Author: Lucretia Cahill

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Hello Darkness My Old Friend

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#40 Lenten Reflections

Yesterday evening at mass, no lights were on in the church for the 6:00 pm Easter Vigil. After years of arriving too early to this marathon (yet beautiful) mass, we got there at the top of the hour. I scooted up to the least popular first and second rows to see if the empty seats were being saved. Much to my family’s chagrin they were open so I waved them up like a professional Catholic usher and they slithered up, grateful the lights were off.

As we settled in the dark church, confirmation candidates lined up and parents tried to entertain antsy children. I imagined this dim scene was similar to the darkness of the closed-up tomb where Jesus’ body lay on Holy Saturday. A big round stone propped in front of it. Not a sliver of light entered. A dark void.

DARKNESS

Along with Helen Reddy’s, I Am Woman Hear Me Roar, Simon and Garfunkel’s song, The Sound of Silence could be my mom’s theme song. The darkness is her old friend. Mom can walk from the bedroom, across the house to the bathroom, so as to not wake Dad, get water, and empty any stray Tupperware in the dish rack without touching a switch. She knows the path, never stumbles and has faith in her every step. There is strength in the darkness for her. As a younger mom, she spoke her mind, feared little, and was fiercely independent. Like all of us, as she ages, she has become more fragile physically and mentally, but spiritually, she maintains a robust soul with an unshakable faith in God.

Darkness and I don’t get along. That dusky evening time people love sends uneasy despair in me and I flip every light in the house on, dimmers way up. I guess it’s the middle moment when the darkness steals the light and shuttles my mind off to places and times when fear was at the helm so I push through and control what I can. Light switches.

Perhaps for all of us there are days we too sit in this utterly dark space, the walls of our mind closing in on us. Unsure of what tomorrow will bring or why today was filled with angst. Holy Saturday is a reminder of our reality. The beginning and the end. The alpha and the omega. The darkness and the light.

Some evenings fear is consuming when the darkness arrives. Then I remember, fear is normal. Fear needs breath. Someone said, “Courage is fear that has said its prayers.” So I think of Mom, embrace courage, stare darkness in the face, and see who blinks first.

My Prayer:

I often think, that if I could pass a little Post-It Note on to God about my writing, I would say, “Please let my stories help others realize they are not alone on this epic journey you’ve given us. Help me to offer them a little laugh, a strong connection, and a chunk of hope when all of it is just too much. Amen.

As I write my 40th post outside on a beautiful Easter Day, a bird just pooped on my head. I heard it’s good luck and I refuse to think otherwise.

Thanks for joining me,

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

A Fine Balance

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#39 Lenten Reflections

Our kids played a game named Alligator Swamp around the house where they tossed pillows (lily pads) one by one in front of one another as they stepped on them making a trail of safety for themselves. They had to keep one foot on the lily pad before they stepped on the next and would coach each other to be careful not to fall into the dark marsh of chomping alligators. If they toppled into the swamp they lost one of the lily pads and the trek was harder. They would play this all over the house as a team, helping each other stay balanced and buoyant. 

Sounds crazy, but I thought of this while in church, mesmerized by the Stations of the Cross. Jesus falling, getting up, taking more steps forward. Someone stops to wipe his face, give him water, help him carry the load, and stay sure-footed. Of course, unlike in the Alligator Swamp game, there is unrelenting humiliation, pressure, and exaltation, yet Jesus finds grace and calm through all of it. Classic Jesus. He prays, He forgives, He loves. 

My mom always says Good Friday is the one day we attend “services”, not “Mass”. Because today there are no miracles of water turning into wine, or blind finding their sight. There are no sermons or parables, no abundance of loathes and fishes. 

This weekend, reflect on all the hardships and loneliness you are experiencing. Know that deep in your soul, a rock will be pushed aside and reveal the strength you need to persevere and rise again.

Thanks for joining me,

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

There are no stupid questions, but I have a few…    

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#38 Lenten Reflections

When the kids were growing up I would hear a barrage of questions:

Does rain have poopy? Can we go get a kickstand for my bike and go bowling? Is he drinking the milk you drank? (While breastfeeding) Is the castle at Disney World as big as 1,000 houses? Is there a baseball ride at Disney? Why isn’t there an eleven-dollar bill? Can I use my underwear as a football helmet? I know Santa is real, but what is Rudolph doing?

The face of a child asking questions lights up with a beaming sense of wonder and awe. As parents, we do our best to answer, but we’re tired, and our own wonder and awe are waning. However, I was determined to be a responsive listener even for the most repetitive of their curiosities. Honestly.

So it was with a great sense of shock that I discovered how exasperating my own innocent questions were when directed at my teenage children. In the early teenage years, my probing was met with a cold silence, a sassy word, or blatant disgust. Eventually, I learned to play the teenage conversation chess game. This is when you plan four or five moves ahead and try to forecast where the exchange will go.

Turns out my inquiry creativity is sad. Here are some examples that did not go so well…

How was the test? (Apparently, I assume all tests are graded immediately and my kids have strong feelings about how they went. At the epitome of my naivete, I also thought they wanted to talk about those tests. Especially about “what they got wrong”.)

Do you have homework? (They always have homework and I am reminded it’s not MY homework)

So what DO you think you’ll major in? (Never. Ever ask this. If you do, and they have an answer respond with: “Great idea!”)

Where are you thinking of going to college? (This question should be avoided for every teenager…my daughter was so tired of this question that she yelled in a storm of fury across the kitchen, “If anyone asks what I’m doing after high school, tell them I’m taking FIVE GAP YEARS!!!!!!”)

How was practice? (Unless there is concussion protocol in order, this question will get a “Good” although it depends on the child.)

Everyone show up to swim/the meeting/the race/the scrimmage/dinner? (A stock question I’ve asked since Cora took dance lessons at age six – and I still ask…honestly, does it really matter if everyone showed up?) 

What does this say (fine print)? (This is a fair question, be ready for the eye roll) I haven’t been able to read a medicine bottle for several years without one of the 9 pairs of Costco glasses I have misplaced, so I instead ask one of my kids. “How much does it say to take?” They usually are very careful reading, especially when they are the ones that are sick.

What do you guys want for dinner? (Completely rhetorical question) Unless the kids are planning on shopping, cooking, and serving, there’s no shot I’m looking for an answer. I’m simply outlining my plan aloud, and checking to make sure I have kale. (poor kids)

OR – As soon as there is a lull in a conversation, I fill the silence with logistical questions:

When is the game?

When is the test?

Where is the meet?

When is the paper due?

What time should we show up?

Should we not come? 

Should we leave at 6:00?

If we arrive at 8:30, the race is at 10:00, while we wait, should you work on your project? Maybe fill out two scholarship forms and apply for three summer jobs? 

I know, I’m exhausting. Imagine BEING me. Luckily my youngest son, the one who had soooo many questions as a little guy and never stopped saying, “Mama, mama, mama, mama” is now at age 18, quite patient. He has fewer questions and I have so many. Now I understand why he limits his responses to “no” or “yes” or “I’m good.” As the school year dwindles, he has added: “Please stop asking so many questions.” He’s the only kiddo at home now, so we exchange mercy and grace freely. Understandably he loves it when his brother and sister are home to take their turn listening to me.

Every now and then I try to be like a potted plant in the background on standby, but other times, well, I’m coming in hot and you’re going to get an onslaught of questions. But they won’t be about homework or practice or even Santa and Rudolph.

What I learned:

Listen when they talk. Stop everything. Everything.

Focus on…

The now. 

Right now.

This moment. 

Thanks for joining me,

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

The doorbell rang…

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#36 Lenten Reflections

Growing up in the 1970s, we were taught to take cover if the doorbell rang when mom and dad weren’t home. We all had hiding spots (mine was under the pine dining room table behind the leaves that hung over like big basset hound ears).

There was one exception when all of us – including Mom and Dad played along. If someone over 65 knocked on the door all dressed up in the middle of a dry, 90-degree NM summer day wearing uncomfortable shoes, we knew they were selling encyclopedias or religion. Mom made it clear WE HAD BOTH and did not need to answer the door, so the whole family scurried as if we were prepping for a surprise party. 

I was reminded about this about ten years ago when Dexter said, “Mama, why are there a bunch of “grandparenty” people parked outside?”

Since Justin and I trained our kids to also hide from anyone at the door when they were younger (pre-Ring Doorbells) one of our boys whisper-yelled, “Here comes an old man to our door! Hide!!” I walked to the door with ease. Luckily the dogs were outside or their incessant barking and jumping would have scared their souls enough to make them sprint away in their church shoes. I confidently said, “Stay put, I’ve got this.”  

Earlier that morning, I read Fr. Barron’s “Holy Saturday – Grain of Wheat” essay to the kids who pretended they were listening as they bustled around saying, “Yup, we heard it at church last Sunday.” It’s a great lesson about how a seed will only grow once it falls to the ground and breaks open. He says, “To understand what all this means, we should go back to the grain of wheat that falls to the earth. A seed’s life is inside, yes, but it’s a life that grows by being given away and mixing with the soil around it. It has to crack open, be destroyed.”

My interpretation:

So we have to break open, die a little, and fall a lot to truly reap the juicy fruit of life.

What the heck, I thought, I’ll talk to these people, they are just trying to spread some seeds around. I pulled down the screen to our storm door and greeted our visitors. One of the women commented on what a clever door it was – I agreed — as it has been perfect for visiting with other people and “spreading the word” — not only about God, but about the weeds in our front yard, or our windows that should be replaced for a small fortune. At the time, she noted that yesterday was Good Friday, and I said, “Yes, and today is Holy Saturday.”

“Oh, you sound like someone who really knows about Jesus.”

I didn’t want to truly show off and announce Easter was the following day, so I proudly said, “Yes Ma’am”. She was very kind, but I was on a schedule…I mean I hadn’t even worked out yet, and we still needed to color eggs…which should be part of the whole wheat lesson – lose the gluten and boil some eggs! The important Holy Week items that are too often placed on the back burner!

I did follow up with:

“I was just reading some of Father Barron’s writing.”

“Oh, then this information I’m giving you will just be a refresher for you.” She said kindly.

So I opened the door.  And in a smooth, methodical sweep of her hand, she slipped me “the information” through the crevice of the door.  I would have opened the door even more, but it seemed as if the amount of space I allowed was what she was used to…just a crack…enough to fit the 8 x 8 flier through, let a little light in, and share a moment.

“Have a Blessed Easter,” I said, and off they went to our neighbor’s home across the street.  We all watched as they also slipped the flier through the 2-inch space allowed through our neighbor’s door. 

“Who was it?”  The kids asked, “What did they give you?”

“They gave us information about their beliefs and why they pray.”

“Well, who do they pray to?” The sun shone through the open front door. “Their Jesus”.

“Okay, when do we color eggs?”

That was it. Our Evangelic moment for the day. 

A beautiful day to spread little grains of wheat and watch them grow. Yet another reminder that we are more alike than different.

Thanks for joining me,

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

“Calm” Palm Sunday

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#35 Lenten Reflections

When the children were younger, we longed to be that family for one hour per week at church. You’ve seen them. The family with the brood of children who sit with their missals in their laps, following along the readings and pointing to the words with their fingers. During the sermon, the same kids answer the priest’s questions with “Genesis!” or “Luke – Chapter 12!” Then they flawlessly sing all the high notes of”How Great Thou Art”.

During the mass, these “model children” are referenced by onlooking parents who tell their own children “See they’re sitting” or “That boy doesn’t have his brother in a headlock”. Finally, upon their exit, they receive oodles of acclaim from elderly folks grateful for parents raising the next generation with respect and goodness in God’s House.

Unfortunately, even after putting our kids through practice/training type masses during the week when they were young (not recommended although it seemed brilliant at the time), Sunday mornings remained drenched with whines, untouched missals, Matchbox Cars stashed in pockets, and little eyes staring up at us asking to be held. To this day, my husband and I sway involuntarily from side to side like palm trees in church, poised to hold any toddler needing a better view.

Enter Palm Sunday.

Knowing Palm Sunday is on deck to kick off Holy Week, brings me great solace. You see, even though our kids are older, there is still restlessness during mass for all of us. As we enter the church we are greeted by our warmhearted Monsignor who bellows out in his Irish lilt, “The Cahills are here! Must be time to start mass!”. On that uplifting note, we make our way in, avoiding the usher so we are not scooted up to the front row. Pre-college, when we would sit as mass began, there was a lot of blaming, loud singing, correcting, and “not touching” that went on in the pew, followed by my shushing, and my daughter’s re-shushing.

But Palm Sunday brought little gifts for everyone. Palms. Pliable, soft, fresh, green reeds begging to be manipulated into works of art. This is the Sunday for a long homily when Father can freely cover the highlights of the New Testament and even throw in a few biographies of some saints. Everyone is busy forming their humble cross tied in the middle with palm strings, accompanied by a calm throughout the church as we exit.

One Sunday when the kids were little, I vowed not to get too many palms because growing up, Mom and Dad taught us to take special care of them like you would a prayer card or rosary. So in that spirit, I placed our unused palms on the table in the narthex for the next fidgety parishioners.

As we climbed in the car, my youngest son said, “Mama, look what I found on a pew on the way out!” He passed me a handful of palms. “Oh great” I lied, “Let’s google how to make a basket when we get home.”

God, Thank you for keeping Palm Sunday nice and calm.

IMG_6612
Beginning a basket…

Have a Blessed Holy Week.

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Therapy Llamas

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#34 Lenten Reflections

On a small farm in Dallas, Georgia a woman named Tracy rescues and then trains llamas to deliver instant happiness to people. She visited our school with two of her eleven beautiful llamas named Pai (short for Paisano) and Quinn. Students fell in love with their silky coats, 400-pound fluffy bodies, and mesmerizing eyes instantly.

When speaking to the children, she explained how to treat the llamas. Frankly, the lesson could have served as a lesson on how to treat everyone, friend or foe. She said calmly, “Just don’t be mean to the llamas. Be nice and they will be nice to you. No, they will not spit on you.”

Classic Golden Rule – treat a llama like you would like to be treated.

Therapy llamas are no exception to the transformative power of animal therapy. A simple interaction with a llama can stimulate communication, evoke emotions, and reconnect people, especially seniors, with their surroundings. Llamas visit senior assisted living facilities, and children with special needs and even stroll down airport concourses in Portland during the stressful holiday months to provide a positive surprise for passengers. Blood pressure lowers and a wave of relief comes to the rushed, stressed travelers. A genius idea!

The presence of these regal and quirky animals is truly a gift. Pai and Quinn brought so much joy to nearly 500 kids and adults in under two hours. Their big, beautiful doll eyes with two-inch eyelashes batting at us were all we needed to make for a happy day.

What I learned:

Be nice to llamas and people and the likelihood of them spitting on you goes down by 100%.

Thanks for joining me,

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Your kids are thinking of you…

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#33 Lenten Reflections

As our older children pack up their favorite pants, posters, and pillows to head to their next chapter, it’s hard to forget when they were babies and all they needed was the fullness in their tummies, the comfort of warm contact, and the sweet circuit of their parents. But as the garage closes and they drive away you wonder and worry and say a big Our Father that He forgives all their trespasses and ours. Personally, I yell out, if you need anything, CALL! We’re here!

Then last week I called to talk to my daughter and she texted back, “I’m in the library, what’s up?” Knowing my daughter, if she’s studying, you don’t want to poke that bear, so I told her I’d check in later. Seconds later the phone rang and she said, “I just left the library to call you, are you okay?” Ahhh, and so it begins, the moment they begin raising you. She knew, I just had to share something.

Also last week, our son sent this picture of the moon, just because…

…and all I could say was thank you God for giving me my daily bread which is the love of my children and family and You. Amen.

Thanks for joining me,

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

“There’s some really bad parenting going on…”

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#32 Lenten Reflections

A friend told me a story about her daughter coming home from college for Thanksgiving one year. She said upon her return, she noticed her daughter must have been taking some sort of psychology class as she was constantly “observing” her two younger siblings and how they interacted with their parents. Using her newly gained college acumen, she approached her mom and said, “There’s some really bad parenting going on here.” Ouch.

After hearing this, I thought of some of my not-so-stellar mom moments and a few not-so-bad moments mixed in…

The moment you realize…you’re at the shoe store and your child’s feet are a size 6 and they are wearing a size 3. Oops and Ouch.

The moment you realize…you washed your favorite shirt in a load of rags and now you’re cleaning the bathroom floor with it.

The moment you realize…you told your child (a little too loudly) not to “hold going to the bathroom” at a sleepover because he “WILL get a stomach ache”.

The moment you realize…you’ve just remade every bed in your home even though they were already “made” by your children.

The moment you realize…your parents were right when they said to always live within your means.

The moment you realize…your daughter has grown two inches, you’ve already hemmed her orchestra dress, and the concert is tonight.

The moment you realize…your parents were pretty cool to show up to every game, concert, 4-H event and so much more.

The moment you realize…you’re singing along loudly to the School House Rock CD in the car and no kids are present.

The moment you realize…your child has holes in his socks and he’s figured out the fold-and-tuck method to make them work.

The moment you realize…your child says, “Now that I’m in 3rd grade, can I call you Mom instead of Mama?” and you say “Um, No.”

The moment you realize…you are price matching at Publix.

The moment you realize…you’re at the orthodontist so often you get irritated when another parent is sitting in your seat. Rude.

The moment you realize…you won’t leave the house without a coupon.

The moment you realize…you want to make change for a $20 bill in the collection basket at church.

The moment you realize…you just yelled “Don’t forget to say your prayers!!” to your 7th grader who is standing at the bus stop with 10 other kids.

Perfection is overrated.

Spiritual Journey of the day – embrace all your imperfections.

Thanks for joining me,

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Wise words from Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#31 Lenten Reflections

Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh wrote Your True Home a daily meditation book. According to his foundation, “He was a global spiritual leader, poet, and peace activist, revered throughout the world for his powerful teachings and bestselling writings on mindfulness and peace. His key teaching was that, through mindfulness, we can learn to live happily in the present moment—the only way to truly develop peace, both in one’s self and in the world.”

After commiserating with a dear friend and swapping a few stories about not being the best versions of ourselves, she told be about Your True Home, a book she reads every morning to set her inner compass in the right direction. Today, she sent a picture of this page. It is as beautiful as it is logical.

Think about this and then go hug your loved ones over and over again.

Thanks for joining me,

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Watch them dance

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#30 Lenten Reflections

I’m not sure when the call will come. That call. The one that comes at 3:00 in the morning when nothing good happens. I picture myself jumping on a plane to try and make it back to my childhood home if my sister calls to tell me Mom is so tired of the pain and they just can’t figure it out this time, or maybe it’s Dad who was on a ladder. Because the man cannot stay off of ladders.

I’ve gotten calls when Mom is at the ER or Dad is at urgent care. I always ask my sister, “Please, please (!) tell me honestly, is it now?”

“It’s not now, Lucretia” she’ll reassure me.

I’ve been there for gut pain, burning in the knee, back spasms, eyesight waning, memory lapsing. But not the big stuff. Probably because the big stuff has been managed well by my sisters and now it’s not big anymore.

When the call comes, I probably won’t make it on time. I’m too far away. I just have to come to know that I guess. Is it better to talk about this or is it bad luck? I’m a strong believer that if I put something out into the universe, it won’t happen for a long time. I have to say it. It’s like I push pause on the bad and the good will fill my glass with hope again. I sound like my Dad, positive about all things. In his words: “Man, I like it here, gonna make it to 90!” But I also need to think like my Mom, the realist: “Si vamos a morir, vamos a morir” (If we’re going to die, we’re going to die).

Be Present.

Then I call them on Facetime and Dad reassures me it’s “another good day” as he nestles the iPhone on the woodpile and I can almost smell the pine. He listens to me tell stories of my day as he breaks apart sticks for kindling and Mom shows me her plants or teases about having to share the pecan trees with the crows.

Memories

In the “good old days” I picture us sitting at the kitchen table when I was little and Mom and Dad would listen to me read poems I’d write. They were always long and descriptive, but they sat intently listening as parents do. I remember when Mom would drive me to choir or soccer and we’d chat about her latest Reader’s Digest Condensed book. I’d always tease her about reading only the good parts of the book and she’d laugh. “I love my Reader’s Digest, I just read five books! “Or when Dad and I would load each other’s arms up with wood, the wood piercing my arms, but we were callous to it. Then we’d haul it in to build a fire.

The Dance.

Still today, my favorite memories are seeing them dance.

It’s how I know them best, my dancing folks. Whether it’s Anne Murray, Don Williams or Johnny B Goode, they dance. They move together smoothly like an artist moves his brush on a palette – up and down – spinning – dipping – because dancing is a language felt between them. The familiarity and connection feel like home.

So I’ll leave you with a video of them dancing to Don Williams.

Because they are okay for now. We all are. Thank God. Right now they are at a Rosary for our cousin Cora who just passed away at 99. Wow! We have great genes.