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To be a mystic is not to have constant extreme experiences in prayer, despite what we have led ourselves to believe. Rather, it is to be someone who experiences God in all things, and receives Him in all things. This will include prayer, of course, but God is not so limited that He can only reach us when we manage to make our way to an adoration chapel. 

I learned fancy french terms like “pas du chat” (which means “step of the cat”), how to turn without getting dizzy, and that actual ballerinas have to be really, really strong. Some more complicated jumps and turns took my days of practice to achieve correctly. Even after a lot of practice, I probably looked less-than-graceful. But the simplest concepts, like standing with proper form, proved to be a lesson all their own, too. 

Pray without seasoning. This idea has been cooking (pun intended) in my mind for a while, but prayer is such a personal thing, that I hesitate to write much about it. However, I realized that is precisely why I want to share these thoughts with you. Prayer is a unique experience for everyone and it does not follow a one-size-fits-all mold. We should have the freedom to pray in the ways that we are most aware of God and of His movements.

The past year has provided ample opportunity for wrestling matches with God in my spiritual life. I never thought that I’d find the long-elusive definition of hope here; I’ve often searched for it instead in optimism and resignation. But, as I have learned to bring my desires honestly to the Lord, I have also learned truer consent to His will than ever before. As with Jacob in Genesis 32: 23-33, the Lord is not afraid of the most tender places of our hearts. If your relationship with the Lord looks like a wrestle right now, I invite you to look for hope in the strength of His nearness. 

This is not the same chapel I walked into for the first time three years ago. These are not the same walls. These walls have now heard my pleading prayers, raw emotions, and countless songs of praise. And not only from me, but also from so many other students, families, and K-Staters. 

Catholic author and psychologist Walker Percy was interested mostly in exploring the minds of a group of which he was a member: people he described as “ex-suicides”. This group, he said, had looked at life, realized the difficulty and pain which it could hold, accepted the possibility of leaving it, and had chosen not to. He explained that there was a certain freedom these individuals now enjoyed, because, unlike the vast majority of their peers, they had chosen to be alive. Any sorrow, trial, or suffering life could throw at them was something they had reckoned with and chosen, because they decided it was better to be alive.

Gethsemane Old olive trees curl and bend their trunks dangling their silver greens     while  Bellflowers and Jerusalem Sage nip the noseof farawa...

The Passion of Braided Love The taste of iron floods his mouth bloodied, battered, and bruised All times are present now yet this infinite moment...

At every Mass, we cry out with the people of Jerusalem. We sing the same words with the angels and the saints during the liturgy of the Eucharist as we proclaim, “Hosanna in the highest!” 

It’s pretty easy to understand the word “hosanna” as a hymn of praise for a king. It accompanies Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem, and it is the sound of a people acknowledging their Lord. The word expresses the magnitude of Christ’s strength, power, and sovereignty. 

Despite landing on a Friday in the middle of Lent, today is a day of celebration throughout the Catholic Church, when we are not only allowed but expected to shake off our Lenten disciplines and celebrate. So, while I understand if you want to walk away now and break those fasts, I wanted to take this space to explain why it is that we feel St. Joseph is so worth celebrating, beyond the obvious reasons.

On the first day of Lent this year, I got the chance to accept a dream job. The next day, my friend surprised me with my favorite muffins for breakfast. Weeks of sudden spring weather have filled my hours with sunshine after some brutal winter days. A few weeks into this Lenten season, and it hasn’t looked much like the dry desert I expected. 

I am known to have the worst memory, and to be honest, I don’t exactly remember who my confirmation saint is. So, a couple of years ago, I decided to adopt St. Teresa of Avila. I heard of her story and I was so impressed with how real she was. She was a person who I can relate a lot to, and somehow, she still achieved sainthood. 

In her teenage years, she became invested in worldly matters. She cared about what she wore and the jewelry she had. She was naturally a people person, so she would gossip and loved the attention it brought to her. She said, “In everything that gave them pleasure, I kept the conversation alive --- listened to the stories of their affections and childish follies, good for nothing.”