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If you want your dream to be, build it slow and surely. Small beginning, greater and heartfelt work grows purely.

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Welcome. This is David Russell and Your Faith Anew. Daily Reflections guiding you to live in the divine will. Today's reflection is from the Book of Heaven by the servant of God Louisa Picaretta, april twenty first, eighteen ninety nine, volume two. Let us begin in the will and name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Heavenly Father, you who come to us in hidden ways and unexpected forms, grant us the grace to recognize you in every moment, every soul, in every circumstance. Free us from fear, open our eyes to your presence, and give us a heart ready to receive you without hesitation. May we never turn you away, but welcome you with love, trust, and abandonment in your divine will. Amen. Saint Matthew writes in the gospel according to Matthew, chapter twenty five, verse forty. Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me. The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches in paragraph twenty four forty nine. The Church's love for the poor is a part of her constant tradition. This love is inspired by the gospel of the Beatitudes, of the poverty of Jesus, and of his concern for the poor. Love for the poor is even one of the motives for the duty of working so as to be able to give to those in need. It extends not only to material poverty, but also to the many forms of cultural and religious poverty. In today's passage, Jesus comes hidden, poor, vulnerable, and unrecognized, revealing how easily fear and human reasoning can prevent us from welcoming him. Louisa writes This morning, while I was in my usual state, in one instant I found myself within myself, but without being able to move. I realized that someone was entering my little room. Then he closed the door again, and I felt he was drawing near my bed. In my mind I thought that someone had entered furtively, without any of my family seeing him, and had penetrated even into my little room. Who knows what he will do to me? My fear was so great that I felt my blood freeze in my veins, and I trembled all over. Oh God, what to do? I said to myself. My family did not see him. I feel all numb, and I cannot defend myself, nor can I ask for help. Jesus, Mary, my mamma, help me. Saint Joseph, defend me from this danger. When I realized he was getting upon my bed, and he curled up near me, my fear was such that I opened my eyes and I said to him, Tell me who are you? He answered I am the poorest of the poor. I don't have a place to stay. I have come to you if you want to keep me with you in your little room. See, I am so poor that I don't even have clothes. But you will take care of everything. I looked well at him. He was a five or six year old boy without clothes, without shoes, but was so very beautiful and graceful. Immediately I answered him. For me, I would gladly keep you, but what will my father say? I'm not a free person who can do whatever she wants. I have my parents who prevent me. As for clothing you, I can do it with my poor toils, I will make any sacrifice. But as for keeping you here, it is impossible. Besides, don't you have a father? Don't you have a mother? Don't you have a place to stay? But the boy answered bitterly. I have no one. Oh please. Don't make me wander any more. Let me stay with you. I myself did not know what to do, how to keep him. A thought flashed within me. Who knows whether it is Jesus? Or maybe it's some demon to disturb me. So again I said to him, but tell me the truth at least. Who are you? And he repeated I am the poorest of the poor I replied. Have you learned how to make the sign of the cross? Yes, he answered. Well then make it. I want to see how you make it. So he signed himself with the cross. I added. And the Hail Mary, do you know how to say it? Yes, but if you want me to say it, let us say it together. I began the Hail Mary, and he was saying it together with me when a most pure light was unleashed from his adorable forehead, and I recognized that the poorest of the poor was Jesus. In one instant, through that light that Jesus sent me, he made me lose consciousness again and drew me outside of myself. I saw myself all confused before Jesus, especially because of my many rebuffs, and immediately I said to him, My dear little one, forgive me. Had I recognized you, I would not have forbidden you to enter. And then why did you not tell me that it was really you? I have many things to tell you. I would have told them to you and would not have wasted time in so many useless things and fears. Besides, in order to keep you, I don't need my family. I can keep you freely, because you don't allow yourself to be seen by anyone. But while I was saying this, Jesus disappeared, and so it ended, leaving me a pain for not having told him anything of what I wanted to tell him. This passage reveals a great and humbling truth. Jesus often comes hidden, so hidden that we don't recognize him. He comes not in glory, not in power, but as the poorest of the poor. He comes vulnerable, dependent, even asking for our care. And yet, how often do we hesitate? How often do we reason, delay, or even refuse, just as Louisa did, because of fear, uncertainty, or human considerations? Louisa's fear is very real. She's alone, unable to move, confronted with something she does not understand. Her reaction is human. Caution, questioning, hesitation. And yet within that moment is a divine test, not of knowledge, but of love. Jesus reveals that he desires to be received without conditions, not after we figure everything out, not after we feel safe, but in trust, in abandonment, in love. In the divine will, this becomes even deeper. Jesus comes to us in every moment, in every circumstance, in every interruption, every hidden cross, every person in need. And often, like Louisa, we don't recognize him because he does not appear as we expect. He comes in the inconvenient. He comes in the unexpected. He comes in the poor, the small, the hidden. And when we hesitate, we miss the fullness of the encounter. Yet even in Louisa's hesitation there's mercy. Jesus reveals himself. He enlightens her. He draws her out of herself. But notice, he disappears quickly, leaving her with a pain, a holy regret. This pain is not condemnation, it's formation. It teaches us that every moment is an opportunity to receive Jesus. And in the divine will, that reception is not just for ourselves, it becomes an act for all souls. To live in the divine will means to say, Jesus, I receive you in every form you come, without fear, without delay, without condition. Let us pray. My Jesus, hidden and poor, how often have I failed to recognize you? You come to me in silence, in simplicity, in forms I do not expect, and my heart hesitates. Remove from me all fear. Remove from me all human reasoning that keeps me from welcoming you. Give me the eyes of your divine will, that I may see you in every moment, in every soul, in every cross. Jesus, poorest of the poor, find in me a dwelling place. Don't let me send you away. Even when I don't understand, even when I feel uncertain, let my answer always be Yes, Lord, stay with me. I fuse this desire in your divine will, so that every soul may welcome you, recognize you, and never let you wander without a home. Amen. Thank you for joining your faith anew today. Jesus comes to us more often than we realize, quietly, humbly, and hidden. Today, let us remain attentive, ready to receive him in whatever form he chooses to come. Until tomorrow, stay in his will, and your faith will be made anew.

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If you want your dream to be, build it slow and surely.