Yesterday I told my mother I said a prayer.

“To your God or mine?” she retorted.

This has become a familiar dialogue between us, so I laugh. Backstory in a nutshell: She’s Catholic. I’m not anymore.

“Mine, of course,” I reply.

I think I hear a snort.

“Mine doesn’t create people a certain way and then condemn them to hell for being who they are,” I add.

Another snort of sorts. She is horrified but holding back.

At least we’re past the point where she takes potshots at my belief system without even knowing what it is or asking a single intelligent question about it.

I love her. I respect her staunch position. I don’t expect her to embrace my evolving spiritual beliefs.

My God is cool with that.