This Too, with Love: Living Devotion in Everyday Life

“True devotion never harms anything, but rather perfects all things.”  —St. Francis de Sales, Introduction to the Devout Life

When Life Pulls You in Different Directions

“Father,” Maggie said, “today I’m just… frazzled.”

Father Sal nodded. She looked like a woman who had already lived a full day before lunch.

“I’m trying to pray, be patient with the kids, keep the house from falling apart, make meals, answer questions, find shoes, remember appointments, fold laundry, and not lose my temper before dinner.”

She gave a tired laugh.

“And whichever direction I turn, I feel guilty that I’m not doing something else. If I pray, I feel like I should be taking care of the house. If I’m taking care of the house, I feel like I should be praying. If I sit with one child, I remember what another child needs.”

She looked down at her hands.

“I’m trying to be devout, Father, but mostly I just feel behind.”

Father Sal was quiet for a moment.

“That sounds heavy.”

“It is.”

He waited another moment, then asked, “Does it feel like being a mom and becoming holy are two different things?”

Maggie looked up.

“Yes,” she said. “That’s exactly it.”

“Devotion must be practiced differently by the nobleman, the artisan, the servant, the prince, the widow, the young girl, and the married woman.”  — St. Francis de Sales

Devotion Fits Like a Glove

“What do you think holiness looks like right now?” Father Sal asked.

Maggie did not have to think long.

“More,” she said. “More prayer. More patience. More spiritual reading. More peace. More consistency. More everything.”

“And how does that feel?”

“Crushing.”

Father Sal looked at her gently.

“Crushing?”

Maggie nodded.

“Does God the Father want you to feel crushed?”

She was quiet for a moment.

“No.”

“What does that tell you?”

“That maybe those thoughts are not coming from Him.”

Father Sal nodded.

“St. Francis de Sales says devotion has to be tailored to your actual vocation. It should fit like a glove.”

“So I am not supposed to become a nun with children?”

“No,” he said. “And you are not called to be holy and a mother, as if those were two separate lives. You are called to be a holy mother.”

Maggie sat back.

“That feels different.”

“It is,” Father Sal said. “Your path to holiness passes through the life God has actually given you: these children, this home, this season, these limits, these duties.”

She took that in.

“Grace perfects reality,” he said. “It does not ask you to pretend your real life is somewhere else.”

“As the bee draws honey from flowers without damaging them, so true devotion gathers sweetness from our duties without destroying them.”  — St. Francis de Sales

The Soul of Your Vocation

“Francis gives a beautiful image,” Father Sal continued. “True devotion is like a bee visiting a flower. The bee draws honey from the flower, but does not damage it.”

“I like that,” Maggie said.

“He also says precious stones cast into honey become even more brilliant. That is what devotion is supposed to do. It does not dull the duties of life. It makes them shine.”

Maggie was quiet.

“So devotion is not supposed to take me away from my duties.”

“No,” Father Sal said. “True devotion is meant to become the soul of your vocation.”

She repeated it softly. “The soul of your vocation.”

Fr. Sal’s eyes sparkled. “Yes. Not one more burden stacked on top of motherhood. Not one more impossible expectation. The soul. The inner life. The love of God moving through the duties God has given you.”

Maggie looked down.

“I think I keep asking, ‘How do I get away from all this so I can pray?’”

Father Sal nodded.

“And maybe the better question is, ‘Lord, how can I love You here?’”

Maggie was quiet again.

“That feels smaller,” she said.

“Smaller is not always less,” Father Sal said. “Sometimes it is where love can finally enter.”

“We must practice the virtues required of us, not merely the virtues we prefer.”  — St. Francis de Sales

Less Can Be More

Maggie rubbed her forehead.

“I think I am trying to change too much at once. I want a better prayer routine. I want to be more patient. I want the house to be peaceful. I want to stop rushing. I want to be gentle. I want to be holy.”

“All good desires,” Father Sal said. “But good desires still need order.”

“That makes sense.”

“Is there one devotion, practice, or expectation you have put on yourself that could become smaller for now?”

Maggie hesitated.

“Maybe my spiritual reading. I keep thinking I should read a whole chapter every day. But then I fall behind and feel guilty.”

“What would smaller look like?”

“Maybe one page.”

“Could you feel good about one page?”

She thought about it.

“Yes. Actually, yes.”

“Or even a paragraph on very full days?”

Maggie laughed. “That sounds almost too small.”

“Would doing less make you a better mom?”

She looked surprised.

“I think it might.”

Father Sal smiled.

“Then that seems worth noticing.”

Maggie let that settle.

“I think I needed permission to not turn every good thing into a rule.”

This Too, With Love

“Maggie,” Father Sal asked, “do you love your children?”

She looked almost offended.

“Of course. More than anything.”

“When your daughter is learning something new and gets frustrated, what do you tell her?”

Maggie’s face softened.

“I tell her she is learning. I tell her to slow down, take a breath, and try again.”

“Do you love her less because she struggles?”

“No.”

“Then if you could look at yourself with a little of that same tenderness, what would you tell yourself?”

Maggie’s eyes grew moist.

“That I am learning…

“That I do not have to change everything at once…

“That feeling overwhelmed does not mean I am failing.”

Father Sal nodded, “Yes, and maybe take a breath.”

Maggie wiped at one eye, sucked in a breath, and laughed. “I would never talk to my daughter the way I talk to myself.”

“Most people would not.”

“So what do I do today?”

“Take one simple phrase with you.”

“What phrase?”

“What about: ‘This too, with love’?”

Maggie repeated it. “This too, with love.”

“Not as another assignment,” he said. “As a little sanctuary. A place to return when the house is loud, when someone needs you again, when you are tired, when you forget and begin again.”

“This too, with love,” she said.

“Not perfectly. Not anxiously. Just as a way of inviting God into the duty in front of you.”

“And if I fail?” Maggie asked.

Father Sal smiled. “What would you tell your daughter?”

Maggie looked down, then smiled.

“Breathe. Begin again.”

“And if you forget?”

“Breathe. Begin again.”

“And if you say it through clenched teeth?”

She laughed.

“Then I guess I would tell her, ‘That still counts as trying.’”

Father Sal nodded. “That sounds right.”

Maggie took another deep breath.

“One phrase,” she said. “Over and over again.”

“This too, with love.”

A Simple Practice

Today, choose one phrase and return to it throughout the day:

This too, with love.

Say it when the house is loud.

Say it when someone interrupts you.

Say it when you are tempted to rush.

Say it when you have to begin again.

Not perfectly.

Not anxiously.

Not as one more burden.

Let it become a little sanctuary in the middle of your real life.

Because true devotion does not ask you to escape the life God has given you. It teaches you how to love Him there.

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