CMO 93: Monday Morning Reflection (and more).

 

Monday Morning Reflection

I woke up this morning joyful for the blessing of this new day and another opportunity to love God with all my everything, including neighbor and self, and to be better than the person that I was yesterday.

Yesterday was Sunday. In fact, the “15^th Sunday In Ordinary Time” according to the Church liturgical calendar.

The Gospel for Sunday came from Luke (10:25-37), featuring the parable of “The Good Samaritan,” … “He approached the victim, poured oil and wine over his wounds and bandaged them.”

I have always found God most profoundly in this parable as well as the parable of “The Prodigal Son.”

In fact, I mentioned to a beautiful friend of mine—a sister in Christ who wrote in a text: “Deacon Ken’s homily about ‘The Good Samaritan’ made me think of you.”

Naturally, I was humbled and profoundly grateful that Deacon’s homily made her think of me, “But why?” I asked myself.

I suppose deep down in the belly of the heart of my soul (which is not the same as my physical heart), I understand why. However, humility precludes me from basking in her kind words. For that, I am grateful.

My response to her was as follows: “Sunday’s Gospel reading is one of my favorite parables along with “The Prodigal Son.” Other favorites include when Jesus forgave the prostitute, when He washed the feet of the Apostles, when He spoke to the Samaritan woman at the well, when He healed the leper, fed the five thousand, ate with Matthew and his friends, and when He gave His “Sermon on the mount” giving us those beautiful Beatitudes.”

I also mentioned how moved I was in Genesis when Abraham pleaded for Sodom asking what if there were only 10 people praying would the city be spared.

Let me get this correct.

Abraham was pleading for the city of Sodom in Genesis chapter 18.

In that famous passage, he has a back-and-forth with God, asking if the city could be spared if a certain number of righteous people were found within it. He starts at fifty, then negotiates down—forty-five, thirty, twenty—and finally to ten. The hope was that if just ten righteous individuals lived in Sodom, God would withhold destruction. Unfortunately, not even ten could be found.

Sodom was paired with Gomorrah in the judgment, but Abraham’s plea focused specifically on Sodom. The story highlights both divine justice and deep compassion—and Abraham’s boldness in advocating for mercy, even when the odds looked grim.

Source: Microsoft Copilot

My point being, what I love about faith and my love and belief in God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are love, mercy, prayer, and forgiveness.

These are the four pillars of faith in my personal life that I wish to increase so that God may be glorified when these four pillars are performed in the service of my neighbor always in the spirit of love.

I believe with all my heart that when I love, know, and serve my neighbors, I am loving, knowing, and serving God and at the end of the day, He is all that matters.

That probably didn’t sound right. Of course, everyone matters, and I love all. I truly do. But above everyone and everything, including the angels and saints already in Heaven, it is God whom I love first from beginning to end.

I just wish I had understood this when I was younger. I would certainly have lived my life differently, but I am grateful to the Father Creator for His love and the wisdom and grace gained through the suffering, heartache, sorrow, and pain.

But it is never too late.

I can walk forward today with the belief and knowledge that I CAN through the grace of God and the prayers and love of those who I am blessed to journey with in this season of God’s story, be not who I was, but who God has always called me to be, beginning right now.

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Thinking Out Loud!

The Challenge of Loving Beyond Affection

Reflecting on Love, Duty, and the Teachings of Jesus

Why does it come so naturally to serve and care for those we hold dear, while it feels so much harder to extend the same kindness to those for whom we feel little affection—yet perhaps ought to love all the same?

If we were to seek Jesus’ response to such a question, his answer might remind us of the heart of his teachings: that true love transcends the boundaries of preference and comfort. He famously taught, “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you,” urging us beyond the confines of our closest circles. For Jesus, love is not reserved for those who have earned it or for whom affection springs easily. Instead, he calls us to the radical generosity of spirit that embraces even the stranger or adversary—not because it is easy, but because it reflects the boundless love of God.

Thus, Jesus might urge us to recognize that while loving those closest to us comes instinctively, the higher calling is to cultivate compassion and goodwill for all, letting our actions be guided not only by personal feeling, but by a deeper commitment to love itself.

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The Constant Wrestle Within

I have spoken on this theme before, but I sense it bears repeating. Like St. Paul, I find myself asking, “Why is it that I do what I do not wish to do, and fail to do what I know I ought?” This ancient struggle remains ever present, a gentle ache in the soul: the tension between intention and action, desire and duty. It is as if there is a constant wrestling within, a tug-of-war between the self-shaped by old habits and the self-awakened by divine calling.

Often, I resolve to be more loving, patient, and generous, yet I stumble over the same weaknesses. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is frail. Even so, I am comforted to realize this struggle is not new; it is woven into the very fabric of the human experience. St. Paul’s honest confession frees me from the illusion that holiness is a matter of perfect performance. Rather, it is a journey—sometimes faltering, always dependent on grace.

To dwell on these questions is not to despair, but to acknowledge our need for help beyond ourselves. Each time I fall short, I am reminded to lean more fully on God’s mercy and to invite the transforming power of love to work within me. With humility, I begin again, trusting that in weakness, grace is made strong, and through perseverance, the heart grows ever more capable of the love to which we are called.

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☕️ Caffeinated Two-Cent Opinion

“Rinse, Repeat, and Retire Yesterday’s Drawers (Now with 90% Less Spiritual Guilt)” By Carlos Michael

Intro: Respect Starts at the Rinse Cycle

Look, I’m not here to shame anybody. But if your daily routine includes skipping the shower and recycling yesterday’s underwear like it’s a vintage wine, then we need to talk. Hygiene isn’t just personal—it’s communal. If we share public spaces, group chats, or church pews, basic cleanliness is not a bonus—it’s a requirement.

Let’s walk through the three cornerstones of not offending the noses of innocent bystanders.

Step 1: Bathe like a Responsible Adult

A daily shower is not optional unless you're lost in the wilderness or starring in a low-budget survival show. Soap is your friend. Water is available. The combination? A blessing to everyone within a ten-foot radius.

If you walk past a group and they flinch like they’ve entered a chili cook-off blindfolded—it's not the onions, friend. It's time to rinse.

Step 2: Groom Without Excuses

We all wake up looking like rejected backup dancers, but that’s what brushes, razors, and mirrors are for. Tame the mane. Clean the corners. Trim what shouldn't be growing like moss in public.

If your eyebrows are holding union meetings or your neck hair has its own zip code, it’s time for a wellness check—in front of the bathroom sink.

Step 3: Retire Yesterday’s Drawers

Underwear, while brave, is not designed for back-to-back service. If your briefs are performing double shifts, take a moment to honor them—and then banish them to the hamper.

Nothing good happens when elastic gives up the ghost and you pretend it’s still doing the job. Fresh fabric equals fresh starts.

Outro: Good Hygiene is Just Good Manners

You don’t need spa treatments. You don’t need Himalayan scrub salts. You just need to show up clean, groomed, and wearing underwear that hasn’t seen more action than your Tuesday lunch napkin.

Because friends don’t let friends become biohazards.

That’s your caffeinated two-cent reminder. Scrub with intent. Groom with pride. And change with dignity.

See you out there—fresh, fluffed, and fabric-approved. —Carlos Michael

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Christ, Santa Claus, and the Spirit of the Season

A Christmas Reflection by Carlos Michael

With all the “Christmas In July” movies airing on Hallmark and the Great American Family channels, I thought I would offer this as a reminder of why we celebrate the season.

There’s a particular kind of magic that stirs inside me every December—one that smells like cinnamon, sounds like Nat King Cole, and feels like the twinkle of three hundred tangled lights on one tree that’s doing its best.

I love Christmas. I love it with the giddy enthusiasm of a Hallmark movie marathon and the unapologetic appetite of a man who believes Christmas cookies should be considered a food group. I’m talking decorating the house like it’s auditioning for a sleigh landing, baking or (let’s be real) eating more sugar than the Surgeon General would recommend, and listening to Christmas music like it’s a sacred playlist of joy and nostalgia. Religious hymns, secular classics—I’ll go from “O Come All Ye Faithful” to “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” without skipping a beat.

And don’t get me started on the Christmas specials—those glorious back-in-the-day treasures from networks like Great American Family and Hallmark, where snow always falls perfectly, and love happens in time for Christmas Eve.

But for all that sparkle and sentiment, I’ve never allowed myself to be so swept up in the commercial fanfare that I forget why the season matters. Santa Claus has charm, but Christ is the reason I keep my heart anchored in truth.

Because tucked inside all the tinsel and televised cheer is a quieter wonder: A child, wrapped in swaddling clothes, laid gently in a manger, whose presence split history, healed the broken, and offered eternal life.

I believe Santa delivers joy—but Christ is joy. Santa climbs chimneys—but Christ tore the veil. Santa gives gifts—but Christ is the gift.

That baby didn’t come to compete with seasonal sales or glittering aisle displays. He came to redeem. To restore. To remind us that love was born in humility, not fanfare.

So yes, I deck the halls. I bake with reckless abandon. I belt out “Jingle Bell Rock” with passion and questionable pitch. And yes, I gather with friends (and, okay—family too) to celebrate the season.

But beneath every wreath, under every tree, above every peppermint mocha lies the heartbeat of Christmas: Christ first. Always.

Because without Him, it’s just a holiday. With Him, it’s hope.

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Well, that's it for today. Let's remember to love God with all our everything and to be great neighbors and to get out there and pray. Pray for peace. Pray for justice. Pray for life. Pray for the love and mercy of Christ to cover the world, especially for the children around the world. Until next time...