I'm convinced that Bl. Nicolas Steno had ADHD.

I can't know for sure, of course. But Steno (1638-1686) could NOT focus. He wanted nothing more than to devote himself to the study of medicine, but he kept getting distracted—and then hyperfocusing on some new discipline. It drove him nuts, to the point that he wrote, “I pray, thee, oh God, take this plague from me and free my soul of all distraction, to work on one thing alone, and to make myself familiar with the tables of medicine alone.”

And God said no.

Rather than turning our eyes away from the evil being wrought in Ukraine, rather than merely looking on with a sense of futility, let’s ask the intercession of the Saints of Ukraine (some of whom know the dangers of Russian aggression, having themselves fallen victim to it). St. Olga of Kyiv (d. 969) was the queen whose conversion ultimately brought the people of Russia, Belarus, and Ukraine to Jesus. As a pagan, she raised her son to be cruel and cunning—a strategy that backfired when she converted and discovered him to be unconvertible.

In Mt 26:6, Jesus ate at the home of "Simon the leper."

I wonder if Simon still had leprosy. Maybe he'd been healed but they all still called him what they'd called him before. Or maybe he was still a leper. Maybe Jesus hadn't healed him and Simon had to learn again and... again to trust a Messiah who blessed other people and not him. Maybe he wrestled with this daily, learning to love a God who refused his prayers. Still, he had so much to be grateful for. Though he still suffered, was still so often ostracized, he had been restored to community.

I'm praying for Afghanistan. For the ones who choose to stay. For the ones who have to stay. For those trying to get out and for the people getting them out.⁣
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For those last groups, an intercessor:⁣
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Servant of God Leonard LaRue.⁣ You may have heard about him: the U.S. Merchant Marine who threw his weapons into the sea to make room for refugees from North Korea, who sailed across the ocean defenseless with 14,000 desperate souls crammed into a ship so full it was barely afloat.⁣

Happy feast of St. Vitalis of Gaza, a hermit who spent the last years of his life with a different prostitute every night.

Yup. A 7th-century hermit, Vitalis lived in the desert until he was 60, when he moved to Alexandria to work as a day laborer, earning only enough money to hire a different prostitute each night.

To the prodigal's older brother when he comes home for Christmas:

It is good that he is here.

It's good that he's in your parking spot, in your pew. If he's wearing a jersey, if she's wearing a crop top, it is good that they are here. I know the chatter in the church can be frustrating. I know it feels like your home has been invaded by interlopers who haven't put in the time or earned the right to be here.

Nobody has a right to be here. It's all gift. It's all grace.

cw: suicide

Last week I visited the grave of Servant of God Vincent Capodanno, the Grunt Padre, who was a marine chaplain and also worked with people at risk of suicide. That afternoon I visited Servant of God Dorothy Day, a survivor of two suicide attempts. This was just after the feast of St. Therese, who had suicidal ideations, and just before the feast of Bl. Bartolo Longo, who nearly killed himself because he felt he was too sinful to be saved.

10 years ago I entered the convent. I quit my job, said goodbye to everyone I loved, and gave away everything I owned.

9 years and 9 months ago I left the convent.

Leaving was harder. The whole time I was there, trying to ignore how wrong it all felt, how hopeless I was (a good sign something's not God's will), there was a fear: not just that I would fail to persevere in God's will but that I would leave and everybody would think I had failed.