I was talking to my mom the other day. I love my mom, and we stay in touch — I like to call her a couple times a week, or more if the spirit moves me — and we were talking about how I am getting along with four young children in my life. And I said it’s quite different than the rather solitary lifestyle I once knew, hidden away in a hotel in the middle of downtown Santa Cruz. And I told her I like it. I like it a lot.

You see my mom raised four children all by herself. Well, we had my grandparents — her parents — but, for the most part, it was her. Dad still can’t really be bothered to stay in touch, although he claims to love us. Sort of…

But it was mom who raised us. Mom who went to work, each day, and then came home and fed us, and made sure we went to bed, and got up each day for school. Both my parents have a sense of humor, but it’s my mom’s I am grateful for most, and appreciate, and understand the easiest. So, when I told her how different it is being with four growing children (the youngest is three, and the youngest is twin boy and girl), mom rather laughed, and said, Yeah. I know.

So. Now it’s my turn. And tonight I sharpened crayons before I went to bed so the kids would have them to use tomorrow. They won’t understand that I’ve sharpened them, and I won’t tell them. And I’m sure they won’t remember. But I’ll know.

Life goes on, my mom reminded me. Ah. So it does. So it does.

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Okay,
Father Luke