1/21 đź§µ
On this day—August 4th, 1944—the Secret Annex was raided. Anne Frank and seven others were arrested by the Gestapo. Their two years in hiding ended with the heavy sound of boots on the stairs. It was the beginning of the end.
2/21
They had hidden for 25 months. Otto and Edith Frank, their daughters Margot and Anne. Hermann, Auguste, and Peter van Pels. And Fritz Pfeffer. All betrayed. All taken. The annex was silent once more.
3/21
Anne was just 15 years old, but she had already known exile, persecution, and fear. Her family had fled Nazi Germany. They were Jews in Amsterdam, slowly squeezed by laws and hatred until they vanished into a secret world.
4/21
The annex wasn’t silent. Not really. Behind the bookcase door were voices, footsteps, arguments, meals, prayers, and whispers. A family trying to survive. A girl trying to grow up.
5/21
Anne wrote everything down. First as a diary to her imaginary friend “Kitty.” Later, she rewrote her entries, dreaming of publishing a book after the war.
She wanted to become a journalist. She wanted to live.
6/21
She wrote because she couldn’t be heard. She wrote because she believed life still meant something. Her pages are full of longing and laughter, jealousy and joy. She was so young—and so achingly alive.
7/21
Anne was sharp and funny. She argued with her mother. She wondered if Peter liked her. She tried to understand God. She felt the walls of the annex closing in, but she kept writing.
8/21
“In spite of everything,” she wrote, “I still believe that people are really good at heart.”
“I don’t want to have lived in vain like most people.”
She didn’t.
9/21
On August 4th, Anne’s diary was left behind. Miep Gies, one of the people who had helped hide them, found it after the arrest. She didn’t read it. She saved it in the hope of returning it to Anne.
10/21
But Anne never came back.
After their arrest, the Franks were sent to Westerbork transit camp, then Auschwitz. That was the last place Anne saw her father.
11/21
Anne and Margot were later transported to Bergen-Belsen, where the conditions were horrific. Both sisters died there—likely of typhus—in early 1945. Margot first. Then Anne. She was just 15.
12/21
Their mother, Edith, died of starvation in Auschwitz in January 1945. The van Pels family and Fritz Pfeffer all perished.
Only Otto Frank, Anne’s father, survived.
13/21
When Otto returned to Amsterdam, Miep gave him Anne’s diary. He read it—slowly, painfully—and decided it needed to be shared.
Anne had wanted to be a writer. Otto helped make that happen.
14/21
The Diary of Anne Frank was first published in Dutch in 1947. Since then, it has been translated into more than 70 languages. Millions have read it. Many have wept over it. Some found hope in it.
15/21
Anne did not write for sympathy. She wrote to be understood. She wrote to become who she was. That’s why her voice still speaks so clearly. She was not an idea or a cause. She was a daughter. A sister. A writer. A girl.
16/21
She belonged to a people who have suffered much—and still do. As Christians, we must never forget this. We must stand against antisemitism, hatred, and the lies that made the Holocaust possible.
Never again must mean never again.
17/21
And still, even now, Anne’s words invite us back to ourselves. To ask what we are doing with the time we’re given. To ask whether we’re honest, whether we’re brave, whether we believe in goodness—even in the dark.
18/21
She reminds us that suffering doesn’t cancel dignity. That a soul is still a soul even when the world turns away. That writing, art, truth, and faith can survive locked doors.
Sometimes, even beyond death.
19/21
Anne Frank didn’t live to become a woman. But she lived long enough to become a witness.
And through the words she left behind, she still lives. A girl. A writer. A voice.
20/21
May her memory be a blessing.
May we learn to listen to the ones the world forgets. May we have the courage to protect what is fragile, and the wisdom to recognize that holiness often hides in small, quiet lives.
21/21
Today is August 4th. Anne Frank was taken 81 years ago today.
She is not forgotten.
Not by the God who made her. Not by the generations who have read her words. Not by those who still choose hope.
And never by those who love the light.
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1/26 đź§µ
I don’t know who this is for.
Maybe just one person.
But I’ve been praying, and I feel this thread is for someone who’s carrying sadness—quietly, deeply, and alone.
Please read slowly. This is a message of hope.
You are not alone.
2/26
I’m speaking especially to young adults:
High schoolers. College students. Those in trades or the military. Or figuring life out in other ways.
But this thread is for everyone.
Because sadness doesn’t ask your age. It just arrives.
3/26
I’m not talking about grief you post about.
I mean the kind you keep private.
Maybe someone broke your heart.
Or a dream fell apart.
Or you feel guilt for something no one else knows.
Or you just feel… low. And you don’t know why.
1/18 đź§µ
A Protestant woman recently wrote: “Mary is not the Queen of Heaven or the greatest of all creation… even Jesus said John the Baptist was the greatest to be born of a woman.”
Let’s take that seriously—and walk through it as the historic Church has done for 2,000 years.
1/15 đź§µ
Someone recently said:
“No one who objectively reads the Bible becomes Roman Catholic.”
Let’s pause here. Not to dunk on them. Not to argue. But to walk through what this reveals about how many people misunderstand Christianity itself.
2/15
The Church doesn’t begin with a book.
The Church begins with a Person.
A Person who walked, and healed, and taught, and died, and rose again.
The New Testament was not placed in the Apostles’ hands—it was written down by them and those they taught.
3/15
Christianity is not a Bible study.
It is a lived, sacramental, communal, apostolic faith.
It was passed on by people laying hands on others. Baptizing. Breaking bread. Preaching. Suffering.
Long before a single Christian held a bound New Testament.
1/14 đź§µ
Today, we walk with Saint Ignatius of Loyola—a man whose life began in the world’s glory, but ended in God’s. His journey takes us from castles and cannon fire to hospitals and holy poverty. Come with me. Let’s meet the soldier who became a saint.
2/14
Ignatius was born in 1491 in the Basque region of Spain, into nobility. He was the youngest of thirteen. His early life was marked by pride, ambition, and a hunger for war and romance. His heroes were knights—not saints.
3/14
He lived for honor. And when war broke out between Spain and France, he fought to defend the city of Pamplona. A cannonball shattered his leg. That moment changed everything. God used the very thing that broke him to begin healing him.
1/12 đź§µ
Tonight’s first reading is from Exodus 34:29–35.
We meet Moses coming down from Mount Sinai… and something has changed. His face is radiant. He doesn’t even know it. But those who see him know. And they’re afraid. Let’s walk through this moment together, slowly, and ask what it means for us.
2/12
This is the second time Moses comes down the mountain. The first time, he found Israel in sin—with the golden calf. The covenant was shattered. But now he returns with new tablets, restored by mercy. And this time, something of God’s glory has remained with him.
3/12
Exodus 34:29 says, “Moses did not know that the skin of his face was radiant because he had been talking with the Lord.”
He didn’t try to glow. He didn’t even know he was glowing.
That’s what real holiness is like—quiet, unselfconscious, born from encounter.
1/14 đź§µ
Today I want to answer a question that comes up often: If God is not gendered, why do we call God “he”? And how does the Incarnation of Jesus Christ—a male human being—fit into that? Let’s walk through this slowly and carefully, together.
2/14
The historic Christian faith—East and West—teaches that God is pure spirit (John 4:24). God is not gendered. The divine essence of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit is one: eternal, invisible, unchangeable. Gender is a creaturely reality.
3/14
We call God “Father” because that is how Jesus himself spoke of God. It is revealed language. It’s not a human metaphor we applied later—it is how the Son spoke of the One who begot him before all ages (John 17:5, John 10:30).