What I have done and what I have failed to do

I’m on a quest to attend 226 Masses during 2026. So, back at the end of January, I decided to try to go to Mass every day of February. February is the shortest month, so I thought maybe I would have a chance at hitting that goal.

But going every day is a real challenge for me, and I didn’t pull it off. I missed five days out of the 28. And as March began, I found myself reflecting more on what I had missed than on what I had actually accomplished.

Somehow I kept thinking about the deficit rather than the fruits of the work. Because of the way I set that goal, I found myself focusing on what I hadn’t accomplished, rather than acknowledging what I had.

I’ve been thinking of that as we reach this moment in the Lenten season. We’ve long ago left behind the eager anticipation and aspirations of Ash Wednesday. We’re not quite to the wonders and solemness of Holy Week. We’re just slogging it through the Lentiest part of Lent with a faint glimmer of Easter in the future.

It’s easy to look at the ways we’ve fallen and failed this Lent. I could write a book on what I hoped to achieve during these 40 days—how much I hoped to give of myself and grow along the way. I can easily dwell on all that I’ve done wrong. And we do have that beautiful gift of Reconciliation where we can take all of that.

But maybe, with our Lenten journey growing shorter by the day, we could stop and think about what we have accomplished. Maybe this is a time to look at how far we’ve come, rather than to focus on everything we wish we had done. With a little reframing, maybe we can pick up our cross and start again. We still have days until Easter. What could we choose something to do just for this final stretch of Lent?

It might be something small. It might be one single action. It might be a phone call or a casserole to share or spending time with a loved one. It might be setting your phone aside and having a real conversation with someone in person. It might mean fitting in extra prayer time, giving of ourselves, or fasting from something we’ve realized is holding us back.

It also might simply mean pausing and reflecting on the abundance of gifts you’ve received this Lent. Maybe instead of dwelling on what we’ve failed to do, we can think about what we have done. Maybe in the midst of the stumbling and falling and even crashing and burning, we’ve had some beautiful moments of encounter—moments where we’ve felt God’s love, where we’ve seen his hand, and where we’ve felt ourselves connecting with him in a new way.

And, if we haven’t, today is a new day. Maybe we can approach these last days of Lent with a renewed commitment for what we can bring to this time.

“My life is an instant, an hour which passes by; my life is a moment which I have no power to stay,” St. Therese said. “You know, O my God, that to love you here on earth, I have only today.”

We have today. We have a day given to us by God, and we have the gift of spending it for and with him. Let’s invite God to walk with us today and see where he takes us on our Lenten journey.

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