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.

Divine Calm in Life’s Storms

February 13, 2026/1 Comment/in Faith, Hope, Inspirational, The Mystery of Suffering/by Tom Medlar

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.

Just Me and My Walking Stick

February 5, 2026/0 Comments/in Faith, Fellowship, Pilgrimage, Pilgrimage stories/by Amy Schisler

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.

Image by Karolina Grabowska from Pixabay

The Prison Cook

January 27, 2026/0 Comments/in discipleship, Faith, Fellowship, Missionaries, Short Story, Uncategorized, Volunteering, Works of Mercy/by Cecile Bianco

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.

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/

2025 Margaret King Zacharias

Elder is a Verb

January 24, 2026/0 Comments/in Corporal Works of Mercy, Death, Defending the Faith, Devotionals, discipleship, Evangelization, Humility, Mercy, Missionaries, Spiritual Life, Uncategorized, Works of Mercy/by Margaret Zacharias

Editor’s note: Technical issues are a nuisance, but in this case it is to our benefit because we revisit Margaret’s September column which disappeared into the ether, along with several other author’s works, due to website issues, now resolved, the latter part of the year.

“… It was not you who chose me, but I who chose you and appointed you to go and

bear fruit that will remain …” — John 15:16

“Now is the season of the fruiting and the dying.” — Mary Dingman, SSSF

Elder is a Verb

My long-time spiritual director, Sister Mary Dingman (1919-2017), a vowed member of the School Sisters of St. Francis, was the first person from whom I heard the words, “elder is a verb.”

Sister Mary served her order with distinction as novice mistress, postulancy mistress, Catholic high school teacher, provincial coordinator, and formation director in multiple settings, from the Archdiocese of Milwaukee to the Archdiocese of Omaha. (1)

An apocryphal story tells that while she was still a novice herself, Mary refused a demand to sit in the back seat, from her brother’s fellow seminarian who was giving her a ride back to the convent from their rural hometown.

He was afraid of being seen with a female in his automobile. Novice Mary climbed straight into the front passenger seat. She didn’t recognize any difference in moral responsibility among disciples of the Lord, only different roles to fulfill.

Sister Mary was already a recognized religious figure in her own right by the time her older brother, Bishop Maurice Dingman (1914-1992), called her back to their home state of Iowa. He asked her to support and assist the Jesuit priests who served Emmaus Community prayer house, to extend opportunities for professional spiritual direction beyond the clergy and into the wider Des Moines lay community.

For more than twenty years, Mary Dingman, SSSF served as a spiritual director at Emmaus House, in a historic Victorian two-story home located close the inner city. She prepared daily lunches where everyone was welcomed to the feast in her beautifully set dining room, after liturgy and Eucharist were offered in the home’s cozy living room. Mass was celebrated there for many years by one of the Jesuit or diocesan priests, as simply and profoundly as the earliest Christians celebrated in the catacombs. Later, centering prayer groups and holy day dinners joined the schedule as the Emmaus community grew.

Sister Mary hosted Catholic and Protestant clergymen, vowed religious, and laypersons for private retreats in the small bedrooms upstairs, providing three excellent meals a day along with plenty of quiet time and peace to enjoy the gardens that surrounded her home. She was still driving, by herself, around the state to provide directed retreats at monasteries and convents, into her late eighties.

Sister Mary Dingman fulfilled her commission as an apostle proclaimed by Jesus in the Gospel of John: to bear fruit that would last.

Emmaus House maintains its commitment to Ignatian Spirituality and community fellowship in the Diocese of Des Moines, even to this very day; offering educational conferences, group and private retreats, as well as personal spiritual direction, now from a new home that is better-equipped to utilize modern technology. (2)

What about us?

As the Autumn Equinox arrives this Monday, September 22, where do we find ourselves? Probably most members of the Catholic Writers Guild are attending Mass regularly, and making strong efforts to educate their families in the faith.

We might not want to think too much about our own deaths, but are we still living our faith to its fullest?

According to the United States census, all members of the United States “Baby Boom” population, people who were born between 1946 and 1964, will not reach the current “retirement” age of 65 until 2030 (3).

“Independent living communities” for “senior citizens” have been popping up like mushrooms all over the country for decades, and many have long wait lists as well as hefty fees. Busy families with active young children and teenagers are too often forced to beg, in some places, to find a single bed available in a skilled nursing home with adequate facilities to help them care for aging parents.

How many devout and aging Catholics do we know, who are facing difficult choices for their final years?

The Oxford English Dictionary gives three parts of speech for the word “elder”: noun, adjective, and verb – which is offered third in order, after the noun and the adjective, because it is the least common usage.

“1. verb trans. With it, to play the elder. rare. …”

“2. verb intrans. Become older, begin to show signs of age. colloq. and poet. …”

“3. verb trans. Make a request to or admonish a person …” (4)

But none of these were what my friend Sister Mary meant, nor how she lived her own life. She spoke with an active verb, and went about “eldering” with her whole self.

Are we thinking too much about the leaves falling and dreading winter? Are we approaching our own “autumns” as fates to “die” rather than to “fruit”?

Many older people in our society are struggling to afford food on limited social security payments. Children in schools often need surrogate grandparents to listen to their reading and tell them stories, when parents may be too busy or too overwhelmed.

Families, parishes, and dioceses offer plentiful opportunities to help with food pantries, assist the ill or handicapped, offer constructive personal attention to children.

Perhaps most important, “Baby Boomers” who have already retired and those who will retire over the next three decades are the last generation on earth who will remember a culture, and a quality of human life, before demands and consequences of administration by computer.

We can leave an imprint of real experiences in direct and human interaction with the generations that will follow us.

The saints in heaven watch over us as we drag ourselves out of bed, perhaps groaning with arthritic pain. They listen to and intercede for our prayers on behalf of our ancestors, neighbors, children, and grandchildren. They see us picking up our glasses, hearing aids, keys, canes, or walkers, putting on our coats and boots, going out to take care of our daily business.

No matter our circumstances, we can move forward into this autumn of 2025 — even as our earthly weather starts progressing towards winter – carrying the fruits of love, hope, and genuine encounters that endure.

Feature photo: First Color in Iowa – Photo Credit Margaret Zacharias. Published with permission.

Inset photo: Autumn Rainbow to Heaven – Photo Credit Charles Zacharias. Published with permission.

Notes

https://www.barrmemorialchapel.com/obituary/4352175
https://www.theemmaushouse.org/about-us
https://www.census.gov/library/stories/2019/12/by-2030-all-baby-boomers-will-be-age-65-or-older.html
Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, Fifth Edition, Volume I A-M, Oxford University Press, Great Clarendon Street, OX2 6DP, Published in the United States by Oxford University Press Inc, New York, 2002, p. 801.

The Intermediate Steps

January 20, 2026/0 Comments/in Death, Hope, Pilgrimage, Purgatory, Uncategorized/by Jane Lebak

Editor’s Note: We lost Jane’s December reflection due to website issues — now resolved — but can enjoy once again reading about the inspiration for her story that appears in the Catholic Writers Guild’s first anthology, Pilgrim Tales.

The Intermediate Steps

How do you send an angel on a pilgrimage?

That was my first thought on reading the subject of the Catholic Writers Guild anthology, and no answer presented itself. I love writing about angels (ten of my books feature angels as main characters) and I would have jumped at the chance to write another one here.

Being pure spirits, angels are understood to move between Point A and Point B without traversing the intermediate space. You’re at 83^rd and Park but want to see the ducks at Choate Pond Park? There you are. A friend calls for help? You’re immediately on hand. (Well, not “on hand” if you’re a pure spirit, but I’m human, and, well …)

A pilgrimage for an angel would go something like, “Well, I’m here. Cool.” I wasn’t getting five thousand words out of that.

An angel would, however, have to traverse the intermediate space if he were accompanying someone else who had to, though. So … a guardian angel of a human.

Even so, pilgrimages imply a spiritual journey as well as a physical journey. We accept that angels aren’t perfect (Job 4:18), and since God is mysterious and beyond even an angel’s comprehension, of course an angel would always be delighted to learn more about Him. For a creature who’s existed for thousands of years, though, conditions would have to be extreme to reveal a new aspect of God, or to draw him closer to God in a way he’d never needed to before.

And that’s why I sent my angel to Purgatory.

“Way Stations” begins with a guardian who’s still shaken by his charge’s last hours and the stress of her judgment. She’s saved, but she’s in Purgatory. She’s also “secluded,” meaning she can’t sense her own guardian. The Purgatory angels assure him she’s safe, and he can leave, but he refuses. He’s not leaving her side until she enters Heaven.

Purgatory is a wasteland, and his charge starts walking.

The angel, who up until now was secure in his identity and his job and his work, walks with her. For the first time, he feels useless and stalled out, and it’s in that position that he sees how his charge’s soul begins to respond to the Holy Spirit. It’s not easy.

I say, “But I’m not the one in Purgatory.”

“Look around.” The other angel snickers. “Traveling? Struggling? You most definitely are in Purgatory.”

Of course an angel would never sin, nor want to sin, but I suspect it’s possible to get “stuck” in one way of relating to God. Everything can be “good enough.” Except God isn’t interested in “good enough.” He wants all of us, and sometimes, that may mean taking a journey you never intended, through all the intermediate steps — even for an angel.

Feature photo: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1RCk-dg0blH4Z1O0BOv1JSSVEYau71gvYTB2MqOR9Wr0/edit?usp=sharing

A family is in their living room -a little boy is jumping for joy, a mother has her hands up to her face in disbelief, and the father is sitting in his chair in shock.

Review of The Miracle Book by Anthony DeStefano

December 18, 2025/0 Comments/in Death, Faith, Reviews, Spiritual Life/by Mary McWilliams

We all need a miracle at some point. In the “season of miracles” here is some guidance
on asking for one.

“What matters is that you desire something badly. And
this time it’s serious. This time you mean business. This
time you need supernatural assistance, and you need it
now.” – (DeStefano 2025, 2)

We often hear Christmas described as the “season of miracles,” and it is. The birth of our Savior was the greatest miracle in history until His Resurrection. The Holy Family’s survival from threats, obstacles, and dangers at the time of His birth was guided only by angels and the hand of God. But that’s not what the commercials refer to when a little girl opens a beautifully wrapped box to find the doll she’s begged for all year. It’s not the snow coming down on a perfectly decorated Victorian inn on Christmas Eve in the typical holiday Romcom. Miracles, like angels, have been sentimentalized and trivialized in popular culture and oftentimes, God is taken out of the whole scenario. It’s only appropriate to attempt to right that ship this time of year.

In his 2025 release, The Miracle Book: A Simple Guide to Asking for the Impossible (Sophia Institute Press), Anthony DeStefano tackles the topic. The author of 30 titles that address, among other subjects, getting to heaven, handling anxiety, and navigating Atheist thinking, he has also produced some of the most beautifully written and illustrated faith-centered children’s books on the market that, quite frankly, could be enjoyed at any age. Anyone who has read Mr. DeStefano’s books or listened to his interviews knows he states his case clearly.

He’s a no-nonsense kind of messenger.

In this book on asking God for a miracle, which is devoid of touchy-feeling sentimentality and superstition and filled with reason and spirituality, he looks the reader in the eye, takes him by the shoulder and sits him down to tell him what’s what. The author reckons that anyone reading his book needs something that is beyond their reach, and they are looking to God for some hefty help. He also assumes that, on some level, everyone believes in a miracle; it’s not a Catholic or Christian thing. Atheists and agnostics all need and ask for miracles at some point in their lives.

But what guidance can you realistically give about asking for something so abstract and supernatural? And so big. Surprisingly, some practical advice imparted in a highly pragmatic manner.

First, you need to understand what you are asking for – what is a miracle, what isn’t. The author offers three perceptions of a miracle. Understanding his perspective is the key to following Mr. DeStefano’s process. You can muster up all the faith and fervor within you, but God’s will may not be in line with your expectations. Still, he believes you can strengthen the possibility but understand, “… obtaining a miracle is both easy and difficult and that it involves a mysterious, divine paradox …” (DeStefano 2025, 4).

He returns to the concept of paradox throughout the book, tying it into the miracle premise. You must, however, put in the work and that involves being spiritually fit, for which Mr. DeStefano is your coach. Remember, he wants you to succeed because it’s not just about God giving you a miracle. It’s about the intimacy you and God ultimately share. It’s about Him knowing just what your soul longs for beyond your immediate request. It’s a certainty on your part that He’s there living inside of you and taking care of you. Coach DeStefano is on the outside, toning your spiritual muscles. His approach is as simplified as it possibly can be without losing any depth. He explains and encourages by referencing miraculous events and citing Scripture, such as the “miracle promises” God makes in the person of Jesus Christ in nine passages from the Gospels (DeStefano 2025, 34-36). He counsels you, when you are tired and afraid, of the truth that God is with you and wants to help you. He warns you of potential pitfalls and how to avoid them, digging into anxiety and feelings, how they can get the better of you, and how that can derail your progress.

Regardless of their unpredictability, moods and emotions can open a window for Satan to come in.

“Don’t underestimate the devil’s grasp of this phenomenon. He’s very adept at exploiting our feelings. Indeed, one of his most effective strategies is to convince us to act based on our emotions rather than on reasoned decisions” (DeStefano 2025, 88).

When it seems like you’re hitting a wall, he reminds you of the Mass and the Eucharist and of the intercession of the Blessed Mother. When you’ve completed your basic training, he sends you off with more prayers and the hope of good things to come. If this sounds too lighthearted for your miracle, you would be wrong. Remember, Mr. DeStefano said at the beginning that if you are reading his book, you or someone you love has a deep and heavy issue. He presents some hard examples: the death of a little girl who had countless prayers, and even his own prayers for his ill father. With his help and trust in God, you begin to have a glimpse of your request from the perspective of the Divine, rather than your own limited vision. And you begin to understand and trust that God will provide.

Edited by Rietta Parker

True Strength

December 10, 2025/0 Comments/in Devotionals, Faith, Jesus Christ/by Isabelle Wood

“Put your sword back into its place; for all who take the sword will perish by the sword. Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then would the scriptures be fulfilled, which say it must happen in this way?”—Matthew 26:52b–54 (NRSVCE)

Jesus could’ve stopped it.

He’s the Son of God, God Himself, the most powerful being ever to exist. He walked on water, made enough food for hundreds out of a few loaves and fish, healed countless illnesses, and cast out demons. He knew Judas was going to betray Him, knew the Pharisees were sending soldiers to arrest Him. Knew He was going to die.

Jesus could’ve called down legions of angels, raised a hand and struck all his enemies blind or worse, or even simply hid where He knew they’d never find Him.

But He didn’t.

Instead, He let the high priest arrest Him, let the Pharisees mock and accuse Him, let the crowds scream for His execution, let the Romans humiliate, torture, and kill Him.

He chose not to fight against His enemies but for them. Chose not to condemn us to the death and punishment we deserve but to take it upon Himself.

That’s true strength. Not strength of mind but strength of will. Not strength of body but strength of heart. The strength to be free, even in chains. The strength to endure. The strength to forgive.

The strength to love.

And it’s that love—that strength—that Jesus calls each one of us to as well.

Edited by Gabriella Batel