May 2026 – Early Mother’s Day morning, before the phone calls started, before Mass began, before the coffee even finished brewing, my husband stepped onto the front porch and called out to me, “There’s the new mother.”
“Who?” I responded, not remembering any newborn babies or expectant moms in the neighborhood.
“The robin,” he answered, more softly this time. “She’s in the nest.”
Of course, I thought. That’s the new mom in the neighborhood. I joined him, and we peeked inside. She sat there, still as a statue, focused on keeping her little homestead warm.
Over the past few weeks, our feathered friend had built the roundest, deepest, most perfect bowl-shaped nest, snuggled halfway up one of the tall holly bushes near our front door. Patrick noticed her first and saw how she labored to construct the (almost) hidden sanctuary, with mud and grass, twigs and roots. It was a treat to see her at work, using an innate talent and unwavering perseverance to make something most humans could not. The mini shelter grew larger and stronger until an evening windstorm, followed by some heavy rain, damaged one side. But she was back at it the next day, the repairs stronger than the original. Then, soon after, four tiny, bright blue eggs appeared. It was on those, we figured, that she was sitting early this morning.
As the coffee finished brewing, I watched the robin and wondered: If Patrick and I could see her, so could squirrels, crows and even a very determined coyote, the natural predators of suburbia seeking their next meal. Would those eggs be secure? What if she flew off to find her own meal? What if the father wasn’t nearby? Is this location she had chosen really the safe place she expected? Being Mother’s Day, I felt a distinct though unusual connection with this female bird as we had both sought to build a protective space to nurture and shelter our young. Though hers were just about to hatch and mine had already flown, our purpose was the same: to create a home built around care and comfort, refuge and peace.
I remember visiting a bird sanctuary as a child and learning that in there, no harm could come to those vulnerable creatures. They were safe as long as they remained in the loving care of their protectors. That morning as we readied for Mass, I thought of how as Catholics we find shelter and peace in the sanctuary of our Lord, knowing the evils of sin cannot truly harm those who believe. It is in God’s presence that all those seeking refuge are welcomed and loved.
Suddenly startled by our presence, the mother robin was in flight. I hoped she’d come back, and once we had returned from Mass, she was, similar to the sparrow in the Psalms that “has found a home . . . where she places her young near Your altars, O Lord of Hosts, my King and my God.” And don’t we, like the sparrow, yearn to place our own young near that altar, so they may be nourished by the Eucharist of the same one who gives us shelter? And, with hope and prayer, they too will return to that nest, that place of safety, warmth and comfort.
It was then that I became startled. The phone calls had begun, for after all—it was Mother’s Day.
