God Is Right in the Middle of Love 
by Vinita Hampton Wright in Reflections 


A friend of mine recently described specific people who had changed her life. 
They had changed her just by being themselves, by loving her in their particular ways of loving. 
They did not change her life by imposing any kind of plan on her or by trying hard to 
influence what she did—no, the change happened in the midst of daily tasks and conversations. 

In a sense, that friend was meeting God in those conversations and 

in the hours spent laboring over projects. 

When we allow others’ love to affect us, we’re surrendering to a much bigger 
love. 

When people love one another, however imperfectly, 

God is right in the middle of that. 

I remember the grandmother who laughed a lot and who was so patient 
with me as I made mistakes and learned new skills. 
I remember the pastor who would make himself available whenever I, a teenager, 
imagined myself to be in spiritual crisis. His calm manner and optimism about 
God working in my life steadied me and my faith. 

I remember the piano teachers who kept showing up, the elderly next-door neighbours 
who consistently acted delighted to see any of us children in their yards or at their doors. 
I remember people in church, at school, and on the job who have made my life a friendly sojourn. 

I think of people now—whether my husband of nearly two decades or friends of just a few years—whose kindness has made lovely prints upon my life. 

If you feel that God isn’t showing up much these days, remember the people who have showed up often and sometimes quietly, to enter your conversations, lend their help, and connect with you in real and helpful ways. 

The Paradox of Christian Freedom                            

by Andy Otto in Discernment

Jesus came to set us free.   

From what? 

The kind of freedom Ignatian spirituality preaches is freedom from the attachments, fears, and blockades that inhibit our human flourishing. One of those blockades, sin, is more than choosing to do wrong. Sin includes operating our lives from a place of fear—preventing us from being our truest selves.

Blockades to the freedom of our flourishing are those places in our lives that seem comfortable and safe but in truth keep us stagnant in faith and keep us from our dreams. 

For instance, in marriage I might like to keep an escape hatch open so I can get out “just in case.” What seems to be the freedom of keeping options open prevents me from genuine commitment.

When the thought of financial freedom keeps me in a job that drains the life from me and does not utilize my gifts, I’m impeded from the freedom of developing my gifts. The fear of change and endless “what-if” scenarios may cause me to freeze in the safety of my current life situation.

The paradox of Christian freedom is that when we take risks and make choices, we don’t restrict our freedom; we increase it. God calls us to have freedom from our fears and attachments so that we may have the freedom for a full life. When we cling to our comfort zone in fear we sin, a sign that the evil spirit is trying to prevent us from fully living out God’s call.

We must allow Jesus to lift our burdens from us! The genuine freedom that comes from following the call of God to let go of the illusory “safe path” leads to greater trust in God and one another.
When we let go of unhealthy attachments, fears, and other blockades, we gain the freedom to be our best selves, our most whole selves. And then our dreams can unfold, our relationships can be more trusting, and we can cultivate our gifts and talents in new ways.

Loving People Who Annoy Us                       by Andy Otto in Reflection

I commute about two hours most weekdays, so I’ve had a lot of experiences on the road. I’m generally a calm driver, but I’m not immune to frustration.                       

The other day I was in the left lane, moving at about 75 mph with the rest of the traffic, when I looked in my rear view mirror and saw a car racing up to me. The car was nearly riding my bumper. Frustration started to well up, partly because if I had to stop quickly the car would crash right into me.                                                                     

Why was this man so impatient? Was 75 mph not fast enough for him? I was tempted to brake suddenly so he would back off, but at that moment I felt God calling me to love this impatient driver.                                                                                

God’s call for us to love others has a lot to do with the gifts of chastity and sexuality. These terms need to be re-framed a bit: sexuality has to do with the way we relate to and connect with others; the Catechism of the Catholic Church defines chastity as the “integration of sexuality within the person.” (#2337).  Living chastity means being able to freely offer our love to others according to what is proper.                    

In the case of my brother on the road, the proper way to love him was to calm my frustration, acknowledge that God loves him deeply, and then move over to let him pass. Loving people who annoy us is not easy.                               The gift of sexuality means we are not robots. We have emotional connections and reactions to others that we can’t always shake. Chastity is the way we channel those connections. “The chaste person maintains the integrity of the powers of life and love placed in him,” the Catechism says (#2238).                                                               

When I have an emotional response to someone (positive or negative), I need to ask myself, How does my response uphold the integrity of God’s gift of love? How is God calling me to love the other?                                                           The next day on the highway another speeder came racing by and, with a sense of humor, I said to myself, 
“Oh look, another person you want me to love, God.”

Gratitude on the Difficult Days 

by Cara Callbeck in Reflections

My husband has a habit that I find both irritating and wise all at once. When I come home after a really bad day at work, the first thing he asks me is "What are you thankful for today?"  While he knows that he’ll be greeted with my pithy retort of "I’m thankful it’s over," he also knows that in that one quick exchange he has refocused me. That question forces me away from my bleak and self-pitying outlook on the day and reminds me that I ought to be thankful that I had the day to begin with.

Gratitude is quite possibly the greatest weapon God gives us against despair. When we take the time to be grateful, it diverts our gaze toward the light rather than the darkness. This theme of gratitude in the bleakest moments is all over the Bible. As they began their ministry, the apostles were persecuted, flogged, and threatened. Their response to this, though, was to rejoice that they were considered worthy to suffer dishonor for the sake of God. They saw the light in the midst of darkness, and it gave them what they needed to keep on with their ministry. In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus is described as 'anxious' to eat the Passover meal with the apostles, and he gives thanks during that meal. He knew it was his last, he knew one of his apostles would betray him, and yet he found a little bit of light in that dark day.

St. Ignatius clearly recognized the power of gratitude. He suggested gratitude as a central part of the Examen, ensuring that retreatants, the Jesuits, and all whom they guide and teach, come into the practice of seeing the good that God grants them each day of their lives. It’s perfect training for those periods of desolation—a light toward consolation.
I challenge you, the next time life seems to push you down at every turn or you’re just having a lousy day, take some time to consider the question that irritates me: 
What are you thankful for today? 
It might seem like an insurmountable challenge in some circumstances. If that’s the case, Padre Pio offers you this ounce of hope:

"The most beautiful act of faith is the one made in darkness, in sacrifice, 

and with extreme effort."