By John Paul Lichon ’06, ‘09M.A.T.

Our daughter is fifteen months old, and her vocabulary is really starting to grow. While “Dada” and “Mama” were her first words early on, she quickly grew to know utilitarian words like “please,” “more,” and “no.” She recently began trying more advanced words such as “avocado,” “siren,” and, my personal favorite, “microwave” (which sounds like “Micro-WAAAY!”).

Just a couple of weeks ago, my wife and I took our daughter out for an evening stroll. We finished dinner, threw the dishes in the sink, and buckled her into her wagon. We tucked her in with a blanket and strapped on a hat. She was all set to take in the wondrous sights of our neighborhood.

As we meandered down our usual path, my wife and I caught up on the day together. We walked a few feet ahead of our daughter, pulling her behind us. In the wagon, our daughter was delighting in the simple joys of life—birds chirping in the distance, cars driving by, continually playing peek-a-boo using her blanket.

Rounding the corner of our street, we stopped suddenly as we hear our daughter shout, “Sowwy!” We turned around to see what had happened, and sure enough, her brown hair was dancing freely with the wind. She had somehow weaseled out of her bright, yellow hat, and now it lay helplessly on the sidewalk some ten feet behind us. “Sowwy!” she repeated, pointing emphatically at the hat.

I shuffled back to grab her hat, placed it in her outstretched arms, and assured her it was ok. I then reminded her to kindly hold onto her hat (as if you can reason with a one-year-old), and we resumed our lazy stroll.

Not thirty seconds later, my wife looked back to see our daughter’s arm reaching out from the wagon, her hat dangling over the side. “No, thank you,” my wife instructed. “Please hold onto your hat.” Instantly, the hat dropped, and along with it came a pointing finger and a spirited, “Sowwy!” All my wife and I could do was laugh. This same sequence of events repeated another three or four times until we got back home.

Looking back, there was nothing extraordinary about this night. Certainly, our daughter’s hat was not the first or last thing to be thrown out of her wagon against our wishes. We have had this walk countless times before, and we look forward to having countless more in the future. However, I was struck by the simplicity, immediacy, and joy with which my daughter kept exclaiming, “Sowwy!” To her, doing something that was wrong was automatically tied to a response. There was no hesitation between the action and the apology.

How often do we run or hide in fear after we’ve made a mistake? How long do we stall or procrastinate before slowly walking back to someone with our tail between our legs? Or even worse, never actually say we’re sorry?

In this very ordinary moment, my daughter taught me that it is ok to ask for forgiveness. In fact, we should ask for it as soon as possible. We shouldn’t hide, we shouldn’t make excuses, and we shouldn’t put it off. We should humbly come before those we have hurt and tell them we’re sorry. We trust and find hope in their forgiveness.

In fact, it is the same process with God. We come before God in the Sacrament of Reconciliation trusting in God’s mercy, love, and forgiveness. There is no reason to fear, hide, or run. We should run to the Sacrament as often as we need it and delight in the healing that we find within it.

So often we think of sin as being a part of our humanity—we are human, therefore we sin. Our daughter taught me that it is natural for us to both sin and to forgive. Asking for and receiving forgiveness is a natural, innate, and joyful process that is as much a part of our humanity as our shortcomings are. I hope that in the years to come, my wife and I can share this understanding of forgiveness with my daughter as she grows to understand what “sowwy” truly means.

John Paul Lichon serves in Notre Dame’s Campus Ministry as Assistant Director of Retreats, Pilgrimages, and Spirituality.