by Katie Sciba

Two weeks after our wedding, Andrew and I boxed up the studio that was more his than ours and moved to Louisiana. I did my best to fashion a home in our five hundred square foot apartment, and we spent rainy days watching movies and reading on our tiny couch. I looked at my new husband over dog-eared pages and wondered if there was ever a married couple who enjoyed each other as much as we did. 

Mornings were sweetly slow with my one-year-old son. The two of us spent our early days—his in childhood, mine in motherhood—eating waffles and bananas, quietly playing in his nursery, and taking naps. He was happy by nature, which made his tears few and giggles plenty. I hugged my little one tightly to try to keep him from growing, so sure that this was my favorite age.

While I was expecting our second son, I shook with nerves when emailing a professional I didn’t know. I had a penchant for writing as a stay-at-home mother and, as is often the case in young families, our income was small. Maybe the recipient of my email—the editor of a small Catholic publication in the South—had an opening for a columnist. She replied days later saying she’d give me a try and maybe this would work long term if it went well. Every deadline gave me fearful imposter syndrome, but every printed copy made me beam with gratitude for God’s will.

Things shifted in every part of life. Old wounds bore new pain into the heart of my marriage. The Lord’s grace abounded every time Andrew and I were given the chance to bare our souls and forgive. We grew in devotion and dedication to each other. The children grew in age and number, and we gratefully received all seven souls God entrusted to us. My work as a fledgling columnist developed into a career more meaningful and long-lasting than I could have possibly anticipated.

These changes happened certainly and slowly, which is hardly the way we want change to happen. There is no shortage of comments about this era of instant gratification in humanity. We want life to be how we want it when we want it to be that way; but, if we consider how the Lord has moved in each of us, we’ll see the peace and wisdom in a gradual pace. One long day at a time.

Looking back, I can see how every season—the joyful, the uncertain, the stretching, the tender—was quietly shaped by God’s hand. Nothing unfolded quickly, and rarely did anything resolve on my preferred timeline, yet grace was always present. It was steady like a heartbeat beneath the noise of daily life. In our hidden work of parenting, in the conversations that heal old hurts, the Lord forms us with a patience far greater than our own.

It has taken years to understand that Heaven is not reached in dramatic leaps but in a thousand humble steps. God works little by little in souls: through gentle invitations, small promptings, and daily opportunities to choose love against the lingering temptation to choose ourselves. His transforming grace is not rushed. He honors our freedom, allowing us to grow at a pace we can bear, even when we long for instant holiness or immediate clarity.

And just as the Lord moves slowly and faithfully in us, we are called to move slowly and faithfully toward Him. Our tiny acts of surrender, our imperfect efforts at virtue, our repeated returns to prayer—all of it becomes a simple path to Heaven when offered with trust. We don’t need to be extraordinary to become saints; we only need to be willing, day after day, to take the next right step toward Christ.

God has never hurried with you, and yet He has never stopped working. Little by little, He leads every willing heart to Himself.

Katie Sciba is a national speaker and Catholic Press Award-winning columnist. She and her husband Andrew were married in 2008, and are blessed with seven children.

This article appeared in the January 2026 edition of The Catholic Telegraph Magazine. For your complimentary subscription, click here.