We are all waiting.
Waiting for numbers to tick by
for days to pass or arrive
Waiting for answers
for change
for love
for success
Waiting with joy
Or fear
Waiting for the worst
Or the sublime
But
Who waits for now?
Right now
Author: Lucretia Cahill
Pope Francis had the Moral Courage Most Lack
Rest in Peace Pope Francis
Monday of the Angel
On Easter Monday, Pope Francis, our first Jesuit, Latin American Pope, left this world on a day steeped in hope, the day after Easter. This hope is the exact message he delivered every day by just being himself. Easter Monday is known as ‘Monday of the Angel’ in remembrance of the women who went to see Jesus’ tomb and were told of his resurrection by an angel. Hope.
So, Monday morning, when I heard of Pope Francis’ passing, I thought about the angel that delivered the message, and as I am profoundly saddened by his death, deep in my heart, I pray Pope Francis is the angel to give God a nudge and remind Him of the struggling here. The lost jobs, the migrants, the poor, the marginalized, our neglected earth, and the lack of compassion for humanity. Losing Pope Francis was like losing our last hope.
Moral Courage
Moral courage is the ability to stand up for and practice what we think is ethical, moral, and right. Pope Francis chose to meet the world where it was and believed the church should recieve everyone -todos -todos.
I’ve dabbled in moral courage…I remember my son’s kindergarten teacher keeping the kids in for recess when it was 50 degrees, “too cold,” they said. I set up a meeting with the teacher. “Let’s agree to disagree,” she said. So I went to the PTA to start a petition, “too controversial,” I was told. Then the principal said, “Sorry, PE can count for recess.” Finally, I joined several parents from all over the city and went to the state capital in Atlanta, three kids in tow, to speak about how critical recess is for our children. How recess is a right and NOT a privilege. I researched kids, movement, and the brain for years, and finally, legislation was passed mandating 30 minutes of recess daily. Baby steps.
I remember standing amid Catholics for Choice at a march in Washington, DC, when it wasn’t the popular view to take. Yet I stood in the rain for hours with survivors of sexual abuse, and anyone who dared to respect a woman’s rights.
Some call this ludicrous. Others call it courage.
What I learned:
We find ourselves at a juncture when hope and courage dwindle with each headline and news break. Back in 2016, Pope Francis said, “Anyone, whoever he is, who only wants to build walls and not bridges is not a Christian.” He was right. He urged the cardinals and bishops to serve as a field hospital for the people, not a country club for the rich. He chose his name Francis from St. Francis of Assisi who saw all of creation as a sacred manifestation of God’s love, how perfect.
So, let us live like Pope Francis and choose humility over ego, the poor over the powerful, and people over property.
Rivers do not drink their own water; trees do not eat their own fruit; the sun does not shine on itself and flowers do not spread their fragrance for themselves. Living for others is a rule of nature. We are all born to help each other. No matter how difficult it is …. life is good when you are happy, but much better when others are happy because of you. – Pope Francis
Thank you Pope Francis for being our beacon of hope and unrelenting courage.
Here’s to Another Good Day.
Thanks for joining me,
Lucretia
Look Beyond Yourself…
Lenten Reflections #40 – HAPPY EASTER!
Yesterday at Holy Saturday mass, Monsignor spoke to the newly baptized and confirmed and urged them to Look Beyond. Look beyond the bread they eat and the wine they drink. Look beyond themselves and toward God.
Growing up in New Mexico surrounded by long vistas gave me a powerful perspective on what lies beyond my own reflection. Mountains stood majestically, and the 360-degree view of beautiful, unrestricted space was like knowing a pinky swear secret about how things are so much bigger and grander than us.
When I moved to Washington, DC, my environmental views narrowed, and I could only see what was right in front of me. Fellow staffers, government buildings, and marble floors dominated the space. However, when I peered over the desk, struck up a conversation with the person next to me on the metro, and took in all the history around me as I ran through the city, I developed a new, internal long view of life. In DC, the beauty of the city lies in the people- the diversity in languages, culture, food, religion, and perspectives.
Naturally, neither view was better than the other; both inspired me to see the potential positive mark I can make on the world.
What I learned:
Now that Lent has come to a close, it is the perfect time to move beyond any confines you have and open your eyes to the vista ahead. Avert your gaze from the monotony and look around you; tell the old woman at the ice cream shop that you love her dress, get up early to see the sunrise, and marvel at the moon.
Sometimes, it’s easy to find your vision by simply looking up… seek the light and move toward it. I’ve heard that if you capture bees in the bottom of a lidless Mason jar, they will find themselves trapped, bumping into the walls because they don’t look up to find the light that will lead them to freedom. I pray we all discover our perfect vistas, filled with light that helps us look beyond…
Here’s to Another Good Day.
Thanks for joining me,
Lucretia
Mary’s Holy Saturday was just awful
Lenten Reflections #39
I awoke this morning with a heartbreaking curiosity about what Mary must have felt the morning of Holy Saturday. There is no record of how Mary spent the day, but I would imagine it was agonizing, silent, exhausting, and empty.
We’ve all been in that void when we wonder why horrible things happen.
Like recently…why were there more school shootings? Why is there a continued war in Ukraine? Why is Putin so evil? Am I supposed to love him like I love my own children? Why are people fighting over land? Why can’t we share? Where is God in all of this when we need him the most? Agonizing moments like this make us feel abandoned by God.
So Holy Saturday, when the most faithful of disciples, Mary, the Holy Mother, who gave her life and all of her love to her son, on that Holy Saturday morning, was severed from the one she loved so dearly.
This enduring loss Mary felt reminded me of a eulogy I heard on “Thanks for Being Here,” a podcast by Kelly Corrigan. It was written by a father from Dublin who lost his young son.
He talked about what he thought was the impossible, the death of his son, how it came thick and fast. “I sought the intercession of the saints of the church triumphant, evoked all the choirs of angels for the grace of God’s healing, insisted on the impossible, asked for the undoable…”. He felt upended in a tempest, pulled under the surface of everything they knew and were.
Like Mary must have realized, this father said he knew the currents of their lives and their children’s lives would carry them apart. But with faith, they held on tight to each other, then surrendered, finding grace and mercy. “We’ll live it for them and ourselves, doing good, being kind, showing mercy, getting into mischief, finding fun…start the day with prayer, we love, you we miss you, we love you, we miss you…and one day, lead us to the garden where we will never be parted again.”
What I learned:
The despair felt from the loss of someone you cannot live without is strong and unrelenting. Yet the faith we muster serves as a tiny lifeboat in a sea of grief. Let us live like Mary, stand by the cross, knowing in our hearts, the ones we love who have departed first will be waiting on the other side of the tomb in a beautiful garden with arms wide open to receive us.
Here’s to Another Good Day and a Holy Saturday.
Thanks for joining me,
Lucretia
Kids Define Miracles
Lenten Reflections #38
Today I read the story Rechenka’s Eggs by Patricia Polacco to my kindergarten and first grade classes. My own kids grew up reading Polacco’s family-centered stories, all intermingled with lovely cultural lessons. Rechenka’s Eggs tells a story about Easter eggs intricately painted in the Ukrainian/Eastern European style, a Babushka, and a wild goose. Carefully woven throughout is the message of miracles. Miracles that come when you need them the most, but there’s no reason to expect them.
After I read the story, the children’s hands went up immediately, and we went around the circle discussing what a miracle is to these little ones. With this profound, faith-filled insight, it is hard to believe they only have five or six years on our earth.
What is a miracle?
- It is something that makes you really, really happy.
- It is when the Jews crossed the sea and the sea parted.
- It is when you get hit with a bow and arrow by accident, but you don’t get hurt.
- It is something to be happy about.
- It is when something happens and you don’t know who did it.
- It is a thing that did what cannot exist.
- It is when you don’t know what made something happen, and never thought it could.
- A miracle is anytime you don’t even wish for something, it just happens.
- A miracle is when something bad happens, and then something good happens.
- A miracle is when you’re drawing something and you have no art, and then suddenly art appears!
- Miracles are the things you are thankful for
- A miracle is something you are scared to do, then you try it, and it works
- A miracle is something beautiful
- A miracle is when you are wanting to win something so much and then you do
- A miracle is like good luck
- Miracles are impossible for humans to imagine
Who can give me an example of a miracle?
- Happy tears
- It’s like having something that is plain, but then it is perfectly polished
- When the candles lasted for more nights for Hannukah
- There was a boy on the Titanic when it crashed, and only women could be saved, and the boy jumped into the sea and he survived, that’s the miracle.
- We had a treehouse, and it was rebuilt after being destroyed.
- It is Jesus changing the wine and bread
- I don’t know if this will happen, but I think it will…it will be a miracle when I grow up and I am big and strong.
- A miracle is like when Martin Luther King changed white people fighting with brown people
- “Can I do way back then miracles? Then, when Jesus rose, it was a miracle.”
- Going to heaven is kinda like that – a miracle
- When you invite Jesus into your heart and you get to go to Heaven…but heaven isn’t the only place you go when you die, there’s a really hot place, but I forgot the name of it.
- The den full of lions story, when Daniel got out – that’s a miracle
- In snow-white, the queen was about to get shot by an arrow and didn’t get hit, that’s a miracle
- When Jesus died on the cross, and the guys who helped him (disciples) found out he didn’t die
- Last supper when Jesus said one will betray me, and then one did
- When baby Jesus was born
- When I came alive, it was a miracle
- A miracle is something that a human can’t do, but Jesus can
- A miracle is when people who couldn’t walk and then they could
- Or that time when they ran out of wine and Jesus asked some boys to get buckets of water, and he changed it into wine.
- When something bad turns into something amazing
- The time in the Bible when there was no food and one kid had a lunchbox, and Jesus kept it filled with the bread and fish
Who has had a miracle happen to them?
- A miracle is like if you walk out your front door and there is a pile of clovers, and right on top, above all of them, is a four-leaf clover
- I always wanted my lovey, Pinky, to have a rattler inside her, and I woke up one day, and she did.
- It’s a miracle my grandma is turning 90 and she doesn’t need a wheelchair, just a stroller (walker)
- A miracle happened when I thought my pet catfish had died, and then I found out it didn’t
- I almost got hit by a car when I was two, and my aunt pushed me out of the way, and we both survived; that was a miracle.
- It was a miracle when I saw a great white sturgeon, the biggest fish in the world, and then it laid its eggs in front of me
- It was a miracle cause I didn’t know I was going to Great Wolf Lodge, and then we went
- It’s a miracle when something impossible you can’t do and then you can. One time, I didn’t think I could lift a really heavy weight, and then I did.
- If you have a pet dog and you release it, and it comes back
- It was a miracle when I was sick, I didn’t think I’d feel better, and two days after I did.
- Once my aunt couldn’t remember anything, and then she could, that was a miracle
- There was a man in the Bible who thought he was going to die, and then he didn’t die, he had so much faith in God that he was swept up in a cloud. That story makes me laugh every time! Imagine a man being swept up by a cloud!
What I learned:
Miracles surround us every day – the sun rising and setting, stones skipping, hummingbirds stopping by for a sip, addictions squelched, children being born, diseases cured, monarch butterflies migrating, stars shining, waves crashing. All miracles.
One of the blessings of miracles is the faith they provide and the hope they restore. That is what happened; each child in class candidly shared their thoughts and filled my heart with love and hope, and courage to believe in miracles.
Albert Einstein said, “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as if nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”
Scoot over Judas! The Last Supper and personal space
Lenten Reflections #38
I often find myself rattling off the same rule reminders to my students. Some are basic “say please and thank you” prompts, while others are more distinctive: “Shirt on please, your arms need to be inside your sleeves…no spinning on the floor…stop sucking on your shirt…walk in the hallway…”. Today, I even had a kindergarten girl come into class and ask if I would please remind Michael not to use bathroom words because “earlier he kept saying P-O-O”, she spelled it out. Other than the potty talk, most of the kid offenses were about personal space, which, when you are under eight years old, the person sitting next to you, really does have the most exciting space of all.
So, tonight, on Holy Thursday, I stared up at a copy of the famous artwork by Leonardo Da Vinci given to me by my grandmother and noticed the lack of personal space between the apostles. I also wondered why, out of the twelve guys having dinner, not one of them considered sitting on the other side of the table to get a better view of the whole water and wine miracle. This masterpiece also depicts the moments after Christ let his chummy crew KNOW–HE-KNEW that one disciple would betray him before sunrise. Judas is looking pretty nervous.
What I learned:
We all find ourselves in that space sometimes, that skeptical time when trust in ourselves and others circles the drain, and our own Judas creeps stealthily into our world. But Jesus didn’t lose hope, and we shouldn’t either. No matter how tough times can be – jobs lost, retirement a far-off dream, health failing – keep your faith strong, and for goodness’ sake, tell all the Judases in the world to scoot over and mind their own personal space.
INTERESTING FACTS: In my research of The Last Supper, I found a few rare facts about this stellar painting on leonardodavinci.net to share:
- Leonardo Da Vinci hadn’t worked on such a large painting and had no experience in the standard mural medium of fresco.
- The spilled salt is symbolic – speculations about symbolism in the artwork are plentiful. For example, many scholars have discussed the meaning of the spilled salt container near Judas’s elbow. Spilled salt could symbolize bad luck, loss, religion, or Jesus as the salt of the earth.
- Was it eel or herring? Scholars have also remarked on da Vinci’s choice of food. They dispute whether the fish on the table is herring or eel since each carries its own symbolic meaning.
- Da Vinci used a hammer and nail to help him to achieve a one-point perspective. What makes the masterpiece so striking is the perspective from which it’s painted, which seems to invite the viewer to step right into the dramatic scene. To achieve this illusion, da Vinci hammered a nail into the wall, then tied a string to it to make marks that helped guide his hand in creating the painting’s angles.
- The existing mural is not da Vinci’s work. At the end of the 20th century, restorer Panin Brambilla Barcilon and his crew relied on microscopic photographs, core samples, infrared reflectoscopy and sonar to remove the added layers of paint and restore the original as accurately as possible. Critics maintain that only a fraction of the painting that exists today is the work of Leonardo da Vinci.
Here’s to Another Good Day!
Thanks for joining me,
Lucretia
Why every kid needs their thing…
Lenten Reflections #36
From the Runonmom.com Lenten archives, here’s one of my personal Favorites…thanks for reading.
Today at work, I walked with a first grader to his classroom. The tousled-hair blonde with sweet, aqua eyes looked down at his untied sneakers and uttered, “I still don’t know how to tie my shoes…I mean, I just don’t have time, you know (dramatic pause) now that I play baseball.” He caught my eye to make sure I fully grasped the play ball part. I gave him an understanding, “I KNOOOW, you’ve got a lot to do!” response, and he gave me the kid nod that said, “Finally, someone gets it.”
Clearly, he was a busy guy. Way too busy to mess with shoestrings and all that tying. Baseball was his priority now, and talking about it made him beam. He wanted to share who he was, and by letting me know he was a baseball player, he was pleased with himself and satisfied that I heard it from him first.
We all need our thing
Something that drives us, that makes us jump out of bed and start the day with a spark. Does it define who we are? Maybe. It certainly tells more of our story.
And kids? Kids are constantly exploring. They also need to get out and experience success and failure, whether in an organized sport, class, or just playing with friends on the playground. Pray they seize opportunities to socialize, develop their identities, and discover what they love or don’t.
When I grew up, my sporting perspective was pretty narrow – it was soccer or soccer. As the fourth of four girls, you just follow the pack, and my sister, who is closest in age to me, was a soccer player; therefore, so was I. We had two practices a week, games on Saturdays, reversible uniforms, and our snacks were sliced oranges and water.
Nowadays, there are limitless choices for kids, from soccer to surfing, and mountain biking to martial arts. Practices sometimes end as late as 9:00 pm., and on some nights, dinners are eaten at different times while homework sits on the back burner simmering patiently. Justin and I feel like we are constantly driving somewhere, but we don’t complain because soon enough, the backseat will be empty, garage doors tightly shut, and there will be fewer shoes to trip over.
Naturally, over the years, our kids have dabbled in a lot to find out what makes them tick. In the process, we’ve had: acoustic guitars, bass guitars, ukeleles, soccer cleats, keyboards, lacrosse goals, baking tools, chorus, piano music, gymnastics, basketball high tops, hockey pucks, baseball gloves, frisbee golf goals, shuttlecocks, tennis rackets, catcher’s gear, football helmets, swim goggles, orienteering shoes, toe shoes, tap shoes, ballet shoes, running shoes, metal cleats, turf cleats, unicycles, mountain bikes, skateboards, Ripsticks, bows, arrows, quivers, fishing rods, dart boards, ping pong balls, and more I may have forgotten.
I am so grateful they have WANTED to try so many things, and I am happy we’ve been able to afford them the chance. They’ve settled on (but are not limited to) swimming, baseball, and mountain biking, plus cello, saxophone, and trumpet- a well-rounded crew.
Thank God.
Thank God they found something they care about and enjoy.
I know we’re busy, but as I say, it’s a good busy. It’s a time where we can relish in our children’s successes, see them win, lose, fall, get up, and be there just in case they need us or a Band-Aid.
What I learned:
Let them try. Let them fail. Let them know they have to give it more than a week. Tell them to power through the whole season because there is a team or group depending on them, and life is about teamwork and perseverance.
My first-grade friend, who is simply too busy to bother with tying his shoes, figured out what makes him happy, as all kids should. What a lucky guy.
UPDATE 2025: All of our kids are still playing sports in college and are very happy.
Here’s to Another Good Day!
Thanks for joining me,
Lucretia
Breaking Bread Quietly
Lenten Reflections #35
On my flight home from Albuquerque yesterday, the security line was a breeze, the piñon coffee was freshly brewed, and all of the middle seats were empty. Ahhh…space. I nestled into 30C, sitting crisscross applesauce, computer propped on my lap. When my window seatmate arrived, he smiled broadly, gave me a quiet polite hello with a slight bow, and slid into his seat. He had a calm about him, like sitting beside a young Gandhi in an Atlanta Braves sweatshirt and Khakis. I thought back to my time in India when connections with others always involved family, friends, and sharing food. As the plane accelerated, I rummaged through my bag for something to share and came up with gum. Gum! Given my limited inventory, I offered some to my neighbor, and he gratefully declined.
We continued on, and I peeked out a sliver of the window as we bounced through the mountains.
About an hour in, he pulled out his dinner, a fragrant, considerable-sized meal. He kindly offered me some, and I, too, gratefully declined. The flight continued, the crew passed out coffee, and I offered him some cookies, which he gladly accepted.
A connection.
What I learned:
Make simple connections – with food, a hug, a smile, a glass of water, a listening ear, or maybe just by sitting next to someone quietly.
Each day, with one heart, they regularly went to the Temple but met in their houses for the breaking of bread; they shared their food gladly and generously…
-Acts of Apostles, Chapter 2
Holy Week Reflections
LENTEN REFLECTIONS #34
As Holy Week begins, I’m reminded of how things have changed over the years. Growing up, Holy Week was a quiet time.
PREP:
Typically, we would have Thursday and Friday off from school and prep the menu for Easter Sunday, including ham, mashed potatoes, red chili (instead of gravy), and the other usual Thanksgiving/Easter suspects. Also, Mom’s pineapple salad made with cream cheese, Cool Whip, and crushed pineapple and topped with shiny maraschino cherries was a Dad-favorite. Aunt Eugenia’s finely chopped salad always made the list too – she was the aunt who rode motorcycles, brought her bird “Bonita” to visit, and played the accordion for Sunday mass. I’ve been told I have the same sharp-slanted nose as her.
HOLY THURSDAY
On Holy Thursday, as we loaded up the station wagon and headed to St. Anne’s, Dad would remind us that mass “would be a long one”. Typically, he would do the readings as a lector, and Mom would play the organ. I had a choice to either turn pages for Mom or try to sit still with my sisters for the two hours of feet washing and the Last Supper. Up the stairs, I climbed to the choir loft for my bird’s eye view.
GOOD FRIDAY
Under the cloudy Good Friday skies, we would attend services at 3:00 pm sharp every year. I still remember the cold, empty altar and solemn sentiment inside St. Anne’s Church. Mom reminded us, “This is the one day we don’t need to genuflect, and we don’t call it a mass. It’s a service.” She went on to explain why, and I said, “Ohhhh,” knowing I really wasn’t paying attention.
But back then, I knew I could ask her anything, anytime I needed to – that time of life when you think your parents are going to live forever and moments stand still like lighthouses shining bright.
HOLY SATURDAY, we buckled in for another “long one,” and I loved that mass. One Easter weekend, after Holy Saturday Mass, we visited my oldest sister at New Mexico State University. That was the year I gave up soda for Lent – even though we never had soda in the house except for Dad’s RC Cola. I remember going out for pizza right after mass and getting the coldest, most delicious Shirley Temple ever. It was served in one of those big red plastic cups with a fat straw. One of my favorite Holy Saturdays on record.
What I learned:
Over the years, my view of Lent became less soda and more sacrifice. In college, a friend of mine and I vowed to say a Rosary together every day. During the long drive to San Diego for spring break, we prayed, after going out with friends we prayed, and even before watching Shamoo jump through hoops, we prayed the Rosary. Yup. I was wild and crazy then, too.
Today, unless kids attend a school starting with the word “Saint,” it’s likely they will be in school during Holy Week. Even Good Friday. Because times are different. Holy Week just seemed holier back then. Calendars are filled with games, practices, and activities, with church fitting into the gaps. Like anything else, age readjusts the lens on what matters.
Lent is about sacrifice and love – giving the homeless water, really listening to a friend, praying for peace in our world, and realizing we all truly need each other.
Here’s to Another Good Day!
Thanks for joining me,
Lucretia
Palm Sunday and First Holy Communion
Lenten Reflections #33
Every week after church, Dad asks if our church fills up. “It’s pretty full, Dad, but we have fewer churches here in Marietta,” I say every week. In fact, my hometown of Albuquerque has 32 parishes for the 37% of Catholics in the city. Meanwhile, in Marietta, Ga…there is a grand total of 4 Catholic churches to accommodate our 1% of Catholics. I cannot speak to the amount of practicing Catholics, but even for the Christmas-Easter crew, there are plenty of options to kneel and say an Ave or two.
Mom and Dad attend the 4:30 pm mass on Saturday evenings. Arriving late to church is very stressful for Mom, and arriving early to church is unheard of for Dad. I decided to choose my battles today and leave early (for mom) and drive slooooowly to church. Dad, whose driving speed from ages 14-86 could only be described as manic, noted my speed and said with a tinge of disappointment in his voice, “Wow, you really follow the speed limit.”
Cars zoomed past, and as we approached an intersection, we passed a dry, grassy field on fire, uncontained and spreading toward the road. We (Siri) called 911, and the fire department said they were on their way. Mom asked for the time, and I reassured her that we had 30 minutes to complete an 8-minute drive. As the firetruck passed, we finally pulled into a packed parking lot. I carefully (and slowly) squeezed our Honda between a huge SUV and a flashy Impala lowrider with gold rims.
When we opened the door to the Sanctuary, we were surprised to see the pews filling quickly. Not only was it Palm Sunday, but it was also First Communion for 17 kids. Concerned that Mom and Dad would get tired and hungry, I proactively gave Mom a mint, which calmed her, then leaned over and whispered to Dad that I bet God would let us leave early since we showed up for the rosary ahead of mass. Unrattled, they both sat patiently and sang along to the Spanish and English hymns, except when Mom plugged her ears because the guitar was just “too loud”.
First Holy Communion is a family event. This evening, pews were filled with extended families. Palms were craftily folded into crosses, babies were passed from row to row, and children were dressed with care – bows in place, tiny neckties straightened. The communicants all sat in the first two rows with pressed suits and snow-white dresses. Flowers dotted the girls’ hair, and boys stood proudly in their shined shoes. One by one, they walked, leading with their prayer hands as they received their First Holy Communion. Their parents and siblings beamed because it was a big deal. This sacrament truly is tremendous. As Catholics, we know that the Holy Eucharist is the origin of our faith. Pope Francis has called it the “Sacrament of Love”. He says, “The Eucharist is at the heart of ‘Christian initiation’, together with Baptism and Confirmation, and it constitutes the source of the Church’s life itself. From this Sacrament of love, in fact, flows every authentic journey of faith, of communion, and of witness.”
Pope Francis knows what he’s talking about. He’s a big deal.
What I learned:
I reminisced about our church in Marietta. Every Saturday before the final prayer, two elderly men meet the deacon at the foot of the altar, bow their heads, and receive a blessing and a pyx with care. A pyx is a handheld tabernacle that holds the Eucharist to provide spiritual nourishment for the homebound. Each week, I try to envision their situations, marvel at their kindness, and pray for their ongoing strength and hope.
Then I thought of every little lovely wavy-haired child whose dark eyes glistened after receiving the “Sacrament of Love”. I pray that every one of them will encounter extraordinary joy, grace, mercy, thanksgiving and communion on this side of eternity.
Here’s to Another Good Day!
Thanks for joining me,
Lucretia
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