Hell froze over when I chopped off my hair for the official mom’s haircut. (My husband’s smile froze, too.) Then pigs started flying when I left my career to stay home full time and when my husband decided to forego the L.A. Lakers game in order to say the family rosary each night. All these combined earth-shattering events on the twelfth of never inevitably led me to one life-defining moment: Mamas know best.
The approximate time I acceded that my mama knew best was about the time I realized that Holy Mother Church’s dogmatic teachings on faith and morals are infallible. Both were spot on on the importance of Eucharistic devotion, the virtue of chastity and modesty, the sin of contraception, the error of gay marriage, the atrocity of abortion, the lunacy of euthanasia. “The Church is Mother and talks to the people as a mother talks to her child, with that confidence that the child already knows that everything he is being taught is for his good, because he knows he is loved,” Pope Francis said.
All along, Catholic mother and Catholic Church were right even though I’d been swayed by Hollywood on political opinions, relied on friends and acquaintances for decisions, or mingled with the neither here nor there mass of Cafeteria Catholics. I can almost hear my mom’s sing-song voice inside my head, “I told you so.”
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