Mining the Now

by Chris Koellhoffer, IHM   June 7, 2026

It’s all because of the weeds. I had just arrived home, eager to discover how my recently planted garden had fared in my two week absence. While delicate shoots had made slow progress after days that were unseasonably cool and overcast, the weeds, as usual, had flourished. Wildly. Extravagantly. With abandon. So as soon as I deposited my luggage, I headed outside to push back the invasion while the ground was still softened by rain. But for that green army, I would have missed a bee hidden on the ground.

Not just any bee but my favorite kind, a big fuzzy bumblebee, the one who loves lavender as much as I do. This bee was barely moving and, I think, old, its wings tattered and worn. Perhaps she had had enough of the day’s labor and longed for respite before heading back to her hive. Perhaps she was nearing the end of her bumblebee lifespan. Whatever the reason, I was moved to run back inside, fill a small dish with pebbles and a mixture of honey and water, and place it gently on the ground beside her. Within seconds, she crawled towards the dish, lifted herself onto the edge, and sipped honey water through her delicate proboscis. Her movement was so conscious, so full of longing, that I bowed my head as a witness to the life force within. After a very long pause, I whispered a blessing and left her and the weeds in peace.

Later, I went outside to check on the bumblebee. She was gone and the dish of honey water was empty, both promising signs of recovery. Hopefully, a few sips had revived her enough so she could manage her flight home. But I couldn’t shake the image of a creature so utterly exhausted and spent by labor or age or illness or whatever was unfolding in her bumblebee life that she couldn’t even raise her head. All that was left her was to gather a last bit of strength and seek a place of safety and rest. All that was left me was to witness her distress and be present as I could.

Ever since my encounter with the bumblebee, I’ve been reflecting on the times in our lives when we’ve been saved in some way by the presence of a honey waterer. When we’re so worn down by worry that we’re paralyzed from any movement towards a life-giving direction. When our souls are so numbed by grief that we hover, dazed, on the edge of overwhelming loss. When the crying needs of the world surround us and we question whether our seemingly small efforts produce meaningful change. When we ache to feel the presence of God but the Holy One seems to be silent and unresponsive.

If we’ve found ourselves in places at the end of energy or hope or life-giving options, may we offer profound thanks for the presence of one who has noticed our pain and tended to it with compassion and care. That safe place will always be our loving God, of course. Or a soul friend in whom we can pour out our troubles and find a listening heart; a pet who places its head on our lap and gazes at us with understanding beyond words; a spiritual director, co-worker, even a stranger who knows nothing about us but who reads the sadness written across our face and is moved to accompaniment.

May we also give thanks and stand in awe of the times when, by the grace of the Holy One, we find ourselves deeply aware of the wounds of our world, stepping in for the divine, and sharing our own store of restorative water, sweetness, and welcome. May we respond with the hospitality of the weeds which, however accidentally, offered shelter and cover to a frail and faltering bee. May we do this as the weeds did: Wildly. Extravagantly. With abandon.

Takeaway
Sit in stillness with the Holy One.
If you’re able, go outside to a garden or a flowering meadow and spend some time sitting nearby and noticing how creation tends to itself.
Or find a photo or video of a bumblebee gathering pollen for the well-being of the whole.
When you close your prayer, pray with Psalm 119:103: “How sweet is the taste of your word, sweeter than honey to my mouth.”

Featured Images: Skyler Ewing, Unsplash; Bobby, Unsplash

NOTE:
Thank you for your prayer for all who were part of a directed retreat at Villa Maria by the Sea in Stone Harbor, NJ, May 18-25. I was privileged to be one of the guest directors in this beautiful space and to be blessed by the gracious hospitality of the Sisters of IHM (Immaculata), for whom I hold a special affection.

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by Chris Koellhoffer, IHM   May 23, 2026

Have you discovered that in the natural world, pretty much anything can hold an invitation to reflection? Recently, for me, it’s been the modest dandelion. Often the first food for bees after an autumn of decay. A more reliable harbinger of spring than a robin wrestling worms out of an underground home. Sometimes the bane of landscapers hoping for an unblemished lawn. Often the delight of children grabbing fistfuls for an early spring bouquet.

While I was a guest director at Mercy by the Sea earlier this month, hundreds of seedy dandelions clamored for my attention. They had the look of paratroopers preparing for an invasion, ready for launch by the wind. Equipped with the pappus seed that creates something like a halo as air flows above it, they became airborne. Besides relying on the wind to spread their seeds, they counted on birds and animals to carry them on their fur or feathers, as well as the human family to unconsciously ferry them to new places on clothing or shoes.

One sunny afternoon during the retreat, I plucked a single perfect dandelion sphere to gaze at closely. Its delicacy, beauty, and intricacy remained with me even after I arrived at this next retreat in Stone Harbor. Here, we were already past the season of dandelion parachutes. But as I rummaged through herbal tea bags in the dining room, I grinned when I discovered organic dandelion and peach tea. By now, I’ve swallowed so many steaming cups of this hot beverage that the dandelions have not only been taken in by my eyes but poured into my mouth and throat and absorbed into my entire being. Now I find myself gazing at the world through the lens of Magnoliophyta, the family to which dandelions belong. What a transforming perspective!

But what about other ways of changing our outlook? Beyond the dandelion world and into the deeper life of the spirit, I’m reminded of St. Paul’s admonition to “put on the mind of Christ,” to cultivate the same attitude that is in Christ Jesus (Philippians 2:5). To actively adopt the Holy One’s worldview. To gaze at the world through the eyes of the Holy. To align ourselves with a divine purpose.

This is so much more than an exercise in imagination. Like the slogan, WWJD? (What would Jesus do?), this calls us to embody the presence of Jesus in a world that is at once beautiful and wounded. This ongoing process involves daily inner soul work and discernment about what to do, about how to be the face of Love as we move through each day. Embracing this mindset requires that we’re open to being transformed by God’s grace, that we “stand in” for the Holy wherever we may be. What a transforming perspective!

In “Christ Has No Body,” St. Teresa of Avila reminds us of God’s desire, God’s need, for us to live each day embodying the Holy as the presence of Love in our world:

Christ has no body but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
compassion on this world,
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,
Yours are the hands with which he blesses all the world.
Yours are the hands, yours are the feet,
Yours are the eyes, you are his body.
Christ has no body now but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
compassion on this world.
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.

Takeaway
Sit in stillness with the Holy One.
Reflect on what it feels like to be so deeply needed by the Holy One.
What do you notice when you look at the world through the lens of God’s eyes, when you walk on God’s feet, when you bless with God’s hands?
Ask the Holy One to accompany you wherever you may go this day.
Bow and give thanks for the privilege of embodying the Holy.

Featured Images: Hasan Almasi, Unsplash; Herbert Goetsch, Unsplash

 NOTE:
Thank you for holding in your prayer all who are part of this directed retreat at Villa Maria by the Sea in Stone Harbor, NJ. The retreat is drawing to a close and we are so grateful for your remembrance as we also pray for you and your intentions in this place of peace at the ocean’s edge.

On this Memorial Day in the United States, we hold in tenderness and prayer all those who gave their lives over in service of freedom and those who miss and mourn them.

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by Chris Koellhoffer, IHM   May 8, 2026

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the seemingly mundane activities of our seemingly ordinary lives. I say “seemingly” because every moment of every day is bursting with grace, which makes each day already extraordinary. When we’re living with awareness, when we’re in a space of noticing, we can be bowled over by what the Holy One puts directly in our line of sight, spotlighting spaces where our presence and attention are most needed.

For many, one of the seemingly ordinary activities of everyday life is a trip to the farmers’ market or the supermarket. There Rachel Naomi Remen’s observation speaks loudly, for she notes that, “The way in which we go to the grocery store may tell us everything about the way in which we live a life.”

I know what I look like when I go shopping for food, but I’ve been wondering, what might it look like when Jesus moves through the store? Although I can’t locate a Scripture verse that mentions him browsing Wegmans or Shop Rite, I’m rather certain I’ve encountered Jesus in several aisles. How about the weary mother pushing toddlers in their specially designed “car” cart, patiently returning the snacks they’ve grabbed off the shelves? And wasn’t that the Holy One just now longingly eyeing a lemon bar in the bakery case, then reluctantly remembering he can afford only essentials this week?

I suspect the produce section might be one of Jesus’ favorite areas, and surely, we’ve met him there. Surveying rows of juicy lemons and crisp Romaine, bags of shallots and sacks of potatoes. Taking in every bit of signage that proclaims the bounty of the Creator. Standing still and in awe before a kaleidoscope of color and variety. Pausing to read labels from around the world, mindful of farmers whose crops are flooded, or migrants whose aching bodies have harvested delicate strawberries by hand, or hungry families struggling to stretch every dollar.

Jesus moves mindfully through the store, making way for those who replenish shelves, steering his cart with care, blessing the work of human hands and hearts. Down every aisle he navigates and around every corner he turns, he carries peace and offers loving presence. He invites us to do and to be the same.

You’ll have to excuse me now because I just spotted the Holy One in the bakery section. It appears there’s a crumb bun involved, and so, of course, it’s my discernment that I must head over there. And yes, right now!

Takeaway
Sit in stillness with the Holy One.
You may want to reflect on the gift of God’s abundance
OR take a leisurely trip to your local farmers market or supermarket.
However you pray, consciously embody the presence of the Holy and share the divine with everyone you encounter this day.

Featured Images: Viki Muhamad, Unsplash; Jess Torre, Unsplash

NOTE:
May 8-14
Thank you for your continued prayer for all who are part of a directed retreat at Mercy by the Sea in Madison, CT, in process.

May 18-25
Please also remember in your prayer all who will be part of a directed retreat at Villa Maria by the Sea in Stone Harbor, NJ. I’m serving as a guest director for both of these May retreats. Thank you!

Mother’s Day
In the United States, Mother’s Day is celebrated on May 10. But really, every day is an invitation to express profound gratitude to all mothers, grandmothers, and everyone who nurtures, supports, forms, and cherishes the young and not so young. Blessings!

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by Chris Koellhoffer, IHM   April 26, 2026

Spring is not only a time of awakening for all things green and growing. It can also usher in a season of moving from one living space to another—out of the dorm and back to living with family or friends; out of a home one has outgrown to a larger, more suitable space; out of a spacious apartment one no longer needs and into a more downsized way of dwelling. Spring can also invite an awakening of the soul and a search for spiritual accommodations more in line with the growth of our spirit.

The words of my dear friend, Hafiz, sent me in this direction. One of the most beloved poets of Persia, Hafiz lived in the 14^th century in what is now Iran. His lyric poems celebrate love, spirituality, and protest. Decades ago, his writing drew me into a lively and cherished friendship.

Lately I’ve been unpacking this single sentence from Hafiz: “What we speak becomes the house we live in.” I wondered: what does my speaking and writing reveal about the place where I dwell? Over a period of thirty years, I’ve offered hundreds of presentations and guided retreats and contributed a peace and justice column to every issue of Journey. For the past sixteen years, I’ve written this blog, Mining the Now.

Often retreatants or directees think very kindly of me and imagine that I’m living perfectly the words I speak or write. Don’t I wish this were true! In reality, I’m simply preaching what I need to hear and then living in hope that my words might have something to say to others. There are times when I feel that the words hanging above the desk in my office are passing judgment as I write, for they remind me that, “Words are so powerful, they should only be used to heal, to bless, to prosper.”

I’m aware of what the house I live in looks like when my words evidence gossip or criticism or annoyance, and also aware of how my living space is restored when I praise, I affirm, I welcome. At all times, I’m consoled by the words of the spiritual writer Henri Nouwen. He wondered, “Can we only speak when we are fully living what we are saying? If all our words had to cover all our actions, we would be doomed to silence! Sometimes we are called to proclaim God’s love even when we are not yet fully able to live it…But by proclaiming our ideals and visions with great conviction and great humility, we may gradually grow into the truth we speak.”

I’m clinging to the hope of just that kind of living and I encourage all of us to hold on to Nouwen’s words whenever the space between what we aspire to and how we live seems a chasm. I suspect what we long for is a world where the Holy One’s dream of abundant life for everyone aligns with the way we speak and think and act. Where the words that come out of our mouths and the thoughts that linger in our hearts reveal the deep desire to live into something larger than us.

So just what does the house you live in look like? What do your thoughts and words reveal about the essence of who you are and what you most deeply desire? What might your actions and your everyday living have to say about the world where you live, about the world you long to dwell in, about the people and places you cherish and protect, about those you name and claim as kin in the Universe? May we all be faithful to building just such a home!

Takeaway
Sit in stillness with the Holy One.
Reflect on or revisit your sense of the spiritual home where you live.
What words might best describe the state in which you aspire to dwell?
God listens lovingly to your desire. Ask the Holy One to move in and dwell with you there.

Featured Images: Andrey K, Unsplash; Brad Weaver, Unsplash

NOTE:
Thank you for your prayerful remembrance of our April 11-18 IHM Chapter, which was a deeply contemplative time. I’m delighted to announce our new IHM leadership team of these amazing women:
Sister Annmarie Sanders, IHM president, and our IHM councilors, Sisters Kathleen Lunsmann, Mary Elaine Anderson, and Lisa Perkowski.

May 8-15:
The summer retreat season has begun!
Please hold in your prayer all who will be part of a directed retreat at Mercy by the Sea in Madison, CT. I’ll be one of the guest directors for this retreat. Thank you.

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by Chris Koellhoffer, IHM    April 10, 2026

Have you, like me, been gazing more frequently at the sky this month? Perhaps you joined me in looking up, following the journey of Artemis II. The timing of its launch coincided here on Earth with our observance of the Passover, the longing of Holy Thursday, the suffering of Good Friday, the emptiness and waiting of Holy Saturday, and the exuberant Easter rising of Jesus. The mission of Artemis II at this very time has generated global interest and invited contemplation on who we are in relation to the rest of the Holy One’s creation, the Universe.

The luminous writer and friend of heavenly bodies, Madeleine L’Engle, wrote that the root of disaster (dis-aster) is separation from the stars, meaning that the deepest tragedy for our souls is to be cut off from dreams and beauty and meaning and hope. Could this be the season of reunion with the stars?

Artemis II could hardly have launched at a more optimal time, for sadly, it’s far too easy to name only the woundedness of our planet and her inhabitants. A mere five minutes of taking in the news of the day reveals a lengthy list of wars and regional conflicts, bombings of already decimated people and their homes, decision-making that ignores the crying needs of the desperate poor and the most vulnerable. But this Easter season impels us to see beyond appearances, to find the bud under the frost, the stone rolled away from the tomb, the dream of the world we want to live in.

With Artemis II, I’m taken back to my childhood in the suburbs. There my father introduced us to the spiritual practice of stargazing. He would sometimes bundle us up in blankets in the middle of the night and carry us out to the second floor deck of our home. There we would simply gaze in awe and in a collective silence before a midnight sky brilliant with stars. Though our hearts ached with a longing we could not explain, we somehow intuited that the distance between galaxies and our earth-bound feet was not really all that far. We felt stardust and kinship close in our bones, so whatever childhood concerns had filled that day were swept up and transformed by the view of something beyond us, something bigger than our imagining.

This might be what we’re noticing with Artemis II: rekindled hope and rehydrated dreams for the human family. We’ve learned that the Greek roots of astronaut translate as “star sailor.” That name alone has a sense of exhilaration and adventure about it, doesn’t it? We’ve noticed and been moved by the many thoughtful details that NASA and these sailors among the stars have carried with them into space. How appropriate that a child, Lucas Ye, designed RISE, a zero gravity indicator for the mission, a whimsical face floating around the capsule. Hardware from the Space Shuttle Challenger, whose 1986 mission claimed the lives of all seven astronauts onboard, came as a nod of remembrance. This gesture made it possible, in a meaningful way, for the Challenger mission to go to the moon also, but in the year 2026. Astronaut Jim Lovell’s family contributed a patch from the Apollo 8 mission to the moon, a return visit of sorts. From their vantage point, the crew suggested naming one moon crater “Integrity,” the name of their spacecraft, and then a second crater, a bright spot located on the boundary of the near and far side of the moon, “Carroll,” honoring the late wife of commander Reid Wiseman. This collective tenderness led to many postings on  Instagram, including this wondering, “Who knew four astronauts would be the spiritual balm for our wounded collective soul?”

What is it about Artemis II and Easter and this moment? After this journey, how could anyone gaze at the moon untouched by our shared hopes for this planet to be at peace and blessed by the goodness of so many? Might we read into these tender details the rising of our hope that another way, the way of compassion and collaboration and peace, is possible? Might we in these days live intentionally and reclaim our ultimate place in the heart of the Cosmos? What might the Artemis II journey be saying to each of us in this Easter season, and how will our lives be different because of that?

Takeaway
Sit in stillness with the Holy One.
If you’re able, take your prayer outside once dusk turns to night. Or gaze through a window out to the heavens.
Thank the moon and stars as they make their appearance.
Imagine yourself looking back from them to our beautiful yet wounded planet, with reverence and respect.
Thank the Holy One for this divine creation and for every moment of Moon Joy.

Featured Image: Ahmred Fareed, Unsplash

NOTE:
April 11-18
Please hold in your prayer my IHM congregation as we enter into our Chapter, a week of prayer and discernment of our future and as we elect new leadership to advance our mission for the life of our beautiful yet wounded world. Thank you!

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by Chris Koellhoffer, IHM     March 15, 2026

I’ve always been drawn to synchronous movement: the marching band performing complex choreography while also playing musical instruments flawlessly; the corps de ballet floating gracefully in unison across a stage; the Rockettes performing the March of the Wooden Soldiers during Radio City’s Christmas pageant. In all of these groupings, there’s an intense awareness of one’s space in relationship to those who are in front of, next to, or behind. As someone who studied dance and movement for many years, I have a profound appreciation for the artistry and discipline involved in making a group’s movement appear as a unified, cohesive, single body in motion. It looks both easy and spontaneous, but we know better, don’t we?

Perhaps no performance of group synchronicity has touched my heart as deeply as witnessing a murmuration. This breathtaking natural phenomenon occurs when thousands of birds, usually starlings, gather at dusk, creating massive, fluid, and synchronized aerial displays before roosting. Even though I’ve learned some of the science behind this phenomenon, I still stand in awe of the mystery.

I was serving as a guest director at a retreat center when I took a walk on the grounds one evening at dusk and noticed a huge flock of birds preparing to roost overnight. First, an enormous grouping gathered with more and more starlings joining in flight; then, an elegant ballet as they formed loops and swirls in unison and created beautiful, mesmerizing sky art, over and over. I held my breath in fear this apparition would disappear, which eventually it did, but even then, I remained rooted where I stood, shaken by such beauty, and gazing upward.

I’ve since learned that these dazzling, shape-shifting patterns are primarily defensive, enabling starlings to confuse predators like hawks and falcons, but also helping the flock to stay warm and share information about feeding grounds. These aerial ballets can be small or grow to hundreds of thousands as migratory birds join local populations.

But how, I wondered, was it possible for thousands of birds to move as one body, to twist and turn into different shapes in the blink of an eye?  Search “murmuration” on Cornell Labs’ All About Birds site to learn more of how birds adjust to their flockmates by coordinating their movements with their seven nearest neighbors. In ways we still don’t fully understand, starlings are able to process messages from the seven neighbors nearest to them in an enormous flock. It seems that starlings “play telephone” with these seven neighbors all at once as messages are transmitted. Once again, our feathered friends remind us of the value of connection to those nearest to us, to those traveling by our side, to those who share our space.

I’ve observed this type of movement in the human family but in a much, much slower and time-consuming process. When a gathering struggling to come to consensus breaks into smaller groupings and first shares at tables of six or seven, then each of those tables shares their wisdom with the full group, and eventually, after deep listening, a ripple of agreement (a murmuration of sorts?) fills the space. When strangers arrive at a retreat center and are able to communicate without words and in silence their single shared desire for a deepening relationship with the Holy One. When neighbors bring their heartache over injustices directed at the inhabitants of their city or nation and gather together, protesting with one voice and giving time and energy to help bring about God’s dream of peace for our world.

I’m reminded of my dear friend Mary Oliver’s poem,
“Instructions for Living a Life”:
“Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.”

We are trying our best, dear friend! May we always pay attention. May we always be astonished. And may we always share whatever it is that inspires and grabs our soul. May it be so.

Takeaway
Sit in stillness with the Holy One.
Name several people you are close to and who inspire you.
Invite them into your prayer space, and thank them for their presence in your life.
Ask the Holy One to help you bless and guide one another.

Featured Images:  Zeki Binici, Unsplash; James Wainscoat, Unsplash

NOTE:
March 23 – 26:
Please keep in your prayer safe travels for me and a dear friend and also blessings for all who will be part of a retreat experience we’re leading for the Sisters of St. Casimir in Chicago and Lemont, IL. My congregation of Sisters of IHM and the Sisters of St. Casimir share a Covenant Relationship. Thank you!

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Enter your email address in the space provided and then click on “Subscribe” and follow any prompts. When you receive an email asking you to confirm subscribing, be sure to confirm. Otherwise, you won’t be subscribed to future new blog posts, and I don’t want you to miss even one!

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by Chris Koellhoffer, IHM   March 1, 2026

I do appreciate the seasonal stillness and contemplative time that winter has been arranging for some of us, but perhaps you join me now in a growing desire for greening and rising and new life. Soon, those of us in the Northern hemisphere will be on the alert for the chirps, warbles, honks, and whistles of returning geese and robins. Soon we’ll be scrutinizing every tree and birdhouse for signs that our feathered friends have taken up the arduous task of nest building. We’ll marvel at the magic they weave from twigs, leaves, dried grass, dryer lint, and whatever building materials might welcome a new generation.

This time of year I ache with an envy of all things avian that I trace back to a childhood experience.  Every spring we would drape strands of colored yarn on our clothesline in the back yard. That act was an open invitation to our Baltimore Oriole neighbors who would swoop down and snatch a strand of yarn to bring back to their nest. Over and over, back and forth, until the hanging pouch would reveal its weaving of sunshine yellow, bright orange, and deep red. The hanging was high enough to be safe from predators and more than high enough to be out of my reach. That was the ache, you see. I wanted to be there. I wanted to be composed more of feathers than of earth. I wanted to feel myself in communion with the wind and soaring free. How about you?

As we greet our returning feathered neighbors, we may feel our own flightlessness more keenly. Could there be a bit of Icarus and Daedalus in us, longing to fly ever nearer to the heavens and shake off whatever fetters and holds us earthbound? Do we sometimes dream of trading our human skeleton for hollow bones and the experience of liftoff? Have we found ourselves yearning to tilt our heads back just for a moment like a laughing gull or a crow surveying the world below, ecstatically announcing our place in the kin-dom of the sky?

At times in our lives, we may especially feel the heaviness of gravity’s pull and long for weightlessness, for flight, for movement upward and beyond ourselves. I read all of that as an expression of our profound hunger and thirst for something larger than we are. While our limited language can’t fully articulate our desire, we hear echoes in St. Augustine’s prayer, “You have made us for yourself, O God, and our hearts are ever restless until they rest in thee.” We were created by God for God and can find true peace, purpose, and our authentic home only in the divine. What we come to know is that the hunger and thirst we feel for God is actually a sign of the Holy One’s first longing for us. The desire we feel is a mirroring of God’s deep desire in our own hearts.

Could it be that this Lent, with the grace of the Holy One, our intention and practices might serve as wings that guide us forward and upward? That our longing for flight might find expression in a growing intimacy with the Holy One and a liberation from all that stands in the way of a deeper relationship with the divine? May each day of this season move us closer to God’s dream for us, for our feathered friends, and for all creation.

Takeaway
Sit in stillness with the Holy One.
You may want to place before you a feather, a nest, or an image of a bird in flight.
Share with the Holy One your desire to fly unfettered from anything that stands in the way of a deeper relationship with the Holy.
Then open your arms and your heart, and fly!

Featured Image: Gary Bendig, Unsplash; Himanshu Tiwari, Unsplash

NOTE:
I appreciate your holding in your prayer all who were part of the Retreat in Daily Life at King’s College during the entire month of February. Thank you!

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by Chris Koellhoffer, IHM     February 15, 2026

Many years ago, I fractured my ankle. How, you may wonder? Oh, not the usual trip, slip, or fall for me. Instead, in keeping with my love of dance, I was doing the polka. In sandals. With energetic leaps and kicks. Ultimately landing on the side of my left foot. But it’s not really the foolishness of dancing in inappropriate footwear that I want to write about. It’s what came after.

I was prescribed a boot so that I could walk without significant pain. That’s when a morning ritual became a daily practice. I discovered that wearing my boot (it was clunky and hard to miss) attracted constant attention in the form of offers to help, to hold doors and carry packages, to give up a seat on the subway, to glance my way with a knowing nod. All that, although I was not really in any significant pain.

My first and permanent learning was an immediate and deeper empathy for anyone I encountered who had a visible sign of mobility challenges: a cast, a wheelchair, a cane, a walker, crutches. This led me into a more meaningful way of getting dressed each day. As I fastened my boot with Velcro, I prayed for everyone I would meet who had no visible sign of the physical, mental, or spiritual challenges they carried. You know them or may be among them: those who greet each day with burdens known to them alone, who summon their courage in the face of constant physical or emotional pain, who struggle to keep hope alive, who resist despair, who continue to be the face of Love in our world even when no one else is aware of their suffering. I intuit that is all of us at some time, a gathering of the wounded, the lonely, the longing to belong and be heard, the grasping for meaning and for purpose.

And as someone who has helped with the distribution of ashes on Ash Wednesday and who has gazed into the eyes of those who approach, I’ve had a glimpse into what the Holy One already sees and knows: our deep desire to return to God with all our heart, a longing so profound it has shaken me to my core. No matter what is unfolding in our lives present or past, no matter if we carry shame or regret or failure to love fully or to be the people we know ourselves called to be, Ash Wednesday offers a gentle reminder to move closer to home with the Holy One who in Jesus experienced the brokenness of the human condition. To name our longing and go deeper. To walk though this Lent prayerfully and in the company of a tender, welcoming God. To notice the invisible boots of brokenness we are each wearing. With the grace of the Holy One, may we all inch closer to healing and wholeness this Lenten season and far, far beyond.
May it be so!

Takeaway
Sit in stillness with the Holy One.
Name any personal suffering or brokenness you’re carrying at this time.
Picture your burdens as an imaginary boot or as a mobility device you may use.
Place your burden(s) down.
Picture the Holy One scooping them up, carrying them, and walking beside you in the days to come.
Ask the Holy One to help you and others move forward with grace.

Featured Images:  Unknown source; Rohit Choudari, Unsplash

NOTE:
Blessings of Ash Wednesday and the season of Lent! May we hold one another and our beautiful yet wounded world in prayer as we journey together through this season.

February 16-27:
Please keep in your prayer the faculty and staff of King’s College in Wilkes-Barre, PA who are engaged in a continuing Retreat in Daily Life during the month of February. It’s my privilege to be one of the guest directors for this retreat. Thank you.

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by Chris Koellhoffer, IHM   February 1, 2026

Perhaps it’s the deep freeze many of us are living through this winter that got me remembering a telling line in “The Guardian.” In this film, Coast Guard rescue swimmers do the unthinkable: jumping out of a helicopter when they locate persons struggling to survive in the frigid Bering Sea, and then swimming distressed persons to safety. It’s a mission fraught with danger and even more complicated when there are multiple lives calling to be saved at the same time. What do you do, wonders a young recruit, when there’s more than one person crying out for your attention, calling for your rescue? How do you know which person to save first? The senior instructor replies from his lived experience: “You save the ones you can for as long as you can.”

As a spiritual director, I might also add: you assess the big picture and you listen–to the Holy One, to your own body, your energy, your abilities, as you’re also attuned to the elements and the critical human needs before you. And then, with trust in the Holy One, you move into some aspect of offering your own life-giving presence. As much as you can. For as long as you can.

For the Coast Guard rescue swimmers, this is the actual work of saving a human life. But don’t we often wish that we had this power in all aspects of our lives? To save those we love from illness or injury or hurt or failure or injustice or worry or (add your concern here). We know that one of the great learnings of a maturing spirituality is owning our inability to save others and acknowledging our reliance on the Holy One. We also acknowledge that it is God who heals and that this same God calls us to be conduits of that divine healing.

But getting back to the question the Coast Guard recruit posed. In the realm of working for a more just and inclusive world, we can often feel overwhelmed by the multitude of voices crying out for our attention. Where do we begin? To whom do we listen first? These days I’m returning to the wisdom of Sister Amata Miller, IHM who many years ago published a reflection on “Some” and “All.” She noted that no one person can possibly respond to every single issue of justice calling for our attention and action. Believing we can do so seems both unhealthy and crazy-making to me.

But this does not let any of us off the hook of our moral obligation to pray and act on behalf of persons who are poor, vulnerable, oppressed, and to actively create a just and equitable world. For example, in the unfolding struggle in Minneapolis and in many other places, some might be called to be present as protesters; some to shop for frightened immigrants afraid to leave home; some to offer transportation; some to create signs and songs of resistance; some to respond with letters, texts, and phone calls to elected officials, denouncing social sin and announcing the good news of the Holy One’s unconditional love for all. All of us holding the suffering of our neighbors in prayer and intentionality, breathing peace and compassion into wounded places. All of us called to a practice of living in ways that move forward the Holy One’s dream of a more just, inclusive, and welcoming world. Micah 6:8 lays out clearly what the Holy One requires of All: to act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with our God. In our practice of the Some and the All, how are we, how am I, how are you, being called to advance God’s dream?

Takeaway
Sit in stillness with the Holy One.
You may wish to place before you a globe or an image of suffering anywhere in our world.
Give your full attention to the wounds you see and ask the Holy One to reveal to you the some and the all that are your call at this moment.
Pray for the grace to incorporate this into your daily practice.

Featured Images:  Hennie Stander, Unsplash; Jon Tyson, Unsplash

NOTE:
February 2 – 27:
Please hold in your prayer all who will be part of a Retreat in Daily Life taking place at King’s College, Wilkes-Barre, during the month of February. I’m serving as one of the guest directors for this retreat.

February 14:
Please also hold in your prayer my IHM congregation as we meet on February 14 in prayer and conversation in preparation for our upcoming elections.

As we celebrate Valentine’s Day, I’m grateful for your continual prayer and support of my blog, Mining the Now, and for all the ways you carry love and compassion into our beautiful yet wounded world. Thank you!

To automatically subscribe to receive new posts from Mining the Now:

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Enter your email address in the space provided and then click on “Subscribe” and follow any prompts. When you receive an email asking you to confirm subscribing, be sure to confirm. Otherwise, you won’t be subscribed to future new blog posts, and I don’t want you to miss even one!

*NOTE: If you are trying to subscribe while using a mobile phone, you may have to take another step. As you look at the blog post, there should be 3 horizontal lines at the top right of the page. Click on these lines and you’ll be taken to what’s on the left hand column (on a laptop or PC). Scroll down and follow the directions at * above.

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