Facing God’s Judgment

October 23, 2026/0 Comments/in Death, Faith/by Tom Medlar

In my work as a psychotherapist in nursing homes, I frequently speak with clients about end-of-life matters. All persons fear dying, yet the most common fear I encounter is that of God’s judgment – many people dread dying due to fear of rejection by God. It is not often that a client sees herself as a terrible sinner but rather tends to view God as a punishing critic. In particular, persons who have been criticized and judged and rejected by others tend to imagine that God might show anger without mercy, oftentimes based on terribly difficult past relationships.

I recently spoke with a 93-year-old lady who I see for psychotherapy. She is nearing the end of her life and has been sharing her fears and doubts about death and what may come after. She told me of a vivid dream she’d had the night before. She usually does not recall her dreams, but this one had struck her, and she recalled it in detail.

She never had a driver’s license, or drove a car, yet in the dream she was driving a car. She didn’t know where she was going or how to get there, and the car was running out of gas. Suddenly, a man dressed all in white appeared in the passenger’s seat.

“He didn’t look like a real person. He looked like a cloud,” she said. “I asked who he was, and he said, ‘I’m your angel.’”

As a result of our conversation, she continued to feel afraid of dying yet she had a vague sense of someone sent to help her find her way, someone who might know more than her about the way. But she still felt unworthy, and that prevented her from embracing the comforting message of the dream.

She had been physically and emotionally abused by her former husband, and the lingering wounds of that abuse – an incorrect sense of being unworthy, unlovable, and deserving of punishment, continued to interfere with her finding a consoling sense of faith as she prepares for death.

In God and His Image: An Outline of Biblical Theology (Ignatius Press, pg. 34), Dominique Barthelemy suggests that subsequent to the Fall in Eden, “Man has passed straight away from a Father-God in whose arms he had played like a child, to a Judge-God from whose face he flees.”

The questions and challenges of death can be abstract until that electric jolt moment when it becomes imminent, and all our prior considerations are dwarfed by an awesome and incomprehensible reality. Then, the psychological dynamics of our past human relationships, and the quality of our faith assume a vast significance. While some clients have a firm and clear faith, others might sway between a vague belief in God and afterlife, or an atheistic impression.

“It might just be lights out. I’ll know at the time,” one client suggested. But if there is no soul and no continuation of life beyond death, then it would be impossible to know. There would be no knower to know.

No one argues that Being simply ends after death because they wish or hope that it is true. Being is all that we know or have ever known about ourselves, the lives of others, and the surrounding universe. No one actually knows anything about non-Being, because it would be impossible to know.

As Catholics, we believe in a particular judgment when we will face God at the moment of death, and He will judge our life. Of course, we experience apprehensions about that inevitable moment.

But I also feel a need and a longing for that moment.

I anticipate utter gentleness and unfathomable broadness of understanding in His loving eyes, and that the light that is the Lord will let me see all I have done and failed to do for others. Shame over my faults and sins will be punishing and cleansing and corrective.

He will show me the whole story, and it will certainly include all the good and bad things that are presently more than I know or comprehend. None of us knows how to judge ourselves and we surely do it wrong, or do it based on wrong ideas of who God is and what He asks of us. The only way I will ever truly know my whole self, and be healed of all my wounds, will be through my face-to-face encounter with God when I die.

In season 1, episode 8 of the television series “The Chosen,” Jesus encounters the Samaritan woman at the well. That beautiful scene seems to me to be an example of what we might experience at our particular judgment – we will fear more rejection, yet He will surround all our woundedness with loving mercy.

edited by Sarah Pedrozo

Lessons I Learned About Listening, From My Dog

October 16, 2026/0 Comments/in Animals, Devotionals, Faith, Family Life, Home & Lifestyle/by Kimberly Novak

One of the most important aspects of my work as a spiritual director is the art of being present in listening. I must have ears that can pick up the tiniest subtleties when a directee describes a prayer moment or dialogue with God. If I miss even one cue, it can affect the Holy Spirit’s direction and the session’s outcome. However, I admit that it’s often hard to listen intently, and I am comforted knowing the Holy Spirit will find other ways to direct the session.

Equally important is having a listening presence within the home. Recently, my family and I have found ourselves in uncharted territory. Our nearly fourteen-year-old Poodle Bichon, Shiva the Diva, is dealing with hearing loss. At first, I felt okay with the situation because she follows us around like a shadow anyway. I didn’t have any initial fears, knowing she would always be right behind us. Recently, however, we’ve learned by observing her behavior that it’s not just hearing loss; it’s distorted hearing.

If we cough or sneeze, it sends Shiva into a terrified state, tucking her tail and shivering. Thus, we try to take every precaution and quickly vacate Shiva’s space so that we do not send her into a frightened state. Earlier this week, as I prayed in a quiet room, I noticed Shiva listening intently for any sound. She stared at me, waiting to see if I would move or open my mouth; when I did, she heard my voice as if it were coming from another part of the house and looked in the opposite direction.

Watching Shiva struggle to hear my voice made me reflect on my own struggles in prayer and how difficult it can sometimes be to recognize God’s presence. I can tell you for certain there are times when I listen for His voice just as closely, but other times I give up, wondering why He didn’t show up. Shiva’s experience reminded me that, even when I struggle to recognize God’s presence, I can trust that He is with me.

I also began to wonder whether anything in my life is distorting God’s voice. In the Discernment of Spirits and A Retreat for Daily Life, St. Ignatius names things that take us away from God as “disordered attachments.” This type of attachment can harm us physically and spiritually; it can be something seriously harmful, or it can be as simple as a television show that moves your thoughts away from God. One of my disordered attachments is choosing sleep over prayer. Too much sleep can harm my body, but I feel it affects my spiritual life even more. I love the quiet time I have with God in the early morning, and on the days I sleep too long and can’t fit it in before work, I cringe.

Ironically, not making time for prayer is an obstacle most spiritual directors hear from their directees when asked how their prayer life is going. A commitment to prayer should be easy, but life, and all of its disordered distractions, tend to distort the voice of God calling us toward Him. On the flip side, we’re not only trying to hear God’s voice, but He is also listening for ours.

God waits for us even when we choose sleep over prayer, and constantly listens for our voice calling to Him. I know morning isn’t the only time I can pray, and on days I miss my structured prayer, I slip in brief moments of dialogue to stay engaged. God will send special moments, or “Holy Moments,” letting me know He has heard my voice, and I, in turn, continue to listen for His.

Looking back on Shiva’s fearful morning and considering how God reaches out to me, I am reminded that listening for God simply demands trust in His steady presence. When I quiet my heart and eagerly wait to be with Him, I can rest assured that He will gently call my name.

Circus Tickets

October 11, 2026/0 Comments/in Angels, Faith, Family Life/by Paula Veloso Babadi

We were in the lean years of our marriage, you know, the days of beans and rice every day for dinner. My husband’s 14-year-old nephew, Amir (the first of many relatives to come live with us), had just moved in, and times were tight. When my firstborn, Jahan, was about four years old, the Barnum and Bailey Circus was in town, and he wanted to go. I didn’t know how we were going to manage getting tickets, and it made me sad. I told him we could go next year when they came back. He didn’t complain.

I was at Winn-Dixie, a southeastern grocery store, in the produce department, when a bearded man approached me and asked if I could use four tickets to the circus! I can still picture his blue plaid shirt. I was flabbergasted and said yes, and he handed them to me and left. I just stood there looking at the tickets. When I composed myself enough, I looked up to thank the man, but didn’t see him anywhere among the produce. I started walking down the aisle, and the next aisle, and the next, trying to find him. I circled the entire store several times, but never found him.

Getting exactly four tickets for our family from a stranger who disappeared convinced me right then and there that out of love for a sweet, innocent little boy who never asked for anything, God sent an angel so my son could go to the circus.

Bless the Lord, O you his angels, you mighty ones who do his bidding, obedient to his spoken word. (Psalm 103:20)

It has been over forty years, and except for the grocery store, my memory of that time is vague. At the circus, I remember how nice it was to have decent seats in the middle section, where we could see everything below. My son’s full name is Jahanshir, which in Farsi means “lion of the world,” and I still have an image of the lion-tamer act.

I told my husband the facts about getting tickets from a stranger, but for a long time I never told anyone what I believed about it. I don’t really know why. Maybe I thought the people around me back then wouldn’t relate. Then one day, I told a like-minded co-worker, who got excited and said she had similar stories. Now I know there are people in my life with their own “God incidences” to share. These days, I seek to be an instrument of God’s care for others in whatever small way possible.

“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.”—Hebrews 13:2

Reflection: When has unexpected help felt like God’s love and care encircling you? When have you been the instrument of unexpected help for someone else?

Note: This post is adapted from my book Everywhere Love: The Highway Home.

It’s A Child’s World

September 11, 2026/0 Comments/in discipleship, Faith, Humility/by Tom Medlar

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.

Edited by Sarah Pedrozo

Wounded Images of Self and God

August 14, 2026/0 Comments/in Death, Faith, non-fiction, Spiritual Life/by Tom Medlar

“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.

The Faithfulness That Waited

August 9, 2026/0 Comments/in Devotionals, Faith, Prayer/by Paula Veloso Babadi

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)

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

Edited by Gabriella Batel

Cairns Along the Way

July 2, 2026/0 Comments/in Faith, Fellowship, History, Inspirational/by Amy Schisler

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.

Follow Me to Little Jesus: Part 3

June 18, 2026/0 Comments/in Catholic Fiction, Faith, Family Life, Short Story/by Mary McWilliams

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

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

Edited by: PV Babadi

That Your Joy Might Be Complete

May 7, 2026/0 Comments/in Catholic Theme, Faith/by Amy Schisler

“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.

Becoming Peter

April 2, 2026/0 Comments/in Faith/by Amy Schisler

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.

Facing God’s Judgment

Lessons I Learned About Listening, From My Dog

Circus Tickets

It’s A Child’s World

Wounded Images of Self and God

The Faithfulness That Waited

The Faithfulness That Waited

Cairns Along the Way

Finding Markers

Finding Answers

Finding Meaning

Finding Joy

Follow Me to Little Jesus: Part 3

Follow Me to Little Jesus: Part 3

That Your Joy Might Be Complete

Becoming Peter

Becoming Peter

“You shall never…”

“I will not.”

“You know that I love you.”

Stay in the Know

Join Our Newsletter

Thank you for signing up!

Pray with Us