Lenten Reflections #25

Throwback Thursday! Here’s one of my favorite posts, enjoy!

It wasn’t long ago when I could still pick up Zavier, our youngest. He’d nestle his head in the cozy crook of my neck and we’d sway back and forth savoring the moment.

Then one sunny day after picking him up from baseball practice, I looked into the rearview mirror and there it was…adolescence.

Oh, you’ll know it when you see it.

It looks a lot like the top of a teenager’s head. Yes, all I could see in that little rectangular reflection was a blue screen shining up at my son’s face and the curved top of a baseball cap.

Where was my little guy who would yell out the make and model of every car that passed and guessed how long it would take for every light to turn green? Why wasn’t he singing “Down by the Bay” loudly or recounting his practice play by play?

He was changing by the minute. One second we’re holding hands coming from the bus stop talking about recess triumphs and the next he can’t wait to start weight lifting class and drive to high school with his brother and sister. Ugh.

Honestly, Zavier is a teenager who is quite independent. But he’s still just a kid. I mean, out of habit (and my keen sense of smell), I still have to remind him showering is not optional. And like a broken record, I futilely encourage flossing and turning clothes right side out. Luckily his love of play supersedes all. He still asks me to be his quarterback, play Yahtzee and read together…I’ll hold onto those moments as long as possible.

Yet time just ticks by without even asking. So as I file the snuggly moments away in my heart, I remind myself to make every minute count. Zavier and I may see nose to nose now, but I still get my hugs — that’s usually when I whisper…”time to shower”. 

Here’s a great blurb I found from The Center for Resilient Leadership. I love the way it describes adolescence:

Adolescence is a period of transformation, not unlike a chrysalis changing into a butterfly. If you have never seen this process, it can be painstakingly difficult to watch. The butterfly gradually breaks free of his cocoon, pulling and pushing, stretching and contracting for what seems like an eternity before he finally emerges. If a benevolent onlooker decides to help the process along, the butterfly will likely die, because it is only through the struggle of metamorphosis that he gains the strength to survive on his own.

On Faith and Fitness – go to church with a friend or your family…or a walk.

Lenten Reflections #25

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Lenten Reflections #24

After driving 20 miles through winding roads in Georgia en route to a baseball game I thought about what gives a community its heartbeat, keeps its blood flowing, and oxygen pumping. As I looked out the window, each glance told me I could be in “Anywhere USA”.

Here’s what we saw:

Subdivisions were stacked up like dominoes, smells of fried anything wafted through parking lots and the occasional farm peppered with cows and horses blurred my peripheral.

Plazas lined the streets, some with businesses boarded up due to COVID, others with “Grand Opening” signs and lights.

Dollar Stores loaded with inventory and full parking lots, too many banks, steeples topping churches with their saying things like “Don’t let six strong men take you to church”. Kroger and Publix vying for customers, a gas station where a guy was manually changing the sign from $2.60/gallon to $2.80, and a Chic-fil-a drive thru lines circling their store with one woman mowing the lawn out front because that’s what their employees do, but never on a Sunday.

As I drive behind a big truck, a sun-faded VOTE TRUMP bumper sticker stares back at me and I strain to see what the small print says under the plea. “Does it say Pick your feelings?” I ask my son, “No, Mama” he says in a teenage wow-you’re-blind kind of way, “It says a bad word.” I squint a little more…”Ohhhhh, I see it now.” On the next road where we turn, a “Black Lives Matter” sign sits on a healthy, green lawn and

I’m reminded how diverse and vocal our homes, cars, trucks, and t-shirts have become.

Then I digress and applaud the homeowners in my head for not choosing Bermuda grass that resembles bits of hay on dirt this time of year.

I then ponder the souls behind the walls of the local Wal-Mart working to pay for their next dinner for 5 or 6 or maybe 1, or the teen-age boy learning to change the oil of his truck on the side driveway that he helped lay.

Then we pass a small trailer park where kids dash off a crowded school bus, stuffing masks in their pockets, ready to jump rope, take the laundry off the line or read their coveted library books.

With 10 miles to go, the topography transposes into large homes with basketball nets and multiple cars in driveways. Ornate subdivision names like “Willow Lake” or “Equestrian Estates” sit nestled in multi-colored stone walls.

I see a mom pumping gas at the local Chevron — probably feeling like an Uber driver shuttling kids from school to practice and home only to repeat it the next day.  

The familiar green and white logo of Starbucks catches my eye and I’m sure in the drive through line there’s a teenager worried about grades or boys or college wait lists or the SAT.

At Dunkin Donuts I can picture a teacher treating herself to coffee before work this morning, pleased she had time to stop. 

Sitting in a spin class behind the local gym doors there’s probably an older gentleman wearing the same red shirt he wears every Monday to the gym at 5:45 a.m., because that’s his routine and it makes him happy.

Sanitizing baskets at Publix we pass, there is likely a newly employed high school student who chose to do virtual school and save money for the truck he thinks he so desperately needs.

After almost an hour drive I suddenly realized NPR was playing quietly telling us about the state of our nation, but didn’t care much as my son and I simply chatted about that precious present that slips by so quickly.

As we finally wound our way through this microcosm of the world, we parked in the school lot. Baseball players poured out of their parents cars while others loaded onto a bus to go to another game on our side of town. I wondered if the players and coaches would take a minute to look up from their phones and see the similarities we share. Because whether it’s 20 miles or 2,000 – the steps we take in our world aren’t that different than our neighbor’s.

Much like our bodies –age, exhaustion and abuse take a toll on a city, town, or neighborhood. But it takes the people, students, parents, kids, and the entire community to resuscitate it every day with kindness, hope, and laughter. The brick and mortar gives us a place to hang our hats, but the world can’t go on without the sentiments behind the walls.

An empty room is but a vessel waiting to be filled with laughter and sadness, pain and joy.

On Faith and Fitness:

On your next drive, carefully look out the windows and enjoy the view. Then park far away from your destination so you can get a good walk in for the day.

Saturday night when I sat down to jot some thoughts down and watch/listen to the television, I thought maybe we’d catch up on The Flash a witty superhero series whose speedy protagonist spends his day doing the right thing and saving all in need. Or maybe we’d sit through New Girl, a well-written romantic comedy full of hilarious moments. Instead we flipped over to a basketball game…ah, sports, the true reason we still have cable…and thank goodness we do because the game we watched, was the ACC Tournament championship between Georgia Tech and Florida state.

It was a big deal.

While half-watching and mainly listening, I stopped typing when I heard a clip of Georgia Tech Head Coach – and ever-positive – Josh Pastner’s outgoing voicemail being played on national TV:

Life is short. We spend so much time sweating the small stuff. Worrying, wishing, wanting, waiting for something bigger…instead of focusing on the simple blessings that surround us every day. Life is so fragile. And it takes a single moment to change everything you take for granted. Focus on what’s important and be grateful. Live your life with no regrets. I’m not in right now, but if you leave your name and telephone number clearly, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Have a great day, a positive day, and a day filled with gratitude.”

Josh Pastner – GA Tech Basketball Coach

The discussion of Pastner’s unflappable, optimistic character continued and the announcers said that in year unmatched by any other, it was obvious Coach Pastner’s focus was on gratitude, teamwork, and mindset.

In just those few recorded sentences, it was as if Josh Pastner was sending out a press release to the world…or anyone who called…to let them know he was in their corner…that life is good and gratitude is guiding. His words were sincere, hopeful and kind and harnessed me for a minute. This line especially:

We spend so much time sweating the small stuff.

I thought about earlier in the day when I was bathing the dogs and the moment they stop, look at the world and shake off the excess water weighing them down.

This soggy memory made me think of the minutia that weighs us down: the unmade beds, homework, eating too many carbs, working too much or not enough, playing time in high school sports, the list goes on and on. Perhaps if we focus on what we’re grateful for and shake all our worries away like Lola is shaking off the bath water, perhaps little droplets of joy will surround us.

Pastner’s motivating monologue is what we all needed to hear – in fact, in an interview after the game, when asked about his outgoing message, he said a lot of people call him hoping he doesn’t pick up, just so they can hear the message.

Georgia Tech went on to defeat Florida State 80-75 and win the ACC championship, securing an automatic berth to the NCAA tournament, a title they have not seen since 1993.

After this win, Pastner, in true character went on to thank and praise the FSU coach, players, his own team, and said he loves them all. When asked about his faith he said, “Everything is a gift…it’s a blessing. I recognize that. I don’t believe God is rooting for winning or losing. Sometimes you have opportunities in life, but you’ve got to give the good Lord the credit.”

An incredibly likable, self-depracting guy, Pastner talked about how he pays little attention to the fact that his shoes are old or he hasn’t cut his hair in months – maybe even a good luck charm he ponders. “It might be cool to be me because I’m so uncool.”

True. He is cool.

Turns out watching the Georgia Tech Basketball game was the perfect combination of superhero and wit. I’ll always think of Coach Pastner as “The Kindness Superhero, making the world a better place one phone call at a time.”

On Faith and Fitness –

Time to plant flowers if you’re in the south, if not, walk yourself, your dogs, your neighbor. Just walk and tell someone you love them.

Lenten Reflections #22

This poem reveals what kindness truly is in those moments we rise above fear, rage and loss.

Kindness

Naomi Shihab Nye – 1952-

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to gaze at bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

From Words Under the Words: Selected Poems. Copyright © 1995 by Naomi Shihab Nye. Reprinted with the permission of the author.

On Faith and Fitness

Say a Rosary and run/walk at least one mile.

Please be kind.

In this COVID world, we’ve all incorporated new lingo into our day. Words like social distance, unprecedented, re-imagined, and masking. In the confines of our little home throughout the last year our kids have also thrown out a few lines I never thought I’d hear them say (without prompting). Some of these are from the beginning of the pandemic, yet still apply.

I’m going to walk the dogs.

I’ve never had this much work.

I want to go back to school.

Teachers REALLY ARE helpful

I am SO tired of looking at my phone.

Can I make tortillas/waffles/pancakes? (many, many carbs)

Quiet! I’m studying for Chemistry.

I just finished a Physics lab on ZOOM.

I’m going to practice my scales on my saxophone.

I just finished organizing all of my socks…I found every match.

I’m going to go clean the bathroom.

I’ll wash if you dry the dishes. (we pretended the dishwasher was broken)

Mass is at 10:00 on Sunday, let’s meet in the living room.

I just reorganized my closet.

I’ll make dinner.

I started a project that’s due in two weeks.

As exhausting as this pandemic has been, our kids have been quite resilient and have stuck together. Pushing each other (more like relentlessly poking) to get the work done and get up the next day and do it again. 

Over the last year, COVID has pitched us some mean curve balls…but now we’re ready. As each four-seamed ball is tossed at us, we’re ready for the break. We’re masked, vaccinated, prepped for the test, stocked with paper products, and can measure six-feet with barely a glance. 

On faith and fitness…

Do some cathartic cleaning and tackle that sock drawer. Find all the matches and say some Our Father’s while you work. Sing Amazing Grace if you actually find every match!

 

 

 

Lenten Reflections #20

Lately I’ve been hearing the line, “I’m becoming my mother” more and more from my friends. Luckily I scored with a mom who nourished us with love and common sense. She measures her words like a baker uses a knife to level the flour across a measuring cup, precise without an ounce of overflow. If she says it, she means it. One of the many traits I’ve picked up from my mom is threading “dichos” or sayings in my conversations.

So when I was home with my parents, I made a list of all of the Spanish and some “Spanglish” sayings they use. One that I hadn’t heard my parents say to one another is: “Son los años compadre.” It’s the years, my friend.

This came up numerous times as my parents went about their day.

That 24 hours that was once filled with trips to the dentist, poker games or the commissary is now a memory. Not only due to the restrictions COVID has imposed, but as the saying goes, “Son los años compadre.” Aging takes its toll on all of us. I complain about arthritis and then I see my Dad’s fingers who my mom teases because anytime he tries to point at something, the tip of his finger points south. “Watch Dad point” she tells me chuckling…it’s always something on the ground he needs.”

Their routine continually changes, zipping around in the truck to run several errands, and detouring to yard sales just doesn’t happen anymore. They still spend much of the day working in the yard that they are so grateful for, yet the amount of work wanes with the years. “We feel like if the sun is out, we should be out.” says Dad. So they plant and prune, check on each other, feed the cranes, rearrange the woodpile, take apart anything that has metal and can be recycled, and breathe in the fresh air.

Once back inside, the aches and pains kick in and through all the “Ay, yai, yai’s” I can hear Mom say, “Son los años compadre.”

Dad replies, “Yo se, pura ay, yai, yai.” (I know all I say is ay, yai, yai).

They have a good laugh, a glass of water, Pedialyte or Boost and decide to rest and play solitaire on their Ipads.

On Faith and Fitness

Today try to do some push-ups. On the floor, on your knees, wherever. Dad does at least 5 every morning up against the wall right when he wakes up. Then count your blessings.

My father’s wit, and my mother’s tongue, assist me!

William Shakespeare

Lenten Reflections #19

Exactly one year ago today –  sports, life and the overuse of toilet paper came to a halt.

365 days later, and I’m sitting at my son’s baseball game and life is on the brink of spring. A blossoming cherry tree with chatty chickadees hovers over the bleachers where I am situated deep on the right field baseline, a party of one, enjoying a mask-free moment outside. In the distance, behind home plate, parents set up chairs and snacks and all have a similar look that seems to ask, “What pandemic?”

When I peer over my reading/texting glasses, I locate my son, in the dugout – not yet in the lineup. Like always, my eyes take a bit of adjusting to focus through the black fencing encircling the baseball field. It’s especially tricky to see in the dusky evenings when the light plays peek-a-boo and glances are inevitably fuzzy.

Of course the teenage boys playing are accustomed to watching double plays, errors, and curve balls through the steel wire fence, its diamond-shape serving as a lens to the coveted baseball diamond.

Most of these boys have been ball players since they were four or five. They’ve played through summers, swung their bats across state lines, and sacrificed birthday parties, weekends and time with friends.

Our son fell in love with tee ball, yet he still scooted from soccer to lacrosse, basketball to tennis and dabbled in gymnastics and swim team…only to find his way back to the view of the diamond-shaped fence.

Travel ball players and their families have always blown me away with their dedication. To the sport, to the teams, and to the coaches. However, no matter how much time, money or volunteer hours one has dumped into the baseball cauldron, every parent knows their child will NEVER be guaranteed playing time. So parents wait and watch and wait some more.

Tonight, at the bottom of the third inning, a tall, polite player from our opposing team ran by me and into the bull pen to retrieve straps for stretching. He stopped for a moment as he untied the cords from the fence and asked how I was doing. “Fine, thanks.” “How about you?” I replied. He looked at me and said, “I really wish I was playing—big pause—but it’s okay.” He trotted off, the words “Have a good night!” trailing behind him as I watched the number 20 on his jersey slip back into the dugout.

Wow. This wasn’t a 5- or even 10-year-old kid wanting to get on a field and make the play of the game, this was a 15-year-old boy who said what he had been thinking since the moment every other player on his team grabbed their glove and hustled to the field while he watched the dust settle.

At that point in the game, our son had not played at all either…and all I could think was please God, please let him have the same attitude as this sweet boy who took running an errand for the coach as serious as he would catching a fly ball in left field.

As our team ran in to hit, I noticed my son dash over to give fist bumps to his teammates as they filled the dugout. I also watched as he leaned over the dugout fence, smiling and holding court with his teammates.  

For the remainder of the game, I scoured the field for number 20 and never saw him enter, but I knew there was another mom like me up in the stands waiting for her boy to run on that field and give her a reason to scrub those baseball pants and prep them for the next game. As I walked over to our side of the field, a foul ball dropped behind the dugout. And there it was…another number 20 sighting. He was the first one out to get the stray ball. Dedicated and ready. The lyrics to John Fogerty’s iconic song rang in my head. “Oh, put me in, Coach – I’m ready to play today.” Much like the rest of us, we just want to get back in the game, back to life without a mask, back to days without so much worry, back to the days when our kids could actually attend school AND play their sport and when parents could sit and talk about what’s for dinner rather than wonder when “normal” will show its face again.

May the spring days help unite nature and humanity, and transcend us from a place of silent isolation to one of growth and renewal.

On Faith and Fitness:

Get your heart rate up and walk briskly. As you do so, count how many different birds do you hear? What is your song?

Daily Reflections #18 – I reread this older post tonight and relished in the memories of connecting with other parents, friends and families.

It made me realize…

Our times have changed, but our needs haven’t.

We need each other. We need to share our stories. We need the fog to clear, and when it does, let us serve as oars for each other and propel our lives toward the light.

Wednesday Flashback – This is why I write.

I think about writing and the sunny feeling I get when I help others or touch their lives. (With three kids going to college soon, perhaps I should think a bit more about tuition money).

Let’s just say I’m like a Border Collie with a constant head tilt completely engrossed in 50- shades of everything, and the nuances of nothing. I think of stories constantly. Not in an Emerson “Self-Reliance” kind of way, more in a Seinfeld “show about nothing” kind of way.

I am always thinking about how all of us are linked and how sharing our stories helps us celebrate our milestones or hold each other up in our toughest moments.

Maybe it’s commiserating on how tricky it can be to shuttle three kids to three different practices starting at the same time.

Or maybe it’s about trying to help your children with homework as you pretend to remember what ‘slope-intercept’ or ‘rhetorical writing’ means.

Or maybe it’s listening to your own 80-something parents on speakerphone as they recount their day going from church to the doctor and then the grocery store, all the while wishing you were there to drive them, hover over them and hold their hands for balance and warmth.

Perhaps it’s a middle school story about our kids being too shy, too needy, too weird.

Or maybe like me, it’s when you hear the news about a mom you worked with for years on PTA who died in her sleep and how she was too young and won’t get to see her children graduate.

Blogging reminds me of writing my fears and favorites in my childhood diary. It had a green satin cover and that little tiny key I hid and lost, and used a bobby pin instead. Writing to me is a chronicle, proof, opinion, and vulnerability…the more I do it, the easier it is.

In Malcolm Gladwell’s book, The Outliers, he claims the way to achieve world-class mastery in any skill is to repeatedly doing something correctly for 10,000 hours. It’s this deliberate practice that leads to expertise.

I’m certainly not an expert — and 10,000 hours of anything sounds just awful. My goal instead is to help, share, connect, and tell the funny, sad and wacky moments I know I’m not the only one out there experiencing.

On Faith and Fitness…

Write down a story, stretch your body.

Lenten Reflections #17

I repeat myself…a lot. Today my self-talk took a road down Judgement Lane way too many times. In fact, I told myself – out loud, “Stop being judgey!” at least 12 times.

Who knows if “judgey” is even a word, but it rolls off my tongue almost too easily. Sometimes I use “judgey” as an introduction to a critisism, like this: “I don’t mean to be judgey, but…”. Or I may say, “Here I go getting judgey again…”. Eloquent lines? No. Unnecessary? Yes.

So I thought back to one of my favorite things Pope Francis has said,

Honestly? He’s right.

Here we are…muddling through a pandemic, lost jobs, hunger, emotional stress, worry, fear, and so much more. Let’s not judge but rather carry each other through these troubled waters as He leads us on.

On Faith and Fitness:

Think about this while you go for a walk today:

God Himself doesn’t propose to judge a man until he is dead.
So why should you?

Thanks for reading.