examen

Docile, Not Diversified

A single pearl resting in an open, sunlit palm, symbolizing surrender and trust in God

What debt, unemployment, and daily discernment taught me about being dependent on God, not just adjacent to Him

If you’ve spent any time online, you know the checklist. Roth IRA, maxed. Six months of expenses in a high-yield savings account. A diversified brokerage. No credit card balance carried month to month. Every finance influencer is selling some version of this profile as the definition of a responsible adult, and if you’re a young Catholic professional, it’s easy to quietly measure your spiritual life by the same rubric — faithful giving as a line item, Mass attendance as a checkbox, gratitude as something you’ll feel once the numbers finally work.

This article isn’t for the person who has that checklist finished. It’s for everyone else. If you’re carrying debt you can’t see the bottom of, if your savings are gone and your emergency fund is a memory, if you’ve been out of work longer than you told people, if your health has cost you both money and momentum — I want to tell you something that took me a long time to believe: you may already be living the exact thing the checklist can’t teach.

What I Actually Lived

I’ve been through a stretch of real health problems, extended unemployment, and a period where homelessness wasn’t an abstract fear but a real possibility. Credit debt piled up. Savings ran out completely, with no reserve behind them. There was no six-month cushion. There was, some weeks, no cushion at all.

What I found in that place wasn’t a hack or a five-step plan. It was daily dependence, and I mean that literally. I couldn’t plan three moves ahead because I often didn’t have the information, the money, or the certainty to do it. What I had was prayer — asking, most mornings, for enough clarity to see the next single step, and trusting that the Holy Spirit would show up in time for that step and not necessarily any sooner. I write about faith and money less for what it’s earned me and more for what I found in that season worth passing on: a faith-abundant life doesn’t require your finances to cooperate first. Gratitude showed up before the numbers did, not after.

Rereading “To Anyone Who Has, More Will Be Given”

A homily on Matthew 13 named something I recognized instantly: “we could be religious churchgoers but not docile to God.” The warning usually gets aimed at people who look financially secure and spiritually comfortable. But flip it around, and it says something else too — the “having” that gets multiplied in that verse was never about your account balance. “To anyone who has, more will be given. He will grow rich. Anyone who has not, even what he has will be taken away” (Matthew 13:12) is describing docility, not net worth. If you’ve been forced by circumstance into daily, undeniable dependence on God, you are not behind. You may be exactly where that verse says gets more.

Docility is usually pictured as a beautiful, freely chosen surrender — Mary at the Annunciation, saying “let it be done unto me according to your word” (Luke 1:38) before she understood any of the plan. Nobody forced that fiat on her. But surrender doesn’t stop counting just because it wasn’t your first choice. When life sells everything out from under you — a diagnosis, a layoff, a debt spiral — and there’s nothing left to hold onto but trust, that is still docility. Maybe closer to it than most of us who get to choose our surrender in comfortable, low-stakes moments ever come.

The Purse That Was Already Empty

“Sell your possessions, and give alms; provide yourselves with purses that do not grow old, with a treasure in the heavens that does not fail” (Luke 12:33) is usually preached to people who have something to sell. If your earthly purse is already empty, you didn’t need the instruction — you’re already living past it, whether you meant to or not. The treasure that doesn’t fail isn’t a reward for the financially disciplined. It’s simply what’s left when everything else has been taken, and it turns out to be enough.

“See that you abound in this gracious work also” (2 Corinthians 8:7) doesn’t require a bank account either. If you’ve ever stayed up with someone in a worse spot than you, shared a meal you couldn’t really spare, or written something honest to help a stranger feel less alone in their own financial fear — that is the gracious work Paul is describing. It was never gated behind income.

And “he who is faithful in a very little is faithful also in much” (Luke 16:10-11) reads differently from where you’re standing. It’s not a verse about scaling up from a small salary to a large one. It’s an honor given to whoever manages real scarcity with real integrity — the person who pays what they can, tells the truth about what they can’t, and keeps showing up to the discernment even when the numbers are bad. That faithfulness is the whole point of the verse, not a stepping stone to something more respectable.

The Pearl You Didn’t Choose to Sell Everything For

The merchant in Matthew 13:44-46 sold everything he had for one pearl of great price — a deliberate, chosen trade. Most of us in financial crisis didn’t get to choose the sale. Life took the possessions first and left the pearl — trust in Christ — as the only thing remaining. That’s not a lesser version of the parable. It might be the truest ending of it: everything else gone, one thing left, and it turns out to be enough to build a life on.

Wherever You Are Right Now, This Still Applies

You don’t need a spreadsheet to practice this. Tomorrow morning, before you check a balance or open a bill, ask one question instead of making one plan: not “what do I need to fix today,” but “what is Jesus asking me to trust Him with today.” That’s the whole practice. It won’t clear your debt or fill your account. But it’s the difference between being adjacent to Christ — showing up, checking boxes, staying nearby — and being dependent on Him, which is what docility actually is. The checklist can wait. This can’t.

What It Means to Let God’s Word Take Root

Woman touching the blue coat of a performer while a crowd watches on a cobblestone street

Start with the Word

Before you dive into this reflection, you might want to spend a few quiet minutes with these passages:

  • Parable of the Sower: Matthew 13:1–9, 18–23
  • The hemorrhaging woman: Mark 5:25–34 (also Matthew 9:20–22; Luke 8:43–48)
  • The centurion and his servant: Matthew 8:5–13 (also Luke 7:1–10)

Let them sink in. Notice what stirs, comforts, or challenges you. Then come back and we’ll walk through them together.

Good soil looks like real people

In the parable of the sower, Jesus tells this simple, earthy story about a farmer, some seed, and four kinds of ground—hard path, rocky soil, thorny soil, and good soil. Only one of them lets the seed really sink in and produce a harvest.

At Mass, Father Kwame put it plainly: “The soil is our hearts. The seed is Jesus, coming to us in the Word.” Every time the gospel is proclaimed, the Lord is sowing himself into our lives—into your life. And if that seed finds good soil, it doesn’t just sit there. It grows. It produces the fruits of the Holy Spirit that other people can actually see and taste.

What I love is that Jesus doesn’t leave this at the level of theory. In the hemorrhaging woman and the centurion, we get to see what “good soil” looks like with a face and a name (or in her case, a story, even if we never learn her name). Both of them have every reason to shut down. Both of them, in their own way, open their hearts and give Jesus permission to take root.

The hemorrhaging woman: when love, joy, and peace break through

Think of the hemorrhaging woman. Twelve years of suffering. Twelve years of doctors and disappointment. Twelve years of being considered “unclean,” kept at arm’s length from worship and community. If anyone’s heart could have turned into hard-packed path or thorn-choked ground, it’s hers.

But what does she do? She pushes through the crowd, quietly, almost secretly, and reaches out for Jesus, believing that just touching his cloak is enough. That’s good soil right there—not because she feels strong, but because she refuses to let shame, fear, or exhaustion have the last word. She lets faith crack the surface of the soil.

When Jesus turns and calls her “Daughter,” when he says, “Your faith has made you well. Go in peace,” something beautiful shows up above the surface. Love appears in her willingness to step forward and tell her story. Joy begins to replace the long years of humiliation. Peace settles over her future because she’s heard the Lord’s verdict on her life. These are the fruits of the Holy Spirit in real time—signs that Jesus’ word has taken root in the deepest, most wounded places of her heart.

The centurion: generosity, courage, and deep trust

Now look at the centurion. He’s a Roman officer, a man with rank and power. He could have stayed in his own world and handled things his own way. Instead, he crosses religious and cultural lines and comes to Jesus on behalf of a suffering servant. That’s already a hint of generosity: his heart is moved for someone who, in that culture, was easy to overlook.

Then comes that line we know so well from Mass: “Lord, I am not worthy to have you enter under my roof; only say the word and my servant will be healed.” It’s humble, yes, but it’s also brave. He’s basically staking his reputation—and his servant’s life—on the power of Jesus’ word alone. He’s saying, “I know how authority works; I believe your authority is that strong. You don’t even have to come to my house. Just speak.”[en.wikipedia][youtube]

That is rocky ground turning into good soil. Instead of letting fear or pride scorch the seed, he lets faith sink down into how he understands the world. He trusts that Jesus’ word carries more weight than his own rank, more power than distance, more hope than his own ability to control things.

And again, look at the fruit. His servant is healed. But beyond that, his faith becomes a sign for everyone watching—Jesus even says he hasn’t found such faith in Israel. The centurion’s trust, his generosity toward his servant, his courage in approaching Jesus, are all fruits growing from the seed of the Word planted in good, humble soil.[youtube]

What happens when we let God take root

Father Kwame said it clearly: when Jesus’ word finds a home in us, it should produce fruits—love, joy, peace, generosity, courage, and more. These aren’t just nice words on a confirmation banner. They’re the “harvest” that shows what kind of soil we really are.

We see it in these two:

  • In the woman, love looks like drawing near to God instead of hiding, even when she’s afraid. Joy and peace flow from hearing Jesus speak directly into her shame and suffering.
  • In the centurion, generosity looks like using his position to care for someone vulnerable. Courage looks like trusting Jesus’ word more than his own plans or expectations.[catholicsstrivingforholiness][youtube]

If we let Jesus take root in our own hearts—if we stop treating his word as background noise and start giving it space and time—those same fruits begin to grow in us. Not perfectly. Not all at once. But really.

Love might look like choosing patience instead of sarcasm with a family member. Joy might look like a quiet gratitude in the middle of a hard day. Peace might look like a refusal to spiral into anxiety when the news is bad or the bills are high. Generosity might mean giving our time, attention, or talent where it costs us something. Courage might look like admitting our weakness and asking for help—whether from God or from others.[lovedweller]

That’s what happens when we stop guarding the soil and start letting the Gardener work.

Letting someone “taste the pudding”

Father Kwame gave us a great image: “The proof of the pudding is in the eating.” You can’t tell if a pudding is any good by staring at it on the table. You have to taste it. In the same way, people can’t really tell if we have deep faith just by seeing us at Mass once a week. They learn it when they live with us, work with us, bump into us on our worst days and our tired mornings.

As you move into tonight’s examen, try sitting with this simple, honest question:

If someone close to me—my spouse, my kids, a coworker, a friend—were to “taste my pudding” this week, what would they find? Would they taste love, joy, peace, generosity, courage—the fruits that grow when Jesus’ word really has space in my heart? Or would they run into impatience, harsh words, constant worry, resentment, or indifference?[gcdiscipleship]

Don’t answer that to beat yourself up. Answer it to let the Lord show you where the soil is good, and where it needs tilling. Then, like the hemorrhaging woman and the centurion, you can bring that soil to Him and simply say:

“Lord, I am not worthy… but only say the word.”

And trust that His word can take root and grow, right there, in the very real ground of your life.

Finding Hope Through Mary’s Motherly Care

Woman in cloak holding steaming cup on balcony overlooking city at sunset

It’s the week of the Sixth Sunday of Easter, the week following Mother’s Day. For those who may have missed last Sunday’s scripture, or for people who want to revisit the readings but with a Marian spin and a focus on motherhood and God’s blessings through motherly care I invite you to read on, or print it out to read at your bedside tonight or any night this week before you go to sleep.

Settling into prayer with Mary

Begin quietly, breathing slowly, and making the sign of the Cross.

“Lord Jesus, You promised, ‘I will not leave you orphans; I will come to you.’ Tonight I come to You with Mary, Your Mother and mine, asking for light to see this day as she would see it, with a mother’s heart.”

Pause and imagine Mary simply standing beside you, as at the foot of the Cross, present, silent, attentive.

Step 1: Gratitude – Joy in the city, joy in Mary’s heart

Philip brought the Gospel to Samaria, and “there was great joy in that city.” Mary knew that joy first, when she received the Word in her womb and sang her Magnificat.

  • Where today did I glimpse that same Gospel joy—perhaps in a child’s smile, a word of encouragement, a meal shared, or a quiet moment of peace at home?
  • How did I experience Mary’s maternal care—maybe through my own mother, a spiritual mother, my spouse, or a woman who quietly “mothered” me with counsel, prayer, or simple presence?
  • What “Magnificat moments” did I live today: times when my soul, even briefly, “magnified the Lord” in gratitude?

Thank God for these graces and thank Mary for her hidden, ongoing motherhood in your life, as Mother of God and Mother of the Church.

Step 2: Presence – “I will not leave you orphans” and Mary’s motherhood

Jesus promises: “I will not leave you orphans; I will come to you.” From the Cross He also said to the beloved disciple, “Behold, your mother,” giving Mary to the Church and to each disciple as mother.

  • Where today did I feel alone, overwhelmed, or “orphaned” in my heart—perhaps in parenting, work, marriage, or unresolved family tension?
  • In those moments, did I remember that I have not only a Savior but also a Mother in the order of grace, who intercedes, comforts, and protects?
  • Can I recall one moment today when I sensed quiet help, a soft strength, or a gentle nudge toward trust that might have been Mary’s maternal care at work?

Speak simply: “Jesus, thank You for not leaving me an orphan. Mary, Mother of the Church and my Mother, thank you for staying close, even when I forget You are there.”

Step 3: Love in action – Keeping the commandments with Mary’s “Yes”

Jesus says, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.” Mary is the first disciple who lived this perfectly with her fiat: “Let it be done to me according to your word.”

  • Looking back over this day, where did I echo Mary’s “yes” in small ways—choosing patience over irritation, service over comfort, listening over distraction, especially within my family?
  • Where did I resist God’s will—through anger, selfishness, or indifference—especially toward those I am called to love most closely?
  • As I think of mothers and spiritual mothers, where did I see Mary’s style of love: attentive, persevering, quietly sacrificial, helping others closer to God?

Ask Mary: “Teach me, Mother, to keep Jesus’ commandments with your same humility and courage. Help my love become more concrete, especially at home.”

Step 4: Witness and hope – Mary, Mother of hope

Peter urges us to “always be ready to give an explanation… for your hope.” Mary stood at the Cross in a hope that did not deny suffering but trusted God’s promise beyond what she could see.

  • What kind of hope carried me today—hope grounded in Christ’s love, or in my own control, plans, and fears?
  • Did I speak or act today in a way that showed my family that God is truly present and trustworthy, even when things are difficult?
  • How have the mothers in my life, including Mary, taught me to hope: by their prayer, their endurance in trials, their forgiveness, or their quiet fidelity over many years?

Ask gently: “Mary, Mother of hope, lend me your heart, that I may stand firm in love and trust, especially in the places where my family story feels fragile or unresolved.”

Step 5: The Spirit’s anointing – Mary and the Advocate

Jesus promises the “Advocate… the Spirit of truth” who will be with us always. Mary received the Spirit at the Annunciation and prayed with the Church at Pentecost, welcoming the same Spirit for the whole Body of Christ.

  • Where in my vocation—mother, father, son, daughter, spouse, friend—do I most need the Holy Spirit’s help tonight?
  • What situation in my home needs a fresh Pentecost: reconciliation, courage for a hard conversation, guidance in parenting, healing of a wound?
  • Are there mothers, women, or families who especially need the Spirit’s consolation and strength, and whom Mary may be asking me to pray for or support?

Pray: “Come, Holy Spirit, through the heart of Mary. Anoint my family and every mother and spiritual mother. Let Your gifts blossom in our home.”

Step 6: Entrustment – Into Mary’s hands, into God’s heart

The psalm invites all the earth to “come and see the works of God” and “cry out to God with joy.” Mary magnifies these works and helps us see God’s hand in our ordinary days.

Gather your day and place it in Mary’s hands:

  • Offer her the bright moments: joys, successes, tenderness, and gratitude.
  • Offer her the dark and heavy moments: sins, failures, arguments, fears, and fatigue.
  • Offer her the people you carry: your mother, mothers you know, your spouse, children, parents, and any who feel alone or “orphaned.”

Then say: “Mary, Mother of the Church, carry these intentions to Jesus. Arrange the details I cannot fix and keep my heart close to His.”

Rest for a moment in quiet trust.

Marian closing prayer for the end of the day

Heavenly Father,
You have given us Mary as Mother of Your Son and Mother of the Church.
Through her, You show us a heart that listens, trusts, and loves without reserve.
On this Mother’s Day, I thank You for every gift of motherhood in my life—
for my own mother and all who have mothered me in faith,
for my spouse, for spiritual mothers, and for the quiet, hidden ways
You reveal Your tenderness through them.

Lord Jesus,
You promised, “I will not leave you orphans; I will come to you,”
and from the Cross You gave us Mary as our Mother.
Tonight I place myself and my family beneath her mantle.
Where there is fear, may she bring trust.
Where there is division, may she sow peace.
Where there is weariness in parenting or in daily responsibilities,
may she whisper to us the words she once spoke at Cana:
“Do whatever He tells you.”

Holy Spirit,
You overshadowed Mary so that the Word might take flesh,
and You descended upon the Church as she prayed in the upper room.
Through her intercession, come upon my home tonight.
Renew the hearts of mothers and fathers, of children and the elderly,
of the lonely, the grieving, and those who quietly carry heavy burdens.
Let Mary’s fiat echo in our hearts,
that we may welcome Your will with love and courage.

Mary, Mother of God, Mother of the Church, and my Mother,
I entrust to you this day that is ending:
my joys and my failures, my love and my lack of love,
my family, my worries, and my hopes.
Hold us close as we sleep.
Teach us tomorrow to listen more like you,
to serve more like you,
and to keep our eyes fixed on Jesus in all things.

Jesus, living Lord,
because You live, I too will live.
Through the prayer of Your Mother and ours,
draw my heart deeper into Yours
so that my home may become, little by little,
a place of Easter joy, of Marian tenderness,
and of the quiet, steady love of the Holy Spirit.

Amen.

Hail Mary…