I spent today with my honey and my nine-year-old, Ty, at the AT&T National Championship. We watched professional golfers tee off with what can only be described as a smack and a whistle. We saw them rescue golf balls from pine straw and high grass and put them on the green. We stood with hundreds who moaned at missed putts and clapped at birdies. To walk a golf course during a PGA tournament is to witness moments where decades of hard work and sacrifice result in a winner by three simple golf strokes. Over the course of four days. Four days. Hundreds of strokes. And one winner by three.
I've watched many tournament Sundays on TV with Jamie. It's a ritual in our home on Sunday afternoon--to watch the final parings and see the highlights from the day. Then watch as the winner is given his trophy (and purse). There's both a peace and excitement to it.
Today, in D.C., we watched a group tee-off. We clapped after the "ping" of their drivers and shared their joy or disappointment in where their balls landed. But as they left the tee and began walking down the fairway, I noticed the kid. He couldn't have been more than fifteen. Dressed in the volunteer's purple-striped shirt of the day, he carried an old-school placard with the three players listed. And their cumulative scores. The thing that struck me most was the difference between the scores. Two of the players were below par while the other one was above par. Seven strokes divided them.
As I watched this young man trail behind the golfers holding this placard, my first thought found the tradition cruel. The golfer who lead the tournament was a full ten strokes ahead of the two players who were walking the course with this young golfer. Seventeen strokes ahead of him. I also noticed that with each stroke, the golfers took notepads out of their pockets and recorded their scores. And their yardages. In fact, to win the tournament, you must report an accurate score. Yet, here this young man was literally trailed the entire course by his failure to score as well as the two men he was paired with.
This caused me to ask the question: how can we look forward, treat each new day (golf hole) as a new beginning, if someone is walking behind us with a scorecard that shows the world how we don't measure up? Not even to the few surrounding us? How humiliating to be constantly reminded of our failures.
Then, as I watched the men in this grouping, I realized that none of them looked at the placard. None of them looked back to see what they already knew had occurred. Instead, each of them took out their notebooks after every single shot. Each of them looked forward toward the green--and the hole--and never looked back at the kid with the placard.
Neither should we look back at the kid. Neither should we focus on the placard and our past performance. We must just look at our notepad and see how far we have to the pin. And work on that.
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
What the Titanic Taught Me About Addressing Things Head On
Tonight, I watched a Smithsonian Channel special on a guy who figured out why the Titanic actually sank. He debunked all myths that it was due to human error and bad design of the ship. From years of reading ship records of the temperatures of the sea, eyewitness accounts of survivors, and how the geographical evidence proved that the Labrador Current caused temperatures to drop in minutes, he was able to scientifically determine that the meteorology of the night caused a mirage. The lookouts didn't see the iceberg because they couldn't.
More importantly, because the iceberg only became visible at the last minute due to this mirage, they yelled to the captain to turn the ship in panic. Of course he responded and steered away from the iceberg. Ironically, if he'd simply hit the iceberg head on, the Titanic would've survived. But because the captain steered it away at the last minute, it was side swiped and fatally wounded.
Yes, the metaphors abound. But the one that I keep coming back to is the fatal blow. The fact that because the Titanic didn't hit the iceberg head-on, but instead tried to side swipe it, caused it to sink when it could've survived the head-on collision.
Everyday, in many ways, we try to avoid issues. I'm the first to admit that I hate confrontation. We do everything we can to not face whatever problems prevent us from living our best life. But, like the Titanic, if we confronted those things head on, we would survive. Waiting until the last possible minute to address them, even if unintentional, causes much more damage. Damage from which we can't survive. Damage that sinks us. Literally rips us to the core.
So being a geek who loves to watch Smithsonian TV, I was reminded tonight that we must always keep our eyes open and address things head on.
More importantly, because the iceberg only became visible at the last minute due to this mirage, they yelled to the captain to turn the ship in panic. Of course he responded and steered away from the iceberg. Ironically, if he'd simply hit the iceberg head on, the Titanic would've survived. But because the captain steered it away at the last minute, it was side swiped and fatally wounded.
Yes, the metaphors abound. But the one that I keep coming back to is the fatal blow. The fact that because the Titanic didn't hit the iceberg head-on, but instead tried to side swipe it, caused it to sink when it could've survived the head-on collision.
Everyday, in many ways, we try to avoid issues. I'm the first to admit that I hate confrontation. We do everything we can to not face whatever problems prevent us from living our best life. But, like the Titanic, if we confronted those things head on, we would survive. Waiting until the last possible minute to address them, even if unintentional, causes much more damage. Damage from which we can't survive. Damage that sinks us. Literally rips us to the core.
So being a geek who loves to watch Smithsonian TV, I was reminded tonight that we must always keep our eyes open and address things head on.
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
I Know a Superhero
Tonight I had another media epiphany. "The Newsroom," an HBO series about an idealistic news anchor, has been replaying last season's episodes as a lead-in to the new season in July. The dialogue is quick and intelligent and can, quite frankly, be offensive to some with its honesty. In the first episode of last year's first season, there is a scene in which the Executive Producer of the fictional news show tells the anchor: "We can do better. It's part of our DNA." Her plea is to encourage him to report the news honestly.
This reminded me of my Dad. I've mentioned in prior posts about the sweetness of his soul. His ability to find good in anything and the constant reminders in my childhood to not judge because we never truly understand another's story. If someone asked me to use one word to describe him, it would be "more." But not more in the sense of more money, more things, more prestige, more recognition. It would be more helpful, more understanding, more loving, more seeking, more outward focus. Through his example in the last 42 years of my life, I've witnessed him being more. And it creates in me a desire to do the same. To always see the best in people. To always want to ask, "What can I do to help?" To always want to put the needs of others above my own. Because if we all do this, what a wonderful world we would inhabit. He's tried so intently to live the life prescribed in the scriptures and by doing so has shown me its truth.
So, a few days late, I want to send a warm and loving father's day wish to my dad. My hero. The most incredible person I've ever had the privilege of knowing. One who truly seeks to place his feet in the footsteps. Love you, Daddy!
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Batman, Shared Experiences, and our Oneness
Sometimes, I hear the most profound statements in the most surprising settings. This evening, I had "The Dark Knight Rises" playing in the background. I've never seen this most recent in the Batman series. Although An Avengers fan, I never bought into the movies highlighting a single superhero. Superman, Batman, Thor, Captain America...they all seemed so campy. The special effects are superb, but you don't expect to hear dialogue that makes you pause the movie and contemplate it, the way you put a book down for a moment when you've read a line that resonated with you so deeply you needed to roll it around your brain. Just now, that happened with a dark Batman movie.
As Bruce Wayne steps out of his recluse and attends a charity event, the hostess says to him: "You have to invest to restore balance in this world." Excuse the philosophical naivety of my youth, but I wanted to throw my hands up and scream, "Amen!"
Human beings have an instinctual nature--a primal need--for community. We weren't programmed to be alone. We thrive when we're surrounded by others who both challenge and support us. Even the negative experiences with others change us in ways that make us better. But being part of a community isn't simply about consuming and savoring those experiences, it's about sharing them. If we simply sit and observe, we miss out on the true depth the experiences of others can give us. We also miss out on the redeeming and validating sense of sharing with others.
Too often we rush through our lives, which are filled with commitments, appointments, and expectations. We often fail to see the needs of those around us because we're focused on what's in front of us. What we don't realize is that this hurts not only those in our communities, but ourselves. We rob one another of the wisdom gleaned only from experience.
Just imagine a world where we all invest in one another. If everyone embraced this simple idea. Acknowledged this primal need to weave our lives together. Maybe the world could find balance.
As Bruce Wayne steps out of his recluse and attends a charity event, the hostess says to him: "You have to invest to restore balance in this world." Excuse the philosophical naivety of my youth, but I wanted to throw my hands up and scream, "Amen!"
Human beings have an instinctual nature--a primal need--for community. We weren't programmed to be alone. We thrive when we're surrounded by others who both challenge and support us. Even the negative experiences with others change us in ways that make us better. But being part of a community isn't simply about consuming and savoring those experiences, it's about sharing them. If we simply sit and observe, we miss out on the true depth the experiences of others can give us. We also miss out on the redeeming and validating sense of sharing with others.
Too often we rush through our lives, which are filled with commitments, appointments, and expectations. We often fail to see the needs of those around us because we're focused on what's in front of us. What we don't realize is that this hurts not only those in our communities, but ourselves. We rob one another of the wisdom gleaned only from experience.
Just imagine a world where we all invest in one another. If everyone embraced this simple idea. Acknowledged this primal need to weave our lives together. Maybe the world could find balance.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Joy in the Mourning
I just finished watching the end of NBC News' extended nightly broadcast from Moore, Oklahoma. It humbled me to see the beauty of human nature.
For the past day, we've seen photographs and video of devastating loss. I couldn't get the children trapped in the Plaza Elementary school out of my mind. The thought of these children lying, terrified, under rubble in the dark created tears that wouldn't stop. The images of their broken parents waiting to hear their child's name called as one of the rescued wore heavy on my heart. At one point, my soul mourned so deeply over this that I reached out to my friend, and pastor, Jason Mitchell, and pleaded for reassurance. I needed someone to articulate how a loving God could allow this to happen. As the mother of a son in elementary school, the empathy I felt toward these parents was crippling.
Tonight, as I watched NBC's broadcast, my heart filled with admiration and respect for who we, as human beings, truly are at our core. Within 24 hours, neighbors whose homes still stood opened those homes to people who'd lost everything. An elderly woman who stood in front of her home, which is now a stack of wood, cried with joy and thankfulness when her dog pushed through the rubble and survived. Families from nearby walked miles to help clear rubble and look for survivors. Others went to a local hardware store and bought every set of work gloves they had and then handed them out to people digging through the remains of their homes. Others set up tents and cooked food to feed the now homeless. Toomers for Tuscaloosa, the relief group that began after Tuscaloosa suffered devastating loss from a tornado, announced they were setting up a Target registry for essentials that could be bought. They had a driver lined up to drive the items to Oklahoma next week.
I still wrestle with why God allowed seven children to drown in the basement of their elementary school crying for their parents. It wrecks me to think of them in the dark, scared and wanting simply their mother's embrace, as the waters rose. The fear that they must've felt.
But rather than question "why," because I know there is no answer, I'm embracing the images that continue to flow out of that devastated town. Strangers helping one another. Bearing witness to people being the hands and feet. The goodness of human nature amplified to the level of inspiration. I choose to believe that people are good. This community--and the response of our nation--confirms this.
For the past day, we've seen photographs and video of devastating loss. I couldn't get the children trapped in the Plaza Elementary school out of my mind. The thought of these children lying, terrified, under rubble in the dark created tears that wouldn't stop. The images of their broken parents waiting to hear their child's name called as one of the rescued wore heavy on my heart. At one point, my soul mourned so deeply over this that I reached out to my friend, and pastor, Jason Mitchell, and pleaded for reassurance. I needed someone to articulate how a loving God could allow this to happen. As the mother of a son in elementary school, the empathy I felt toward these parents was crippling.
Tonight, as I watched NBC's broadcast, my heart filled with admiration and respect for who we, as human beings, truly are at our core. Within 24 hours, neighbors whose homes still stood opened those homes to people who'd lost everything. An elderly woman who stood in front of her home, which is now a stack of wood, cried with joy and thankfulness when her dog pushed through the rubble and survived. Families from nearby walked miles to help clear rubble and look for survivors. Others went to a local hardware store and bought every set of work gloves they had and then handed them out to people digging through the remains of their homes. Others set up tents and cooked food to feed the now homeless. Toomers for Tuscaloosa, the relief group that began after Tuscaloosa suffered devastating loss from a tornado, announced they were setting up a Target registry for essentials that could be bought. They had a driver lined up to drive the items to Oklahoma next week.
I still wrestle with why God allowed seven children to drown in the basement of their elementary school crying for their parents. It wrecks me to think of them in the dark, scared and wanting simply their mother's embrace, as the waters rose. The fear that they must've felt.
But rather than question "why," because I know there is no answer, I'm embracing the images that continue to flow out of that devastated town. Strangers helping one another. Bearing witness to people being the hands and feet. The goodness of human nature amplified to the level of inspiration. I choose to believe that people are good. This community--and the response of our nation--confirms this.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
We're Stronger Than We Think: Physically, Mentally, Emotionally, and Spiritually
A couple of weeks ago, I started Crossfit. I'd heard about it. Sneered a little at its "cult following." And was, quite frankly, intimidated by the idea. Why would I, a 42-year-old mother with arthritis in every joint, want to subject myself to Olympic lifts and the infamous "WOD's?" If you Google Crossfit WOD's, you'll find stories of people passing out, throwing up, and ripping muscles. No thank you!
I checked my cynicism when my wonderful brother-in-law joined the movement and lost almost 50 pounds. More importantly, he felt better than he ever had. He inspired me to at least look behind the curtain and see what the hype was about. So one Friday afternoon, I timidly stepped into our local "box," Crossfit Uncompromised. What an eye-opener. There are no puking meatheads there. There are no trainers pushing you to the point of injury. There are no unreachable standards.
Instead, I found professionals who explain things slowly and meticulously so I don't injure myself. They help me while challenging me. Everyone in the class supports one another and encourages one another with "come on, just one more!"
In the years before I started Crossfit, I'd found a comfort zone. I would go to the gym, hop on the elliptical machine, and crank it for an hour. Sure, I'd sweat a little and felt like I'd done something. But the morning after my first Crossfit workout, I KNEW I'd actually done something for my body. I experienced a soreness I hadn't felt in years. And it was good. After that first day, I realized that if I stayed with it, I would be stronger and healthier in my 40's than I was in my 20's. The arthritis in my joints no longer frightens me. I don't worry that in a few years, I'll feel "old." Instead, I'll be strong and healthy.
In the past few weeks, I've learned a few things about myself:
1. I've learned that I can't simply accept truth about things without investigating the accuracy of that truth.
2. I've learned that the fear of something can debilitate you to the point of missing the value of it.
3. I've learned that stepping out of my comfort zone can land me in a place I'm actually more comfortable in.
4. I've learned that I'm stronger than I thought, both physically and mentally.
5. I've learned that our bodies are incredibly complex and, no matter what our age, we can awaken things in it that will make us better.
A friend of mine recently trained for a marathon. In the weeks before, due to injury, she realized she would have to walk it instead. This weekend, she completed that marathon. It took her over six hours and I have more admiration for her than those who finished first. She realized that she is stronger than she ever knew.
We are all stronger than we know. The only way to see a glimpse of that strength is to step outside of our comfort zone, reach inside ourselves, and push forward. Especially when things are hard and taking one more step seems impossible.
In the last decade, I've lost my mother, my brother, and my daughter. I've stumbled under the weight of that loss and grief, but I've learned that I'm stronger than I think. I've also realized that my strength comes not from just what is inside of me, but because of who's in me and the people who are beside me everyday, pushing me and cheering me on. Phillipians 4:13.
I checked my cynicism when my wonderful brother-in-law joined the movement and lost almost 50 pounds. More importantly, he felt better than he ever had. He inspired me to at least look behind the curtain and see what the hype was about. So one Friday afternoon, I timidly stepped into our local "box," Crossfit Uncompromised. What an eye-opener. There are no puking meatheads there. There are no trainers pushing you to the point of injury. There are no unreachable standards.
Instead, I found professionals who explain things slowly and meticulously so I don't injure myself. They help me while challenging me. Everyone in the class supports one another and encourages one another with "come on, just one more!"
In the years before I started Crossfit, I'd found a comfort zone. I would go to the gym, hop on the elliptical machine, and crank it for an hour. Sure, I'd sweat a little and felt like I'd done something. But the morning after my first Crossfit workout, I KNEW I'd actually done something for my body. I experienced a soreness I hadn't felt in years. And it was good. After that first day, I realized that if I stayed with it, I would be stronger and healthier in my 40's than I was in my 20's. The arthritis in my joints no longer frightens me. I don't worry that in a few years, I'll feel "old." Instead, I'll be strong and healthy.
In the past few weeks, I've learned a few things about myself:
1. I've learned that I can't simply accept truth about things without investigating the accuracy of that truth.
2. I've learned that the fear of something can debilitate you to the point of missing the value of it.
3. I've learned that stepping out of my comfort zone can land me in a place I'm actually more comfortable in.
4. I've learned that I'm stronger than I thought, both physically and mentally.
5. I've learned that our bodies are incredibly complex and, no matter what our age, we can awaken things in it that will make us better.
A friend of mine recently trained for a marathon. In the weeks before, due to injury, she realized she would have to walk it instead. This weekend, she completed that marathon. It took her over six hours and I have more admiration for her than those who finished first. She realized that she is stronger than she ever knew.
We are all stronger than we know. The only way to see a glimpse of that strength is to step outside of our comfort zone, reach inside ourselves, and push forward. Especially when things are hard and taking one more step seems impossible.
In the last decade, I've lost my mother, my brother, and my daughter. I've stumbled under the weight of that loss and grief, but I've learned that I'm stronger than I think. I've also realized that my strength comes not from just what is inside of me, but because of who's in me and the people who are beside me everyday, pushing me and cheering me on. Phillipians 4:13.
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Grey's Anatomy, Bad Jokes, and Empathetic Eyes
I love "Grey's Anatomy." I've watched the series since it began, what, eight years ago? I love how each episode scans the spectrum of flippant to life-changing seriousness. But this weeks flippancy hit a nerve. *SPOILER ALERT* The lead character, Dr. Meredith Grey, watched her mother suffer and die from early onset Alzheimer's. One of the other physicians on the show is pursuing genome mapping and agrees to map Meredith's genes and test for Alzheimer's markers. She tests positive. Over the rest of the episode, she doesn't wrestle with this news. She doesn't get angry or sad or deny its veracity. She doesn't walk through any of the stages of grief upon learning she carries the genetic markers for this awful disease. Instead, she tells her husband to give her a lethal dose of morphine "when I can't remember where I put my keys." She also asks her best friend, another physician, to kill her when she forgets where her keys are.
Shame on you, Shonda Rhimes (the creator/writer) for being so insensitively flippant. I've watched my own mother suffer from dementia. Her symptoms started when she was just 50 and now, at the ridiculously young age of 64, she is in the end stages of her disease. Unaware of her surroundings. Unable to do anything for herself.
My novel, The Beauty of Grace, deals with quality of life issues and a woman who suffers from Huntington's Disease, a neurodegenerative disease that also results in dementia. The title character, Grace, decides to commit suicide rather than walk the path of dementia she witnessed in her own mother. In writing Grace and considering these issues of family, faith, quality of life, disease, I struggled with both sides. I tried to bear witness to both the families of those who suffer from dementia and the individuals who face an uncertain future upon receiving the diagnosis.
There is nothing flippant about learning you have an increased risk of becoming demented at a young age. Before your children have children. Before you and your beloved can enjoy your golden years. The manner in which "Grey's Anatomy" handled this issue offended me. But it also reminded me that those who haven't lived through something can't truly appreciate and understand its depths and challenges. The fear it plants deep inside. The cruelty of its uncertainty.
There is nothing funny about learning you have the gene for breast cancer. Or that you have an increased risk of heart disease. Or being born with Cystic Fibrosis, or Down's Syndrome, or countless other life-shortening diseases.
So let us be wary of crossing the line from joking about something as a coping method and being painfully insensitive. We all have a story. Many parts of it are filled with joy and excitement. But there are also parts that are full of intense hurt. Let us approach others with empathy and with the perception that some things simply aren't subject to humor. Whether it be a show you watch, a joke you hear or tell, or a word you say, try and look at others with an awareness drenched in compassion. Because a person's heart and soul--their humanity--is the core of their being. And what unites us all.
Shame on you, Shonda Rhimes (the creator/writer) for being so insensitively flippant. I've watched my own mother suffer from dementia. Her symptoms started when she was just 50 and now, at the ridiculously young age of 64, she is in the end stages of her disease. Unaware of her surroundings. Unable to do anything for herself.
My novel, The Beauty of Grace, deals with quality of life issues and a woman who suffers from Huntington's Disease, a neurodegenerative disease that also results in dementia. The title character, Grace, decides to commit suicide rather than walk the path of dementia she witnessed in her own mother. In writing Grace and considering these issues of family, faith, quality of life, disease, I struggled with both sides. I tried to bear witness to both the families of those who suffer from dementia and the individuals who face an uncertain future upon receiving the diagnosis.
There is nothing flippant about learning you have an increased risk of becoming demented at a young age. Before your children have children. Before you and your beloved can enjoy your golden years. The manner in which "Grey's Anatomy" handled this issue offended me. But it also reminded me that those who haven't lived through something can't truly appreciate and understand its depths and challenges. The fear it plants deep inside. The cruelty of its uncertainty.
There is nothing funny about learning you have the gene for breast cancer. Or that you have an increased risk of heart disease. Or being born with Cystic Fibrosis, or Down's Syndrome, or countless other life-shortening diseases.
So let us be wary of crossing the line from joking about something as a coping method and being painfully insensitive. We all have a story. Many parts of it are filled with joy and excitement. But there are also parts that are full of intense hurt. Let us approach others with empathy and with the perception that some things simply aren't subject to humor. Whether it be a show you watch, a joke you hear or tell, or a word you say, try and look at others with an awareness drenched in compassion. Because a person's heart and soul--their humanity--is the core of their being. And what unites us all.
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