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There was a time not too long ago when I was excelling in my career, thought that I knew everything, and felt I knew exactly what was good for me. Though I was materially happy, an inner voice began to nudge me, telling me that there was more to life.

There is a fire burning inside me and Satan wants to starve it by removing my hope, the oxygen that feeds my fire. He tries to convince me that small acts of love will not make a difference in the world. I must let God’s voice speak louder than his.

The peace of the Eucharistic gift I had just received at Mass drove from my heart the anxiety I might have felt about a growing to-do list.  Mary stood still, yet every curve of her figure enswathed the movements of my prayer.

Quarantine killed my shamrock plant. Its leaves had drooped to form a wilted brown ring around its sky blue pot, which greeted me when I returned to my apartment after three months of quarantining with my family.

I was determined to notice more on this walk, to find some tiny feature I had overlooked in previous springs. I would not take daffodils for granted this year.

During James Corden's recent socially-distanced episode, I found myself tearing for a reason I never expected.

It was a simple question, but the hallway at Century III Mall was an odd place to hear it.

Those profound words started me thinking about who I am, what my God-given talents are, and whether I use them to make a happy life for myself and others.

I can’t say there was one moment when a sense of feeling God’s presence overwhelmed me. It was a million little moments. The countless instances of beauty in the pain showed me that God was there, working amid the chaos.

An article in the series How to Take Your Toddler to Mass (and enjoy it!)

“Our congregation is now making better use of our resources, and there are similar opportunities in parishes if we’re really willing to look at the future and not just preserve the past,” she said

It wasn’t just my kids trying to get my attention. Jesus was interrupting me to force me to say these words over and over and over until I heard him speak through them.

With over 900 guests in attendance, the conference teemed with energy and excitement as women from all over Pittsburgh came together to celebrate the beauty and strength of their womanhood within the world and the Church.

With the release of the Grand Jury Report, this is the fourth time I have had my spirit squeezed-not quite crushed-by the gravity of the clergy scandal.

The past few days have felt like a funeral – a long, never-ending funeral in which we’ve listened to a hundred bad eulogies.

For a long time, I’ve grappled with the issue of pain and suffering. I used to believe there could be no “all-loving” God that could also allow horrible things to occur.

I’m afraid He’ll see me. He’ll see me, all of me: the times I’ve forgotten Him; the dreams I think may be deprived of their dignity if spoken aloud; the insecurities that brush so nicely under a thick carpet when the doorbell rings; the securities in which I place too much credence. It’s my greatest fear and my heart’s deepest longing: to be seen for who I truly am.

When I first came to Duquesne University in fall 2011, I met a priest and we became good friends. In the midst of a personal crisis of faith, he gave me this Scripture to reflect and meditate on – it still cuts me to the core:

Imagine: Your time is up, and a lifetime of good deeds is about to pay off with an eternity in communion with the Creator. You arrive to the Pearly Gates eager to enjoy the bounty of Paradise. There’s just one thing – you need to fill out the paperwork. Don’t worry – it’s just the procedure. If you’ve lived a good life, then you’ll probably get in.

At the beginning of Jesus' ministry, the Spirit drove him into the desert (see Mark 1:12). At the beginning of my ministry career, the Spirit drove me into desert as well.