As you no doubt realized in last week’s post, I’m reading through Acts again. This time I’m using the Word on Fire Bible, which has some amazing commentary from both modern scholars and historical ones, along with sacred art by some of the greatest masters of all time, word studies on terms in Greek or Hebrew we might be unfamiliar with, and so much more. I’ve been thoroughly enjoying the experience, and quite often the little essays or paragraphs of commentary make me see something in a new light.

Reading about the conversion of Paul this time around, I first had that thought about how it only took a few words to convince Paul he’d been wrong…then I read a note from Bishop Barron that really made me pause and think.

He pointed out that every time in Scripture–every time–God appears to man, it isn’t for the sake of that one person. It’s to equip them to go out and do the work of the Lord.

Moses didn’t see the burning bush just to convince him to have faith. He saw the burning bush so that he’d be the rescuer of hundreds of thousands of people.

Samuel didn’t hear the Voice of God to reassure him of anything. He heard the Voice of God so that the priesthood would be cleansed of sin and they could better serve the people.

Abraham didn’t receive the covenant just for his own salvation. He received the covenant so that all men, all nations, could come to salvation.

Saul didn’t see that blinding light just to turn his feet onto the straight and narrow. He saw that blinding light because God wanted to use him to reach the Gentiles.

I remember once when I was a kid, maybe twelve or thirteen, the Santmyires came home for a visit. They were full-time missionaries and had served in many different countries. I think at that point they were in Bulgaria, but honestly, I don’t recall where they’d come from. I just remember being so excited that their daughter Amber, who was a year older than me, was spending the night with us. I imagine her sister, Torrey, was too–I imagine Torrey and my own sister, Jennifer, were in Jen’s room talking about older-girl things long into the night. Amber and I stationed ourselves on the sectional couch in my living room, right in front of the wide bay windows that provide a stunning view of the valley below and the mountains beyond.

I don’t remember all of what Amber and I talked about that night. I know we laughed, I know we got into all the things that mattered to us. But I distinctly remember talking about the wonders of the Lord, and how we hoped that, someday, we could see one of His angels with our own eyes. We talked about the stories we’d heard of heavenly encounters. We wondered how angels must really look, given that their first words to humans always seemed to be “Don’t be afraid.”

And then we realized that we’d turned so that we were not looking out that big window. Because we were suddenly afraid we would see an angel, and that it would be terrifying. It gave us another laugh.

But it also stuck with me. Because, I think, even as a child, I understood that seeing the power of God with my own eyes would be so much more than an interesting story. And maybe because I recognized that seeing the power of God with my own eyes would mean flipping everything on its head. Because God doesn’t appear to those who just need to keep doing what they’re doing. He doesn’t appear to those who just need a little encouragement.

He appears to people whose lives are about to be shaken to their core, flipped on their heads, and sent on a whole new trajectory. When He’s going to call them from the only home they ever knew. From the path they thought was just. From the livelihood their families depend on. From the security of a life of oblivion. He appears to people who are going to be hated, cursed, reviled, persecuted, martyred, and thrown into battle without any formal training.

God has so many ways of speaking to us, encouraging us, and equipping us. I have experienced the wonder of those ways many times in my life, and I am so grateful for them. And even those smaller ways, those less-terrifying ways…they, too, speak to this key characteristic of God’s movement:

It’s never just for us. Because faith in Him, following Him, is never just for us. It’s for the world. It’s for the lost. It’s for the Church. It’s for our neighbor. It’s for our enemy. It’s for our family.

And most of all, it’s for Him.

He doesn’t appear to show us His glory. He appears to show us how to give that glory back to Him.

I don’t know if I’ll ever see an angel, or a blinding light, or hear a voice from Heaven that sounds like thunder to those around me. But I know this–every whisper, every breeze, every sunrise that calls to my heart in His voice, has a purpose, and that purpose isn’t just for me. It’s for equipping me to do His work.

I’ve read the account in Acts of the conversion of Saul/Paul many times. But I just reread it a couple weeks ago, and something really struck me this time.

Have you ever noticed how little it took to win Paul’s heart for Christ?

I mean, sure, there was the miracle–the blinding light (which his companions saw too), the voice from heaven (which they couldn’t hear). That’s enough to get anyone’s attention. But that Voice…He spoke only a few words. “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” and then, when Saul asked Him who He was, “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting.”

That was it. That’s all it took to change the life of a man who went on to be one of the most influential Christians in history. Jesus didn’t need to explain to him why he shouldn’t be persecuting Him. He didn’t need to explain that He was the Son of God. He didn’t need to say, “And now I need you to repent and turn over a new leaf and go and sin no more.”

All He had to do was state His name. State that Saul was persecuting Him. Not just the followers of the Way, not just the fledgling church, but Christ himself.

If we put the pieces together, we get the impression that Saul had never met or heard Jesus directly during His ministry on earth, but we also know that Saul studied under Gameliel in Jerusalem, so it’s quite likely he was there in the capital while the events of the Gospels were playing out. He may never have met Jesus, but he certainly knew of Jesus. And like his teachers, he clearly thought that Jesus was not only full of hot air, but a danger to the God Saul loved.

Because Saul loved God with a deep passion. He was zealous for his faith–that’s why he wanted to protect it from heresy, and to paraphrase C.S. Lewis, Jesus was either truly the Son of God, a madman, or a heretic, there’s no in between. No room to call Him “just a good teacher.” Saul wanted to stamp out those early Christians because he fully believed they were trying to tear apart the true faith in God.

Until that road to Damascus. Until that light blinded him. Until that voice came to Him. Saul clearly knew, as his senses were overwhelmed with heaven, that this Light, this Voice, belonged to none other than God. He clearly knew that he was in the presence of the One he loved above all others.

Then that Voice gave him an equation. The Voice, clearly God, identified Himself as Jesus.

And that’s all it took. All it took for Saul to become Paul, to be willing to go to his enemies and listen to the Truth they bravely, riskily told him. All it took to turn him from persecutor to apostle.

Which is fitting–because that’s so similar to how Christ called all His disciples, isn’t it? All He ever had to do was say, “Follow me.” And the fishermen left their nets. The tax collectors left their money. The zealots left their missions.

As I pondered this, I had to ask myself…what does it take for us today? Not just to call us to Christ, but to recognize Him? What if He says to us:

I am Jesus, whom you bypassed on the corner because I smelled bad and had no place to lay my head.
I am Jesus, whom you cursed because I love the politician you hate.
I am Jesus, whom you opted not to help because you were saving up for that thing you didn’t really need.
I am Jesus, whom you cast out of your city, your state, your country, because you called me undeserving to be there.
I am Jesus, whom you dismissed because I didn’t speak English well enough.
I am Jesus, whom you said got what I deserved.

Our Lord tells us in the Gospels that what we do to the “least of these,” we do to Him. And when it comes to mission trips or seving at shelters or even prison ministries, we’re quick to identify it with that lesson.

But are we as quick to see Him in the people we meet in our day-to-day lives? Are we as quick to remember that Christ loves that politician we denounce so much that He died for them? Are we as quick to remember that how we interact with everyone is how we interact with Jesus? Do we remember that it’s love He wants us to be remembered for?

I find myself wondering frequently what happened to those companions who were with Saul when the light blinded them. They couldn’t hear the voice, just a sound like thunder. Why? Were their hearts too hard? Or was the thunder and light enough to convince them too? Did they go with Saul to hear the Good News? Did they accept it?

Or did they turn around and go back to Jerusalem, shaking their heads as they told the Sanhedrin, “Another one bites the dust. He was sucked in by the teachings of that false prophet.”

I can’t count the times I’ve heard Christians say they wished they’d been alive to see Jesus in the flesh. And I get that…but why do we think it would have been different? Most people who heard Him didn’t become part of that first Church. Most people who followed Him were only in it for the meal He provided, the miracles, the easy stuff. When the teachings got difficult, they shook their heads and walked away. Most people who heard His voice didn’t hear His voice. It was just thunder in their ears. They saw the Light, but then they blinked and turned away.

Saul had a heart always chasing after God–he was just wrong, at first, about the direction. But all it took was that “I AM” moment for him to redirect his entire life. To go from accomplice-to-murder to martyr-at-heart.

Are my eyes as ready to be blinded by Him? Is my heart as ready to change? Are my ears so attuned to Him that I hear the directions He gives, or is He thunder to me?

Would I be Saul…or one of his unnamed companions? Would I give up my own understanding, my preconceived notions, my definition of faith if and when He calls me to a path I’d thought was wrong?

Are a few words from Jesus enough to change our whole life?

A couple weeks ago, a couple things happened in the course of a few hours that made me pause and think, not just of who I want to be, but of who I don’t want to be.

It started with an author newsletter that came into my inbox a couple days before. In this newsletter, the author in question mentioned a very strong political opinion that I very strongly disagree with, LOL. I believe I said something to my husband along the lines of, “And she’s lost me.”

Then, on the day in question, another newsletter of hers came into my inbox. I scrolled down to the bottom and clicked “unsubscribe,” so of course it took me to the page where you confirm that choice.

And I sat, and I looked at that button, and I thought, “Is this who I want to be? Do I really want to disassociate myself with someone just because we disagree about one particular political stance?”

I stared at the button for a few seconds. And then I closed out that window, leaving my subscription intact. Why?

Because I don’t want to be the kind of person who creates an echo chamber for herself. I don’t want to be the kind of person who just stops listening to people I disagree with about something. Nope. In fact, I want to be the kind of person who seeks out those opinions I don’t always agree with. Because if I don’t hear them, don’t engage with them in my own heart and mind, don’t love them through our disagreements, I run the risk of becoming a two-dimensional, thoughtless bigot.

That’s not who I want to be.

On that same evening, I saw a comment on a post of mine on Instagram in which someone blasted me for becoming Catholic. Now, this was on that post a couple weeks ago about visiting other churches and how I didn’t fully appreciate this until becoming Catholic. I know whenever I post something publicly about this change, that I open myself up for all the “Catholicism is a cult” comments. And I expected it on my blog post here, honestly. Still, I was a bit surprised to see it on Instagram for some reason (don’t ask me why). (For reference, it looks like the commenter deleted her original comment, and hence all our many, many replies to each other, so no point in going to look, LOL.)

Naturally, I saw this comment right before bed, too. Which means that I went to bed wondering if my response was good enough, loving enough, compelling enough. Wondering if I had responded with grace enough to this comment of “I used to read your books, but now I don’t.” I wondered if I’d shown the love of Christ brightly enough.

I got up the next morning, and there was another reply, saying that she hoped I truly did still write for Christ (part of my reply to her), but that Catholicism was still wrong.

Coming up with a reply made me again consider who I want to be…and who I don’t.

I don’t want to be the kind of person who shuts down conversation–ever. I want to be the kind of person who encourages it.

I don’t want to be the kind of person who ignores those who disagree with me. As Dale Carnegie teaches so well in the amazing book How to Win Friends and Influence People*, a gracious reply to an argumentative comment can win friends that neither a caustic reply nor ignoring them can. I have made this my policy–any time I get comments or emails that attack, I do reply–with love and understanding. I first seek to understand their point and where they’re coming from. I want to address any disappointment I have caused. I want to consider their stance. I want to honor the time they’ve taken to reply to me. I want to appreciate them.

I obviously don’t agree when someone says, “Yeah, but you’re still wrong.” But I can grant that they believe it, and that their beliefs are valid. I can appreciate that the parts they’re focusing on have truth to them, even if I’ve been satisfied that they’re parts of a greater truth with more nuance than I think that subject alone conveys. I can even appreciate that they’re so passionate about a given topic that they would go out of their way to comment about it on someone else’s post.

I won’t be the person who dismisses others for their beliefs.

I won’t be the person who lets disagreement tarnish the love that should be at the core of my faith.

I won’t be the person who lets offense lead to broken relationship, even with a veritable stranger.

I won’t be the person who devalues someone because we have different opinions or understandings.

You and I probably agree about a lot. We probably disagree about a little. And you know what? That’s not only fine, that’s good. It’s through disagreement that earnest dialogue is begun. It’s through dialogue that people come to deeper understanding of a topic. It’s through that quest for deeper understanding that we learn more and more about this awesome God we serve. It’s through that deeper understanding of God’s glory that we develop deeper and better love for one another and for the world.

I won’t be the person who chooses hatred or disagreement instead. I will be the person who chooses love.

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I love dreaming. Planning. Setting goals.

Every Friday, I take stock of what I’ve accomplished that week. Every Friday, I write out my list for what I need and hope to get done in the week to come. The lists are fluid, yes–sometimes things crop up that I’d forgotten or hadn’t known were coming. Sometimes we have sick days. Sometimes my finished list bears no resemblance to my goals list. But still, I love doing it.

Part of it is because by writing it down, I’m no longer caught up in how I feel the week went–instead, I’m looking at the fact. Far too often, one frustration makes us feel like the whole day or week has been a waste, when in fact, the impact to the facts is much smaller than that. Or conversely, sometimes I feel like I’ve gotten a lot done…but my list says otherwise.

When the calendar year turns over, I always take it as an opportunity to reflect on the whole year that has just passed and look ahead to the year to come. I make lists, set out my goals, work on my plans. I know they won’t all happen, but by putting down all my thoughts, I then have something I can refer back to when it comes time to prioritize what to do each day, each week, each month.

My goals for 2025 are…ambitious. But for the first time in the history of my yearly list-making, they’re also delayed.

Radiation therapy started for me on December 26, 2024, and the scheduled end date was January 16, 2025. As I was making all my plans, I kept looking at the calendar and realizing that I couldn’t really start on much until that biggie was out of the way.

I didn’t know how tired I’d be–they warned that by the end, exhaustion could hit hard.
I did know that a lot of my time was going to be spent traveling to and from the hospital 90 minutes away.

Mornings are usually my time for devotional and Bible reading, for morning prayers, and then for creative work. But those first couple weeks of January, I didn’t know what I would be able to do.

So…I kept my plans for the first 16 days of the year pretty minimal. I thought of 2025 as having a “soft opening” or a “soft start.” Time to work out the kinks. Time to plan in more detail so I could hit the ground running in February. Time to focus on a few limited things.

Last year I got my husband planners called the Monk Manual, which focuses not just on what you have to do, but on your attitude, your feelings, your relationships, your gratitude, and your insights. He really enjoyed the process, so this year we both got Monk Manual annual planners, which has calendar pages for the whole year as well as weekly planning sections, room for notes, and so on. I loved sitting down with it in early January and getting it all set up. Putting down the things I know will be on my schedule, and getting to know the weekly sections.

I love that each day, there’s room to write down your priority tasks. At the end of each day, there’s space to write down your gratitude and your insights. There’s space for listing your biggest accomplishments of the week, your meaningful moments, what God has taught you. There’s encouragement to pay attention to the habits you want to build, a change you can make in the week to come, how you’ve tended your relationships, and even what you’re looking forward to.

All of this comes down to what I’ve been working to embrace in the last several years–intentional living. Because it isn’t about what we do, it’s about who we are. And who, through that intentionality, we become.

2025 has started off with a lot of doing…but oddly, the time that doing requires has also given me more time than usual to focus on my being. Car rides are great time to think, to talk things over with my husband (on days he’s driving), to tend the relationship with my dad (on days he takes over). Those unexpected overnight stays in a hotel near the hospital so my treatment isn’t interrupted by snow give some time away from the chores of home where I could focus on spending time with God and working out that intentionality for the weeks to come.

And I’m especially excited because in February, I’ll be doing another soft-start, for a program I’ve had it in my heart to build out for several years, called Writers’ Cross Training. The idea behind this program is just like physical cross-training for athletes–where we keep in mind our primary focus (say, writing books), but strengthen that by working on all aspects of our life, including physical activity, healthy eating, family time, community building, marketing, reading… It’s all about intentionality and balance so that we avoid creative burnout and make ourselves stronger all round. I’ve invited a few people to join me February through May at various points in their writing journey, and with their help, I intend to get this program fitted out so that it works for ANY creative (especially writers) at ANY point in their own writing. I can’t wait to see how it goes! January has been taken up a lot by planning for this, and I’m loving it.

As always, I have to smile at God’s timing for it too. I’ve had the idea for at least two years, maybe more, but lacked the specific ideas for how to implement it. As I was on vacation in December of 2024, though, those specific ideas began to come, and excitement built in my heart, so I reached out with my ideas to those writing friends at various stages. And oh, the quick replies…of how several of them had just (as in JUST when the email came in) been praying about this very thing, and my email brought tears to their eyes and hope to their chest. Which in turn let me know that this really is the right time to get the program put together.

So while 2025 may be a rolling, soft start for me…it’s an exciting one. This is the year I’ll finish cancer treatment. This is the year I’ll launch this new program. This is the year I’ll take my new intentionality to a new level. And I can’t wait to see what God does in the next few months.

Today is January 16. Do you know what that means? It means it’s my last day of radiation therapy for breast cancer! I had 15 sessions beginning December 26, every week day other than New Year’s Day (and no weekends, of course).

It went well, overall. Though getting up at 4:30 every morning and driving the 90 minutes to the hospital through some high elevations with horrible winter weather got old fast, the treatments themselves were easy. I experienced a wee bit of pinkness on my skin and a slightly-itchy rash, but that was pretty much it for side effects. Not too bad!

The weather was definitely the biggest obstacle. We had to get a hotel several times so that I wouldn’t miss treatment, and I used the time to finish up the novella I was writing and get caught up on other work that the commute interrupted. This January has definitely been WINTRY around here! We’ve been having super-cold (for us) temperatures, with the lows often in the single digits and only one day above freezing in weeks, which means the snow we got nearly two weeks ago is still lingering…and though the forecast kept insisting there was 0% chance of precipitation even in the high elevations last week, we in fact drove through white-outs and horrible roads that had me joking about hiring a dog sled team. (Image below is what was supposed to be a 3-lane highway…)

Instead, we just got another hotel room for the last few days, and I have zero regrets! It snowed again yesterday despite not calling for it, and I’m very glad we weren’t driving through it in the dark on those sketchy mountain roads.

This marks the end of the BIG treatments. I still have 6 immonutherapy injections to go (these are every three weeks), but they’re no big deal–it takes 5 minutes and I have zero side effects from them. Final reconstruction surgery is also in my future–when that happens depends entirely upon how quickly my skin recovers from radiation.

But the completion of radiation therapy brings me one MAJOR step closer to being DONE with cancer treatment! And that is a cause for celebration!

Thank you all for the prayers that have been offered to our Lord on my behalf!

I grew up in the United Methodist Church. I attended the same church every Sunday, and though once in a while we’d have joint activities with other area UMC churches, they were rare. And never were we encouraged to go to another church. When we went on vacation, I remember exactly one time that we attended a church in the area we were visiting, and I didn’t like it. At all. It wasn’t another UMC (I don’t honestly remember what denomination that church was…it may have even been non-denominational), and it felt weird to me. They didn’t sing the same songs, it didn’t feel the same, people didn’t act the same…and I wasn’t sorry that we didn’t go back to that church on our next vacation to the same place.

I liked my church. The one that was familiar. Where I knew the people and the order of service and the songs. It felt comfortable. It felt like home. And when I wasn’t home? Well, I’d just wait until I was again to return to church.

In college that got…tricky. We didn’t come home every weekend, but the churches we found around our school didn’t feel “right” either. We did eventually find a college-church-home, and we’re still friends with the young pastor and his wife from that church. But while I eventually felt like we belonged okay, we certainly never became members or anything as formal as that. And we still had no real compunction about missing when we were out of town or on vacation.

So when we joined the Catholic church and realized that there is an obligation to attend church on either Saturday evening or Sunday and that travel is no excuse to skip, I had a moment of panic. What about when I was on a writing retreat? Or we were on vacation? Did we seriously have to find another church to attend? Wouldn’t it be weird? Wouldn’t that mean those awkward feelings of “not my home” that I experienced as a kid? And having grown up with the reality of  churches being very territorial and possessive of their members, this just felt bizarre. “Wait a minute,” I couldn’t help but think. “You’re telling me that you want me to go to other churches?” Even in my three-church-parish, they encourage you to go to the other churches, not just your “own.”

Yeah, this took some adjustment to my thoughts.

And a week after we officially joined and this “obligation” became mandatory, I was traveling for a writers retreat. For the first time, I had to find a church that wasn’t “my own.” I had to go to a place I’d never been, on my own, and sit with strangers. And you know what I discovered?

This was a blessing I’d never fathomed.

As I drove to that unfamiliar church, I pondered why this was an obligation…and I realized something that has stayed with me ever since. The mass isn’t just a church service. Its focus is 100% around communion–a meal. God the Father is inviting all His children to gather together and partake of this most important meal, the one that unifies us to Christ, through Christ, and therefore to the Father, the Spirit, and the entire Church. It’s like a Sunday dinner with family, one that has been going on unbroken for millennia.

Why would I want to miss that?

And as I sat through that first service away from my home parish, and as I’ve done it time and again since, you know what I discovered? There was no awkwardness. No feeling of “not my home.” Because each and every Roman Catholic church in the world is reading the same readings. We’re singing the same words. We’re focused on the same thing–Christ giving Himself for us. The melodies are often different, yes, but once you know the liturgy, you know what to do in any church. You know when to stand together to pray. You know when to kneel before the King of kings. You know when to lift your hands in the Lord’s Prayer. You know when to wish peace for those around you. You know when to turn to extend that peace to those in the neighboring pews. You know when to go forward with your palms outstretched for that greatest Gift. You know when to return to your seat to pray your own prayer of thanksgiving.

Now, visiting other churches is one of my favorite things. I love seeing the buildings. I love seeing those strangers who are my brothers and sisters in Christ. I love experiencing the small differences as well as walking through the familiar steps. I love seeing the individual within the uniform. I love seeing pastors from different orders leading their congregations in familiar Scripture. I love knowing that no matter where I go, I’m home. Because home isn’t one particular church building or even one particular body of believers. Home is The Church. It’s not a building or a place anymore. It’s something bigger. Something grander. Something I can find absolutely anywhere.

In December, while we were traveling for vacation, we visited San Pedro’s in Marathon, Florida, where we discovered a prayer garden that absolutely took my breath away. On the way home, we took our Sunday in Savannah, Georgia, and attended mass at the basilica, a gorgeous cathedral that not only made me sit back in awe of the beauty–reminding me of the even greater beauty that comes in heaven–but making me want to visit again. Their amazing choir made me wonder how much more the choir of angels would have been when Christ was born. The soaring, star-studded ceiling made me think about our place in the vast universe of God’s creation. And the faces that smiled and welcomed us reminded me that these strangers are brothers and sisters.

And much like the best Sunday dinners with family, it never feels like a have-to. It feels like a get-to. I get to visit churches everywhere I go. I get to worship with others who love God and Jesus just as I do. I get to experience both similarities and differences. I get to take time out of my busy days and weeks and just dwell with the family of God for an hour.

I love that. And I laugh at myself. Because one of the things I hated when I was younger, that I avoided at all costs–being at an unfamiliar church–is now one of the things I most look forward to. Because now the focus isn’t on the people I don’t know or the pastor whose personality defines the church or what “sermon series” might be in progress; now it isn’t about the tempo of the worship music or whether or not you clap your hands. Now, the focus isn’t on me at all. It isn’t on the people. It isn’t on the worship team or the one behind the pulpit. Now, we’re all just participants in the REAL purpose.

Jesus. He is the star of every show. He is the reason for every mass. He is the focus of every service. The emphasis isn’t on the sermon but on the Sacrifice. And that will be the same wherever I go. The Scripture and homily are just the overture–the real point is what comes next. Just as in history, all Scripture, all events led to this one amazing thing: Jesus coming and giving Himself up for us. Jesus paying the debt. Jesus shedding His blood for us. Jesus becoming the Bread of Life and inviting us to partake of it.

Jesus invites us to be part of that meal every week. Because we need it. We need His sustenance. We need His grace. We need Him to become more and more part of us. He invites us every week because He knows that communing with Him and His church is the most important thing we’ll do.

I love the church I attend most often. But you know what? I love even more knowing that it’s not that church to which I belong–it’s The Church that I call home. And I can find that home absolutely anywhere in the world.