Mining the Now

by Chris Koellhoffer, IHM    November 15, 2026

This is not intended as a political commentary on recent events, but more like a record of my emotional state going into the beginning of this month. November 2, the day before midterm elections in the United States, turned out to be, for me, a very weepy day. I suspect I was not the only one wiping away tears, but tears that turned into the most joyous,  grateful kind.

In recent months, many of us became painfully aware of just how fragile democracy is. Sharing a passion for social justice, we showed up as witnesses in myriad ways: by protesting at the No Kings rallies; by giving time and energy over to writing emails and making phone calls to elected officials; by working towards a government sea change, a transformative shift in perspective and policy that would usher us closer to the more perfect union on which this country was founded; by praying and struggling in our everyday lives to integrate Gospel values more fully, practicing welcoming the stranger and the migrant, caring for the most vulnerable among us, and calling on elected officials to do the same.

Emotionally, this took a toll. It’s easy to grow weary of resistance over the long haul. It’s also difficult to maintain audacious hope in a time of great uncertainty. So on November 2, the day before the midterm elections, I was utterly spent, and I decided to open Facebook for a bit of distraction. I confess I was totally unprepared for what I saw there.

Oh, my heart! It was as if the rest of the world had simply been waiting to welcome us back into the neighborhood, back to the best version of ourselves as Americans. Post after post from around the globe came from our neighbors to the North in Canada, our allies in the British Isles, Germany, France, Italy, Poland, throughout all of Europe, our sisters and brothers in Central and South America and in regions of Australia and Africa and Asia, our long-suffering neighbors in Ukraine and South Sudan. “We are with you!” “You can do this, America!” “You’ve got this!” “You are not alone!”

I was completely overwhelmed. By the repeated expressions of confidence from the global community. By the determination of marginalized communities within this nation whose blood has been spilled over generations in working towards the fullness of justice, and who never gave up on the dream of inclusion. By people I will never meet who clearly anticipated a sea change for the U.S. and were cheering us on, and loudly. I wanted to fall to my knees and weep from the sheer encouragement of it all.

Since that day and the U.S. elections that followed, I’ve been reflecting on how critical our expressions of love and care and support for one another are, and how tragic it would be if we remained silent and left them unsaid. Whatever one’s feelings about the election results, one thing became very clear on November 2: how just a few minutes of one’s time given over to encouragement and solidarity and presence and prayer is never insignificant. Sometimes, it is all we can do. And sometimes, it is everything.

Takeaway
Sit in stillness with the Holy One.
Summon back in memory a time when a word of encouragement might have meant the difference between your giving up and your holding on.
What feelings can you recall from that experience?
Offer deep thanks for those who cared for and affirmed you.
Ask the Holy One to bless your efforts to be that presence to another.

Featured Images:  Sydney Rae, Unsplash; Brett Jordan, Unsplash

NOTE:
Fully aware that the unfolding work of deep listening and healing divisions is ahead, I ask you to hold the United States in your good prayer. Know how deeply grateful I continue to be for the infusion of hope and encouragement the global community has offered us.

Wishes for a blessed Thanksgiving to all who celebrate. I’m ever grateful for your abundant hope and your support of Mining the Now.

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by Chris Koellhoffer, IHM     November 1, 2026

Have you ever thought of praying while sleeping? After all, Psalm 127 promises that the Holy One “gives to the beloved in sleep.” I’m reminded of St. Joseph, whose dream during sleep illuminated a supportive way for him to be with the news of Mary’s pregnancy (Matthew 1:20). Whose dream during a later rest urged him to move his family to a place of safety, away from Herod’s intentions (Matthew 2:13). And there’s Jesus himself, knowing our human condition first-hand and inviting us to come to him. To draw near especially when we’re overwhelmed and completely spent from carrying the burdens of our lives. Jesus’ expressed desire is to give us rest and restore our weary souls (Matthew 28-29).

Although I’m not always good at it, I’m rather fond of sleep, the falling into it and the coming out of it. I find the twilight moments at night when I’m not yet asleep but also not fully awake absolutely delicious. As I’m nodding off, I imagine God holding me, protecting me, whispering words I can’t decipher but have learned to hear as tenderness, blessing, comfort. And in the early morning when I open my eyes, awake enough to jump out of bed, I don’t. The same God who accompanied me into sleep the night before still feels very, very close. I pause, linger under the covers, listen, and then chat with the Holy One about what’s on my calendar for the day. About who fills my heart and occupies my concern. About my longing to be the face of love, however the day might unfold. I’ve learned to name these moments as holy and as gift. After resting in the stillness for a few minutes, I step out of bed and pray, “Walk with me into this new day.”

One of the graces I pray for everyone to have, whether in or out of rest, is a sense of nearness to the Holy One. I confess that in my daily commitment to prayer that’s not usually what I feel; rather, my prayer life is sometimes so dry that I’m impelled to call out, “Is anyone there? Anyone listening?” No response at the time. But I have noticed that later in the day I may experience a nudge toward acts of kindness or compassion or presence or awareness that come from a source beyond my own. There’s a learning that God’s sense of response time is quite different from mine.

My more formal periods of prayer can often feel like a great leap of faith, a bit like God and I are occupying a huge mansion with dozens of rooms. I know God is present because I can hear her rumbling around, but God and I never seem to end up in the same room at the same time. Still, we continue to show up in hopes that we may come face to face. Showing up in this way points to prayer as relationship rather than prayer simply as obligation. We show up for our family and friends, don’t we, out of love and a desire to strengthen our relationships with them. And that showing up, even when it appears nothing is happening, has to count for something, as I note when I tease the Holy One: “Well, I’m still here. What about you?” It’s ease that comes with an intimate relationship.

No matter where we may find ourselves in the sleep cycle, or the prayer cycle, or the prayer/sleep cycle, the Holy One accompanies us. We, who are wide awake or moving towards slumber. We, who are conscious or unconscious. Accompanied by the same loving Holy One who gave his life over in love for us and who knows our human condition. Whatever else might be unfolding in our everyday lives, that truth alone holds promise and offers consolation every day, whether we’re awake or asleep.

Takeaway
If possible, choose a time for prayer when you’re most inclined to be relaxed. (This may be challenging, depending on what your day is like).
Sit in stillness with the Holy One.
Imagine yourself held in the arms of a loving God.
Rest there for as long as you can.

Featured Images: Unsplash, Polina Khaiko; Unsplash, Hannah Popowski

NOTE:
November 1 (Feast of All Saints)
November 2 (All Souls’ Day)
Thank you for being one of the saints who live beyond us and who give your lives over in love for the sake of a more just and inclusive world.
Let’s hold in tenderness and prayer the many saints who have graced our lives, gone before us in risen life, and continue to hold our intentions in prayer.

Please remember in your prayer my Congregation, the Sisters, Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary (Scranton) as we celebrate our Founders’ Day on November 10. Thank you. You will be with us in spirit.

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by Chris Koellhoffer, IHM    October 18, 2026

Right now, in my corner of the world, there’s a riot going on. A riot of color, wild and extravagant. In this part of densely wooded Pennsylvania, autumn is showing off, dressed in glittering gold, fiery crimson, sunburst orange. This is perhaps the most vibrant fall in memory, one without a single pale, washed-out tint in sight. I gasp and gasp and gasp and want to fall on my knees and name my gratitude.

These days, driving on the Casey Highway with its elevated mountaintop view or navigating Business Route 6 requires a certain discipline, demanding I keep my eyes fixed on the road rather than wandering off in the direction of beckoning trees. Sadly, soon after drinking in miles of spectacular beauty, I’m jarred by a somber, unexpected sight: acres of felled trees, mowed down and flattened as if by some giant’s hand. New construction? Data centers? No signage hints at the reason for the disappearance of our leafy neighbors.

Immediately, my spirit sinks. You might think I’d be impervious to heartache after having witnessed daily news cycles of the human family’s cruelty, of homes and cities bombed into dust, of desperate refugees longing for safety yet met with violence and separation, of precious oceans littered and their inhabitants choked by disposables, of the multitude of ways our world is wounded by indifference and greed. These repeated scenes can erode a sense of hopefulness, can strike us songless like the exiles in Psalm 137 as we lament and weep.

And I wonder: what match is the beauty of autumn against the visible actions and attitudes that oppose God’s dream for our world? The trees and I, longtime friends, have been in the kind of discussion Mary Oliver describes in Thirst: “Love for you and love for the earth are having such a long conversation in my heart.” As I listen, I hear the trees share their primal wisdom. Resist, they say. After all, isn’t that what beauty can be: a form of subliminal resistance?

The trees observe that at other times of the year, we tend to take them for granted and pass them by. But in autumn, as they shine in radiant glory, we’re impelled to slow down. We stop. We pause. We may spend a weekend strolling or hiking or biking just to be near them. We may even get out of our cars and focus our binoculars to zoom in on their fleeting beauty.

And even when trees surrender their foliage, we seem to want to linger, to accompany them still. To make art out of their falling. To gather them together for play. To jump into piles and toss them into the air with abandon. Perhaps to cover the earth with them in a protective blanket for the slumbering life below.

In autumn, it seems, the forest senses a subtle difference in our energy and focus and re-directs our attention. Isn’t that what happens when we encounter the transforming power of beauty? With respect to Sister Wendy Beckett, try substituting “beauty” for the word “art” in her observation, “All art that draws us to look at it is deeply spiritual. Art accepts all the sadness, and transforms it, implicitly affirming that beauty is essentially the presence of God.” May the Holy One console us through this autumn gift as we grieve, contemplate, and move into action for the sake of our beloved planet.

We intuitively sense that beauty moves us. That our heartbeats quicken. That we’re somehow softened by wonder and awe. That we simply can’t depart the peaceful panorama of maples and oaks, aspens and birch, and remain as we were on our first gazing. That when we finally say good-bye at season’s end, we leave mysteriously shaken by what we’ve witnessed, more given over to stillness and reflection, and so much better equipped to resist all that stands in opposition to the Holy One’s dream, our dream, for Earth and all who call her home.

Especially in the season of autumn, let’s give the trees time to work their magic and to help transform not only us, but our beautiful yet wounded world, one colorful leaf at a time. May it be so!

Takeaway
Enter into stillness with the Holy One.
Today or any day, take time to dwell in the presence of whatever form of natural beauty captures your heart.
Immerse yourself in the focus of your gaze.
When you’re ready to move on, join your prayer with the millions of neighbors around the world who share your hope for a world marked by works of justice and attitudes of peace.

Featured Images: Ciocan Ciprian, Unsplash; Sophie Bonneau, Unsplash

NOTE:
Please hold in your prayer today and in the days ahead the millions of people working to protect the right to vote and to work towards a world marked by the fullness of inclusion. Thank you to all who show up in myriad ways to advance this dream.

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by Chris Koellhoffer, IHM   October 4, 2026

“God, help me to see” is a common prayer. Seeing not just with physical eyes but with the eyes of the heart. The fullness of seeing can be revealed a bit in small, thoughtful actions, like wiping the film off the windshield of a car for a sparkling view of what’s ahead. Or larger events, like cataract surgery, after which patients often exclaim with delight over the newfound vibrancy of color and sharpness of lines, wondering in amazement at all they might have missed when their vision was clouded.

Recently I nodded in agreement as I read Godfrey Chips’ remark about another way of seeing. “I’m the spirit’s janitor,” he wrote. “All I do is wipe the windows a little bit so you can see out for yourself.” That sounds like the ministry of spiritual direction in which we’re accompanied by a spiritual guide in reflecting on our relationship with the Holy One in the midst of the stuff of our lives. Clearly, there’s some labor involved in all the aspects of greater vision, whether it’s the labor of rubbing a cloth on glass, the labor of a practiced surgeon clearing away what obstructs sight, or the deep, inner soul work that is part of our spiritual growth.

Lately, I’ve been re-visiting “The Diary of Jesus Christ,” a creative re-imagining of stories from the life of Jesus by Bill Cain, SJ. One of the chapters, “Blind Bart,” speaks to a new way of seeing (Mark 10:46-52). Cain imagines that once Bartimaeus can see, he’s stunned by the newfound beauty of everything around him. He runs like a crazy man from person to person in the crowd, trying to figure out who is who. “A woman is crying because Bartimaeus is telling her how unimaginably beautiful she is. And she’s crying because she’s an old woman now and on the best day of her life she probably wasn’t anyone’s idea of beauty.”

A puzzled Bartimaeus asks Jesus, “They don’t know, do they…how beautiful they are?” No, responds Jesus, but he clearly does. And he advises Bartimaeus, “Keep looking at them. Seeing their beauty. And letting them see their beauty through you.”

On this feast of our beloved brother, Francis of Assisi, we’re reminded of our call to behold beauty in others and ourselves through the lens of God’s eyes. Galway Kinnell offers us a tender image of how Francis extended the scope of his vision to include all of creation in the poem, “St. Francis and the Sow.” Let this be our work as well: To reteach others their loveliness. To retell them in words and in touch they are lovely. To do this again and again until they flower from within of self-blessing. May that be so, and may that be said of us, today and always.

Takeaway
Sit in stillness with the Holy One.
Reflect on someone you know who might need a reminder of their own loveliness.
As you hold them in tenderness and prayer, affirm their beauty.
In what ways might you reteach them how the Holy One sees them?
May both you and they flower from within of self-blessing.

Featured Images: Johannes Krupinski, Unsplash; Laura Anderson, Unsplash

NOTE:
Thank you for your prayerful remembrance of me during my retreat at Villa Maria in Stone Harbor, NJ. Know that you were held specially in my heart and in my prayer that each of us might nurture beauty and protect beauty in all of God’s creation.

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by Chris Koellhoffer, IHM   September 20, 2026

Hindsight can be such a grace, offering light to see more clearly and to break open levels of meaning not available to us at an earlier time. Have you ever, with the eyes of the present moment, looked at something or someone that came into your life years ago only to realize that you had glibly dismissed that at the time?

I remember that attitude with a bit of embarrassment every time I come across the book, “I Desire to Be Everywhere.” Written by Gilbert Ahr Enderle, it tells the story of the life of Redemptorist Father Louis Florent Gillet, a frontier missionary, co-founder of my congregation–the Sisters, Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary–and later, contemplative monk.

The title comes from Father Gillet’s guiding life principle, “I desire to be everywhere when I see so many needs.” Apparently, the last part of that quotation, “…when I see so many needs,” had escaped my memory. So when I first heard the title of the book, “I Desire to Be Everywhere,” my immediate reaction was dismissal, thinking, “Wow, that’s a quick recipe for burnout.”

I hang my head in shame over that remark, because, guess what, these many years later and now much more steeped in the heritage of my community, I find myself also longing to embody Father Gillet’s identical words, “I desire to be everywhere.” Perhaps you, minus my snarky early reaction, share that desire as well.

On the global stage, we may find ourselves deeply stirred when we view home after home obliterated by bombing in Gaza or see landscapes withered by drought in South Sudan while the haunted faces of now starving children are seared into our memory. Don’t we desire to be there, offering aid in person? We may weep for victims of climate change who are carried away by raging floods or left in ashes by out of control wildfires. Of course, we desire to be there, bearing food, blankets, comfort. When we hear an all too familiar story of violence and long to wrap our arms around families enduring the inconsolable loss of children taken by school shootings in America, yes, yes, yes, we desire to be there, don’t we?

How consoling that we can be everywhere in our world where love or hope has been extinguished! Sometimes, of course, we’re able to be physically present. But always, with the grace of the Holy One, we can be present through our prayer and intention, sending waves of compassion and wishes for well-being into our surroundings, our desire to be everywhere lingering like the scent of love.

Yesterday morning, with those thoughts in my consciousness, I went to a lab for basic blood work. The waiting room was overflowing because this particular lab was the only one open on a weekend. And so, a hundred stories surrounded me, filling the air with snippets of whispered conversations awaiting results, full of worry, of what ifs, of wonderings about what might be ahead. Whenever I heard a nurse call out a name, I gazed at the person being summoned and prayed them into comfort, reassurance, and a gentle way forward. With God’s grace, I was a witness and I was present. God’s grace also that, without leaving my chair, I was able to be everywhere, present to every need in the waiting room and far beyond. My constant prayer is that so we all may be, today and every day.

Takeaway
Sit in stillness with the Holy One.
Name some of the crying needs of the world around you.
What helps you to discern and choose how you’ll be respond to those needs?
Ask the Holy One to reveal how and where you’re most needed this day.
If you’re near enough to respond with physical presence, do that.
If you can’t, hold those who are suffering in your intention and in love.

Featured Image: Greg Rosenke, Unsplash; Akhil Nath, Unsplash

NOTE:
September 20-21
We hold in our hearts and prayer our Jewish sisters and brothers who are observing Yom Kippur, dedicated to atonement, repentance, and seeking forgiveness from God. 

September 29 – October 3
I’d be most grateful if you would remember me in prayer as I spend time in reflection during my private retreat at Villa Maria by the Sea in Stone Harbor, NJ. Know that you and your intentions will be with me there as well. Thank you!

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by Chris Koellhoffer, IHM    September 6, 2026

I’m feeling a bit like I did every September in elementary school, where “What I Did for My Summer Vacation” seemed to be among the first predictable writing assignments. I was one of the fortunate ones who had spent a week with my family in Lavallette, NJ or exploring other beautiful beaches at the Shore.

These many years later, I acknowledge my privileged state as someone able to winnow down my ministry responsibilities during part of the summer. Blob time, I call it–a few days visiting favorite places in Maine; a week at our community lake house;  chatting with my lavender and echinacea; reading poetry or an “unputdownable” mystery; in general, leisure to respond to my own rhythms of body and spirit, to play and be restored. Brené Brown reminds of how countercultural this choice to rest is by noting, “It takes courage to say yes to rest and play in a culture where exhaustion is seen as a status symbol.”

Taking time for needed self-care, for renewal, actually follows the example of the Holy One, who took a break after finishing the work of creation (Genesis 1) and later commanded the people of Israel to observe the Sabbath. When we rest in this way, we are following God’s example of keeping things in balance.

We work very hard to support the people we love and the purposes we commit to and honor. Our work life demands the best of our attention, our prayer, our listening, our skills, our emotional presence, so making space to honor Sabbath in some way is critical to our own wholeness and restoration.

Few poets speak to the need to pause better than Lynn Ungar in “Camas Lilies.” She asks us to consider those lilies, the blue banks of camas opening into acres of sky along the road, and then asks:

“And you, what of your rushed
and useful life? Imagine setting it all down–
Papers, plans, appointments, everything—
Leaving only a note:
‘Gone to the fields to be lovely.
Be back when I’m finished blooming.’”

Apparently, I am blooming still. The first Sunday morning after I returned home, I drove to Chester’s convenience store to pick up the Sunday paper. Samir, the young clerk at the counter, noted my absence by exclaiming, “You gone!” followed by “Where you go?” Try explaining the concept of vacation to someone whose language you don’t speak and for whom the idea of leisure time is probably a foreign experience. But with lots of back and forth hand gestures and pantomime, Samir gradually understood that I had taken a break from work. He nodded understandingly, slowly scrutinized my face, and then pronounced, “Yes, I see. Now, you full of rest.”

Ah, that’s it exactly, I thought. I’m restored and renewed, and it shows, even on the outside. What’s left to do, now returning to my everyday life, but to offer the Holy One my usual prayer of gratitude:

Thank you.
I’d like some more.
And I want everyone to have what I have.

May it be so for each of us and for all of creation!

Takeaway
Sit in stillness with the Holy One.
Reflect on the invitation in Lynn Ungar’s “Camas Lilies” (above).
Where do you go or what do you do when you need to be restored or renewed?
What helps you to “bloom”?
If you’re inclined, share this in a comment.
Ask the Holy One to keep blooming in you in new and surprising ways for the life of our world.

Featured Images: leoon liang, Unsplash; Dan Burton, Unsplash

NOTE:
Welcome to Mining the Now, or welcome back if you’re already a follower of my blog. Thanks for your understanding of my absence from Mining the Now during this August hiatus. I missed you and have prayed for you to have days marked by good health, renewal, and well-being for you and those you love.

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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    July 19, 2026

Sometimes, the kin-dom of heaven is right in front of us and we might be in danger of missing it. That’s why I want to call into this chapel today a man named Robert, who had a particular gift for uncovering the kin-dom.

In the 1990’s, I worked at the Intercommunity Center for Justice and Peace in New York City. The Center was a coalition of forty-three congregations of women and men religious who worked to integrate faith and justice. Every morning I would take the PATH train from Jersey City, where I lived, to the 9^th Street Station in Manhattan. And every morning, standing on the corner outside the station was Robert, a VietNam veteran. He struggled with PTSD after the war and eventually, because of his illness, lost his job, his family, his house, his car. Quite literally, he had no silver or gold, no backpack for the journey, no extra set of clothes. But he offered us something far more precious: wisdom, spaciousness of heart, and his unusual take on the spiritual life.

Every morning, Robert would remind us commuters to pay attention because, as he put it, “The Kin-dom of heaven is gettin’ mighty close.” He believed we were all kin and relatives in God’s house. As we poured out of the PATH station on our way to work each morning, Robert blessed us and inquired about our health or any intentions he was holding in prayer. In his own way, he was doing what Jesus urges all of us in today’s Gospel (Matthew 10:7-15): Healing our ills by his loving presence. Raising the dead by reminding us how glorious it was just to be alive. Driving out the demons of loneliness by learning our names and greeting each of us with joy.

Robert’s deepest desire was for people to look him in the eye so that he felt fully seen– not something that often happens to a homeless person, is it? To be fully seen and acknowledged. But could this be what Jesus was urging in Matthew’s Gospel? He’s just called the Apostles. He admonishes them and us about not getting bogged down by stuff as we move through this world.

What’s in our backpack, the stuff we carry, can be possessions, of course, or our time or attention. But sometimes we carry old wounds or attitudes that get in the way of being the face of Love. When life overwhelms us and makes it hard to see beyond our own belovedness, we need to call on the tender God Hosea (Hosea 11:1-4, 8e-9) describes, the one who taught us to walk, who fosters us, who holds us in the arms of love. This is a God who heals, and when we are healing, we can more clearly respond to the crucified peoples of our world who are also wounded. We can more easily cooperate with grace and grow our worldview.

After ten years, I lost touch with Robert because I moved on to another ministry in another place. I often wonder how he and his Kin-dom of Peace and Welcome are doing now. Robert and all the holy ones who embody Jesus’ words are accompanying us during this retreat. Can you feel them present among us, right here, right now? They continue to witness to each of us how to enter more deeply into the inner soul work of retreat. To see what’s in front of us and within each of us.

In our world that is at once both beautiful and wounded, may the Holy One help us to see, to recognize the kin-dom in this time, in this place. And as we see more and more clearly, may we radiate the presence of Love wherever we may be. May we bow down in profound thanks for grace at work among us every day in this kin-dom which is “gettin’ mighty close.” May it be so!

Takeaway
Sit in stillness with the Holy One.
Spend some moments reflecting on the significant relationships in your life.
How do those “kin” bless and enhance, challenge and encourage you?
Might there be anyone new you’d want to invite into the kin-dom of mercy and justice and belonging?
Offer words of welcome to those who are not yet included in your worldview.

Featured Images: Matt Collamer, Unsplash; Tim Mossholder, Unsplash

NOTE:
As you’ve probably guessed, this reflection was offered during a recent directed retreat at the Sisters of St. Joseph Center for Spirituality in Ocean Grove, NJ, July 7-14, 2026. Thank you for your prayer for all who were part of that retreat experience in a place of deep silence and hospitality.

July 24-26:
Please hold in your prayer my IHM Congregation as we gather for our annual Assembly, for the celebration of our Sisters’ Jubilees, and for the St. Joseph’s Center Festival. Thank you!

As has been my custom, I won’t be writing/publishing any new posts for my blog, Mining the Now, for the month of August. This custom affords me space to practice the self-care I preach and to offer myself the gift of time for my own retreat, for family and friends, and for whatever is needed for restoration in my life. Thank you, as always, for following Mining the Now. “See you in September!”

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by Chris Koellhoffer, IHM

Have you noticed any nudges lately? That’s what I call those gentle whispers that invite us into movement of some kind. Like feeling called to help your next-door neighbor who struggles with grocery bags. Or sending an email, a text, a handwritten note of encouragement to a person who’s occupied your concern for some time. Or feeling drawn to pause and take in a beach, a forest, a sky full of stars for needed moments of stillness. Or practicing gratitude for everything.

I believe the Holy One is always nudging us towards good and that this same loving God is fond of repetition, meaning that in case we miss the first nudge, there will be a second and a third and on and on until God has our attention.

Recently, I’ve been nudged repeatedly to reflect on this sentiment from the Book of Tobit: “In the land of my exile, I praise my God.” (Tobit 13:6) I wonder that I didn’t notice it before but lately, this antiphon has turned up more than once in my morning prayer in Give Us This Day, which makes it a nudge.

It’s the contrast that gets me. Yes, I’m right there praising the Holy One when I’m relatively pain-free. When my family and friends are without crisis. When my spirituality ministry feels like abundant grace. When I sense the nearness of the divine. From there, it’s an easy move towards gratitude, where my prayer seems to be a three-parter to God: “Thank you. I’d like some more. And I want everyone to have what I have.”

But what about the other times? How is it that Tobit could praise God from a place where gratitude doesn’t come easily: a land of exile? Or seeming abandonment? Or chronic ill health? Or heartache or loss or shame or failure?

I’m reminded of Henri Nouwen’s belief that the practice of gratitude involves  challenging and hard soul work, a work that embraces all of our life stories, not just the joy-filled ones. Nouwen noted that we are only truly grateful people when we can thank God for everything. It’s a practice of trusting that even the most painful experiences don’t happen outside of God’s loving presence.

That doesn’t mean that all that happened in the past was good, but it does mean that even the bad didn’t happen beyond the loving care of a tender God. True spiritual gratitude embraces all of our past, the good as well as the bad events, the joyful as well as the sorrowful moments. Once all of our past is remembered in gratitude, we are free to be sent into the world to proclaim good news to others. Today and every day, may we cultivate the attitude that the Holy One accompanies us through every moment of every day of our lives, no matter what.

Takeaway
Sit in stillness with the Holy One.
You may want to call to mind a time in your life marked by pain or loss or heartache.
What might you now be able to notice or name as grace at work in you in the experience?
If doing this seems too much, then simply tell the Holy One your feelings and ask for a deepening sense of God’s nearness in your life.
Offer words of gratefulness whenever you are nudged to give thanks this day.

Featured Images: Wilhelm Gunkel, Unsplash; Ann, Unsplash

NOTE:
Please hold in your prayer these upcoming events and all who will be part of them:

July 4
The 250th Anniversary of the United States of America
May each of us live more deeply into our call to be a people marked by welcome, inclusion, and respect for the common good.

July 7-14
Directed retreat
Sisters of St. Joseph Spirituality Center, Ocean Grove, NJ
I’ll be one of the guest directors for this retreat.

July 24-25/26:
IHM Assembly/Jubilee

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   June 20, 2026

Recently I was reading about the Slow Food movement, a philosophy that invites us to move from cooking as a rushed chore to cooking as a meditative process. Advocating for meals that are good, clean, and fair, slow cooking encourages using whole, regional ingredients and respecting and preserving culinary traditions. Beyond using a Crock-Pot or Dutch oven, the process of slow cooking views food preparation as an act of patience, mindfulness, and respect for ingredients. It moves away from instant gratification and microwave convenience and encourages intentional living.

“Is that for real?” a friend of mine, a mother of four, wondered aloud about this philosophy. I understand that the optimal time for slow cooking is not the moment when you have several hungry mouths crying for supper on the table, right now. But could the philosophy behind slow cooking be integrated into our full and busy lives, at least occasionally? Perhaps on a leisurely Sunday (if there is one) or a day when we might be prepping meals for the week ahead. We can also prepare for a gathering of friends or others we cherish, and hold those dear ones in awareness as we prep and combine the ingredients. We can cook with mindfulness of the farmers who raised the vegetables or livestock, for the laborers who harvested them, for the truckers who drove the basics to a supermarket, for the workers who arranged and replenished them. We can cook with gratitude that we have any food at all and advocate for those who have nothing to satisfy their hunger.

Another way we can embrace the intent of slow cooking is in the way we pray and discern. We can cultivate the practice of pausing before replying to an email or text message. We can inhale and exhale to center ourselves as we begin a time of prayer.  We can also breathe calmly for a moment before reacting to a comment or conversation that puts us on the defensive.

I find that times of discernment provide the optimal setting for the slow cooking philosophy to be put into practice, specifically, through the practice of simmering. For discernment, I’ve adapted the Ignatian way of noting the pros and cons of a choice into the practice of two areas surrounding a possible choice: noticing what attracts and draws us towards a possible decision, and also noticing what we might resist about that same choice. This is not a positive or negative ranking, but instead a simple and conscious noticing of what is. Then we place all that information into an imagined pot, put it all on a back burner, and let it simmer for a while, low and slow. We give it an occasional stir and notice any changes in the whole. If we receive new information that might affect the outcome, we simply add that to the pot that’s been simmering, taste the difference, and give it another stir. Over time and with thoughtful prayer, we ask to receive enlightenment from the Holy One as to the direction which would best serve our own place in life and in the life of the world.

I invite you to pause as we come to the close of this reflection to remember any practices you have that integrate some element of slow cooking into your spiritual life or everyday living. With the grace of the Holy One, how might “low and slow” make a difference in your life at this time?

Takeaway
Sit in stillness with the Holy One.
Notice your breathing, especially the pace of how you inhale and exhale.
Continue praying with your breathing in and out for 5 minutes or more.
Notice how your breath slows over time and becomes more peaceful.
Finish by breathing a slow breath as blessing on yourself and out into the world.

Featured Images: Vitor Monthay, Unsplash; Fabian Møller, Unsplash

NOTE:
June 21-28:
Please hold in your prayer all who will be part of a directed retreat at Villa Pauline, Mendham, NJ during these dates. I’ll be a guest director for this retreat. Thank you.

June 21:
We remember in gratitude today and every day all fathers, grandfathers, foster fathers, and everyone who mentors into the fullness of life the young who are entrusted to their loving care. Happy Father’s Day!

June 28:
Please pray for our newly elected IHM Leadership Team (IHM Sisters Annmarie Sanders, Kathy Lunsmann, Mary Elaine Anderson, and Lisa Perkowski) as they are installed and begin their new roles at liturgy today.

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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   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.

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.

Thank you for following!