So he said, "The last time we talked, you said you were encumbered by kids, but have you made it back to church?" Yes. "And how is it, better?" Yes, I'm not fussy, you know. And everything is as it should be.

Singing at Mass, well, that must just be a reflexive habit because I do it as if no time has elapsed. Receiving communion, well, the rubrics changed, so some gesture of reverence is called for. I never once knelt at Fr. Valentine's altar rail, the "sole stander" in his congregation, and, to his credit, he never rebuked me, either in public or in private. Some have told me they knelt for him out of fear, afraid of what he might say, no, not me, I wasn't afraid, but I wasn't defiant, either. It just isn't in me to kneel in front of everyone. This is how I worship. We stand when the Gospel is read; I can stand for communion, too.

But I'm holding out, still. A little more time. So long as scruples don't give way to pride. It was jealousy that got me here, got me this far back in. Jealousy and guilt and fear. All the wrong reasons. Maybe Lent will leave me with the right reasons.

But I can still sing, loud and full and with conviction. I can believe the hymns, well, I believe the prayers, too, mostly.