Truthfully, I wasn’t sure I could attend 226 Masses in 2026. But it’s amazing what you can do when you set a goal.

So, as I begin my walk, I ask Jesus to give me a listening heart. I begin with thankfulness, gratitude. Then I acknowledge to him my present worries. I try to be very honest with Jesus about my fears and my feelings. I avoid the insistent prayers of petition that I can sometimes invoke, instead just briefly lifting them to Jesus to hold. I ask for the grace of listening, noticing.

It was one of those crisp autumn mornings that felt brand-new. We decided to stay on the back roads.

Q: Why do male religious get to final vows in about five years from date of entry while females take seven years or more before they may solemnly profess? (Flushing, NY)

I enjoy scrolling through social media at times just to relax or distract my mind when it feels overwhelmed. Yet, scattered between videos from my favorite creators, lies all kinds of material that, while hyper-realistic, feels entirely unnatural. Other videos appear too perfect, too smooth and utterly devoid of meaning.

Each year, I find that I know more and more people on the other side of this earthly journey than the previous year. As we approach All Saints Day and All Souls Day, I frequently consider where those loved are now.

Q: I heard that in the old days, seminarians were instituted as exorcists as part of “minor orders.” How does someone become an exorcist today? Is there some sort of special ceremony or liturgy?

Every year as the new year begins, I use a random generator online to pick a saint for the year. The idea is to have a saint to learn about and maybe turn to in the days ahead. Some years, I’ve been matched with a saint I already knew. Often, though, it’s a saint I know less about, which is always an adventure. This year, I was matched with St. John Vianney.

Every year, as we start November, I fill our prayer basket with slips of paper. Each one has the name of someone we know who has died.

Lately, instead of greeting the day with “thank you, Lord, that I get to have another one!” I rise with a cranky growl, mentally grousing at God and giving the saints a bit of Irish lip, too. Autumn, my favorite season, is partly to blame. I tell myself that I’m cranky because what delights me in October — sharp air, warm sweaters and breathtaking foliage — will disappear so swiftly into dreary November.