Answering God’s Call Through Grief and Renewal

It has been a while since I last wrote for Catholic Stand, I have missed you. Let me bring you up to date. Life has taken me through valleys I never imagined I would walk. On Christmas Day, my father passed away. Just thirty-three days later—the same age that Jesus gave His life for us—my beloved husband died suddenly as well.

To say I was shaken would be an understatement. Grief left me breathless, disoriented, and uncertain of how I could possibly move forward. But as only God can do, He met me in that brokenness. He reminded me that when all seems lost, His plan still unfolds and His love never fails.

If I didn’t have my faith, I would have been a wreck—turning to the world to numb my pain with distractions and destructive habits. I know I would have sought comfort in all the wrong places, chasing temporary relief that only leads to emptiness. But because of Christ, I chose a different way. Instead of despair, I clung to Him. Instead of drowning in sorrow, I held tight to the hope of eternal life. My faith became my lifeline, the only anchor steady enough to hold me through the storm.

Our Lady of Sorrows also became my companion. She knows what it is to watch a loved one suffer, to feel the sword pierce her own heart and yet to remain faithful to God’s will. I clung to her motherly presence and she consoled me in a way no one else could—reminding me that I was not abandoned in my grief but was held within her mantle of love.

As I prayed with her Seven Sorrows—I found my own wounds mysteriously united to hers. She showed me that sorrow, when given to God, becomes a path to deeper union with Christ. How fitting that the Church dedicates the month of September to Our Lady of Sorrows, for she continues to console her children and draw us closer to her Son through our trials.

Before my husband’s passing, we were preparing to move to Tennessee and had purchased forty acres of land. We thought we knew what the next chapter of our lives would look like. But God had another plan—one I never saw coming. Opening a retreat house was never on my list of things to do. It wasn’t part of the picture I had in mind for my life.

When the idea first came to me in prayer, I was afraid. I didn’t know how to begin, where to start, or if I was even capable. The thought of running a retreat home overwhelmed me—I questioned everything: What if I fail? What if no one comes? What if I’m not equipped to do this? Fear whispered in my ear daily, telling me there is no way I could or should do this.

But one day, sitting in the quiet of the Eucharist in Adoration, I finally laid it all before the Lord. Through my tears, I whispered, “Jesus, I can’t do this…but if You want it, I will say yes. You will have to do it through me with Mary.” At that moment, peace washed over me. It didn’t take away my fear, but it gave me the courage to take the very first step. And that’s all God asked of me—just one step at a time.

There were many tears after that moment of surrender. There were days when the weight of grief made me want to give up before I even started. But the Lord kept nudging, reminding me that this wasn’t just about me—it was about the women He longed to reach through me. Slowly, I began to see that what terrified me was also the path to healing, both for myself and for others.

And so, out of my sorrow, has come the Soul, Mind and Body Retreat. This space is dedicated to healing, renewal, and growing in faith. It is not a large conference or impersonal event, but a private, intimate retreat for only twelve women at a time. Here, each woman is seen, heard, and given the space to lay down her burdens, encounter Christ in prayer, and rediscover the peace that only He can give.

Too often, women give everything of themselves to others—family, work, friends—while leaving their own hearts and souls neglected. We carry invisible wounds from grief, stress, trauma, unforgiveness, or exhaustion and they eventually weigh us down in ways we don’t even realize. God desires wholeness for us: a renewed spirit, restored mind and a body at peace. Taking time away to rest in Him isn’t selfish; it’s sacred. When women allow God to heal their whole selves, they return to their families and communities with greater love, strength, and joy. This is why weekend Catholic retreat is not a luxury, but a necessity for the soul.

I am also blessed that some amazing Catholic women speakers will join me in this mission—Dr. Mary Healy, Sr. Deirdre “DeDe” Byrne, Sonja Corbit, Patricia Sandoval, Joelle Maryn—along with others. Each of these faithful women brings her own gifts and powerful witness of God’s love. Together, they will help guide women through prayer, teachings and testimony, offering encouragement and practical ways to embrace Christ’s healing. You can see the full speaker lineup for 2026 at www.soulmindandbodyretreat.com.

Though I resisted for some time, God’s gentle persistence has shown me that the very thing I feared—and never imagined myself doing—is the very thing He made me to do. He has turned my mourning into mission, my tears into testimony.

I return to Catholic Stand now with a heart both humbled and on fire—humbled by the cross I carry and on fire to share how God is using it for His glory. My prayer is that my journey might encourage others to trust in His call, even when it leads us into unknown and sometimes frightening places. Stay tuned for my next article where I share the miraculous healing that happened the first Sunday of Lent in 2024, only a few weeks after my husband’s death.

As St. Paul reminds us, “When I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Corinthians 12:10). In my weakness, Christ has revealed His strength. With Our Lady by my side and Christ at the center, I am finally stepping fully into the mission He has placed before me.

If you are weary, grieving or simply longing for renewal, I invite you to join us at the Soul, Mind and Body Retreat in Tennessee. Come away for a time of rest, healing and deep encounter with the Lord. You don’t have to walk this journey alone—God is waiting to meet you here.