By Christine Baker
Off the Trail, USA

Sometimes beautiful things come into our lives out of nowhere. We can't always understand them, but we have to trust in them. I know you want to question everything, but sometimes it pays to just have a little faith. – Lauren Kate

Christine Baker

When I was a little girl, I used to take things apart: telephones, radios and even the occasional television. I loved learning how things worked and why they worked the way they did. My curiosity got me in trouble more than once or twice and I recall allowance money here and there going to buy a new telephone because I didn't quite put it back together properly.

I was curious. I loved questioning things and looking for the answers in my own way, on my own terms. Many (ahem) years later and I am still the same person although I rarely feel the urge to disembowel my stereo system.

Often times we allow children to be curious and to explore new things but we don't allow the same freedom for ourselves, which does us a grave disservice as we get older. I believe that curiosity and faith are inextricably linked. In order to be curious, we must have faith that things are placed before us for a reason and our job is to understand why.

Faith. You either have it or you don't. And I don't necessarily mean religious faith or faith in God. I mean faith that things will work out; faith that everything happens for a reason; faith that if you work hard, good things will come your way. That's not to say I haven't had moments of extreme questioning, but I've never once doubted my faith in myself, in the gifts God has given me, in the fact that no matter how dark a particular day might be, the sun will rise tomorrow.

And that brings me to hope. I hope for many things. I hope for the people I love to be happy and safe. I hope for my own dreams to come true. I hope the Giants win the Super Bowl this year and I hope that for once in my life, I score a perfect NCAA basketball bracket. Hope can be a tall order when life is difficult. Sometimes it's easier to lose hope and forget our faith and ignore our curiosity because we don't have to think or work or feel. But if there is one thing I have learned, it's that when we are thinking and feeling and working, we are truly alive.

I heard a woman talking on her cell phone the other day and she was complaining about how her poor decisions had caused her life to get all "mucked up." Sometimes we do make terrible decisions. Sometimes we choose to ignore the little voice in our heads that knows right from wrong. Sometimes we screw things up so badly we wonder how we will untangle the mess we have created. This is exactly where I believe in the mulligan. A golf term, it means a do-over, a second chance, another try. In life, just like in golf, we should allow ourselves the occasional mulligan. We can never go back and fix the past and there is no sense in worrying about a future that hasn't even happened yet. But there is something to be said for realizing the mistakes we have made and making a conscious effort not to repeat those mistakes ever again.

It is a beautiful spring day in Cape Cod. The air is cool and the sound from the waves coupled with the first warm sun I've felt in months is making me sleepy. As I doze off, I am thankful for so much. But most of all, I am thankful for the gift of faith in myself, in a higher power, in why I was put on this earth. I am thankful for the hope that always springs forth from deep inside my heart even in my darkest hours. And even though I am not a very good golfer, I am thankful for a fellow by the name of David Mulligan who frequented the St. Lambert Country Club in Montreal, Quebec, during the 1920s. Mulligan let it rip off the tee one day, wasn't happy with the results, re-teed, and hit again. According to the story, he called it a "correction shot," but his partners thought a better name was needed and dubbed it a "mulligan." Yes, I am thankful for David Mulligan most of all.

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