On my kitchen counter is a small statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Every day I light a tea candle at the foot of the statue and pray in gratitude for big and small blessings and offer prayers of petition for my family, friends, and communities.

“It’s all sleight of hand, smoke, and mirrors,” my father revealed to his young audience, meaning me and my cousins, having finally given in to our pestering about his magic tricks— the brightly colored scarves pulled deftly from the palm of his hand, the three solid metals rings miraculously joined together with a wave of his hand, the nickel that transformed into a quarter before our eyes.

Every year spring cleaning turns up at least one Christmas gift that has spent months on a shelf or tucked in a drawer, unused and, sometimes, unopened.

This spring I discovered a small bag of gifts that must have filled my Christmas stocking, not from last Christmas but the Christmas before. I probably stuck the bag under my desk to keep it safe from visiting grandchildren and forget it was there.

During my years as an editor, I have spent hours looking through photos to find the best image to accompany a particular story.

I often found it most difficult to choose a photo for a story about a Mass because the congregants, in most photos, brought to mind a quote from Saint Teresa of Avila: “From … sour-faced saints, good Lord, deliver us!”