My favorite child is the one who fell asleep over an assignment on China that the teacher never bothered to grade, flunked her driver's test five times and told us she could hardly wait to get out of the house. My favorite child is the one I punished for lying, grounded for insensitivity to other people's feelings and informed he was a royal pain to the entire family. My favorite child slammed doors in frustration, cried when she didn't think I saw her, withdrew and said she could not talk to me. My favorite child said dumb things for which there were no excuses. He was vulnerable, lonely, unsure of what he was doing in this world. . .
All mothers have their favorite child.
If she had never written anything else, that reflection by Erma Bombeck should put her in some spiritual hall of fame. Because this little piece approaches an analogy for the divine love. As we enter Holy Week, we come face to face with One who knows a great deal about each and all of us. We are broken from one another. Let me say Holy week offers the clue to our healing.