Day 29: Written on His Heart

Scripture Reading:

Isaiah 49:8–15
Thus says the Lord: In a time of favor I answer you, on the day of salvation I help you; and I have kept you and given you as a covenant to the people… They shall not hunger or thirst, nor shall scorching wind or sun strike them down… For the Lord comforts His people and shows mercy to His afflicted. But Zion said, “The Lord has forsaken me; my Lord has forgotten me.” Can a mother forget her infant, be without tenderness for the child of her womb? Even should she forget, I will never forget you. See, upon the palms of My hands I have written your name.

Reflection:

Today, Isaiah gives us one of the most tender revelations of God’s heart: even if a mother could forget her child, God cannot and will not forget us. “See, upon the palms of My hands I have written your name.” This is not poetic sentiment. It is a divine promise.

So much of Lent is a return to this core relationship: Are we living in the Father’s love? Are we cooperating with His mercy? Do we trust that our identity is secure, even when life is uncertain or painful?

Sometimes in the journey of faith, especially in the quiet or hidden seasons, we wonder if God sees us. If He remembers. If He cares. Isaiah answers this ache not with a demand, but with an image of mercy so intimate it silences our fear. God has etched us into His very being.

When we forget who we are, we lose the freedom to surrender, to discern, or to act with confidence. This is why Lent begins with a return to prayer and continues with purification—because from that place of belonging, we are made ready for deeper communion, deeper trust, and deeper love.

From this place of belonging, we also begin to hear His voice more clearly. Discernment is not first about decision-making—it is about relationship. When we know we are loved, we become more open to where God is leading. We are not guessing at His will from a distance, but listening to the One who walks beside us.

Whether we are facing a major decision or simply seeking to grow in daily faithfulness, discernment flows from the soil of prayer. When we return again and again to silence, to Scripture, and to the sacraments, our hearts become more attuned to the subtle movements of grace. In this way, Lent becomes a school of the heart—a time of listening, receiving, and being formed for mission.

The Church gives us so many ways to return: in silence, in the sacraments, in Scripture, and especially through the prayerful reading of the Word. One simple way to experience this is through Lectio Divina, the slow, prayerful listening to the daily Gospel. On Discerning Hearts, the Daily Lectio Divina podcast offers Scripture proclaimed three times with gentle reflective prompts. These gentle words invite listeners to open more deeply to God’s presence in the Word. It is not just about hearing the Word—it’s about listening and receiving it, in the very places we didn’t even know were closed.

St. Teresa of Avila, a great teacher of prayer, wrote:

“Mental prayer is nothing else than an intimate sharing between friends. It means taking time frequently to be alone with Him who we know loves us.” (The Life, ch. 8)

And from the Desert Fathers, Abba Isaiah reminds us:

“Unless the heart is humble, it cannot bear fruit in reading the Scriptures.” (Apophthegmata Patrum, Isaiah 3)

Let us anchor ourselves in the truth: before we can do anything for God, we must remember who we are to God. We are written on His hands.

Reflection Questions:

1. Do you believe God sees and remembers you? Why or why not?
2. How might your relationship with God change if you rested more deeply in His love for you?
3. What practices can you commit to that will help you listen more attentively to the voice of the Father?

Closing Prayer:

Lord, You have written my name upon Your hands. Help me to rest in that truth when I feel forgotten or afraid. Draw me deeper into Your heart through prayer, Scripture, and the sacraments. Teach me to trust that I am Yours, and from that place of love, lead me to do Your will with confidence.

Amen.

This reflection is written by Kris McGregor of Discerning Hearts®. The Scripture passage is taken from the Jerusalem Bible (1966 edition), used with permission. No unauthorized use or reproduction is permitted without prior written consent.

Day 28: The Father’s Work of Mercy

Scripture Reading:

John 5:17–30

Jesus answered them, “My Father is still working, and I also am working.” For this reason the Jews were seeking all the more to kill Him, because He was not only breaking the sabbath, but was also calling God His own Father, thereby making Himself equal to God.

Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, the Son can do nothing on His own, but only what He sees the Father doing; for whatever the Father does, the Son does likewise. The Father loves the Son and shows Him all that He Himself is doing… Indeed, just as the Father raises the dead and gives them life, so also the Son gives life to whomever He wishes… I can do nothing on My own. As I hear, I judge; and My judgment is just, because I seek to do not My own will but the will of Him who sent Me.”

Reflection:

As we continue through the Gospel of John, L He speaks openly of divine intimacy, of love and obedience, of authority and life. “My Father is still working, and I also am working.” What work is this? It is the work of mercy. The work of healing. The work of calling the dead to life.

So much of Lent is a return to that core relationship: Are we living in the Father’s love? Are we cooperating with His mercy? We do not live this life of faith on our own. Like Jesus, we are invited to see what the Father is doing—in us, around us, and through us—and join Him in that mission.

This takes prayer. It takes surrender. It takes discernment. And it often takes courage. Because the will of God will almost always lead us deeper into communion with others, deeper into compassion, and deeper into the mystery of love that sacrifices for the sake of the other.

St. Ignatius of Loyola offers us a practical lens for this:

“We must make ourselves indifferent to all created things… so that we desire and choose only what is more conducive to the end for which we are created.”
(Spiritual Exercises, Principle and Foundation)

We are created to love, to serve, and to return to the Father. The Son reveals this. And Lent renews it.

The Desert Father Abba Isaac taught:

“Do not say that God is just. God is love and mercy manifest in justice. He is not the rewarder of good only but the merciful restorer of the fallen.”
(Conference 1, Cassian)

This is what Jesus reveals—God is not only a judge, but a Father who brings life out of death, mercy out of failure, and grace out of dryness.

So today, let us ask ourselves: where do we need to see the Father at work in our lives? And are we willing to say, like Jesus, “I seek not my own will, but the will of Him who sent me”?

Reflection Questions:

1. Where in your life is the Father gently inviting you to trust more deeply?

2. What “work of mercy” is God calling you to join in—perhaps with someone who is hurting or isolated?

3. How can prayer help you discern and follow the will of God more freely?

Closing Prayer:

Father of Mercy, Your Son did only what He saw You doing. Help me to open my heart to Your work in my life. May I not act on my own, but seek to cooperate with Your will through prayer, humility, and trust. Lead me by the hand of Jesus, and fill me with the Spirit that I too may bring life and healing to others. Amen.

This reflection is written by Kris McGregor of Discerning Hearts®. The Scripture passage is taken from the Jerusalem Bible (1966 edition), used with permission. No unauthorized use or reproduction is permitted without prior written consent.

Scripture Reading (Jerusalem Bible):

Isaiah 65:17-21
“Thus says the Lord: I am about to create new heavens and a new earth… Be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating… No longer shall the sound of weeping be heard in it, or the cry of distress.”

Reflection:

Coming out of the healing light of Laetare Sunday, we are reminded today that God is not only restoring us—He is recreating us. In Isaiah’s vision, we hear God’s promise of a new heaven and a new earth, of a world where joy replaces weeping and life springs forth in abundance. This is not simply a promise for the end of time, but something God wants to begin in us now.

Lent is not a pause button on life—it is a preparation for mission. After Christ heals us, He sends us. He opens our eyes not just so we can see, but so we can respond—to live with deeper purpose, clarity, and love. The graces of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving are not only meant for our interior transformation, but to flow outward into our relationships, our work, and our service.

But renewal isn’t always easy. Sometimes, we cling to the old habits, hurts, or fears that Jesus is inviting us to leave behind. We say we want the “new,” but resist the letting go. And yet, Christ comes to us gently and persistently, offering a new beginning, not based on our past failures, but on His enduring love.

St. Ambrose, a great teacher of the Church, encourages us in this hope:

“God does not look at what you have been, but at what you will be.”
(On Repentance, Book II)

And from the Desert Fathers, Abba Elias reminds:

“Unless you are made new in your mind every day, you will never see the Kingdom of God.”
(Apophthegmata Patrum, Elias 3)

These voices echo God’s call in Isaiah: “Be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating.” Let us not fear the new thing He is doing—but welcome it. We are being formed into a people of joy, healed not just for ourselves, but to be signs of His kingdom in a hurting world.

Reflection Questions:

1. What “old” ways is God inviting me to let go of so that I can receive something new?
2. How am I being called to bring healing, joy, or renewal to someone else today?
3. Do I believe that God is making something new in me, even now?

Closing Prayer:

Lord, You are always creating something new, even when I cannot yet see it. Open my heart to the work You are doing in me. Help me to release what no longer brings life, and to receive the joy You are preparing. Send me, renewed and restored, to share that joy with others. Amen.

Day 26: From Darkness to Sight: Mercy that Heals

Reader:

Scripture Reading:

John 9:1-7, 13-17, 34-38
As Jesus passed by, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Jesus answered, “Neither he nor his parents sinned; it is so that the works of God might be made visible through him…” He spat on the ground and made clay with the saliva, and smeared the clay on his eyes, and said to him, “Go wash in the Pool of Siloam” (which means Sent). So he went and washed, and came back able to see…

Reflection:

As we enter this Fourth Sunday of Lent, often called Laetare Sunday, the Church invites us to rejoice—not because the journey is easy, but because hope is dawning. Lenten  It mirrors our own spiritual journey through Lent: from darkness to light, from blindness to vision, from confusion to deeper faith.

Jesus sees the man born blind and heals him, not because of sin, but so that the works of God might be revealed. This is an invitation for us to reflect on the wounds, limitations, or struggles in our own lives that God desires to touch—not as punishment, but as places where His mercy can be made visible. The man didn’t ask to be healed. Jesus took the initiative. That is mercy.

Notice how the man’s healing is not instantaneous. He must go, wash, and return. His physical eyes are opened, but his interior sight continues to grow as he is questioned and rejected. He moves from calling Jesus a man, then a prophet, and finally, he professes, “Lord, I believe.”

The journey of faith often moves in stages. We may begin in darkness—with limited understanding or perhaps spiritual fatigue—but through prayer, sacrament, and humble trust, our vision clarifies. Jesus comes to us, touches our eyes with His grace, and says, “Go, wash.” That washing happens when we let the truth of His Word confront our blindness, when we turn to the Sacrament of Reconciliation, and when we allow grace to transform our view of ourselves and others.

St. Augustine reflects on this Gospel by comparing the blind man’s healing to baptism:

“He washed his eyes in the pool of Siloam and came back seeing: so too the sinner, when washed in the water of Christ, begins to see the light of faith.” (Tractates on the Gospel of John, 44.10)

And the Desert Father Abba Isaiah reminds us:

“If you want your soul to see clearly, do not look with your eyes at the faults of others, but examine your own heart in the light of the Gospel.” (Apophthegmata Patrum, Isaiah 5)

These two witnesses—one from the heart of the Western tradition, and one from the wisdom of the desert—both point to the same truth: that sight, healing, and faith come from a deep and personal encounter with Christ. Let us remain open to that encounter.

Today, let us ask: Where am I still blind? What areas of my life need to be touched by Christ’s healing mercy? And do I trust that He is leading me from confusion into clarity, from isolation into communion, from fear into faith?

Reflection Questions:

1. What areas of spiritual blindness still linger in my heart?
2. How have I experienced the mercy of Jesus slowly opening my eyes to truth?
3. What are the steps Jesus is inviting me to take today toward greater clarity and trust?

Closing Prayer:

Lord Jesus, You are the Light of the World. Thank You for seeing us even in our blindness, for touching us with Your mercy, and for leading us into deeper faith. Wash our hearts and open our eyes, that we may see clearly the path You are calling us to walk. Help us to trust You even when the way is unclear, and to rejoice in the vision that only Your grace can give.

Amen.

This reflection is written by Kris McGregor of Discerning Hearts®. The Scripture passage is taken from the Jerusalem Bible (1966 edition), used with permission. No unauthorized use or reproduction is permitted without prior written consent.

Day 25: “The Greatest Commandment”

Reader:

Scripture Reading:
Mark 12:28–34
One of the scribes came near and heard them disputing with one another, and seeing that Jesus answered them well, he asked Him, “Which commandment is the first of all?” Jesus answered, “The first is, ‘Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.’ The second is this, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.”

Reflection:

Today we return again to the foundation of our faith: love of God and love of neighbor. These aren’t vague concepts or lofty aspirations—they are a way of life, lived out daily in real choices. In a world where division, indifference, and isolation often tempt us to retreat inward, Jesus calls us to open our hearts—to love God with everything we are, and to love our neighbor with compassion, intention, and generosity.

Prayer is essential in helping us discern what this love looks like in real time. Contemplative silence, the Examen, and Scripture reflection are the places where we listen. The sacraments, particularly Reconciliation and the Eucharist, give us the grace to act. But it is in action—in stepping into the messiness of human need—that we live the commandments most fully.

Love takes many forms. It may mean checking in on a lonely neighbor, advocating for someone who has no voice, offering forgiveness in a fractured relationship, or being generous with your time for someone in need. Sometimes it’s choosing to be present to your children or spouse when distractions beckon. Other times, it may be supporting those on the margins: the unhoused, the refugee, the isolated. These everyday actions, when rooted in love, become sacred.

Servants of God Catherine Doherty and Dorothy Day, as well as St. Teresa of Calcutta, lived this so powerfully. Each in their own way entered the suffering of others and made a home for them, whether in the streets, in a Catholic Worker house, or in a soup line. Their lives teach us that holiness is not removed from the world’s pain—it goes straight into it, with mercy and justice in hand.

St. Bernard of Clairvaux reminds us:

“True justice is not only in giving what is due, but in giving what is loving. For mercy, when rightly ordered, is justice perfected.”
(On the Song of Songs, Sermon 11)

And the Desert Father Abba Theodore of Pherme offers this challenge:

“If you are truly a brother, be like a column: others will lean on you.”
(Apophthegmata Patrum, Theodore 1)

Love is not always easy. It stretches us. But it is in this stretching that we are made more like Christ. Lent calls us to return to God with our whole heart and to let that returning bear visible fruit in how we care for others—especially those most in need.

And in the words of the Church’s liturgy, may our Lenten renewal send us forth with the strength to “go in peace, glorifying the Lord by your life,” or as we are sometimes reminded, to “go and announce the Gospel of the Lord.” This is not the end of our prayer—it is where our prayer becomes action.

Reflection Questions:

1. In what ways are you being called to return to God with your whole heart?
2. How do justice and mercy play out in your daily relationships?
3. Where can your love grow deeper—toward God, toward others, or even toward yourself?

Closing Prayer:

Lord, You have commanded us to love You with all that we are, and to love our neighbor as ourselves. Help us return to You with sincerity and strength. Cleanse our hearts of anything that divides us from You or from one another. Teach us to live in love that is both just and merciful, and to find joy in serving You in the least of our brothers and sisters.  

Amen.

This reflection is written by Kris McGregor of Discerning Hearts®. The Scripture passage is taken from the Jerusalem Bible (1966 edition), used with permission. No unauthorized use or reproduction is permitted without prior written consent.

Day 24: “Shelter in the Heart of God”

Scripture Reading (Jerusalem Bible):

Psalm 91:1–2, 9–16
He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say to the Lord, “My refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.”

Because you have made the Lord your refuge, the Most High your dwelling place, no evil shall befall you, no scourge come near your tent. For he will give his angels charge of you to guard you in all your ways. On their hands they will bear you up, lest you dash your foot against a stone. You will tread on the lion and the adder, the young lion and the serpent you will trample under foot.

Because he cleaves to me in love, I will deliver him; I will protect him, because he knows my name. When he calls to me, I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will rescue him and honor him. With long life I will satisfy him, and show him my salvation.

Reflection:

After encountering the trials of spiritual battle, today’s psalm offers a tender promise: there is shelter, there is safety, there is a place of rest—in the heart of God.

Psalm 91 is a psalm of deep consolation. It speaks of a God who does not leave us in our fear or abandon us in trial. He invites us to abide in Him, to find refuge in His presence like a weary orphan who has finally found a home. The intimacy and protection He offers is not abstract—it is real, and it meets us in our deepest vulnerability.

This is not just about escape from external dangers. It is about trusting that God is our safe dwelling even when we are beset by inner turmoil: anxiety, temptation, grief, or fear. He places angels around us. He promises to lift us up.

St. Augustine, in his Confessions, reflects on this interior shelter:

“You were within me, but I was outside, and it was there that I searched for you. You were with me, but I was not with you.”
(Confessions, Book X)

So much of our spiritual journey is about returning inward, to dwell in God who already dwells within us. And how do we abide in Him? Through prayer, through silence, through the sacraments. By returning again and again to the One who never leaves.

The Desert Fathers often spoke of resting in God even amid storms. Abba Arsenius prayed:

“I have often repented of having spoken, but never of having remained silent.”
(Apophthegmata Patrum, Arsenius 10)

In silence, in prayer, in stillness—we begin to hear the voice of the One who calls us His own. We must make space in our days to return to that quiet center. There we find not only protection, but the healing that prepares us to continue the journey.

Let us dwell today in the shelter of the Most High, remembering that His presence is not just our destination—it is our home.

Reflection Questions:

1. Where do I seek shelter when I feel overwhelmed or afraid? Is it in God, or in lesser comforts?
2. How can I make space today to rest in the presence of God through prayer or silence?
3. What does it mean to you to be guarded, lifted, and honored by God?

Closing Prayer:

Lord, You are my refuge and my dwelling place. In You alone my soul finds rest. Draw me into the shadow of Your wings, that I may find shelter from every storm. Let me know the security of Your love and the peace that surpasses all understanding. Teach me to return to You in stillness and trust, and make my heart a home for Your presence.

Amen.

Day 23: “The Battle Within”

Scripture Reading (Jerusalem Bible):
Luke 11:14–23
Jesus was casting out a devil and it was dumb; but when the devil had gone out the dumb man spoke, and the people were amazed. But some of them said, ‘It is through Beelzebul, the prince of devils, that he casts out devils.’ Others asked him, as a test, for a sign from heaven; but, knowing what they were thinking, he said to them, ‘Every kingdom divided against itself is heading for ruin, and a household divided against itself collapses. So too with Satan: if he is divided against himself, how can his kingdom stand? – since you assert that it is through Beelzebul that I cast out devils. Now if it is through Beelzebul that I cast out devils, through whom do your own experts cast them out? Let them be your judges then. But if it is through the finger of God that I cast out devils, then know that the kingdom of God has overtaken you. So long as a strong man fully armed guards his own palace, his goods are undisturbed; but when someone stronger than he is attacks and defeats him, the stronger man takes away all the weapons he relied on and shares out his spoil.

  ‘He who is not with me is against me; and he who does not gather with me scatters.’

Reflection:

By this point in our Lenten journey, we may have begun to taste the fruits of prayer, self-awareness, and even forgiveness. But with every step toward healing and holiness, we also encounter resistance. The enemy does not want us to grow in love. The more we open ourselves to grace, the more temptation may rise—whispers of accusation, discouragement, or the old lies that once held us captive.

Today’s Gospel makes this dynamic visible. Jesus casts out a demon and restores speech to the mute man—but some in the crowd twist this act of mercy, accusing Him of using the devil’s power. Jesus responds by exposing the contradiction: evil cannot cast out evil. And He offers a deeper truth—that it is by the “finger of God” that He heals and frees.

The real battle, Jesus teaches, is not merely external but within our hearts. We all have “strongholds”—areas where fear, sin, or pride have taken root. And like the strong man guarding his palace, we may have learned to defend ourselves with coping mechanisms or self-reliance. But Jesus is not a rival; He is the Redeemer. He comes not to take from us, but to rescue us, to reclaim us for the Kingdom of God.

St. Gregory the Great, a Benedictine and Doctor of the Church, affirms this spiritual reality:

“When we open our hearts to Christ, the darkness cannot remain. The devil flees not from words, but from the presence of God within.”
(Homilies on the Gospels, Homily 16)

The Desert Fathers, too, understood that the struggle is often inward and lifelong. Abba Anthony the Great offered a striking insight:
“Whoever has not experienced temptation cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven. Without temptations, no one can be saved.”
(Apophthegmata Patrum, Anthony 1)

At first, these words may seem startling, especially if we are unfamiliar with the depth of monastic teaching. But they reveal a profound truth: temptation is not a sign that we have failed—it is part of the path to holiness. The spiritual life isn’t about avoiding the battle; it’s about recognizing that, through grace, we can engage it with Christ. Temptation becomes the arena in which we grow in humility, perseverance, and trust in God. Without the struggle, we might never know our need for Him—or the depth of His strength within us.

St. Teresa of Ávila, too, reminds us that the real battleground is interior:

“The devil fears a soul united to God as he does God Himself.”
(Interior Castle, Fifth Mansion)

Temptation is not a sign of failure but of progress. It shows that the enemy is threatened. It is precisely through temptation—and through choosing Christ again and again—that we are strengthened in love.

We resist evil not by white-knuckled effort alone but by drawing close to Christ through spiritual practices: regular prayer—especially the Examen—times of contemplative silence, reflection on Scripture, and the grace received in the sacraments, particularly the Eucharist and Reconciliation. These practices deepen our union with Jesus, who alone can disarm the lies of the enemy and bring freedom.

Each time we feel tempted to give in to discouragement, division, or despair, let us remember that we are not fighting alone. Christ is with us. He is the one who sets us free.

Reflection Questions:

1. Where in your life do you feel spiritual resistance or inner division?
2. What lies have you believed about yourself, and how might Jesus be inviting you to renounce them?
3. Which practices—prayer, silence, sacraments—help you stand firm in Christ when the battle gets difficult?

Closing Prayer:

Lord Jesus, You have overcome the darkness. Enter the places in our lives where fear, discouragement, or sin still hold power. With the finger of God, cast out all that is not of You. Draw us into Your peace and make ourhearts whole. Give us strength to endure in prayer, wisdom to recognize the lies of the enemy, and courage to stay close to You. In You alone is our safety, our victory, and our home. Amen.

Day 22: “The Law of Love”

Scripture Reading (Jerusalem Bible):

Matthew 22:37-40
“Jesus said to him, ‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.’”

Reflection:

Jesus distills the entire law and prophetic tradition into two commandments: to love God and to love our neighbor. At the heart of the Christian life is this law of love—simple in words, yet profound and demanding in practice.

In the Scriptures and the Christian tradition, we see that love is not a single concept but a reality with many expressions. The New Testament, written in Greek, refers to several kinds of love: philia (brotherly affection), eros(romantic or passionate love), and agape—a self-giving, sacrificial love that wills the good of the other, even when it costs us. It is this agape love that Christ speaks of and models most fully on the Cross.

Agape is not about liking someone or feeling warmth in their presence. It is not contingent on emotion. It is an act of the will—a deliberate choice to love even when we are tired, wounded, or feel nothing at all. This is why Jesus can command love: not as sentiment, but as decision.

St. Thomas Aquinas writes:
“To love is to will the good of the other.” (Summa Theologiae, I-II, q.26, a.4)

This understanding liberates us from the tyranny of our emotions. We may not always feel loving, but we can choose to love by being patient, forgiving, and generous, especially with those who challenge us most.

The Desert Fathers lived this love in the silence of the desert, but not in isolation. They knew that loving others—even the difficult ones—was the clearest path to God. Abba Dorotheus of Gaza taught:
“The closer we come to our neighbor, the closer we come to God.”
(Apophthegmata Patrum, Dorotheus 2)

And St. John of the Cross, in his mystical depth, offers this piercing reminder:
“In the evening of life, we will be judged on love alone.” (Sayings of Light and Love, 59)

When we are hurt or weary, when love feels far from our grasp, it helps to remember: God never asks of us what He does not give the grace to fulfill. If Christ calls us to love—even enemies—it is because He Himself will sustain us in that call.

As we pray today, let us not be discouraged by the difficulty of love, but strengthened in the knowledge that it is in loving—especially when it is hard—that we become most like Christ.

Reflection Questions:

1. In what situations do I find it hardest to love, and how can I choose love as an act of the will in those moments?

2. What is one concrete way I can show agape love to someone in my life today?

3. How can I ask God to help me grow in this self-giving love, especially in prayer?

Closing Prayer:

Lord Jesus, You have shown us the perfection of love in laying down Your life. Teach us to love not just in feeling, but in will—choosing always what is good and true, even when it costs us. May our love for You be visible in how we love others, and may this love become a reflection of Your heart in the world. Amen.