“Let’s go see Mary,” I told Matthew after Mass today. He agreed eagerly, running down the aisle to the Mary statue with a spring in his step.
When we got there, he stopped and I picked him up. He seemed awed by the people touching Mary’s robe, picking up free rosaries from the baskets at her feet, moving their lips in brief inaudible prayers. “Want to touch her?” I asked.
He did. He reached for her hand sweetly and earnestly and unabashedly.
May he never outgrow that.