The other night, before going to mass for Ash Wednesday I took the kids to Chick-fil-A.  I don’t know when it started but they had been begging me to take them there for the last couple of weeks, mostly because they wanted to play in the little kids’ area there.  Matthew received a gift card at school for doing well, and we had time before church so it was a good night to go.

As I pulled into the parking lot I looked into the restaurant to see how it looked inside.  There were a few families, but it wasn’t crowded.  A mom and maybe one or two other parents were in the enclosed play area as well.  As it has been the last week, it was cold and windy when we got out of the car and as we approached the door I asked Matthew to go ahead and open and hold the door for us, as I pushed William’s wheelchair.  Before I knew it one of the moms from the play area came outside and opened the door for us.  I thanked her and she smiled, genuinely and with no burden.  I’m often proud, prideful.  I don’t want to be seen as in need, or with pity.  But I didn’t feel that way at all that night.  It felt like she was just looking out, from one mom to a dad, for another family getting some dinner.

I could tell that our server behind the counter was new.  He kept asking questions to others there and kept apologizing to me.  But he smiled and asked questions.  His name was Jeremiah.  And when he brought our food to our table he asked if we needed anything and even lifted up Hope’s cup to see if it needed a refill.  And as I completed the survey from the receipt to recognize his service (as well as acquire the promised chicken sandwich), a small envelope dropped on the table right in front of me.

I looked up to see a woman, blonde with teen aged kids.  She was dressed up, professionally and said as my eyes met hers, “This is for you”.  Referring not only to me but to the family, and William right next to me she continued, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”  I’m sure my expression was confused, but grateful.  “Thank you so much” I said.  Unexpected but not awkward, not with pity her eyes told me that she cared, and that she too was just someone out there looking out for someone else.  And not just anyone else.  Not just a dad with kids.  A dad with kids and William.

I was reminded that the following day was the feast of Saint Bernadette, the girl who encountered Mary at Lourdes.  And I thought of where we were just one year ago, on our first pilgrimage with our first son.  Brian and I spoke on our (first) podcast about the value of fasting, and the communion with God’s people as a virtue of engaging together as a community.  It was a fitting evening to the beginning of this Lenten season.

Even now, says the LORD,
return to me with your whole heart,
with fasting, and weeping, and mourning;
Rend your hearts, not your garments,
and return to the LORD, your God.
For gracious and merciful is he,
slow to anger, rich in kindness,
and relenting in punishment.
Perhaps he will again relent
and leave behind him a blessing,
Offerings and libations
for the LORD, your God.

Joel 2:12-18