Scan Update (Finally!)

This update is extremely overdue and I am very sorry for it.  

Cecilia's scans were last Monday and were the same as the ones before.  This, of course, is better than worse and worse than better.  The stability of the nodules does qualify her for four months between scans now vs three which is convenient because Cecilia is currently at her Orientation for Ave Maria University in sunny Florida.  The last week has been a complete whirlwind of both activity and emotions.  Mary leaves for Hope College in Holland on Thursday.  Rooms are being turned upside down,  routines are changing.   Josie turns 14 today and Lily turns 6 on Thursday.  Some days I still sit and struggle to catch my breath when I think of our time in the hospital.  I miss the friends I made there and I try to make sense of all of it.  Our lives changed so profoundly in February 2024 and again in October 2024 and again in February 2025 and then yet again in July 2025.   Life is a constant series of changes and upheavals, gains and losses.  Every waking moment I cling to Jesus and beg Him for His wisdom.  In return He lifts my burdens and promises not peace and ease in this life but the glory of Heaven if I stay close to Him especially in my hardships.  

I pray in thanksgiving for you all and keep the intentions that you have entrusted me with close to my heart.  So many friends going through mountains of struggle.  The Lord is with you!  Never forget this most important of realities.    

These photos span days from Cecilia's last day here, at the airport on her way to Ave and Mary's last day at Sunday Mass with us for a while.  So many changes.  As we drove into Mass Sunday Sam was pulling out heading to Mass at his parish.  It's all so much on my Mama heart. All good with a sprinkle of sadness because time flies so quickly.  And so we adjust in our new little home of six children.  We anxiously await what comes next and soak in what is today.  Thank you for traveling with us.

Sun Through the Rain

“Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.” – Psalm 30:5

A few weeks ago, the water took Xavier - the son of dear friends.

Eighteen years old.

Beloved son, brother, friend.

Friend to my own kids and to us.

And now—we are left carrying what cannot be carried, this grief that feels bottomless.

There are no words. Just a hush that settles deep in the soul.

The kind that doesn’t lift. The kind that makes you ache and listen all at once.

At his funeral, over 1,700 came—hearts gathered in pews. 

Stories were told—real, raw, radiant. Stories that made much of Jesus and magnified the power of His Word in Xavier’s life.

You can [watch the funeral HERE]—and I urge you to do so.

Let Deacon Peter Randolph’s homily speak to your heart.

Let Xavier’s father’s final words restore hope.

I can’t do justice to what was spoken. I can only say this:

The grief still hangs heavy.

And somehow, even that weight is holy.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”

(Matthew 5:4)

 Last week, I lay face-down in the surgeon’s office.

A sterile room. The smell of antiseptic and the sting of every poke and cut.

They removed the melanoma. Clean margins. Praise God.

But still—I felt it. (the numbing didn't take...)

I felt it in the body. And felt everything else in the soul.

Because as the scalpel moved and the needle pulled in and out, my mind wandered over the past two years.  Pain. Loss. Suffering.  It all tumbled through.

But so did this:

Like rainstorms that eventually give way to sunlight

breaking through thick, humid clouds—

our stories are lined with moments of joy that shimmer through pain.

“He will wipe every tear from their eyes.” (Revelation 21:4)

God didn’t write sickness into Eden.

He didn’t intend for us to ache like this.

But we chose the wound.

And He—He chose to come down and heal it with His own pierced hands.

He stays. In it. With us.

He never looks away.

Cecilia’s next bone scan and CT is on August 11.

But for now,

The ordinary has returned like grace on the wind.

I’m home for bedtimes.

Morning snuggles.

Park days.

Daily Mass restores me.

It is not taken for granted—this quiet normal.

The world spins wild, but in here, there’s a rhythm again.

We pack for Pine Hills Girls Camp.

And then comes the shift—college move-ins.

Cecilia leaves in the early hours of August 16.

Mary on the 21st.

Sam, somewhere in between.

The letting go begins again.  But these children were never mine to begin with.  And may their lives - even in the ordinary - bring glory to the One to Whom they truly belong.

And still, I whisper the same old prayer:

Help me cherish the moments.

Even when I miss them in real time.

Even when they pass before I know how to hold them.

Because God is here, too.

In the hard. In the holy.

In the letting go and in the holding on.

“Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.”

(1 Thessalonians 5:18)

Today is the Feast of Sts. Mary, Martha, and Lazarus.

Friends of Jesus.  Spiritual friends of mine.

A family He loved to be with.

And as I sit here—iron dripping slowly into my veins—

I pray to be like them.

To invite Him into everything.

Even into the waiting. Even into the weariness.

This is my first iron transfusion.

I’ve fought this chronic anemia for decades—tried to power through.

But I’m tired of powering through.

My body needs strength.

And my children need a mom who isn’t measuring her worth by what’s left in her tank.

There’s so much life.

And I want to live it.

Really live it.

Thank you for loving our family.

For your prayers. Your presence. Your faithfulness.

We feel it all.

And please know—we are praying for you, too.

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When the Road Leads to Adoption: One Grandmother’s Benediction of Hope

The road of motherhood bends and twists through valleys we never planned to walk — from sleepless nights and first steps to driver’s tests and doctor’s rooms where hope can feel paper-thin.

In this last year and a half, the path led me to places higher and harder than I had ever climbed before, holding Cecilia’s frail hand through the labyrinth of cancer. And in those dim hospital nights, my heart would ache for another of my children whose silent suffering I could not ease.

Katie and Joe have already walked their own rugged path. Just months before their wedding, Joe’s car spun into a near-fatal accident that left him partially paralyzed, bones broken, dreams shaken. Katie called me, voice thin with shock: “Joe was in an accident — I’m flying home. Will you drive me to Pennsylvania?”

We drove many hours, prayers trembling on every breath. I remember sitting on Joe’s couch, moonlight pooling on the floor, whispering wordless pleas to the God who holds every life. After months in hospitals and longer months in rehab, Joe and Katie still stood before God and each other, vowing forever. Joe re-entered medical school the next summer, hope stitched back together one step at a time.

Then came Cecilia’s diagnosis. Another call from Katie. Another surrender. “We’re moving home to help.”

And so they did — packing up their newly married  life into boxes, Joe commuting when needed, but always coming back ready to help. And just this June, Joe walked across the stage in cap and gown, graduating medical school. Grace, grace, and more grace.

But beneath it all, Katie’s own ache pulsed quiet and steady. Longing for a baby. Waiting for life to quicken within.

Some of you may not know: Katie spends her days at the March for Life — a movement that dares to stand in the winter wind and say every life matters, every heartbeat is worth defending. Through peaceful marches, prayer, education, and advocacy, they speak for the voiceless, fight for laws that protect the most vulnerable, and build a culture that sees the sacredness of every soul from conception to natural death. Katie’s daily work is to shield the unborn. Yet her own arms have remained empty. And still, she smiles, she laughs, she gives.

And on nights when pain wrapped itself around Cecilia’s small body, we would hold each other’s hands and whisper into the darkness: “Lord, this is for Katie.”

And now — oh, now — here we stand on holy ground. Katie and Joe have announced their hearts have been called to adopt.

I have never walked this stretch of the road before. Adoption was always a word folded into the corners of my prayers, but I never knew how God would unfold it. Now I know. And my heart is nothing but gratitude and holy trembling.

In this Year of Jubilee, where the Lord has already let me see miracles in my children’s lives, I am asking you — will you pray for Katie and Joe? Adoption is no gentle stroll; it’s a climb of hope and heartbreak, waiting and wonder. And as someone who was once an unwed teenage mother, the birth parents already live close to the warmest place in my prayers.

Cecilia’s story isn’t over, and your prayers are still the oil in our lamps. But now, too, I ask for your prayers as we step into this new story. I hope to share what it means to watch your child walk the road of adoption, to learn what it is to become a grandparent this way. I will stumble and not always get it right — but maybe grace is big enough to fill the gaps.

And in this glorious update: last week, Cecilia had her port removed. A small piece of plastic, but a giant stone rolled away from the tomb of fear. Thanks be to God.

Below you’ll find Katie and Joe’s info and the Instagram page they’ve created so we can all keep watch, keep praying, keep hoping. And as always, please, send me your prayer requests anytime: ekbladmom9@gmail.com. Your stories matter, too. And there’s room in our prayers for them all.

You can follow Katie and Joe and their story on instagram at @traversadopt

You can donate HERE if you feel called to. Thank you!

---

Lord, the road winds through shadows and sunlight, through sorrow and song — yet You are there in every bend.
So we ask Your blessing over Katie and Joe, over Cecilia, over every waiting heart.

The Lord bless you and keep you;
the Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you;
the Lord turn His face toward you and give you peace. (Numbers 6:24–26)

May Your grace be the breath in our lungs,
Your hope the beat in our hearts,
and Your love the light that leads us home.
Amen.

 

Somewhere Between Healing and Holy Ground {An Overdue Update}

 A very real update on us —

This weekend, at a graduation party under twinkling lights and the very hot sun, I stood still in front of a picture board and realized—I haven’t truly breathed since February. Not deep-down soul breaths. Not the kind that fill your lungs and empty your eyes. I have held my tears like a fragile thing, like if I let them go I might unravel entirely.

Because—who am I to cry? My daughter is still here. Her laughter still echoes down the hallway. Her toothbrush still sits by the sink. So many aching arms in this world… arms missing their children, their spouses, their dearest ones. And here I am with full arms. Chemotherapy paused. My own bed again. Nighttime prayers whispered with my children. Daily Mass. Visits with grown ones who still call me "Mom." Blessings. Graces. So many reasons to celebrate this spring—and we have. We really have.

But celebration with a silent ache is a strange dance. Somewhere inside, I felt neither joy nor sorrow. Just a numb, dry plain of nothing. I smiled, I hugged, I laughed, yes—but beneath all that, there sat a quiet tangle of guilt and dread, anxiety and aloneness.

Until this weekend.

One photograph on that board cracked the desert wide open.

It was Cecilia, just a few weeks post-surgery, sitting on my bed with one of her dearest friends. Starbucks cups at their feet—I had spilled the drinks she brought, of course. I ran to replace them—of course. And I don’t know why that image undid me. Maybe it was the fierce tenderness of friendship. Maybe the memory of that sacred, ordinary moment. Or maybe, maybe it was Jesus answering the prayer I had not dared to pray aloud: Please, lift this cloud. Let me feel again.

And at that moment—I did.

I’ve been thinking about a line I heard on a podcast this week: “I know that I know what I know.”
That Truth matters most when nothing else feels steady. Emotions shift like the tide, but the Word does not. That knowing—Who to follow, Who to trust—has carried me through every shadowed valley these last months. I believe it will carry me still, even as scans return and routines reform and life edges its way forward, unfamiliar as it now is.

This collision of cancer-life with so-called normal life—there’s no eloquent metaphor. It's just... bizarre. There was a strange safety in the structure of hospital rhythms. And then, just like that, we were thrust back into a life that is the same, but can never be the same. I wake in the night disoriented. Last week I heard crutches clicking in the hall at work—and my breath caught in my throat. Crutches trauma, I guess. There are no manuals for this kind of healing.

Grief and gratitude holding hands. Gasping for air and longing for calm. It’s like trying to walk uphill in sand. Forward is possible. But never easy.

I don’t know exactly why I’m sharing this—only that it felt like the Holy Spirit whispered that I should. Maybe because you’re walking through your own sand, too. Maybe because we need to know we’re not alone. Re-entering life takes time. And tenderness.

I’m looking forward to the long stretch of summer—sun-warmed days to read, attend Mass, breathe.

We were gifted our Wish Trip to Disney World a few weeks ago and it was magical. Most of our family was there. No one was sick. We laughed, we rested, we were together. Thank you, Rainbow Connection and Give Kids the World. These are memories that will live in the marrow.

Cecilia will have her port removed July 1—a small thing with big emotions, but I’m grateful.
I will have melanoma surgery and lymph node removal on July 10. I haven’t had space to think about it, and maybe that’s grace in disguise.

Cecilia turns 17 on July 7.
It feels like she has aged decades for all she’s endured—but oh, what beauty and strength in her spirit.

She’ll have her next scans on August 11 and 12 and then we’ll launch her toward Ave Maria University, into the next brave chapter.

Let nothing disturb you, let nothing frighten you,

all things are passing away:

God never changes.

St Teresa of Avila

Guest Post From Cecilia (One Year Post Resection Surgery)

Happy Feast Day of St. Matthias!

Hello all, it’s Cecilia again! I hope you’re all having a beautiful week and wonderful Easter season. 

We had scans yesterday, and the results were the same as last time. Stable. Not growing, not shrinking. My doctor gave me the amazing news that I’ll be able to have my port removed within the next few weeks and don’t have scans until August 11th (right before I leave for school)!! So finally, after everything that has happened, we’ve come to a season of rest. A season of healing. 

Yesterday, as I was getting ready for the Baccalaureate Mass/dinner for all of us graduating seniors from CTK, I was thinking about all that has happened over the past 15 months. So many tears, disappointments, broken dreams, and so much pain. As much as I have been grieving my old life, I have also learned how, instead of constantly wishing these things have never happened, I can learn to be grateful for all that we have been through. Because after knowing what it is like to be without so many things (time with family, health, etc.) I (and I know my family has learned this too) have learned how to not take these things for granted. And I wouldn't change a thing. Of course, ideally none of us ever have to suffer, but this suffering is actually the very vessel in which the Lord sanctifies us and brings us closer to Himself if only we let Him. And as I like to say, none of us are promised tomorrow, and we must “seize the day” for Christ. We must live as citizens of Heaven on earth, because none of us knows the day nor the hour.

I was also filled with a deep sense of excitement, joy, and peace. As I prayed my Liturgy Of the Hours before bed last night, I prayed to our Lord and expressed to Him my excitement for all that He has in store for me in this next season of my life.

I also thought it was incredible that 1 year ago today was my reconstruction surgery, and 1 year later, I am finally in this place of healing. Praise God Who makes all things new!

And so, as school lets out and people graduate (woot woot!) I pray that all of you may be filled with peace and joy from our Lord. I pray that you will all be filled with an awareness of His presence in your life.

Please continue to pray for my mom (surgery tentatively mid June for her melanoma and to check lymph nodes for spread) and also for all of the seniors graduating from CTK tomorrow (myself and Mary included)! You are all always in our prayers and I hope you know how incredibly grateful we are for all of your love, prayers, and support. We would never have made it to this point without each and every one of you.

Lastly, here is a verse that I wanted to share with you all!

Isaiah 43:19 “I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert.”

Photos from one year ago today 

And last night at the Baccalaureate Mass/Dinner

Reflections on Motherhood and a Prayer Request

 I am currently sitting on the back porch of a generous friend who opened their home to Jesse, Sam, and I for graduation weekend in Ave Maria, Florida.  Yesterday Jackson graduated from Ave Maria University with a Bachelor's degree in Theology.  About an hour after graduation Sam received a call that we had prayed for and is now the new Associate Youth Minister at St. Patrick's Catholic Church in Brighton, Mi!  Sam sacrificed so much for our family during the hardest months of chemotherapy and cancer and the Lord has rewarded him with his dream job.  Later today Jesse and I will fly back to Michigan to the rest of the children.  In all this quiet I have had plenty of time to reflect on the hills and valleys of motherhood.  I have been blessed to be a mother for 33 plus years.  I have 14 children on earth and 17 in Heaven and 3 beautiful (and perfect) grandchildren.  I have had good days, months and years and bad days, months, and years.  In the depths of morning sickness and active labor, colicky babies, sleepless nights, chicken pox, lice, and stomach flu I thought this is the hardest it will be.  But babies and toddlers, sick preschoolers and sleepless nights only help build endurance, I think.  Endurance for the big races.  The times when our teens can't be comforted, when we can't save our adult children from pain and disappointment, when we don't seem to connect, when there are hurt feelings and misunderstandings.  And, of course, for us, the reality of a cancer diagnosis.  The last 15 months of dealing with cancer has been brutal at worst and grace filled at best.  It has taught us all about surrender, facing fears, the importance of laughter and digging deep to examine what it is we truly believe and Who it is that we place our trust in.  

In two days (5/13) Cecilia has more scans.  In one way I think a lot is riding on the results of these scans.  But in another I know nothing is. God already knows the outcome.  He has planned it all for us.  And no matter what happens or what the words read on the results Jesus is still Lord.  He will still bring good from all of it. 

In the past 15 months I have simultaneously hung on tighter to my plans, goals, and routines and let go of them as well realizing I was never in control to begin with.  It is a learning process that I have not mastered yet.  I suppose it will take me a lifetime.  

I never in one million years thought I would have 14 children.  That was not my plan (it also wasn't not my plan - I had no real plan there).  But the Lord knew what I needed and how my children would teach me so much about myself, about Him, and about life.  I also never dreamed we would deal with cancer in such a personal way.  But again the Lord knew and cancer has also taught me about myself, God, and life.  It has also taught me about the goodness and beauty of others.  

Life moves so quickly.  In the last two weeks alone we have witnessed baptisms, first communions, confirmations, death, new life, graduations of many kinds.  Sometimes there is not time to sit and reflect on the intricate beauty of God's design - every moment, every detail.  He is a good, good God.

Please continue to pray for Cecilia and for all of us.  Please still send prayer requests!  We are and forever will be praying for you!  

There is an appointed time for everything, and a time for every affair under the heavens.

Ecclesiastes 3:1

The End and the Beginning {Everything is Going to Be OK}

 In the last few days I have had the incredible privilege of holding a baby who was less than 24 hours old and to pray at the bedside of a friend who was on his way to the next life.  Both experiences left me in a state of lengthy reflection as our family continues in the seemingly never ending valley of cancer.  

Cecilia is doing very well - she is applying for summer jobs, received her fall schedule for college, and her hair is growing back beautifully!  She has shared her story of suffering and its meaning at another high school event.  You can listen to that talk HERE

Cecilia's next scans (including a bone scan) are May 13, 2025.  The Feast of Our Lady of Fatima.  The farther out we get from lengthy hospital stays, chemotherapy, and upheaval in our lives the more I appreciate the day to day of "normal" life.  Easter was wonderful!  Spending time with family and friends was so needed and appreciated.

A couple of weeks ago I was diagnosed with melanoma - an early stage - 1b - but considering the last year it's unnerving none the less.  Prayer appreciated as I go to all of the appointments necessary to get the surgery and have the lymph nodes checked in order to eradicate this from my body.  We are weaving in those appointments between a Confirmation (Josie), College Graduation (Jackson), High School Graduation (Mary and Cecilia) and First Holy Communion (Jude and Lily).  Phew we have a full May and are all looking forward to our "Make a Wish" Trip to Disney World the first week in June!  I don’t even know what to expect there but we are so excited!

Fr Mike Schmitz gave a great homily this weekend (every homily of his is great...) but this one really spoke to me.  He was quoting Dr Timothy Keller who, at the time, was dying from cancer.  Dr Keller said "If Jesus Christ was actually raised from the dead, if he really got up, walked out, and was seen by hundreds of people, talked to them, if he was raised from the dead, then you know what?  Everything is going to be all right.  Whatever you're worried about right now, whatever you're afraid of, everything is actually going to be OK."

I share that message to reassure myself but also all of you.  We are all traveling in the ups and downs of life's valleys.  As I prayed with my friend who isn't much longer on this earth I considered how the beauty of death is as beautiful as the new life I held in my arms just a day earlier.  A life well lived and spent serving others and LOVING others and loving Jesus is the best any of us can hope for.  None of it is easy or neat.  Life is messy.  The heartbreak is too much to bear some days.  But Jesus has risen from the dead and everything truly will be OK.

We continue to pray for every single one of you each day.  Please continue to pray for us!  Thank you!

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” Psalm 23:4

 

Stable

 Good morning friends and prayer warriors - Cecilia's scans yesterday were "stable".  I hear that the word stable in terms of cancer is a good word.  Better than growth, not as good as clear but for now we will take stable and keep moving forward in HOPE.  Cecilia will get blood work in a couple of weeks and then get another set of scans in mid May.  After those scans if all is well we will discuss taking her port out.  It's hard to look that far ahead after the last 13 months so for now we are grateful for each day as it comes.  

Cecilia and Mary will attend and help with the Lift Jesus Higher Conference in Toronto this weekend with Be Love Revolution.  Originally we hadn't planned for Cecilia to go due to treatments and she was VERY disappointed but as He always does - God made a way!

Next weekend is our Youth Group Spring Retreat that we are very much looking forward to.  Jesse, Sam, and I serve on the retreat team and Mary, Cecilia, and Clare will attend.  

I will return to a more regular work schedule hoping to get some more hours in to help with finances.  My employers (and friends) at Christ the King have been incredibly patient and supportive as I was hit or miss with my job responsibilities in the past year.  I am SO very grateful to be surrounded by such loving people in every aspect of my life.

Homeschooling has taken on a more regular look as well as everyday life.  My sourdough making is my therapy.  My skills are mid at the moment but I'm learning!  

I will keep you all posted as things move along.  I hope you are having a blessed Lent and will continue to pray daily for each and every one of you.  

This current space feels like a different daily surrender to God and I'm learning how to breath in Holy Spirit and breath out fear, anxiety, and worry.  

Scan Countdown

 The last few weeks have been a whirlwind of activity and emotions.  Still living within the walls of cancer while trying to be "normal" is exhausting and exhilarating at the same time.  My social media "memories" now reveal our hospital time last year at this time.  Things I forgot about, tried to forget about, can't forget about pop up and highlight that trauma is real and can bubble to the top when we least expect it.  I consistently lay it all at the feet of Jesus and just as consistently pick it all up again.  I feel weighed down trying to carry on in the midst of grief, trauma, and uncertainty.  Kids still fight, birthdays still happen, dinner still needs to be made.  The sunshine and the lighter days make it easier to be sure, the support and love from friends and family lighten even the heaviest of loads.  As scan day approaches (3/25 at 12pm)  we look ahead with HOPE and gratitude - we are choosing to "thank God ahead of time" (Blessed Solanus Casey).  

We had some very unwelcome guests accompany Cecilia back from the hospital back in January - bed bugs.  Who knew you could bring those home from a hospital?  We tore apart their bedroom (where the bugs GRATEFULLY stayed!), treated, ozoned, and basically had to get an entire new room (bed, mattresses, etc) but they were contained and removed - thank YOU JESUS!  I do not recommend bed bugs to anyone ever.  As Cecilia scoured the mattress on her one good knee I overheard her saying "thank You Jesus for this mortification".  That's not verbatim what *I* was thinking but all is well that ends well!

Last week Cecilia and I were invited to be guests on Ave Maria Radio's "Epiphany" show.  They offered Cecilia Al Kresta's chair for the interview which was meaningful in so many ways.  You can listen to our interview HERE and stay tuned as I was asked to come back and share my reversion story on April 7.

Please continue to pray for us, for Cecilia, for all the things.  The suffering that the last year has caused all of us is very heavy at times and hasn't ended yet.  I promise we continue to pray daily for all of you and we are still very happily accepting your prayer requests!  Please feel free to email or text them or drop them in the comments.  I will update as soon as I can after scan results!    

On Living The Ordinary Within the Extraordinary

Abandonment to the will of God is the secret of happiness on earth. Say, then:  my food is to do his will.

St. Josemaria Escriva

We are living ordinary life here in extraordinary circumstances as we await the next set of scans on March 25.   Cecilia is feeling well, Lent is in full swing, life is full, life is good.  This week Cecilia and Mary are in Florida visiting Jackson at Ave Maria University where Cecilia hopes to study someday soon.  She has been accepted and we pray that her health will allow her to attend in the fall of 2025.  She is wisely leaving it all in God's Hands.  The hat she chose to take with her down to Ave reads "Living My Best Life".  Cecilia is living a life with cancer inside of her, a leg that is still recovering, medications and supplements that seem never-ending but it's HER life, the life that God gave her, and she is living it in the best possible way.  

Over the past couple of weeks we have regained our footing at home, stabilized somewhat, fallen back into routines and traditions.  Cecilia gave another talk at a different parish (St Thomas the Apostle in Ann Arbor).  The focus of this talk was on redemptive suffering, something she knows alot about these days.  I will link the You Tube video of the talk below.

Lily and Jude are preparing to make their First Reconciliation and First Holy Communion.  Josie will be Confirmed in May.  Jackson will graduate from college in May.   Life is moving at full speed.  Each and everyday I have to imagine myself laying it all down at the foot of the cross.  The questions, the unknowns, the anxiety.  Our community and family continues to lift us up in prayer making our heavy burdens seem almost light.  We continue to pray for you all every single day.  I have reduced/almost eliminated my Facebook usage for Lent but I trust that God knows what you all need prayers for and I ask for His provision for you.

I am not sure when I will update again but for sure I will on March 25.  Thank you all for your continued support and prayers.  In my weariest of moments I think of what you have done for us and gratitude always outweighs the sorrow.

Here is a little prayer attributed to St. Josemaria Escriva.  It is a reminder that we must surrender to God everyday and trust His Will in all things.

My Lord and my God:
into your hands I abandon the past and the present and the future,
what is small and what is great,
what amounts to a little and what amounts to a lot,
things temporal and things eternal.
Amen.