In The Course Of The Race

There is a sophomore at my school who drag races and holds a track record at two different race tracks.  This student is rather quiet, almost shy.  Always smiles.  This student is also a girl, named Carly.  Honestly, when I found out, I was shocked.  I had never, not in a million years, pictured her as a drag racer, and not because “she’s a girl.”  Only because she just didn’t “seem to be the type” whatever “the type” seems to be.  She told me she loves it and finds it exciting and can’t wait to get out there this summer once again.

 

In 2012, we had a senior, Devin, who was a speed skater, and he was good enough to compete in South Korea.  I have a picture of him on my file cabinet.  I’ve had other kids at different schools who raced Moto Cross and dirt bikes, and some were more successful than others.  But they competed and raced just the same, like Carly, because they love it and find it exciting.

 

I never really cared for NASCAR or motor racing in general, I guess mainly because I didn’t have any contact with it.  My dad wasn’t interested in it, and neither were my brothers or sisters.  But that being said, I am curious enough to check out how Matt Kenseth did after each race because he’s from my home state of Wisconsin.

 

The interesting thing to me . . . the really fascinating thing to me . . . is that these men and women travel at such a high rate of speed . . . seemingly fearlessly.  And they do this in such close proximity to each other.  Side by side.  Bumper to bumper.  Fighting to take a lead into and out of turns.  Strategically taking a pit stop for more fuel or a tire change.  As I said, interesting and fascinating.

 

In The Course Of The Race there just might be an accident.  A wreck.  Sometimes just one car, sometimes several cars.  It might be caused by a slight turn of the wheel at the wrong time.  It might be caused by another driver.  In any case, a wreck occurs.

 

Happens in life, too. 

 

In The Course Of The Race of life, we might be sailing along at top speed, circling the track, braking a bit into a curve and speeding up out of the turn.  We dodge that person, those people, pass them and on we go.

 

And then just as suddenly, In The Course Of The Race, there is a wreck.  Sometimes the wreck is caused by someone else and we get caught up in it.  Other times, we cause the wreck ourselves.  And sometimes, God forbid, we cause others to crash along with us.

 

Sometimes, In The Course Of The Race, we veer off course.  Sometimes, we fail to take the pit stop when we should have taken it.  Sometimes we’re so blinded in the pursuit, the goal, in winning, in seeking the checkered flag that perhaps we aren’t as cautious as we should have been . . . should be.

 

In The Course Of The Race, sometimes we’re so intent on our own lives, our own goal, that without thinking, we run others into the wall, cause them to crash, or we burn up our own engines to the point where we have to fall out of the race and can’t compete. 

 

And sometimes In The Course Of The Race, we cause others to fall out of the race so they can’t compete.  Sometimes we place ourselves in this position, and sometimes through no fault of our own, we find ourselves in this position because of someone else’s lack of thought, carelessness, and ruthlessness.

 

The words “cut throat” “ruthless” “in it for themselves” “without a thought for others” come to mind and can be applied to us.  Sometimes we’re not even aware of our actions.

 

Perhaps it’s important to remember to take a pit stop every so often.  Change our tires.  Fill ourselves up with fuel.  Listen to our Crew Chief.  Get some direction.  And make sure there is enough rest and relaxation in between the races to be effective.  Then we can head back out onto the track and continue with the race.  Something to think about . . .

 

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

Human Kindness Overflowing

Michael was a senior at a high school in a different state where I was the principal a while back.  He was an above average student, usually wore a smile, was rather quiet and unassuming, but popular with both students and staff.  He loved participating in sports, particularly football.  The problem was that Michael struggled with a rare form of cancer and had to put up with surgeries, with chemo, and with radiation treatments.

Towards the end of the football season when Michael was a senior, the head football coach wanted him to have the opportunity to play in a game and as a wide receiver, and to even catch a pass.  This was tough because physically, Michael wasn’t in any shape and certainly couldn’t take a hit from an opposing defender.  But the coach, Mark, contacted the opposing head coach and arranged that on the first offensive play, we were going to pass to Michael, who would hopefully catch it, and then run out of bounds.  In return, one of our captains, a senior lineman, would false start on purpose, moving us backwards five yards.  The opposing coach agreed.

That evening, just as it was planned, on our first possession on offense, Michael ran a quick out, the pass was made, he caught the ball, and ran out of bounds.  There were cheers.  The fans on both sides of the field stood and gave Michael a standing ovation, and I believe there were not too many dry eyes anywhere.  I get choked up remembering the moment.  I can’t remember the score or even who won the game, but I remember that moment.

Human Kindness Overflowing.

Earlier this week, there was a report on the news of two teams playing for a state basketball championship.  Towards the end of the game, there was little doubt who was going to win.  One team had a manager, a student, who had Asperger’s.  He had never played, but they suited him up for his first game and towards the end of it, put him in. 

There wasn’t much time left in the game.  I believe it was under a minute.  They passed him the ball, he shot and missed.  The other team had it, turned it over on purpose, and the boy received the ball again.  He missed.  It was rebounded by the other team, and the opponent passed the boy the ball so he could shoot again, even directed him to get closer to the hoop.  The boy shot and made it.  The buzzer went off, and everyone cheered.  I don’t know the names or schools of the two teams, but I know it’s a story I won’t soon forget.  Sort of like Michael’s story.

Human Kindness Overflowing.

I stole that line from a Randy Newman song, one of my favorites.

I think that at times, maybe even more than you and I know, Human Kindness does indeed Overflow.  I think of a girl and her family who doesn’t have much at all, yet she has contributed bags full of things to distribute to needy families.  I remember a story about an elderly lady who lived alone.  Her church was going to gift her with the fixings for a Thanksgiving dinner.  When they rang the doorbell, the lady saw who it was, stated, “Oh, I’m glad you stopped by.  I have something I wanted to give to the needy.”  She went back into her kitchen, grabbed a can of cranberry sauce and handed it to the priest, and said, “Sorry, I forgot to bring it to church this morning.”  The priest accepted it with a thank you, and took the fixings for a Thanksgiving dinner to someone else on the list.  How could he not when this lady didn’t see herself in need?

Paying it forward at a Starbucks or at a toll booth.  Someone paying for someone’s groceries when the person in front comes up short.  Someone paying someone else’s bill.  It happens.  Sometimes we hear about it, and sometimes we don’t.  But it does happen.

So, I ask you . . . today, right now, what can you and I do to help spread kindness in our world?  Doesn’t have to great and glorious.  Doesn’t have to be a headline in the newspaper.  But what can you and I do?

Michael, the boy I mentioned earlier who caught a pass in a football game his senior year?  He died a year or so ago.  Gone way too soon.  But for that one moment we know about, and for possibly many other moments we don’t know about, he was the recipient of Human Kindness.  That’s the memory I choose to remember about Michael.  That, and the players and coaches who afforded Michael to have that opportunity.

Human Kindness does indeed Overflow.  Perhaps more than we know.  Hopefully, more than we know.  What can we do, you and I do, to contribute?  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

We All Have Scars

I think my daughter, Hannah, is on first name basis with every nurse, aide and doctor in several Emergency Rooms between Wisconsin and Virginia.  Between gymnastics, soccer and swimming she’s had concussions, breaks, sprains and one damaged rotator cuff.  I’ve always wondered, if not marveled at Hannah’s ability to get hurt in swimming.  Exactly how does one do that short of drowning or perhaps ramming one’s head into a wall (which she actually did when she was younger)? 

One particular break, a wrist, was placed for a time in a hard cast.  No swimming.  No soccer.  No much of anything.  When it came time to have the cast removed, the nurse took the saw and started cutting.  Hannah started to cry silently, saying that “it hurt.”  Hmmm . . . That wasn’t supposed to happen.  Come to find out that the blade on the saw actually cut deeply into Hannah’s forearm, leaving a scar that is present and visible today.  It is raised and turns a pretty pale pink, almost purple, in the summer sun.

In my senior year of high school, I had just gotten out of a dress rehearsal for a music show.  The final performance was that evening.  I had three solos to perform and I was in several group ensembles as well.  I was eating dinner and someone playfully threw something at me and I ducked.  When I did, I hit my chin on the corner of the table and split my chin open.  It hurt, but not terribly so.  And then there was blood.  My chin was swollen and I had to wear a clumsy bandage on it.  Perhaps I should have gotten stitches.  To this day, I have a scar on my chin.  Not very noticeable, but I see and feel it each time I shave.

We All Have Scars.

Some scars are big, some are small.  Some scars are noticeable, some not so much.  Some scars are visible to the eye, some hidden beneath clothing.  Some scars are a sort of “trophy” from this game or that contest.  Some scars are a result of just everyday living, and some scars are an accident in childhood or adulthood.

We All Have Scars.

And . . . each of us has scars that are not visible to the eye, scars not visible anywhere on our body by anyone, maybe not even to ourselves. 

These scars are the emotional scars we carry with us.

We might have been born into and spent childhood raised in a less than loving, supportive, or nurturing home.  A childhood where going without was the norm rather than an anomaly.  A childhood where hearing the words “my dumb one” “he’s not so bright” “she’s not very pretty” “he’s not very handsome” “she’s a difficult child” were (are?) as common as “hello” “goodnight” “see you later” might have been.  The words “I love you!” might never have been uttered or heard.

Or . . . a childhood where we were ignored or treated as indifferently as a chair or the living room curtains might have been (is?).  Taken for granted.  Assumed.  An afterthought. Nothing special, just there. 

We All Have Scars.

We might have been the product of meanness, neglect, or unfortunately, abuse.  We might have wondered (and perhaps still wonder?) where the next meal will come from and what it might be, if the electricity or heat will remain on, when the next fist might be felt, the next curse might be heard.  Who might be there for me . . . for us . . . when it seems no one is there now and perhaps, never was in the first place.

Yes, We All Have Scars.

The question I have for you . . . for each of us . . . is, are we, have we, learned from the acquisition of the scar?  What are you, we, doing now that is different and is a result of what we have learned?  Are you, we, continuing on with the cycle or are we going about life . . . our life, other’s lives . . . differently?  What have we learned from our scars?  Just what have we learned?  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

Thoughts On Lent

When I was growing up in my large (ten of us kids, plus mom and dad, a dog named Buttons and a canary named Lance), Lent was a big deal.  A really big deal.

Within the forty days, there would be one trip to church on a Saturday for visit in the confessional.  There was the Lenten Candle that we would have a ceremony involving prayer and a scripture reading each Sunday before our dinner together. 

There would be a rosary or two, maybe three, all of us kneeling and praying together in the living room with Dad and Mom leading.  We would receive ashes on Ash Wednesday, go to church on Good Friday, light candles on Holy Saturday, and then church on Easter morning.  A really big deal.

Growing up, we had to give up something for Lent.  It had to be something important to us and my Dad would have veto rights.  It might be something like no soda a couple nights a week, or no TV on a certain night, or no desserts.  We would pick something and we’d have to live with that choice for all of Lent, for all of the forty days.  Heck, sometimes it felt more like forty years, especially if it was a no dessert option.

It was Father Mike who in late elementary school, talked to us about the necessity of repairing relationships.  Relationships with God . . . with each other . . . with ourselves.  In his eyes, Lent was the perfect opportunity for this, although he suggested that it should be done all the time, not just in those forty days.

I still practiced this routine well into my adult life, but I did change it up some. 

While living and working in Omaha, I met Father Paul, a tall, gentle priest who in college was actually a theater major.  His sermons were like one act plays: at once entertaining and meaningful.  I remember really clearly that at the beginning of Lent one year, Father Paul gave a sermon about doing something rather than giving up something.  He used the words, “Why give a gift of a ball and bat to a child, if you’re not going to go out and play with the child?”  That question, that idea, has stuck with me all these years.

Doing Something instead of Giving Something Up.

The more I think about it, especially as time goes on and I advance along the path on the Other Side Of The Mountain (a previous post), the more these two ideas go hand-in-hand. 

Repairing Relationships, and Doing Something instead of Giving Something Up.

I think both can . . . and should . . . happen.  Not just during Lent, but all the time, every day, throughout the year.  We can, and should, repair damaged, hurt relationships, by doing something about them.  It doesn’t matter who the relationship is with.  It could be with God; it could be with others; it could be with ourselves. 

If there is damage . . . if there is something not quite right, it behooves us to do something differently in how we act, in how we speak, in how we listen, in how we think.  Perhaps we need to reach out and risk being pushed away.  Perhaps we need to reach out again and risk being pushed away again.  And again. 

Lent is a good time to change direction.  Lent is a good time to take stock of where we are, what we do, what we’re about.  Lent is a good time to course correct.  It is a good time to change what we have been doing and try something a bit different.  And just as important, why should we limit this change of direction, this course correction to forty days in the Spring?  Perhaps it’s something we might do each and every day.  I have a feeling it might make our lives . . . and the lives of others . . . better.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

The Honor Of Resistance

Of all of the museums in Washington, D.C. that my family and I have been to, my favorite is the Holocaust Museum.  It tells a story of one moment in time and a story of a persecuted people.  It tells the story of their dehumanization, the story of the destruction of their lives, and the story of their broken and stolen future. 

 

At one point early in the museum, I remember receiving a little booklet with a name and picture of an individual.  There was a paragraph or two about their life before and after their time in the camp, most likely, their end, how they had died.  My little booklet was written about a child who died in one of the camps.  I remember my daughter, Emily, reading her little booklet, and over and over at each exhibit, she would whisper to me, “Dad, this is so sad!”

 

One exhibit was of an oral and video history of some of the camp survivors.  They spoke of their life in the camps, of their persecution, and of their loved ones who had survived, or perhaps, who had died.  They spoke of their life before, and then they spoke of their life after.

 

For me, the exhibit that was the most moving was of shoes.  A pile of shoes.  Hundreds of shoes.  Shoes of the lost.  Shoes of the dead.  Shoes of adult men and women.  Small shoes of children.  And like Emily said, “So sad!”

 

I’ve always admired stories of the men and women and children of the Resistance. 

 

Simple folks.  Farmers.  Small shop keepers.  No one special, really.  Only in that which they did would be considered special . . . remarkable.  Honorable.

 

They risked their beliefs, their lives against nearly impossible odds.  The risked almost certain death.  Men, women, and even children.  Used whatever weapons they could find, and certainly not the weapons of those who they fought against.

 

The Honor Of Resistance.

 

They fought against oppression.  They fought against domination.  They fought against dehumanization.  They spoke up and raised their voices in outcry when it would have been so very easy to remain silent.  They stood up when it would have been so very easy to sit down.

 

The Honor Of Resistance.

 

There might be times in our life when we are called to Resist.  There might be times in our life when we are called to stand up for what is right.  There might be times in our life when we are called to stand up for those who cannot stand up for themselves, to speak for those without a voice, to demand rights for those who don’t have any.

 

As I sit here and write this, there most assuredly will be times in our life when we must do what is right, say what is right, and not shrink away because it might be unpopular to do otherwise.  At that point in our life, at that very moment be it great or small, will we . . . each of us . . . have the same Honor To Resist?  Will we have that same courage?  Will we have that same strength?  Something to think about . . .

 

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!