Inspired Living

When I was growing up, we went to church on Sunday. There was no “deciding” if we should go or not. No negotiation. On Sunday, our family was in church. (Always in the same pew.) During the years my dad was struggling with cancer, I realized if Dad wasn’t going to church on a Sunday morning, he was feeling awful.

Our church had a wonderful organist, Henry Gall. He made that keyboard and the foot pedals sing. Later in my dad’s illness, my dad shared a little secret with me. He told me when Henry saw my dad in church, Henry always played my dad’s favorite hymns.

One afternoon during my high school senior year, I came home ranting. My dad calmly listened as my arms flailed and my words flew.

“Why do girls have to wear dresses or skirts to school? Why can’t we wear slacks? Jeans? Have they ever watched us climb the bleachers in a skirt? Do they think it’s still the 1800s?”

Believe me, my dad got an earful. When I stopped to breathe, he took the pause to share these wise words with me: “If you don’t like the policy, then do something to change it.”

Encouragement isn’t always rah-rah-sis-boom-bah. At times, it can feel more like a nudge or even a shove toward an uncertain, but desired, outcome.

Let me tell you about a time just seven words, in the form of a suggestion, put me on a path that directed my entire life.

When my husband was preparing to run his first marathon, our oldest daughter lived in Minneapolis and mapped the route. She found three spots where we could cheer for him. Our two daughters made a huge sign, and we positioned ourselves at spot No. 1. As he drew near, we yelled, “Go! Go! Daddy-o!” Not only did he grin, but so did the other runners. We raced to stops two and three, where our words seemed to give him a spring in his steps, even near the end.

I am a “woman of words.” I’ve made a career writing them and speaking them. But I had a great lesson imprinted on me some years ago.

My favorite cousin’s college-aged son died in a tragic nighttime flight-training accident. I was numb when I heard the news. My husband and I arrived at the funeral home the evening of the family visitation. The first person I saw was my cousin’s stoic husband. In a gesture so out of character for him, he held his arms wide, inviting me for a hug. I stepped into his hard embrace and the only words I could find were, “I have no words.”

Two years ago, we spent Christmas with the kids and grandkids in the Bahamas. It was as stressful as it was fun. We (mostly me) made travel, hotel and meal arrangements. I shopped for lightweight gifts to bring along. I brought Christmas lights, homemade cookies and even a nativity set to keep the “reason for the season.”

We usually “do Christmas” with our kids every other year to accommodate celebrations with other family members. So, my husband and I expected to be spending last Christmas alone.

Good stories are worth retelling, especially when they contain a lesson I’ve never forgotten. So, I’m ending this series on regrets by revisiting a column I wrote close to a decade ago.

Some years back, I was going on an adventure, flying alone from Bismarck to Denver, Colo., to meet with my cousin.

Last time, I promised you the regret story that made me cry, but first let me share a regret that was the theme for many people: career regrets.

More than one man told me this regret: focusing on the pursuit of sports to the detriment of school work when he was in high school. When he got to college, he realized he wasn’t ever going to become the professional athlete he had imagined. Consequently, he wasn’t scholastically prepared to follow the career path he would have liked to pursue. He felt he had to “settle” for a lesser career.

Regrets. Over a period of several months, I talked to friends, relatives, acquaintances and strangers, asking them, “Do you have any regrets?” If you ever want to have a deep conversation with a virtual stranger – a seatmate on an airplane or a service repair person at your house – ask them that question. It cuts down on chitchat, that’s for sure. My findings? Regrets come in different forms, from simple to profound, and most somewhere in the middle.

It started (and ended) with a note. I was 11 years old. Our seventh-grade class party was coming up, and I was passed a note in the hallway. It was from “Dan” and read: “Will you go to the class party with me?”

I hadn’t really noticed Dan. (I was just a year past playing with Barbies in the basement.) But I was flattered to be asked to the party. I sent a note back: “Yes.”