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I realize there is a glove in each pocket, long forgotten and left behind from last winter.

I love when I walk up for Communion, hold out my hands for the Eucharist, and the priest gives me a piece of the host that he has just consecrated.

I love thinking of God’s love in that way, how he loves us simply as we are, with no expectation for what we might achieve.

How often we create messes in our lives—whether we’re spilling something in aisle nine, hurting someone’s feelings, or taking a step that causes issues.

On a page, the words might seem like a repetitive series. But as with many spiritual practices, the Rosary is what you make of it.

Even though we had all been friendly enough earlier, the whole mood changed. We were no longer simply diners in the restaurant.

As we inched forward, I watched him lift each host and place it into people’s hands. I was in awe that our son is so grown up.