The T-Shirt

In life, lots of little moments go into making the big ones.

Dark chocolate can best be described as mildly bittersweet.  Subsequently, this time of the year leaves me feeling that way. The reason is my oldest daughter, Alisha Erin, would have been twenty one yesterday on April 24^th, except for the fact that she changed her permanent address to heaven when she was seven.

Awkward, painful, and difficult used to sum up how I felt at this time of the year.  However, yesterday morning I found myself eating a Hershey’s special dark chocolate bar at 7a.m. feeling mildly bittersweet. Whenever you lose a child and their birthday rolls around you feel it. Try as you may, you feel it, coming and going. April 24^th is that way for me, although in the past few years I have found that the pain is fading.

This year I found myself pleasantly reminded of a story about my daughter, Alisha.  A month before she died she was playing in a youth basketball league at the YMCA.   She loved to play, but it was not her sport. The closest she came to scoring was when she hit the rim, and then I believe the ball hit her in the face. She had no clue, but loved doing her own thing.. Yet she would run around proudly with her gray t-shirt on with the number 4 on the back.

So, the next year when I came back to coach my son’s team I got into a conversation with another coach and my daughter came up in conversation.  I mentioned her death and he extended his sympathies and then asked what she liked best about basketball?  He interjected, was it the rules or running the plays?  No, I responded, “it was the t-shirt.” In hindsight I believe she just wanted to belong. Her brother had a shirt when he played and she wanted one, too.

I believe Alisha’s basketball t-shirt made her feel good about being part of something.  I can still see her in my mind’s eye with her brilliant blue eyes and long flowing brown hair with her deep raspy voice giggling, as she ran up and down the court with her sneakers flashing red lights with each step.  Alisha Erin had no five year plan or long term agenda in mind; she was simply just living life.

It’s crazy, but so many times we don’t live our life like someone who is enjoying the moment.  I know I have spent too much time yelling and taking life too seriously.  However, as mildly bittersweet as the t –shirt story is, it reminds me that Alisha lived her life like a washrag, and that she wrung every last drop out of it.  May we all do the same?

It is good to enjoy this life, like your favorite t-shirt knowing that someday it will wear it.

Swavel

 

 

Elevator Praying

 

The best way to fight evil is on your knees.

Lately, even though I know better, I have been fighting myself.  To be more specific, I had been trying to take on life by myself.  In times past I used to start the mornings alone on my knees.  Not as a matter of strength, but rather my own weakness.  I need to get back to that. 

This is a lesson I learned through tragedy.  It was a different time, a much more desperate time.   During this very trying period in my life, I spent much time in an elevator on my knees.  Long story short, several years ago members of my family were in the hospital.  Often, on my way up to visit them on the elevator, I would fall to my knees pleading with God to show mercy on my family. It didn’t matter to me if anyone else would see me or not when the doors opened, because I so needed God.

In particular this way of praying has been reinforced by this year’s viewing of the movie, Passion of the Christ, which is an annual thing for me.  Each year I view it I try to focus on a different facet and key phrase I missed the year before.  For example, one year I watched Jesus’ eyes and the compassion he showed to others.  And who can forget the phrase Christ utters from the cross to his tormentors, Father forgive them, they know not what they do.

However, this year it has taken me many sittings to get through the opening scene in the garden where Jesus was betrayed.  Sadly, I have gotten too easily distracted, too busy for Jesus.  Maybe I did not want to go through the painful minutes of seeing Jesus so badly treated.  Or like lately in the mornings I have chosen to try life my own way.

What has impressed me this year is when Jesus is on his knees talking to His Heavenly Father in the garden at midnight. He is pleading with God the Father to let this cup pass from Him.  Jesus then states, not my will be done, but thy will be done.  All the while, sweating drops of blood.  He knew he must be on the same page as God the Father, it wasn’t about Him.

There was another scene, particularly a phrase, that struck me later in the movie when Christ, bloodied and battered was carrying his cross though the streets.  It was a scene when Jesus’ mother, Mary, out of desperation said to John, help me get near him.  Subsequently, in the scene she is on her knees as she consoles her hardly recognizable son.   For me, that means to sacrifice convenience and trying to do things my way.  Meaning, much like Mary out of desperation, I need to begin each day alone on my knees elevator praying, getting close to Jesus.

For me it is simple, since Jesus hung in there for me on the cross, I need to daily fall on my knees and lean in to Him. 

Swavel

 

Whoa Moments

 

Some moments in life can only be summed up by the one single word; and that word is whoa.

Whoa moments come in both big and small sizes.  Here are some of mine, in no particular order….

Whoa is what I thought when I saw my best friend coming down the aisle to marry me.

Whoa is how it feels when a vehicle breaks down or an appliance dies and we hardly have enough money to fix it.

Whoa is what I felt like when I first held all my kids.

Whoa is the feeling that comes over me when I realize that my life has an expiration date, just like a carton of milk does.

Whoa is what my family tells me, sometimes quite often, when I do something they feel is a little inappropriate.

Whoa is what I say when a loved one or friend dies unexpectedly.

Whoa yeah is how I feel when my kids do something I knew they could do all along, but were afraid to try.

Whoa is what I feel like when I hear the birds singing before sunrise, as they gently remind me of what it must sound like in Heaven.

Whoa is how I feel after I kiss my wife goodbye in the morning before I leave for work. 

Whoa is what we all should do as a sincere gesture of respect when you see a funeral procession of cars coming in your general direction.

Whoa is what I thought when I  opened the lid of an organ bench at a yard sale to discover money inside meant  to help us adopt our youngest daughter.

Whoa is a word in a worship song that shows deep love and admiration for the God who knows our innermost secrets.

Whoa is what you say when God continues to convince grant agencies and a lot of other extraordinary people to empty their pockets to help you adopt your youngest daughter.

Whoa is the kind of living you should do outside the box (the casket), the only kind that will matter for all of eternity.

Whoa is how the faith of my wife and I twice felt when we went half way around the world to China, when we adopted our two youngest daughters.

Whoa is the peace that comes when I place my hope in God, instead of waiting on myself to figure out life’s uncertainties.

Whoa is the kind of pride that will swell up inside of me when I see my son graduate from college in a month after many years of hard work.

Whoa is what I feel like when I realize that I am not worthy of the love Jesus displayed for me on the cross, when He gave his life for mine.

Whoa, not oh no, is what I expect to say when I see my Maker face to face.

Swavel

Meant It

The beauty of baseball is that be considered a good hitter you need only succeed three out of every ten tries.

It has been well documented that one of the hardest things in sports to do is to hit a baseball.  This is a sentiment with which I can whole-heartedly agree.

Being a young adult male in the 1980’s I admired great hitters like Wade Boggs, Tony Gwynn, Don Mattingly and Cal Ripken, Jr.  They made it look easy.  Unfortunately, as an aspiring amateur fast pitch softball player in a men’s’ church league, I begged to differ because my swing was less hit and more miss. 

It was about 1987 and I was nineteen. I was new to the fast pitch sport, so I set out on a mission to become a good hitter.  However, I was a terribly inconsistent hitter and an average outfielder, consequently I got little playing time.

For about seven years I was the proverbial tiger chasing the tail, being a back-up or platoon player at best. I even bought books from great hitters like Dave Winfield and Ted Williams and studied their techniques, but without playing time I had uneven results.

But, in hindsight now I can attribute the hitting style I eventually learned to two guys. A guy named Tommy from my church softball league and a major leaguer named Mad Dog who swung a bat like he meant it.

In 1994 I joined a different fast pitch team where I played every day and one guy’s advice named Tommy Fowler changed my hitting fortune.  He was a veteran player, who taught me a practice swing that focused on a level cut.  Muscle memory was the key and I practiced it often. 

Then I had to develop a mindset of aggressive determination, which I believe emulated four time batting champ, Bill Madlock. His nickname was Mad Dog and the best way to describe his violent swing was he hit the ball like he meant it and he hit it hard making full contact.

So, once I got the level swing down, I started swinging like I meant it, similar to what I saw Mad Dog do over the years.  Since we were both right handed his short fierce stroke was what I tried to emulate.  The object was to hit the ball solid, like a hammer drives an unsuspecting nail into a wooden block.

Subsequently, once I got a chance to start every day I finally started hitting.  No longer was I an easy out anymore and even batted second for a while.  Playing like I meant it also inspired me to learn to play seven different defensive positions that year which helped me acquire a deeper understanding of the game.  Finally things were changing and the next year I was even asked to be the founding coach of my church’s softball team.

Anything can be accomplished; it often just takes a personal touch, lots of practice and sheer will power. 

Let it be said of you, whether trying to hit a baseball or trying to get ahead in life that you swung like you meant it.

Swavel