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Loving is hard. It may sound blunt to begin this way, but it is true. As human beings, we often find it easier to love when we know that love will be returned, when it feels safe and mutual. Yet, our understanding of this four-letter word is often incomplete, even as we walk down the aisle toward the altar. To love as Jesus Christ loves is far more demanding; it calls us to give of ourselves fully, sacrificially, and with deep intention.

This past month, while organizing a Lenten couples’ renewal retreat for sixteen couples, I witnessed something powerful: it is possible for two imperfect people to truly love one another. Not perfectly, but faithfully, choosing each other again and again through failures, challenges, and growth. The Sacrament of Matrimony invites couples into this deeper love, one that reflects Christ’s own steadfast, self-giving, and transformative love.

The illusion of “butterflies” does not last long for most of us. The excitement of a romantic, movie‑like love is often short-lived. As we gather with other couples, we begin to realize that, although each marriage is its own unique world, many of our struggles are strikingly similar. We may think we are alone in our difficulties, but we are not. It is only natural for two different people to experience disagreements, moments of resentment, and even doubt. Yet marriage is a sacred journey, a covenant sealed by God. As St. Paul teaches in his Letter to the Ephesians, Christian marriage reflects the love between Christ and the Church: a love that is faithful, fruitful, and everlasting.

We come to understand that love is not merely a feeling, but a choice, a virtue. It is the daily decision to will the good of one’s spouse, even when it comes at a cost. In his Letter to Titus, St. Paul encourages older women to guide the younger in loving their husbands and children. This love is not sentimental; it is active and intentional. This can be especially difficult when there has been coldness, pain, wounds, lack of communication, or financial strain, burdens that slowly build and can at times feel impossible to overcome.

How many of us struggle? How many of us who struggle truly pray? Prayer must become a daily habit within the family. Marriages are under constant pressure, and we must remember that division, chaos, and separation do not come from God. The Catechism describes prayer as the “lifeblood of the soul.” Imagine what that can do for a marriage. When our minds are open and our hearts are rooted in prayer, the burden of loving becomes lighter. We begin to see one another through a different lens.

The world offers many opinions about marriage, often centered on personal fulfillment, yet this perspective can ultimately lead to emptiness. The Church teaches that love is sacrificial and it is precisely through this sacrifice that grace flourishes. In the vocation of marriage, there are days of both tears and laughter, but we are never alone.

During the retreat, after the exposition of the Blessed Sacrament, we prepared a special dinner surprise for the couples. The men entered first, followed by the women. What unfolded was something truly beautiful. Later, our pastor described it as “a glimpse of heaven.” There were tears, embraces, and genuine happiness. It was a powerful reminder of God’s design; His perfect plan in uniting two imperfect people. God knew we were capable of loving, of growing spiritually, and of leading one another toward heaven, one sacrifice at a time.

God trusts us to bring one another closer to Him and that is the ultimate goal. No one ever said it would be easy. Some of us are just beginning the journey, others are in the middle, and some have walked many years together. Yet all of us, in one way or another, have experienced both the difficulties and the blessings that come with this vocation. In those moments, we are called to remember the words spoken before the altar, the promises made not only to one another, but to God.

Thus, we continue, imperfect yet faithful, learning day by day what it means to love more deeply, more selflessly, more like Jesus Christ. Because loving is hard, but it is also sacred, refining, and ultimately, the very path that leads us home.

Leiri Bocanegra

Leiri Bocanegra was born in Villalba, Puerto Rico but now resides in Massachusetts with her Husband and four children. Leiri and her husband Gustavo met in their parish youth group, “Agape,” and have been serving together ever since! You can usually find them singing together at church events and retreats! Leiri works as the Coordinator of Outreach and Evangelization for St. Mary’s Parish in Cambridge, Massachusetts.  She also has a nursing background in both Geriatrics and Pediatrics. She has been a member of the Holy Family Institute for six years and enjoys Family Ministry. Her biggest accomplishment has been becoming a mother.  She enjoys being able to use social platforms to help other Catholic mothers connect and assist one another through the wonderful vocation of motherhood!

In our house, you would be in trouble for not putting your plate in the dishwasher. In our house, you would be in big trouble for traipsing across the kitchen floor in dirty work boots. In our house, you would risk something close to excommunication if you left a wet towel on the bed!

All homes have house rules and regulations. The rules may be a little more relaxed if you live by yourself, nevertheless, rules learned from your parents become self-imposed rules that help life run a little more smoothly.

The same is true in society. There are rules and regulations, only we call them laws. They serve a similar purpose: to ensure an orderly and harmonious way of living together, and to safeguard respect, fairness, and equality for everyone. About three thousand years ago, Moses received the moral law from God in the form of the Ten Commandments. These commandments were not meant to be a burden but a gift. They are traditionally divided into two parts: the first three commandments guide our relationship with God, and the remaining seven govern how we are to treat one another. From this, an important question naturally arises: What is to be gained by keeping these commandments? We know what comes from obeying the rules of our home—a cleaner house and fewer arguments. We know what comes from obeying the laws of society—a more peaceful and just community. So, what do the Ten Commandments ultimately give us?

Some years ago, a business expert wrote a compelling book about the seven main habits of successful people. The book sold millions. In the book, the author identified patterns of behavior common to people who tend to succeed in life. One reason the book resonated so deeply is that the principles described align with human nature—they simply make sense. The second habit described is this: Begin with the end in mind. We actually do this quite a bit. When we get into a car, we make our first turn based on where we intend to end up. When we choose a career, we select our path of education with a vision of fulfilling that purpose. So what about life itself?  How often do we consciously think about the final destination of our lives? Every morning when we step out of bed, we stand one day closer to our eternal destination and Jesus invites us to live each day with Heaven as our goal.

The commandments are not outdated rules; they are a roadmap pointing us toward both the life for which we are created and the destination in which we are heading. To get there, Jesus asks us to look deeply at our hearts. It is not enough to say we have not killed, if we harbor anger. It is not enough to say we are faithful, if our thoughts betray that commitment. It is not enough to say we have not stolen, if we deprive others of dignity or fairness.

Each new day becomes a fresh invitation to live with the end in mind. Heaven may seem distant at this time but as we continue on our journey, by following the commandments, we will know that our moral compass is pointing in the right direction.

The good news is this: God never asks us to walk this path alone. Grace accompanies every commandment and, in the confessional, mercy meets us every time we fall short. When we strive to live God’s law out of love, we begin to experience a foretaste of Heaven even now. Our homes become more peaceful, our communities more just, our hearts more free. God’s law is not a limitation—it is an invitation—an invitation to become who we were created to be, and to walk confidently toward the joy that awaits us.

If we truly begin with the end in mind and trust God enough to follow the path set before us, we will, one day, discover that the rules were never about restriction at all—but about offering a road map to get us back home to our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Deacon Brendan Brides

Deacon Brendan Brides , a native of Ireland, was educated by the Presentation Brothers in Cork City, Ireland. Deacon Brendan emigrated to the United States in 1986. Shortly thereafter, he met his wife, Gail. They married in the early nineties and have resided in Sandwich ever since. They have a son, Patrick, who grew up attending religious education and serving as an altar server for many years at Christ The King Parish. Patrick now serves in the United States Navy. Deacon Brendan worked for many years as a building contractor on Cape Cod where he oversaw the construction of many fine houses in his career. In 2013 he decided to accept a position as building commissioner for a local municipality. He continues in that position today.

After his ordination by Bishop Coleman to the permanent diaconate in 2013, Brendan was transferred to Saint Johns in Pocasset. He spent six and a half years there serving the people of Bourne. He and his wife Gail returned to Christ the King in 2021 and although they sincerely miss the great people of Saint Johns, they are very happy to be back at their home parish of Christ the King. Besides being active at Christ the King, Deacon Brendan is currently a mentor for gentleman that is going through the permanent deacon program and he is also actively involved in assessing the latest class of applicants to the permanent diaconate for the Diocese of Fall River.

1) Easter: The Foundation of Christian Faith

Easter stands at the very heart of the Christian faith. It is not simply one feast among many; it is the event that gives meaning to everything Christians believe and celebrate. On Easter morning, the Church proclaims with joy that the one who suffered and died on the cross, Jesus Christ, has risen from the dead. The angel’s message to the women at the tomb captures the essence of the Christian proclamation: “He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said.” (Matthew 28:6)

From the earliest days of the Church, the resurrection has been recognized as the cornerstone of Christian faith. St. Paul expresses this clearly when he writes: “If Christ has not been raised, then our preaching is in vain and your faith is in vain.” (1 Cor. 15:14) Easter therefore is not simply a remembrance of a past event; it is the decisive moment in which God reveals that life is stronger than death and that his saving love triumphs over sin. The resurrection confirms that the cross was not the end of Jesus’ mission but the pathway to victory and new life.

2) The Resurrection: A Message of Renewal and Hope

The resurrection of Christ is also a message of renewal for every believer. Easter proclaims that God can bring new life out of even the darkest moments. The disciples themselves experienced fear, grief, and confusion after the crucifixion. Yet the risen Lord transformed their sorrow into courage and their despair into hope.

Reflecting on this mystery, Pope Benedict XVI taught that the resurrection is not merely a spiritual symbol but a real event that changed the course of history. In Christ’s rising, God reveals that love is stronger than hatred and life stronger than death. The resurrection does not simply restore life as it was before; it opens the door to a new and transformed life in God. For believers today, this message remains deeply personal. Easter reminds us that moments of suffering, failure, or uncertainty do not define the final chapter of our lives. The empty tomb assures us that God’s power can transform even what appears lost into a new beginning. It is precisely this living hope that inspired the creation of the non profit Build The Faith, rooted in the unwavering witness of Christina Dangond Lacouture, who, after being diagnosed with a rare form of cancer at the age of six, bore courageous testimony to trust in God, radiating joy and continually proclaiming, “Jesus, I trust in you.”

3) Easter and the Life of the Christian Community

Easter is not only a personal experience of faith; it is also a celebration that strengthens the life of the Christian community. When believers gather to celebrate the resurrection, they renew their identity as a people of hope. The risen Christ continues to gather his followers, nourish them through the Word and the sacraments, and send them into the world as witnesses of his love.

Pope John Paul II often described it as “the definitive victory of life over death and of good over evil.” Because Christ is risen, Christians are called to live with courage and to bring the light of hope into a world that often struggles with despair. Initiatives like Build the Faith, echo this mission by drawing from real lives of faith and suffering, reminding the community that trust in God is not abstract but lived and shared.

Easter invites us to see life with renewed eyes. The empty tomb reminds us that God’s plans are greater than our fears and that his love is stronger than every darkness. Because Christ is risen, hope is never lost. Easter, therefore, becomes not only a celebration of one day, but a way of living – with faith, confidence, and the joyful assurance that God’s life will always triumph over death.

Father Gabriel Tokoh

Fr. Gabriel Afumbom Tokoh is a priest from the Archdiocese of Bamenda, Cameroon, Africa. He was ordained on Wednesday, March 30, 2016, after completing his Philosophical and Theological studies at St. Thomas Aquinas Major Seminary in Bambui, Cameroon, where he earned bachelor’s degrees in both Philosophy and Theology.

In May 2024, Fr. Gabriel graduated with a master’s degree in leadership and administration from Woods College of Advancing Studies at Boston College.

Since his ordination, Fr. Gabriel has served in various capacities, including:

• Pastor of St. Clémentine Anuarite Parish in Yemge (August 2016 – August 2018)
• Pastor of St. John the Baptist Parish in Ntaghem (August 2018 – December 21, 2022)

During his time in the Archdiocese of Bamenda, Fr. Gabriel also held several additional roles, such as:

• Member of the Presbyteral Council
• Teacher of Scriptures to three Religious Houses
• School Manager
• Chaplain to the Catholic Men Association (CMA)
• Dean in two deaneries of the diocese

Currently, Fr. Gabriel serves as Parochial Vicar at St. John-St. Paul Collaborative in Wellesley.

There is a particular kind of darkness that comes when your professional life fractures without warning. It’s not a slow change you can see coming, but a sudden crack, the kind that makes you question everything you thought you knew about yourself, your worth, and your place in the world.

I have been in that darkness. If you are reading this, there is a chance you have been there too or you are there right now.This is not a story about what happened to me. It’s about what I learned in that season about anxiety, faith, and surrender.

Anxiety is a liar with excellent timing. It waits for the moment when something genuinely goes wrong and then it takes that real thing and builds a cathedral of fear around it. It whispers that the worst-case scenario is the only scenario. It tells you that you are failing, that everyone can see it, and that this is not a chapter, but the end.

If you live with anxiety, as many of us do, you know the difference between worry and the kind of dread that rewires your thinking. Some of us manage it with professional support, with therapy, with medication, or with exercise and routine. These are wise and necessary tools and there is no shame in any of them. God made us body, mind, and spirit, and caring for all three is the responsible thing to do.

Nevertheless, here is what I have learned: the tools that manage anxiety are not the same as the truth that answers it. Medication can quiet the noise, and a good therapist can help you see the patterns, but when you are lying awake at 2 a.m. and anxiety is telling you that your life is falling apart, only one voice has the authority to say otherwise – God’s.

In the middle of the most difficult professional season of my life, I chose to pray the hardest prayer there is. Not “God, fix this.” Not “God, give me a way out.” I simply prayed: “God, I surrender this to You.”

Surrender is the most counterintuitive act of faith. Everything in our professional training tells us to take control, to strategize, to drive the outcome. While there is a time for all of that, there comes a moment in certain seasons when your own effort has reached its limit, and the only honest thing left to do is open your hands and let go.

Surrender does not mean passivity. I still showed up. I still did my work with excellence. I still held my head up in rooms where it would have been easier to shrink. What I also did, though, was stop white-knuckling the outcome. I stopped demanding that the situation be resolved on my timeline. I even stopped trying to write the ending myself. With my surrender, something shifted, not in the circumstances and not right away, but within me.

There is a saying that when God closes a door, He opens a window. What nobody tells you is that the hallway between the two is its own kind of hell. You cannot see what is ahead. The door behind you is locked. Anxiety stands right beside you, narrating every possible disaster, telling you that the hallway is your destination; but faith tells you it’s just a passage.

I spent months in that hallway…. months of not knowing… months of choosing, daily and imperfectly, to trust that the God who had carried me through every other season was not going to abandon me in this one.

Faith in the hallway is not confident. It is not the bold worship of a Sunday morning. It is the quiet, teeth-clenched trust of a Tuesday night when nothing has changed and you choose to believe anyway. It is surrendering again and again, because surrender is not a one-time act. It is a daily discipline.

I will tell you how the story ends, not because my story is special but because it follows a pattern I have seen over and over in the lives of people who surrender their seasons to God. The ending God wrote was not the one I wanted. It was better.

An opportunity emerged that did not exist when my crisis began. A door I could not have known about, which led to an outcome that I could not have dreamed of, came because God was working in the background of my story

Looking back, I can see it clearly: the season that felt like destruction was actually redirection. Though my surrender was not easy or painless, it enabled me to trust in God even though I couldn’t see what He was doing and it allowed me to say ‘no” to my anxiety. My surrender let God finish what He started and if He did it for me, He can do it for you too.

Maria Eugenia Layrisse de Bello

Maria Eugenia grew up in Caracas, Venezuela, raised in a Catholic family of three sisters and one brother. She currently lives in Framingham, Massachusetts, with Alex, her husband of 24 years, and their French Bulldog RoRo. They have twin sons, 21 years old, Carlos and Luis, who are about to graduate from the University of Wisconsin and Boston University respectively. Maria Eugenia and Alex are active servers of Build the Faith, and practice their faith with the support and inspiration of a close group of friends, and guided by the example and legacy of Christina Dangond and her family.

Sometimes we think the battle for faith happens in the street, at work, or on social media; but there is a front that few people name, and it is the most demanding of all: the one in the sheets, the silences, and the intimacy of marriage.

We live in a culture that is terrified of total commitment. The world says it without shame: “secure your comfort,” “enjoy yourselves first,” “travel, and please shut down that baby factory quickly!” What they sell us is a marriage of contract, with escape clauses and love measured with a calculator. In that context, Saint Josemaría Escrivá gives us a necessary shake: “You were not made for comfort, but for greatness.” That greatness—the greatness of spouses—does not fit in half‑measures.

Talking about marital morality makes people uncomfortable. While we know this, we feel it is urgent that we talk about it, and we would rather tell you ourselves than stay silent out of fear of the reaction. Saint John Paul II, through his Theology of the Body, revealed something both beautiful and demanding: the body has its own language. The conjugal act is not a release or an instinct that must simply be managed. It is the moment when spouses say to each other with their whole bodies: “I give myself to you completely, and I receive you without reservation.”

Here is where we must be honest before God: what happens when we place conditions on the gift of our whole selves? When culture convinces us to use artificial methods to avoid life, we are not just making a practical decision—we are falsifying the language of love. We are telling the other person: “I give you everything… except this.” The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches with crystal clarity that the unitive and procreative meanings of the conjugal act are inseparable (CCC 2366). To deliberately separate them is to use one another, and that breaks the charity that should reign in the home.

Yet, be careful, because here comes the other side of the river. The Church’s teaching about openness to life does not mean Catholics must be imprudent. The Church is a mother, and as such she understands that there can be serious reasons—health, economic, or family reasons—to space children. For that reason, there are natural family planning methods: methods that respect the nature of the act, that do not block what God designed, but instead, harmonize with its rhythms. The difference is not small. It is the difference between speaking a truth and telling a lie.

At this point, the heart must also be examined. One thing is discerning with God when and how to welcome life; something very different is having already decided that you will not welcome life. That is not Catholic virtue—it is selfishness with better marketing. Deep down, what that mentality steals from us is the greatest thing: the joy of discovering that each child who arrives is not a burden but an expansion of the heart, an arrow that God places in our hands to send into the world. Psalm 127 sings it powerfully: “Children are a heritage from the Lord… like arrows in the hands of a warrior.” Arrows are not stored away. They are launched, and God, who sends us into battle, does not send His warriors unarmed.

We say this from the real exhaustion of having three children at home: sometimes the strength simply runs out. There are nights when generosity costs more than we would like to admit, but looking at that full cradle reminds us that holiness is not a comfortable life, but a life emptied of selfishness. We are not saints—we fall often—but the goal is clear: a home where God reigns, where love is not negotiated, and where God’s providence carries more weight than our plans.

Tonight, when the house falls silent and the routine quiets down, we invite you to look into each other’s eyes—not to have a grand theological conversation—but to ask yourselves one simple question:  Are we loving each other without reservation, or with a calculator? The answer to that question is the beginning—or the renewal—of a love that is not negotiated.

Holy Mary, Mother of the family, pray for us.

Juan and Sofia Veloza

Juan and Sofia were born into Catholic families in Colombia, South America. They met on Juan’s Patron Saint Feast Day, Saint John Bosco, January 31st and recently got married on the 31st of July. Both have encountered Jesus in their lives and decided to follow him with great commitment.

Juan is a Political Scientist and also a great golfer. He works in the Wine and Spirits Industry.

Sofia is a commercial real estate lawyer and works at her family-owned business. They currently live in Cali, Colombia.

Juan and Sofia are increasingly passionate about the apostolic mission with the youth and young professionals. They are committed to showing the love of God and his mysteries through the beauty of the sacrament of marriage and friendship. Both have lived their conversion through different spiritualities within the Church, such as the charismatic renewal, parish groups (Emaus and Effeta), Mana (a self-founded apostolic group) and Opus Dei. This last one is currently where both congregate and receive all their spiritual formation and guidance. Although they have much to learn, they are eager to share their testimony with all the readers.

 

Love is the essential gift. Everything else, which is given to us without our deserving it, becomes a gift by virtue of love.(Joseph Pieper, German philosopher)

The word love has been so discredited that we almost no longer dare to pronounce it. We prefer to use expressions such as humanity, solidarity, or appreciation.

In Russian, there is a word for love, lubovatsja, which means “to love with one’s gaze,” meaning one can only love what is beautiful, what is contemplated. To love means to affirm someone as good; it is to turn toward that person, to look at them, and to say: “It is good that you are in the world; it is good that you exist.” Just as God, in creating man, saw that he was good and delighted in his existence, so human love must be a reproduction and continuation of that creative love.

Yet, it is not enough to say, “It is good that you exist.” One must also ask: “Why do I want you to exist?” Is it for your sake or because it serves my interests? Love must be rightly oriented if it is to truly be love.

Authentic love is never owed, deserved, or demanded. It is a pure gift, like the love of God. It is a divine privilege to be more often the lover than the beloved. Still, we can never equal the love of God.

Even so, affirming the existence of the beloved does not mean accepting everything that the beloved thinks or does without reservation. It doesn’t mean ignoring what is wrong or dismissing offenses as unimportant.  It also does not mean that that the beloved will live without suffering, but rather, that he or she will live in goodness and truth. Unfortunately, love sometimes, inadvertently, wounds.

The primary form of love is the desire to be happy; it is both the beginning and the end of our love. Even the martyrs, in giving their lives for Christ, sought happiness—though not in this world. What is truly contrary to love is not hatred, but the desperate indifference of the one to whom nothing matters. Thus, the inability to suffer stems from the inability to love and Hell is the pain of being unable to love.

Since to love one must go beyond self-love, that which is not loved for its own sake cannot truly be said to be loved. The one who seeks only personal enjoyment at all costs ends up lost on the road of despair.

In summary, only by loving the First Lover—by keeping our gaze fixed on Him and contemplating Him—can we truly love ourselves and all creatures, thus continuing the work of creation in which “everything is loved by God.”

Madre Maria Elena Martinez

Mother María Elena Martínez is a nun, born in Mexico City, where she still resides today. She has had a consecrated life for more than 30 years. She is currently a member of a community called María Madre del Amor which is dedicated to evangelization through Emmaus retreats in parishes and prisons and Sicar retreats for young people.

We are spiritual beings on a pilgrimage through this world. For a time, we inhabit a kind of shell — an armor we call the physical body. Yet even from a scientific perspective, this “armor” is anything but permanent. The molecular and cellular components of our bodies are in constant renewal. Cells die and are replaced. Stem cells within our tissues quietly sustain and repair us. In a very real sense, the person who is physically 50 years old is not made of the same matter that existed in childhood. We are organisms in continuous transformation.

Even our thoughts arise from a physical organ: the brain. This extraordinary structure allows us to reason, reflect, deduce, create, and explore the mysteries of the universe through science. It sets us apart within the visible world.

Even so, there is something deeper than biology and intellect.

At the core of our being lies the spirit — our central essence, unique and irreplaceable. The spirit is what gives us true life and makes us fully human. It enables us to love, to feel compassion, to long for God, to seek the common good without selfishness, and to hope for a better future for generations yet to come. While the body changes and the mind develops, the spirit is what defines who we truly are.

Yet the spirit, like any living reality, can weaken. Jesus teaches that it can become stiff, corroded — even blind.

We have free will. Each day we choose between good and evil, light and darkness, generosity and selfishness. Life becomes a kind of spiritual training ground where every decision shapes the condition of our spirit. We were not sent into the world merely to exist, accumulate possessions, or chase fleeting success. We are here to perfect our spirit — to shape it, strengthen it, and allow it to grow.

We are not alone in this task. Jesus is the potter; we are the clay. Still, clay must be molded. Transformation requires surrender.

For the person who lives in harmony with the Holy Spirit, no moment is wasted. Every second — pleasant or painful — becomes an opportunity for spiritual growth. Even suffering has purpose. This truth is beautifully expressed in 1 Peter 1:6–7, where trials are compared to gold refined by fire. Just as precious metal is purified in flames, faith is strengthened through adversity. As steel is forged in fire, so the spirit is strengthened in trial.

Imagine living with what seems like a superpower — the freedom from paralyzing fear, crippling doubt, shame, or inferiority. Imagine facing life’s storms without losing inner peace. Would that not be true freedom?

A person who is filled with the Holy Spirit lives precisely in this way. We see it in the luminous lives of the saints. Their circumstances were not always easy, yet their interior strength was unshakable.

So how do we cultivate such a spirit? By opening the eyes of the spirit.

From Adam until today, humanity has shared one undeniable reality: we are sinners. That is why Jesus often healed physical blindness while teaching about its deeper meaning — spiritual blindness. In John 9:39–41, He warns that those who admit their blindness can be healed, but those who insist they see, have no room left for grace. The one who acknowledges his need for God opens the door to transformation. The one who denies it risks remaining trapped.

When the eyes of the spirit are opened, something remarkable happens. You begin to perceive life differently. A sunset becomes a whisper from Heaven. Acts of kindness feel like encounters with angels. Peace settles into your heart — not a fragile peace dependent upon circumstances, but a deep, abiding assurance that you are fully loved by your Heavenly Father.

This peace is not idleness or the absence of problems. It is a divine stability rooted in trust.

We invest time strengthening our bodies, going to the gym, caring for our health. So, let us not neglect the daily exercise of the spirit: prayer, gratitude, forgiveness, charity, and trust. These are the disciplines that build eternal strength.

Let us open the eyes of the spirit. Let us allow ourselves to be molded; and may we never forget to say, each day: Jesus, I trust in You.

Fernando Dangond

Fernando Dangond, MD, was born in Colombia, South America. He and his wife, Monica, live in Weston, MA, and have been blessed with two sons Daniel and David and a beautiful daughter, Christina (the inspiration behind Build the Faith) who left to be with the Lord 7 years ago.
Dr. Dangond, is a neurologist and scientist who works for a pharmaceutical company developing medicines to treat devastating neurological diseases.

With the coming of Lent, I found myself reflecting on my prayer life and its beginnings. Growing up, God and church were always there — woven into the fabric of my life — through Sunday Mass, grace at dinner and prayers before bed each night. Even so, as I grew older, God felt distant to me. Loving, yes, but far away. I imagined God and Jesus somewhere beyond the clouds, tucked into a place called Heaven that felt abstract and removed.

Cancer changed that. It brought God down to earth.

I was eighteen years old when I was diagnosed. One of the first things my parents did was place my crucifix and a small wooden statue of the Virgin Mary on the bedside table in my hospital room, quiet witnesses to what would soon unfold there. They also gave me my first set of rosary beads, which included a pamphlet on how to pray it. “It’s time you had some of your own,” my father had said.

Having the rosary beads on the table beside my hospital bed, reminded me of my father’s rosary on his own nightstand at home. Their presence, along with my crucifix and the Mary figurine, felt like a giant hug. They were a symbol of not only my parents’ love, but also of their faith and trust in God.

That first night, holding the light-blue, glass beads in my hands, watching the fluorescent light bounce off the beads’ facets with a sparkle, I wrapped the rosary around my hands and began to pray. Praying the rosary felt comforting and reassuring. The familiarity of the Bible passages that accompanied the mysteries and the repetition of the prayers soon became a refuge, a source of calm amid the fear and upheaval of my diagnosis.

Before long, praying the rosary became my bedtime ritual; a chance to connect with Jesus and Mary and an opportunity to allow their example to shape my life.  Soon, I found myself spending more time talking to God and the Blessed Mother. Though I didn’t know it then, I was building the muscle memory for a more prayerful life, a life closer to God.

At that time, I wasn’t the only one praying. The people around me also prayed. My family and friends stormed the heavens on my behalf. Friends of friends prayed. My church prayed. My great‑aunt’s entire convent prayed. Faculty and students at my college prayed. Even people I had never met prayed for me and my family. Prayer seemed to gently slide into every nook and cranny of my life; and slowly, unmistakably, I began to feel its power and grace.

Now, years later, as Lent is about to begin, I find myself returning to those hospital-room prayers with gratitude and humility. I realize that the prayer life that took root in that hospital bed long ago, continues to shape my days, drawing me ever closer to God who is still very much down to earth, present, and listening.

May your Lent be a season of reflection and renewal, and may you grow in your relationship with our God who is not distant or abstract, but here by our sides.

Deb Egan

Deb Egan grew up in a Catholic family.  Throughout her adult life, she has participated as a church volunteer in many capacities, including teaching Religious Education, being a Eucharistic Minister and Lector, Ministering to the elderly and homebound, and Facilitating Small Faith Groups.  She has been trained by Evangelical Catholic and became a member of the Build the Faith Team in April of 2017.