Enjoy these tips for bringing a more contemplative spirit to your holiday preparations.

It’s All Saints Day and I find myself at Mass alone. It’s the year of the pandemic, and the only place I’ve been without my children for months is in the shower. And I do feel alone. Maybe it’s all the covered faces, or all the space spreading us out across this outdoor armada - a space meant for gathering that we’re using to spread us apart.

When we’re called to abstain, how do we make it through? I share my thoughts as a high-risk mama.

I sat on a large rock, knees pulled up, arms stretched behind me for support. The dry desert breeze whispered past as I gazed at the stars hovering overhead. Majestic and distant, they magnified the smallness I felt confronting larger-than-life questions I could no longer ignore.

We’ve given up a lot this Lent, haven’t we? Mostly, I’ve been struck with gratitude for what we do have: a comfortable home, enough food to eat, a yard for the kids to run around, financial stability. Still, even for our family whose sacrifice in staying home is minimal – This. Is. Hard.

It’s hard to give up Mass. It’s hard to give up spending time with our loved ones. It’s hard to change our routine, to give up small comforts, and to adjust our lives so dramatically. It’s hard to wait in the anxious unknown….

Dear Priest,

When we met, I wasn’t Catholic. I wasn’t part of the people you are called to care for. But I came to you, and you spoke with me, I suppose because “even the dogs eat the scraps that fall from the Master’s table.” You did not give me the sacrament of confession. I was not prepared to receive it. Instead, you gave me the gift of your presence.