By Liz Quirin

Are you saving money? Are you recycling? Why don’t you call your friends and talk to them instead of texting them? My children have reached an age when I no longer ask those questions very often.

They are saving, and they recycle whenever they can. I’m somehow amazed when they tell me about speaking up at work to right some wrong, either a personal one or a business one.

When they were growing up, we preached many virtues to them, invited them to practice the corporal works of mercy, to help those who couldn’t help themselves. It’s a tricky business, though.

For example, my daughter went on a field trip to New York with high school friends. When they passed a panhandler, my daughter gave him some change. Her friend looked at the man and yelled: “Get a job,” and she gave him nothing.

What if the man just pretended to be needy, used the money for something he shouldn’t or was already getting some kind of supplemental income?

That’s not your worry, I told my daughter. You gave him the money with good intentions for the right reasons, and let’s face it, we’re not talking about more than a dollar.

The values we consciously, and perhaps unconsciously, pass on to our children will unfold in later years, as I have discovered.

For the most part, I am happy with the lessons they internalized: They care about the poor, they try to help people in need and they respect other people no matter their socioeconomic status. They are passionate about many of the right things, but we have one issue that remains unresolved. They are not regular churchgoers, and I can’t seem to make any headway with that.

Both my children live in different parts of the country, and they do go to church with me when they are home. I’ve talked to them, but somehow, with all of the good things they do and the care they have for those in need, church didn’t make it on the priority list.

I don’t know what parish life is like in their respective communities, and they were growing up when I was reporting on clerical sexual abuse of minors, so maybe I didn’t keep as many opinions to myself as I should have. I just don’t know.

I look around at the families at my parish and wonder if their children will go to church when they no longer live at home.

Sometimes I think my children are lazy; they just don’t want to get up on Sunday morning to go to Mass. It could be that they organized their priorities incorrectly. They should have put weekend liturgies at the top of the list rather than leaving it off the list entirely.

While I can’t change their behaviors when they live so far away from me, I can pray for them, bring up topics that might give them a chance to think about commitments to Mass. What I must avoid is cutting off communication with them because they don’t behave exactly the way I want.

When I disagree with a choice my daughter makes, she tells me she understands what I say but that I no longer dictate what she does. She says it lovingly, but the message is clear: “I do this because this is my life, not yours,” and she’s right.

Just like all parents, I love my children unconditionally. That doesn’t mean I approve of or like everything they do. I believe that’s clear to them. Control was never a word I liked, so I try to stay away from the word and its definition.

As long as they know I love them – and they do – I will continue to ask my questions and nudge them to think about their relationship with God and their commitment to strengthening that commitment. It may, someday, lead them back to regular participation in a parish church, in the liturgy.

In the meantime, I will storm heaven asking for a nudge from the Holy Spirit to enkindle in them a longing for the Eucharist, a most perfect answer to my prayer.