There are times when we begin something without fully understanding what it will become.

We take the first step because something speaks to our heart. We follow an idea, respond to a nudge, or make room for something that brings us joy. We don’t necessarily have a grand plan. We simply begin.

That is how this series started.

I have always loved the Prayer of Saint Francis. There is something about the words that draws me in. A prayer asking God to make us instruments of His peace, love, pardon, faith, hope and joy. A prayer that challenges us to look beyond what we want to receive and consider what we can give.

So, I decided to use the prayer as the inspiration for my weekly Self-Care Saturday reflections.

One line at a time.

I had no idea how much the journey would teach me.

One prayer. Thirteen reflections. Countless lessons.

Week after week, I looked at a line from the prayer and asked myself what it meant for my life.

Sometimes the lesson came through an ordinary interaction. Sometimes it emerged from a difficult experience. Other times, I found myself reflecting on something I had been carrying quietly in my heart.

I wrote about being an instrument of peace in the middle of pressure. About choosing love when it would be easier to respond with frustration. About forgiveness, including the kind that must begin without an apology.

I reflected on faith and the people who believed in me before I fully believed in myself. On hope and the importance of sharing our stories so others can see that their present circumstances do not have to be the end of their story.

I explored joy, consolation, understanding and love. I thought about giving without keeping score, receiving without guilt, and learning to distinguish generosity from depletion.

I confronted the freedom that can come through pardon, even when the other person may never acknowledge the hurt they caused. And I considered the things that must sometimes end within us so that something new can begin.

Thirteen lines. Thirteen reflections.

And somewhere along the way, the prayer stopped being something I simply admired and became something I was being invited to live.

I began to notice how these lessons were already woven into my everyday experiences. The conversations, the disappointments, the laughter, the responsibilities, the moments of uncertainty and the things I was still learning to release.

Perhaps the experiences themselves were not always extraordinary. But when I paused long enough to reflect, I could see that even the ordinary held something worth learning.

And that is one of the things I have come to appreciate about this weekly practice: sometimes, we don’t need another experience. We need to pay closer attention to the ones we are already having.

The timing I did not plan

Recently, a friend shared that she was planning a pilgrimage to Medjugorje. During our conversation, I learned something that stopped me in my tracks.

The Catholic Church is observing a special Year of Saint Francis from January 10, 2026, to January 10, 2027, marking the 800th anniversary of his death on October 3, 1226.

I had no idea when I started this series.

I wasn’t trying to commemorate an anniversary. I wasn’t following a devotional calendar or working toward a special milestone. I simply loved the prayer and wanted to explore its meaning, one line at a time.

Yet here I was, spending weeks reflecting on the words of Saint Francis during the very year the Church was honouring his life and legacy.

I couldn’t help but pause at that discovery.

I don’t need to understand every detail of God’s timing to appreciate it. Sometimes, I simply need to notice, give thanks, and remain open to what the moment is teaching me.

Perhaps this is another lesson in intentional living: not everything meaningful begins with a carefully constructed plan. Sometimes we follow a small prompting, remain faithful to the next step, and discover the significance of the journey along the way.

What does it mean to be an instrument?

As I reflect on the entire series, I keep returning to the opening words:

“Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace.”

An instrument is something through which a work is accomplished.

And that makes me wonder: what if being an instrument of God isn’t always about doing something grand or extraordinary?

What if it looks like choosing patience when someone tests it?

What if it means offering encouragement to someone who has lost confidence, listening to someone who needs to be understood, or showing compassion when it would be easier to judge?

What if it means allowing ourselves to be vulnerable enough to forgive, humble enough to receive help, and intentional enough to create room for joy?

What if it means recognizing that we, too, need peace, love, pardon, faith, hope and consolation, even as we seek to offer them to others?

I have learned through this series that being an instrument does not mean having everything figured out. It does not mean being endlessly patient, always joyful, or completely free from hurt.

It means remaining willing.

Willing to learn. Willing to grow. Willing to let God work on the parts of us that still need healing. Willing to become more aware of how we show up in our homes, our workplaces, our friendships, our communities and the quiet moments when no one else is watching.

And perhaps most importantly, willing to allow the prayer to challenge us personally, rather than simply admire its beautiful words.

Because it is possible to pray for peace and still need to work on our impatience. To pray for forgiveness while holding on to resentment. To ask for faith while struggling with doubt.

The invitation is not to pretend that these struggles do not exist. It is to bring them honestly before God and allow Him to work in us.

The prayer continues

This may be the final reflection in this series, but I don’t think it is the end of the journey.

The words of Saint Francis will continue to meet me in the everyday moments of my life. There will be new opportunities to sow love, extend pardon, offer hope, listen with understanding and give with intention.

There will also be moments when I need someone else to be an instrument of God’s peace in my life.

And that is okay.

I am learning that intentional living is not about arriving at a place where we no longer need to grow. It is about continuing to pay attention, making room for reflection, and responding to what we learn with greater awareness.

I began this series because I loved a prayer.

I am ending it with a deeper appreciation for the invitation within that prayer.

To live differently. To love more intentionally. To release what keeps me bound. To recognize the opportunities for grace that exist in ordinary moments.

And to remember that I don’t have to do extraordinary things to make a difference. I simply have to remain available to God in the things He places before me.

So, as this series comes to a close, I leave you with the same prayer that has accompanied me throughout these weeks.

Perhaps you will find a line that speaks to your own season of life. Perhaps one will challenge you, comfort you, or invite you to see a familiar situation differently.

Wherever you are on your journey, I hope you will take a moment to sit with these words. Not simply to read them, but to consider what they might mean for the life you are living right now.

Because the world does not only need people who can recite a beautiful prayer.

It needs people willing to live it.

Scripture Reminds Us

In 2 Corinthians 4:7 (KJV) – “But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.”

Reflection

As I bring this series to a close, here are a few questions I am sitting with:

• Which line from the Prayer of Saint Francis has spoken most deeply to me during this journey?
• What have my everyday experiences been teaching me about the person I am becoming?
• Where is God inviting me to grow, release, forgive, or begin again?
• How can I become a more intentional instrument of peace, love and hope in the spaces I occupy?
• Am I willing to let this prayer change not only the words I speak, but the way I live?

You don’t have to answer every question today. Choose the one that speaks to your heart and give yourself permission to sit with it.

And perhaps I should share something I haven’t mentioned throughout this series.

My parish church in Sangre Grande is St Francis of Assisi RC Church. Saint Francis is our patron saint, (we celebrated our Patronal feast last weekend) and we pray this prayer together at Mass every Sunday.

Perhaps that is one of the reasons I have always loved it so much. These words are familiar to me. I have prayed them countless times.

But over these past thirteen weeks, I have had the opportunity to sit with them differently. To look beyond the familiar words and consider what they are asking of me. To see how they connect to my everyday experiences, my relationships, my struggles, my faith, and the woman I am becoming.

And so, as I bring this series to a close, I don’t want to end with my own words.

I want us to pray the prayer that started it all.

Today my prayer is simple.

Let us pray together.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace:
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy.
O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Amen.

Until next Saturday!

Love, Talisha❤️