Daughter of The Spirit

Insights, inspirations, custom creations

An Invitation to Conversation

My door is open – come on in.  Grab a cup of coffee or tea, a diet coke, a glass of wine or a gin and tonic.  We can order a pizza or find snacks in the pantry.  Whatever suits you.  Kick off your shoes and get comfortable.  There’s no hurry today.  Let’s just relax and talk.

Some people say real conversation is gone.  That it has been replaced by texting and quick, surface-level chats. Sure, technology helps us stay in touch, but it often means we spend less time talking face-to-face. We have shorter attention spans, feel awkward in social situations, and miss out on those deep, meaningful moments with others.

I love technology as much as anyone, but I’d rather sit here and talk about things that are important to you and important to me.  Tell me what matters to you.  Let’s talk about faith, family, careers, retirement, aging and ailments.  Tell me what brings you joy, what you worry about, what your hopes and dreams are. I’ll listen to every story about your kids, your grandkids, your spouse and your pets. 

Come and talk.  I hear you and I care.

My Fiat: Saying “Yes” to His Call

The term “fiat” refers to a wholehearted and unconditional “yes” to God’s will. The word itself comes from the Latin for “let it be done,” famously spoken by Mary in response to the angel Gabriel’s message announcing that she had been chosen by God to be the mother of His son. Her fiat was an act of profound trust and surrender, demonstrating willingness to accept God’s plan, even without knowing all the details or outcomes. In her innocence, Mary responded with faith, openness, and courage, allowing her own life to be shaped by something greater than personal preference or comfort. 

I freely admit that I never gave a great deal of thought to the concept of a fiat until my husband and I began exploring his call to serve the Catholic church as a Deacon. When Joe first told me he felt called to the diaconate, my heart did not leap with immediate joy or certainty. Instead, it tugged in two directions at once—one toward the beauty of his desire to serve God more fully, and the other toward the quiet fear of what such a “yes” would mean for our marriage, our family life, and the rhythm of the home we had built. But vocation is rarely tidy, and grace often arrives disguised as disruption. And so, like Mary, I found myself standing at the threshold of a decision that would ask for my own fiat—not just his.

Saying “yes” wasn’t a single moment. It came in layers. It came in snippets of conversation exploring the “what if”, in my own prayer that kept leading us back to this path. It came in the gentle conviction that our marriage had always been a shared pilgrimage—one we had promised to walk together wherever God might lead. And it came in the realization that My Fiat: Saying “Yes” to His Call – would irrevocably change our lives.

My fiat was not sudden or naïve. I knew it would mean giving up weekends, adjusting our family traditions, learning to share his time and attention with parishioners who would come seeking comfort, answers, or simply a listening ear. I knew I would have a front-row seat to his joys and his burdens. I knew that sometimes I would be the only one who saw the weight he carried after hearing someone’s pain. It would mean loving not just the man I married, but the servant he was becoming.

But my yes was also filled with hope. I could see the light in his eyes every time he spoke about surrendering more fully to God’s will. When our Diocese sent out a call inviting men to “come and see” and we attended a Saturday morning meeting to learn more about the process, I could sense that this was not a hobby or a fleeting interest but a deep stirring in his soul. And I realized in my own heart that day that a vocation, when embraced wholeheartedly, has a way of expanding love rather than diminishing it.  When we left the Chancery at noon on that day, we both knew that this journey was one that had been set out for us long before we walked into that room. We left armed with a sheaf of paperwork to complete and the absolute conviction that this was where we were meant to go.

Over time, my fiat has become less of a single decision and more of a daily offering. It shows up in the quiet moments like watching him quietly serve on the altar at Sunday Mass. It is there in watching his joy in blessing the marriage of a young couple we watched grow up.  It is there in seeing his enthusiasm when he leads new parents in a class preparing to baptize their child and his pride when someone he has led through sacrament preparation joins the Church at the Easter Vigil.  And it was there in my heartbreak witnessing his quiet sorrow and dignity as he served at his mother’s funeral.  Sometimes it is there when I pray for the grace he needs to shepherd others with compassion, and it shows up when I remind myself that supporting his vocation is part of living out my own.

My “yes” did not make me smaller. It stretched my faith, deepened our marriage, and drew me closer to the heart of God than I expected. It taught me that the call to serve is never solitary; it echoes through a household, reshaping everyone it touches. And in that reshaping, grace makes room for something more beautiful than what was there before.  This journey is not over. With God’s blessing, there will be many more years of service and dozens more opportunities to grow my own faith while experiencing the joys and the sorrows of the people we are here to serve.

In the end, my fiat is not only to my husband’s call—it is to God’s invitation to trust, to grow, and to love in a new way. And like every true yes offered in faith, it continues to unfold, one day, one sacrifice, one grace-filled moment at a time.  This call, though uniquely his, reverberates into my life, asking for my openness, my trust, and my courage.