Instead of sitting
at her pretend vanity
she’s wearing mascara
and real earrings
researching the ingredients
in her makeup products
reading the back of
the shampoo bottle
considering using
an eye cream
curling her hair
all by herself
staring at a ring
that’s diamond
instead of plastic.

Instead of teaching
a classroom of
two dozen Barbies
perched on Dixie cups
and grading papers
for a roster
of pretend students
she’s running into
the real
little boys and girls
in the pews
at the store
by the park
who she actually taught
to do division.

Instead of standing
at an easel in art class
painting an oil piece
completing her AP Art portfolio
from her dining room table
in the peak of the pandemic
she’s opening an Etsy store
to sell her pen-and-ink portraits
then closing up shop
to paint in watercolor
just for fun.

Instead of appearing
at her mom’s bedside,
waking her up to a whisper
Can I make a cornhusk doll?
she now rises
each day
limited only by
her own courage
to take up space
and create.

At some points
along the way
she’s paused the process
packed up the paint brushes
but the fire didn’t die
it just needed to be revived.

Instead of filling
her journal
with stories and prayers
she’s tossing her words
onto the flames
her creativity rekindled
an artist again.

Notes

Sometimes, writing is a labor of love. I trek my way through expressing an idea over the course of hours, iterating and editing until I’m satisfied with the finished product. Other times, the words spill out. This poem is an example of the latter, and the credit goes entirely to the Holy Spirit, its true author.

I bemoaned to Phil before he left for a run that I had no idea about what to write, and he gently reminded me to allow my words to flow as the fruit of my prayer. I opened my Bible up randomly, read a Psalm, and then continued a draft I began a few weeks ago with the inspiration I needed. By the time Phil returned, I had this poem complete to show him.

Another beautiful signal of God’s grace? I’ve been listening to this song nonstop over the past week, including while drafting this poem. Phil finally showed me the movie 1917 over the summer, and although I’m a sensitive viewer (and averted my eyes during a few gruesome war scenes) I truly loved this movie and its beautiful soundtrack. Nineteen-year-old Phil had texted this song to me a week or two after our first date along with the review, “kinda slow but amazing with headphones.” My everyday experience of creativity isn’t the same as running through a WWI battleground (watch the clip here for the full effect), but listening to this song certainly kindles the creative fire for me!

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I send a message to my mom and aunt that’s filled with enough inside jokes and obscure references to qualify as its own dialect. It might be 5:45 a.m., or 6:11 a.m., or 7:04 a.m. (on a weekend), but as regular as the sunrise, one of us will set our text thread ablaze at daybreak to schedule a phone call.

Moments later, a string of xoxoxo, exclamation points, and encouraging words for the day ahead brighten up my phone. All of us are, unsurprisingly, morning people. I scroll through these texts while I sip a glass of water, consider whether or not it’s too early to open the blinds, and unroll my Pilates mat. Single-leg stretches and squats complete, I layer on a sweatshirt and lace up my running shoes. For the thousandth time, I untangle my corded earbuds and connect them to my phone. While walking down the stairs, I click on my call history to select my two most recent contacts. With my family on the line, it’s time to begin my morning walk around the neighborhood.

My mom, aunt, and I have talked almost daily for years. Beginning sometime in the 2010s, we started calling my aunt during the drive to school. I would sit in the backseat of my mom’s Honda Accord, holding her iPhone 5 on speaker, and the three of us would talk until we reached the drop-off line. Ever since, we’ve maintained this routine, although the form has shifted: calls at the kitchen counter throughout high school, from my dorm room during college, while driving home from work after graduating. We’ve skipped days due to travel, switched to Ladies Live when we’re walking together in person.

We’ll recap our days, share plans for dinner, ask for advice, and process hardship. We’re like the women in a period piece, gathering in the parlor to discuss day-to-day life in great detail. Instead of taking a turn around the pianoforte, arm-in-arm, we loop around streets in Virginia, Maryland, and South Carolina each morning, tethered together by cell service.

My neighborhood route is so familiar to me now that I lap it on auto-pilot during our conversations. While listening to recipe recommendations and work stories — as well as the occasional NFL update from my dad — I greet the same homes and people.

There’s the man who waits, backpack by his feet, for his ride to work. The guy with glasses walking his flannel-vested dog. The newly constructed house on the corner with its crew installing windows. The speed-walker who pumps his arms as he passes me on my return trip. The yellow farmhouse with its white picket fence and less white Great Pyrenees lounging on the porch. A medley of morning routines woven around my own.

In the sticky summer humidity, I lock my car and walk towards our apartment building at dusk, following behind an older woman and her dog who I recognize as neighbors. We reach the lobby together and, with my key ready, I open the interior doors for all three of us. My neighbor responds graciously and before turning to leave adds, “Can I ask you a favor?”

Without her glasses, she explains, she can’t identify an object on her welcome mat. I follow her over to her doorstep to investigate. What appears to be a leaf from afar, is clearly not as I approach.

It’s a leg, missing the rest of its rabbit.

Stepping back, I attempt to calmly convey this discovery to my shocked neighbor (who’s holding the prime suspect’s leash), and then dash upstairs to recruit assistance. I quickly return to the scene of the crime armed with Phil and multiple trash bags. While my gallant husband disposes of the rabbit’s remains, my neighbor and I continue our introduction before wishing each other a more peaceful end to the evening.

Two doors down from my childhood townhome lived a family with four kids. I became like their fifth, and we grew up spending as much time in our shared backyard and each others’ basements as we did in our own. I fit right in. Literally. I would squeeze onto the bench in their breakfast nook to eat a sesame seed bagel, or fondue, or whatever extra serving was offered to me whenever I stopped by to play.

One night, while wearing my pajamas, I walked a few steps across the lawn from my front door to theirs for a movie night. Compressed onto the couch, we watched A Town Called Panic and scanned the subtitles while sharing huge bowls of stovetop popcorn. As an only child, I got another taste of being part of a big family. When the credits rolled, I would return to my neater, calmer, three-person house, but in the meantime, I enjoyed the feeling of home I found in the scattered toys on full display.

I was welcomed, right into the clutter and chaos.

Since our eventful introduction, we’ve frequently crossed paths with our elderly neighbor and the rabbit assassin her dog as we enter and exit our building. After each interaction, Phil and I would toss around the idea of inviting her over for dinner. Determined not to keep volleying our vision back and forth until the opportunity passed, we finally decided last week to make the invitation.

I baked a batch of pumpkin muffins, dusted off my cursive skills, and dropped off the treats along with a note at our neighbor’s doorstep — inches away from where the rabbit’s leg once laid. A few hours later, we received a thoughtful, paragraph-length text in response. Dinner plans with our sweet neighbor: officially added to the calendar. Time to consult the cookbooks.

“You know, this is my first outing!”

Our neighbor gazed at us with gratitude. We had intersected, yet again, in the lobby a few days after making our dinner plans.

When the door closed behind us, Phil and I made eye contact, both of us visibly moved by her comment. We were the first, aside from her local family members, to offer our neighbor an invitation since she moved here about a year ago. To her, dinner with us wasn’t just one more event to wedge into an already-full agenda. This meal, meaning, the gift of your company, as she texted, was her main event. Maybe not just of the week, but of the month, or of this past year.

For the better part of our marriage, we had no idea that we were living above a neighbor as eager to welcome our friendship as we were to share it.

This is community — in our ears, under our feet, or down the street.

It might evolve over decades or arrive at our doorsteps in a moment.

May we always have the openness to receive and the courage to extend its invitation.

Notes

I’m still narrowing down which dessert I’m planning to make for our mini dinner party, but I know I’ll be selecting one of Ina Garten’s recipes. I’m considering adding these chocolate ganache cupcakes that I LOVED baking with my mom when I was younger to our menu.

Phil thinks I look like Mr. Rogers wearing this red cardigan, so in keeping with the theme of being a good neighbor, I’m taking that as the highest compliment. This is your encouragement to wear something red and invite an elderly neighbor over for dinner!

I visited the Shrine of St. Anthony for work earlier this week and got the chance to venerate one of his relics. When I arrived home, I realized that everything on my Google Calendar — past, present, and future — had disappeared. Blip. Vanished. Not in my trash. Not hidden. As though my calendars had never existed. Googling solutions wasn’t particularly helpful, but I eventually figured out a way to manually download and import the lost events, even though it mangled some of the formatting. I had asked St. Anthony for his intercession and considered my attempted solution an answered prayer, but the next day, all of my original calendars and events returned! 10/10 would recommend a visit to this beautiful shrine in the fall and asking for St. Anthony’s intercession with lost things of all sorts!

They didn’t directly make it into this essay, but I’d like to give an honorable mention to the gaggle of middle school boys who live in the buildings across the street from us. They’re usually getting onto the bus half asleep when I take my morning walk, but come the late afternoon, I love getting to overhear them play soccer in the grass (dirt) patch they’ve trampled down over many, many matches. They’ve provided lots of LET’S GOOOOO and GOOOOAAALLLLL for me to listen to through the open window while editing. If you find any typos . . . you know who to blame.

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In the name of gathering inspiration, I pull up Zillow and browse the options in our area, my contentment with our current place diminishing as I click through the listings. The charm of our newlywed apartment — it's communal laundry room, vintage details, and cozy size — suddenly seems inadequate when compared to houses with multiple bedrooms, shiny kitchens, and abundant storage. I emerge from the experience agitated, burdened by what moments ago had been a blessing.

A garden of gifts stretches out before me. In my imaginative prayer, I see it clearly: an array of greenery and flowers, each thoughtfully chosen and carefully cultivated. I’m captivated by their natural beauty until a gaze towards a neighboring plot catches my attention. I spot foliage more robust than mine with flora in full bloom.

The literal grass looks greener.

I glance back to my patch. Stuck on the surface, I don’t notice the roots stretching deeper into the soil, the fruit that’s yet to be born, or the bud about to blossom. But the gardener does. Just like that, my gratitude withers.

I flip through an old journal, the ache of rereading my words propelling me back to a season of great change. New fiancé. New city. New community. New job. New loss. I’m reminded of the sting of persevering through transitions you would prefer to bypass.

My emotions whispered otherwise, but two years ago, I wrote what I hoped could be true: “You wouldn’t be happier living someone else’s life. Maximum contentment in this life is right in front of you if you choose it.”

I couldn’t escape my circumstances, but I could choose to be content. The choice is always mine: to plant and persist rather than to resent or resist. And to see what might grow if I do.

Another week and the same question arises: “What should I write?”

I let ideas simmer in the background, draft sentences I later scrap, and pray without receiving a clear direction.

I feel the familiar pull to put pen to paper (finger to keypad) and surprise myself with what shows up on the page (screen). I normally opt for instrumental music or silence when writing, but this time I accept the friction between my thoughts and the lyrics, as Chris Renzema’s Narrow Road1 plays:

Been walking for a while
My feet are getting tired
My heart's a little heavy
But You keep me going
Been walking for a while
Mile after mile
My soul's a little weary
But You keep me going
You keep me going

You said it'd be a narrow road
You said it'd be a narrow road
So why am I surprised when it
Seems I'm on my own?
You said it'd be a narrow road
This world will never be my home
The journey might be lonely
But I'd never be alone
Oh, I'd never be alone.

I know this well by now. If I’m looking too far forward or glancing from side-to-side, I’m restless with where I am.

I’m not supposed to be up ahead or over there. I’m called to be here.

Here, in our apartment, content with what we have yet hopeful for what is to come. Here, in the current circumstances of my life, not wishing I were anywhere other than where God wills me to be. Here, until I’m called Home.

I’m not required to love our bathroom without a fan, the muffled voices of our downstairs neighbors, or our finicky burner that refuses to light. I look forward to owning a house with bathroom counter space and an oven that fits a large sheet pan, but I’m sure that even the next home won’t bring maximum contentment. It won’t be forever. One day (God-willing), I’ll move into my Heavenly dream home. Only then will the grass truly be greener.

Until then, I choose to be content.

Yes, with my home and my present reality, but most importantly, in the One who walks the narrow road with me.

This world will never be my home
The journey might be lonely
But I’d never be alone
Oh, I’d never be alone.

Notes

In the spirit of cultivating contentment, I’ve been reflecting on the things we enjoy in our current home:

• I’ve been loyal to Mrs. Meyers hand soap for years and particularly like the honeysuckle scent and punchy packaging.

• I made three watercolor bird paintings that hang in our living room using one of these Emily Lex watercolor books. It’s sometimes hard to find a craft project that you’d actually like to display!

• We use our nice placemats and cloth napkins almost every night for the fun of it. Doing so slightly increases our laundry loads, but in this phase of our lives, it’s a worthwhile trade-off. Pottery Barn no longer carries the striped option one of my best friends gifted to us from our wedding registry, but there are so many other cute patterns currently available.

• Phil gave me this board game for my birthday last year, and it’s practically paid for itself given the number of times we’ve played it since.

• We love the papal blessing parchment we received for our marriage. Ours hangs in our entryway above our key dish and brings me so much joy.

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scanning to spot Fisherman’s Inn first

his attention unwavering

whether we play a game

or talk about my dreams.

****

“One, Two, Three, Weeeee!”

his strong hand swinging me

slinging me

a “sack of potatoes”

over his shoulder.

****

The whirr of the blender

cutting through the news

played at full volume

pulverizing the smoothie he savors

like his coffee or Chiante.1

****

Pop’s Ride bobbing along the dock

the Bay blanketing the background as we

pick Mr. B’s crabs on the porch or

share a batch of lemon bars and

discuss “the truth of the matter.”

****

A slap on the back

an almost-too-hard hug

whiskers prickling my cheek

“Who loves you?”

“Pop!”

Diving into breaking waves

feet immune to blisters

his desk adorned with

two of my senior portraits.

****

Stoic yet tender

a cherry dip cone

hard shell

soft interior.

****

Standing in the kitchen

after a run along Route 1

eating roadside chicken

in a t-shirt worn for decades.

****

Bronze sculptures

fishing around the world

dozens of Persian rugs

both thrift and taste.

****

Sending me into the surf

teaching me about the tides

always pushing me

farther into the deep.

****

Holding a fish

a piece of fruit

a slice of pizza2

a crossword puzzle book

a little hand

as we wade

through a tide pool

together.

The Details

I wrote these poems based on a note in my phone that I furiously jotted down after my second grandfather died in November 2024. It contained a list—one for each of my deceased grandfathers—of their traits, habits, features, and interests, the details I feared I would forget after their deaths just 19 months apart.

I’ve opened this note from time to time to remind myself of the many things I love about these two men who each left an incredible mark on my life. I was content to keep my memories recorded for myself until I felt prompted this week to weave them into poetry here.

The broad strokes of my grandfathers’ lives are preserved in their obituaries, but I wanted to share their legacies from the perspective of someone who didn’t know them as young men, or as an art glass studio founder, or as an attorney. I wanted to capture who they were as grandfathers.

Grand-fatherhood softened and brought out a childlike playfulness in both Pop and Grumps. In a great paradox of life, my grandfathers became more youthful in their older age, and I had the privilege of growing up while retaining the security of their fatherly care. From my birth through my early twenties, my grandfathers reflected God’s fatherhood to me over and over again, freely giving and receiving love, joyfully and wholeheartedly.

Through their role as grandfathers, Pop and Grumps became more fully themselves, unrepeatable men made in the image of God. The fullness of who they were can’t be contained in a few stanzas, but these poems feature the hidden highlights.

Of course, Pop was much more than his favorite beverages, his preferred tv volume level, and his facial hair. Likewise, Grumps was much more than his antique collection, his affinity for all forms of fruit, and his constant proximity to a body of water. Most of their lives, and ours, are composed of details that become meaningful when we recognize them as echoes of God’s glory in who He has created each of us to uniquely be.

Shaped by my grandfathers’ examples, I choose the lemon-flavored dessert, chip away at my NYT crossword puzzle book, and make smoothies in Pop’s old blender. I’m preserving a touch of them in the journey of becoming more of me. I may no longer hold my grandfathers’ hands, but they taught me how to hold my Heavenly Father’s as He, too, pushes me farther into the deep as we wade through life together.

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Yesterday was October 1: National Black Dog Day, National Pumpkin Spice Day, and National Homemade Cookies Day. While I love dogs, fall treats, and baked goods, more importantly, yesterday was the feast day of one of my favorite saints: Thérèse of Lisieux.

My holy friendship with St. Thérèse began in 2019 when I read I Believe in Love by Fr. Jean C. J. d’Elbée on the recommendation of Emily Wilson Hussem. As the subtitle — A Personal Retreat Based on the Teaching of St. Thérèse of Lisieux — suggests, this book contains reflections from St. Thérèse’s approach to topics like abandonment, confidence, and peace. It provides a stunningly beautiful introduction to Thérèse’s example of loving the Lord with complete trust despite her weaknesses.

Getting to know Thérèse through this series of meditations profoundly shaped my understanding of God and offered me so much comfort as I grappled with fears, anxieties, and perfectionism as a teenager. I wove an excerpt from this book into my senior retreat talk in high school, clung to particular passages when I was reeling after my first economics exam, and reread the book from my dorm room while gaining my footing during my first weeks of college. I came to love a saint who encountered many of the same struggles I did and taught me what it could look like to carry those crosses with a childlike disposition of confidence in God’s love for me. I Believe in Love was, and still remains, one of my favorite books of all time.

In the spirit of St. Thérèse, Fr. d’Elbée includes an selection from Fr. Jean-Pierre de Caussade’s L’Abandon à la Providence divine on the topic of abandonment to the Lord:

“divine action encompasses everything, guides everything, does everything except sin, it is a duty of faith to adore it in everything, to love it and receive it with open arms, with joy and confidence.”1

He continues:

“Do not ask me what the secret is for finding the treasure. There is no secret. The treasure is everywhere. It is offered to us at all times, in all places . . . Divine action inundates the universe; it penetrates all creatures; it hovers over them; everywhere they are, it is there. It goes before them, accompanies them and follows them. We have nothing to do but to let ourselves be carried by its waves.”2

The treasure is everywhere.

God’s glory is everywhere!

Maybe these seeds of Thérèse’s spirituality — God’s ultimate sovereignty, His eternal presence, and the joy of discovering and delighting in Him — sown in me years ago sprouted into All the Glory. In reading these passages again this week, I was struck by how their theme parallels the purpose of my writing here. Like St. Thérèse, through my writing, I am seeking to confidently receive God’s ever-present glory and encourage others to join me.

In considering what I would share in my newsletter this week, I asked God for the inspiration and perhaps indirectly for Thérèse’s intercession. Humble though she is, Thérèse did, in fact, gently suggest herself.

She didn’t present me with a topic when I remembered it was her feast day as I flipped my calendar page to October.

Or when I popped over to midday Mass and listened to a homily reflecting on her example.

Or when the Communion line funneled me back to my seat directly past the bouquets flanking her statue.

Nope.

Thérèse suggested the subject of today’s newsletter in the form of a blueberry. A very big blueberry.

This is seemingly uncharacteristic! Normally, St. Thérèse is recognized for her “Little Way” — her pursuit of Heaven through small acts of love and total reliance on God’s grace. Yesterday, though, she went big.

I came home from work famished and pulled out a carton of blueberries to make a yogurt bowl for a snack. As I scooped up a handful of berries and began to rinse them over the sink, I noticed a massive blueberry that stood out from the others.

I plucked it out, momentarily admired it, sent a photo to Phil commenting on its size, and proceeded to eat it (separately from the others, of course). As I laughed to myself at my own delight in this large blueberry, I thought of Thérèse and how she, too, probably would have gotten a kick out of it.

She might have laughed to herself, like I did, that the same Hand that guided the major events of her life and her eternal destiny also orchestrated a glimmer of the divine — a moment just for her — in an ordinary piece of fruit she could hold between her fingers. I can imagine her pondering peacefully to herself, Here’s Your glory. The treasure is everywhere. I find You everywhere.

Thérèse: The unofficial patron saint of All the Glory if there ever was one!!!

I’m not a Doctor of the Church or even excelling at emulating St. Thérèse, but I am inspired anew to follow her “Little Way” and recognize God’s Providence in the little and in the big. I definitely have a long way to go in my journey of surrender and abandonment, but I like to think that Thérèse and I have much in common in terms of our enjoyment of the little things, the hidden ways God is working. Often, the little choices, surrenders, acts of love — and pieces of fruit — are actually very big.

Thérèse reminded me this year, not with a shower of roses, but in the form of one big blueberry, that she’s with me as I grow along my unrepeatable journey towards sainthood, by God’s grace, taking my “Littler Way.”

Saint Thérèse, pray for us!

In Christ,

Casey

As I have in prayer, Mass after Mass, I lay my hands, palms up, one on top of the other.

At the foot of the Cross or into Christ’s hands, I give Him everything. At least, I try to. The hand posture tends to come more easily than the heart one for me.

I’m in high school art class. Behind me, two of my classmates begin disparaging one of my best friends, unaware that I’m overhearing their gossip.

A wave of heat engulfs me. I calculate my response, dipping my brush in more paint and rehearsing how I will approach them when the bell rings. Lord, give me the courage to act.

These two choices — to surrender or to act — seem like the ever-present dichotomy of the Christian life.

Step back in prudence

Step out in courage

Stay still

Move forward

I need to release this

I need to bring this up

Let it go

Do something about it

Keep quiet

Say the hard thing

Remain in Me

Go forth

I don’t think the Lord calls us to engage in a constant battle of discerning whether to surrender or to act in every situation of our lives. I think instead, He desires for us to lean on His prompting and choose the response — or a combination of the two — that matches the context.

I am 100% still learning how make choices and let God handle the rest! Sometimes (most of the time?) I’m clinging too tightly to My Plan, My Vision, and My Expectations at first and need the gaze of Christ to remind me that I can confidently surrender it all to Him.

Other times, I sense the familiar presence of the Holy Spirit gently calling me out — of fear, of comfort, of an impulse that isn’t good for me or my heart — and into an opportunity to act boldly for God, even if no one else sees it.

I surrender and act imperfectly most of the time, but I choose to trust that, choice by choice, Christ is forming my heart and decision-making more after His own.

Over time, decisions to both surrender and to act, entirely sustained by God’s grace and bolstered by the generosity of loved ones, have contributed to a life I really like.

I am called to the constant refrain:

Thank you, Jesus, for this gift. I couldn’t possibly orchestrate the events of my life to have made this work out on my own.

Lord, give me the courage to act. Help me to make choices that steward this gift well.

Inspired by this blog post from years ago, here are 8 decisions that God and I have made that have led to a life I love:

1. I chose my faith as my own. I was blessed to be baptized as a baby, grow up attending Catholic school, and experience faith infused in aspects of everyday life. Inspired by the witness of my religion teachers and Emily Wilson’s YouTube channel, I made a conscious decision in high school to choose my Catholic faith wholeheartedly. I learned and accepted the teachings of the Church in a new way, began to cultivate a prayer life, and grew in love for Christ little by little as I gave Him more control. Every decision I’ve made pales in comparison to this one: This choice gives meaning to every other choice!

2. I applied early decision to college. I struggled for awhile with knowing what to say when people asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”, but I was confident in where I wanted to attend college: the University of Virginia. This desire showed up on my fifth-grade star-of-the-week poster and only grew stronger by the time I was applying to colleges. Although I toured other schools and submitted additional applications, I was compelled to put all of my eggs in the UVA basket, so I applied early-decision. I took the SAT, wrote and rewrote the essays, and clicked “submit” on the Common App, but ultimately, the admissions officers at UVA decided that I would become a Hoo. I never weighed the pros and cons of multiple colleges acceptances. I’ll never know what life at another school would have been like. I instead grew into my young adult self and in Charlottesville, and I wouldn’t trade any of it.

3. I joined a Bible study. I remember learning about Catholic campus ministries the summer after my senior year of high school and thinking, Wow. I’d really like to have a community of friends like that in college. I looked up UVA’s CCM website, discovered Catholic Hoos, filled out the new student registration form, and got connected to a Zoom call for rising first-years. That call led to FaceTiming a girl who invited me to join her Bible study, which led to finding a community in the thick of COVID when I only knew one person in the state of Virginia, which led to the forming of my dearest friendships in college. Six years after that initial invitation, I now have a standing Friday phone call with that same Bible study leader turned best friend.

4. I went to a cookout. Casey, you are listing your top EIGHT life decisions, and this made the cut? Why, yes it did. Going to a cookout was how I met my now-husband my first year of college. While Phil and I knew of each other and had technically met on Zoom (again, COVID times) earlier in the winter, the first time we interacted in person was at this gathering a group of our mutual friends hosted behind the UVA dorm buildings. I almost didn’t go because I wasn’t sure how many people I would know there, but I pushed myself to attend. Little did I realize that just by showing up, I would recognize a cute guy, wave “hi” to him from across a grill, and become his wife a little over four years later.

5. I applied for an internship. Lots of meandering Google searches, an application for an internship in a different state, and an online interview with technical difficulties, all led me to an internship the summer before my senior year of college. My job afforded me the opportunity to not only build skills and get over my fear of rollercoasters (a story for another day!), but to also interview with the principal of the school where I would eventually have the privilege of teaching —even though my internship wasn’t in the education field. An internship leading to a job after college is a massive blessing, but when that internship somehow leads you to an unrelated dream job, that’s God’s hand at work in quite an unexpected way.

6. I became a teacher. I went into college considering majoring in cognitive science or commerce, but after discerning a lack of passion for either, I chose the major that I felt called to pursue: elementary education. My years teaching third grade contained some of the most difficult and rewarding experiences of my life. I learned much more than I ever taught, and that’s saying something! Mrs. Bongiorno’s class covered a lot of content! Even though I’m not teaching my current coworkers how to improve their reading fluency, multiply single-digit numbers, or identify regional differences in the United States according to the five themes of geography, I am constantly grateful to use the gifts I learned as a teacher across many unrelated aspects of my life.

7. I stopped teaching. Over time, God made it abundantly clear to me that it was time to let go of my identity as a teacher and begin to use my gifts in a new way. I am so proud of how much I grew during my two years teaching third grade, yet I am even more proud that I had the courage to step into something new without all of the answers. Only after I had surrendered my teaching position did the Lord offer me a new job opportunity more aligned with my desires than I could have possibly imagined. A few months in, and the peace and freedom that have stemmed from this decision continue to surprise me. In giving up who I was as a teacher, I have become more of the daughter, wife, friend, and colleague I am called to be.

8. I made time for my creative hobbies. One of my 2026 goals was to pursue my creative hobbies more intentionally, and I’ve spent much of this year designing, making, painting, and writing with greater vigor. All the Glory is the fruit of this goal, and in its short lifespan, it has already yielded immense fulfillment for me, well beyond my expectations! In a world of AI slop, I’m declaring that using my creative gifts to make real art still matters.

This list certainly doesn’t contain all of the significant decisions God and I have made, but I can trace much of my present gratitude for my life back to these eight.

Since recently turning 25, my prefrontal cortex has apparently fully developed, so I should be making many more decisions that will lead to a life I love — perhaps even more! — in the years to come, ha!

What decisions have you made that have led to a life you love? I’d love to hear!

In Christ,

Casey

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In honor of the occasion, Phil and I planned a summer roadtrip to Bar Harbor, Maine and Acadia National Park, where we spent a few days doing some of our favorite things — hiking, eating, and spending time with each other — in one of our new favorite places.

I’d love to share the details of our trip, both to preserve my own memories and in the hope that our itinerary (heavily influenced by this blog post) would be helpful if you ever find yourself planning a visit to Bar Harbor. Here’s a look at our time in Maine, if you’d like to see!

DAY ONE: We left home around 4:30a.m. and powered through the early morning leg of our drive before stopping at Chick-fil-A for breakfast. Our journey continued without any major events, except for when I finally retrieved a piece of contact from my eye somewhere around New York. The occasional pains of being near-sighted!

Not only did my incredible husband navigate us through many of the major metropolitan areas along our route, but he also took the lead on researching a variety of pizza options for our lunch. After scouring reviews, he selected Sally’s Apizza in New Haven, CT. While Sally’s wasn’t the authentic “New York slice” Phil had originally envisioned, the Connecticut experience fueled us well and, more importantly, saved us from battling NYC traffic.

Morale inside our car was high for most of the drive, but I started losing steam during the final push. Once we crossed the New Hampshire-Maine border, rain began pouring down, my passenger fell asleep, and we still had about three hours of driving ahead of us. Around 8:00p.m., we were starving, but getting to glimpse the sunset over the bay made for quite the entrance into Bar Harbor.

Exhausted yet exhilarated, we quickly parked in downtown Bar Harbor and enjoyed a very late dinner at Side Street Cafe, a family-owned restaurant. After our meal, we walked to Jordan Pond Ice Cream & Fudge Shop, where we savored our first scoops of the trip. My memories from traveling to Portland with my family in 2016 held up: New England ice cream is truly on another level!

We then drove a couple of blocks over to the Hearthside Inn, a charming bed and breakfast tucked away along a neighborhood street. After checking in with one of our hospitable innkeepers, we unloaded our luggage and promptly collapsed.

DAY TWO: We woke up for our first full day in Maine well-rested and ready for our hikes ahead! As the name suggests, our B&B provided a daily breakfast selection, which consisted of one savory and one sweet option. To maximize our ability to sample the menu, Phil and I adopted a routine of ordering both choices to split, which meant enjoying our first Maine blueberry item (blueberry pancakes!) and a frittata.

After breakfast, we gathered our gear and drove about fifteen minutes to Acadia. We were expecting rain during most of the trip, as well as difficulties with finding parking at some the more popular hikes, so it was a pleasant surprise to arrive at Sand Beach to only clouds and lots of open parking spots! We tried to manage our expectations and consider any absence of rain a massive gift, even if that meant beholding the natural beauty of Acadia against a moodier backdrop of grey skies.

Our expectation management paid off because we stepped onto Sand Beach AMAZED and practically pinching ourselves at the stunning scene! We spent at least thirty minutes staring at the water, carefully climbing some slippery rocks, and discussing the presence of tannins in a stream with a friendly teen (the first of many sweet interactions with strangers while exploring Acadia).

With a bit of margin before we needed to grab lunch back in Bar Harbor, we decided to tackle our first hike: Beehive Trail. We hadn’t quite realized how challenging this popular hike would be until we started passing warning signs along the trail (eek) and tackling exposed cliff faces, metal rungs, and narrower ledges than I prefer. Thankfully, the fog obscured our view, which somewhat minimized my fear of making one wrong move and tumbling into the abyss. Anyway! We lived to tell the tale and definitely should have purchased a pair of the “I survived Beehive” t-shirts we later saw in a bunch of souvenir stores, ha!

Hiking Beehive helped us work up an appetite, so we sampled paninis, blueberry soda, and chips at Lunch Bar Harbor before stopping by The Sweet Bite a few doors down to select cookies for our afternoon hike. Once it started to drizzle, we popped into a few stores along the Village Green before driving back to Acadia to visit Thunder Hole.

Back in the park, we watched waves crash into an inlet formed by the rocky coastline, which created a thunderous boom, hence the name, Thunder Hole! From there, we drove along Park Loop Road to the Gorham Mountain/Cadillac Cliffs loop. This one was of my favorite hikes: enough of a challenge to be interesting without the stress of falling off the side of mountain. Ideal! While it was still overcast when we reached the summit, that didn’t stop us from the enjoying our cookies and the foggy view.

After freshening up, we drove to Sweet Pea’s Farm Kitchen for what we anticipated to be a dinner of seasonal salads and wood-fired pizza, but as we pulled into the parking lot, we realized that the property was unfortunately closed for a private event. We quickly pivoted and backtracked a few minutes down the road to Bar Harbor Lobster Pound instead.

This was our most interactive meal of the trip, at least for Phil. I ate my (delicious) lobster roll and then admired Phil dissecting his whole lobster over the course of the next 30 minutes, ha! Requests were submitted (and denied) to bring home the lobster bib, but I did make it up to Phil with a trip inside the restaurant to visit the lobster tank. We finished our evening with more ice cream from Mt. Desert Island Ice Cream (my favorite of the Bar Harbor ice cream shops) and a stroll through the Village Green.

DAY THREE: A special guest joined us the next day: MR. SUN! Jordan Pond glistened in the morning light as we started walking the 3.3-mile Jordan Pond Trail loop. The low elevation made for a peaceful stroll until we split off to hike the South Bubble trail. We scrambled up some rocks to a stunning view of the lake below, and a kind man took our picture by the famous Bubble Rock!

After completing the descent from Bubble Rock, we finished the second half of the Jordan Pond Trail (and spotted a baby turtle, as in, the size of a half dollar!) until we reached Jordan Pond House, a park restaurant known for its popovers, which we enjoyed with butter and strawberry jam. Delicious!

We ended up having more free time in the afternoon than planned, so we added in a trip to Anemone Cave. We were able to time the tide and crowd level just right and entered the cave both when it was safe yet also pretty empty. Although I found maneuvering around so many slippery rocks without getting my shoes and socks wet a bit difficult, we had a great time exploring the tide pools and marveling at various sea creatures.

With even more time remaining before we needed to get ready for our evening, we drove back into town to cross the Bar Island Trail, a sandbar that links the Bar Harbor waterfront to Bar Island during low tide. We skipped rocks, explored tide pools, and got a kick out of spotting Burnt Porcupine Island, Long Porcupine Island, and Bald Porcupine Island along the horizon (their real names, no joke) as we crossed the sandbar and returned back.

At 4:00p.m., we went to Vigil Mass at Holy Redeemer Catholic Church down the street from our bed and breakfast followed by dinner at Havana, where we shared oysters, spring rolls, and paella before ending the night with another round of ice cream.

DAY FOUR: We woke up to more sun (!) on our final day in Maine and ate our breakfast outside on the patio of the Hearthside Inn before driving to Echo Lake. Phil took a quick dip before we began the Beech Cliffs loop, a moderately challenging hike featuring iron ladders, that led to an expansive view of Acadia and the lake below.

After making our way downhill, we drove to The Travelin’ Lobster for an early lunch. If you’ve been counting, this was our second lobster-forward meal, and it did not disappoint. I got a classic lobster roll, while Phil opted for the hot buttered option, and we both enjoyed our selections!

Our final excursion that afternoon was to visit Cadillac Mountain, the highest point along the eastern seaboard of the U.S. and one of Acadia’s most popular destinations. This brings me to a mistake I made during the planning process. Vehicle reservations for accessing the road that leads to the Cadillac summit are required two days in advance. While reservations are both cheap and easy to book, we had been out and about hiking a couple of days prior when it was time to make our reservation, and I wrongly assumed they would not sell out. Granted, I checked the website later that evening, 36 hours or so before our preferred reservation time, and still saw availability, but I mistakenly assumed it would last!

Because all of the available reservations for our last day in Acadia had been purchased, and we hadn’t accounted for the hiking time or intensity required to complete the trail option up to Cadillac Mountain, we bit the bullet and signed up for a shuttle that picks tourists up from a Bar Harbor gas station parking lot, drives them to Cadillac Mountain, and then returns them back to the gas station after an hour or so of exploring at the summit. Once I swallowed my pride, I was grateful for a solution, even if it was more expensive and more cushy than I would have preferred.

Visiting Cadillac Mountain, regardless of how we got there, was totally worth it. The view was incredible (see if you can spot Burnt Porcupine Island in the distance), and it was a joy to take in the beauty of Acadia as a whole with Phil as our final event.

We wrapped up this last day in Maine with my favorite meal of the trip at Abel’s Lobster. Since they don’t take reservations, we arrived early and waited around thirty minutes for a table. The wait was a small sacrifice in exchange for a spectacular meal (including one final lobster item!) while overlooking the only fjord along the east coast. As no surprise, we followed up our dinner with another last: ice cream!

DAY FIVE: We ended our trip with another 4a.m. wake-up, loaded up our car with all of our items (minus my umbrella, which unfortunately got left in Bar Harbor), and embarked on the long trip home. While the drive back from a destination is less exciting than the trip there, we made the most of our time together, rediscovering the joys of a Jersey Mike’s sub, listening to podcasts, and napping.

Our first anniversary trip certainly wasn’t perfect (an eye issue on the interstate! lots of rain! a closed restaurant! a missed reservation!), but it was a beautiful gift nonetheless — just like our marriage. We are so grateful that our work schedules and life circumstances aligned to make this trip a reality and are already contemplating more trips to Maine in the summers to come!

Thank you so much for reading! If you’ve ever been to Bar Harbor, I’d love to hear your favorite spots!

In Christ,
Casey

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My idea? A fall bucket list! Even though I’m not clad in a Catholic school uniform, writing lesson plans as an elementary education major, or teaching my own class of students as we enter into fall, I want to appreciate this time of transition for what it is: deeply tied to my memories of growing up as a student and growing into my first real job against the backdrop of a similarly changing season.

Because fall is temporary, it’s all the more reason to focus on all the glory present within it! Here’s a look at my mostly-free fall bucket list, if you’d like to see:

Bake a bunch: The Trader Joe’s fall items are on full display, and while I’ve refrained from purchasing any boxed pumpkin bread mixes so far, I did make a batch of these pumpkin and spice snickerdoodle cookies to share with my coworkers. The past few years, I’ve also baked homemade apple cider or pumpkin spice scones each fall after reading about the tradition in this blog post (recipe included). I’m looking forward to making some when my family gets together to celebrate the fall birthdays!

Make soup: Sticking with the fall food theme, I can’t wait for it to be chilly enough for soup! I tweaked Ina Garten’s minestrone recipe a couple of years ago and have been adapting my own easy chili recipe inspired by this one. Phil and I also enjoyed this pumpkin chickpea curry last fall as an easy vegetarian meal that yielded good leftovers for our little family of two!

Roast squash: Butternut, acorn, delicata, honeynut, spaghetti, I haven’t met a squash I didn’t like. Zucchini comprised much of Phil’s and my summer diet (we love this zucchini bread and this What to Cook zucchini skillet), but it’s time for summer squash’s fall counterparts to shine. It might be time to consider making this delicious butternut squash lasagna!

Return to drinking tea: I come from a family of Barry’s Tea enthusiasts, but I unfortunately didn’t inherit the Irish gene for daily tea drinking. I enjoy decaf tea occasionally if I’m cold or sick, but I’d like to increase my tea-drinking frequency and enjoy more regular cups of this harvest blend. Unfortunately, my stash of these tea bags recently expired, so I will need to restock. For only $2.79/box, purchasing a new supply sounds like a very low barrier to building a warm beverage routine!

Listen to Jazz for Autumn: During my first semester of student teaching, my wonderful mentor teacher played fall-themed music for our students as they completed morning work and while they transitioned back to class after recess. I tucked this idea away, planning to implement the same routine in my own future classroom. The following fall, seasonal instrumental jazz became the highlight of my third-graders’ spelling time (and a much-needed reprieve for Mrs. Bongiorno!) so much so that its absence would result in requests like, “Mrs. Bongiorno, can you please turn on the jazz?” Even during my commute, I found myself opting to exclusively listen to this Spotify playlist when I was too overstimulated to process anything else. Let it be known that I’ve also been listening to the same playlist while drafting this post, and the entire experience has been delightful. It’s a major hit.

Pick apples and pumpkins: I loved spending my childhood summers picking blueberries and peaches when visiting the Delaware coastline with my family, but I had never picked apples until visiting an orchard with my college roommates. Produce picking — whether it’s off the tree or from the farmer’s market stall — is a tradition I’d love to continue this year. I’m eager to have an abundance of apples for all of the previously mentioned baking and snacking :)

Puzzle: It’s a noun. It’s a verb. It’s one of my favorite fall activities. I’ve been chipping away at this crossword puzzle book from The New York Times for a couple of years and still have many puzzles left to go. Despite its “easy” title, I’ve noticed that the difficulty level fluctuates quite a bit from puzzle-to-puzzle. I’ve speedily completed some puzzles and abandoned others, but the variability keeps things interesting. Another aspect of my puzzling hobby that I’d like to pursue is working on 1000-piece jigsaw puzzles, especially those that feature one of Charles Wysocki’s autumnal paintings.

Watch and attend football games: I am a Steelers fan by marriage and out of loyalty to my first-grade teacher, but my personal allegiance is to the Hoos. Phil and I are hoping to visit Charlottesville once this fall and attend a UVA game! Not quite free, but it would be a worthy investment and a delightful opportunity to spend time in one of our favorite places during the season its architecture and landscape were made for.

Read something cozy: My book club chose Agatha Christie’s The Mirror Crack’d from Side to Side for our next read, and I’m excited to dive back into the mystery genre after discovering and then devouring a copy of The Man Who Died Twice from our neighbor’s Free Little Library. I’ve also been enthralled by The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion series, as have thousands of Amazon reviewers. These books feel like the Venn diagram overlap of Jane Austen, Little Women, and Downton Abbey, which is my dream fictional combination. I’m currently reading Volume III (of VIII, thankfully) and hoping that I’m appreciating each book enough before it’s complete!

Get a library card: Speaking of reading! This list item might not be specific to fall, but between an increase in my reading volume and the resulting fullness of our bookshelf, I’m sensing that it’s time to start visiting the library. I pass our local branch every single day on my walk around the neighborhood, so I have no excuse to delay this task after living here for more than a year.

These ten items feel manageable and meaningful, and I hope they offer you some ideas for building your own mostly-free fall bucket list whether or not you’re back to school. How are you planning to celebrate fall? Has seasonal instrumental jazz been as life-changing for you as it has been for me?

Please share any and all fall recipes! Bonus points if squash is included!

In Christ,

Casey

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“Have we met before?” he asked, beginning to unload my items.

I immediately recognized Michael as the same man who had scanned our groceries last spring as we chatted about The Hillbilly Thomists, a Dominican Friar bluegrass band featured on my husband’s beloved t-shirt.1

I also remembered Michael from a Trader Joe’s run for frozen appetizers on New Year’s Eve in 2024, during which the miraculous medal I was wearing prompted him to share about his time discerning religious life in a monastery.

I responded with an enthusiastic “Yes!” before recounting a variety of reference points from our previous interactions.

We proceeded to compare home parishes, applaud our local bishop, and discuss an upcoming pilgrimage while Michael loaded up my reusable bags. As I tapped my credit card to pay, he carefully wrote down a recommendation for a priest’s YouTube series he thought I would enjoy. We shook hands, exchanged names, and I walked to my car, cart full and cup filled from the interaction.

I was surprised that Michael had remembered me, months later, amidst the countless customers he must assist daily. I was even more surprised — and delighted! — that God had clearly answered my simple prayer from earlier that morning for an opportunity to share the Gospel. I really shouldn’t have be surprised, though, because God’s glory is everywhere.

I’m sure that, in part, Michael recognized my face when he saw me approaching his lane, but I would also bet he noticed my miraculous medal.

While I wear this particular necklace or a variation daily as a personal devotion to Our Blessed Mother, wearing this piece is also a outward choice to reveal an inward reality: The core of my identity is beloved daughter of God. I am Catholic, first and foremost, and tangibly reflecting this truth serves as a reminder of the ultimate purpose for which I, and everyone who witnesses me wearing it, was created.

This same miraculous medal I wore when first meeting Michael in the check-out line on December 31, 2024 and my husband’s priest-band t-shirt are visible signs of our faith that have become infused in our everyday wear and, over time, our personal styles.

These aspects of our outfits sparked a divine interaction in the middle of a routine errand — not once, but thrice! — and subtly yet profoundly pointed to something more, Someone more, who makes us and everything around us more.

I’m realizing again what I’ve known to be true for awhile: What we wear matters! Even my little self intrinsically knew this! Although she didn’t fully understand God’s place in personal style yet, she sensed its value as she designed dresses during indoor recess, crafted her own capsule wardrobe as a tween, and relished in a “homemade Stitch Fix” she received for her thirteenth birthday when she was still too young for the real personal styling service.

Now, as a young woman, I’ve felt inspired recently to rekindle another aspect of cultivating my personal style: color analysis.

Since reading the original 1987 edition of Color Me Beautiful in seventh grade I have been enamored by the concept that our natural, God-given features are best complemented by a specific assortment of clothing colors reflecting a particular “season.”

I used the book as a guide to assess myself, my family, and everyone around me (inconspicuously!) as a middle-schooler before “getting my colors done” through an online service as a Christmas gift when I was in college. The analyst typed me as a Soft Autumn, and I’ve generally gravitated towards wearing softer, medium-depth tones since then.

Maybe its the fact that September has begun, and the season of fall really *aligns* with the Soft Autumn color scheme, but I have been so excited to tap into my colors even more lately! I love the idea that, although I have the freedom to play with shades in my wardrobe beyond those in my palette, I also have a collection of colors I can wear that uniquely bring to life the beauty God has given me.

I truly believe that the Lord delights in this pursuit of us finding our styles, just as He delights in us sharing Him through it!

We might be called to reveal Christ by wearing a habit, a Crucifix pendant, or a sweatshirt featuring a famous quote from a saint.

We might be called to reveal Christ through a conversation with a Trader Joe’s employee because of a simple choice to wear a go-to necklace or put on a favorite shirt.

We might be called to reveal Christ by forgoing fast fashion in favor of brands with dignified labor practices, investing in natural-fiber pieces over ones made of synthetic fabrics, or downsizing our wardrobes to donate items to those in greater material need.

We might be called to reveal Christ simply by wearing more navy than black because you want to lean into being a Soft Autumn.

Whether it is obvious or more subtle, God can be profoundly present in every choice we make about what we wear. Outfit by outfit, our personal style can evolve over time, constantly echoing back to our daughterhood found in Christ yet propelling us forward in the journey of growing as women toward eternity.

I wholeheartedly believe that we can find the glory of God in all aspects of our lives and do all things for His greater glory—cultivating and sharing our personal styles, included. This is All the Glory.

In Christ,

Casey

Here a some ways I’ve been loving growing in my personal style lately, if you’d like to see:

1. Perusing the outlets: My husband Phil and I accidentally picked Labor Day Weekend as the time to go to the outlets to look for new running shoes for him. After many minutes spent circling the parking, we emerged from the experience with no shoes for him and a few on-sale-items for me, including this quilted knit jacket (far left image). Monthly fun money well-spent.

2. Wearing my colors: I’m taking inventory of my long-sleeved tops and looking forward for crispier days when I can actually wear them (far right image).

3. Thrifting: Goodwill kind of overwhelms me, but I’m getting to know my local branch. The vibe is a bit “needle-in-a-haystack”, but I’m pleased with finding this knit turtleneck sweater (center image) on a recent trip for close to the price of shipping for most comparable pieces. Please share your thrifting tips!

4. Listing items on Poshmark: I used to love dropping off clothes to Uptown Cheapskate in college to resell and receive cash or store credit in exchange. I haven’t been able to find another clothing consignment option in our area that’s as low-stakes, so I listed some items on Poshmark. With a few sales under my belt, my low expectations have already been exceeded, so I’m counting the endeavor a win and considering it an exchange for the aforementioned outlet excursion :)

5. Finding a simple daily bracelet: I wore a knotted Rosary bracelet for years in high school and college, started wearing a watch more regularly after finding one I loved on our honeymoon, and have spent the last year or so looking for something dainty that fit snuggly around my wrist (apparently a very difficult parameter). I finally decided to try this gold cross bracelet, and I’ve worn it almost every day since July!

How have you enjoyed playing with your personal style lately? I’d love to hear!

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