Today’s resolution in prayer was simple, yet piercing: “Take up your cross.” I woke in the middle of the night with my heart pounding and my mind racing. Anxiety had a grip on me—not the productive kind, but fear. Fear of what was coming. Fear wrapped tightly around my thoughts, my expectations, my sense of control. I was trapped in my own head, my own worry, my own tribulation. I know what those moments are meant for. They are invitations to turn to the Lord. To surrender fe

We live in a world that pulls us in a thousand directions—not ripped apart, but quietly split apart, scattered by busyness, activity, expectation, and comparison. Work demands, kids’ sports, social calendars, and constant movement all create a hum of doing, chasing, and striving. And in the noise, without realizing it, we drift from the very things that make life meaningful. It happens slowly: a pursuit of possessions, a desire to look a certain way, a lifestyle we think sign

Last night at dinner, something unexpected happened—not because of the people, who I love and respect deeply, but because of what the conversation stirred in me. I walked away angry. Not just disappointed or frustrated—angry. My emotions were raw, and my words followed. I was defending something I believed was good, something I thought clearly advanced God’s Kingdom. And yet, the response I received felt like resistance, even rejection. I bristled. I pushed back. I spoke from

There are invitations you expect in life—birthdays, dinners, holidays. And then there are the ones that come quietly, simply, almost unnoticed… but carry eternity within them. Last week, my teenage daughter looked at me and said: “Dad, will you go to 6:30 AM Mass with me on Monday? Maybe afterwards we could get a coffee before school?” A simple question. A small invitation. And I hesitated. I never hesitate. Just days earlier, I had been the one considering daily Mass at 6:3

To serve — what does that truly mean? In a world that often measures greatness by how much we achieve or how many serve us, Jesus flips that entirely. He reminds us, “The Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many.” (Matthew 20:28) To serve is not simply to do. It’s to love in action. It’s to pour out what’s been poured into us. And to serve with passion—that’s to serve with fire. With heart. With gratitude. Passion is a gift

When the heartbeat stops, eternity begins. You’re dead. The last breath slips quietly from your lungs. The heart that carried you through every moment of your life beats once more—and then stops. The room fades. The light dims. Silence fills everything. But you are still conscious. You’re awake. You’re aware. Yet this is no longer life as you’ve known it. You stand before Someone. The atmosphere is thick with presence—holy, radiant, unshakable. Your soul trembles. You know, w

A Reflection on Surrender, Perseverance, and the Restless Pursuit of Peace Sometimes life feels like it’s festering — not in a dramatic or destructive way, but in a quiet restlessness that lingers beneath the surface. We know who God is. We believe He loves us. We even know our purpose: to live for His purpose, to love always, and to serve with passion. And yet, we still wander. We hesitate. We procrastinate — even when the direction seems clear and the calling unmistakable.

Life is not lived in grand leaps but in small bites. Each day offers us countless opportunities to choose God—in prayer, in worship, in...