As I prepare for labor and bringing our daughter into the world, I am tapping back into that marathon mindset.

Like each mile over the entire course, slowly and surely, I kept going.
”Just one more mile, just one more mile,” I remember repeating to myself over and over.

You don’t run a race all at once, but one mile at a time. With focus and intention.
I won’t birth our daughter all in one movement or action, but through one surge at a time pushing her further downward.

During our second Hypno birthing class, one of our doulas asked me as I have been practicing my surge breathing, what visual images were resonating with me to stay calm and focused on what my body was doing in the moment.

The first one was imagining myself lying on my back in the lake or ocean, allowing my body to move with (not against) the waves as they rolled in. Trusting and allowing my body to float through the waves as they crashed.

The second was this marathon mindset, a muscle memory I could return to from past experiences.

One more mile, just one more mile.
One more surge, just one more surge.

I shared with her how this memory felt like a spiritual experience that I was returning to. Almost as if that first marathon is an anchor for the deeply spiritual experience of birthing our daughter into the world.

That is equal parts amazing, crazy, and holy to me.

So, I am trying on that marathon mindset as much as I can; like breaking in a new pair of shoes.
I meditate on that image and experience.
I call it to mind when I listen to my Hypno affirmation tracks.

It is becoming a form of prayer as I prepare mentally and spiritually for the most life changing experience my body will ever perform.

I know my body has done hard physical things before.

Marathons and CrossFit. Learning how to weight lift as the best way (for me) to strengthen my female body.
Waking up at 4am 5 days a week to exercise because I know how good it makes me feel in my skin and sticking with a consistent routine during my pregnancy.



People sometimes talk about their top three or five best experiences of life.
Those moments that will forever stick with them.

For me, finishing that first marathon was always high up on that list.
Now I wonder if it was preparing me for the greatest marathon of life, motherhood.

Looking back, I wonder if that first race was a hidden gift from God, given years before to prepare my heart and body for the physical act of birthing a baby.

What a sacred realization to reflect and pray with these last few months as I wait to meet our little daughter.

God is all around us, hidden in little things, moments, and memories.
In cheers from strangers and toenails popping off.
In blood, sweat, tears, placenta, and birth surges.
In anguish and awe.

I have done many loving things for myself over the course of my pregnancy and received many beautiful gifts from family and friends.

But the greatest gift I have given to myself is returning to my marathon mindset to help me prepare for labor and birth.

Just like God met me on the race course, the Divine presence will meet me in the delivery room.

“No, what?” I shrugged.

”The look on the cashiers face when you used his name. It caught him off guard and then he looked down at his name tag. He realized that you used his name. I love when you do that!”

I smiled.

Surprising strangers out in the wild and using their name truly is one of my favorite practices. At a deeper level, it is more than being kind or friendly.

It is a spiritual practice.
A small way to make someone feel a little more seen.


I think I started practicing this more frequently after my dad died as a way to feel close to him because I learned it from him.


Rewind time with me to 10- or 11-year-old Patty.

I am at Meijer on a Saturday morning getting groceries with dad.
The cashier hands dad the change and receipt.
Dad thanks the cashier and then makes a point to also thank the teenager who bagged our groceries using his name.

As we walked away, he made a point to me saying, “Patty, always thank the person who bags your groceries. They often don’t get noticed or thanked when the cashier does.”

The older I get, the more I realize that life feels more sacred when we take time to do the little things with care and attention.

Mailing birthday cards to friends and family.
Perfecting the art of thank you notes.
Making eye contact and acknowledging people passing in the hallways at work.
Using the name of the cashier, restaurant server, store clerk, etc.


I think one of the deepest desires of every human heart is to feel truly known and seen as we are.

It might not change the world in a radical way, but I do believe it can make a difference on an individual level. Person to person, one encounter at a time.

I’d like to be known for that, for spreading a little practice of loving attention wherever life takes me or God calls me.

Who knows maybe someday I could be the patron saint of it in Heaven? ;)

Summer Happenings


Preaching and Writing - I am so excited to be counter among the female voices on Catholic Women Preach reflecting on today’s Sunday Mass readings. You can view mine here. There is a podcast too so every weekend you can hear the wide perspective of female voices reflecting on the Word of God.

A recent reflection I wrote for the Sunday Readings on Wisdom’s Dwelling can be found here.


Weddings and Sunday Snuggles - Yesterday we drove down for a quick overnight in Detroit to see a dear friend get married and stayed with my sister’s family. My little nieces are enamored with my growing stomach, I indulged in my favorite Middle Eastern garlin paste, and Travis and I got prepped in how to use the baby slings.

My youngest niece Kateri completely adores Uncle Travis. She follows him around like a little puppy dog and is always giving him hugs. I captured this picture of them snuggling on the couch this morning and realized that soon enough he will be doing the same with our little girl.

1 Year Down, Forever to go - On July 25th, we celebrated our one-year wedding anniversary with a day trip to Saugatuck, MI. It is a beachy little town with an artsy vibe. We walked around in little shops, went on a boat ride, and ended the day with a big slice of carrot cake as we reminisced about what we were doing exactly one year ago.

Nursery Prep - Goodbye Pepto Bismol pink and hello wispy pink! Travis repainted the nursery and I gladly offered to do all the taping. Teamwork makes the dream work.

The crib and dresser are all set up along with the rocking chair Travis’ mom used with him and his twin brother Nathan. My mom is coming in two weeks to help me organize the nursery space and put on the finishing touches so it is ready before we leave for Hawaii on September 1st.

It is crazy to think I am in week 28 with my tiny dancer and I am getting more excited to meet her and see what she looks like!

May your summer days be full of rest and renewal,

Patty

While a cradle Catholic, I had never really considered the lives of holy women and men as something I could personally relate to. They seemed like people whose lives were just weird sounding or hyper-spiritual nuts who loved Jesus.
I had never considered what it meant to be a radical follower of Jesus, to take Jesus’s words at face value.

Throughout the week in Assisi, our group traveled to all these places that were instrumental in the stories of Clare and Francis.

The church they both were baptized in, the baslicia’s built in each of their memory, the place where Francis received the wounds of Jesus on his body (the stigmata), and the little church where Francis heard Jesus telling him to rebuild the church.

Outside the walls of Assisi, was a little stone chapel symbolizing the moment of Francis’ conversion, where he jumped from his horse to kiss a leper.
We had a prayer service inside where everyone turned to face the stone walls as we created a circle throughout the whole space.

The friar read an account of this encounter between Francis and the leper. Then, he started to call to mind instances of people in the world, the church, our communities where people felt like lepers. Outcasts, told they don’t matter.

You could have heard a pin drop.
After Bro. Dan finished, we stood in sacred silence. After a few minutes, he invited any of us to raise our own petitions aloud with the group. It was a beautiful experience of communal prayer. I remember I had tears running down my face thinking deeply on the people and situations we both named and prayed for together.

In that stone chapel and through the course of the week, Francis became real to me in a way that changed how I saw and related to the saints.

Fast forward to June 2024 when I was getting ready to move to the other side of the state for a new job.

I wanted to go to Confession one more time at St. Bonaventure Monastery. A special place that I had been going to ever since I was a little girl. Not only did they have the most practical times for Confession (besides the typical 3-4p on a Saturday afternoon), it was a sacred place for prayer, quiet, and reflection on the life of Blessed Solanus Casey.

Travis and were dating still and I invited him to join me.
Over the past few months, we began going to Mass together and he had shared with me it had been quite some time since he went to Confession. I invited him not to coerce him to go but to share a place that was special to me with him. I let him know the friars were gentle, kind, and he didn’t have to worry about being out of practice.

When he came out, he had a big smile on his face.

Afterwards, we went to sit in the chapel and say a prayer at the tomb of Fr. Solanus.

It was only until after we had gotten engaged that Travis shared what prayer request he had written down and left in the care of Fr. Solanus.

He told me he had asked God to give him a better job that would allow him to ask me to marry him and be able to move closer to where I was living. He asked Fr. Solanus to open the doors for us to take the next step and become a family.

So honest and heartfelt.
Travis later told me he felt so convinced about the prayer intention he left there.
Since then, he often is the one to remind how God takes cares of things, is always working things out for us, just like Fr. Solanus did for him.

The day before our wedding we went back to the monastery for Confession, to offer a prayer of thanksgiving, and chose together to make Fr. Solanus the patron saint for our little family.

A model for us in how to love, serve, and listen both to each other in marriage and to the people we encounter in life and work. An example of how quiet, curious love is a mighty force in the kingdom that meets people where they are.

Sometimes a spiritual friend might find you in life at the right time or opportunity.

While I have always loved the story of Fr. Solanus, it feels like he too chose me and Travis as we became a family.


Blessed Solanus Casey, pray for Travis, Vivian, and me.

She can accompany us on the journey, particularly when life looks different than we imagine or goes off script.

A few years ago, I wrote an article reflecting on how this sometimes misrepresented disciple of Jesus came to me during a season of life where I was floundering.

Each year on her feast, I reflect on my encounter with her as I sat in Duc in Altum Church in Magdala, overlooking the Sea of Galilee.

This year, I thought I would share that reflection here with you.

In addition, if you’re looking some an inspirational sermon to reflect on today’s feast, check out Joanna Arellano-Gonzalez’s words from Catholic Women Preach.


Mary, Daughter of Magdala and faithful friend of Jesus, pray for all women today!

Two years ago on July 1st, I moved to West Michigan. Insert the theme song from Aladdin, A Whole New World, because moving to a different part of the state really felt like a new world to me.

A week later on July 8th, I started a new executive position overseeing Mission Integration services for three hospitals.

It is wild to me to look back at all the changes that have happened over the past two years.

Finding new friends, community, and a spiritual home. Getting engaged, buying a house, and getting married. Enhancing my fitness and how I eat. Becoming a mom and growing a tiny human. Making a home with my spouse and treating it as an adventure together, and soon with our daughter.


Several colleagues texted or messaged me yesterday on my work anniversary and it put me in a reflective mood.

I started thinking about where I’ve grown, mistakes I have made, and the deepest lessons I have learned so far from serving in Catholic healthcare.


1. When everything is urgent, nothing is urgent

This might sound crazy at a glance because many processes and procedures in healthcare require urgency for safe, effective patient care.

Let me illuminate this with a short story. About a year ago, I started paying attention to how I was walking throughout my day. I often noticed my quick pace through the hallways. I was hurried, not present or noticing what (or who) was around me. If I was in the middle of a busy, stressful day, I’d notice my pace picking up which only activated me more.

I started noticing when I intentionally slowed my body down that my energy shifted. I paid attention to my presence entering a room or meeting when I slowed down vs. hurriedly rushing through the halls.

Everything is not urgent. Things can be a slow simmer.
Take a breath, take a pause. Not everything in life requires hurry and hustle.




2. Catholic Identity is distinctive, but not exclusive

One of the things I love about working in Catholic healthcare is seeing part of my job is to present and hold our Catholic identity in a way that is distinctive but not exclusive.

Meaning, that through our Mission and Values, these are ways our colleagues and patients can experience our Catholic-ness in the most inclusive way possible.

There are ways for all of our colleagues, whether they practice a spiritual tradition or not, to connect with and see these things lived out in their work: being a compassionate presence, showing reverence, being a person of integrity, being committed to those experiencing poverty, and using our resources through wise stewardship.

I hold up our heritage and invite others to find where it aligns and connects to their personal values and meaning.

3. Our Mission + Values live in our halls, not just hanging on our walls

Sometimes large organizations talk about their mission and values like it’s the dusty participation trophy sitting on a bookshelf. Just something we reference from time to without much personal connection or meaning.

The more I show up in our clinical spaces and talk with our leaders, I am reminded that our Mission and Values are not just simply hanging on the wall or in some fancy frame in the executive suite. They come alive in our halls through the actions, words, and presence of all those who keep showing up to do their job.

My paternal grandmother used to say, “words matter, choose wisely.” If an organization’s mission and values cannot be named, seen, or felt in the people and spaces, then something is missing.

I try to use encounters, conversations, and formative experiences as opportunities to name and call out when and where I see these things alive in our hallways.


4. Keep Showing Up
One of my focuses this last year was intentionally showing up in clinical spaces, especially when my role is non-clinical.

I went to the daily bed meeting so I could understand the pulse of the hospital on a given day. I went to team huddles. I round on a number of floors each week with my colleague wellbeing cart, filled with every type of candy and treat, stress balls, fresh lavender, face masks and under eye patches, chapstick, mini tic tacs, pens, and deodorant wipes (because everybody sweats) and more. It is the best feeling to make a tired nurse smile when she hears me rolling down the hallway.

Whether in our personal or professional lives, one of the most important things we can continue doing is to keep showing up.

5. Lead with Curiosity

The older I get the more I see curiosity as a virtue. A sacred gift that hopefully comes with both age and experience.

I used to value certainty, now it’s all about curiosity. I want to approach people, situations, and ideas with curiosity. Or as I sometimes like to say, holy curiosity.

Leading with curiosity means you don’t know everything or have all the answers. It keeps you grounded, humble, and teachable. I hope the older I get, I reflect this more in my personal and professional relationships.



When I first accepted this job, I remember telling my spiritual director at the time that I didn’t know jobs like this existed. I am glad I said yes and was brave to try a new adventure.

I see God’s handprint along the way and feel like I am supposed to be here.

Those words from the first picture at the top from Henri Nouwen sum up these last two years well:

My deepest vocation is to be a witness of glimpses of God I have been allowed to catch.

Help me to pay attention, notice, and look for you hidden in holy work, O God.

Here’s to holy curiosity and showing up,

Patty

It was a small gathering of our ED director, the two forensic nurses dedicated to this work, and a member from the local Philanthropy team.

As everyone gathered in the exam room, I said a few words about the importance of blessing this space.

We bless people, items, and spaces to remind us that the presence of God is always with us.
When Christians use water in blessings, it is a reminder that in our own baptism we are connected to the dying and rising of Jesus.

I shared that I would make the sign of the cross and sprinkle water in the waiting room, exam room, and the shower/bathroom.

I also felt compelled by the Spirit to take it a bit further mindful of the heavy pain that will walk through these doors.

I shared with those gathered I would also like to make the sign of the cross over the door handles, the furniture people would sit on, and the exam table with which their trauma could be processed.

I would like also like to make the sign of the cross in the spaces where people will sit and move as a visible reminder for all of us of the spiritual reality that the presence of Jesus will always dwell here. That this would be a place where healing can begin and where hope can slowly start to grow new roots.

When I added those additional words, I could see in the eyes of the two nurses what that meant to them.

I slowly walked through the whole suite. Sprinkling water and marking the sign of the cross over every space. As I marked each space with the symbol of Jesus, I thought about all the people that will come here and sit on those couches, on that exam table.

You are here too, Jesus.
Even in the hard stuff.
You never shy away from any of it.

The experience was spiritually sobering for me.

Once again, I was reminded of a small truth with a powerful force - that Jesus never shies away from the hard stuff of our human experiences.

He meets us there.
He feels the things that harm and hurt us.
We are never truly alone in suffering because God knew suffering and pain in his earhtly life too.

The hard stuff of our lives doesn’t push Jesus away. Rather, it draws his loving presence to cover us like a warm, soft blanket.

The hard things will find you and me and we don’t have to fear them because Love itself will always meet us there too.

Maybe you needed that reminder just like I did.

With you,

Patty

I practice deep breathing with Travis as we get ready for bed and read over my birth affirmations while brushing my teeth. I look for moments of silence whether driving driving to work or over my morning coffee after working out. Sometimes I imagine Jesus blessing Vivi and laying hands on her as she grows inside of me.

One practice I have been returning to from the beginning is inviting my dad to visit me and bless my daughter.

My dad’s physical life ended in January 2021. It is different knowing that his third granddaughter will be born that he won’t get to baptize. In many ways, dad’s presence still feels close and shows up in unexpected ways from time to time. Most recently, in this new experience of motherhood and growing a tiny human.

I was having a difficult time emotionally the first three-four months. Everything about me felt different and confusing. I didn’t feel like myself at all. Those hormones are no freaking joke and I felt like someone emotionally pushed me over a cliff. Thank goodness for therapy and a daily dose of Fluoxetine.

One restless morning before work, I was starting to spiral and needed something to get me outside of my own head. An idea came to mind to ask my dad to come be with me in this uncomfortable moment.

I closed my eyes, stretching my legs out on the couch.
Taking a few deep breaths, I let my body settle settle into the physical space.

I began to imagine dad coming and sitting down next to me on the couch. He was in his cozy vibe - a simple flannel shirt with comfortable sweatpants for when you feel like a lazy morning at home.

He looked healthy and relaxed, not all what I remember the last time I saw him alive.

Dad just looked at me with a twinkle in his eye. “What’s going on, Pats?” he asked me. He knew I loathed that nickname and yet never let it go.

I started spilling all my emotional, hormonal thoughts, like a glass of water that was overflowing.

I told dad about the hard fears I had about the health and safety of my daughter, concerns about her teeny tiny genes, anxieties about being someone’s mommy. How unlike myself I felt and how out of control I felt with all that was changing in my body. I ranted about not enjoying being pregnant.

My dad just sat next to me, listening to every last minute.

Then, he started to remind of things, all the experiences and things I have done and lived through - even after he died. It was as if he played a video recording of all those different life moments.

My first job in ministry, WYD pilgrimages, and traveling to places all over the globe.
My failed marriage. How I grew, changed, and was deeply humbled.
Moving into the first home I created on my own.
All the ways both of my parents loved and supported me through the hardest season of my life.
All the ways our family lovingly cared for my dad at the end of his life.
Going to graduate school.
Running two marathons.
Moving to West Michigan and getting married to the right partner.

Dad went over all the highs and lows, leaving nothing out, even the things he did not witness here on earth.

Pats, don’t forget.
God has always taken care of you.
Why would he stop now?
God is more faithful than you are forgetful.
You will be okay. Your baby will be okay.
Jesus always keeps His promises.
You have to trust and give it all to God.

Even from Heaven, he knows me all too well.

I let my dad remind me to not forget the faithfulness of God.
Opening my eyes, I wiped the tears away and smiled.

Before finishing, I asked him to bless his little granddaughter, whom he would only know from Heaven.

The three of us sat for a little bit longer on the couch. All together.
Me with my hands open to receive and dad blessing and praying over Vivian.

I was so grateful for that little holy moment shared between three generations of love.

Someday when my little girl is older, I will tell her about how her Papa would come visit Mommy and pray for her before she was even born.

For this encounter and the other times since that first visit, I am so grateful.

Summer-ish Things

Sandcastle contests - Going to a sandcastle judging contest on a Saturday is probably one of the most West Michigan things you could do in the summer. After lunch at a beachside restaurant last weekend, we walked over to see some of the creativity at Grand Haven State Park.
What a cool experience to check out!

Baby excitement - My sister Annie is planning a baby shower for us in mid July. I am so excited to see my friends and family who live on the other side of the state and gifts are starting arrive for our daughter. It is starting to feel more and more real with each passing week!

At 20 weeks, I thought I was starting to feel little flutters but couldn’t decide if it was gas or actual flutters. On Friday, I will be 22 weeks and have decided as they absolutely are little baby flutters. What a wild, mysterious feeling! Most days it still feels unreal to me.


A brief theology on the American Flag - With the Fourth of July right around the corner, I found this article to be enlightening and hopeful. I hope you enjoy it too.


Taste of Muskegon - Since getting married and buying our house, West Michigan has felt like a collective adventure together. We’re always wanting to check out different local events and visiting the Taste of Muskegon was on our list since year before our wedding. We had so much fun going this year and Travis was able to introduce me to some of his friends from the Chamber of Commerce, where he is getting more involved.

Our favorite food trucks were the Greek food and the one with fancy ice cream bars. Travis enjoyed the petting zoo but thankfully is not adding a bunny to the family pet request list. We tried knife and ax throwing but were both so bad you never would have guessed I used to play on a league for two years!

Pride Month and the Bible - With the end of Pride month and the anniversary of the 1969 Stonewall uprising in New York City on June 28th1, I really enjoyed some of the pastoral points in this article. I think it’s actually wiser to focus on what Jesus actually said and taught people vs hyper focusing on who people love.

Making (more) time for poetry - I fell away from the practice of trying to read poetry several times a week. This morning as part of my prayer, I picked back up a book of Wendell Berry poems I set to the side over the last few months.

Later today, I came across this article on why we should read Wendell Berry. It felt like the needed inspiration to make time to sit with poems that feed me.



I hope the summer weather is making you smile wherever you call home.

Love,
Patty

If you can’t hear the voice of Love speaking to you, go back to the last thing you heard. Not an earth shattering concept and yet it makes good spiritual sense. If you feel like it’s hard to hear God speak to your heart, go back to the last thing you heard.

My prayer has ebbed and flowed through different seasons and I know it will look very different again when our daughter is born. Right now, what fits best is silence and meditation. Taking deep breaths while whispering the name of Jesus. In many ways, the older I get, the more simplified my prayer becomes.

I remembered the words of that speaker from a over a decade ago when I was sitting on the couch a few weeks ago enjoying the first real spring day. West Michigan offers plenty of fake spring days where it warms up for two days then it’s back to almost 35 degrees.

But this was the perfect spring Saturday.

Every window in the house was wide open. The fresh air blowing mixed with the scent of lavender candles. The smell of the freshly cut grass when Travis mowed earlier in the day. The sunshine felt like a warm, cozy blanket fresh out of the dryer. I was finally starting to feel better emotionally in the second trimester.

I trying to quiet my mind which feels more difficult right now. Looking around, I was aware of all the things I have in my life - our beautiful home that feels inviting and homey, the character of the man who is my life partner, and the teeny human I am growing in my body. How different the story turned out than I imagined ten or fifteen years ago.


This is the life you have longed for.
I knew that voice.
It was one I hadn’t heard in awhile.
The voice of Love speaking to my heart.

For the next thirty minutes or so, I sat with those words.
This is the life you have longed for.
It is here and it’s okay that it looks different than how I imagined.
It is okay if sometimes I have big feelings and emotions about being pregnant and becoming a mom.


I did not think I would become a mom at 40 or move across the state where I knew no one.
I thought we would be starting the adoption process this year and instead we’re attending our first Hypnobirthing class the day before our one year wedding anniversary.
I really didn’t believe that I would find or marry my best friend.
I never thought a doctor would tell me it would be difficult to get pregnant.

I never expected to struggle as much as I did emotionally the first few several months being pregnant. (If you loved the experience of being pregnant, please do not gush about it to me. I am a fan of the end result but not the process itself.)
I never imagined my dad wouldn’t be here to baptize my child.

I am living the life I longed for and it’s okay if sometimes it looks different than I imagined. It’s okay to say I don’t enjoy the experience of pregnancy while wildly loving my daughter.

Slowly, very slowly, I am beginning to see that parenthood is one endless journey of continual surrender. In some ways already that has felt hard and scary and yet I know that our little daughter does not belong to us. She was given to us from Love itself, a little gift for us to love.

I am going to savor those words in this summer season as we gently prepare our hearts and home to welcome our daughter.

Spring Things

Almost 20 weeks?! - Friday I will be 20 weeks and I am still grateful to be wearing normal work pants though they are getting tighter. I know those days are limited. If you think of it around 9am on Friday morning, please say a prayer for me and Vivi for a good anatomy scan and OB appointment. It is hard to not feel on edge sitting to hear my name called in the waiting room.

Vivi’s first flowers from Daddy - the day we found out the baby was a girl Travis came home with flowers for both of his girls. Cue the pregnant lady tears.

This book and a dress for a Hawaiian wedding - I ADORED this month’s read for book club. It’s Like P.S. I Love You but with books. I finished it over Memorial Day weekend and wish I could reread it again.

I am so relieved I think I found a dress for my brother’s wedding in September that will work for being 32 weeks pregnant. I don’t want to feel like I am wearing a sheet and still as good as possible.

Spiritual Imagination in the Workplace - On May 15th, a beautiful sacred resource arrived at Trinity Health Muskegon (and to share with our other ministries in Grand Haven and Shelby) for the next six months. We have an opportunity to host the Heritage Edition of the St. John's Bible, a hand illuminated volume of Scripture to include the Gospels and Acts of the Apostles.

While this is a beautiful way to embrace our Catholic Identity, I am proud to offer this experience for all colleagues and visitors in a way that is inclusive and allows them to connect to deeper spiritual realities through art. Art is one of those things that can unite as humans and the ecumenical spirit of this project is one I hope will connect to hearts and minds of many people!

If you are near-ish the West Michigan area and would like a personal tour of the volume, please let me know and I’d be happy to do so.

Check out my local interview at the day of our opening ceremony.

A preaching opportunity - I am SO excited to have an opportunity to preach in August for Catholic Women Preach! It has been a creative dream for some time and I love the preaching voices of women from all backgrounds and walks of life.
To be counted among these gifted preachers feels like a privilege!


House projects and mornings at the beach - We are slowly making our way through some home projects the next few months before Little Miss arrives. On Memorial Day, we spent seven hours putting in the dishwasher and I did a great job handing Travis tools and holding the flashlight. We have played some Scrabble, had a our first beach day, and Travis is keeping up on his birth partner reading/training.

A Mary Higgins Clark Summer - Almost two years ago when I moved to West Michigan, I declared that summer a summer of Elin Hilderbrand books. Living minutes away from Lake Michigan, a summer of beachy reads felt like the right move.

My mom always enjoyed Mary Higgins Clark books and I have read a handful over the years. I recently deemed the summer of 2026 the summer of her books.
Finished one over the weekend and am in the throws of a second.

May it be a good week for you,

Patty

That is not to say women who have had babies at younger ages than me are any less equipped to become moms. Hard stop. It feels more like all the experiences I have had before motherhood knocked on my door will be a gift and blessing to my daughter.

Looking backwards, I can see that I had a lot growing up and maturing to do in my 20s and 30s. Especially after my divorce.

When I moved out of my parent’s home into my new apartment, it was the first time I ever lived on my own at 31. There were so many firsts.

As years came and went while I got closer to turning 40, I began to sense the possibility that I might never have children of my own.

At that point, I just wanted to find a good partner to share life with who wanted similar things as I did. I allowed myself preemptively grieve the ways motherhood might look different than I imagined as a bright-eyed, naive 26-year-old.

There were ways I could have impact in the lives of tiny humans I loved. My sister Annie’s three kiddos. My sweet goddaughter Lucy. The children of my friends. I could be at peace with being the fun-loving Aunt Patty.

Being a mother could still happen even if it looked different than what I imagined.

The gifts of my 20s and 30s were lessons learned through countless mistakes, humbling moments, and some occasional poor choices.

I would never wish them away because they have helped shape me. These are little gifts I can pass onto to my daughter as she grows up, becomes a woman, and finds her own voice.

Being a mom later in life has offered me years to learn through trial and error.

Recognizing when I need help by going to therapy or on some medicine for a time.
Learning to travel on my own and visiting some amazing places across the globe.
Learning how to date with intention, staying true to myself, and that sex does not necessarily equal love.
How to navigate loneliness.

How to be at home with myself and find peace in my own company.
To be brave and try new experiences like surfing, taking improv classes, or going to a nice restaurant for dinner by myself.
What it means to have hope when you cannot see the path ahead of you.
Learning how to train my body to be physically strong and properly fueled without clinging to a number on the scale.

I don’t want my daughter to burn herself out on the altar of perfectionism or constantly doing; pouring herself out where she has nothing left for herself.

I want her to trust her body and inner knowing, to love God and know God’s love for her, and to always notice the people who feel on the outside.

I want her to deeply love herself, knowing that her body and heart are good and beautiful.

I don’t want her to be a carbon copy of me. I want her to become who she was created to be.

The life I lived before becoming a mom are things that will help be the mom my daughter needs.




While I initially said we weren’t telling people her name, I was wrong. I have no poker face and cannot hold back from telling anyone who will listen from the Trader Joe’s cashier to the librarian.

Vivian Jane.
My wee Irish rose with a little French name (her middle name is after a French saint, St. Jane Frances de Chantal). Her first name means “fully alive,” which we did not learn until we decided what to name her. And somehow it fits for the daughter that all I know about her right now is her name.

A wish for Vivi, to live fully alive.
And that in some small way I can be an example to her of what it means to live fully alive.


Here’s to living fully alive,

Patty

We have a busy weekend ahead of us that includes an out of state surprise birthday party and my nephew Xavier’s First Holy Communion on Sunday.
Lots of driving across state lines and lots of seeing some of my favorite humans.

Xavier is also participating in a Jr. Ranger contest where he could win $20,000 and be feature in a Ranger Rick magazine!

Would you please vote for him here? We are all so excited for him and would love to see him win!

The week I found out I was pregnant, I started a poem in my journal. Over the last few weeks, I have been adding to it. I might put a copy in the journal I have started to Little Miss.

Here it is.

News I Didn’t Expect

I was headed down a different path.
There was peace and hope in that decision.

Trying to accept what my body might not be capable of, growing a little human.
Surprise and grief entwined together like a heavy blanket.
It hurt too much. So I closed off a piece my heart.

And then it all changed.
Suddenly and unexpectedly, I was a mother.

A teeny, tiny heart beat proof of someone’s existence almost eight weeks before I knew you.
I could not believe it.

People showering me in happy texts but I wasn’t there.
I was just figuring out how I felt about all of it.
My mind drowning in questions.
My heart racing with fears and uncertainities.
The cry of my heart longing to feel seen and heard when sometimes I was not.

Yet the truth remains, I am someone’s Mama.
I know nothing about you, other than you exist.

With me. In me. It’s just you and me right now.
You little one were news I didn’t expect to receive.
But you are here now.
I am your Mama and you are my little one.

This is a lot - this experience of embarking on a journey where a new version of me will emerge.

One little truth remains in all the questions and feelings, that I love you.
I love you and I know nothing about you.

We can do this together, you and me. Somehow in time.
With quiet stillness and loving gentleness.
With patience and support.
With deep rest.

Gathering sacred practices in a wicker basket, ready to pull each one out when needed.

I can be your Mama.
We can do this together my little one.

Thanks for being here, friend, and thanks for reading my words,

Patty

With primarily Irish heritage, it was a time to celebrate our family history on both sides. We hung the Irish flag on the front porch and made sure at least once during March to watch The Quiet Man.

Mom would make the Irish soda bread recipe that belonged to her great grandmother. We listened and danced to Irish music around the house. Dad explained the meaning of the Irish flag - orange is for the Protestants, green for the Catholics, and white symbolizes unity. He reminded us that in time, peace did come to Ireland. And more importantly, how that witness could be an example for hate and violence among people and nations around the globe.

My siblings and I heard the stories of our ancestors. How dad’s grandparents came to Boston and as Irish Catholics were told to not apply for jobs. We learned what it meant that mom’s grandpa O’Keefe had connections with the IRA before it became an extremist military organization.

The struggles people endured, the depth of their faith, and their conviction for a better life - it all meant something.

When I moved to and lived in the Corktown neighborhood of Detroit, it meant even more to me. The oldest neighborhood in the city and home to the Irish immigrants who came looking for a better life in the 1830’s fleeing the potato famine.
My great grandparents lived in that neighborhood, having an Irish goods store (now long gone) called, A Wee Bit of Erin. They were members of the local Irish Gaelic League which I had also joined.

So you can see, how the month of March and St. Patrick’s feast day every year feels special to me.


This year, it took on a whole new meaning.
I learned that I was pregnant.



Perhaps most women feel surprise or shock when learning they are having a baby, but those words for me felt like a complete understatement. Honestly they still do most days.

Two months after our wedding, my OB told me it would be very hard for me to get pregnant. It was heavy news to receive. I remember driving in the car talking to my mom on the phone bawling my eyes out.

And while I was accepting what that might mean and grieve the dream of motherhood, I felt hope die inside me a little bit that day. A piece of my heart closed off. It hurt my heart too much to dream or hope or imagine. Nope, I thought to myself, I am not going there. It hurts too much.
Being the realist that I am, I wanted to move forward on a path that would still give Travis and I the opportunity to become parents.

So we talked a lot and prayed about all of the options. We had landed on the idea of pursuing adoption. I talked a lot to my dear friend Hannah, whose has adopted three babies, and learned so much from her experience.

We researched agencies and found a local Christian one to work with. We had registered for an orientation class the week after Easter and began working on our adoption education hours. Preparing our finances and learning about bi-racial adoption, I felt hope in my heart again.

There was such peace and clarity from God. It was as if doors were opening to us leading down a different path to parenthood.

All of that changed on March 17th when I had a pelvic ultrasound and left with baby pictures, learning I was 7 1/2 weeks pregnant.
Our Little Clover.

I had called my family and shared with a few of my closest friends. One additional call I made that day was to Fr. Jake, the priest who witnessed our wedding and is one of my dearest friends.

I was sharing with him the whole story, along with one particular detail.

You see on January 23rd, I felt a stirring in my heart to begin praying daily for the birth parents of the baby Travis and I would adopt.

For their mental and physical health, bodily protection, their hearts and souls. I prayed for these birth parents that when they saw our profile they would be convicted by God that we were the right people to be mommy and daddy to the baby they created. It quickly became the prayer I would fall asleep with on my lips every night.

And, I had not yet told Travis.
I felt an inner conviction that this was something that I was meant to do for the time being. In time, I would share that with Travis. It was the Holy Spirit moving and guiding me. Okay so I told the priest before my husband, but hang with me friend.

I shared this with Fr. Jake on the phone.
He got really quiet for a minute.

With loving firmness, he said to me, “Patty, the person you were praying for all along was actually you.”

I was undone and began weeping on the phone.
My heart exploded into a million little pieces.

I thought I was praying for a birth mom I did not know and all along I was praying for me.

I have gone back to these words over the last few weeks, waiting on the genetic test results feeling anxious and worried if our baby would be healthy.


Emotionally so far this has felt hard for me, more than I imagined. I have had some really hard days and have not always felt excited because there were so many other feelings and fears running inside me. I have felt sometimes dismissed and pressured to feel as excited and happy as some of my family members were about this news. I decided to go back to therapy and I am so proud of myself for making that choice. I think this will be a wonderful support throughout my pregnancy and into postpartum.

It’s all welcome and okay. There is not a one-size approach to accepting the news of being pregnant. Whatever I am feeling is okay, and I am learning to make space for that.

Today, we learned that our teeny tiny baby is healthy and safe - and, that she is a little girl.1 More surprises!

When I came home today, I pulled out the floral Moleskine notebook waiting to write to this little person whose Mama I have become.

For the first time I wrote to her, my little daughter. I cannot stop thinking about how the God of the Universe saw this world as incomplete without her in it. To sit with that for even a few moments brings me to my knees.

People sometimes talk about how if you want to make God laugh, tell God all your plans.

It might be something different for you but maybe you will discover too that the person you were praying for all along was you.

Thank you for sharing in our joy and amazement,

Patty

I truly do not know which is funnier to me. Seeing the grip Pope Leo has on the baseball bat or the warm, sweet smile on his face. Together, it is a priceless image that I would love multiple copies of.

The lack of decorum and respectability that continues to pour out of the Oval Office is mind boggling. I feel like the Michael Jackson meme eating popcorn watching it unfold.

The President continue to show us just unhinged he is. I hope people of goodwill, Trump voters and non Trump voters alike, can agree how this is completely bat shit crazy land we’ve entered. Actually we’ve been here for awhile.

This is not leadership. This is division - on purpose.

The job of the Holy Father is not to soothe the insecure ego of a grown man child, but to preach the Gospel. In season and out of season. To teach the Catholic faith and reaffirm agreed upon doctrine. To point Catholics and all people back to the way and message of Jesus.
A way of peacemaking, love, mercy, grace, and standing with those on the margins. Just. like. Jesus.

Donald Trump is showing us how insecure he is. Hating to be criticized, he throws it back on Pope Leo calling to him use common sense and stop catering to the radical left.

The Pope is the pastor of the world, he’s not a pundit.1

Meanwhile, we’ve got JD Vance saying, “I think one of the issues here is that if you’re going to opine on matters of theology, you’ve got to be careful. You’ve got to make sure it’s anchored in the truth, and that’s one of the things that I try to do, and it’s certainly something I would expect from the clergy, whether they’re Catholic or Protestant,” he added.2

The day I start taking theological advice from JD Vance is the day when pigs will fly.
What Pope Leo is reminding our nation and the wider global family are the pleas of peace and mercy rooted in Jesus Christ.


If the President thinks the Pope is weak on crime, just wait until he meets Jesus someday. He gonna be disappointed.


In other news…

I am so excited to be attending for the first time the Calvin Center Festival of Faith and Writing in Grand Rapids. Since moving to the west side of Michigan, its been on my bucket list. Looking forward to meeting up with writer friends and meeting in real life people I follow here on Substack!

Last weekend I headed to Grayslake, IL for a quick visit to see my dear friend Christina and stay with her crew. One of her daughters Lucy is my goddaughter.

We had a lot of fun visiting the farmer’s market, eating chocolate cheesecake, and reading lots of good books.

April showers supposedly bring those beautiful May flowers, or at least that is what I am telling myself over last four rainy days we have had.

Find the joy in your life today,

Patty

It strikes me yesterday that all over our country “No Kings'“ rallies took place to people to peacefully use their feet and voices to speak up against oppression felt from the highest office in the land.

It is ironic actually that Palm Sunday immediately follows a day of political rallies.

On Palm Sunday, the crowds of people believed this king riding on the bank of a donkey had come to overthrow the Roman empire. What they didn’t understand was that this king would come to overthrow death.

Today, we welcome a different kind of king.
A king of love, mercy, compassion, and forgiveness. Who runs to the lost and marginalized, who stands with the oppressed and hurting.
The king of Peace.

The procession of Jesus into Jerusalem is the final threat to the religious leaders of this rabbi from Nazareth. Just before this entrance, he raised his best friend Lazarus from the dead.

As he enters the holy city, people are plotting are against him. The heart of Judas is being turned into cold, hard stone. We know how the rest of the week will play out.
But even better we know where the story ends - at an empty tomb.

Lent threw me a curve ball this year. The type that knocks you flat on your ass.
More on that another time. I am walking into Holy Week this year with silence, poems, and praying with the words of the Annunciation “…nothing will be impossible for God.” It sounds random and is one of the prayers grounding me right now. If you would pray those words for me, I would be so grateful.

If you’re looking for some poems to pray with this Holy Week, I would recommend these two written by Mary Oliver:
The Poet Thinks About the Donkey

Gethsemane



Let’s talk about annulments shall we?

I have had a new article and an interview come about on the topic of Catholic annulments.

You can read my article on Busted Halo, My Annulment was Healing. I Still Think the Process is Unnecessary.

I was also a part of an interview for Our Sunday Visitor for the 10th anniversary of Amoris Laetitia. The anniversary of this apostolic exhortation by Pope Francis is a reminder for the Church to do better for its divorced and civilly remarried members.

Leaving you this Holy Week with a song I love to pray with during these days, Jesus Was an Only Son by Bruce Springsteen. A simple way to enter into imaginative prayer this week.


With you,
Patty

I don’t remember where she got it or when it first showed up, probably from some local craft fair find in the early 90’s.

It quickly became a staple in the Breen family. My parents found ways to celebrate the five special people in our immediate family. To this day, it is still one of my most cherished memories.

Birthdays? You get the special plate and we all went around the table sharing why this person is special in our family. And of course the birthday person always got to pick the dessert for his or her day.

Patron Saint Feast Days? Bring out the Special Plate!
Feast days were also an opportunity to remind everyone else that the person celebrating a feast day did not have to do chores. I happily reminded Travis of this rule on St. Patrick’s Day this week, knowing I would be exempt from chores that day. Catholic people are weird and sometimes I love it. ;)

The special plate came out for the hard days too.

When one of us kids had a hard day at school and needed a little extra tenderness or if one us was struggling with something on a deeper level. The time when dad unexpectedly lost his job or the day he was accepted into seminary studies for the permanent diaconate.

This tradition became a little way to love and see each other amid all the moments and experiences of life.


Last Monday, it was a Special Plate day at our house. It was one of the first real warm days - to us at least in West Michigan. 61 and sunny. Deciding to christen the season with eating on the deck in our camping chairs, I finished broiling potatoes and heating up the sirloin.

I opened the cabinet, noticing the cheesy red and white design and smiled to myself.
I had a rough couple of weeks navigating some medical things that were weighing on my heart and mind.

While I got the Special Plate out for Travis at dinner, he insisted I needed it too.

Sitting in our camping chairs, balancing plates hearing the cars whiz by, we shared why each person is special to the other.

For a moment, it helped me take a breath and be fully present; feeling so grateful for the beautiful life I get to share with Travis.

It might not be the Special Plate for you (or your family). Maybe it’s Friday Pizza Movie Night like my sister does with her family. Or maybe it is that weekly Artist Date you faithfully take yourself on.

Do that thing.
Do it with reckless abandon.

Life is short. Use the special plate.



May it be a good week for you,

Patty

A handful of the olive trees have been there since the time of Jesus.

A lot happened to Jesus in this garden.

Experiencing such physical agony, his sweat turned into drops of blood as he begged his Father to not drink this cup of suffering.
With three of his closest friends, we went to pray. And each time Jesus returned to them, he found them fast asleep.
Another “friend” Judas came with a multitude of guards to arrest him and betrayed him with a kiss after turning Jesus in for thirty pieces of silver.

The drama of this week begins to unfold. Everything begins in the garden.

All Gospel writers speak on a particular encounter between Peter and Jesus upon the arrest of Jesus. However, Matthew1 and John2 offer more details.

Incensed by Jesus’ arrest, Peter grabs the sword upon his waist and lashes out in anger, cutting off the ear of the high priest’s servant. Rushing to defend Jesus, Peter acts before he thinks.

I wonder what Jesus thought of Peter at that moment, mindful that in a little bit, Peter would deny having known Jesus.

Jesus sees Peter’s anger and rage, saying: “Put your sword back into its sheath, for all who live by the sword will perish by the sword.”3

“Put your sword back into its sheath, for all who take the sword will perish by the sword.

Those who live by the sword will die by the sword.


I can’t stop thinking about these words of Jesus over the last week watching the bombing of Iran.

Maybe it is a stretch for some to connect these words of Jesus to what is going on in world right now. I don’t think so at all.

Our nation continues to lead with violence and aggression even though our President campaigned on being the “peace President.” Meanwhile in his second term, we have already invaded seven countries.4 Irony, table for 1.

During a bizarre address to military leaders on September 30, 2025, Pete Hegseth told those gathered, “You kill people and break things for a living. You are not politically correct and don’t necessarily belong in polite society.5

What a demeaning way to speak to our service members who give so much to serve our country. This is what our armed forces have become, about killing people and breaking stuff?

While our nation’s continue to play a game of checkers with American and global security and safety, one American not backing down, Pope Leo XIV.

The American pontiff recognizes something that Washington fails to acknowledge and take responsibility for: true security is not built through control fueled by fear, but through the moral responsibility of diplomacy, which recognizes that the deep chasm of violence cannot be closed by military force alone.

Pope Leo XIV understands that true security is built on trust and dialogue, whereas President Trump believes it is achieved through “unconditional surrender” and overwhelming military force.

From Venezuela and Cuba to Iran, the first American pope has repeatedly intervened, positioning himself as a shield between U.S. military might and those it threatens. In every instance, he has moved from the measured tones of diplomacy to the urgent, moral clarity of prophecy once his initial warnings were dismissed.

In January, during his annual State of the World address, he warned that “war is back in vogue and a zeal for war is spreading.” These words weren’t just abstract—they’re a diagnosis. He is naming a sickness taking over Washington: a government addicted to violence, allergic to peacemaking and diplomacy, and indifferent to the human bodies it destroys. This is not greatness. This is evil indifference.


The continual prophetic voice of Pope Leo XIV is a defining moment for the American Catholic Church and for our nation at this moment in history.

Pope Leo has spent months telling us that the Gospel of Jesus Christ does not bend to any flag - not even ours.

Ultimately, Pope Leo sees that a sword can topple a leader but it will never mend a broken world as Washington continues to gamble away lasting peace for a fleeting win.

Those words Jesus spoke to Peter in the Garden of Gethsemani ring true to our ears if we are willing to listen.

Peace is never secured through violence. Look to the Prince of Peace for our example.
War is never holy; only peace is holy, because it is willed by God.

I am joining my Lenten prayers to the Pope’s intentions for the month of March which are for disarmament and peace.

May peace begin with me and you,
Patty

When I was rebuilding my life, opportunities greeted me all the time to brave. I am so grateful for those years because they have taught me what it means to be brave in showing up to live my life.
God has given me one life to live that I don’t want to waste.


Fast forward to July 2024. I freshly moved to Grand Haven, MI from Detroit.
I moved from everything and everyone I knew and it was hard.
I missed my family and gaggle of friends a lot.

One of my constant prayers those early months (and sometimes still now) was for God to bring good friends in my life.

Slowly, women entered my life.
My friend Andrea, who we both followed each other on social media (and lived in Grand Rapids), asked if we could meet for lunch. Another woman who lives in Saugatuck reached out on Instagram asking if we could meet for coffee.

And then there was Book Club.

I saw a funny book reel on Instagram by a woman named Hilary and she lived near me. I saw she ran a local book club and I sent her a DM to see if I could join.
That was in September and my first book club meeting was the next month.

I showed up the first time and have continued showing up.
For years, I have longed to join a book club with other women who adore words and wonderful stories as much as I do.

This past weekend, we had a book club weekend getaway in Saugatuck, an adorable beach town along Lake Michigan.

I felt so happy spending most of Saturday reading and connecting with women who love words and good stories as much as I do. I found a community of bookish women like me and it brings me such joy.

Life is filled with all different kinds of people, relationships, and communities to be connected to.

These gals are my book babes and I am so glad I found them.

Bravery as a trait comes in different shapes and sizes. The reality is that your brave might look different than mine. It can come in all types of decisions and situations.

Sometimes the brave thing to do is leave the relationship. Other times it looks like staying.
Signing up for the art or improv class or going to dinner with yourself or going to therapy.
It can look like forgiveness and/or setting boundaries.
It can sound like saying no. No, I don’t want to. No, I won’t be treated or spoken to that way. No, that will no longer work for me. No, this relationship is not healthy for me.
It can feel like saying yes to something or someone, even if you don’t fully understand how it will all play out.

Bravery will come and find you right where life finds you.

Go bravely about your life and see where it takes you.
I hope you’ll be as happily surprised as I have been.

With love from Bookworm Breen,
Patty

The only homily our nation needed for Ash Wednesday were the words of Cardinal Blase Cupich of Chicago, who framed Lent as a public reckoning with fear, invisibility and faith lived under pressure in the immigrant community.1

God does not need papers to know who or where you are. The world may look at your legal status, but God looks at your heart.

I don’t think anything more than that needs to be said.

Work has been nuts for both of us the last few weeks. Travis is almost a month into a new job and twice last week we found ourselves passed out on the couch at 7pm. Maybe my 4am wake up is catching up with me a bit. ;)

Yesterday, we drove north to Ludington for a little day date. We checked out a local coffee shop, used bookstore, and enjoyed dinner at a local brewery.

Ludington State Park had a wintry hike with lanterns on the trail from 6-8pm. Snowshoeing was advertised but there wasn’t enough snow to try it. It felt relaxing and peaceful to go hiking at dusk.

Before heading home, we walked over to the beach and enjoyed an icy Lake Michigan. I got a little too close to the water for Travis’ comfort zone. Sorry, dear.

We’re doing a few things for the Lenten season. Each day we’re reading together the reflection from the Little Black Book, along with our praying the Surrender novena.
At some point, we’ll get to Confession.

Myself, I have felt more curious over the last few years to learn more about liberation theology.

Liberation theology is more than just a footnote in 20th-century religious history; it’s a radical re-reading of the Gospel that places the struggle of the poor at the absolute center of faith. Emerging from the social upheavals of Latin America in the 1960s, the movement argues that God is not a neutral bystander but an active participant in history who has a "preferential option for the poor".

For liberation theologians, sin isn't just a personal moral failing—it’s embedded in the very structures of our politics and economy that keep people in cycles of poverty and exclusion. It’s a call to move beyond simple charity and toward "praxis"—the idea that true faith is only realized through concrete action to dismantle injustice here and now.

I am reading one of the books, On the Side of the Poor, written by Fr. Gustavo Gutiérrez, one of the original architects of liberation theology, and Cardinal Gerhard Müller.

Jesus came for and always stood with the poor, those who were marginalized, and the outcast. Anything else is not the Jesus we encounter in the Gospels. Liberation theology is based on the Jesus that Sacred Scripture reveals to us.

May Lent be a gentle stretching of your heart,

Patty

What if the point is not to try harder, what if the point is to resist less?

What if the point of Lent is not to simply try harder, what if the point is to resist the work of God less in our lives?


One of the tricky things about liturgical seasons such as Lent, is that it can easily turn into the Spiritual Olympics of Performance.

Do more. Try harder. Have several ways to implement prayer, fasting, and almsgiving.
Lent is not our personal spiritual improvement plan.

What if we stopped trying so hard at Lent? Knowing we are going to bumble our way through the next six weeks anyway.

What if we took the pressure off ourselves this Lent?
Maybe we could do less. Take some things off our plates.

What if the focus was resisting less the active work of God in our lives?
We practiced daily surrender, grace, forgiveness, heartfelt compassion - both to ourselves and others.

Jesus told the religious leaders of his day, that he came to fulfill the Law, not to abolish it. But when the Law becomes a burden to people it actually harms them.

I am really good at getting in God’s way. making demands or clearly expressing how I wish for something to go. Funny enough, that is not how the Divine Will works.

What if I really paid attention to the ways I resist God in my life?
That could beautifully uncomfortable for me.

I am going to keep leaning into this idea over the next weeks - what if the point is not to try harder but to resist less?


May we stop trying harder this Lent but seek to resist less the work of God.

Little Gems for Lent

Weekly Lenten Prayers for a Just World - Last Sunday, we went to Mass with the community of Dominican Sisters. They had a pamphlet for their Lenten activities, which included this beautiful list to join in prayer and fasting each week of Lent.
I am really looking forward to uniting my prayers and fasting to these worthy causes.

Free Lenten Guide from Be a Heart - My friend Erica has a beautiful online store. Truly it is like the Catholic version of Home Goods. She has created a free guide for Lent full of a wide variety of faith-based activities. Honestly, I could see Travis and I doing some of them too…even if the main audience is for tinier humans.

Daily Reflections with Ignatian Solidarity Network - Sign up for daily emails on the theme of stubborn hope for the Lenten season. I am really excited for some of the guest preachers!

Lent with Wisdom’s Dwelling - my friend Katie wrote this beautiful reflection for Ash Wednesday. You can celebrate the season of Lent with Wisdom’s Dwelling by signing up on Substack.
I am writing for the upcoming first Sunday of Lent

I also had a new article go live (see pg. 15!) in the diocesan Grand Rapids Faith Magazine about the strength of surrender. Yes, most days I still loathe novenas and yet, the Surrender novena is one I simply cannot let go of.

Here is a little throwback to last Lent on why ashes are not like Sharpie Markers.

Remember that you are stardust, and to stardust you shall return.
Go and live the Gospel of Jesus.

With you,
Patty

I remember those years vividly. I didn’t marry until I was 39, so I spent a number of years after my divorce trying to figure out how to date better.

I felt compelled to write something to single women today, from my heart to yours.

Don’t worry, I am not going lie to you and give you the easy BS answer of, “Someone is out there, you just haven’t met the right one yet. Keep putting yourself out there.” I am not going to lie to your face and promise you that the kind of love you desire will find you.

I am not going to give the list of best dating tips for later in life, though I have learned from my own mistakes over the years. Remember the notebook I had about past dates over the years? Good times.

I simply want to remind you of a necessary truth.

If you are reading this and your heart feels heavy today, I want to tell you something the Hallmark aisle won’t: Your heart is good, beautiful, and whole right now. Not because of who is (or isn't) holding it, but because of Who made it.

Your heart is so good and beautiful.
The love you have and desire to share with someone is special.
It’s sacred.
And I am sorry that it doesn’t look the way you want.

You, sweet friend, have so much love to give.
You are worthy of being loved.
You are loved by lots of people, by Love itself.

I hope you have many opportunities to share that love with the world around you.
I hope you are gentle and kind to yourself and love the skin you’re in.
I hope that committed partnership finds you unexpectedly in the best of ways.
The most important relationship you can have is with yourself and I hope you prioritize love to yourself.

Your heart is not broken or deficient because no one is buying you flowers.

I am holding hope for all the single folks today (especially all the ladies!) and cheering for you however life finds you.

With love (and virtual roses and bottles of sparkly champagne),
Patty

Today is the 34th World Day of the Sick, a day the Catholic Church sets aside to pray for the sick, and really for all people of good will to unite their prayers for those who are suffering in body, mind, and spirit.

The theme of Pope Leo XIV’s message is “the compassion of the Samaritan: loving by bearing another’s pain.” He focuses on concrete, active, and personal care for the sick, encouraging a “culture of compassion” in response to societal, physical, and emotional suffering.

This day is an opportunity to remember the sacredness of all human life. Our culture today often treats human life with disrespect and indifference. In many ways in 2026, human life is cheap.

Assisted suicide laws continue to be passed in our nation, most recently in New York and Illinois. A lack of support and resources for low-income women facing unplanned pregnancies keeps women in poverty and often leaving them no choice but to end their pregnancies.

A lack respect for the common humanity, especially towards immigrants, black, and brown people. Sick and disabled people are often treated or spoken about in ways that treats them as a burden to society.
Too often, people are treated as things not as sacred beings.

I think this day is a reminder that the sick have so much to teach the rest of us about what it means to be human.

The sick remind us of our universal fragility as humans and the reality of vulnerability. Illness strips away the illusion of self-sufficiency and independence. These things teach us that needing other people is not a weakness but a fundamental part of the human condition.

We need each other and we are responsible for each other. Your dignity matters because mine does and vice versa. This goes for every other human being on the planet, approximately 8.3 billion of us.

Sick people teach us what heartfelt compassion looks like.They can teach us what it means to suffer well and not view death as an endpoint. For people of faith, sick people can give us a glimpse of what it means to die a holy death. I witnessed that in my dad’s illness.

In Latin, the word compassion comes from the root compati which literally means “to suffer with.” It is so much more than empathy but is desire to bear the suffering with this person. To accompany them in the way of their suffering whatever it is.

As Pope Leo XIV says in his message, “love is not passive; it goes out to meet the other.”1 It says, I care about. I am here to help you. You are not alone in this. I will be with you. I cannot think of a more loving response to suffering.

Sick people are not a burden to be scorned. They are blessings to be cherished and they have so much to teach us.

May the wisdom shared by those who suffer - lessons of hope, trust, and the profound sacredness of every moment - take root in our own hearts. May we always honor the dignity of those we encounter, recognizing that in their vulnerability, they often become our greatest teachers.