I stood on the dock of a frozen pond, and the ice began making echoing, eerie noises as it shifted. I was suddenly inspired to call one of my adult children and let them know how much I love them. Later, I saw on my phone log that the call was only two minutes–it had felt like 20!-yet I had poured out my heart. Who might you want to call today, expressing the love you feel toward them?

Pray

Jesus,
You speak of love over and over,
taking what is within your Sacred Heart and making it heard.
Following you, listening to you, all my love grows deeper.
Show me how to speak of love, like you.
Words of love: The only words that matter.

Act

Make that call today. Trust that the spirit will guide you to say the exact right thing.

And though you believe you hold no hope, you just bought three pears and are waiting for them to ripen in the bowl.

These words are underlined in my journal, and I have chosen them to begin this column. I am a writer committed to sharing the fullness of my experiences, blessed to live a rich spiritual life anchored by prayer. I believe in prayer; I practice it all day and often through the night. The past few months I’ve been slipping and sliding around in prayer. That sounds almost slapstick, and perhaps it is. My heart has been broken, once again, by a loss. This one has hit me hard, and I’ve been shocked by the depth of it: I lost my sister-in-law tragically, and her death left me with a splintered mind to match my broken heart. 

My sister-in-law Sue and I were intertwined for 37 years. She didn’t own much, but she was rich in faith. The truth is, I never knew anyone who had as much trust in Jesus as Sue did. As we cleaned out her condo after her funeral, I inherited a single box of tealight candles. Now, every day I take a fresh new candle and light it, then place it in my Sacred Heart of Jesus glass candle on top of the wax that has burnt far down. 

Thicker than the usual tealights, they burn for six hours, flames flickering from within and illuminating the face of Jesus. Lost as I feel, I get comfort from this ritual. But what, exactly, is my prayer? Because I can’t seem to get any footing, not knowing where to begin, some mornings my prayer is wordless, just the clicking flint of the lighter under my thumb as the fire appears. 

What’s been challenged in me is that I previously harbored a belief that true prayer is grand, sweeping across the horizon, bursting wide, and that any tiny scraps I’ve offered don’t add up to much. I see it as the opposite now, as I define prayer anew. My stuttering, my stammering, my slipping—it’s actually where Jesus is. Where he has always been. He never asked me for full sentences, or even words. He promised to hear my cries. And in these first seasons without Sue, he has. 

The Power of Listening 

In the week after Sue’s service, I reached out to Father Mike, emailing him of my anguish and asking for a bit of time. (In my book Gather the Fragments, I wrote about the transformation I experienced when I first crossed paths with him when I received the Sacrament of Reconciliation for the first time in 32 years.) He runs the Franciscan Center for Urban Ministry and also travels back and forth across the country several weekends every month. He responded, “Of course, grab me after Mass. Just an FYI: I have to be over at the HoB by 9:30 a.m.” That Sunday after the 8 a.m. Mass, I waited, wanting every second of time I could get with him before he had to go to the House of Bread. But Father Mike does not rush. I watched as he had a focused conversation with a lector at the altar, then he spoke earnestly with a choir member. I felt the clock ticking. Would I get what I needed, even though I had no clue what I needed? He came down the aisle and nodded at me, “Let’s walk.” 

If you had passed by us on the city street that bright September day, who would you have seen? A petite woman in her 60s removing her glasses to wipe away tears, gesturing to a very tall, slightly stooped man with a mustache, and clothed in the medieval-style brown robe and rope belt of St. Francis. 

You would have witnessed how, though different heights, they slowly walked together in tandem. Occasionally he answered her with encouragement, understanding, and hope, but mostly, as she faltered trying to find the words, he listened. All the way around the entire block, he listened. They circled back to the entrance of the church near the bells. “I have to head over this way,” he said, pointing to the street that led to the soup kitchen and shelter. 

We parted, and he disappeared between the buildings. 

And though I continue to wander through grief—as I write this, today is Sue’s birthday—my steps are steadier. I can see now that, as perfect as a pear ripening, all my longings for God are prayers, and all of my prayers are heard. 

Prayer

God, even in our pain, 
show us the beauty of the world,  
how near it is! 
Right here, perhaps as simple as 
a bowl in the center of our table. 
Help us know our grief will pass. 
That even within loss there is hope. 
Your love and grace always come and,  
like fruit ripening, 
you change us. 

Good Friday is the most holy of days: The Veneration of the Cross is stark and sorrowful, yet so full of pure adoration from ordinary people. No matter where we are in the liturgical year, we can keep in our hearts the images from Holy Week to renew us. Today, reflect on the feelings and insights you have had on Good Friday.

Pray

Jesus,
Let us remember all year long the mystical, holy beauty of your people
lining up to greet the cross, so tenderly.
The intimacy of witnessing so many touching the cross with fingertips or lips.
Kiss after kiss.
Then turning, humbled heads bowed.
Today, like all days, no matter the season, we seek you as we walk.
Let us take our steps toward your love—each step, everywhere.

Act

How can you touch the cross today? Do you have a special crucifix in your home or perhaps the cross on your rosary? Spend some time with it, feeling love, finding peace.

Marian apparitions bring us so much guidance, beauty, and sustenance. The apparition of Our Lady of Knock, Ireland, is the only apparition where not a word was spoken by the Blessed Mother. Today, think of how peaceful this image is.

Pray

Our Lady of Knock,
You appeared with St. Joseph and St. John,
with the lamb, and a cross, and angels,
but you did not speak any words.
Today we turn to you, for that taste of tranquility.
You, who offer soft healing love in the same way the shepherd
leads us to still waters.
In the same way we hear, “Be still, and know that I am God.”
Our Lady of Knock, we trust that your hushed way will
bring us closer to your peace.

Act

Put your phone on “Do Not Disturb” mode for 10 minutes so that nothing distracts you. Sit and simply breathe, accepting the moments as they are: Nothing needs to change. All is well. You are cherished and loved.

Sometimes the world feels so chaotic, abrasive, everything exploding, even trashed. In these times, the simplest of phrases can be the most grounding—like Animus Christi, the soul of Christ. Ponder this: What do you think of when you consider the soul of Christ?

Pray

Today we can turn from all the turbulence
with these simple, pure words from an old prayer,
and refresh our collective weariness with words of faith,
cooling us like droplets:
Anima Christi, sanctifica me.
Soul of Christ, sanctify me.
No matter how torn the world appears,
we can turn to him and ask to help in the repair:
to be mended, made more holy on the outside.
But first, from within.

Act

The full Anima Christi prayer is a gorgeous prayer used by St. Ignatius of Loyola. If you have time, find the musical version by Marco Frisina—deeply stirring, and incredibly healing.

In this Lenten season, may today’s prayer celebrate the sacred symbols and objects of our faith. 

Pray

God,
the ashes that we received
in the shape of the cross
upon our foreheads
to mark the start of this Lenten season
are the burned,
stripped palms
from last year’s Passion.
When we hold green palms again,
we will contemplate
the cycle of death and rebirth.  
The ashes that blow away,
the green that returns.
All of it loving life.
Loving, loving you.

Act

From blessing ourselves with holy water to praying a rosary, our rituals and sacramental objects enhance our spiritual lives. Sit quietly and reflect on the things that are bringing you closer to God.