Co-parenting, family stress, and personal relationships all have a way of stirring our emotions faster than anything else in life. A tone of voice, the wrong look, or a misunderstood comment can send the heart racing and the mind into overdrive. We start reading motives, assuming intentions, and judging situations before we ever pause to breathe.

But when I opened 1 Corinthians 2, something shifted.

There was a night — one I’m not proud of, but one I’ll never forget — when I sat at a table with tarot cards, crystals, candles, and a desperation that felt louder than any prayer I had ever prayed. I was trying to talk to “spirits,” trying to force blessings out of shadows, trying to find riches, success, and meaning through whatever voice would answer.

It’s hard to see your own life spelled out like that. Hard to admit that you’ve been moving through the world without a safety net: no friend circle, estranged biological family, no regular community, no one checking in, no one to lean on. I co-parent, I raise my son, I try to be his example — but in the quiet moments I realize I don’t have an example of my own.

Lately I’ve been watching my son bounce between us, trying to figure out the rules of his world. And without even realizing it, he has learned something powerful:

If he expresses a big emotion, he can change the plan.

At seven, kids are still figuring out how to navigate the world. They’re suddenly aware of their peers, their image, and the way others see them. Faith — something so personal and sacred to parents — can easily become tangled in a child’s desire to “fit in.”

My ex-wife has struggled with a relationship that has ended and restarted more times than I can count. Her friends see the red flags. Her family does. I do. She even sees them herself—she has shared the pain, the drama, the disappointment.

But then something pulls her back.

the more I read St Faustina, and her relationship to the child Jesus, the more I understood that God wasn’t inviting me to become stronger, louder, or more “in control.”

He was inviting me to become smaller.

Not smaller in dignity — but smaller in trust, simplicity, and dependence on God, the way a child rests safely in the arms of a loving parent.

Scripture doesn’t give us models.
It gives us mirrors — men with tempers, flaws, lust, cowardice, pride, fear…
and a God who still calls them, forms them, and refuses to leave them behind.

Today, people talk about “finding feathers,” “seeing signs,” “receiving messages,” or “the universe sending signals.” But Catholic teaching — and the saints who fought real spiritual battles — warn us that these curiosities can become traps.

Over the past few years, American culture has shifted in a strange way. I keep noticing people — especially far-right voices, influencers, and commentators — suddenly talking about Catholic devotions like the Holy Face, Fatima, the Rosary, or “end times.” Some of it feels sincere… but some of it feels off.