She hates Mother’s Day cards. “What a waste,” she says. “I’d be fine to never ever receive another for as long as I live.” I hope she lives long. I am her husband. I hope she lives forever. So since cards have been expressly deemed a no-no, her blessed children rise up and call

her on this day (thank Verizon). I listen to their phone conversations, seeing in my mind’s eye my children as young, small, needlings. But her children are grown big now—smart, funny, beautiful, kind. They take after their mother (thank God). They talk with an ease that rides

the air likes the hawks behind our home, a brassy elegance that cries “I know you, and there’s more to discover.”
The Church of Now is gun-shy of Mother’s Day, a veritable minefield where someone(s) assuredly will be Twitter-shrapneled. The Church of Now is like middle school.

Maybe one day the Church of Now will learn the difference between idolizing and honoring. I doubt it, but maybe. I think Jesus thought of his mother every day for as long as he lived. She was never not on his mind. Mary had a little lamb of a boy who grew big, and I can imagine

their grown conversations riding the air with ease: “I know you, and there’s more...”
I offer to make her breakfast, bring it to bed, all that. She declares, “You may bring me coffee, but I’m going to make a cinnamon-roll-in-a-mug later, then work my puzzle, do whatever I want

this day.” I say, “As you wish.” She rolls her eyes. I hope she lives forever. As I leave the room my thoughts drift to my own mother. I'll call her later, discover more about this woman I know. My father once told me, “I think she thinks of you every day.” Amen.