The Simple Gospel

Faith, motherhood, and wellness

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I’m Brenda, a Catholic wife and mom who believes the Gospel is meant to be lived simply and authentically. This blog is rooted in the belief that holiness is found in simplicity, surrender, and daily faithfulness. Through The Simple Gospel, I write about faith, motherhood, and holistic wellness, all grounded in the belief that caring for the body and soul go hand in hand. My hope is to encourage women to slow down, nourish their families well, grow closer to God through everyday faithfulness, and live out the Gospel in ordinary life.

  • The Father’s Image (Part 2)

    By: Brenda Wieneke

    This is the pray I wrote in response to my week at home instead traveling to Rome.

    Dear Father,

    Thank You, thank You for it all. As I look into Clement’s eyes and feed him, I am reminded that You have, is, and will always feed me. You’ve nourished me just as I nourish Clement. You’ve lifted me up, looking into my eyes the way I do with him. You’ve been beside me, watching me in awe. You’ve woken me up each morning with a smile. You’ve hugged me when I needed comfort, held me when I wanted to yell and scream, and cared for me so tenderly. You’ve nursed me back to life and uplifted my soul.

    Heavenly Father, You have lifted my spirit to new heights. All glory to the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. I am reminded that You have been there all along, doing everything to get my attention. My time with Clement this week has been Your time with me, a time You needed to love Your daughter, a time to remind me of my true identity as Your child, a time to heal the broken parts within me.

    Most importantly, it has been a time for You to reveal the true image of who You are as my Father, a Father who has fought for me, protected me, and chosen me when my earthly parents didn’t. A Father who has been right beside me as I learn what it means to be a mom, a wife, and still a little girl at heart. A Father who has held my hands when I longed for my earthly parents to. A Father who continually reminds me to call on Him.

    What I have done for Clement this week reflects what You have done for me, are doing for me, and will continue to do for me. You are my Father, and I am Your child, a child who can live freely because she has a Father who is always near, holding her, guiding her, and loving her.

    Oh, how I love You, Lord. Words cannot fully express the depth of my love for You. The only way I know how is through my praise.

    My prayer throughout Lent has been to boldly say, “I am Your beloved.” I am, and I can confidently say that now. Lord, all that I am and all that I have is Yours. You have taken complete ownership of me, and my soul rejoices in that.

    Thank You for this week.

    I love You, Father.

  • The Father’s Image (Part 1)

    The Father’s Image (Part 1)

    By: Brenda Wieneke

    If I had to pick a theme for the last four months, I would say “the Father’s love” or simply “Father.” Both have been coming up a lot for me lately. After ignoring it for a while, something happened that forced me to stop and really reflect on it.

    A couple of weeks ago, I was having a conversation with a friend, and she asked me, “What image do you get when you think of God the Father?” I remember saying that I don’t really see an image. What comes to mind is a big, empty room. There’s a presence in the room, but I can’t see or feel it. I know something is there, but I don’t have a relationship with it. I respect it and would do whatever it asks of me, but there’s no closeness.

    As I reflected on my answer, I realized it mirrors my relationship with my earthly father which is essentially nonexistent. The last time I spoke to him was in 2021. Things had been building up for years, things I overlooked time and time again, but for my own well-being, I had to cut ties.

    For years, when I thought of God the Father, I associated Him with my earthly father someone I deeply loved but did not feel loved by in return. Someone who hurt me and broke something in the little girl inside of me. Someone I loved, yet feared. Someone inconsistent. Someone I could never truly count on because I was let down over and over again. Someone who took from me but never gave. Someone who never seemed to care who abandoned me before I was even born and continued to do so throughout my life. Someone who disowned me.

    But my Father in Heaven saw how deeply broken I was because of my earthly father. He knew my whole being needed healing, little by little, because my image of Him had been so distorted. He approached me gently, over time, giving me the space to receive Him for who He truly is. Instead of forcing Himself into the broken image I had, He began painting His own image of Himself on my heart.

    I believe He has been doing this for years, but in the last four months, He has given me the grace to actually recognize it to see glimpses of the image He’s been painting.

    Even though my dad disowned me when my mom was pregnant, she still wanted me to form my own view of him as I grew up not one based on her experience. Before I met him, I had this deep love in my heart for my dad. It felt like he could do no wrong. But when I finally met him, that image slowly faded.

    I came to know a father who would leave for months at a time, and when he returned, he was often so drunk he could barely walk. The money he had was spent on alcohol and other women. There were times we went weeks without food, and we considered ourselves lucky if we had even a cup of rice. He created a chaotic home, with children from multiple women, which left me constantly questioning if I even belonged.

    That feeling of not belonging stayed with me for years. The only place I have truly felt a sense of belonging is within my marriage and the family the Lord has created through us. And the Lord knew that what I desired most was to belong fully in my identity as His daughter.

    Three weeks ago, the Lord brought me into a deeper step of that healing by leading me into solitude. I had planned to go on a pilgrimage to Rome while Jake took the kids to Arizona. But I faced one obstacle after another flight delays, ticket issues, weather problems, even sleeping at the airport. Eventually, I realized the Lord was calling me back home.

    I remember driving home, crying, asking, “Lord, why? Why does this always happen to me? Do You even love me?” In that moment, I felt abandoned again. My distorted view of Him came rushing back thoughts like, “He doesn’t care about me” and “He always leaves me stranded when I need Him most.” I let it all out.

    But as my heart began to settle, I started noticing the small graces He had given me throughout that difficult day. Slowly, my heart softened.

    Instead of running from Him during that week alone at home, I chose to lean in, to press into who God the Father truly is.

    As I let go, He began to paint His image more clearly on my heart. I encountered Him daily at Mass, receiving Him in the Eucharist, sitting with Him in adoration, waking early for mental prayer, and reading The Way of Trust and Love by Fr. Jacques Philippe.

    Through that time, He began healing the broken image I had of Him.

    By the end of what I now call my “silent retreat,” I could hear Him say how proud He is of me. The same Father who breathed life into me, who created me in His image, was now restoring my identity as His daughter. He breathes His Holy Spirit, Truth and Love into me, increasing my capacity to love and deepening my desire to carry the light of His Son to everyone I meet.

    To close that week, the verse that stayed with me was Matthew 17:5:

    “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to Him.”

    And in that, I heard the truth spoken over my own heart:

    I am His beloved.

    ⸻

    Prayer

    Matthew 17:5

    “While He was still speaking, behold, a bright cloud cast a shadow over them. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, ‘This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to Him.’”

  • A Simple Pot of Chicken Soup (My Weekly Staple)

    A Simple Pot of Chicken Soup (My Weekly Staple)

    By: Brenda Wieneke

    If you know me, you know how much I love food and cooking. I’ve never been the type to strictly follow recipes. I cook by taste, by instinct, by what I have in the fridge that needs to be used up. That’s how I learned as a little girl trying things, adjusting, sometimes failing, and learning along the way.

    One thing I always try to have ready during the week is a simple pot of chicken soup. It keeps me from reaching for something unhealthy when I’m tired, and it’s something my kids love just as much as I do. It’s nourishing, comforting, and incredibly satisfying.

    The best part? You really can’t mess it up.

    What You’ll Need

    1 whole chicken

    3–4 carrots chopped

    2–3 celery stalks chopped

    1 whole onion roughly chopped

    3–4 garlic cloves smashed

    Any extra vegetables you have on hand (this week I added mushrooms so they wouldn’t go to waste)

    Salt and pepper

    Olive oil

    Chicken broth or water

    Optional herbs: thyme, rosemary, bay leaf whatever you love

    How I Make It

    Start by heating a generous drizzle of olive oil in a large pot over medium heat. Add your chopped carrots, celery, onion, garlic, and any other vegetables you’re using. Season with salt and pepper and sauté for a few minutes until fragrant. This step builds flavor and makes all the difference.

    Place the whole chicken right on top of the vegetables. Pour in enough chicken broth or water to come about halfway up the chicken. Season again don’t be shy. Add your herbs if using.

    Bring everything to a gentle boil, then reduce to a simmer. Cover and let it cook slowly until the chicken is tender and falling apart. This usually takes about 1½ to 2 hours, depending on the size of your chicken.

    Once it’s done, you can shred the meat right in the pot. Serve it as is, over rice, with sourdough bread, or save it for quick meals throughout the week.

    This isn’t just a recipe it’s one of those simple rhythms that makes the week run smoother. And the beauty of it? Adjust it to your taste. Add what you love. Leave out what you don’t. Cooking should feel creative, not restrictive.

    And if some days are better than others, that’s part of the journey too.

  • To Love Is To Know

    To Love Is To Know

    By: Brenda Wieneke 🌸

    “I am the good shepherd, and I know mine and mine know me.”

    • John 10:14

    To love is to know, and to know is to love.

    We cannot love what we do not know.

    When we use the word love for things like, “I love this book,” “I love this show,” “I love these shoes,” or “I love this food,” it’s because, in some capacity, we know them. We’ve experienced them. We’ve received some form of fulfillment or pleasure from them. And when we encounter them again, we can confidently say that we know them and love them.

    But what does it mean to love the Lord?

    To love the Lord, we first have to know Him.

    We have to know:

    • What moves His heart

    • What brings Him joy

    • What He delights in

    • What makes Him smile

    • What makes Him grieve

    • What makes Him laugh

    • What breaks His heart

    • How He desires to spend His time

    Love always involves an exchange.

    And that exchange can either form us or deform us. If we “love” social media and spend most of our time there, what do we often receive in return? Anxiety. Comparison. Restlessness. Mood swings. A subtle erosion of peace. What we love shapes us.

    “Lord, I Just Want to Know You More”

    Earlier in my faith journey, my biggest prayer was simple:

    “Lord, I just want to know You more.”

    And that was it.

    I prayed those words again and again. But then I would go about my day without intentionally thinking about Him. I wanted intimacy without participation. I wanted closeness without consistency.

    It took me time to realize something humbling:

    Christ works alongside our cooperation.

    If we sit around waiting for something to fall out of the sky, the possibility of that happening is slim (not to put limitations on God). He invites us into relationship and relationship requires response.

    All we have to do is take a step, and the Lord will work with each step we take.

    What Acting on That Prayer Looked Like

    For the Lord to work alongside my prayer, “Lord, I just want to know You more,” I had to act on it.

    That meant:

    • Consistency in prayer

    • Reading His Word and allowing it to transform my life and heart

    • Prioritizing the Sacraments and allowing them to take shape in my life

    • Taking on Christ’s worldview

    • Speaking as He speaks

    • Serving as He serves

    • Dying to myself

    • Allowing His words to pierce my heart

    And what I discovered is this: Christ is so selfless.

    As we get to know Him, we learn that all of Him comes back to us.

    What Moves His Heart is US.

    What He delights in is US.

    What brings Him joy is US.

    What moves His heart is US.

    What makes Him smile is US.

    What makes Him grieve is US.

    What makes Him laugh is US.

    How He desires to spend His time is with US.

    All that He is reflects back to US. We are His, and He is ours.

    He adores every part of us the good and the broken. As sinful as we are, when He looks at us, He sees His own image reflected back. How can we run away when everything about Him leads right back to us? When all that He is draws us toward Himself, it should not be difficult to know and love Him.

    Loving Boldly

    To love is to know, and to know is to love.

    When we proclaim our love for Him, we can do so boldly because we can confidently say that we know our Father’s heart, as much as we are humanly able.

    And as we journey with Christ this Lent, let us truly get to know Him.

    Prayer

    “I am the good shepherd, and I know mine and mine know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father; and I lay down my life for the sheep.”

    John 10:14–15

  • Room To Love

    Room To Love

    By: Brenda Wieneke

    While chatting with a friend, I asked a question that stopped us both in our tracks:

    At what point in knowing someone do they consider you a friend?

    We sat in silence, each turning the question over in our minds. It’s one I’ve asked myself many times, yet I’ve never landed on a clear answer. I’ve met many women, some in similar seasons of life, others not, but the one thing we all seem to share is a deep desire for truly authentic friendships.

    You meet someone. You invite them out. You reach out again and again. Often, it doesn’t turn out how we’ve hoped. After enough tries, you give up.

    And when we see others posting about their friendships, trips, shared experiences, and events, the thoughts start to creep in:

    How do other women just “find their people”?

    Why do others seem easy to love, but I feel hard to choose?

    Am I too much… or not enough?

    Is there something wrong with me?

    From the outside, it can seem like there’s no room left in their hearts for new friendships.

    Trying to make sense of this question in my heart, I turned (somewhat ironically) to ChatGPT and asked, “What are signs someone truly considers you a friend?”

    Here’s what it said:

        •    They choose you—they reach out first, invite you places, or check in “just because.”

        •    They share real things—not just surface-level conversation, but struggles and stories.

        •    They remember details—your kids’ names, important dates, what matters to you.

        •    They show up—for celebrations and for hard moments.

        •    They’re comfortable being themselves around you.

        •    They listen—not just waiting for their turn to talk.

        •    They speak well of you when you’re not around.

        •    They respect your boundaries.

        •    They make time, even when life is busy.

        •    They work through misunderstandings instead of disappearing.

    Three of these struck my heart deeply: they make time, they choose you, and they listen.

    The more I sat with those words, the more my heart ached, not just for myself, but for the many women who have never experienced this kind of pursuit, or who are quietly praying that someone would see them and love them this way.

    Scripture immediately came to mind, two moments where Christ models this kind of pursuit perfectly: the Samaritan woman (John 4) and Zacchaeus (Luke 19:1–10).

    Both were deeply lonely. Both were isolated by shame, circumstance, and the labels society placed on them. And both were chosen.

    Jesus went out of His way to meet them where they were. He didn’t wait for them to be healed, respectable, or put together. He entered their isolation and brought belonging. He met them in shame and brought freedom. He met them in loneliness and brought new life, most importantly, new life in Him. Which then overflowed into new relationships and community.

    “Give me a drink,” He says to the Samaritan woman.

    “Zacchaeus, come down quickly, for today I must stay at your house,” He says in Luke’s Gospel.

    Jesus made time.

    Jesus chose them.

    Jesus listened.

    He stretched out His hand in friendship and created space for transformation.

    And like Christ, we are called to do the same.

    If we truly believe we are His hands and feet, then our hearts must always have room for more of His children. Yet in our flesh, we gravitate toward what is comfortable, closing ourselves off, investing in protecting our time and emotional energy.

    But Christ shows us a different way.

    He met the rich and the poor, the joyful and the brokenhearted. With every encounter, He allowed His heart to expand. And we see the fullness of that love in the ultimate gift, His life, given completely.

    So let us make room in our hearts for more.

    Let us pursue well.

    Let us give generously of ourselves to those the Lord places in our lives.

    Prayer

    Come, Holy Spirit.

    Lord Jesus, make room in my heart for more of Your children.

    Teach me how to pursue as You pursue.

    Amen.

  • The House That Made Me

    The House That Made Me

    By: Brenda Wieneke

    As I sit in my Father’s house and look at Him face to face in the Eucharist, my thoughts turn to my earthly father. Psalm 27 rises in my heart: “The Lord is my light and my salvation whom should I fear?” In this sacred place, I see how much fear the Lord has gently taken from me fear I carried since childhood. Fear that kept me awake at night. Fear that held me back from becoming who God created me to be.

    As I began to let go of those fears, the Lord set me on a path straight to His heart a path that revealed my belonging to Him. A belonging I have longed for my entire life, and one I now rest in with confidence.

    When I reflect on my story, I am always led back to one truth: how near I am to the Father’s heart. That realization fills me with joy. I am overwhelmed by how deeply the Lord loves the little girl within me the girl who once wondered if she was loved, seen, or heard.

    The more I reflect, the more I am reminded of how precious I am to my Heavenly Father. A Father who delights in His daughter. A Father willing to sacrifice everything for her. A Father whose voice speaks only love. I can weep when I think of His love for me. As I have grown older, I have learned to cling to Him more closely, fixing my gaze on Him and allowing His love to fill my heart.

    On days when I question whether the Lord is near, I remember all the ways He has been near to my tender heart, again and again.

    What I have learned in embracing my identity as a daughter is abandonment: letting go of the false belief that I must protect myself, that I am in control, or that vulnerability is weakness.

    As I surrender more fully to Him, the Lord continues to reveal how He has been redeeming every step of my story.

    He is redeeming the little girl within me the girl abandoned by those meant to protect her, unwanted by those who should have loved her. The girl left with little to eat, mocked for worn clothes and missing shoes, punished harshly for mistakes. The girl who lay on a cold concrete floor as rain poured through holes in the ceiling. The girl who loved her earthly father deeply, yet never had that love returned.

    My Grandma’s house in our village
    Inside
    The back

    She hid in her room to stay safe.

    She lived in fear.

    She believed she was forgotten.

    But that was never the truth. She was remembered. She was heard by all of Heaven. And the One who created Heaven and earth was fighting for her.

    She did not know it then, but she would one day understand how deeply her Heavenly Father desired her to know His love. He moved through both the small moments and the great ones to reach her heart. She endured what felt unimaginable so that, when His love was finally revealed, she would never doubt He had been there all along.

    Now I sit in my Father’s house the Church still that little girl, but one who has allowed her Father to renew her. Here, He speaks His claim over me, reminding me that this is where I belong: in the house of my one and only Father.

    If you are that little girl or once were know this: your Heavenly Father was beside you then, and He is beside you now. His heart breaks for every pain you carry. If He could take it away, He would. But love and suffering are intertwined, as we see in His own story. Through His suffering came redemption, joy, and new life for us all.

    Our suffering, too, can bring forth new life now and in eternity. We are called to holiness, and sometimes that path leads through suffering.

    If you are in a season of suffering, know that the Lord is near. He is waiting. He is gently inviting you to turn toward Him and fix your eyes on Him.

  • Learning to Rest

    Learning to Rest

    By: Brenda Wieneke

    Last night, our almost 9-month-old decided not to sleep at all. When we put him into his crib, he immediately began crying and yelling. Our first instinct was to bring him into our bed. He cried for about 35 minutes before finally falling asleep.

    Two hours later, the crying started again loud, desperate, relentless. No matter what we did or said, or how hard we tried to comfort him, nothing worked. We kept looking at each other asking, “What is going on?”

    Exhausted, I handed him to Jake. As I lay there trying to force myself back to sleep through the noise, I could hear Jake softly repeating, “It’s okay, Clement. I’ve got you. It’s okay, I’ve got you.” But as he spoke, Clement cried even louder.

    Jake eventually got up and began walking around the room, gently bouncing him and calmly speaking to him telling him that he understood, that he was there, and that everything was going to be okay. He kept speaking softly while Clement cried and screamed. After what felt like an hour, Clement finally began to settle.

    Lying there in that moment, something finally clicked.

    We are all Clement.

    And Jake is the Good Father.

    This is us crying out from our brokenness, our wounds from this world, the pain we carry daily: addiction, abandonment, grief, and suffering. And there is the Father, holding us close, speaking gently:

    “It’s okay. I’m here.”

    “I see your pain.”

    “I’m right here holding you. It’s safe to let go.”

    We are often so deep in our brokenness that we cannot settle long enough to truly hear Him. We cling so tightly to our suffering that we miss the Father’s gentle voice reassuring us that we are safe that we are being held close to His heart as He whispers to the depths of our souls, “I am here. Your Father is here.”

    Like Clement, we become so overwhelmed that we cannot stop crying long enough to listen. We are consumed by our pain and fail to recognize our Father speaking to us. Yet like any good father, He knows the long history of our wounds years of abandonment, hurt, and brokenness so He remains patient. He continues to hold us, to walk with us, and to repeat over and over again that He is here.

    And then, slowly, something changes.

    After what feels like forever, we finally loosen our grip. Our hearts begin to calm, and we start to recognize our Father’s voice. The words He has spoken to us all along finally reach our hearts. We realize we are being held by a Father who has never left a Father who has always been present, speaking blessings over us and gently mending what is broken.

    His voice grows clearer. Our hearts soften. His words begin to console us until they become the only voice that matters. Our restlessness fades, and we finally rest, falling asleep in the safety of the Father’s arms. His voice becomes like a steady sound machine constant, gentle, and faithful in the background.

    St. Teresa of Avila says, “Christ does not force our will. He only takes what we give Him, but He does not give Himself entirely until He sees we yield ourselves entirely to Him.”

    And that is where it all begins with surrender.

    When we finally let go and give ourselves fully to the Father, we find rest.

    Sadly, that crying may last a lifetime if we never allow the Father’s voice to reach our hearts. And even when we do surrender, there will be moments when we cry out again but now it is different. This time, we recognize His voice. This time, we know we are safe, held securely in our Father’s embrace.

    Prayer

    “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.” (1 Samuel 3:9)

    Lord, tune my ears to Your voice alone. Help me recognize You in the midst of my cries.

    Amen.

  • When the House Is Quiet, God Speaks

    When the House Is Quiet, God Speaks

    By: Brenda Wieneke

    Motherhood is loud until suddenly it isn’t.And when the noise fades, something else often rises to the surface.

    “Mom, where is Dad?”

    “Mom, where is Israel and Colette?”

    “Mom, can you hold me?”

    “Mom, could you wake Clement up?”

    These are the words of my two-year-old as I walk around the house trying to distract myself. The house is quiet. The older kids are at school, and the baby is sleeping. As the noise of the busy morning fades, a deep sadness and emptiness settles in my heart.

    In the quiet, I begin questioning everything especially my motherhood. I wonder if what I do each day matters, if I am a good or capable mother. My mind drifts toward comparison. I think about other moms who work outside the home and wonder if they are happier or more fulfilled than I am.

    I become so removed from the present moment that I don’t even notice my two-year-old standing in front of me, asking me to look at her, asking to be held.

    When I finally meet her eyes, my heart softens. In that moment, I realize the Lord looks at me the same way. He is inviting me into His embrace. The quiet I want to escape is actually where the Lord wants to meet me.

    In the quiet, His voice becomes clear. He calls His daughter to rest to let Him delight in her, and to stop grasping for a life she believes will bring fulfillment or remove loneliness. Where I am right now is exactly where He wants to meet my heart.

    As I watch my two-year-old wander around unsure of what to do, I see myself. I see a restless heart searching for something else, while my Father is calling me to rest in Him to rest in His love, His delight, and the life He has already given me.

    This is where He wants me. This is where I will make the greatest impact. If I surrender, He will meet me in the ordinary.

    Quiet looks different for each person and in every season. As Jean-Pierre de Caussade writes, “There is a time when the soul lives in God, and a time when God lives in the soul.”

    The Lord encounters each of us differently, through our own circumstances and seasons. For me, it is the loneliness I feel when my husband and children are away during the day. There is a unique invitation in that quiet if I am willing to receive it.

    Our Mother Mary embraced the quiet. Rather than running from it, she welcomed it and allowed it to become a place of prayer. She  models how to remain faithful in hiddenness. 

    As we learn to embrace the quiet of daily life, we give God permission to encounter us there. Like my two-year-old calling out to be held, we are invited to call out to our Father to let Him look at us and hold us.

    Quiet is often where Christ speaks most clearly to our hearts. Without distractions, our defenses fall away. We become children again, aware of our need for a Father and Savior.

    Instead of running from quiet, let us run toward it. Our Father is already there, waiting to embrace His children.

    Prayer

    Lord,

    I give You permission to invade the quiet spaces of my heart and my life.

    Help me to run into Your arms and be held by You.

    Help me to run toward the quiet, not away from it.

    Encounter me in the quiet moments of my life.

    Amen.