Tag: faith

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

One word to stop using…

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

40 Reflections – #5:  40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

Ever wake up, glance at the clock, and say, “I SHOULD have gotten up earlier” only to follow it up with “I SHOULD have gone to the gym, prepped dinner, called my parents, run with the dogs, played with the kids, or checked the pockets for that pen before I tossed everything in the wash?”

The “S” word is verifiably toxic, yet to avert our gaze away from what our lives would look like if we accomplished all of the SHOULDS is nearly impossible. Haven’t you marveled at the early birds who amble into work chatting about their early morning run, seamless commute, or the dinner menu they prepared for the month?

Let’s ditch the SHOULD have narrative with three easy tips:

  1. BE YOURSELF:  Change the lens through which you see yourself, and celebrate who you are and where you are today.
  2. ACCEPT AND ALLOW:  Your reality may be vacant of the plans you slated for yourself years ago, but by clutching onto the people we love, our SHOULD HAVE world dissipates. Some say, “Let go, Let God” It’s worth a shot.
  3. SET YOUR INTENTIONS: Our deepest hopes are shaped by our intentions. Step out of the noise, serve others, find your passion, and share it!

What I learned:

When our minds harp on these unaccomplished actions, we sadly allow the present moment to circle the drain. All of the should haves coupled with regret keep popping up. I run low on forgiveness – mostly towards myself and allowing the “Did Not Do” list to ruin my day. I have heard that forgiveness is our work on earth. So let’s start with ourselves and those around us. Celebrate the now and keep moving forward.

DIG DEEP:  On your next run or walk, bring a friend, and you do the listening.

Please Pray for the Pope…he’s improving.

Thank you for joining me,

Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Parenting Connections – Why is bonding so beneficial?

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

40 Reflections – #3:  40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

When our children were younger, I would accompany them to birthday parties, playdates, practices, and other events and watch, wait, and chat with other parents. I loved connecting, it was like I would imagine the old Eharmony but for parents. A time to find your tribe of trusted moms and dads, then ever-so-carefully pick a few who relate to your cheeky humor, and pray your kids and theirs are in the next room bonding over a juice box.

As our kids aged, I noticed parents would leave these events, and return at the “pick-up time”.  I always opted to stay, plopping down on the ground, cherishing my chats with the few other parents who would sit in their comfy cup-holding canvas chairs (such a great invention).  Sure, sometimes, I was the mom who brought a book that other parents respectfully knew meant – whoever holds the book has just put themselves in a quiet, parental time out, a virtual “do not disturb sign”. That was rare. I needed to chat, commiserate about the losses, and celebrate the wins.

As the kids got a little older there was another shift. Either I grew more confident (or less patient waiting) and would go for a run while they practiced. As long as I was within a mom’s stone’s throw between them, I felt I could still get to them and perform CPR as needed. Of course, I was always happy to get in a run, but I missed the parent-share conversations… those words exchanged between parents that only the gap of time when our children are engaged with their friends allowed.

One night, all three of our children had events simultaneously, and a tough moment ensued.  Clearly, we had to pick our least favorite child, leave them at their designated practice, and accompany the others.

Kidding. Our eldest was the default, and since some nights I was the lone mom hanging out for the two hours at swim practice anyway, I figured she’d be okay while I took our son to baseball practice. As I drove away, of course thinking the worst, it was one of the few times I was grateful our daughter had a phone. Plus, at baseball, there were other helicopter parents like myself to share best practices, a clear bonus. It all worked out.

What I learned:

Our children’s activities, whether we realize it or not, give us a chance to pause and discover we are not the only ones bouncing around blindly in this parenting pinball game. While our kids solidify their friendships at birthday parties or discover they truly despise dancing in toe shoes (my daughter), we are given the gift of connection to share our stories with other parents and listen to theirs.

Back then, I remembered feeling the weight of parenting lightened knowing I wasn’t the only parent who…

  • yelled at my children and regretted it profoundly seconds after
  • colored my gray roots at home out of a box
  • cursed at Siri when she doesn’t listen
  • never checked pockets before doing laundry
  • considered cereal dinner
  • took apart the washing machine, found the penny bonking around, and ended up with extra screws when reassembling
  • stayed up way too late listening to our children’s worries that only bubbled up at bedtime
  • wiped the tears from our children’s eyes, and our own when their hearts were broken
  • prayed our children would find their best friend
  • forgot to pick up their child at school/practice/Sunday School
  • delivered their child’s forgotten homework to school
  • bought bras at Costco (“one size fits most”)
  • panicked about working after years of staying home with the kids
  • clutched onto their children –  as someone who is way too young died in a car accident, from a health complication, or God forbid — inside their school.

Our children are now all in college, but the bonds with those parents from the little league field, mountain biking trails, pool, and dance studio have stayed strong. Simply allowing ourselves to be transparent, and investing in relationships makes us better parents. It takes pluck to be vulnerable, but there is courage in the imperfect, strength in sharing, and certainty in the uncertain.

Dig Deep:  Time your run (or walk briskly), then challenge yourself to do the same thing faster tomorrow.

Lenten Challenge:  “Give feet to your faith”. Feed the hungry, pray for the sick, and share your grace with everyone who crosses your path.

Pope Health Update: VATICAN CITY, March 7 (Reuters) – Three weeks to the day after being admitted to Rome’s Gemelli hospital, Pope Francis is still struggling to shake off the double pneumonia that has battered his already fragile health.

Please pray for the Pope.

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Cultivating Selflessness

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#2 Lenten Reflections

The other day I was waiting to board my flight to Atlanta and overheard an anxious young woman discuss her seat location with her husband. She held a frothy coffee in one hand and phone in the other, and nervously said, “The agent said I’d have to wait until I was on the plane to change seats. I let her know I just can’t sit in an exit row. Not with all the recent flight accidents. It’s not my turn, I am not the person to sit in that seat…not this time.” I watched as her husband sat silently, nodding in agreement.

I settled into the comfy, leather-like seat at the Albuquerque airport and pondered her words. “It’s not my turn.” I applauded her honesty and clarity in knowing what she could and could not handle. But when is it our turn? When do we raise our hands to help another, give the Heimlich maneuver to someone choking, or save the child running into the road? Are some people just innately selfless?

Richard Lui, is a journalist and author of  Enough About Me: The Unexpected Power of Selflessness where he explored self-sacrifice as he cared for his father with Alzheimer’s. Along with practicing acts of kindness and showing gratitude, Lui recommends building selflessness muscles. Muscle memory is what helps us remember how to swing a bat or ride a bike. So training your brain to choose others over yourself will build up your selflessness muscles.

My Connection…

Years ago, one of my three older sisters retired from her job after 30 years as a software engineer to care for our parents. She didn’t take a big trip around the world to celebrate her successful career or become a master gardener, she and her husband simply sold their home and moved closer to Mom and Dad. All four of us pitch in, but as the primary caretaker, she is the driver, the contact for the doctors, the shopper, the organizer, the constant in their lives that brings them the comfort of knowing they can make it through today and tomorrow. I have never known someone so incredibly selfless and generous. There are 53 million Americans who are caretakers in the United States, and she is one of those saints who has a special place in heaven just for her.

So whether you’re ready to brave the exit row today or on your next flight, give a little bit of yourself.

Pope Health Update: According to the Vatican, he “remained stable compared to previous days” and did not have “episodes of respiratory insufficiency”. Please pray for him.

Thanks for joining me,

Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

40 Days – Journeying together

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

Lenten Reflections #1

Nine years ago, I decided to ditch giving up chocolate or coffee during Lent and instead, track my 40 days right here. Since then, I’ve shared little snippets of life – the messy, funny, daunting, and unpredictable moments I experience or observe. My hope is that anyone who reads this will connect and learn something on the journey because people’s stories spark emotion, and emotion sparks memory, and if you’re like me, my memory needs as much spark as it can get.

As I begin Lent each year, I am inspired by the words of Pope Francis, who, as of today, is in stable condition and will be put back on a ventilator tonight after spending the day in his armchair.

So as I prayed for him, I found his Lenten message focused on journeying together tender and true:

“Journeying together means consolidating the unity grounded in our common dignity as children of God (cf. Gal 3:26- 28). It means walking side-by-side, without shoving or stepping on others, without envy or hypocrisy, without letting anyone be left behind or excluded. Let us all walk in the same direction, tending towards the same goal, attentive to one another in love and patience. This Lent, God is asking us to examine whether in our lives, in our families, in the places where we work and spend our time, we are capable of walking together with others, listening to them, resisting the temptation to become self-absorbed and to think only of our own needs.”

Let’s start this journey and focus on what brings us joy, what drives us crazy, and what brings tears to our eyes. Personally, some days I feel like I’m the only one whose back hurts every time I stand up or am the lone mom whose nest is empty, and I just want to bring them all back and hear the laughter or yelling or random singing in the shower. I know I’m not alone, and neither are you.

So, here we go. Forty days, full speed ahead!

Thanks for being here with me,

Lucretia

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

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

I knew every moment of their day…now it’s all in a text

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#21 Lenten Reflections

I was scrolling through the first 200-plus(!) pages of a journal I kept when the kids were little, and happened upon a daily schedule I drafted for Cora and Dexter when they were one and two years old.

I drafted it in preparation for the arrival of our third member of the “Irish triplets”. I had folded the onesies, unpacked the sun-faded baby Bjorn, scoured the toilets, and read “I’m a big sister/brother” books ad nauseam. Our cozy 1,400-square-foot townhome in Falls Church, VA was dusted, decorated, and definitely ready for Zavier. I pretended I was ready like I do before big things happen, but the unknown was as terrifying as it was terrific.

Luckily, our dear neighbors agreed to take care of our kids while I got a “night off” – I was excited about the hospital in Arlington where our charming Dr. Crowther from England was waiting for us. Her posh, polite voice sounded like the queen was monitoring my contractions. “Looks all good so far…Nice weather innit? Back in a jiffy”.

Here’s a snippet of what I left the neighbors…looking back I was amazed at how I knew every moment of the kid’s day…

Back then…I was pretty detailed.

I knew Cora loved peas and Dexter would forcefully spit out his sweet potatoes. I knew their favorite water bottles (yellow with red lids), and I memorized all the best books on repeat: Go! Dog! Go! “One big dog going…” –UP! “One little dog going…” –DOWN!

Then I blinked.

Literally, blinked, and off they went to school one by one and other people started guiding and teaching them stuff. Outside influencers! All I knew was what I sent them to school with and the “suggested” supply lists were loaded with things like Clorox Wipes, pencil pouches, and Skittles aka “smart pills” for good behavior. Let’s just say the Skittles did not make it to school. I was THAT mom who sent stickers instead. Soon you are simply picking up and dropping them off, reminding, yelling, and then listening before bed. As parents, we know everything if they talk to us or ask way too many questions if they don’t. Little by little I knew less and less of their lives.

Now… I don’t even know the classes they take and just learned their majors. When anyone/Dad asks me excitedly “How many hours are the kids carrying this semester?” I take a guess “Probably fifteen”.

Dad is their biggest fan, “Fifteen?! Well, that’s enough! They are workers! And their grades, holy toledo! I was happy getting a C in accounting and these kids are getting A’s!”

Back then, I knew their moods:

Now…I get glimpses into their days…a sunrise, or a note to say they are exhausted or have poison ivy, back pain, or a paper due.

They say good night…

Send mascara recommendations…

And sometimes they even take care of me and I get sweet messages like this:

What I learned:

As our children grow up, it is like watching a Polaroid photo develop slowly…letting a little light in as it begins to show the outline of a shape on the paper. You shake and shake that photo then realize that is what you have left, what you are holding in your hands. But this is how this goes? Every day with someone for 18 solid years and this is the ending?

But it gets better and I remember what wonderful Gabriel Garcia Marquez said:

“Human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mother gives birth to them. Rather, life obliges them over and over to give birth to themselves.”

  • ❤️Then
  • Now❤️
Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Mi Madrina – Leap-Day Baby 1936

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

Lenten Reflections #13

On February 29, 1936, my Madrina (Godmother), Eddie Laura was born.

Last leap day, February 29, 2020, I called her up on her landline to wish her a happy Leap Year Birthday. She had just turned 84 and she told me she loved her morning walks, going to mass, and her cozy home by the mountains.

One month later, her daughter called me and told me she passed away. It wasn’t COVID nor was she ailing.

She fell. She was alone. I was heartbroken.

As a tribute to her, I revised a piece I wrote in 2020 about her undying love for family, faith, friends, and well, poker.

IMG_1288.jpeg
This is my baby book given to me by my Godparents.

In Leap Year math terms, my Godmother had 21 true birthdays. So Leap Day was especially busy for her. Let’s just say if an angel got their wings every time her phone rang on her true birthday, the halo business would be booming. I was among her callers who sang the traditional Happy Birthday and a few lines of Las Mañanitas, her favorite birthday song.

When I spoke to her last, I updated her on the kids and our treks from swim meets to tennis matches, and then baseball games. In lockstep, she reminded me to enjoy every moment of their childhood, because it goes too fast. “What are their ages?” she asked. When I said, 17, 15, and 14, she jumped in and as if reading from a mom script, said,  “Oh college is coming up, that’s expensive.” She continued, “It’s when they go away that’s hard.” I knew she was referring to the outrageous cost attached to college tuition, but I also knew from our previous conversations that her statement meant more. She was always very candid about being a mom and college approaching meant empty beds, smaller meals to cook, and homes that were way too quiet.

When we would chat, her sing-songy, NM accent reminded me of home and I mirrored it. My kids always say when I come back from Albuquerque I have a strong accent. I tell them it’s just English and Spanish finding their harmony. The beautiful words of Spanglish bring solidarity and trust to our New Mexican culture.

I listened to how Eddie Laura recalled life as a mom…stirring red chili on the stove, flipping tortillas on the comal, sewing, quilting, dancing, and caring for her four children. As she spoke, I could hear how quickly life’s pages turn. One moment, instead of going to baseball games or PTA meetings, you’re headed to airports to pick up your kids who are “just visiting”. I can’t help but think of how she felt that first Sunday morning at church when she didn’t have to look for a large section on a church pew, but instead, was able to slip in at the end of a row because she was alone.

She told me she prays for me every night and every morning. When she said it, I always felt my body relax. Somehow simply knowing that someone who leads with faith was putting in a good word with God for me – made me feel cloaked in love. To me, Eddie Laura was like one of those saints Catholics pray to for everything from gallstones to lost glasses. We know they have our backs. That was my Godmother. I knew her prayers for me were deep, no-nonsense, and true.

When cleaning out her home, my sister and her daughter found lots of little treasures around her home. Chief among them were poker winnings stashed inside a box of quilt pieces. Her daughter told us she always asked her mom how she did at the casino and Eddie Laura would reply, “I’ll never tell.” My Madrina knew what she held close, whether it was cash from playing Blackjack, memories from marrying her high school sweetheart, or the priceless days of raising her children. I was so blessed to have such a loving Godmother.

Feliz Cumpleaños Madrina may you be at peace up in heaven, perhaps dealing a hand of 7-card-stud on that massive Last Supper table. God Bless.

What I learned:

Chances of being born on a leap day are about one in 1,461, according to the BBC. In fact, some astrologers say leap-year babies may possess special talents and luck. I agree. When I look at the picture of the day I was baptized, I think about all my Godmother has taught me…

Cherish time with my family – knowing they will eventually live under different roofs; keep faith at the forefront; and hope our kids will thrive with credence, compassion, and kindness (and always find their way home — I added that one).

Gracias, Madrina.

Thank you for joining me and Happy Leap Day,

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Penance Service

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

Lenten Reflections #12

At the 5:30 mass on Sunday, the Monsignor said there would be a “Penance Service” on Monday night. At the time, I only processed the word Penance. Not Service. So on Monday evening as I walked to the church from th11e parking lot, I was chatting with my parents and sister on the cell phone. “Why is there a mass going on?” I said – mainly to myself.

My sister who excels in listening said, “You said it’s a service also.” “No way, that means a mass?” I said, sounding not very devout in my Catholicism, “Okay, I’m going in, any sins you guys want me to tack onto my list for you?” Dad said, “Just the standard sins”. I could hear my sister in the background yelling to my mom (who still doesn’t think she needs hearing aids), “Sins! She wants to know if you have any S-I-N-S she wants her to tell the priest!” Mom chuckled and said, “Not that I can think of, but say hi to kids and Justin for us.”

I signed off, “Alright, I love you guys, I’m off to find the oldest priest in there, maybe he won’t hear me when I say it’s been a very long time since my last confession.”

As I walked in, a woman was behind me and I asked her, “Is there a mass also?”

Sounding rushed, she said, “I don’t think so, I mean, I need to be somewhere soon.”

I jumped in, “I know, I thought it was just a quick in and out thing. Well, I guess I’ll go play it out.”

“Me too.” she agreed.

I stopped myself at the baptismal font, reaching the tips of my fingers in and reflecting on what I just said. I needed to reset. The reason I was there was to take time, ask for mercy, and try to be a better mother, wife, daughter, and overall being. I guess I better add “lacking devotion and patience” to my list for the priest.

Going to this Penance Service was kind of like going to a divine drive-thru and ordering Mercy with Compassion and Grace on the side. About 10 priests dispersed themselves around the church and waited for the lines to form. And boy did they form. Since I arrived a tad tardy, I was already standing by two chairs in the back of the church set up for confessional conversations. I was first in line. I sat down facing a kind young priest who bowed his head – my signal to start spilling the beans.

I actually kind of choked and couldn’t remember the sins I rehearsed in my head so I started with the line I memorized when I was seven, “Bless me Father for I have sinned…it’s been a really long time since my last confession.” Then I just started talking, both our heads bowed, staring at the worn church carpet. I closed with the best line I know when forgiveness is on the table: “I am sorry for these and all the sins I MAY have forgotten”. Covered all my bases. Father did some fancy absolving and blessing and sent me off with a penance and a gentle reminder to really try to go to confession at least once a year.

What I learned:

I left the church with a second wind, a big flux of dopamine floating in my brain. I felt a little lighter yet a lot more full. This Act of Contrition. Voicing my wrongs. Saying sorry out loud for being selfish or judgy or ungrateful helped tug me out of the marshy waters and back to Mother Earth.

Quotes I love:

“Forgiveness. The ability to forgive oneself. Stop here for a few breaths and think about this because it is the key to making art, and very possibly the key to finding any semblance of happiness in life.

I believe, more than anything, that this grief of constantly having to face down our own inadequacies is what keeps people from being writers. Forgiveness, therefore, is key. I can’t write the book I want to write, but I can and will write the book I am capable of writing. Again and again throughout the course of my life I will forgive myself.” – Ann Patchett

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Faith with a capital F

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#9 Lenten Reflections

Faith in people

My son Dexter’s life is like a slow, melodic, country music song. He drives a Dodge Dakota, sees big swaths of land as a palette for bike trails and a humble home, kneels at church, loves long country roads, small towns, family, fixin’ things, and wiping his hands on his jeans to perfect the patina. The one gem in his soul that shines the brightest is his faith. Capital F- Faith. Faith that the sun will rise even if it’s overcast and gloomy, and papers are due and midterms are overruling his trail-building time. He has Faith in God and country, and even in today’s world of division and rupture, he has the most remarkable Faith in people. 

Which leads me here…

Last night he sent us a picture of his broken bike rack and said it had been hit by a truck. “I know who did it. I was in the bike center and some friends saw the truck and the guy.” 

Of course, I reacted instead of slowly sipping his story word by word.

“Well, let’s just order the part, don’t make anyone mad and just wait until there is clear evidence of who did it.” As I was writing this profound and bossy text, he sent us a link to the part he needed. Click, click, and click. “I’ll order now”. I texted back. 

The phone rang and as I picked up Dexter said, “Please don’t order that part. The reason I told you about my bike rack is because it is something relevant that is happening right now and I like to keep you updated on my life. I know how to handle this.” 

“Wait – what?” I said, trying to sound cool, as my son just went full “adult” on me. I rebounded knowing how darn blessed I am that my kids even care to tell us anything. 

I swear, in college, I remember distinctly saying out loud, “The less my parents know, the less they worry.” So, man, I knew something rare was happening. I was like a child on Christmas morning – a big box waiting by the tree and when I ripped it open it was filled with honesty and faith. 

“Okay,” I said treading lightly in an attempt to not ruin the moment and jeopardize my chance of him sharing the next “relevant” thing happening in his life. 

“Just be careful – remember, it’s just stuff.” I reminded him, leaving my hand in the pot just enough to give it one more stir.

“He has a mullet and a truck, Mama, I think we have a lot more in common than you think. He’s probably a nice guy. I just know what I would do, and maybe he can help me buy the part I need. I know it was 100% an accident.”

After about ten minutes had passed, Dexter called and said he met the guy, they actually went to the same high school. He said the guy felt really bad and paid him for the damage.

This kid has an unscathed faith in people. He sees a mountain and rides right over it, doesn’t skirt around it to find the easiest route. Conquers it, gets to the other side, and coasts to the next.

What I learned:

Trust your kid’s judgment. Have faith in people, and realize as Dexter said, “We’re probably more alike than you think”. Of course, we are. We are all broken and stunned, scared and guilty, chosen and welcome. But no matter what, we are not alone.

As one of my favorite country songs says, “I believe most people are good”. Thanks for restoring my Faith in people, Dexter.

Here are some of the lyrics by Luke Bryan:

I believe kids oughta stay kids

As long as they can

Turn off the screen, go climb a tree

Get dirt on their hands

I believe we gotta forgive and make amends

‘Cause nobody gets a second chance

To make new old friends

I believe in working hard for what you’ve got

Even if it don’t add up to a hell of a lot

I believe most people are good

And most Mama’s oughta qualify for sainthood

I believe most Friday nights

Look better under neon or stadium lights

I believe you love who you love

Ain’t nothing you should ever be ashamed of

I believe this world ain’t half as bad as it looks

I believe most people are good