Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

The doorbell rang…

#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

Faith with a capital F

#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