T-Ball

Last night, I got to watch a T-ball game for the first time…

A few days ago, my friend, Hilary, was expressing some parental frustration* that her son’s three-inning T-ball game could go for 1 hr 45 min. I think that you parents know what I mean by ‘parental frustration’. It’s that feeling of “this is crazy, but I love it because of the children, and I’ll love it even more in a few years when I can look back at it and laugh”.** And my response (which can only be explained by noting that I’m a parent without my children right now) was to ask whether I could come see a game, ’cause I thought it would be fun. She assured me that I was welcome, but wasn’t sure if I was being sarcastic or not.

* My interpretation of her Facebook post.

** Children’s holiday music concerts also inspire this feeling.

So last night, I went right to the T-ball game after work. I knew that I was in for a treat from the moment I arrived. Here are the highlights that I can remember…

• When I arrived, one team was practicing its fielding. Immediately it was evident why you might expect a three inning game to last for a while.
• Clearly, some of these players are trying to imitate the professionals. There was one boy who had a long, elaborate, and convoluted windup every time that he threw the ball. And then the ball went six feet.
• T-ball rules are a bit different. I found this out in the top of the first inning when the second batter came up with a runner on first. He grounded directly to the second base area. I couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like someone tagged second before throwing to first. And yet the runners stayed on their respective bases. So here are the main rules that I can remember:
  • Every player bats.
  • Every batter gets a single, except the last one.
  • The last batter gets a home run and clears the bases.
  • Nobody gets out.
  • Lots of runs are scored, but none of them are counted.
  • Everybody wins or nobody wins, depending on how you look at it.
  • Oh… and there are no balks.
• There is an incentive for players to arrive close to the start time: they bat in the order they arrive. So the last one to arrive gets to hit the home runs.
• The pitcher does quite a bit of fielding, since the hits often don’t go very far.
• But when the hits get past the pitcher, you can have a whole crowd of T-ball players swarm the baseball. It’s like they have baseball radar on…
• Except for the ones playing with the dirt. I looked out once while a batter was taking his swing, and counted four different boys (including the runner on second) playing with handfuls of dirt from the field.
• The parents are coaches, of course. There were nearly as many coaches on the field as there were players.
• Some of the coaches may or may not have been eating their supper while coaching.
• The coaches help both teams.
• I was a bit annoyed by one coach who was a bit more “instructive” with his kid than he was with other kids. (Parents – if you are acting as an adviser to a group of children and your child happens to be a part of the group, please don’t treat your child differently. Save the parenting for home.)
• When the game is over, the players are treated to a sugar high.

So – I had a great time, and I’m pretty sure that this game didn’t last as long as the last. Thanks, Hilary and Jason for the fun (and the supper)!

Adventures in moving

As I hinted in the last post, my family has essentially moved to Pennsylvania. Originally, the timing of the move was necessitated by the scheduled closing date for our house, combined with the requirements of my job at Argonne. When the house closing fell through, it made the early move date unnecessary, so we were frustrated. Nevertheless, we have spent the last four days moving, and only the essentials remain in our house in Illinois (so that I can stay there through the end of the month).

The last four days have been a blessing in some ways. A whole bunch of friends and family helped with the packing on Saturday:

• My dad spent the entire week with us, doing odd jobs and entertaining his grand-daughters.
• Ordinary Spouse’s mom, brother, and sister-in-law prepared food for all our workers. They also helped us pack the moving van and clean the house.
• Her brother (packer extraordinaire) coordinated the loading of the moving van. Nothing shifted on the trip to Pennsylvania.
• Tons of church and neighborhood friends helped with packing (or played with the girls while the packing was happening).

The packing was complete by early afternoon. Once the house was clean, we left for OS’s parents’ place in Goshen, Indiana (in order to break the trip into more manageable bits).

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Driving a 26-foot moving van was a new experience for me. Shortly after we got on the road on Saturday, I was dismayed to see the oil pressure gauge fall to zero. (“Oh, please let us not have to unpack this van and repack a new one!”) I dutifully called the UHaul help number and was relieved (and amused) when they said, “If you really had zero oil pressure, you’d know it. Keep going.”

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Sunday was the big day of driving. I was happy to have Oldest Daughter as my co-pilot for the day, and I think that she was excited to be sitting up high in the truck. We left Goshen early, about an hour before Ordinary Spouse and my father, and managed to stay ahead of them the whole day. At one of the rest areas in Ohio, I realized that we had been running the air conditioning on the truck, rather than the vent. That did wonders for our already poor gas mileage. I think we averaged about 8 mpg on the first tank of gas, but managed closer to 10 mpg on the second tank.

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Once at Laurelville, we unloaded a little stuff from the back of the van, but left most of it for Monday. We were glad to have a room in Laurelville’s Solarhouse, so that we didn’t need to dig out bedding for the night.

On Monday, all went well. A bunch of my future co-workers joined forces to get the van emptied out. But our piano presented a difficulty. Going in one door would require carrying the piano up a rocky path for a distance – not realistic. Going in the other door meant going up a flight of steps that was only wide enough for one person. Also not realistic. So what to do?

Gene, the director of facilities and grounds, decided to take the railing off of our deck and to get out the big toys…

A wrench in the plans

Our transition to Pennsylvania seemed to be going so smoothly. Packing was well underway. Job and church obligations were being wrapped up in Illinois. I was counting the days until the move, the house closing, and the last day of work.

And then about two weeks ago, the house sale fell apart.

The house appraised for far less than the agreed-on price. The buyer’s financing would no longer work, but there seemed to be possibilities for saving the deal. But those didn’t work out. But there were other options, and the deal was back on. And then in one stunning and brilliant display of confusion, the buyers’ agent said that the buyers wanted the house and were pursuing alternative financing at nearly the same time that their attorney said that the deal was “null and void”.

Ever since, I’ve think I’ve been going through the stages of grief. The anger bothered me the most…

• Anger at the appraiser for doing a bad job (which we shall not be discussed here);
• Anger at FHA appraisals for not having an easy way to challenge them;
• Anger at the people who could challenge them for being unwilling to do so;
• Anger at the buyers’ agent and attorney for confusing messages and apparent lack of concern;
• Anger at our agent and attorney for their inability to help save the deal;
• Anger that my family had planned our move date to accommodate the deal and that we’d now be needlessly apart for two and a half weeks;
• Anger at myself for being so angry.

That last one was the most significant. Life goes on. My family is healthy. We have food and shelter. We have love. We don’t lack anything.

And yet, it took me days to feel anything except the anger. (And fear. I guess there was fear, as well.)

I really didn’t like that side of me. It felt ugly. And I hated to admit my weakness. During that struggle, I was reminded of the classic spiritual discipline of asking oneself, “Where have I seen God today?” I confessed to one of my friends, “Sometimes we only observe God in God’s absence.”

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In the midst of all of that, we traveled to Laurelville for the spring gathering of its association members. It was a trip that we would have made, even if we weren’t moving there. Jane Hoober Peifer was the featured speaker for the weekend. I was too distracted to remember much of what she said, but at some point she spoke about anxiety and gratitude. Sometimes when fear is too great, we have to take small steps. We remind ourselves that God has given us what we need for this minute… or maybe this hour or day. And when we have learned that, we can begin to think about the week or month. Eventually, we can rest fully in God’s care. I’m trying to do that now. So let me conclude by with some gratefulness…

• At the darkest point in all of this, one friend (the one to whom I confessed God’s apparent absence) didn’t try to rationalize things or to cheer me up. She simply heard me and gave me a hug.
• This past weekend, my family packed our things (with lots of help from friends) and moved everything to Laurelville. Being there helped me put things into perspective.
• In the last couple of days, our house has gone back on the market. Already we have a showing for today and another for tomorrow.
• One of the children from church made me a bracelet as a going-away present. She gave it to me last Saturday as we loaded the moving van. Last night, I returned to Illinois from Laurelville in order to finish my work at Argonne. In a moment of depression as I moved about the house that used to be my home, I encountered the bracelet. Like a hug without words, it reminds me of the love of my community.

Small glimmers of hope that help me to move forward.

I’m surrounded by love.

A picture of compassion

During the last week, I’ve spent quite a bit of time confined to my hospital room or my bedroom. My wife has been amazing, taking on the task of mothering four (instead of three). And we’ve been blessed by the love of the Church. This is my picture of compassion:

• Fourteen people visited me in the hospital
• Two people visited me at home
• I had two flower arrangements to brighten my hospital room
• I received nine different get-well cards at the hospital, at home, and at church
• Our family has received three different meals
• I’ve been given four gifts to distract me from my pain
• One person blessed my wife with childcare one morning so that she could come visit me in the hospital
• I’ve received countless phone calls, facebook notes, and words of concern
• And my mother-in-law spent three days with us to get us through the week

I am loved.

Some of us are artists; some, not so much

Let me begin by saying that I’m not comparing my daughter to anyone else…

Well – maybe I am.

But I’m not judging her. She is free to be who she wants to be. I just find it interesting to observe her development.

By now you’re wondering what in the world I’m talking about.

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We have friends at church whose son is exactly two weeks older than our Youngest Daughter. One might expect that they’d be at somewhat similar stages in their development.

Well, apparently that doesn’t include coloring.

First, check out his coloring skills. Wow – pretty cool, huh? (And trust me – that was an honest disclaimer that his mother wrote. She is no more interested in bragging or judging than I am.)

Now check out my daughter’s picture, which she created within the same week, if not on the same day. (This was the picture that I mentioned when I commented on the other blog post.)

Actually, it just makes me laugh a bit. Our children are who they are. And we love them for that.

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Well, to be perfectly honest, not everything that YD creates is that abstract, and I wouldn’t want her to be traumatized some day by seeing this. So let me share one more – a landscape that she created yesterday…

Pretty. I like it.

Small joys… coffee

I think that my love of coffee began in Cambodia in January 2001, sandwiched between a nasty sunburn and gastrointestinal issues which shall not be described here.

What?

I’ll get back to that in a moment…

Growing up, I never drank coffee.  My parents drank tea, and I always had the impression that they had a good-natured and long-running disagreement with my grandparents who drank coffee.  I wonder now if they grew up during a time where tea was cool, a bit like Starbucks is now.

It wasn’t until my sophomore year in college that I actually drank coffee for the first time.  I thought it was awful.  I was studying in Costa Rica for a semester and was offered a large mug of the blackest stuff you’ve ever seen.  In retrospect, it was probably excellent coffee, since Ticos will tell you that they grow the best coffee in the world.  However, I was too shy and out-of-place to realize that I could ask for milk and sugar.  And so I suffered through the entire mug.

I didn’t drink coffee again for nine years.

Fast forward to Cambodia.  My wife, in-laws, and I (this was pre-kids) were visiting my brother-in-law, who was working there with MCC.  It was one of the best vacations ever.  Toward the end of it, we had returned to Phnom Pehn from Siem Reap via water bus.  I made the entire trip on the top deck in the tropical sun without sunblock.  Toast.  I think it was later that day the Ordinary Brother-in-law took Dad and I out for iced coffee.  It was then that I discovered the miracles that milk and sugar (or in this case, sweetened condensed milk) could do for the flavor of coffee.  It was so tasty that I enjoyed a second one, which was probably a bad idea.  (See my reference to gastrointestinal issues above.)  Nevertheless, I remember everything very fondly, and I’ve been hooked since.

Some happy thoughts on my enjoyment of coffee:

• To be quite honest, I can’t identify good coffee, at least not by itself.  That’s because I never drink it black.  My preferred method of consumption is mocha, although flavored lattes are good, too.  In a pinch, I’ll enjoy it with just cream and sugar.  Even with all the extras, none of these drinks would be good without decent coffee.
• I am, however, a bit of a cocoa snob.  Wilbur’s cocoa is probably my favorite.  However, for a nice change of pace, there is a black cocoa that I order in bulk from a store in Mt. Joy, Pennsylvania.
• I associate coffee with a sense of peacefulness.  (In fact, if it weren’t for this, I wouldn’t be writing this blog entry.)  Maybe I’ll enjoy it with others – family or friends – like I did in Cambodia or as I do with my small group.  Or I’ll drink by myself, since I appreciate solitude.  But it’s best when it isn’t rushed.
• Coffee is good during vacation.  I have fond memories of sipping coffee on the toll roads between Illinois and my parents’ place out east.  When we are staying in hotels (preferably a Hampton Inn), I like to unwind at night with coffee on the house “because I can”.
• I know it’s unreasonably priced.  I still like Starbucks.  In fact, I just spent some time there tonight with Oldest Daughter.  We call it “daddy-daughter time”.  And we brought home a free bag of used coffee grounds for the flower bed.

Poems in memory of Bettina

Two poems today, in memory of Bettina.

The first is one that she especially liked and shared frequently with others during the last few months of her life.  It is by the Persian poet, Hafez:

Everywhere

Running
Through the streets
Screaming,
Throwing rocks through windows,
Using my own head to ring
Great bells,
Pulling out my hair,
Tearing off my clothes,
Tying everything I own
To a stick,
And setting it on
Fire.
What else can Hafiz do tonight
To celebrate the madness,
The joy,
Of seeing God
Everywhere!

(from The Gift, Poems by Hafiz, The Great Sufi Master.  Translations by Daniel Ladinsky)

 

I’m reminded of the second poem (if it’s not too corny to call it that) by the first. From the Irish poet, Bono:

Where the Streets Have No Name

I want to run; I wan to hide;
I want to tear down the walls
That hold me inside.
I want to reach out
And touch the flame
Where the streets have no name.

I want to feel sunshine on my face.
I see the dust cloud disappear
Without a trace.
I want to take shelter
From the poison rain
Where the streets have no name.

(from The Joshua Tree by U2)

Dying and Living

Bettina Marie Ortiz

1961 – 2010

Twelve days ago, my friend died.  I had mentioned Bettina and her cancer journey in my New Year’s reflections earlier this year.  Since that time, her health gradually grew worse.  Two and half weeks ago on Sunday, February 28th, she finished her work in a Lenten worship service that she planned.  Bettina shared her story with her congregation and then served communion to them.

Having said that good-bye to her congregation (and previous farewells to my congregation and to her work colleagues), Bettina was at peace and ready to go home.  Six days later on Saturday, March 6th, Bettina died, surrounded by friends and her adopted family.

There is so much more that I could write.  Perhaps I will in the coming days.  But in the meantime, here are some reflections that I shared last night with my congregation.  Every Wednesday during Lent, we’re reflecting on the theme of “Holding On and Letting Go”.  It turns out that this has been a very meaningful theme for me.

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In late December last year, I was looking forward to Music and Worship Leaders’ Retreat at Laurelville Church Center.  The retreat is a weekend workshop in early January with an intimate atmosphere and wonderful time of worship.  It is also a great resource for people who will be involved in planning services during the upcoming Lenten season.  At nearly the same time that I was preparing to attend the retreat, I also learned that Bettina’s cancer had returned.  I realized then that the theme of “Holding On and Letting Go” would take on greater significance this year, and that I would begin my Lenten journey in January, instead of February.

On New Year’s Day, I did some reflecting on how we try to hold on to things that are ultimately out of our control.  I wrote this in my blog…

This morning as I was reflecting on the Times Square festivities, I wondered if our society doesn’t so much mark the passing time at New Year’s, as it tries to stop it, to turn back time, and to be young again.  Maybe not.  Perhaps we don’t do those things any more at New Year’s than we do the rest of the year, and maybe this is a time for positive change.  But I wondered anyway.

Part of my wondering is because I have a friend with cancer.  Last year was a time for fighting it, and for hopes of remission, but she recently learned that the cancer has returned.  For her, 2010 won’t be a time of turning back the clock.  Instead, it will be a time of dying.

I went on to make my resolutions for the year, which included walking with and learning from Bettina in her dying, and walking with and learning from my daughters in their living.  Ultimately, I think that this is what Lent is about: living and dying, and maybe not in that order.

For many years, I have valued Henri Nouwen’s wisdom regarding dying.  He writes in his book Bread for the Journey…

We will all die one day.  That is one of the few things we can be sure of.  But will we die well?  That is less certain…

Jesus died well because through dying he sent his Spirit of Love to his friends, who with that Holy Spirit could live better lives.  Can we also send the Spirit of Love to our friends when we leave them?

Frankly, I think that this is one of those things that the world regards as foolishness.  The world fears death; it glorifies youth and beauty; and it doesn’t care to talk about dying well, at least until forced to – and by then, it may be too late.  But it seems to me that Bettina died well.

For one thing, she showed that death has lost its sting.  I’m sure she had fears that I never observed.  However, I witnessed a profound peace about her – the peace of someone who was learning to trust the tender care of Jesus – Jesus, her lover – who walked with her, who had faced death, and who had shown that death is not the final word.

Bettina also demonstrated reconciliation for our congregation.  When she spoke to us three and a half weeks ago, she didn’t minimize the challenges that we still face, and she didn’t ask anyone to change their beliefs.  But she showed us through her humble example that to be a community we must be willing to forgive, to seek forgiveness, and to be forgiven.

There is one more part of Bettina’s dying that amazes me – a gift that she gave.  As the cancer became stronger, she put her life in the hands of her friends.  She gave them her trust – trusted them to care for her – and allowed herself to be served.  And by serving her, they served Christ.  We hear echoes of Matthew 25: “Just as you did for one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did for me.”  How precious is that gift – to serve our Lord?  It’s not a gift that one could request, but neither is it a gift that one could refuse.

Here is something that is a mystery to me:  When you see Jesus in another person, serve Jesus by serving that person, and then that person dies, it may seem as if Jesus dies, as well.  And isn’t that also the culmination of Lent?  That on Good Friday, God dies?  This is a part of our faith that makes little sense.  At that point, what remains, except doubt?  But I’ve begun to believe that doubt is holy, because without doubt we’d never have faith.

It is the task of all of us to face death – in fact, to die – during Lent.  I’d like to conclude with another quote from Henri Nouwen:

The death at the end of life won’t be so fearful if you can die well now.  Yes, the real death – the passage from time to eternity, from the transient beauty of this world to the lasting beauty of the next, from darkness into light – has to be made now.  And you do not have to make it alone.

God has sent people to be very close to you as you gradually let go of the world that holds you captive.  You must trust fully in their love.  Then you will never feel completely alone.  Even though no one can do it for you, you can make the lonely passage in the knowledge that you are surrounded by a safe love and that those who let you move away from them will be there to welcome you on the other side.  The more you trust in the love of those God has sent to you, the more you will be able to lose your life, and so gain it.

Success, notoriety, affection, future plans, entertainment, satisfying work, health, intellectual stimulation, emotional support – yes, even spiritual progress – none of these can be clung to as if they are essential for survival.  Only as you let go of them can you discover the true freedom your heart most desires.  That is dying, moving into the life beyond life.  You must make the passage now, not just at the end of your earthly life.  You cannot do it alone, but with the love of those who are being sent to you, you can surrender your fear and let yourself be guided into the new land.

Dumb luck

I had a lovely evening with some friends last night.  We shared supper at their home with some other friends, and afterwards we played a game of Scrabble.  However, when I play Scrabble, I play because someone needs to finish in last place.  Games with numbers, I can do; games with letters – not so much.

Anyway I was happily plodding along with ten to twenty point words – teach, even, timid, day (×3) – and we were getting down to the end of the game.  Well – it was my turn and someone had just played ‘bull’ at the lower right.  The other players were feeling sorry for me (because I was bringing up the rear), and since they knew that I had a blank, they suggested that I play something off of ‘bull’ in order to take advantage of the triple word score space at the bottom of the board.  All of a sudden, I saw my word…

A-N-A-L-Y-Z-E

Triple word score.

With a ‘z’ in the word.

And a seven letter bonus.

And then I realized that I could also tack a ‘d’ on the end, so make it an eight letter word:

A-N-A-L-Y-Z-E-D

One hundred twenty-two points.

Of pure, dumb luck.

I don’t think I’ll ever play Scrabble again.