by Lori Wilson As I sat with a directee this week, I was struck by her comment—it became my quote of the day. With a playful, loving voice, she said, "God is such a show-off!" I asked her to tell me more. She shared that she'd been praying about her word for the year and had asked God that very morning to confirm it was the right one. As she described what had been unfolding over the past month, I responded, "Let's savor how open you've been to hear God's voice in different p

by Lori Wilson Easter has come and gone — and maybe you, like me, are quietly wondering why joy hasn't quite arrived yet. The sunrise service was beautiful. The music swelled. The lilies were luminous. Families gathered, children hunted eggs, and the liturgy proclaimed what we believe with our whole hearts: He is risen. And yet — here I am, the morning after, still sitting somewhere close to the empty tomb. Not in despair. Just... waiting. I don't think I'm alone in this. In

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