In our town, there is a high school P.E. coach named Paul who I have encountered on several occasions. The first time was earlier this summer when I met him and his adult son Jakob atop a steep hill in our area that is popular with runners and mountain bikers.
As the school year dawned, I saw him again regularly at a track where I go for training runs. He had his soccer team running drills there.
I don't know how many kids are on that team, maybe 20 or so. They come in all shapes, sizes, colors, and abilities. When they run laps, some finish far ahead of the others. Yet, as they finish they gather and call out encouragement to their teammates. "C'mon! You can do it! Great job! Way to go, man!"
Everyone on the team cheers until the last runner has finished his mile.
It's not that I would expect them to yell, "Move your butt, slow-poke!" but they could finish their mile and just talk to each other until the rest wrap it up. Instead, they stay involved with one another, lifting each one up, making sure everyone knows they are important to the team and worth cheering.
They are learning that cheering another person's success does not diminish their own.
What a valuable lesson to teach.
Way to go, Coach!
Pace e bene,
Fr. David+
Showing posts with label Hope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hope. Show all posts
Friday, August 17, 2012
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Human after all
This humanity thing is not always simple. Or fun.
Today, I joined my team for a training run of 17 miles. However, I only made it for about 13 of them before I had to stop. Last week, on a 15 mile run, I made it to 11, then had to stop, but that time I was able to continue and finish the distance. Not today.
Yesterday was a difficult day for me, and it made today's results feel like a failure. I could have used some success today, but apparently God didn't get that memo.
I left the training session feeling very down about what happened.
You see, I felt like I had lost hope. I had hoped I would not encounter a day like yesterday, but I did. I had hoped I would finish 17 miles and be celebrating it, but I didn't. And I hoped this week's run would redeem last week's, but that was not the case.
I thought perhaps a nap would refresh my body and spirit, but I laid awake, physically sore and emotionally uncomfortable.
The phone rang. It was a friend of mine who was excited by some news she got. An unexpected, slim possibility had come to pass and her faith was rewarded right when things looked the darkest for her in a very difficult situation.
I went out to my car with a Sharpie permanent marker. On the back of my car is a "13.1" sticker marking the first day I ran a half-marathon (13.1 miles). Underneath the numbers, I printed the words "and counting."
Hope is an elusive thing, sometimes. I'm disappointed and embarrassed that I could not go the distance my friends were able to go. It will probably still take some more time to work through those feelings. They seem to be running deep. But, some wee, defiant part of me has begun to rise up, some part willing to add that "and counting," some part that refuses not to believe no matter how the rest of me feels.
Though it may be in the minority at this moment, I am grateful for that wee, defiant part. It is the spark of hope.
Today, I joined my team for a training run of 17 miles. However, I only made it for about 13 of them before I had to stop. Last week, on a 15 mile run, I made it to 11, then had to stop, but that time I was able to continue and finish the distance. Not today.
Yesterday was a difficult day for me, and it made today's results feel like a failure. I could have used some success today, but apparently God didn't get that memo.
I left the training session feeling very down about what happened.
You see, I felt like I had lost hope. I had hoped I would not encounter a day like yesterday, but I did. I had hoped I would finish 17 miles and be celebrating it, but I didn't. And I hoped this week's run would redeem last week's, but that was not the case.
I thought perhaps a nap would refresh my body and spirit, but I laid awake, physically sore and emotionally uncomfortable.
The phone rang. It was a friend of mine who was excited by some news she got. An unexpected, slim possibility had come to pass and her faith was rewarded right when things looked the darkest for her in a very difficult situation.
I went out to my car with a Sharpie permanent marker. On the back of my car is a "13.1" sticker marking the first day I ran a half-marathon (13.1 miles). Underneath the numbers, I printed the words "and counting."
Hope is an elusive thing, sometimes. I'm disappointed and embarrassed that I could not go the distance my friends were able to go. It will probably still take some more time to work through those feelings. They seem to be running deep. But, some wee, defiant part of me has begun to rise up, some part willing to add that "and counting," some part that refuses not to believe no matter how the rest of me feels.
Though it may be in the minority at this moment, I am grateful for that wee, defiant part. It is the spark of hope.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Foundational Scriptures
I just added a feature to this blog - a listing of the scriptures that are close to my heart and that have consistently spoken to me over the years, always with emerging newness as I revisit them. There are some other passages that I rely on, like 1 Chronicles 17, but the ones listed on the homepage are my essentials.
On a mission trip many years ago, the team members discussed the three albums (CDs, what-ev-er) they would want to have with them if they were stuck on a desert island. I think mine were Carole King's "Tapestry," Joni Mitchell's "Miles of Aisles" and Steely Dan's "Countdown to Ecstacy." I probably argued for increasing the allotment, too!
Similarly, if there were only a few scriptures I could have with me, the ones on the homepage would be the winners.
Isaiah 61 speaks to me of my call; Jeremiah 29 reminds me that God will always hear me; 1 Peter clearly states my responsibility to God; and Psalm 37 is a promise repeatedly demonstrated in my life.
What are your favorite scriptures?
Blessings,
David
On a mission trip many years ago, the team members discussed the three albums (CDs, what-ev-er) they would want to have with them if they were stuck on a desert island. I think mine were Carole King's "Tapestry," Joni Mitchell's "Miles of Aisles" and Steely Dan's "Countdown to Ecstacy." I probably argued for increasing the allotment, too!
Similarly, if there were only a few scriptures I could have with me, the ones on the homepage would be the winners.
Isaiah 61 speaks to me of my call; Jeremiah 29 reminds me that God will always hear me; 1 Peter clearly states my responsibility to God; and Psalm 37 is a promise repeatedly demonstrated in my life.
What are your favorite scriptures?
Blessings,
David
Friday, August 19, 2011
Where There is Despair, Hope.
The Prayer of St. Francis sometimes seems like a pretty tall order! Bringing hope, light, pardon, understanding and compassion to the world is a lot to put on my to-do list!
It seems as extreme as "Tikkun olam," the Jewish phrase meaning to "repair the world." Maybe it's a blueprint for tikkum olam.
Francis, though, speaks of "sowing" love, pardon, and the rest. Wisely, he infers our work is to begin love where we don't find it, to introduce pardon where we don't see it. We walk about planting; we may not be there to see the harvest. It is like the old man who plants an apple tree for the generations to come, knowing he may never taste the fruit personally.
It also relieves us of the ego attachment to results. Sowing is an act of optimism, of trust in the universe to provide what the seed needs to grow. The act of sowing is in itself an expression of hope.
What could be simpler than sowing a seed? Maybe tikkum olam is not so far-fetched after all.
Blessings,
David
It seems as extreme as "Tikkun olam," the Jewish phrase meaning to "repair the world." Maybe it's a blueprint for tikkum olam.
Francis, though, speaks of "sowing" love, pardon, and the rest. Wisely, he infers our work is to begin love where we don't find it, to introduce pardon where we don't see it. We walk about planting; we may not be there to see the harvest. It is like the old man who plants an apple tree for the generations to come, knowing he may never taste the fruit personally.
It also relieves us of the ego attachment to results. Sowing is an act of optimism, of trust in the universe to provide what the seed needs to grow. The act of sowing is in itself an expression of hope.
What could be simpler than sowing a seed? Maybe tikkum olam is not so far-fetched after all.
Blessings,
David
Friday, August 12, 2011
Why I Still Believe in Beauty
Tonight I was at a vocal performance by a group of young people (compared to me, well, young and younger) ranging in age from about 4 or 5 to 28 or so. Each person performed a solo and sang their heart out.
All of them were talented, a few were amazingly talented. Like everyone in the audience, I clapped and hooted and cheered each one on.
What if we did that for each other? What if we just started clapping and hooting and cheering each other on? What if we said, "Thank you, you're the best toll taker!" or, "Wow! You are the kindest barber!" What if we consistently and deliberately found a way to make people feel good about themselves?
What would that world be like? Heaven. And the Kingdom of Heaven is among us.
It is so sweet of you to read this!
Blessings,
David
All of them were talented, a few were amazingly talented. Like everyone in the audience, I clapped and hooted and cheered each one on.
What if we did that for each other? What if we just started clapping and hooting and cheering each other on? What if we said, "Thank you, you're the best toll taker!" or, "Wow! You are the kindest barber!" What if we consistently and deliberately found a way to make people feel good about themselves?
What would that world be like? Heaven. And the Kingdom of Heaven is among us.
It is so sweet of you to read this!
Blessings,
David
Life in the Real World
Mistakes are made. Mechanical things break down. Good people experience challenging times. Results differ from expectations. Addictions, diseases, and accidents happen.
These are the circumstances of the world in which we live. Our emotional lives often mirror the natural world. Around us and within us there are calm sunsets and earthquakes, gentle, refreshing rains and hurricanes, bubbling streams and class 5 rapids.
Don't ask me why, I only work here. I don't get to set policy.
Our faith is not necessarily measured or demonstrated by the circumstances in our lives. "The rain falls on the just and the unjust."(Matthew 5:45) Our faith shows in how we respond to them.
Our faith is not necessarily obvious in the first blush of experience. We grieve, we regret, we get angry. We react. We over-react. Welcome to humanity.
Faith is like a steady beam of light that eventually cuts through the fog. Maybe I can't see how to express it immediately, but I hold onto it until I can.
It is time that we quit being ashamed of being human. Let's just be humans with faith, humans who look for the way to bring it all around to good, to love, to hope, to compassion.
Jesus was not ashamed of us. What a beautiful thought that God incarnated into human flesh, human conditions, a human world. God must not have been ashamed of us if God chose to dress up like us. Maybe God really fancied us. Maybe God thought, "I think I'll grow a beard. I think I'll experience a family vacation. I think I'll enjoy some wine, maybe even make it myself."
Maybe, just maybe, God is trying to tell us there is holiness in being human, sacredness in wearing these fragile skins.
I don't know, I just work here.
Blessings,
David
These are the circumstances of the world in which we live. Our emotional lives often mirror the natural world. Around us and within us there are calm sunsets and earthquakes, gentle, refreshing rains and hurricanes, bubbling streams and class 5 rapids.
Don't ask me why, I only work here. I don't get to set policy.
Our faith is not necessarily measured or demonstrated by the circumstances in our lives. "The rain falls on the just and the unjust."(Matthew 5:45) Our faith shows in how we respond to them.
Our faith is not necessarily obvious in the first blush of experience. We grieve, we regret, we get angry. We react. We over-react. Welcome to humanity.
Faith is like a steady beam of light that eventually cuts through the fog. Maybe I can't see how to express it immediately, but I hold onto it until I can.
It is time that we quit being ashamed of being human. Let's just be humans with faith, humans who look for the way to bring it all around to good, to love, to hope, to compassion.
Jesus was not ashamed of us. What a beautiful thought that God incarnated into human flesh, human conditions, a human world. God must not have been ashamed of us if God chose to dress up like us. Maybe God really fancied us. Maybe God thought, "I think I'll grow a beard. I think I'll experience a family vacation. I think I'll enjoy some wine, maybe even make it myself."
Maybe, just maybe, God is trying to tell us there is holiness in being human, sacredness in wearing these fragile skins.
I don't know, I just work here.
Blessings,
David
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
This is How It Feels to Be Held
I prayed tonight about my friend who's light is flickering. I think I will go by tomorrow and visit him between our church services.
Sometimes I still wrestle with God over how things are not in my control, how even though I am linked with the God of All Creation, Etc., I still don't get to call all the shots. Another soul is on its own trajectory, and I have been invited to walk alongside for a few brief steps. I can't change anything except I can change everything. I can offer one more heart than he had before.
There was a time in my life when the circumstances of ministry made this a common experience for me, for years. It has been awhile, and in the meantime I have grown older, more aware of how precious a soul is, how fleeting life is. And in the last couple of years I have seen three friends I loved, one whose presence I cannot remember being without in my life, move on.
For reasons also not in my control, God gave me a gift to love this new friend. As a result, I'm sad that we will likely not have much more time together on this side of the veil.
It doesn't seem to matter whether it is a friend I have loved all my life or one whom I met recently but who has touched my heart; there is grieving involved. Grieving is the field where the mortal and eternal meet. Some rending is required both on the part of the one leaving and those left behind. The illusion is that a connection will be severed. The truth is that the connection will be stronger. It just takes a while to get to that understanding, and head-knowledge of it is of no use. The heart must figure it out.
It helped me tonight to listen repeatedly to Natalie Grant's rendition of the song, "Held," with it's profound chorus:
"This is what it means to be held
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved and to know
That the promise was that when everything fell
We'd be held."
As will he. As will I. As will all who have loved him longer than me.
We will all be held.
Blessings,
David
Sometimes I still wrestle with God over how things are not in my control, how even though I am linked with the God of All Creation, Etc., I still don't get to call all the shots. Another soul is on its own trajectory, and I have been invited to walk alongside for a few brief steps. I can't change anything except I can change everything. I can offer one more heart than he had before.
There was a time in my life when the circumstances of ministry made this a common experience for me, for years. It has been awhile, and in the meantime I have grown older, more aware of how precious a soul is, how fleeting life is. And in the last couple of years I have seen three friends I loved, one whose presence I cannot remember being without in my life, move on.
For reasons also not in my control, God gave me a gift to love this new friend. As a result, I'm sad that we will likely not have much more time together on this side of the veil.
It doesn't seem to matter whether it is a friend I have loved all my life or one whom I met recently but who has touched my heart; there is grieving involved. Grieving is the field where the mortal and eternal meet. Some rending is required both on the part of the one leaving and those left behind. The illusion is that a connection will be severed. The truth is that the connection will be stronger. It just takes a while to get to that understanding, and head-knowledge of it is of no use. The heart must figure it out.
It helped me tonight to listen repeatedly to Natalie Grant's rendition of the song, "Held," with it's profound chorus:
"This is what it means to be held
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved and to know
That the promise was that when everything fell
We'd be held."
As will he. As will I. As will all who have loved him longer than me.
We will all be held.
Blessings,
David
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