May 30

“It’s for the birds,” my mom would say, but I think it’s really for the dogs.

These road trips I’ve been taking have centered around the dogs. Ultimately, I am looking for a place that has room for them to run and wrestle; a place where they can be their best selves, and I can too.

Oftentimes, Rudy will put the window down when he needs some air, whether going down the highway or going through town.

One time, he put the window down, and I didn’t realize it. I parked the car in downtown Livingston to run a quick errand and I returned to total chaos. Rudy was barking, Lucy had jumped out the window and was running through the streets, and people were frantically trying to catch her. Thankfully, she came when I called her and slinked back with her tail between her knees.

That trained me to check the windows before leaving the vehicle.

Typically, I’ve set the GPS to dog parks in a certain place, but have come to realize they are just fenced in areas for the dog to poop, so I’ve started setting it to parks in town. They have to be on a leash but if no one is there, I’ll let them run and chase the ball as they drag their leashes behind them.

Just the other day, I stopped in Worland, on my way to Lander, WY, and they had a lovely Rotary Riverside Park in town, next to the Bighorn River which was mighty, fast, and heavy with red silt. The banks were steep with no good place to enter.

Rudy and Lucy did their business and Lucy fetched while Rudy explored the bank. I tossed the ball for Lucy and looked back for Rudy and he was nowhere to be seen. I went to the river and Lucy guided me to a place where there was a cut in the bank, maybe two feet wide, three to four feet deep, and about two feet in from the river. There was Rudy, muddy and stuck. The walls were too steep for him to get out, and he whimpered in frustration.

Did it make sense to go get the leash and try to lasso it around him? I didn’t want to leave him. Was there a safe place to exit downstream if he were to get in the current? He’s not a strong swimmer. I leaned over to try to reach him but he was too far down. I laid on my stomach and reached in as far as I could, still too far.

“Okay, Rudy, you’re going to have to jump and I’ll grab you,” reaching down one more time.

He understood and jumped as far as he could and I grabbed his collar and yanked him up. He shook off his fear and mud. Life was back to normal and he took off running with Lucy.

That trained him, I think, to only go to the river where there is a place to go in.

We ended up driving through Grand Teton and Yellowstone National Parks because it was the most direct and fastest way home. It also meant that we wouldn’t be able to get out of the car for three to four hours because dogs aren’t allowed in the park. It makes sense because the last thing I’d want is for Rudy to start a bison stampede, or provoke a grizzly, or try to play chase with a wolf.

Unfortunately, dogs are not great conversationalists and though I had good sing along music, my eyes closed a couple of times, and had to pull over and close my eyes for as long as I needed.

When we got home, we went to the BLM land and they had a good romp. My eye spied some interesting scat just as Rudy ran over and thought about rolling in it. He too, was intimidated by it. I think it was wolf scat as it contained the what looked like a small canine jaw bone, and several other bones. I suppose it could have been a mountain lion also, but the purpose of dog stories, I’m going to stick with wolf.

Last night, we went to the dog park. Rudy was nervous about going near the river. Lucy went in without an issue, even though the river is still high. Rudy held back and kept his paws dry. I found a better place for him to go in and he did. We walked and fetched and I looked up to find a dog in the clouds, proof that it’s all about the dogs.

I’m convinced that Rudy tried to communicate with me by blinking morse code. I tried blinking a message back and something must have gotten lost in translation because he looked at me like I had three heads.

We have so much to learn from these creatures and I know they/Rudy is training me, however exasperated he gets with me and my sheer humaness. Maybe God is also canine.

May 29 – Memorial Day

Happy Memorial Day.

“Where do you want to go,” my dad asked as we crested the hill, the biggest hill in my hometown. His maroon Schwinn glistened in the May morning light.

“Since it’s Memorial Day, should we go to the cemetery? Maybe visit Eleanor and Aunt Jean” I suggested.

“That is a great idea,” he was visibly relieved to have a purpose for the ride and relieved to visit his sister’s grave. It had been a few years since he had visited her; he probably thought of her every day because they had been so close.

He pointed his bike toward the lake, and away we went, each in our own world of remembrances.

That’s the thing about holidays such as Memorial Day. They are moments when we remember those who have gone before us. Those loved ones are never forgotten in our hearts.

A friend went to a church service yesterday and shared the message that asked the question, what if this was your last day on earth, what would you do?

“So, what would you do if today was your last day? I feel like that’s what I’ve been talking about for a while now.” I asked.

“Probably organize and get ready,” was the response.

“Really, you wouldn’t travel or anything?”

“No, I’d probably organize.”

St. Paul said to die each day to the things of this world. Solomon said that the things of this life are like vapor; they do not last. Jesus demonstrated this. To me, all the great masters have communicated this notion that the things of this world pass. Why would we not live each day as if it were our last? We don’t know what the future holds, which is exactly why we need to be doing the things that bring us joy. If we listen to God’s will for our lives each day and live toward that, then we are living our authentic life. It’s not your neighbor’s or your friend’s or your mother’s or your brother’s life, but your very own, God’s custom-made life just for you.

That makes for an authentic life.

That’s what I saw in my dad that Memorial Day so long ago, his authentic self. I believe in his heart he wanted to visit his sister, but he wanted to do whatever I wanted to do. At that moment, I think he was surprised that that’s exactly what I wanted to do.

For me, if this were to be my last day on earth, I would meditate, walk my dogs, share my thoughts, and maybe fish. I would try to be present in each moment and live my authentic best life.

May 26 – Unexpected Camino

With this travel, it has been difficult to get a good schedule for writing the blog, and please accept my apologies. Yesterday, today, and tomorrow, I am taking an online workshop. While it’s good, and I’m learning, it’s exhausting. I could have taken in Colorado and toyed with the idea of doing so. Now I wish I had, except they are being inundated by smoke from fires somewhere. In Montana, we’re clear.

Today was the inspection on my house so I had to be out for the morning, which I was told and expected to be out of the house from 9-noon. I found a nice coffee shop, put my headphones in, and was in class for a couple of hours. You really can only sit in one place for a couple of hours. I took the dogs to the dog park where Lucy dropped the ball, literally, down a steep slope and into the raging river.

At one, I took them to a further place to run, and just as I got to the place, the rain started, and I got a text telling me it was okay to go back home. The next class started at 1 pm as well, so I started it on my phone. The dogs didn’t get another run, and we went home right when the skies opened and the rain poured.

We got inside, and I started my class. It wasn’t until an hour and a half later that I noticed the radon testing device placed strategically in the living room, outside my room, and the kitchen. I have no idea if the pups sniffed at it and if that will even make a difference.

“How long will the radon test be running,” I asked.

“It will get picked up Monday morning,” my agent replied.

The sign on the device read that the windows and doors had to remain closed.

The next class started and half listening, I started packing. There was no way I was going to stick around and try to keep the doors and windows closed with pups and a long weekend. The dogs looked nervous until I picked up their bowls. We let the GPS lead the way and made it to Billings. We checked into an Extended Stay, opened the door to our room, and were bowled over by the smell of pot smoke. We changed rooms.

If you’ve never stayed in an Extended Stay, there is a photo of a man cooking dinner in the kitchen in his room. There are pots and pans, utensils, and dishes in the photo. In the room, there is a good-sized refrigerator, a two-burner stove, a microwave, and a sink. I have a small bowl for water for the dogs, but I thought there might be a bigger bowl for them. I opened every cabinet available, and everything was empty, not a bowl, pan, utensil, plate, and not even a plastic cup for human water. There’s an iron and ironing board, and that’s about the only accouterment in the whole place.

Anyway, tomorrow we will do our Wyoming tour and spend some time in Sheridan, head down to Buffalo, Lander, Dubois, and home probably Sunday or Monday.

Happy Memorial Day Weekend. Let us be thankful for all those who have gone before and fought for our freedom.

May 24

One of the biggest lies I tell myself is that I’ll remember something. Anne Lamont also says this and carries around index cards and a pen to ensure she captures something in a particular moment and can go back to it later.

I do some form of that in that I have journals, typically the thin moleskin softcover ones that are lined. This past Christmas, I purchased a box of them and gave them as gifts. I use them in meetings to take notes or to journal at the end of the day. Some of them have drawings of spaces I’d like to rearrange. Since they’re all the same tan color, I’ve tried to delineate between the different notebooks by titling them. My moving notebook is a different color altogether, with pink and green flowers and a dark blue background so I can find it easily.

Sometimes, oftentimes, I’ll leave my journal at home and will receive a phone call whilst driving. Usually, I’ll answer if I know the number, and if they give me information, I have a pen, but no paper, no journal, but likely I’ll have a receipt. Sometimes, it’s worn and creased because it’s been at the bottom of my purse. Sometimes, I’ll have a bank deposit receipt. Those are the best because they have so much extra room to write, and they’re a nice reminder that there’s money in the bank, at least at some point. I’ll use receipts and deposit slips for to-do lists as well. Is there anything more satisfying than crossing something off a to-do list?

The other day, when I was going through the canyon, I had a pen and even journal with me. It was a partially used journal with meeting notes, but about half of it was empty. There are those times when you’re in the moment and want to record something, but don’t want to run your battery down on your phone, nor do you want to try to find the record button whilst driving. Besides, recording only leads to transcription later and in reality when will you have a chance to do that? Never.

So I write and drive. It’s not pretty. I keep my eyes on the road and my right hand scribbles down notes, things I want to remember. The one problem (besides the writing and driving) is that I’ll still have to try to read my handwriting and decipher as best I can. The good news is that I’ve at least put something on paper. It’s a beginning and who doesn’t love beginnings?

May 23 – Livingston

After leaving Moscow, I wound my way along the Clearwater, which was swollen and raging with runoff, past the town of Orofino, and along the Lochsa River, which was ginning. It, too, was swollen and roiling, though the edges were clearing, and the rich brown tannins were in the midst of emerging.

It was a slow, winding road. The speed limit was 50 mph. I drove 40 mph because of all the twists and turns, and I didn’t want Rudy to get sick. I also pulled over several times to let the pups out and considered dropping a line, but the slopes were steep, and I was only in my tennies.

After finishing an audiobook, I chose to spend the next hour intentionally spending time with God. Some people consider what I’m going through an existential crisis, and I suppose it could be. I began with my meditation, eyes open, of course, since I was driving.

“Okay, Lord, what do you want from me? I feel like I’m doing your will, but let’s take this time, and let’s be clear,” I started after the meditation, after the gratitude portions at the beginning and end.

“You’ve been given many gifts. Do you know what they are,” was the impression I received.

I looked out over the river and the road and said, “My life, children, family, friends.”

“Yes, all good things, and besides that, let’s go a little deeper.”

“Well…. love of nature, geology, writing, photography, fishing, and the gift of the spice blend. Why would you give me these gifts and yet none of them have been able to financially sustain me?”

“What’s the common thread of the things you’ve done, the jobs you’ve had, the businesses you’ve started?”

“The writing,” I said, as the answer popped into my heart. I began remembering the writing I have done in my life, The Adventures of Timothy the Mouse (written in fourth grade), the paper that was published on the type specimens of the Denver Museum of Natural History, the family company book that was published privately, the articles written for the spice company, and then the things that are still works-in-progress.

“Maybe those other jobs/businesses have been distractions from what I’m asking of you? Maybe they have given you things to write about? Maybe those are forms of escapism? Obedience is what I ask of you.”

I thought of the few days that I’d taken off of writing and meditating and of the friends/relatives (thank you for the nudge) who contacted me wondering if everything was okay because I hadn’t been writing the blog. I know that obedience to that time in meditation and writing is what’s most important. Writers refer to that as their sacred time, their writing time, something they feel called to do, everyday. That sacred time is what God wants from us, to put Her first, everyday.

“Okay Lord, I am recommitting to meditating and writing everyday and I expect to be wowed by something everyday because You are so good,” I finished my prayer.

Attached are some of the things that wowed me yesterday.

The road to Washington

I wasn’t sure how Rudy and Lucy would do in the RV cabin we stayed in, surrounded by tall trees, RVs, humans, and dogs of every size. The room smelled of Pinsol and the air conditioner ran all night, which worked as a bit of white noise for Rudy, so no barking in the middle of the night. I awoke in Coeur D’Alene to the shake of the dogs, their morning cue to get a move on the day. I looked at the clock and did a quick double-take, 5:42 am. Time zone change. My sleep app confirmed that I slept well, 100%.

I found CDA’s Central Bark Dog Park and the pups played fetch, and Lucy attempted to climb trees to catch those pesky squirrels. As I pulled in, two quails passed my trail. My mind went to my uncle who, when he passed, was escorted up the driveway by a dozen quail.

My son proposed to his wife in CDA so they suggested where I go for breakfast. The spaghetti and eggs dish was the specialty, so I tried it. Good, rich, we went on into Spokane.

The offer on my house is good and accepted. They have to sell their house, but it will likely sell quickly. We are scheduled to close at the end of July.

Driving into Spokane reminded me of driving to northern Wisconsin for fishing. The five-hour drive was well worth it. Dad commented about the steeples on the horizon of Milwaukee. Coming into Spokane was similar, minus the steeples.

The navigation sent us to Spokaniminal dog park, but it didn’t have water to swim. It was near the Columbia River, but the river is huge, and there’s no swimming in it that I found. Spokane seemed like almost every other city. I entered in the next dog park that mentioned water so the pups could swim. It was getting warm and I didn’t pack a swimsuit, nor shorts. We made our way to Moses Lake.

The space between Spokane and Moses Lake is vast and flat. I’ve been through numerous flat, boring straight paths. When I got pulled over, the policeman even stated, “Even though you’re from Montana where the speed limit is 80, it’s 70 here. Welcome to Washington. Here’s your ticket. Slow down, you’re in Washington now.”

Moses Lake was a bit of an oasis, but their dog park was in the parched area. We found a perfect park where reunions were in full swing, and people were in and out of the water, as were the pups.

Driving into Wenatchee was a little like driving into Worcester, Ma. The dog park the navigation led me to was uber sketchy. It was hot, hot, upwards of 90 degrees F. The dog park was under the bridge, past a little park where two guys sat under a pavilion, maybe doing drugs, maybe living. Who knows. I locked the car, took my growling dogs, and made it to the “park” where I threw the ball for a bit, but I knew I had to find a place for them to swim. We had passed a place on the way in that looked like you could access the river, so we double-backed, past the one guy under the pavilion. The other guy was in the middle of the road with his grocery cart.

Thankfully the pups loaded quickly. I locked the doors and drove past the man and his cart.

There was another man and his dog at the only access to the river. His dog was a black lab and retrieved the frisbee from what seemed like the middle of the river. Rudy and Lucy looked on. Though they’ll both retrieve on land, water is for wading, and in Rudy’s case, swimming after rocks. In Lucy’s case, the river is for peeing.

Near the center of town, we discovered an amazing twelve-mile park, built by the hydro-power folks as part of the city granting them a permit. We found a slow bay where folks and dogs were frolicking about. We walked and hung out there until evening, found a place to stay (Avid, brand new, and part of the Holiday Inn group), and found a great place for dinner.

I found out that Rudy, who will pee on anything, is so different from Lucy, who needs just the right spot to pee. In the case of the Avid Hotel, she only peed when presented with a patch of astroturf in the corner of the parking lot.

We went back to the park Saturday morning where kids played soccer, a yoga class meditated, and bicyclists peddled. The pups went straight to the water and made friends with Apollo, a husky without eyes. After a long chat with a long-time resident, who generously shared information about Wenatchee, Chelan, and Washington in general. She directed us to the Pybus Public Market. I ordered a mocha and a muffin but realized that my purse wasn’t in my backpack. I explained to the gal behind the counter that I’d be back in just a minute when this angel beside me offered to pay for it. I thanked her and told her I’d be right back to repay her. She was gone when I returned. We walked and tried to find her, but she was nowhere to be found. I gave the money to the coffee folks and asked them to please pay it forward.

Leavenworth, the adorable Bavarian town where I think part of I’ll Be Home for Christmas was filmed. It reminded me a bit of Vail. I ordered a Medici Mocha (orange and dark chocolate) at a small coffee shop on the outskirts of town where I could park. The mocha was good but could be improved.

I stopped in Ellensburg because it was on my list, and because friends thought I might like it. It felt fine. No thoughts one way or the other. I stopped briefly in Yakima, more sketchy folks. We went on to Pendleton, OR. That was not our place, so on to Walla Walla.

We arrived around 8 pm, and found a place to stay. I called The Finch, the hotel related to The Wren and The Lark, only to find that it was $350 and $75 for the dogs. No, thank you. We stayed at the Comfort Inn. There was a graduation on Sunday, so many things were booked.

We stopped at Pioneer Park where some folks were sitting on benches, or rock benches built into the stone walls that lined the path to the pond. I wasn’t sure the pups could actually go in because of the fountain and the ducks and geese and their goslings. The trees were enormous, and one blooming tree smelled of jasmine.

Driving through town, there were bunches of restaurants that had outdoor seating, and many had musicians. It felt a bit like a mixture of Nashville, Indianapolis, Denver, and Colorado Springs. It felt good, warm, lively, and wholesome.

We stayed for Mass, toured Open Houses, and considered jobs. I didn’t want to leave, but it is time to head back. Running out of clean clothes, dog food, and battery charge in my toothbrush. We spent the night at La Quinta in Moscow, ID. It was very reasonable, something that hasn’t been the case at other La Quintas. They upgraded me to a suite with a couch and a desk, and I was going to write this at the desk, but the pups had other ideas. They are ready to go home.

It’s chilly this morning in Moscow, ID. I wonder what the weather is like in Walla Walla.

My mom called and told me that one of my beloved uncles died. A life well lived, a golf course well played, a presence well missed.

We have made the turn back to Montana where, as my friend wrote, “Flowers and Smoke: Abloom and ablaze at the same time…” in https://charlottefreeman.substack.com/p/flowers-and-smoke?utm_source=post-email-title&publication_id=84408&post_id=122936908&isFreemail=true&utm_medium=email

. There are things to do, lists to be made, and boxes to pack. Was this all a dream?

And so it begins…

I’m writing this on my phone (very old school) and feel like I need very small fingers. Apologies in advance if there are typos.

As you can see, Rudy is dog tired. Yesterday, we packed up the car. Who am I kidding? The pups don’t have opposable thumbs. I packed the car. And away we went, off to discover who knows what.

We headed west on I90 and just as we took off, I received a message that there would be a showing of my house that afternoon. Sometimes, we have to remove ourselves from the situation in order for things to flow.

Our first major stop was Butte, along the back way from Whitehall. Someone said Butte was a great community and while I’m sure it is, it’s still not for me. We stopped at the mining museum and the stop reminded me of my dad. It’s just the type of stop he would have loved.

Right around the corner, I found a dog park, and the pups romped until the rain started. Back in the car and onto Missoula.

It’s all about the dog parks, the Mexican mochas, fishing, and the overall feeling of a place.

Missoula is nice but it’s a big city, with a population of 73,300. That’s twenty thousand more than Bozeman. It also has many of the same shops as Bozeman. That being said, I did see my old neighbor from Livingston. Small world. Even smaller, her schnauzer is named Sasha.

We stayed at a very nice hotel, The Wren, which is related to The Lark in Bozeman, and The Finch in Walla Walla. They gave the pups dog bowls complete with a scarf, pup calming treats (I don’t think I gave them enough), hand made treats, paw balm, and a ball.

I dined at a good bbq restaurant, but couldn’t decide if the smoke smell was on me was from the restaurant or the wild fires in Canada which were wafting into Livingston, Butte, and Missoula.

I wanted to get moving but had some things to take care of, like filling in a rock chip in the windshield from a rock that hit it the day before, the dog park, and the Mexican mocha. Both the park and the mocha were only fair and perhaps a slosh beneath fair. Lucy also discovered squirrels in Missoula. We don’t have them in Livingston, so they are very new, exciting, and worth the pull.

I figured I would be coming back through Coeur d’Alene (CDA), so went up to Sandpoint. We made some mandatory water stops along the way, but it was a trek.

Lake Pend Oreille is the second largest freshwater lake west of the Mississippi with Flathead Lake being the largest. Rudy didn’t want to get out. He and Lucy had a splash, I mean blast.

Sandpoint has a very northwoodsy vibe to it, mixed with a touch of Cape Cod. I’ll let you know more about CDA another day.

The offer is pretty good on the house but we want to check one thing first.

May 16, 1 Thessalonians 5:16

1 Thessalonians: pray without ceasing,

Does anyone else find that phrase daunting? How would your day look if everything you did was prayer? Making coffee, folding laundry, or doing dishes can be prayer, if we are present in that moment. Being present is praying.

My house will be put on the market today. I’ve been taping boxes, loading them up, going through and pitching things I no longer want to carry around. Moving boxes into storage. I’ve got things listed on Facebook Marketplace and have been surprised by the things people want and don’t want.

A few days ago, a man and I started an exchange regarding a pretty slick, modern-day, manual, push mower I had listed for fifty bucks. I thought it was a fair price, considering it came with a blade sharpener and a basket for clippings. We went back and forth on price. He was willing to pay thirty, but we decided on thirty-five because he was going to pick it up in the next couple of days.

After telling him it was ready to be picked up, he didn’t get back to me until late. I sent him a message the next morning and gave him my address. I didn’t hear back from him until late evening, and he wanted me to bring it to him. The address he gave me was twenty minutes away, on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. Since it was getting late, I suggested delivering it to him in the morning, Mother’s Day Sunday.

“I’m busy tomorrow today would be best,” is exactly what the message said.

I asked for a five-dollar delivery charge. I loaded my pups, along with the mower (with attachments) into my little Outback wagon. The whole exchange seemed sketchy from the get-go, so I said a little prayer, moved my bear spray (probably expired) to the driver’s side door compartment, and texted a friend to see if he would come with me.

A crime spree of a few years back popped into my head where someone ran into another person’s car that was sitting in the driveway of a fancy home. The hitter of the car left a note that read, “I’m sorry I ran into your car. As a way to make up for it, here are two tickets to a play for Friday night at 8 pm.”

The hittee, of course, was bugged by the inconvenience of the dent in his fender, but thrilled because he and his wife could finally have a date night. They went to the play, and had a great time, only to find they had been robbed when they returned home. I locked my doors.

I said another quick prayer and picked up my friend and told him about the bizarre exchange. He was visibly uncomfortable when I told him about our exchanges. We drove on and turned onto a dirt road. In the beginning, the houses were big and well-maintained, and the road kept winding. The sun was beginning to set when we drove up the driveway, over the hill, and there in the yard (pretty big for a manual push mower), was a boy about the age of thirteen. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

I silently thanked God for keeping us safe, gave the kid his mower and attachments, and went on our way, laughing at our cautiousness, but you just never know. Of course, he needed me to bring it to him, and of course, I couldn’t bring it on Mother’s Day, because he would be celebrating with his mom.

Today, may we be present in our comings and our goings, in our quotidian tasks, and our not-so-quotidian tasks. May we be cautious with humanity, and trusting that God has the plan. May we pray without ceasing and be grateful for everything.

May 15, James 5:15

James: The prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise them up; and anyone who has committed sins will be forgiven

Growing up Catholic, we went to Mass on Saturday nights or Sunday mornings, confessed when we were bad, prayed to St. Jude before tests, said grace before dinner, and every night, my dad knelt beside my parent’s bed, and he said his evening prayers. We each had the choice of attending a Catholic high school or a Catholic college. We all chose high school.

I’d say we were given just enough catholicism to get by. I liked the all-girls, uniform-wearing local high school. I made lifelong friends there, and I felt comfortable enough to raise my hand in class without being distracted by cute boys. I learned that it was okay being me.

We didn’t really read the bible there either, but we talked about world religions, Jesus a little, Mary a lot, went to Mass on Fridays, and sang songs in church. We went through the motions of being Catholic. I must admit that I saw Jesus more as a teacher, a really big important prophet, more than God Himself, the Messiah.

It wasn’t until we were living in Steamboat Springs that I taught a friend to fly fish, and my friend asked the question, “So, you believe that Jesus is your Savior?” I hesitated and said, “Yeah, I guess so,” not all that convincing. She was the one that really got me thinking and taking this whole faith thing more seriously.

It wasn’t until the rubber hit the road of my life that I realized I had faith, the kind of faith that would save the sick. It wasn’t until I forgave that I realized the significance of forgiveness and what Grace that brings.

Having been through the bible a few times now, and paying better attention in Mass, and meditation, I feel like my faith has been strengthened. I’ve become more comfortable talking about the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and more comfortable taking a walk of faith, a camino.

Today, may we all have authentic faith the size of a mustard seed, and that that faith can move mountains. God Bless.

May 13, James 5:13

James: Are any among you suffering? They should pray. Are any cheerful? They should sing songs of praise.

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day. Sure, it may have been popularized by Hallmark and the flower companies, but the first Mother’s Day was held on May 9, 1914. Cards and flowers were given to mothers to honor them. FYI, Hallmark was founded in 1910 in Kansas City, Missouri.

What do Mother’s Day and the verse from James have to do with one another you might ask? Mothers pray. Mothers encourage their children to pray. I was once told by my pious friend that the faith of children is the mother’s responsibility.

When I was in grade school (which I hated), my mom dropped me off. Being the youngest, my siblings were dropped off in one section, and I was dropped off in another section of the school. Whenever there was a test, it seemed like they were never-ending; Mom would say, “Say a prayer before taking your test. St. Jude is always a good saint to pray to before a test.”

According to my report cards, it didn’t always help. At that time, I don’t think I actually understood praying. I didn’t go to a Catholic grade school. Every morning, we pledged our allegiance, “I pledge allegiance to the flag and to the United States of America and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all,” but we never prayed.

Moms are reminders of the nurturing love of God, Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and all the saints. Moms are all around us, with or without children. Whether your mom is still blessing this earth or beyond, maybe send her a little extra prayer of gratitude and praise.