Upon my mother’s recent death, my siblings and I had the opportunity to revisit my childhood home and its many memories. One such memory was of a certain picture that hung prominently in our basement with an old adage: “A quitter never wins and a winner never quits.”
It was a belief my mother, a courageous and strong Texan at heart, and my father, a former professional ball player and devout Catholic, embodied throughout their lives. It was also a belief that became most challenging during my mother’s last years.
At 84, my once-independent mother found herself virtually bedridden and battling bedsores, chronic lumbar pain, and ultimately a return of the lymphoma she had conquered in her earlier years. My father, who was determined to be her primary caregiver and keep her in the comforts of her home, therefore spent those same years changing her bedpans, enduring interrupted sleep, and seeing to her constant needs.
Make no mistake. Those last years were difficult. There were mistakes and fumbles along the way. There was fighting. There were tears. There were questions of, “Why is this happening?” But despite all these emotions and struggles, my mother and father trusted in God and, through God’s grace, embraced their mutual commitment to love one another for better or worse.
What impressed me the most, however, was the glimpse of the “bigger picture” that materialized in front of me on the night my father said goodbye to my mother as she passed away. It was at this moment that all the struggling and difficulties were put into perspective, and all that really mattered was the faithful legacy the two of them had created together. Because they had both lived a life mutually committed to one another, she and my father were able to move forward without regret and in a state of peace and promise.
It was a lesson I needed.
Unlike my parents, I have always struggled with long-term commitment. At a young age, my first instinct was always to avoid friends and activities that required “too much” of me. Even in adulthood, I have found that when the “going gets tough,” my instinct is to disguise my lack of commitment in terms of “life is too short” and indeed get going. After all, it’s much easier to start over than confront and conquer difficulties.
And it’s a disposition not uncommon in our modern world.
Even though the Bible tells us to forget what lies behind and “press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 3:13-14), it’s so easy to abandon our sense of purpose and stick-to-it-ness at the first obstacle. The Bible tells us “to rejoice in our sufferings” because it produces the perseverance, character and final hope that will not disappoint (Romans 5:4), but that promise loses its luster at the first sense of suffering.
In fact, many of society’s most damaging ills—abortion, divorce, lack of education, poverty, and even death—can probably be traced back to someone who, like so many of us, has run from commitment and the responsibility it brings.
We are indeed a growing culture of quitters who refuse to commit to anything that might alter our ego or infringe upon our ease. And I fear that when our day of reckoning comes, we might realize how badly we have lost because of it.
Of course, as my mother and father have reminded me, there is a better way. Commitment is a decision. It doesn’t require perfection, but it does require intention. Perhaps this Lent is therefore the perfect time to fight against the false freedom of quitting and instead recommit to commitment.
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