God gives the world enough of what it needs. All He asks is that we distribute what He gives.

I want to see beauty. In the ugly, in the sink, in the suffering, in the daily, in all the days before I die, the moments before I sleep.

In a world addicted to speed, I blur the moments into one unholy smear.

Life is so urgent it necessitates living slow.

Is the height of my chara joy dependent on the depths of my eucharisteo thanks?

No one told me that it would all happen at the same hallowed time: Mothering is at once the hardest and the holiest and the happiest.

Thanksgiving creates abundance; and the miracle of multiplying happens when I give thanks-take the just one loaf, say it is enough, and give thanks-and He miraculously makes it more than enough.