Saint Sylvester I — The Saint of the Threshold
As the world rushes toward midnight — counting down, reflecting, resolving — the Church pauses to honor a man who did none of those things loudly.
Saint Sylvester I stands at one of the greatest turning points in Christian history, yet history remembers him not for thunder, but for steadiness.
He was not a martyr.
He did not found an order.
He did not write a great theological treatise.
And yet, the Church places him at the very edge of the year.
That is not an accident.
St. Thomas Becket — When Responsibility Changes You
St. Thomas Becket has always struck me as a strange kind of saint — not because he was wild or extreme, but because his conversion was quiet, rational, and costly in ways most people don’t expect.
He wasn’t raised in a monastery.
He wasn’t a mystic chasing visions.
He wasn’t even particularly religious at first.
He was educated. Capable. Successful.
A man who understood how the world worked.
And that’s what makes him relatable.
Meeting People Where They Are: Zeal, Maturity, and the Journey Into the Father
There’s a moment in every believer’s life when the Lord quietly pulls back the curtain and lets us see why we act the way we do. Not in a shaming way, but in the tender, fatherly correction that only God can give. I had one of those moments recently in my Catholic study group.
For months I’ve been wrestling with my zeal—zeal for the truth, zeal for defending the faith, zeal for keeping our group rooted in solid doctrine. When someone shared questionable prophecies or said something emotionally driven, my instinct was to correct it fast. Sometimes out of love, sometimes out of fear, sometimes out of frustration. I felt like I had to protect God or defend the Church.
But the Lord, in His Fatherly patience, revealed something deeper to me this week.
Human Dignity vs. Production Culture When Efficiency Replaces the Soul
There is a kind of evil that does not look dramatic.
It doesn’t announce itself with cruelty or hatred.
It arrives quietly, wearing the language of success, productivity, and “how things are done.”
It is the moment when a human being is no longer seen as a person—but as a function.
Recently, comedian Jim Breuer described the most disturbing thing he ever witnessed in Hollywood. It wasn’t scandal, vulgarity, or excess. It was watching a man clearly breaking—emotionally, spiritually, physically—and realizing that everyone around him knew… and no one stopped.
Not because they were unaware.
But because stopping would cost something.
That is not just a cultural problem.
From a Catholic perspective, it is a direct violation of human dignity.
From Creator, to Lord, to Father: My Journey Through the Dark Night into Sonship
There are seasons in the spiritual life where God feels near, and seasons where He feels silent. There are moments when faith feels like fire, and moments when it feels like ashes. But sometimes—very quietly—God is not abandoning; He is transforming.
As I’ve been learning more about the teaching of the Dark Night of the Soul, something in me has begun to make sense. Not in the mind alone, but in the heart. I can look back now and see a pattern I didn’t notice before: the way God slowly revealed Himself to me in stages. Not because He changed, but because I did.
What began as a cry to a distant Creator became a relationship with a saving Lord. And now, almost unexpectedly, it has become a whisper in my soul: “Say Father.”
This blog is that story.
When Zeal Turns into Noise: What 1 Kings 19 Taught Me About Pride and the Quiet of God
There are days when the air itself feels different — when grace settles on things that once were chaotic. Today was one of those days. And inside that peace, I felt something unsettling: a nervousness, like I didn’t know how to function without the fight.
That’s when 1 Kings 19 hit me hard. And even more — Jesus’ own disciples mirrored the same pattern.
Elijah’s Zeal — and the Subtle Pride Behind “I Alone Am Left”
“When the Storm Isn’t Mine Anymore: Reaching for Christ in Co-Parenting Chaos”
There are seasons in co-parenting when the emotional weather changes without warning. Plans shift, promises wobble, people you depend on become unpredictable, and suddenly your week becomes a moving target. For years, that unpredictability triggered resentment in me — a reflex born from feeling responsible for everything yet powerless to change anything.
But something different happened recently.
The storm came — same patterns, same chaos — yet I felt something I haven’t felt before:
I wasn’t drowning in it.
I was near the storm… but not in it.