The morning of St. Rita’s feast day I said a prayer to my patron saint, who also happens to be the patron saint of hopeless cases. It’s not the first time she’s heard from me, and it won’t be the last.

It wasn’t a royal wedding. We didn’t have a horse and carriage and the queen didn’t have to approve my gown. But I can still remember many details of the day.

When I first met him, he was wearing overalls and a tattered white shirt and a smile that lit up his whole face.

God made us in his image and likeness, and humor subsequently became an important part of every human culture on earth. Our laughing granddaughter is only the most immediate reminder of the joy we are meant for.

The other night we thought our little league game might be rained out, but we managed to get a few innings in before the coaches called it a night. The sky was getting really dark when our 8-year-old stepped onto the mound to start pitching.

It takes a humble, truthful and thoughtful person to acknowledge error publicly. It’s both a gift to us, and an example we should follow.

Even now as I write this, I am overwhelmed by the radiance of this sacred gift. It has inspired me to consider offering the invitation to vocations to each of my children as they proceed the course of their sacraments of invitation.

This weekend our younger son made his First Holy Communion.

The church counts on so many to “mother” its children — women religious, teachers, nurses and catechists. Giving thanks for this wider vision of motherhood is a rich celebration of God at work in our midst.

It was Teachers Appreciation Week this week, and I’m not sure I’ve ever sent more than a note to a teacher before.