Month: March 2025

America’s Happiness Needs Rehab

A short article titled “If you’re happy and you know it, you’re probably in Finland “caught my eye in this morning’s newspaper.  According to the World Happiness Report 2025, America didn’t make it in the top 10 happiest nations, but Mexico and Costa Rica did for the first time.  We didn’t even make it into the top 20, but Canada, Ireland, and the Czech Republic did. 

Now, I’ll just bet you a Tickle Me Elmo doll that some of you will say, “Well, that report is some liberal mumbo jumbo,” or a few conservatives will declare, “Well, all those unhappy folks need to move to Finland!” Thus proving that examining everything through a polarized lens affects our life’s joy.

We are the wealthiest country in the world, yet our happiness needs to go into rehab.  If my grandmother were here today, she would say, “It goes to show you money isn’t all it’s cracked up to be!” Our President says, “America is entering a new golden age.  We are going to become wealthier than ever before!”

Oh, it will be nice to get out of debt and put us on a savings track, but will it improve our mental health, increase our joy, and will the money draw interest in the form of kindness?  What good is gold if our hearts are made of cold steel? 

Diminishing happiness

Our distrust, division, and desire for revenge are diminishing our happiness.  Our need to be “right” leads us away from God’s righteousness and from caring for those who are less fortunate or different from our idealized vision of American life.

Racism and antisemitism are raising their ugly heads in our backyards, and we all know how that will go.  It won’t go.  And we wonder why we aren’t happy.

Suicide rates continue to rise as hopelessness continues its mighty death march.  Children wield guns they shouldn’t possess, while poverty fuels their increasing anger.  Bullying in schools and on the internet leads to loneliness and depression in our youngest children.  How can anyone be happy when their children are not?   Where do those bullying children get such hurtful messages?  We know the answer.  Should we be surprised by our unhappiness if hate exists within our homes?

Is it uplifting to spread rumors, foster distrust, mock others, bully, engage in name-calling, and pass judgment on people we don’t know? 

If so, how does that spread joy?

We must unite to set aside our self-centered political and cultural ideologies and focus on caring for one another.  Our biases should be discarded, as history has repeatedly shown that they lead to destruction rooted in hatred.

Be a follower

Jesus never demanded that we worship him; instead, he called us to follow him.  He taught us to love as he loved and to live by his example, for it is in doing so that we find true contentment.  We are encouraged to give to the poor, love the outcast, heal the sick, and free the oppressed.  He gave us one commandment that can rejuvenate our happiness if we put it into practice: “Love thy neighbor.” This commandment has no exceptions.

We will never be on the “happy list” if we are unwilling to shift our focus from political insight to setting our sights on God.

The happiest people I know are generous and eager to help others.  They are always ready to assist a neighbor in need or comfort a child and never overlook those with less.  Kindness is at the core of their lives. Their beliefs inspire them to impact the world positively, one act of love at a time.  These individuals are the foundation of both a strong and a happy nation.

Don’t pack the van

Today, I listen to conversations; if a group isn’t discussing politics, they have little to say.  They often talk over one another, making point after point, yet miss the main point.  Are they generating constructive ideas to help their neighbors? Or are they merely rearranging words to foster more distrust and doubt?  Skepticism, conspiracy, anger, and bigotry are significant barriers to joy.  The more we spread these negatives, the more tears we create.

We don’t need to move to Finland or Mexico to find happiness; we can create it here in America if we desire to.  Are we willing to look within ourselves and make the necessary changes to benefit our own lives and the future of our country?

Let’s ask ourselves daily if we are following the Lord’s instructions.  Did we notice the cherry tree blooming in the yard, or were we focused on the news all day?  Are we happier holding on to the gold in our closets, or do we find more joy in donating to those in need?  Are we more content spreading negativity and division, or should we remain silent for our children’s future happiness?

  Isn’t that what matters?

On A Warriors Wings

Pictured below:

Carter Davis, 2016

Slater Nalley and Carter’s mom, Michele Davis, on American Idol 2025

Carter Davis

He was seventeen, ready to begin his last year of high school.  This handsome, happy fellow looked forward to playing football and his favorite, Lacrosse.  He loved rooting for the underdog, kidding his little sister, Greta, and bringing his South Dakota ways to the suburbs of Atlanta.   He was a rare kid whose mission was to make all around him light up with smiles, anchored by his unwavering faith. 

Carter Davis never entered his senior year, picked up another ball, nor laughed again.  He, along with Natalie Henderson, was murdered behind a grocery store just a few miles from my home on August 1, 2016.   Mental illness mixed with a gun claimed all the tomorrows waiting for Carter and Natalie.  

My grandmother declared, “If you can walk through pain and survive, you  find the courage you never dreamed you could possess on the other side.”  However, losing a child is suffering beyond most of our comprehension.  How could anyone endure such grief, especially when a young life ends so horrifically abruptly?

Carter was born into a family of bravery and enormous faith.  Michele Davis is Carter’s mom.  Her blond hair frames a face that, like her son, lights up space, as she did sitting at my breakfast table on a recent afternoon.

Some people walk into our lives and change us.  We are unsure how they arrived or why, but God moves the wheel to join folks at intersections in mysterious ways.  I am honored to tell a piece of her story, glimpse into her son’s spirit, and realize that death is never the end of a journey.

Soaring wings of courage

To help ease his daughter’s confusion and pain after their first meeting with the detectives, Jeremy Davis said to Greta, “People believe that God sends signs to let us know our loved ones are okay—like birds, dragonflies, or butterflies.”

“Maybe a doggy?” replied eight-year-old Greta.

Her father responded, “Perhaps God will send an eagle or a hawk since he loves sports, and those are team names.” The thought of a soaring bird comforted Greta, as she knew her brother’s spirit would fly.

A prayer service was soon held outside of Carter’s high school.  Countless students lined up on the sidewalk, writing chalk messages in memory of Carter.  Just as they did, a loud screech filled the air.  With its wings spread wide, a hawk dove down and flew the entire length of the sidewalk as if it were reading the words.

From then on, the family began searching for the soaring bird.  While returning to their hometown in South Dakota for another memorial service, they started noticing images of hawks.  These hawks appeared on interstate signs, farm fencing, and resting on tree branches.  After spotting several hawks, they decided to keep a count.  They tallied a total of 144 hawk sightings in just two days.  If we take the time to notice, we can trust that God will ease our pain in unexpected ways.

Traces of You

After the investigation, convictions, and overwhelming grief, Michele realized that she must move through the pain.  She had to raise her daughter, be a supportive wife, teach her classes, and fulfill her purpose in life.

With the support of a large family, she also found comfort in a group called Warrior Moms.  This group consists of mothers who have lost children under various circumstances and share the same devastating experience.  The strength and support of this gathering of women who understood her suffering was a beacon of hope for Michele, highlighting the power of community in overcoming grief. 

A teacher and writer, Michele began to express her grief through poetry.  One was “Traces of You,” about Carter.  

Each year, about six weeks into the school term, Michele shares the story of Carter’s life and death with her new English students, concluding the class with her poem.

When she read it to a new class two years ago, Slater Nalley was a spirited sophomore.  The news of a young man’s death, someone Slater had never met, impacted him profoundly.  As he worked on transforming his teacher’s poem into a song, he felt a connection to Carter’s spirit.  Slater’s dedication to honoring Carter’s memory led to unexpected opportunities he never anticipated.

Life is in the ‘and’

Today, Slater is chasing his dream of becoming an American Idol, performing “Traces of You.”   At the same time, Michele and her friends from the Warrior community are in the final stages of publishing their book.  This book will share their personal stories to support others who have experienced profound loss.  Titled “Grieve Like a Mother, Survive Like a Warrior,” it will be available later this year.

As Michele eloquently says, “We live in the “AND.”  We experience victory AND failure, grief AND joy.   If we can appreciate the AND in life and grow from what we have endured, we will continue to thrive.”

God is a mighty God, and even though we go through tremendous heartache, somehow, we can soar on the wings of a wild bird and spread the blessings of his merciful love.  We will hold each other in the darkest of nights and celebrate with song in the light of day.  

The Solitary Cardinal

Before Christmas in 2011, my two daughters and I sat silently at the breakfast table, our heads drooping and our eyes downcast.

Heather, my 38-year-old child, was bravely battling the effects of the last rounds of chemotherapy. Her sister, Amy, flew to Florida from her home in Seattle to offer unwavering support and stay through the holidays.

Avery, Heather’s six-year-old daughter, was in school that morning, leaving the three of us staring into our coffee cups. Heather leaned on her arm as if her head couldn’t hold itself up. Her pale face was still beautiful, and the scarf around her head was neatly tied and quite pretty.

The fear and uncertainty between us cast a looming shadow that appeared to block the Florida sun and hope.

“You know what?!” my voice broke the deafening silence. “If we make it through this whole horror intact, I am taking us to Italy! I knew saving those credit card points for years would be helpful to us someday!”

The three of us refilled our coffee and began to envision the possibilities. Amy and Heather, though doubtful, couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of excitement for a dream trip.

March 2013

Five people boarded a plane bound for Rome on a sunny early spring morning in 2013. The menacing shadow was gone.

We chose to go in March because of Avery’s spring break and to avoid high temperatures and crowds.

We planned to begin our journey in Rome and explore other parts of Italy. I booked the trip a year in advance and was determined not to let cancer interfere with our plans.

However, then Pope Benedict resigned. The papal conclave was scheduled to occur in Rome on the Monday after our weekend tour of the Vatican. We were set to meet our Italian guide, Maria, in St. Peter’s Square on Saturday morning, March 9, 2013, at 8 a.m.

To say the world descended on Rome is an understatement. People were everywhere.

I stated many times throughout my daughter’s year-long battle with cancer that my faith soared to a new level. I gave God my daughter, trusting Him and His will. Now, her scarves were in a drawer, her eyes always sparkled, and life was returning to normalcy.

The Vatican

St. Peter’s Square is awe-inspiring and enormous. In the center, the Obelisk is supposedly where Roman soldiers crucified the apostle Peter.

We met lovely Maria at the Obelisk. She took a particular interest in telling Avery all she was about to see in a way only an eight-year-old could understand. The crowds had not yet arrived, so the square was reasonably empty.

Since I had visited the Vatican on a previous trip, I stepped a few feet away from the family and turned to look at the scene around us.

The Basilica was behind me, and the Catholic Cardinals from around the world were staying in the Vatican apartments to my left. Newly erected media scaffolding surrounded the perimeter of the square. Birds flew in circles above us while workers attached the smokestack to the Sistine Chapel.

Standing in this sacred place, I noticed a lone figure entering St. Peter’s outside the Vatican walls and strolling into the square. I only spotted this man from a distance because of the scarlet red scarf tied at the waist of his vestments and the matching Biretta adorning the top of his head.

“Papa!”

I wondered, “Is that a Cardinal? If so, what is he doing out here?” My eyes were drawn to him as he approached. He walked diagonally across the square, heading directly toward our family gathered around Maria.

Our family is Protestant, but I sensed something was off for this Cardinal to be where he was and doing what he was doing. As he drew nearer, Maria’s eyes widened. She, too, froze in silence.

I expected him to walk around us, but he walked right between us instead. I touched the sleeve of his Simar and noticed the gold ring on his finger as he bowed his head to us. He smiled while speaking, gazing into my eyes, but I had no idea what he was saying.

As I watched him stroll away, I focused on his hands, the back of his head, and his gait.

“Is that normal?” I asked a stunned Maria.

“No,” she replied. “Maybe this Cardinal will be our new Papa!”

During my daughter’s illness, while praying to ease our mighty struggle, my Bible dropped to the floor. It fell open to reveal this red-letter quote: “Daughter, your faith has made you well.”

Jorge Mario Bergoglio, the solitary Cardinal, assured five touring Protestants that they were well for holding onto their faith amidst suffering. Three days later, this kind man of God would be forever known as “Pope Francis.”