Hello, God. It's me, Mara.

You know, dear Lord, on Mother’s Day, we all have thoughts of moms. As we grew up, we’d ask advice, she’d help us through our qualms. On this fine day, we’re thinking back when we were kids back home; for us young girls, how fun it was when our long hair she’d comb.

The ranch was home when we were small; its comfort soothed our soul. Our mama sang the Sun awake, then shook the grates, added coal. Our bedroom was two rooms away; Mom’s song caused us to stir. We’d hear milk pails Daddy set down, heard separator’s whir. Now was the time to break our fast, our meals prepared with care. Mom’s days...