Everyone does the dirty work. I don’t care if you’re running a global enterprise with thousands of people and won the Nobel Peace Prize (like Mother Teresa) or if you're the most junior person on a team, we all need to do things we don’t like doing. This is just part of work. 

The trick and growth opportunity is to first realize and accept that we need to do some dirty work. Then, secondly, to perform these tasks or projects with peace and serenity. And then, eventually, grow into performing them with joy and the gratitude that we have the opportunity to do these activities and thereby spare others from having to do them. 

We can all think of a time in which we’ve been criticized or attacked for something we didn't do or someone misinterpreted what we said or did. 

When this occasionally happened to St. Teresa, she reminded herself to be grateful instead of indignant because she knew there are many more things she had done wrong that if the person actually knew those things – the person would probably criticize her even more. 

At 19 years old, I got a group of friends together over my first summer back from college to go skydiving over the Georgia plains. I remember the skydiving guides telling us before we went up: 

“Now, when you get up there and you’re standing on the edge of the plane holding on, everything in your mind and body will NOT let you jump. You actually wont be able to jump because your body wants to preserve itself. But when we say go, you HAVE to jump. You will have to mentally override your instinct and force yourself to jump. You will have to trust that it will be ok. That is why you came here.”

We make dozens of decisions a day – how to respond to someone, what to eat, how we will spend our time, and much more. 

One of the best aids to making healthy decisions in the “little” things throughout the day actually has nothing to do with a given decision. It starts way before the decision arises.

Do you ever let your thoughts or imagination run wild and then feel the negative effects later on? Or allow your eyes to look at whatever you want and then regret not having greater discretion?

The ancient monastic practice of “custody of the heart” is intended to insulate our heart from spiritual viruses and bacteria that can infect and deteriorate God’s presence within us.

Moderation can be applied in many areas of life and most of us know - “hey, yea moderation is generally a good thing.” But we don't often think of moderating or restricting our options or potential choices. 

But much of the monastic life actually restricts and focuses the panoply of choices. You make vows of poverty, obedience, and chastity. You live with pretty much the same schedule and routine everyday. And all of this is, well, ironically extremely liberating.

I’ve been in school a lot, accumulating a whopping 6 degrees (2 undergrad and 4 masters). I’m thankful for those opportunities but also really hope I’m done with school! :)

Looking back, if I’m honest, much of my motivation for excelling in school was to achieve success for myself -- go to the right schools, get the ‘right’ jobs, look good and important to my peers. 

In one particularly grueling job I had years ago where we often worked to 10pm each night, I remember one more junior person would make rounds after she finished her work at 9pm – or later and ask “I’m wrapping up so what can I help you with?” 

This floored me – she should be going home but she wanted to help others to get home too. Through this, maybe she worked a few extra hours but she also left a lifelong mark on my understanding of how to build up others at work. I think that was a good investment of her time.

There’s a quiet power in realizing what you’re seeking might already be closer than you think. Brother Lawrence’s insight—that our spiritual growth comes through pausing, noticing, and remembering—invites us into the practice of recollection. But what does this actually mean in practice, and how can it change our life?

If I’m honest, it often feels to me like God is far away. I feel frustrated, emotionally down, or just empty. Yet, other times I feel Him very close.

John of the Cross reveals a profound truth about discernment: our capacity for good decision-making depends largely on our willingness to empty ourselves so that we can be filled with something … Someone greater. 

When we approach decisions with a heart full of selfish ambition, worldly wisdom, fear, and our own predetermined plans, we crowd out room for the Holy Spirit to guide us. Our internal noise can drown out God's still, small voice. Like a vessel already overflowing with our own desires, there's no space for God to pour in His perfect will.

When Dominic, the 12th century founder of the Dominicans was a young man, he sold his treasured books to have more to give the poor during a time of famine. This quote refers to “dead skins” because, at the time, books were often written on animal hides. In letting go of something he valued for an even better good - helping to feed starving people – Dominic was stretched toward a deeper charity and self-gift. 

It’s easy to mistake charity for a transaction—money given, box checked. But real compassion asks more of us. It’s not just about what we give, but how. Without heart, giving becomes a way of outsourcing our humanity.

This principle extends far beyond formal giving money into the fabric of our daily relationships. Consider the parent who provides materially for their children but remains emotionally absent, or the friend who shows up to events but never truly shows up as a person. 

Most of the brothers I lived with in the monastery took naps regularly. Yes, you read that right. They napped. 

I’m not saying everyone can or should nap. Frankly, I struggled to nap myself - but I did try. 

These brothers also usually slept 7 or more hours per night on average. 

Why such dedicated sleeping habits? 

When I was in the monastery, I met a sister who had lived with Mother Teresa in Calcutta. I asked this sister, “Do you have any stories about Mother Teresa?” The sister told me this one: 

“When mother cleaned the sink, she always left it cleaner than before the last person used it.”

St. Therese of Liseux, a hidden cloistered Carmelite nun, died anonymously at the age of 24. Yet, within a few decades she became one of the most recognized spiritual figures in the world – her posthumously published autobiography Story of a Soul becoming one of the best selling spiritual works of the entire 20th century. 

Why? How? 

When I was in the monastery, the bell would ring at 5:30 AM for Lauds - our first prayer of the day. In the darkness before dawn, we'd shuffle into the chapel, half-awake, sometimes grumpy, definitely not feeling "holy."

But here's what I learned during those years: showing up is 80% of the spiritual life.

Discernment is more than decision-making. It’s the art of spiritual perception, learning to see with the eyes of the soul. The word comes from the Latin discernere, meaning to separate or sift. Discernment is the quiet work of sorting through noise to hear the whisper of truth.

Detachment is often misunderstood. It’s not about caring less. It's about holding what we possess – whether material or intangible – so lightly that we can let go when it no longer serves our greater mission of love. 

Recently, I was in Assisi, Italy praying at the tomb of Saint Francis. Here’s a reflection I wrote while there:

Sitting in the tiny chapel in front of the body of St. Francis. Thousands of people stream by throughout the day. The look on their faces and glistening eyes communicate that they feel deeply challenged and inspired — even 800 years after the saint’s death.

Once when I was in the monastery, I remember my cousin came to visit. As she was leaving, she asked me with a bit of sorrow in her tone,

"Don't you get lonely here?” 

The question surprised me a bit. Sure, loneliness happens to all of us from time to time. But, I didn’t consistently feel lonely. Most of all, because I was blessed to experience a closeness to God that was deeply nourishing and lifegiving. But secondly, because I was with a caring community day in and day out.