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There’s a moment every week at church when I doubt the whole thing. I mean all of it. I’m right there in front of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, thinking my doubty thoughts and trying to make sense of it. Eve eating that darn apple, the massive fish swallowing Jonah, seas parting, and the all-you-can-eat buffet of loaves and fishes. I look up at Mary, kneel, and pray for my life here that I know, this is real. On the long escalators moving slowly toward Heaven and Hell, I see myself terrified, and unsure, like when I get on I-75…the unknowing wonder of traffic or delays or rerouting.

I say all of this a little worried God is taking notes, writing my name on a chart under the heading DOUBTERS: my name sitting under Thomas’.

Then I hope and see things like dandelions peeking through sidewalk cracks, cranes landing on their little skinny legs, or hundreds of bees pollinating an apricot tree. Or I hear Vivaldi’s Four Seasons playing and the hysterical laughter of kids after one of them says, “Orange you glad I didn’t say banana”?

This is me “Seeking the Lord”. This is my evidence that God IS everywhere, in goodness, and service, and in beauty, laughter, and love. Maybe God is like butterflies in springtime, flitting gently by…grateful for flowers and generous with joy.

This past week at church…

I stared at the altar, questioning again, but perhaps worried and scared of dying someday more than anything else. As I looked at the cloth draped over that altar, I pictured an elderly mom like mine ironing it, her own service to God.

The Chalice shone as Father Paul lifted it way above his head like he was stretching his arms before a swim. He held his gaze as if waiting for God to blink. Then I saw it. The joy in his face. It was as if he were the luckiest guy to be able to pray and preach and perform this merciful mystery every day with us.

I know he truly believes it because one day, when talking about the Sacraments at Mass, he said, “See, I can’t get married and have kids, but you guys can’t become priests.” The congregation let out an audible chuckle, and he said it again, “No, I’m serious”. Silence fell. I stood in awe and thought, yup, this guy is right where he needs to be, my doubts declined.

What I learned

I think we all doubt. Maybe only on our worst days, when we’ve told our Mom with Dementia “Today is Saturday” 389 times, or feel like a terrible mom because you said too much, or didn’t stop scrolling to listen. Or you wonder if you should call the vet because she’s old, and even though she wags, barks, and eats, life is dwindling inside her.

Then I hope. I hope it’s all there. Heaven. I hope there are great trails to run on and warm brownies at the finish line. I hope we all know each other and make time for coffee. I hope, I hope, I hope.

Thanks for joining me.

I’m so glad you’re here,

Lucretia

Lenten Reflections #29

Prayers.

At my parent’s home, we go to church on Saturday evenings. It’s the one time of the week, for me, when Mom and Dad are completely one. They sit on the blanket we place on the pine pew every week, hold hands, rest their feet on the red leathery plastic kneeler and pray with reverence and confidence. They know the words, when to kneel, stand, shake hands, receive communion, and (just mom) plug her ears when the music is “too loud” or when the musicians are “playing between the notes”.

The routine is something they’ve been doing all their lives. They’ve spent thousands of hours inside churches, looking up at Jesus and Mary stare down at them. They’ve baptized children, went to First Communions, Confirmations, Weddings, and lately way too many Funerals.

The comforting sameness of it all is like the baseball cap Dad pulls on every day that says “Calibra” on the front or the delft blue and white coffee cup Mom reaches for every morning. The fit is predictable and familiar.

I remember back in 2010, when several parts of the mass responses and prayers changed. The new word patterns were like memorizing the ABC’s starting with Q. Prayers were longer, Latin words returned, and the word “consubstantial” crept into the Nicene Creed as we googled its meaning.

My generation whined.

Mom and Dad were all in. In their heads, church was church: read the Gospel, say your prayers, show up.

I guess change came easier for them when God was at the helm. Even as their daughters had varying (and strong) viewpoints on hot topics like abortion, female priests or “the ridiculously right-winged sermon the priest gave last Saturday”, they respected our perspectives.

Starting this year in the Archdiocese of Atlanta, another change is upon us:

The age for the sacrament of Confirmation will be changing from 10th grade (15-16 years old) to 6th grade (11-12 years old). Due to the challenges most tweens and teens face these days, the church is hoping an earlier Confirmation date will keep kids in church and bring the whole family closer to God.

The other thought, conversly, is that of my friend who stated after the announcement at church: “Looks like we won’t be seeing many teenagers at church anymore.” I tend to agree, yet pray the change is one that will keep our youth as faithful as my 87 and 90-year old parents.

What I learned:

Change is our only constant.

Prayer remembers who we are and were, even if we don’t.

Thank you for joining me.

I’m so glad you’re here,

Lucretia

Lenten Reflections #24

March 16, 2026

Before I hung up the phone with my son yesterday, I said, “You matter”.

I’ve said a lot of different goodbyes to our kids on the phone, and I felt like the I love yous and I miss yous, though heartfelt, had become rote, so I debuted my new phrase of endearment with confidence.

“You matter” is critical for all of us to hear and believe.

I thought for sure my son would say something like, “Wait, what do you mean?” Or… “Did you just listen to a podcast?” (Yes)

But to my surprise, he said, “I know,” and not the dismissive, slightly condescending “I KNOOOW”, but rather a confident, “I know” where the lilt starts high with the “I” then trails down to the lower key, releasing “know”.

I had confidence he was listening because, typically, his response to most questions or statements is either “Good” or “Thank you,” with the occasional “I have no idea.”

So, I followed up with, “Oh, good. We’re here if you need anything.”

I hung up and exhaled, while the words “HE KNOWS he matters to us” trailed off with my breath.

Folding laundry with my husband yesterday, I said, “Matter, that’s an odd word, right? How things take up space and how we take up space in the world, how we matter.” He was in the middle of trying to match up socks in the basket (which, by the way, absolutely matters to him), but managed to add a comment and nod of agreement to my matter ramble.

Then I moved on to the etymology of the word. Here’s the breakdown according to etymonline:

According to de Vaan and Watkins, this is from mater “origin, source, mother” (see mother (n.1)). The sense developed and expanded in Latin in philosophy by influence of Greek hylē (see hylo-) “wood, firewood,” in a general sense “material,” the word used by Aristotle for “matter” in the philosophical sense.

Turns out matter is from the word mother. Which makes sense since I told my son that he mattered. (haha) Think of babies trying out different sounds, one of the first is “muh”, eventually leading to “mama”. In a 2019 article in the Saturday Evening Post, Andy Hollandbeck says:

Matter, the broad-reaching word to describe the substance of the entire universe, grew from the word to describe the women who gave us life, which in turn grew from baby’s first murmurings. That says something both revealing and poetic about humandkind.

I then listened to an episode of the podcast, Hidden Brain, called “Do You Feel Invisible?” Host Shankar Vedantam speaks with Psychologist Gordon Flett, who discusses the profound need for mattering, highlighting different types of mattering.

• Deep mattering – THIS IS LIFE GIVING – it’s when even though you didn’t pass the test, or you’re going to be late, or you’re never going to finish your project, or maybe you said the wrong thing to someone you care about, or you can’t catch up on life…deep in your heart, you know, you still have people around who care, and remind you of how critical you are in their lives. That is deep mattering.
• Anti-mattering – the idea of feeling invisible, unimportant, and insignificant. In some cases, social anxiety leads to the assumption that others will negatively evaluate you. This is when your mind waxes toward the irrational.

What I Learned:

The two most important things you can do for people to make sure they know they matter are to

CARE about them and remind them you appreciate them for who they are.

Thanks for joining me.

I’m so glad you’re here,

Lucretia

Lenten Reflections #22

March 13, 2026

Some days I soar through my day remembering to attend the meeting, finish the project, teach the lesson.

But as soon as the check is lost, traffic doesn’t move, or the post is not written, I pray. Because prayer is

the only way to weave through life’s maze without hitting every obstacle.

IF PRAYER AND THE WORD OF GOD DO NOT NOURISH OUR SPIRITUAL LIFE, WE RUN THE RISK BEING SUFFOCATED BY THE MANY CARES AND CONCERNS OF DAILY EXISTENCE. PRAYER MAKES US SEE REALITY WITH NEW EYES AND HELPS US TO FIND OUR WAY IN THE MIDST OF ADVERSITY. // Pope Benedict XVI, General Audience Address, Vatican City, 25 April 2012

What I learned:

Prayer is a spiritual energizer, an emollient.

Thanks for joining me.

I’m so glad your here,

Lucretia