by Lori Wilson I was talking with a pilot today. The weather had forced him down, and he had to wait a day to get home. Instead of fuming over the delay, he found a local Catholic church with no line for confession and made the most of the time. As he talked about staying at peace with the wind, about not letting the delay decide his mood, I found myself back in the cockpit of a different plane, decades ago. I was in tenth grade. My best friend's father owned a small two-pers

by Lori Wilson As I listened to the Gospel one Sunday in April, I recognized myself. I am Thomas, at least some of the time. I question things. How do you know? Show me. Where did you hear that? Asking for more information has never felt like a character flaw to me. It's simply how I'm wired. And I've come to believe that God made me this way on purpose. So when I hear Jesus' response to Thomas, I don't hear rebuke so much as invitation. Come. See. Touch. Know. I have had mom

by Lori Wilson I have been sitting with a question lately, the kind that won’t let me go. In Matthew 16, Jesus turns to his disciples and asks, "Who do people say that I am?" The answers come quickly. John the Baptist. Elijah. Jeremiah. One of the prophets. But then Jesus narrows it, makes it personal: "But who do you say that I am?" Simon Peter answers without hesitation. And in return, Jesus tells Peter who he is. You are Peter. On this rock I will build my church. I love t

A Reflection on Pentecost and the Gifts We've Left Unopened by Lori Wilson I've been thinking about that upper room. Imagine it, the disciples huddled together behind locked doors, grief still raw, confusion still thick in the air. Jesus had risen, yes. They had seen him. And still, they were afraid. Afraid of what the authorities might do. Afraid, perhaps, of what it would mean to actually step out and be who he had called them to be. Fear has a way of keeping us small, doe

by Lori Wilson Recently, I descended into Indian Echo Caverns in Pennsylvania—just 100 feet below the surface, yet it felt like entering another world entirely. Our small group moved through narrow passages and vast chambers, our guide's voice echoing off ancient stone. Then, at one point deep in the cave, he turned out the lights. The darkness was absolute. Complete. I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. And the silence—it wasn't just the absence of sound but something

by Lori Wilson I've spent this week at the Atlantic Ocean, and I find myself reluctant to leave. I live beside Long Island Sound, and there's something about being near big water that opens me to the sacred. On my kayak, or walking the shoreline, I feel the closeness of God in ways that don't always come as easily in other places. This week, as I walked contemplating the ocean's immensity, six dolphins appeared, swimming in the same direction I was walking. I felt their compa

by Lori Wilson I had coffee with a friend last week, and halfway through our conversation, he paused and said, "But what do you actually need right now, Lori?" The question stopped me. Not "How are you?" Not "What's new?" But what do you need? I realized I'd been talking around everything—updating him on tasks, sharing stories, filling the space—without really saying what was true. His question created an opening. It invited me past the surface into something more real. And s

by Lori Wilson There's a prayer I return to most evenings, one that helps me close my day by looking back with God's eyes rather than my own. It's called the Ignatian Examen, and it's become less of a spiritual exercise and more of a sacred conversation—a way of letting God show me what matters in the hours I've just lived. The beauty of this prayer is that I'm not alone in it. I don't sit down and force myself to replay my day like rewinding a movie, cataloging every moment

by Lori Wilson "When you see my husband on the corner, or my brother or my son, please treat them with respect." Sometimes God speaks to us through the voices of those we least expect to be our teachers. Sometimes the Divine allows our hearts to be broken not to destroy us, but to expand our capacity to love like God loves. The Sacred Art of Letting Go Life presents us with countless opportunities for letting go - our children leaving home, our identities shifting, our perspe