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 "While he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion. He ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him." Luke 15:20 There is a memory I have carried for a long time, and it is not an easy one. I was a sophomore in high school. Life was full, school, sports, a job, and on Saturdays, a long list of chores to do my part and help our family of eight. One of my regular Saturday jobs was helping Gran with her grocery shopp

by Lori Wilson There are moments when it is easy to see the goodness in another person, when their kindness is evident, when their warmth reaches across a room, when love seems to simply radiate from them. And then there are other moments. Moments when someone's actions feel like the opposite of love, when everything in me wants to draw a line, to step back, to quietly place them in a category of other. I know that pull. Maybe you do too. It is a very human response—this desi

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 There are times when certain emotions become overwhelming, and I find myself needing help to understand them and to move through them with grace. In those moments, I try to remember a distinction that creates breathing room: I experience emotions, but I am not the emotion itself. I am experiencing sadness; I am not sad. I am feeling anger; I am not an angry person. This small shift in language matters. It helps me allow emotions to come and to go, like weather

by Lori Wilson I'm beginning to notice how certain weather patterns call me into a deeper stillness, into a day of true contemplation. A heavy snowfall invites me into profound quiet. I find myself noticing gifts I might otherwise take for granted - the warmth of radiators humming, coffee steaming in my hands, the weight of a blanket, the companionship of those nearby, the technology that lets me text my children and check in with friends. Snow creates this cocoon of awarenes

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 Several recent experiences have created what I call a disturbance in the force—moments that tweaked something deep within me, stirring up frustration, anger, and an unsettling I couldn't quite name. I needed time by the ocean to understand what was rising to the surface. There, in that liminal space where water meets shore, clarity came: I was feeling manipulated. We all have core desires—qualities we want to embody or experiences we deeply long for in our rela

by Lori Wilson As I become more wise (or perhaps, as I grow older and hopefully wiser), I'm learning that my life's worth doesn't lie in productivity. I am invited to be a human being, not a human doing. And yet I have spent decades as a doer, priding myself on how much I could accomplish in a day, a week, a month, a year. Jesus invites me to take care of myself, to love myself so that I can love others. I hear this clearly in his words: "Love your neighbor as yourself" (Matt

by Lori Wilson I was recently visiting my youngest daughter when we needed a tool to fix something in her home. "It's in my toolbag in the closet," she said. When I pulled it out, I was surprised by its size - much larger than mine. "We should trade toolbags," I suggested. "Mine is about a quarter this size, and I have to use a basket for the overflow." She laughed. "No thanks! I'm collecting the tools I need. I might need all that space someday." She's right, I realized. Why

by Lori Wilson A directee recently shared something that stopped me in my tracks. She had been praying with Matthew 5:13-16 - you know the passage: "You are the salt of the earth... You are the light of the world." But instead of the usual focus on being salt and light, she heard an invitation to see it. What if each person we encounter is salt and light for us? What if the person standing in front of us - this specific person, right now - has something that could illuminate

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

A Reflection for the New Year by Lori Wilson God has been speaking to me through a hymn—"The Summons" by John Bell from the Iona Community in Scotland. The questions in this song have been following me, gently persistent: Will you come and follow me if I call your name? Will you go where you don't know and never be the same? Will you let my love be shown? Will you let my Name be known? Will you let my life be grown in you and you in me? These aren't questions for the new

Let's take a breath. Let the day fall away. Whatever it took to get here—the traffic, the lists, the candles, the noise—let it rest. We begin by entering stillness, not as an escape, but as an opening. Because even in the rush of this Advent season, God is here—waiting to be noticed. The psalmist knew this truth and invites us into it. This is Psalm 46, verse 10: "Be still, and know that I am God." Be Still and Know that I Am. Be Still and Know. Be Still. BE! Like Mary, w

by Lori Wilson As Advent begins, our hearts turn to Mary and Joseph - to their costly yes. When the angel Gabriel came to Mary, she didn't understand. "How can this be?" she asked (Luke 1:34). She was being invited to risk everything - her reputation, her safety, her certainty about what life would be. Her parents' dreams for her. Joseph's trust. The simple future she'd imagined. And yet she said yes: "I am the Lord's servant. May your word to me be fulfilled" (Luke 1:38). Jo

by Lori Wilson "To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven." These words from Ecclesiastes keep echoing in my heart this fall. I live in the northeastern United States, where we have the blessing of four distinct seasons—each beautiful, each different. And yet, if I'm honest, I catch myself complaining. The heat and humidity of summer. The fleeting nature of spring. The bitter cold and ice of winter. And fall? Fall is usually the hardest season

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