10+ – The number of people I know who got to spend time in the hospital.
9 – The number of websites I created.
8 – The average amount of sleep I got, in hours.
7 – The number of days I spent outside of the country.
6 – The number of wins the Makeshifts had for the basketball league.
5 – The number of meals I ate one day.
4 – The number of topics at Sunday night Bible study.
3 – The number of foods I learned to tolerate and maybe even enjoy.
2 – The number of additional games that the Mavs needed to win for the NBA Championship.
1 – The number of crashed dead laptops.
0 – The number of funerals.
Monthly Archives: December 2006
Merry Christmas
Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon Virgin Mother and Child
Holy Infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace.
Silent night, holy night!
Shepherds quake at the sight
Glories stream from heaven afar
Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia!
Christ, the Saviour is born
Christ, the Saviour is born.
Silent night, holy night
Son of God, love’s pure light
Radiant beams from Thy holy face
With the dawn of redeeming grace
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth.
Merry Christmas to all.
Where Did the Baseball Go or Perspective Shifts
CRACK.
The player nailed the ball with the bat, sending it hurtling toward outer space. I knew it would be a home run from the sound of the hit and trajectory of the ball. I saw it all from my seat behind first base.
But wait, the center fielder is running toward second base. What’s going on?!? He’s running the wrong way! He also happened to make an easy catch a few dozen yards from second base. My perspective on the trajectory was wrong, and my celebration was premature.
For the future, I could choose a new seat….to gain a new vantage point to watch the game. Or I could adjust my response to accommodate the the inherit failure of my perspective.
So what did I do? I sat there because that was where my tickets were, and I continued to misjudge fly balls. This was only a baseball game, so who cares that much about a few fly balls, but I wonder how often we callously stay in the same position, subjecting ourselves to failed perspectives because we are unable or unwilling to change. In terms of the whole of life, it seems like a waste to continually place yourself in a place destined for failure.
But what happens when you are completely unable to change your perspective? What do you to cope?
On Equity
Dad: “Go shovel the snow off of the sidewalk.”
Calvin: “Why?”
Dad: “It builds character.”
(A general quote from Calvin and Hobbes)
I reached to grab my sno-cone from the attendant. My sister was slurping away on hers. I looked over a noticed that she had a larger and more-colorful one. Immediately, I started to complain about how I got less. To the six-year-old mind, I was completely justified in my argument, but my mom, tired of hearing it, told me, “Life’s not fair.”
Like Calvin’s dad, my mom’s response was one of concise and unwelcome truth. Truth that I still struggle to comprehend.
I remember counting the gifts under the tree, trying to guess what they cost. It was a yearly tradition that preceded opening presents at Christmas. After the count, I would compare the number of gifts my sister and I received. I would question how my sister got more, or wonder why things panned out as they did. I tried not to complain, but I still wondered how that could have been fair.
It was 2:00am one morning and I was driving home. There wasn’t another car on the road, and I was making great time. I was nearly home when I stopped at a red light. For two minutes, I sat there, wondering how it could possibly be fair that I was sitting at a red light for two valuable minutes of my time. The light turned green and I drove toward my apartment, angry that I had wasted two minutes of my time.
A man has cancer—the doctors tell him that it’s an easy one to beat. A little chemo, a little time, and we’ll take care of this. After three months of chemo and a serious surgery, the cancer remains. The prognosis isn’t as rosy as it once way. It doesn’t seem fair.
Perhaps we have a romantic notion of fairness. Perhaps we believe we are entitled to health and happiness. Or maybe we’re confused and believe that fairness a part of life.
Life isn’t fair, but that doesn’t mean that life is bad. It just seems to happen differently than we all had planned.
Tag
Micah tagged me, so I will continue the trend: (although I can’t believe that I’m participating in this) Here are five things that you may not know about me.
1) When I was born, my feet were misshaped, curving in too much. I had to wear my shoes on opposite feet for some period of time to fix the problem. I don’t remember any of this, so ask my folks about it.
2) I was interviewed on AM radio when I was in the 8th grade. After winning a logo design contest, the radio guy behind the contest wanted to talk to me on the radio.
3) I broke my wrist in high school during running drills at practice. While running backwards, I collided with a teammate, crashed to the ground, and broke my arm.
4) I instinctively hum the bass line to almost every song I hear. I do this even if I am listening to a song for the first time.
5) The last time I tried to play golf, I hit the golf ball perpendicular to the direction I intended, causing the ball to fly between my legs.
I now tag Sam, Janae, Tiffany, Kayla, and David. Have fun….
Overcoming Expectations
I’m coaching a boys’ basketball team this year, and when I was talking to the league director before the season started, he said, “The awards are what you make of them. If you make them a big deal, then the kids will treat them like a big deal.” And so I will now work toward making weekly awards a significant part of the season.
When I was in college, I spent a few weeks with some kids at a leadership camp. For those weeks, I was a counselor for 7th grade girls and guys. It was fascinating to watch how their response changed in unison with my response. When I was excited about a game, they were excited about the game. And when I wanted to be done for the afternoon, their excitement level tanked.
A magician provided the entertainment at our staff Christmas luncheon today. I was less than enthused at the prospect of a drawn out session with an illusionist and began to mutter comments about my low level of interest. I stopped, though.
The illusionist was fascinating, especially his trick regarding tearing newspaper. It was amazing to watch my eyes and mind get completely caught up with this illusion. And everything I saw told me that what he was doing was real. And in spite of my negative expectations, I was genuinely pleased and entertained by his show.
I don’t normally get excited about giving weekly awards; nor am I excited to scream and chant camp songs to encourage kids to play their best. I am oftentimes more interested in doing something other than what is prescribed for me.
But in all of the above cases, overcoming my initial (and wrong) expectations allowed me to discover things I never saw before: a bunch of boys, excited to get a green star after practice; a group of kids who seemed to have the most fun while getting creamed playing kickball; or even myself, learning that programs can be entertaining and educational.
If I sat mired in my expectation, I would have missed out on so much of life. I hope that my expectations don’t preclude me from trying new things or being a negative influence regarding good things.
Good News and Secrecy
“Andrew, come in here and shut the door.”
“Okay, Chris. What’s up?”
“I need to know when you’re coming back from Thanksgiving.”
“Ummmm, I plan to come back on Saturday afternoon.”
“Perfect, I need you to upload some stuff on Sunday morning.”
“Huh?”
“Here’s the deal: you can’t tell anyone about this, but a pastoral candidate will be announced that Sunday, and we need to place his info online then.”
“Sweet.”
Later that week….
“So, Andrew, I’ve heard that we’re getting a new pastor. Have you heard anything about it?”
“A new pastor…really?”
“Yea, I guess you don’t know anything.”
“I wish I knew something.”
It was agonizing to avoid the questions. I had such good news that I couldn’t share.
“Andrew, come check this out.”
“Check what out?”
“Now remember you can’t tell anyone. I mean no one at all.”
“Sure. My lips are sealed.”
“What do you think of Jacque’s design?” [Shows printed piece]
“It’s nice. I like the blue gradient and the boxes.”
About the new pastor: “So, Andrew, do you know who it is?”
“Ummm. No.”
“Would you tell me if you did?”
“No.”
“You know, don’t you?”
[Winks]
“You know, for the past few weeks, I’ve known that we’re getting a new pastor. And for the past week, I’ve known who is coming. I’ve been so excited at the news, but I couldn’t tell anyone. It stinks.
“But every day of my life for the past 15+ years, I’ve had better news than this, yet I don’t share it with the same passion that I want to share this good news. That’s sad to me because the things I say I believe don’t actually translate into how I live my life. I say Christ is great, but I treat him like a big secret I don’t want to tell.”
Time passed and I was able to share my good news about our new pastor. It was quite cathartic. I kept the secret. It was tough.
Recently, I’ve learned of more great news. And like the past, it’s another secret to keep for another month of my life.
But I look forward to telling you about this one too. And I look forward to sharing the greatest secret in life.
On Cheesiness
Serious emotional statements and actions without a corresponding relationship lead to the feeling of cheesiness.
Think about it: we’ve all seen movies with sappy moments that made us laugh. We’ve also seen movies with similar statements and were a little choked up. What’s the difference? The latter film was created in such a way that built an emotional bond with the audience.
It’s easy to look at the responses and conversation between two people and automatically gag at its cheesy nature. Consider two newly-weds or a couple that has just started dating. The words out of their mouth are so saccharine that only an infatuated person could enjoy them. But to the couple at hand, those comments are sincere and welcomed. Why? They have an underlying relationship that give meaning to their words.
The framework with which we interpret everything defines how meaningful life’s events are. To someone who is dealing with an illness in the family, reading a story about healing would be so encouraging. But others may scoff at the unrealistic nature of the story. Why? They didn’t have the necessary relationship to comprehend the meaning and importance of healing.
As I started to share what I was thankful for after our Thanksgiving meal, I was suddenly unable to speak clearly. The words that were coming out of my mouth were full of clichés and sappy speech, “I’m thankful for my family. I’m thankful for my friends….” It was sincere, but I was spewing that same cheese that I usually mocked. And I couldn’t find a better way to put it.
I invested so much time in avoiding “cheesy” emotions that I was no longer able to speak of such things. My serious and arrogant mocking led me to a place where I was unequipped to say what I thought without becoming that which I joked about.
It was a bad place to be but a good place to start.