I made a trip to my mother’s to celebrate, belatedly, her 89th birthday. Our wonderful associate, Katie+, took the evening service on Sunday so that I could arrive in time for dinner with the bonus of my youngest brother being able to join us.  His birthday was a week ago, so we had a double celebration which, of course, included pie.

When I’m at my mom’s, I like to get up early and make her special coffee (this time beans from my vacation on the Georgia coast), and clean out the dishwasher while the coffee brews.  That way my mother will get up to the smell of good coffee and a kitchen ready for the day. 

The bonus these past two mornings  is that I got to see the sunrise. 

My mother lives in the country (my daughter, Lisa, calls it The Farm), and the acreage includes a small lake.  Standing outside in the quiet of the beginning of the day, how can one keep from praying?

The verse that shimmers up is this:

Let my prayer be counted as incense before you,
The lifting of my hands as an evening sacrifice.  Psalm 141.2

The morning sacrifice, too. 

I pray for those God places on my heart. 

For the young man from the parish who was driving home, and a pedestrian crossed in front of him on the freeway. 

For the St. Mary’s staff who will be meeting without me today. 

For all of those walking through Lent.

For the gift of time with my mother. 

For family. 

For friends. 

For the many who are afraid. 

So many more…….

Soon I’ll spend a lovely morning with my mother. 

We’ll have oatmeal bread baked from my grandmother’s recipe. 

Spring is coming, and we’ll spend some time in the yard. Mother is sending me home with bluebonnet seedlings. 

We’ll chitchat. 

We’ll have lunch of her homemade soup, and then I’ll, sadly, but filled with love, drive home. 

As the sisters of Our Lady of Grace sing, Until we meet again, know that you are loved.