Sporting Moments

Some people measure life in hours, some in years. For me, much of my life can be measured by great sports moments.

I was sitting in the floor of my parents bedroom on October 14, 1992, when Francisco Cabrera hit the game winning single in the bottom of the ninth of Game 7 of the NLCS to score David Justice and Sid Bream. I quickly moved from rocking back and forth, holding my knees and biting my nails to squealing and jumping then to being shushed by my mom, who had just finished putting my youngest sister to bed.

Three years earlier, almost to the day, I was sitting in the same spot watching the Giants play the A's in the World Series when the San Francisco Earthquake of 1989 struck. The rocking back and forth and biting of nails for much different reasons this time. I remember the relief when I learned that my cousin, who lived in San Francisco, was safe and sound.

I can tell you on exactly which lap my dad would fall asleep each Sunday while watching the NASCAR race together, and I can recount the countless conversations where my dad reminded me of why Dale Earnhardt was the best driver to ever shift the gears of a stock car, each lap a reminder of why I loved watching races with my daddy.

I was sitting on the couch next to my mom on March 28, 1992, when Grant Hill threw a pass to Christian Laettner in the final seconds of the NCAA Finals with 2.1 seconds left in overtime. Laettner's last second jumper moved the Blue Devils one point ahead of my beloved Kentucky Wildcats to a 104-103 victory. My mom was there to pick up the pieces of my broken heart.

On Saturday, October 28, 1995, my sister and I jumped up and down embracing as the Braves finally won the World Series. Three years later, on September 8, 1998, Amy and I sat in the floor of our apartment watching in awe as Mark McGwire hit the home run that broke Roger Maris's single-season home run record. Regardless of the questions that later surrounded McGwire, my sister and I, who rarely missed a Braves game or historic baseball moment, will never forget that moment.

My daughter Anna was born during half-time of the Kentucky- LSU basketball game, which I watched right up until delivery, then of course, quickly forgot was being played once they placed her in my arms. What can I say, her baby shower theme was Kentucky Wildcats, complete with a basketball cake!

On January 10th of this year, my kids donned Auburn orange & blue and cheered their hearts out for the Tigers, right up until they just couldn't cheer anymore and fell asleep on the couch. My husband and I continued the cheering, a roller coaster ride of emotions. The night finally ended with my husband and I tearfully embracing as time expired, and Auburn stood victorious. Without saying a word, we sprinted upstairs for the toilet paper and erupted into laughter as we attempted to roll the large oak tree in our front yard.

This morning, when my husband mentions that the Tour de France begins tomorrow, I smile and grow excited. For three weeks, after we tuck the kids in for the night, my husband sits in the floor of the den, back against the coffee table, while I curl up on the couch. He turns the television to Versus, and we watch as Andy Schleck and Alberto Contador battle for the yellow jersey. While Bob Rolle and Phil Liggett share stories about the riders, I also listen intently as my husband explains why some riders wear green jerseys and some polka dotted, something about rookies and kings of the mountain.

Then, it hits me, that, sure, I love sports, but it's not necessarily the thrill of the competition that speeds my pulse, it's the stories shared while watching, the experience of spending time with those you love as you watch your favorite team prevail against great odds, a reminder that maybe you, too, can defy odds. Who remembers where they were when what's-his-name won American Idol? But who doesn't remember where they were when Auburn or Alabama won a National Championship or the Braves finally won a World Series? Who doesn't remember what they were wearing that day, or who they were embracing when the winning touchdown, basket, or run was scored? It's why when we're sharing that great sports moment with someone who, perish the thought, isn't a sports fan, we always mention that we were with our dad, sister, husband, son, or daughter, because they're really the reason the moment was so special, so memorable, and I think for most of us, that's the reason we're sports fans.

Amazing Love

My Sunday school class has decided to examine a language that is at times as familiar and comfortable as a favorite pair of slippers and is at other times as uncomfortable and foreign as a faraway land. The language of love, more importantly what the Bible says about this language we all think we speak with fluency until we see the hurt in the eyes of a spouse or our child and suddenly we're struggling to make sense of how our expression could have been so misunderstood. And we see that maybe we're not speaking it so clearly, after all.

I have been blessed to be able to teach this unit of study and have loved researching love, more specifically, Agape. Not that I hold any authority on the subject or even know how to teach it adequately, but I do know I've experienced Agape and am excited to explore how to allow God to express His love through me more consistently. Following our first class, I sat in the choir loft listening to our church organist play "The Old Rugged Cross" yesterday and realized it was the first time I'd heard that song since I was a little girl sitting in the pew of Liberty Hill Baptist Church between my grandparents and mom. It was before the days of church nurseries or childcare, and my mom would write us notes or create goblets and swans out of gum wrappers to entertain us during the minister's spirited sermon. It dawned on me that this was Agape in action. My mom cared so much about our faith that she was willing to sit and entertain four children for over an hour just to set an example of the importance of worship.

Not that I was daydreaming during my own church service, but I couldn't keep my mind from contemplating how little we truly manage to practice an Agape kind of love, so I decided to post my notes from the Sunday school lesson yesterday in hopes that they might encourage someone who is finding someone in his/her life a little tough to love or who just needs to understand that our heavenly Father is always showing Agape, if we'll just receive it or to encourage moms who might grow weary of always setting that example for our children. Take heart; one day when you least expect it, they'll recall, appreciate, and share the lesson.

Speaking the Father's Language

“What is Love?” “What’s Love Got to Do With It?” “Love Stinks” “Love is Blind” “Love Hurts” “I’ve Got Your Love to Keep Me Warm”

Perhaps your thoughts on love mirror one of the above statements, or maybe you have a few more to add to the list. The quest to define love has led to wars both inside and outside the home. Wherever you currently stand, it’s hard to deny that as Christians, we are called to take off the blinders put on by society’s love expectations and to put on the Holy Spirit and love in a radical way. So, what exactly does that mean? What is Christian love supposed to look like? To truly understand what biblical love looks like, we need to examine the different Greek words for love.

When many of us think of love, we picture that floating-on-clouds-feet-not-touching-the-ground-butterflies-in-the-tummy-can’t-think-of-anyone-or-anything-else kind of love. That kind of love is Eros. The word actually means “’longing or desire’ and is a selfish love that asks what can I get for myself?” (53)

Another Greek word for love is Philos. Think brotherly love, as is Philadelphia, city of brotherly love (unless the Phillies just won the Series then it can be pretty ugly). It can also be defined as love among friends. In 1 Peter 3:8, we are called to “love the brethren.” The word used for love here is philadelphos, from the word philos (friend) and adelphos (brother). (57) In light of the season, interestingly. Phileo can also mean “kiss” and is the Greek word used when Judas betrays Christ with a kiss. In other cultures a kiss on the cheek denotes friendship.

We are going to focus on the other Greek word for love, which is Agape. Agape is “divine love that is propelled by the highest interest, where we are called to surrender to an act of God’s spirit which results in obedience.” (59) Agape is not an emotion; it is a response that can only be accomplished through the power of the Holy Spirit. We see Agape used in Christ’s commands for us to love; we see it in Christ describing his own love for us. Agape is the word used for love in the following verses. 1 John 4:16, 19- We know and believe the love God has for us. God is love, and he who abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him. We love because God first loved us. We are capable of responding in Agape because God first “Agaped.” How did He first demonstrate Agape. Well, while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

John 3:16 states that For God so loved (agape) the world, that He gave his only son that whosover believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. We also find our command to Agape in Mark 12:31 “Which commandment is the greatest?” Jesus answered…..The Lord our God, the Lord is one; and you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength. The second is this, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ In these verses, each time you see the word love, Agape is the Greek word used.

And we see Agape in Galatians 5:22, the Fruit of the Spirit verses and that brings us to the heart of our discussion (get it, heart). When we receive Christ, the Holy Spirit takes up residence in us, and as a result we are told that we not only have great power, the power of the living God alive and at work in us, but we are also called to conform to Christ’s likeness through the power of this Spirit at work in us. That just means we are to die to the flesh, to the self, and grow in the Spirit, to allow the Spirit to work in us. The result of that working is the producing of fruit, the fruit of the Spirit, which is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. This is what walking in the Spirit should look like in our lives. Note the fruit is singular; it is all of these qualities combined into one fruit, they must work together to be fruitful or productive, which is why I will be defining a few of those qualities that really seem to go hand-in-hand with achieving agape for those in our lives who often make us cringe.

A few notes here: love is agape. The word for patience, which will be important in our later discussion of how Christians are called to love, is Makrothumia. Makrothumia means “to be long suffering, self-restraint before proceeding to action, the quality of a person who is able to avenge himself and refrains from doing so.” (119) This differs from another biblical occurrence of patience, think Job, which is hupome. Hupome is where we get our word hope and means perseverance. Makrothumia involves patience with people, while hupome involves patience with circumstances. We’ll definitely see the difference in our discussion.

Now, back to Agape. Question, when you think of love and the Bible, what verses immediately come to mind? Think weddings, think weddings, think weddings. Did you say 1 Corinthians 13? That is what I was hoping would come to mind! This is often referred to as the love chapter. I am going to challenge you to see it in new light. This verse tells us what love (agape) is and what love isn’t. It also can be seen as qualities, I believe of God, because as we learned in 1 John 14:19 God is Agape.

WHAT LOVE IS

Patient

Kind

Rejoices in Truth

Keeps no record of Wrongs

Protects

Trusts

Hopes

Perseveres

WHAT LOVE IS NOT

Boastful

Jealous

Proud

Rude

Self-Seeking

Easily Angered

Delight in Evil

Failure

First of all, understand, 1 Corinthians 13 isn’t written to married couples. It is written to Christians. We are not just called to love our spouses in this manner; we are called to love our enemies in this manner. Yes, in Matthew 5:44, where it says to love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, the word agape is used there, too! So, this is written to Christians who are commanded to Agape all as Christ Agaped us!

Allow me to quickly make a few comments on the specifics of some of the words in this list. Here patient is makrothumia. Remember our definition of makrothumia??? Enough said. We are called to practice makrothumia.

Kind is from the Greek word chresteuomai which means to show oneself useful.

Pride. Hmmmm. I believe this is the one that most prevents us from loving as we are called to do so. Again, my thoughts, but let’s examine how pride can ruin a relationship. “You just don’t know him.” “You can’t possibly expect me to see things as she does.” “It’s not me; you just spend ten minutes with her, you’ll see.” I am right; you are wrong. I refuse to see that it might be me and even if it isn’t….hmm….you get the picture. We are called to not be proud, to…gulp….swallow our pride, our ego, and humble ourselves in love. Our King washed the feet of his disciples, which I imagine is the modern day equivalent of cleaning their toilet, perhaps. For it to be such an example of humility, it must have been a task that most would try to avoid, yet he performed it in love. The Son of God came to serve in humility. For more on what pride can do, check out Psalm 10:4- in their pride, the wicked do not seek God. How about 2 Chronicles 26:16- we are told outright pride led to King Uzziah’s downfall. Proverbs 11:2 tells us pride brings disgrace, humility wisdom. In Daniel we learn King Belshazzar was stripped of his glory and throne due to pride, he fell into the hands of the Babylonians when he failed to heed the writing on the wall. Pride, an unwillingness to let go of our own notions of how it should be, an unwillingness to yield. (my own definition.)

Okay, now that I’ve revealed that pride in relationships is something I struggle with…..I’m done with my sermon to self. Love does not seek self. Does not seek self. Christ clearly did not seek self at any point of his earthly ministry. He sought our best interest and still does. Isn’t so much of our inability to not show agape rooted in our on self-interest, in our, my, desire to stand up and say, “Look at me. Look at what I can do! Me! Please see and affirm me!” In our desire for affirmation, to feel important, to be somebody, we step on others in the climb upward. Love, true agape, isn’t about me. It’s about you; it’s about Him!

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices in truth and it always protects. The Greek word for protect is stego and it means “to cover in silence.” (65) I love the image Beth Moore painted of this concept in her study Living Beyond Yourself. Love “does not expose the faults of others. When we exercise agape toward an individual no matter how well we know him or her, we would not expose his or her faults to others (even if they “deserve” it- my note). It is the word picture of covering an individual with such a cloak of love that the fault cannot be seen.” (p. 65) What an image! What if we practiced that in our marriages and friendships and just in our relationships in general? Takes humility, doesn’t it.

“Agape is divine love that originates in the heart of God….expressed through us to others” (66) Hopefully, through understanding the concepts from Love Languages in the next few weeks, we can be more cognizant of our own expression of agape and how to be sure that is the kind of love we express in all of our relationships. I challenge each of us to Agape and am willing to step out on a limb and say it’ll change your life, Christ will change your life when you allow Him to show you how to love!

Sources: Blue Letter Bible online and Living Beyond Yourself: Exploring the Fruit of the Spirit Beth Moore

Lessons from My Closet

Something about our annual garage sale transforms me from "mild-mannered-I didn't even notice that four-foot pile of toys in the den mom" to "if it's not nailed to the floor it must go wild woman." This odd pre-sale ritual does not exclude my own closet, either. This year, though, my closet cleaning did lead to a bit of self-discovery.

Some of my discoveries were the rather mundane, "Gee, I REALLY love cardigans." Perhaps, it's their versatility. Short-sleeved, mid-sleeved, long-sleeved, they finish any outfit with grace, but who needs over-20? Yes, there are over 20 because when I stopped counting at 20 there were more still hanging in the closet. Ahh, but who doesn't love a cardigan? There's something very neighborly about them.

I also have some odd, "maybe it's time to call the producers of Hoarders" obsession with 3/4 length sleeve boat neck t-shirts. I think I figured this one out, though. I don't have to worry about frightening anyone when I bend over to pick up my toddler at the library when he says, "Hold you, mama." Everything is nicely covered, and they are quite flattering. They, like cardigans, tend to be my fashion security blanket.

As I dig deeper into my closet, I also began to dig a little deeper into my personality. For instance, I have a shirt I bought early in my relationship with my husband. I don't wear it anymore, but each time its number is called for inspection on closet-cleaning day, I can't seem to toss it in the garage sale pile. Is it an odd memento of a younger, freer couple who stood at the threshold of the unknown, excited about our future together? This time, I pull it carefully off the hanger, try it on, realize I'll never be able to wear it again, and think, "It's only a shirt." As it lands on the ever-growing pile of clothing, I don't feel the usual tinge of guilt. After all, my son just kicked his big sister, so that takes away a bit from the reverie.

After I get A and C a snack and allow them to play in the pile of discards, I return to my trip down memory lane and find a few items I've had since high school. Upon discovering these, I briefly think about scheduling an appointment with a counselor. Surely there is some deep meaning here. But, I can still wear them, or at least I will be able to after I lose five pounds. I realize, though, that my weight is just about the same as it was in high school. Hmm...could it be that no matter how much weight I lose, or how many miles I run, that the reality is giving birth to two amazing children has changed my body, and it will never be the same as it was in high school? That, somehow my torso is even longer than it was pre-pregnancy, and that many shirts couldn't have just shrunk in the wash. Would I want my body to be the same, though? I am stronger and fitter than I ever was then, so I again contemplate letting go....of everything except.....oh, after all, it's just clothes....and I still have to decide how many red cardigans I really need.

The Pants Wars

"Mommy, C's not wearing pants." This has become less of a verse and more of a chorus in our house lately, a chorus that repeats more often than that Justin Bieber one you can't seem to get out of your head.

I'm not quite sure when my son's deep disapproval of diapers and denim began. Perhaps it was the first time he realized that a buff bum was immediate removal from the crib at nap time by a panicked mommy, who had visions of potty and even, poop, being tossed about the room. Not that I'm squeamish, but it's tough enough to keep just a "neat" home with two five-and-under sweethearts without the added help of nap time antics. Maybe he just likes the free feeling of not having elastic constrict his cute toddler tummy. Whatever the reason, C does not like to wear pants, or shorts, or pajamas, or anything really.

And if chasing my son throught the living room with a pair of pants in hand, trying to re-diaper him before he can leave anymore gifts on the floor isn't bad enough at home, now the ritual has become public. While shopping with my sweet baby boy one morning, I am looking through dresses when I hear someone politely say, "Ma'am, he's taken off his pants." I look down in the buggy just in time to see C unstrapping his diaper. I smile sheepishly, mumble, "thank you," then redress my son. "You must wear pants in public, buddy."

"Why, mommy?"

"Because."

That's the best I can do at the moment. I've since come up with elaborate explanations as to why we need pants from because mommy says you must to we've worn pants since the fall of man in the Garden, Little Buddy. Apparently none of these are good enough for my sweet boy because when he woke just this morning, his sister ran in his room at the first sound of his little voice and sang the chorus that has grown so familiar in our home, "Mommy, C's not wearing any pants!"

Not So Nap Time

C has developed a curious strategy for avoiding naps. And quite frankly, it's working beautifully.

The day I discover that nap time will no longer be a simple routine, C seems to go down as normal, shouting his usual, "night-night, mama," as I quietly tiptoe out of the room and close the door. As I walk downstairs to play with his big sister, I can hear him chattering and singing, his normal self-soothe routines. About ten minutes into Chutes and Ladders, though, I hear loud shouts of "help, mama, help!" Not overly alarmed, but curious, I peek my head into his room and expect to see his puppy or night-night on the floor. That was the optimist in me; instead, what stands before me is my son, completely naked (which he had not been when I placed him there) pointing to the floor, showing mommy where he had pottied into the floor through the bars of his crib. I am greeted by a, "Look, mama. I did it." I couldn't have said it better myself. By the time I clean him, his bed linens, and the floor, I realize nap time is over, so throwing my hands up in defeat, I take C downstairs so he can play games with A and me.

Not wanting to make too big a deal out of the previous day's nap time debacle, the next day I follow our normal nap routine. Two books, followed by singing: Jesus Loves Me, Jesus Loves the Little Children, and He's Got the Whole World in His Hands, complete with verses about Lightning McQueen, Mater, Thomas, and Percy because as the song says, He's got the whole world, and that includes toys. I rock him for a few minutes then place him in his crib, say "night-night," and quietly exit the room. Ten minutes later, I hear, "Help, mama." At least he's consistent. Curious as to how consistent I rush upstairs, open his door, and see diapers everywhere. I am so baffled by all the diapers that I don't notice at first that my little exhibitionist has again stripped down to his birthday suit. "C, what are you doing?" I ask. "Look, mama," he says looking over his diaper display proudly. "Were you trying to change your diaper all by yourself?" Again, I take him out of the crib, and this time, changing my strategy a bit, put him in his zip-up footie pajamas with the button at the top. I clean up the diapers, placing them in the diaper holder hanging on the side of his crib and for a second, contemplate moving it. That can wait, right now my nap window is shrinking, and A is downstairs eager for time with mom. I place him back in his crib, cover him up, and whisper "night-night" over my shoulder as I am closing his door. Twenty minutes later, silence, and one sleeping toddler.

A few days later, thinking surely my once eager little napper is through his jaybird phase, I prepare him for his nap. This time I stay upstairs for a few minutes, just to see if I can hear any of the commotion, so I can quickly intervene. After a few minutes of silence, I walk downstairs to watch a movie with A then as if on cue, I hear, "Mama." With more urgency, "MAMA!" "Oh, dear," I wonder and walk upstairs not knowing what to expect from my boy. I open the door to find him lying in his crib, still covered up, holding his puppy. Thrilled, I say, "Night-night, buddy." He throws off his blanket, stands up and says, "I done, mama, I not tired." Shaking my head, I pick him up, and once again, admit that I've been outsmarted by a two-year old determined not to miss whatever adventure he thinks mom and A are currently having downstairs. Oh, well, as a famous, probably exhausted, Southern woman once said, "tomorrow is another day."

I Resolve

This year I resolve to write more. It has been almost a year since I last blogged, and I miss writing. It's a part of who I am and what I love to do, and it's absence has left me feeling a bit incomplete. I'm not quite sure why I've taken such a hiatus; it wasn't planned. I'm sure part of it is time, but I think more realistically perhaps part of me is afraid that someone might not like what I say. Ridiculous, I know, but maybe I haven't felt as free to write what I'm thinking, so I've just chosen to remain mum on things I've really yearned to give voice to. So, I guess I'm also resolving to be me, hopefully, entertaining, frank, yet funny, thought-provoking and at times, hysterical, at least that's the goal. God has blessed me with a gift of and a love for writing, and it's time I exercised that gift for myself and for my audience of (let's be optimistic) ten, granted most of those are related either by blood or marriage. So, this year, I resolve to write!

I also resolve to worry less, stress less, and simplify more. I resolve to let go of those things that clutter, rather than enhance my life or the lives of those around me. I resolve to learn how to say, "No," respectfully and kindly. I resolve to be more "in the moment" with my husband and children and not let the concerns of what I "should" be doing interfere with the only thing in the world worth doing at all. I want my children to look back on their time home with mom and say, "I don't know when my mom cleaned the house. She was always playing games with us or playing dolls or playing ball." I want our time to be meaningful, special, magical, even.

I resolve to be a better wife; to be more fun, to relax, to be less serious, and to take myself less seriously. More smiles, fewer scowls. I resolve to stop comparing myself, my parenting, my athleticism (stop laughing), my business sense, my "successes", my fill in the blank, with those of others and to stop worrying about what others think. Galatians 4:5 in The Message reads, "Make a careful exploration of who you are and the work you have been given, and then sink yourself into that. Don't be impressed with yourself. Don't compare yourself to others. Each of you must take responsibility for doing the creative best you can with your own life." I love that, and I resolve to do just that this year. Finally, I resolve to let go and let God.