I usually end up writing sometime between 10 and 11 at night. I sit on the sofa with Nancy and watch TV or talk (or both) and then I come in and turn on a fan and start to write.

Or start to try to write. Usually I look around the Internet a bit, getting focused. Tonight I discovered a post by Hope, our daughter. She wrote about her table at the coffee shop at college, about getting to know people, about being at home.

I started to cry.

She’s making her way. She’s creating her space. She’s doing great. I know that. But tonight, I miss her. I want to make up a project for her to work on, something for her to do for me, just because she is so cool.

And I started to think about writing this post, which I planned to be about Mary and Jesus. As we pick up from yesterday, Mary has just told Jesus that the wedding is out of wine. And he says “it’s not my time yet.” And she doesn’t respond to him. She just tells the servants, “do whatever he tells you.”

I could be wrong about this. I probably am. I’m doing emotional theology, parental exegesis. But if Mary was feeling like I am tonight, she was aware that her son had new friends, was on his life mission, was an adult. After three decades of being obedient to her, it was time for him to be about his Father’s business. But he was in her circle, just for a bit. And she wanted to be proud up close.

This Jesus that John talked about at the beginning of the book, with God, being God, that is true.

But Mary loved this boy.

And, of course, he loved her, too.