.

Copyright 2026 Amy Schisler
Photos copyright 2026 Amy Schisler, all rights reserved.

Divine Calm in Life’s Storms

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We encounter many kinds of storms as we journey through this world. For some, they are more destructive than for others. We naturally react with fear, and worry, and anger over why it must be this way. God knows we are passing through a fallen world, and He asks us to try and see things as He does, or to trust that He is in control and will guide us all the way.

As a psychotherapist, I work with clients who live in nursing homes. An elderly man, whom I will call Alex, recently said to me, “I grew up in a household of abuse, and I learned how to find peace as a result.”

Alex spoke of sustained years of physical abuse by his mother towards him, and to a lesser extent toward his younger brother. Alex learned over time to recognize how his mother was ill and wounded, that her battle was an inner one, and not truly aimed at or caused by him. With a series of questions and comments, I sought to deepen the exploration of how he had arrived at such a penetrating understanding.

“For a period of five years when I was growing up,” Alex said, “we had many soldiers who were returning from WWII stay with us at our house. They were each going to study at a Catholic seminary in Boston so they could become priests. Each one of them had seen battle and many horrors, and now each one of them wanted to serve God and serve others.”

“They could see that my mother was not in control of herself, and they would make it a point to take me and my brother out for walks. They would talk to us about the things they had seen and learned in battle.”

“I knew my mother was also in a battle and it was not really about me,” he continued. “I was a kind of collateral damage of her own damage.”

“I think that they helped me to see that I could find peace in myself even if I was in the midst of a battle. I mean, I don’t think that was what they meant, or what they were trying to say. They were just trying to get on with their lives, you know.”

“What I really believe is that God had touched me and sent me these soldiers to help me learn. They made such a difference for me.”

Alex offered examples of how he had been able to stay calm and avoid conflicts with peers in his adolescence, and also when he served in the Army.  Time and again others seemed annoyed, as well as mystified, by his peacefulness. “I think I was given a touch of the Divine, and I think that helped me to connect with a bit of that ‘peace that exceeds understanding,’ as it says in the Bible.” (1)

Over many years, I have worked with a great number of clients who have endured, or who are now enduring, the most severe types of life storms: disease, disfigurement, disability, abuse, abandonment, and countless disappointments, all dripping like raindrops from the branches of a barren and lonely tree.

Innumerable times, I have asked clients undergoing severe storms, “How do you survive? How do you cope?” More than ninety percent of the time, the person points an index finger upwards and says, “God.”

The providence of God surrounds all of the battles and storms of life, and He has placed a “touch of the Divine” in the deepest recess of our heart. We don’t reach that inner calm through the practice of human techniques, but by keeping our heart open even while caught in a storm, so that He might shelter and guide us, in His way. When a new storm intrudes into our life, we might wrongly assume it will now always be this way. But even though storms will arrive, they will also pass away, or we might simply find adequate bits of shelter and moments of peace to help us manage.

(1) “Let your gentle spirit be known to all people. The Lord is near. Do
not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and pleading with
thanksgiving, let your requests be known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses
all comprehension, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.’ (Philippians 4: 5-7)

Passing Gloom

Rain clouds rush in,
racing crowds from afar,
a meteor isobar.
Sky ripped wide with spears of fire.
Frightened eyes steal a secret peek,
To see who makes this darkness dire.

A towering titan appears to loom over startled rooms.
Drums of doom and fractured light
Send birds away in frightened flight.

Gone as quick as came,
The world outside seems the same.
Darkness breaks apart,
Bright sparkles everywhere dart.

Fragrant breezes flower with verdant bloom.
Gripped fears ease, dispelling passing gloom.

copyright 2026 Tom Medlar

Just Me and My Walking Stick

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Just Me and My Walking Stick

He instructed them to take nothing for the journey but a walking stick–no food, no sack, no money in their belts. (Mark 6:8)

For years, I had a dream of walking on the routes of El Camino de Santiago (the Way of St. James), the pilgrim routes throughout Spain that lead to St. James’ burial place in Santiago. I knew there was little chance of that happening, but whenever the topic of the ancient route came up, I always said, “I want to walk that someday.” I never thought it would happen. Then one day …

Two by Two or Three

In 2022, I was planning a pilgrimage to the Holy Land for our parish, and our priest named some other places he wanted to visit. He had always wanted to walk El Camino, and I said I could look at that for 2024, but I was nervous. I honestly didn’t know any logistics about the walk, how long it would reasonably take, or which route would be the best. When I told a friend we were thinking about doing this, she said, “You cannot take a group on El Camino when you’ve never walked it yourself.”

I thought about that. She had a good point. It’s not like the Holy Land or France or Guadalupe, where I could just plan the trip and a guide would usher us from one religious site to another. This was a trek through the mountains, in the elements, walking many miles a day. I needed to know what this was like and if I was physically up to doing it myself.

Over lunch, I mentioned this to my friend, Angie, and she said, “I’ll go with you. Let’s do it.” We sat there, hovering over our phones, coming up with a plan. “There’s one catch,” Angie said, just as we decided to go for it. “If I go without my husband, he’ll be crushed. He’s always wanted to do this.”

So our pilgrimage of two on the Camino became a pilgrimage for three, and I was put in charge of making it happen.

Authority of Unclean Spirits

Fast forward about eighteen months. Chris, Angie, and I boarded a plane for Madrid with very large suitcases and oversized backpacks, ready to take on half the French Route. We had mentally, spiritually, and physically prepared for this trip for over a year. We had the right shoes, the right clothes, the water bladders, hiking socks, walking sticks, tons of snacks, evening wear for every night, supplies for making sandwiches, and everything anyone ever suggested. We were fully prepared.

However, that first night, after getting lost, missing dinner, and ending up at our hotel in the dark after walking almost twenty-five miles, I cried myself to sleep. There wasn’t a bone in my body that didn’t hurt. I already had blisters on my toes. I was physically and mentally drained, and it was only day one! I dreaded waking in the morning and telling Chris and Angie I couldn’t do this. It was too much.

I prayed for strength, courage, and guidance. I gave my pain and fears to the Lord, asking Him to help me do the right thing. I fell asleep as soon as I hit the bed, and something akin to a miracle took place. When I awoke in the morning, the first thing I did was pray an intentional Rosary, mentioning every person and prayer I’d taken with me. I showered and started packing my stuff, realizing I didn’t hurt. I had Compede for my blisters, and they seemed to be okay. I felt … ready.

Whatever worries I had were gone. I didn’t even think about them. All my despair from the night before evaporated like ether, floating away while I slept. I don’t think I gave a single thought to not continuing that day. Whatever doubts had plagued me a few hours before had been cast out like unclean spirits, and I felt renewed.

 

No Food, No Sack, Only Sandals

Over the course of the next two weeks, we had some amazing adventures. Every day, the world around us was more beautiful than the day before. Around each corner was a magnificent view. We watched a baby cow being born and waited around until he took his first steps. A vintner whose vineyard we were passing through offered us bunches of grapes to take with us (truly the best grapes I’ve had since sneaking them from my grandfather’s vines as a child). The pilgrim Masses each evening were inspiring. The food and wine were amazing. We became friends with Mina and her brother and sister-in-law, and are still in touch today. We met so many amazing people, from college students to pilgrims in their 80s and 90s.

The only thing still not working for us was all our stuff. We didn’t need nearly as many clothes as we thought we would. Guidebooks and extra toiletries made it hard to pack the small keepsakes we were collecting (an acorn from an elderly man who asked us to pray for him, a very small statue of Our Lady of the Oak, a beautiful stone on the path). We weren’t eating the multitude of snacks we brought, and our shoulders ached from the extra trail mix, granola bars, and sandwich fixings we never used.

Each morning, when we started from the hotel, our unused and unwanted items became the breadcrumbs we left behind. I even left my extra pair of hiking shoes when I became too tired of repacking every night and too tired of carrying them all day. I didn’t need them. By that time, I had so many blisters, I had resorted to wearing toe socks and Teva sandals every day. For eight days, I hiked in socks and sandals, not fashionable by any means, but my feet felt much better.

Shaking the Dust

Showering off the sweat and dust each evening became my favorite part of the day. Along with the dirt and dust of the hike, the waters washed away the pain, exhaustion, and any lingering fear or doubt. That time of showering and dressing became sacred for me, and even today, I say an intentional Rosary each time I shower, dress, and get myself ready for the day.

Just as the shower cleansed my body, that pilgrimage cleansed my mind and soul. I found that I actually enjoy a good long walk (which I never thought before). I realized, even in my fifties, I can do hard things. I can find God in the darkest places and hope in moments of despair. I enjoy praying the Rosary again (something I hadn’t done in years because it had stopped having meaning for me).

 

Driving Out Demons

When the man in the Pilgrim’s Office handed me my Compostela, I walked outside and burst into tears. I called my family and could barely speak. That first night, I didn’t think I could go another day. Thirteen days later, I felt like I could walk to the end of the world (still something I’d like to do at some point, but it’s another five days walk to Finisterra).

My body had fought a battle and won. I no longer doubt myself when faced with anything—sickness, pain, uncertainty, fear. I know I can make it through tough times, excruciating pain, or long, winding roads with no end in sight.

In 2024, I led a group of 29 pilgrims on the Portuguese Route. The challenges of leading a group (most of whom I did not know) were much different than walking alongside two dear friends. I still cried at night a time or two, but for different reasons. I found myself questioning why I had done this. But on the last day, I witnessed friends feel what I felt that first time. I saw a young woman and a senior citizen overcome their own fears and doubts to make it to the end. I cheered when the 85-year-old husband and wife completed their walk, inspiring our whole group.

I’m planning a 2027 walk on the English route. It won’t be a big group but a small collection of friends. I’ll be nearing sixty, but I know I can do it. I won’t need much for the journey other than my walking stick. I know the Holy Spirit will provide everything else.

 

Copyright 2026 Amy Schisler

Photos copyright 2026 Amy Schisler, all rights reserved.

Image by Karolina Grabowska from Pixabay

The Prison Cook

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The Prison Cook

 

Aidelade, the prison cook, was tough customer for this missionary in Oklahoma.

Today I am working in the prison kitchen with Adelaide.  We are making macaroni and cheese. She has a job here as a cook. I am here doing missionary work for my church and so I am helping her make the pasta.

Adelaide has a sharp tongue. I try to put some water from the pot into the pan with the onion.

“Not so fast,” says Adelaide. “You haven’t boiled the pasta yet, so no use in putting it there now.”

“Ok!” I said.  It is her mac and cheese for the prisoners. She is going to boil some water and put some pasta in it and fry the onion in oil. Then some pasta water and some milk. She will melt the cheese on a very low temp so it doesn’t curdle before mixing it with the pasta mixture.

Another time when I went, I thought of bringing some steak for the prisoners since they don’t get much quality food.  “Not so fast,” she said. “They get soybean stuff, not steak.”  There were several cans of “soybean stuff” laying around the kitchen.

They also get some greens.

“Adelaide, do you have family?” I asked.

“No,” she snapped. “That’s why I am here.”

“Do you ever go to church or read the Bible?” I ventured.

“NO. This is a prison. Do you want to help me make some Nutraloaf?” This is a loaf of various foods that is so disgusting it’s used as punishment.

“Adelaide, what would make you happy?”

She paused for a while and spoke slowly.

“When I was young, I wanted to be a chef at a nice restaurant. But that didn’t happen. I needed a job so I got the job here.”

“Why don’t you make a nice dinner here?”

“Who’s going to pay?” she answered.

“We can find a donor at my church. Do you think they would like coq au vin?”

We got the funds for the dinner and we got the shopping done.

Now it was time to cook!

“I’ll need your help,” she said. “This will be a lot of work.”

This is the recipe we used for the dinner (adapted from allrecipes.com).

Chef John’s Coq au Vin

6 bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs

kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

8 ounces bacon, sliced crosswise into 1/2-inch pieces

10 large button mushrooms, quartered

½ large yellow onion, diced

2 shallots, sliced

2 teaspoons all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons butter

1½ cups red wine

6 sprigs fresh thyme

1 cup chicken broth

Directions

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Season chicken with salt and black pepper.

Sauté bacon in an oven-proof skillet over medium-high heat, until evenly browned. Remove bacon.

Increase the heat to high and cook chicken thighs 2 to 4 minutes per side. Transfer chicken to a plate.

Sauté mushrooms, onion, and shallots with a pinch of salt in the hot skillet until golden and caramelized, 7 to 12 minutes.

Stir in flour and butter.

Pour red wine into the skillet and bring to a boil. Stir in bacon and thyme and simmer until wine is about 1/3 reduced, 3 to 5 minutes. Pour in chicken broth and return chicken thighs to the skillet; bring to a simmer.

Transfer the skillet to the preheated oven and cook for 60 minutes or until temperature is 165 degrees F. Transfer chicken to a platter.

Thicken sauce in skillet then spoon over chicken.

 

We decided to serve it over noodles.

We brought it out and the prisoners formed a line as they normally did. When we uncovered the pot the prisoners gasped. The aroma was amazing. We served the food and the prisoners enjoyed it thoroughly.

© Copyright 2026 by Cecile Bianco

Mitzewich, John. “Chef John’s Coq au Vin.” All Recipes, last modified February 3, 2025, https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/239230/chef-johns-coq-au-vin/

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