Living so that God’s light shines through the lives we touch. Even in the autumn season of life, our kindness, prayers, and love become the stories that outlive us.

As the days grow shorter and the air takes on that familiar autumn crispness, and all but the native flowers in my garden have ended their summer glory, until next year. I find myself thinking about legacy. Not in a heavy or morbid way, but in a quiet wondering: Who will remember me, what will I leave as my legacy?

I’ve come to believe there are at least two kinds of legacies. The first is our genetic legacy. Since I don’t have children to carry on my genetics, this rules out this most traditional form. If I had adopted or had step-children I could hope to leave a legacy of maternal love with them, but that was not the case.

There is of course the legacy of our material accomplishments. For me, they are the books I’ve written and the weekly column on faith that I wrote for the Summit Daily News. I like to think that each one carries a spark of my creativity, and my gratitude, a small gift left with every reader.

Now, perhaps more than ever, is the time to follow the passion we’ve carried in our hearts. To live with joy and purpose, understanding that it is never too late to create our legacy. To show those younger than us that it is possible to keep creating, keep loving, keep giving—right up to the very end.

I know it’s possible because I saw my mother live this way until her dying day at nearly ninety-five. Even in hospice, when someone came to pray for her, she would turn around and ask, “May I pray for you?” That was her legacy: a life poured out for God and others.

Which leads me to the third, and I believe, greatest legacy: the lives we touch directly by our presence. The legacy of love.

When I think of my mother, who taught children to read until she was seventy-nine, I picture those children carrying the memory of her into adulthood. For their whole lives, they’ll remember the woman who opened the door to reading. That is her legacy living on.

I think of Mrs. Weaver, my dear friend since I was eleven years old, a friendship that now spans over fifty years. The love and attention she showed me when I was growing up will always be part of her legacy in my life.

And I think of Betty Pech, another one of the swim team moms like Mrs. Weaver, that I grew up with, her infectious laugh, dry humor, and elegant style. Even now, at the first hint of cold weather, I reach for a turtleneck and pull-on slacks, always hoping to look as elegant as she did. And hope that I can share love through humor, as she did.

All of this reminds me that what we do matters—right now, in these “larger-numbered” decades of life. The relationships we tend, the kindness we share, the dreams we dare to pursue—these are the threads of our legacy.

So I ask you: what legacy do you want to leave? Perhaps you’ve already achieved a professional legacy, and now you’re shaping a new one—built on creativity, friendship, and most of all, love.

May you find joy in building that legacy day by day, and may it shine as a light for those who follow.

If you’re looking for inspiration on shaping your legacy, I highly recommend reading this thirteenth chapter of 1st Corinthians:

If I speak in the tongues[a] of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3 If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast,[b] but do not have love, I gain nothing…

4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

8 Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. 9 For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 10 but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. 11 When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. 12 For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

13 And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

Thanks for reading Suzanne Elizabeth Anderson Newsletter! If this post spoke to you, please feel free to share it.

Dear friends,

I’m excited to share something new with you — I’ve launched a YouTube channel as a companion to this Substack.

Just like here, it’s a space to talk about the things closest to my heart: faith, stillness, and finding meaning in the ordinary days of our lives, especially for those of us over 60.

The videos are brief, simple, and personal, a chance for us to connect in a new way.

Sometimes I’ll expand on themes I’ve written about here, other times I’ll bring you behind the scenes to my writing desk or take you along on my morning walk.

When you watch the YouTube videos, you’ll notice they aren’t edited. It’s just me, talking to the camera.

Interestingly, this isn’t far from how I’ve always written. For ten years, ever since my days writing a faith column for the Summit Daily News in Breckenridge, Colorado, I’ve drafted my essays by talking out loud, recording my thoughts in an open email on my phone.

These new YouTube videos feel like a natural extension of that habit.

My very first video is an essay on how I use journals to enhance my personal and faith life. If that resonates with you, I’d love for you to watch and let me know what you think.

✨ Watch the journaling video and subscribe to my YouTube channel here

Thank you for walking alongside me in this journey — whether in words or on video, it’s a joy to share these ordinary, extraordinary days with you.

With gratitude,Suzanne

PS: I’ll be posting a new video every Tuesday, and continuing my essays here on every other Thursday. I warmly invite you to join me there, too. 🌿

Welcome back, friends. Recently, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to the small ways faith weaves into daily life. Tonight’s reflection comes from a very simple experiment I tried one quiet morning on my deck…

One morning last week, I tried a little experiment during my morning devotions. The summer heat has finally broken, so I was sitting on my deck in a rocking chair enjoying the refreshing morning, watching the red maple tree nearby. Its leaves quivered in the light breeze, sunlight dappling across them in shifting patches. Simply sitting quietly, just watching, was unexpectedly calming.

So I asked Siri to set a timer for two minutes, put my phone down, and let myself be still. At the end of those two minutes, I discovered two things: first, it felt oddly unsettling not to have my phone in my hand—resisting the urge to check my screen. And second, after only two minutes, my mind felt refreshed. I’m certain that if I’d checked my blood pressure, it would have dropped.

At the top of this page, you can see the 10-second video that I recorded on that morning.

Here in rural North Carolina, rocking chairs on porches and decks are almost a way of life. Their gentle swaying invites you to slow down. Two dear friends of mine often welcome me to their porch at sunset. Our area is known for its breathtaking skies, and watching the colors unfold together feels like a form of worship. I sometimes think that anyone who can’t understand the joy of quietly watching a sunset is missing one of God’s clearest signatures.

It reminds me of Elijah, who sought proof of God’s presence.

11 The Lord said, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.”

Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. 12 After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. (1 Kings 9:11-12)

Elijah discovered God wasn’t in the roaring wind or the earthquake, but in the softest whisper that followed.

Since moving here, one of the greatest blessings I’ve received is the appreciation of silence.

Silence strips away distractions—phones, televisions, even traffic—and creates space for us to notice.

At first, you become aware of your own wandering thoughts. Ping ponging between past and future with no coherent train other than worry.

But sit long enough, and you move beyond the chaos into a greater awareness of the stillness in this present moment: the way the breeze stirs the leaves, the way sunlight shadows the clouds, the way the world whispers that beauty surrounds us. And in that stillness, outside of ourselves, is where we finally hear God.

I believe God is always with us, never leaving our side for even a moment. But like Elijah’s whisper, His presence is often easiest to discern in silence—when we allow ourselves time and space to be still.

What I discovered the other day is that it doesn’t take a grand effort. Start as I did, with as little as two minutes. Set a timer, put your phone down, and let yourself simply be quiet.

There in the silence, you may find that you, too, hear God.

God bless you.

If this reflection spoke to you, would you share it with a friend who might need a moment of silence today? And if you’d like to keep receiving these gentle essays and notes of encouragement, make sure you’re subscribed—it’s the simplest way to help this community grow.

With this final essay in our three-part series, we arrive at the most intimate practice of our spiritual walk: prayer, the simple yet profound act of conversing with God.

Over the past weeks, we’ve reflected on gratitude and on scripture—two practices that draw us step by step closer to God.

Gratitude opens our eyes to the beauty of the world around us and connects it back to the Giver of all good things.

Scripture invites us into the living history of our faith, centering our minds on God.

Now, with prayer, we move beyond noticing and reading, and begin to approach God directly.

When I began thinking about writing this essay on prayer, I found myself smiling. Why? As I prepared for this essay, I flipped through some prayer journals from past years and was moved by not only how God has answered prayers (not always in the way I wanted), but by how much closer I feel toward God now.

Prayer has become such a natural part of my life that I sometimes forget I am even doing it. I like to believe that God delights in hearing from me, not only in moments of deepest need (though He is faithful then too), but in the ordinary, daily conversations we might share with a dear friend.

In these halcyon days of ordinary grace, is where I believe we build the spiritual foundation to sustain our fragile hearts when the storm clouds of suffering inevitably darken our horizon. Daily conversation builds our trust in God.

So how do we get there?

There are the prayers we say together as a community in church, the childhood bedtime prayers whispered as we knelt by our beds, or the words of grace we speak before meals. These are the muscle memory prayers that we recite without even giving meaning to the words.

We are not being flippant when we quickly recite them, but their familiarity lets them slip through our hands like quicksilver.

One of those prayers, commonly known as the Our Father, used to be a prayer I’d recite with that same muscle memory without a thought to the words…

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.Give us this day our daily bread,and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.

But a few months ago,

I began praying the Our Father slowly, aloud,

considering each line as if it were part of God’s guiding principles for my day…

Our Father…

Hallowed be thy name.

Thy will be done…

Give us our daily bread.

Forgive us…as we forgive others.

Deliver us from evil.

Amen.

Our Father. Imagine, God asks us to address him as our father.

Hallowed be thy name. Yet, we know he is God and we praise his name.

Thy will be done… Oh, how difficult to accept God’s will rather than our own.

Give us our daily bread. Sometimes, that is the most we can hope for.

Forgive us…as we forgive others. Must we? Yes, somehow.

Deliver us from evil. Protect us from others and sometimes ourselves.

Amen. The Hebrew word for “so be it”.

Reciting the Our Father in this way, I feel the humility, awe, and gratitude each line pulls from my heart.

Spoken with intention, the Our Father is not just a memorized prayer but a daily meditation on God’s nearness, holiness, provision, and mercy.

The second form is as free-flowing as a breeze.

It begins in the morning with specific requests. Heal this friend of cancer, help this sibling find a job, surround this person with your love, end the strife in this family, end the war, the famine, the suffering.

But it doesn’t end there.

As the day unfolds,

I pause to whisper a thank-you for the flowers blooming in my garden,

or ask for peace when my mind is overwhelmed with worry.

These conversations may trail off only to begin again later, almost without my realizing it.

I like to believe these simple conversations please God, that it shows a growing trust, a deepening love, and a reliance on Him woven into the fabric of my daily life.

The beauty of prayer is its simplicity. Whether through the structured words of the Our Father or the spontaneous conversation of the heart, prayer is always within our reach.

It takes little more than a minute or two, yet practiced faithfully, daily, it becomes the heartbeat of my relationship with God.

My hope is that it will become so for you as well.

Suzanne Elizabeth Anderson Newsletter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

I’ll speak with you again in two weeks!

After I sent out my recent essay on why we should read the Bible, I realized there was something I hadn’t fully expressed—something important enough that I wanted to send this brief follow-up.

It’s a common belief—among every generation—that we are the smartest, most advanced, most morally and intellectually evolved people to ever walk the earth.

So when someone tells us we should read the Bible because it’s “good for us,” our natural reaction might be to roll our eyes, sigh deeply, and maybe skim a few verses now and then… or at least try to pay attention when the pastor reads from scripture on Sunday morning.

That was certainly my attitude, even as I’ve dipped in and out of Bible study classes over the past four decades.

But recently, my appreciation for scripture has taken on a new depth, and I want to share what changed.

It’s this: imagine how ancient these stories are. Thousands of years old. And yet—what could they possibly offer us today?

Everything.

That’s exactly the point. The stories we find in the Bible are stories of humanity itself. From the first account of temptation and its consequences, to the earliest example of sibling rivalry and its tragic outcome, we see not only the beginnings of religious faith but the unfolding of humanity’s moral, ethical, and spiritual journey.

When we read the stories of the Old Testament with this in mind, the appearance of Jesus Christ—God in human form—becomes not only understandable, but inevitable. The teachings of Christ in the Gospels reveal a different kind of relationship between humanity and God—one that mirrors our spiritual growth and maturity.

So when we read the Bible, we are reading the story of us. Our human family. We begin to see how far we’ve come—and how much we still wrestle with the same core emotions: love and hate, peace and war, faith and fear.

That’s why the Bible—both Old and New Testaments—remains essential. Not just as a religious text, but as a living record of who we are, where we’ve been, and who we are still becoming.

(Image: Salvator Mundi - Savior of the World - attributed to Leonardo da Vinci)

I’ve been procrastinating on writing this second installment in my Three Steps to a Deeper Spiritual Life series for so long, you’ve probably forgotten it was a series.

The first step I shared was about establishing a daily practice of gratitude, because gratitude grounds us in the present moment.

Today, I want to talk about step two: reading sacred scripture daily.

And in the final step (which I promise won’t take as long), I’ll talk about developing a daily conversation with God through prayer.

So—why did I delay writing about reading the Bible?

Well, the truth is… I do read the Bible every day. But the reason I hesitated to write about it is because the first thought that popped into my head was:

Who am I to tell anyone how or why to read the Bible?

I’m not a scholar. I’ve never taken a theology class. I’ve started and stopped Fr. Mike Schmitz’s Bible in a Year podcast twice. So, clearly, I’m no expert.

But I’ve been quietly reading scripture every morning for a few years now, and I realize how much it has become the foundation of my spiritual life. So I’m not here to tell you how to read the Bible. I just want to share why it’s become so meaningful to me—and maybe it will inspire you to begin your own practice, or deepen the one you already have.

My Morning Ritual

Every morning, I fix my one-and-only cup of coffee—a big, milky mug—and head upstairs to the loft. From my favorite chair, I have a view of the distant Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia.

I settle in with my iPad and open an app called Give Us This Day, a Catholic daily devotional built around the Liturgy of the Hours—I like to think of it as Liturgy of the Hours with training wheels.

The app offers:

* Morning Prayer (usually a psalm and short scripture reading)

* The daily Mass readings

* Evening and Night Prayer

The Morning Prayer takes just 15 minutes and includes a psalm—often a psalm of praise—plus a short Old Testament reading, a short list of prayer intentions for the day, and ending with the Our Father prayer.

Over time, I’ve found myself slowing down, reading each day’s psalm two or three times, and letting the words settle in.

There’s a name for this: Lectio Divina, or “divine reading.” But in simple terms, it just means taking the time to sit with scripture.

Because if I rush through it, I usually finish feeling like I’ve just ticked a box. But when I read slowly—when I allow the words to speak to me—I feel something shift inside. A moment of clarity. A spark of comfort or conviction.

That’s when the Holy Spirit nudges something in my heart and says, “This part is for you.”

Letting Scripture Shape My Day

I’ve recently started listening to the daily Mass readings in bed before I get up. These include a reading from the Old Testament, a psalm, and a gospel passage.

Listening helps me imagine the scene: the people, the setting, the emotions. It draws me in and makes the scripture feel more alive, more human. It reminds me that we are part of a long and interesting history of people seeking a relationship with our Creator.

Whether I’m reading or listening, scripture gives me something to carry with me into the day. It anchors me.

I’ve come to believe that daily scripture reading is not about checking off a spiritual to-do list. It’s about creating space—even 15 quiet minutes—to hear God’s voice in the midst of a noisy world.

What Matters Most

If you’ve ever struggled to start a Bible reading habit—or wondered if you’re “doing it right”—I want to reassure you:

You don’t have to be a scholar. You don’t have to follow a specific plan.

Just start with a psalm. Or the day’s gospel reading. Or open your Bible and read until something speaks to you. Then read it again.

The Bible has become the most important part of my morning—not because I always understand everything I read, but because it helps me feel close to God. It gives me strength, hope, and a sense of belonging in His story.

Wherever and however you begin, I hope you’ll discover that too.

In the next (and final) post in this series, I’ll write about step three: prayer—developing a daily conversation with God. That’s a topic I feel much more comfortable with… so I promise not to wait so long this time.

Until then, I’ll leave you with this blessing:

May the Word of God speak to your heart, and may it remind you that you are deeply loved.

Helpful Links:

* Bible in a Year with Fr. Mike Schmitz (Podcast)

* Give Us This Day – Catholic Daily Devotional App

* YouVersion Bible App - has many great short Bible studies

When I suggest that what you're grateful for reflects who you are, I don't mean that in a materialistic way. I think of it as a reflection of your age and the season of your life.

Now that I am in my 60s, what I'm grateful for is much different than what I cherished as a teenager or a young woman in my 20s or 30s. That's perfectly natural and as it should be.

Yet we are given the message in media and culture that we should not age—that what we appreciate should not change, that we ourselves should not change, neither in what we desire nor in how we look. But I think this is an immature view of life, one that doesn't understand the full arc of wisdom and beauty that emerges as we age.

A recent example is, And Just Like That, a reboot of the Sex and the City series. It features three of the original cast members and imagines their lives in New York 20 years later. What is most disheartening about the series is the message it sends to women, especially as exemplified by Sarah Jessica Parker's character.

Twenty years later, she dresses the same and pursues a failed relationship from her past, (it’s still failing) sending a message that older women don’t learn from their mistakes, grow in confidence, or create different outcomes —only a never-ending loop of living in the past and trying to recapture their youth. As if that were where happiness could be found.

What Does This Have to Do with Gratitude?

Gratitude teaches us otherwise. It anchors us in the present moment and gently reveals how far we’ve come. It shifts our attention from what we used to want to what truly matters now—from outward achievement to inner peace, from appearance to presence, from striving to stillness.

In my last essay, I wrote that gratitude is the beginning of a deeper spiritual walk with God. It quiets the noise of “not enough” and reminds us that this moment, right now, is full of grace. Gratitude invites us to stop grasping and begin receiving.

When we do, we begin to notice the abundance already around us: the loving relationships that sustain us, the beauty of ordinary days, the quiet presence of God found whenever we pay attention.

If I were asked for a proof of God’s existence it would be the twin gifts of beauty and love.

As we ground ourselves in gratitude, we realize that beauty and love, ageless and boundless, given to us at the moment of creation—form a bridge from ourselves to our Creator. Our ability to fully value them are the fruits of gratitude.

How we travel that bridge to a deeper relationship with God is what I will continue to explore in the next two essays. Please subscribe so you can join me.

This reflection on gratitude as a practice that evolves with age invites us to embrace each season of life with its own unique gifts and perspectives, rather than clinging to what once was.

Last week, I wrote about three habits I believe can lead to a better life: gratitude, scripture reading, and prayer. These three rhythms have become the most important part of my morning.

I grab a cup of coffee, curl up in the big chair in my upstairs loft—my favorite perch where I can see the distant mountains of Virginia—and begin the day with my journal and my iPad. There, in that quiet space, I read scripture, pray, and focus on what I’m grateful for.

When I first said I’d write about each of these habits in depth over the coming weeks, that was exactly my intention. But as I sat down to begin the first essay on gratitude, I realized there was something more I wanted to say first. Something foundational. Why are these three habits so effective? Why do I believe they hold the same transformative power as daily exercise or healthy eating?

Let me explain with a story.

My Morning Funnel

Every morning, I make coffee with a simple pour-over ceramic cone that sits atop my mug. It brews just enough for one large cup, which is exactly all I need.

One morning, I couldn’t find it. In a pinch, I grabbed a plastic kitchen funnel and used that instead. It worked just fine, and I texted a picture to my brother John, reminding him of his most valuable advice to me:

“Necessity is the mother of invention.”

That photo has stayed with me—not just because it made me laugh, but because it gave me a metaphor. That little funnel became a symbol for what these three habits do for my spiritual life.

Just as the funnel guides the water through the coffee grounds into the mug, the three daily habits gently, inexorably, draw me into the presence of God.

Gratitude Grounds Us

"Gratitude grounds us in the present moment."

So much of life is spent chasing what’s next: what we want to accomplish, where we want to go, what we’re saving for. The striving never ends.

But gratitude stops the clock for just a moment. It invites us to breathe deeply and say, “In this moment, no matter how I feel—whether full or empty—I can name three things I’m thankful for.”Even if they’re as simple as I’m alive.

Scripture Roots Us

"Scripture reminds us we’re not alone in our emotions or our struggles."

When I read the Bible—especially the Psalms—I’m reminded of our shared humanity. The praise, the lamentations, the yearning and celebration—they root us in the long, sacred story of being humans who have pursued God, turned to God, have been healed by God, and most importantly, our sacred scriptures show us that we have had a relationship with God since the first moments of our creation.

Prayer Connects Us

"These habits funnel us toward the Source of all that is good."

Gratitude grounds us. Scripture reminds us we’re part of something bigger—rooted, connected, known by God. And that naturally leads to prayer, our conversation with God.

Not fancy or perfect prayer, but simply a conversation with the God who loves us, who created us, who walks with us.

"Daily prayer reminds us we are never alone—we walk this journey with God."

When that conversation becomes a rhythm, a habit, we begin to see our lives differently. We are not alone. We are with God.And we are part of a community of others who love Him too.

This is the first in a short series on the daily habits that shape a life of faith.

Next time, I’ll go deeper into gratitude—how it changes the way we see the world, and how even the smallest thank-you can be a doorway to joy.

Until then, maybe start with a single step:Find three things today to be grateful for. Just three.Let them ground you, in this present moment, and remind you of all that you already have.

Suzanne Elizabeth Anderson Newsletter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

Dear Friend,

When I was in my 20s, 30s, and 40s, I read all kinds of self-improvement books—how to be more successful, to invest wisely, to organize my life, to lose weight, and gain friends. The promise was always the same: these were the steps to success. And with success, happiness would follow.

Now, in my 60s, my idea of happiness has changed.

I see this season of life as a threshold—a crossing into a new chapter that juxtaposes an aging body with a mind gathering wisdom.

I’ve found that living well in this stage of life looks very different from how I once imagined it. Because of course, I had no idea of what it meant to be here.

Today, I want to share three daily practices that I believe have helped me the most. They’re gentle, grounding, and deeply enriching. They’ve helped me walk through both ordinary days and harder seasons with a little more peace and purpose.

1. Begin and end each day by naming three things you’re grateful for.

You don’t need a special journal or a perfect pen. Most of the time, I just count them on my fingers or say them out loud—three things, every morning and every night.

Why? Because the world is constantly telling us we’re missing something. That we need to do more, be more. It can feel endless. But when I pause and name three things I already have—I remember that my life is already full.

If I have food, shelter, and health, I have so much. If I have even one person who loves me, I’m deeply blessed. Gratitude has a way of gently resetting our hearts, especially on days when everything feels heavy.

2. Read a little bit of the Bible each morning. I start with the Psalms.

I love the Psalms. They’re full of praise and sorrow, hope and frustration, longing and joy. They don’t hide from life’s messiness. In fact, they name it beautifully. And even though they were written thousands of years ago, I’m always surprised by how closely they speak to my own heart.

Our joys and our heartbreaks are not new. The Psalms remind me of that. They help me begin my day with a deep breath and a sense of connection—not just to Scripture, but to something much bigger and older than myself.

3. Talk to God throughout your day. It’s as natural as breathing.

Prayer takes many forms—from formal prayers recited during a service, to whispered breaths of anguish or gratitude. I start my day with prayer. And at night, I no longer kneel beside my bed, but I stand quietly, bow my head, and briefly end my day with God.

I believe prayer is the lynchpin in our relationship with God. And it can be the most intimate, safe, and transformative relationship we have. We can tell God things we would never speak aloud to another soul. We can be completely ourselves.

I thought this would be a short reflection, because I’ve mentioned each of these practices before—but as I wrote, I realized just how much they have added to the quality of my life. With that in mind, I am going to expand this into a 3 or 4-part series and consider each of these practices in more depth.

But don’t keep that from starting them today. They’re not complicated. But they are powerful. And they’ve made all the difference in my life.

I hope they bless you, too.

With love,Suzanne

4 Early in the morning, Jesus stood on the shore, but the disciples did not realize that it was Jesus…

When they landed, they saw a fire of burning coals there with fish on it, and some bread.

10 Jesus said to them, “Bring some of the fish you have just caught.” 11 So Simon Peter climbed back into the boat and dragged the net ashore. It was full of large fish, 153, but even with so many the net was not torn. 12 Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.” None of the disciples dared ask him, “Who are you?” They knew it was the Lord. 13 Jesus came, took the bread and gave it to them, and did the same with the fish. 14 This was now the third time Jesus appeared to his disciples after he was raised from the dead.

15 When they had finished eating, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?”

“Yes, Lord,” he said, “you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Feed my lambs.”

16 Again Jesus said, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”

He answered, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Take care of my sheep.”

17 The third time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”

Peter was hurt because Jesus asked him the third time, “Do you love me?” He said, “Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Feed my sheep. 18 Very truly I tell you, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.” 19 Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God. Then he said to him, “Follow me!” (The Gospel of John, 21:4, 9-19)

On what would be his last day, Pope Francis beautifully lived out Christ’s direction to St. Peter. “Feed my sheep.”

That image of Pope Francis giving an Easter greeting, blessing babies, out amongst the crowds on the last day of his life, even while burdened by great illness, will be how I remember him.

I have known three popes in my lifetime, St. John Paul II, Pope Benedict, and Pope Francis. Each is remembered for how their tenure changed the Church or changed the world. A diplomat, a scholar, a Jesuit. Those are most likely the biographical highlights you’ll hear discussed on secular news.

But to lead the Church, each pope must primarily strive to be the shepherd who models the loving care of the original Shepherd.

As my Church begins the process of choosing our next pope, I will pray they are guided by the Holy Spirit to choose a man after God’s own heart.

To teach above all else, what Christ told us was most important,

37 Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’[a] 38 This is the first and greatest commandment. 39 And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’[b] 40 All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.” (The Gospel of Matthew 22:36-40)