Category: Behold Vancouver

In 2014, I knelt in the pew at the Easter Vigil Mass having just been confirmed in the Church moments before. Many months of prayer, study, and conversion culminated at that moment, and my heart fluttered with excitement at the thought of receiving the Eucharist for the first time. 

The emotions I experienced during this Mass were intense. Despite my deep-seated fear of discerning my vocation, the rush of devotion I felt made me pray more sincerely than I ever have, “Lord, I will do whatever you want me to do, even if it means the religious life or married life or being a missionary. I’ll do it.”

For the first few years after becoming Catholic, my new faith stirred my emotions almost constantly. At Mass, singing “Lamb of God” brought me to tears every week. Once, while praying at Eucharistic Adoration, I suddenly experienced a very real, overwhelming sense of being embraced by Jesus as he welcomed me home. And when I went to Confession, if acknowledging where I’ve fallen short of God’s hopes for me didn’t make me feel loved by a merciful God, then the priest’s beautiful prayer of absolution certainly did.

I not only believed and appreciated the beauty of my new faith, but I also felt the beauty of Jesus Christ and the Catholic Church deeply in my soul. 

But a few years after my initial conversion, I began to notice a gradual, creeping spiritual desolation — a sense of abandonment and darkness and a loss of the strong feelings of love and devotion I’d had early in my conversion. I still loved God, of course, perhaps even more than in years prior, but I felt less emotionally moved by that love. I left the confessional feeling hollow — like I’d heard the words of absolution with my ears, but not with my heart. In fact, I quite literally felt nothing, no matter the Sacrament, prayer, or devotion.

RELATED: How Finding a Spiritual Director Changed My Life

I became frustrated and confused, thinking this was some fault of my own. But my spiritual director reassured me that faith is not about our feelings, but about fidelity. He likened my relationship with Christ to a human relationship: We “fall in love,” and the beloved is all we can think about. We’re walking on air whenever we’re around them. But after a few months or years, those feelings subside, and then the real work of love begins: loving even when we don’t feel the emotional consolation of that love.

Thankfully, the truth of our faith isn’t contingent on our emotions. Still, experiencing this spiritual desolation can be a bit unnerving and confusing.

Sometimes the hardest thing to give up for Lent isn’t chocolate or coffee – it’s something good. Something that has become too important.

Earlier this year, I gave up running for Lent.

I know, I know. Running is healthy. For years, it was one of the best tools I had to manage anxiety. It gave me joy, balance, and even a sense of triumph as I crossed finish lines and set personal bests. How could that possibly be something to “give up”?

Over time, though, I noticed how much running had taken hold of me. When I had to miss a week, I felt withdrawal. Training for one marathon turned into four in three years. A few weekly runs grew into seven days straight, sometimes over 100 kilometers a week. At my peak, I was running more hours than a part-time job.

I tried to make it spiritual. I prayed the Rosary on runs, and even started an Instagram account called Running with Jesus. But the truth was, running often came first — before prayer, before my wife, before my kids.

In early 2025, I was preparing for the London Marathon. I wanted it to be my fastest ever. Training was going well until I pushed too far and aggravated an injury in my knee. I ran 36 days without a day off, and my body was starting to break down.

The day before Ash Wednesday, I went to a physiotherapist. His advice? Stop running.

I was devastated. My reaction revealed just how much I had come to depend on running. And suddenly, Lent had begun – without running.

At first, I fought it. Wasn’t this good for me? Didn’t it make me healthier? Why would God take away something I loved?

But in the silence, God was patient. He showed me that my attachment to running had slipped out of balance. Friends and mentors spoke gently to me, helping me name what was happening: I wasn’t just injured physically. I was also spiritually out of step.

I began asking questions I had avoided:

Why am I working so hard? Why do I need to perform? Why can’t I slow down?

The truth was painful: I believed I only had value if I achieved. My self-worth was tied to performance, to proving that I could do more, faster, better.

Injuries teach us something about limits. Online articles attributed common causes of my injury to “training error” — too much, too fast. Spiritually, it was the same: trying to prove my worth at all costs.

But Jesus met me there. As I slowed down, He began to heal more than my knee.

Psalm 115 says, “Not to us, Lord, not to us, but to your name be the glory.” Bobby Angel applies this wisdom to the weight room. It may seem like a stretch, but remembering God when we’re working out is vital to our spiritual and physical health. 

Getting in shape can be euphoric and boost your self-esteem, but we need to remember temperance even here, because we don’t want to become like Narcissus who became enamored by his own image. Bobby mentions that it’s possible to be a “glutton of the gym”, and remaining humble in the eyes of the Lord will lead to many more important victories than will the body of a Spartan. 

Make prayer an integral part of your life. 

Check out Ascension’s study, Oremus: A Guide to Catholic Prayer (https://bit.ly/2Mcdea1). 

Vanity is not what many people think it is. It can come in many forms, and is not necessarily an infatuation with yourself. Vanity is an inordinate preoccupation with what other people think about you—which is different. 

It’s important, to an extent, to care what others think about you. It can even be charitable. But when this care becomes unbalanced, it leads to neglecting more important things. 

Wanting to be noticed can be vain, but not wanting to be noticed can also be vain. When you shrink back and don’t want anyone to look at you, it can be a form of vanity or false humility; because not wanting to be seen can be an indication that you care an inordinate amount about what people think of you. 

Vanity can also cause an unwillingness to share the Faith. Many times we think sharing the gospel will make people think less of us. How many times has the thought of what other people think prevented you from sharing the Faith? 

Balance is pertinent in every aspect of vanity, and the best way to achieve that balance is to care about what God thinks of you above all. 

These sayings about humility really sum it up well, since humility is the antidote to vanity: “Humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less” (Rick Warren, The Purpose-Driven Life). 

“If you meet a really humble man … He will not be thinking about humility: he will not be thinking about himself at all” (C.S. Lewis).

In the past year, I’ve endeavoured to dig a little deeper into the ethos of our family culture. With my “mom brain” slowly lifting out of the sleep-deprived fog of the diaper years, and entering into a new season of school-aged youngsters, I am challenged more than ever to usher in this era of life with intentionality and focus. 

I started with going through Tsh Oxenreider’s Rule of Life workshop, inspired by St. Benedict’s efforts to notate his monastic community’s daily habits to cultivate virtue. Through this exercise, I was able to write down a Rule of Life for my own family, a tool that my husband and I can often return to and reference as we make decisions – big and small –  for our family.

I examined five areas in our family life: Worship, Work, Study, Hospitality and Renewal. I wrote down statements and identified habits that our family can commit to in order to cultivate virtue in those particular areas. My husband and I also discussed and identified a few family core values to use as a guiding post as we shape our family’s worldview.

Having a Rule of Life for our family allows us the freedom to shape our core values and guide the process of knowing where and how to invest our time, our attention, and our finances. We want to cultivate Christ-centered virtue and integrity right into the roots of our identity so that our kids can be influenced by the right things, and not discipled by popular culture. We want to be resilient in this always-changing world, and having a family Rule helps us feel anchored whenever life gets overwhelming.  

I won’t do a deep dive into the entirety of our Rule of Life; instead, I have highlighted 3 areas in our family’s Rule as well as some of the practical ways that we live them out in our daily life. 

Worship

We are an ecumenical household and we are committed to leading each other to Jesus and His Church. We encourage each member in their own unique expression of faith practices and devotions. 

Because we are an ecumenical household (I am a practicing Catholic while my husband is a member of a local evangelical church), we are often faced with faith-related decisions for our family. For example, we have chosen to send our kids to a Christian school where they can gain foundational knowledge of the Christian faith. Additionally, we have also committed to a weeknight Catechism class at our parish to learn about the Catholic Church and prepare to receive the Sacraments. My husband and I also take turns with bedtime routines so that we can attend our own men’s and women’s groups (respectively) once a week.

How do I fit in prayer with my busy schedule?

Fr. Mike shares some practical advice for fitting in prayer when you feel you don’t have time. He also explains the importance of having a plan by sharing these three questions: Where am I going to pray? When am I going to pray? How am I going to pray?

In this episode of The Catholic Money Show, host Jonathan Teixeira dives into the intriguing concept of a “Catholic economy” with esteemed guest Henry Kutarna, an experienced economist and founder of the Catholic CEO. Together, they explore how Catholics can unite to support each other’s businesses, fostering economic strength and cultural influence while upholding shared faith values. Tune in for insights on practical measures, community bonds, and the long-term vision for a thriving Catholic economic network.

“I kneel before the Father, that He may grant you in accord with the riches of His glory to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in the inner self, and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; that you, rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the holy ones what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.” —Ephesians 3:14, 16-19

I am a people pleaser. Having people appreciating me and my works can be a source of joy but, when I fail to measure up, it can also be a source of anxiety and despair. As a wife and mother, my main preoccupations involve caring for my family, cleaning my home, and preparing meals. These are the daily tasks that can’t be left neglected, and yet they are not the only tasks that demand my attention. There are the extra obligations, commitments, and my own personal endeavors that fill the empty spaces in my daily routine. Together, these endless lists of things to do can be overwhelming, especially for someone whose goal is to please those around her.

I carry the expectations of my husband, of my friends, and of society as the standard of my work, endeavouring to reach the bar they’ve set for me or the one that I’ve imagined they’ve set. In an effort to please, I become obsessed with this performance, falsely believing that as long as I perform well, I will be appreciated and loved.

This pursuit stretches me thin and fills me with excess anxiety and stress. It sucks the joy and peace out of me, perverting the very objective of my labours. Instead of being the gift of love I’ve intended, my offering becomes tainted by self-righteousness. Although well-intended, I unknowingly become like the Pharisees. Through pleasing people, my daily pursuits take a subtle shift towards idolatry. 

As I write them, these words shock me. Idolatry? Pharisees? How could this be when I pour my heart and soul into serving those around me? 

With the morning sun, warm and welcoming, God’s wisdom speaks: do not for love of man, but for love of Me. How could I have muddled the lines between serving others and serving God? The Lord calls us to see Him in those we serve, loving all, treating even strangers the way we’d treat Him. And yet, my reason for serving gets lost somewhere along the way. 

Seek to please Me, not the world. Love Me through loving others, not through the pursuit of recognition or praise.

Who is orchestrating your life? If it’s God—and not you—what will you say to him? Fr. Mike suggests trying “yes.” 

Whether life circumstances bring the best out of you or the worst out of you, you need Jesus more than you think you do. And that is a very good thing. Here’s why.