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Kids who were raised on a steady diet of positive reinforcement and no real discipline, generally become adults who feel as though they ought to be rewarded for doing the right thing and that they shouldn’t have to face the consequences when they don’t. Kids whose strictest form of punishment consisted of a “time out”, tend to grow up to believe that they are somehow entitled to a warning, but that they should never actually be given a ticket.

Whether we see the glass as being half empty or half full depends largely on whether we are grateful for what we have or worried about what we don’t. If we don’t want to be a “glass is half empty” kind of person, we simply need to spend time each day counting our many blessings.

I Call You

This came to me as I prayed for my daughters, but I feel certain that “He” meant it for all of “His” daughters.

I call you sweet melody
Because your heartstrings play a song for me
Don’t ever doubt its beauty

I call you priceless jewel
Because you’re handcrafted & one of a kind
Don’t ever doubt your worth

I call you secret garden
Because your joy is a sweet fragrance to me
Don’t ever open the gate to an intruder

I call you mighty warrior
Because I equipped you with amazing power
Don’t ever use it against yourself

I call you tiny sparrow
Because I’ve given you wings to fly
Don’t ever let them cage you

I call you hidden treasure
Because I’ve woven pure gold into the deepest parts of you
Don’t ever open your vault for a thief

I call you precious flower
Because I made you delicate and tender
Don’t ever trust a suitor who doesn’t bring gifts of water & sunlight

I call you little princess
Because your Father is a King
Don’t ever forget that you are my cherished daughter

5 Motivations to Coach

As the youngest of three brothers and the father of four kids, I have spent countless hours of my life on ball fields and in bleachers. Over the years, I have experienced sports as a player, a spectator, a parent, a coach and even as part of an officiating crew. And while I don’t fancy myself as an expert on the subject, there are some significant patterns that I have noticed in regard to coaches and coaching styles. I have also found that recognizing these patterns in a coach can be a useful tool in predicting what kind of season you’re in for. While that wasn’t a big concern for me as player, it has become a far greater issue for me as a parent. Given some of the coaching scandals in recent years (e.g. Rutgers basketball, Penn State Football…), it would seem to be prudent to evaluate what motivates a coach prior to making a significant commitment to them. Though the five incentives I’ve listed below are by no means all-inclusive, I do believe that they represent a good starting point.

Love & respect for the game: Though this would seem to be an essential part of any coach’s motivation, I have actually found it to be extremely rare. For most, the game is simply a tool used to meet some other deeply held need. When a player is fortunate enough to find a mentor who is truly passionate about the sport, they tend to learn, not only what to do, but why to do it that way. The upside of this approach is that enthusiasm for the game is often times contagious and frequently produces players that later go on to become coaches. The downside is that “playing the game right” doesn’t necessarily translate into wins and in our culture, that has become the ultimate measuring stick for any coach.
Love of teaching: One of the “deeply held need(s)”, which I mentioned in the previous item, is the need to teach. In my experience, most of the folks who spend an appreciable amount of time in the coaching business are quite naturally “teachers”. For them, the court, or field, or arena… is simply the classroom where they ply their trade and all of the tests are open book. Coaches like this are a vital part of developing younger players and tend to be most effective at the amateur level. The struggle for them is that while they value growth and improvement, fans often care more about the final score.
Love of working with young people: Just as people who love babies are apt to volunteer to work in the nursery, those who enjoy young people are often drawn to the fields of play. This type of coach places a premium on relationship, with their teams often becoming like an extended family. That kind of atmosphere can have a powerful effect on players, especially those who come from broken or dysfunctional homes. Yet, despite the clear virtue of such an arrangement, it only seems to be protected when the winning percentage stays high enough
Love of competition: Like those who have the impulse to teach, competitiveness is something that seems to be innate within many people. For them, coaching can become an avenue to exercise that natural inclination. Those who are motivated in this way tend to be very conscious of the bottom line and many are viewed as successful because of that. Unfortunately, when this is the primary driver for a coach, the players and even the game itself, can become nothing more than a means to an end. This type of coach can flourish in a system where they are able to recruit, draft and/or trade players; but often struggle within a program where they have no control over who comes out for their team. While playing for this kind of coach can be difficult, having one of your kids play for them is even worse.
Sports as an analogy for life: A step beyond those who simply love to teach, are those who view sports as an analogy for life. Their vision extends well beyond developing the player, to cultivating the whole person; and the lessons they teach are meant to transcend the game itself. Finding a coach with the necessary understanding of both the sport and the challenges that life presents; and who has the ability to tie the two together, is a rare and precious thing. Playing for such a coach has the potential to be life changing.

Common Sense

When I smell the first blooms of Spring
I cannot refute the miracle of rebirth

When I touch the ones who are dearest to my heart
I cannot deny the power of life’s unseen forces

When I see the beauty and intricacy of all creation
I cannot ignore the evidence of an artisan and craftsman

When I hear the accusations that men render against God
I cannot overlook that only man’s fingerprints are found at crime scenes

When I taste the best that this world has to offer
I cannot help but yearn for something greater

For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities –
His eternal power and divine nature – have been clearly seen,
being understood from what has been made,
so that men are without excuse (Romans 1:20)

This morning, on the way to work, I stopped by a convenience store for a cup of coffee. As I got out of my car, I noticed a lady sitting in her car with the window down; as though she was waiting for someone. As I passed by her, she looked at me like she was going to say something, but she didn’t. After I got my coffee, I noticed that she was still there and as I walked back by, she called out to me. With a sheepish expression on her face, she quietly asked, “could you possibly help me with enough gas to get home?” I wish I could say that I didn’t even hesitate to help her, but the truth is that I immediately began to try to evaluate this women and her situation. She seemed pretty clear eyed. Her car was much newer than mine and seemed to be well maintained. In as much as I could discern, she seemed sincere. I’m not sure what I hoped to derive from those observations, as I asked, “where is home?” When she named a town that was almost fifty miles south of where we were, the little cash register in my mind began to calculate how much gas she’d need to make it that far.

For me, this kind of thing is always a wrestling match. The pragmatic side of me wants to question, “what if she’s just trying to panhandle a tank of gas”, “what if she spent all her money on drugs and now you’re helping her get her stash back to the neighborhood”, what if, what if, what if…? But the other side of me asks, “what if this were your mom, or your sister or your wife or one of your daughters?” “Wouldn’t you want someone trustworthy to be there for them?” Of course, all of these things flash through your mind in a nanosecond and ultimately, you just have to go with your strongest impulse. This morning, that impulse was to tell her to pull up to the pump and to head back in to pre-pay for some gas.

As I pulled out of the lot, she waved to me and mouthed the words “thank you”; and as I traveled down the highway, I found myself saying a little prayer for her. She hadn’t offered an explanation of what was going on, so all I could do was pray that God get her home safely; and maybe that’s all she needed. In the end, it doesn’t really matter what her story was. I’ve lived long enough to experience times of being stranded, of being alone and of just wanting to get home. And in those times, it has often been the kindness of strangers that made all the difference. At this point in my life, I’d rather take the chance of being swindled than to take the chance that I ignored someone who really needed help. Some might refer to this as “paying it forward”, and while I hope that might be true, I can also say that I’ve probably got some “paying back” to do. It seems to me that on an almost daily basis there are opportunities to reach out and be a neighbor to someone. To my shame, I often miss those opportunities. On the days that I manage to seize that moment, I can’t help but wonder why I don’t do that more often.

We live in a time and in a culture where it is easy to be cynical about people’s motivations; but even so, there are many who still have the genuine need of a helping hand. I pray that our cynicism will not overcome our desire to reach out to the people around us.

There is a world of difference between a team and a collection of guys who happen to wear the same uniform. Guys tend to ridicule those who stumble, while teammates encourage one another; guys quite naturally compete against each other, while teammates learn to rely on one another; and guys are generally threatened by their peers success, while teammates share and celebrate each other’s achievements. Ultimately, a team is always greater than the sum of it’s parts.

Three Witnesses

Centurion

“I have always been proud of my Roman heritage and like all the men in my family; it has been my honor to serve in the army of the emperor. Though I will admit that I wasn’t pleased when they told me that I was being sent to the land of the Hebrews, a good soldier knows better than to question his orders. When I first arrived, it was hard not to view these Israelites as little more than superstitious peasants; but in my years of living amongst them, I’ve come to see them as something more. Though their religious rituals, like the constant slaughter of animals, seem strange to me, I have witnessed firsthand the hope that seems to spring from their belief that their God not only loves them, but that He will one day deliver them from all oppression. It is a hope that I found myself yearning to find.”

“I first heard about this man Jesus of Nazareth, from some of the other soldiers in my garrison. They said that he was trouble and someone we needed to watch carefully. So I made it a point to seek him out and to know who he was. But the more I watched him, the more confused I became. After all, Jerusalem is filled with wild eyed revolutionaries and men who simply crave power, but this man didn’t appear to be either of those. The people seemed to be drawn to him and if I’m honest, I felt drawn to him too. In fact, the only people who truly appeared to be threatened by him were the Jewish religious leaders; and they seemed to hate him. From what I could see, they feared the influence he was having with the people. When I got the chance, I tried to get close enough to hear him speak and in those times I marveled at his words. Even though I cannot claim to have understood the things he was saying, he spoke with great authority and wisdom. Sometimes he would be telling stories and other times his words sounded almost like poetry. I know that there were moments when he was aware that I was listening and yet he looked at me in a way that let me know that it was alright.”

“I knew better than to discuss this with anyone, so I simply remained silent when I heard my fellow soldiers tell their slanderous tales of him; just as I held my tongue in the marketplace, when I’d hear the people speaking of his miraculous deeds. Soon, they were saying that he was their promised “Messiah” and that word seemed to set their religious leaders aflame with jealousy. Some of them seemed to think that he was simply a man sent by their God, while others claimed that he was the “Son of God”. As a Roman, I could relate to this debate, as most thought Caesar’s authority came from god, while others claimed that he was a god. Though I would never have said it aloud, I felt certain that the emperor was not a god; but this man Jesus was someone I wanted to believe in. I certainly didn’t know the answer, but I will say that he was unlike any man I’d ever known before.”

“With the feast the Jews call, ‘Passover’ approaching, I could tell that Jerusalem was ready to erupt; as the followers of Jesus met him on the outskirts of the city. Their loud adoration of him once again stirred the insecurities of their Hebrew leaders. Later that day, there were reports of a disturbance at the temple and claims that Jesus had been turning over the tables of the moneychangers. I found that a little hard to believe, but a short time later, several of us were dispatched to Governor Pilate’s residence, where we found him standing before the governor in chains. It seems that Caiaphas, the High Priest, had incited a mob to accuse Jesus of some type of treason, but I could tell that the governor wanted no part of their religious war. Though I couldn’t hear everything that was being said, I saw something in Pilate’s eyes that I’d never seen before; ‘fear’. As I watched Jesus stand calmly in the midst of these angry voices, I couldn’t help but wonder where all of his zealous followers had gone.”

“When the governor managed to disburse the crowd, by sending them to Herod, I hoped that things might calm down; but later I heard that the mob had returned and of the flogging that Jesus eventually received at the hands of my brethren. I suppose that I ought to have been grateful that I was not assigned to that detail, but as we marched toward Golgotha, I wondered if it wouldn’t have been preferable to what we were about to do.”

“In my years as a soldier, I had been a part of many crucifixions, but never of a man who seemed so utterly innocent. When we got to the top of the hill, I could barely recognize his mangled visage and as I manned a rope to hoist his cross into place, our eyes once again met. Though I expected to see agony and anger and maybe even hatred, I saw the same eyes that I’d seen as I watched him teach in the marketplace. Now, as then, they were somehow telling me that it was alright. But how could that be? How could anyone endure what he’d already been through? How could anyone endure what he was going through at that moment? Something inside me ripped, as I heard him pray, ‘Father, forgive them; they know not what they do’. Though others were taunting him and spitting on him, I found myself paralyzed by the fear that we were making a terrible mistake. As others pushed forward to torment him, I was shoved off to the side, where I stood in a stupor. In what seemed to be a short time later, the last bit of life drained out of him and as he breathed his last, the skies turned black and the earth began to shake violently. Though most of the other centurions ran down the hill in terror, I found myself unable to move and in that moment I uttered the only words that seemed to be true, ‘Surely this was the son of God’.”

Thomas

“When I think back on all the things he taught us, I realize that he had been trying to prepare us for a long time. He told us that he was going to be betrayed; he said that he would be handed over and put to death; yet somehow we all convinced ourselves that he was really saying something else. He had so often spoken in parables and in ways that were mysterious to us, that we failed to grasp the weight of his clear warning. Of course, a lifetime of hearing other people’s ideas about the coming of the Messiah, certainly helped add to our confusion. He kept saying that his kingdom was not of this world and yet we all kept expecting him to rise up and end Caesar’s reign. We didn’t understand that he came to deliver us from a far greater oppression.”

“Some of us have been chastened more publically than others, but none of us can boast of our bold faith in the Master’s darkest hours. Just like the time Peter tried to walk on the water, it has been easy for us to point out our brother’s weakness, in the hopes that it will draw attention away from our own. The ugly truth of that day was that eleven of us sat cowering in the back of the boat and on the night they came for our Lord, all of us again retreated in fear.”

“Those failures have rightfully called into question the depths of our belief, but I can promise that no one who knew Jesus intimately could doubt who he was. It wasn’t simply the signs and wonders, or his amazing wisdom, it was his very being. Peter could never have stepped out of the boat without a genuine faith in Jesus, but staring into the storm can have a powerful effect on a man. Even men of great faith, like the desert prophet John, who so boldly proclaimed who Jesus was, can waiver in the face of discouragement and disappointment. It is not as though ones faith abandons them in such moments; it is more like it becomes submerged in a sea of doubt. I remember Jesus once asking a man if he truly ‘believed’ and while the man affirmed that he did, he went on to ask the Lord to help him with his unbelief. Like him, we also believed, but we needed the Lord’s help and as near as we could tell, he was gone. Outside of his presence, our eyes became fixed on the rising storm and each of us began to sink.”

“Many have spoken of my ‘doubt’, but truthfully we were all wrestling with our doubts at that moment. From the night that they first seized Jesus in the garden, people were coming to us, asking questions we could not answer and telling us stories we could not believe. At first, we were just avoiding the High Priest and the soldiers, but soon we were hiding from everyone. We locked ourselves away for hours; wondering, waiting and worrying. For days we scarcely left the same little room; so it shouldn’t be hard to imagine my dismay at hearing people claim that Jesus had visited in the short time that I’d been away. It just sounded like another outrageous story and I was already worn down by all of it. When I said that I would need to see the nail marks in his hands, I was simply trying to say that I was unwilling to listen to anymore stories; but I never really considered how those words might sound as I stood before the Lord.”

“On the day he appeared to us, he invited me to touch his hands; but there was no need for further proof. In his presence, it was impossible to doubt and I fell to my knees and cried out, ‘My Lord and my God’. Though I was ashamed of my foolish words and of my poor faith, I was overcome with the joy that accompanies his nearness. In that moment, I realized that being close to him was all that I really wanted. After a lifetime of seeking knowledge and understanding, I found myself to be like a little child, who simply yearns to be in the presence of his loving father. The days that followed his appearing were filled with wonder and our hearts ached when he finally ascended to his heavenly throne. But just as he promised, our joy was made complete at Pentecost, when his precious Spirit came and abided within each one of us. It was the fulfillment of His vow to never leave us nor forsake us. Though I have encountered many troubles in the days since then, there is one thing I can promise; I have never doubted again.”

Mary

“In the days leading up to the Passover feast, I could sense that Jesus was troubled. He seemed to be spending more time alone, or with just the twelve, than with all of us gathered together. Even when he did come near to us, he seemed unusually quiet and maybe even distracted. Those times were difficult for me; because I cherished every moment that I was able to spend in his presence. From the time that he first found me, and drove away the spirits that had tormented me since childhood, there was no other place that I desired to be. In his midst, I felt safe and at peace and filled with hope.”

“I remember gathering with the crowd, along the road from Bethany; as he and the twelve made their way toward Jerusalem. Even though we were outside the city, there was a group of Pharisee’s watching from nearby; as they always seemed to be, when they thought Jesus might be coming. Many of the brethren grabbed palm branches and we all boldly praised the Lord as he made his way along the path. I was hoping that the love and adoration of his followers might please him; but he almost looked sad as he passed by us. That night, I heard the story of his angry outburst at the temple and I began to worry that something was wrong.”

“Many of us hoped that we’d all come together for the Passover meal and were sad to hear that he’d once again dine without us; but it was something we women were accustomed to. That disappointment was small when compared to our anxiety upon hearing that he’d been seized at the Garden of Gethsemane. Though Jesus had told us that he was going to have to suffer much, I think that most of us looked past those words toward the hopeful picture of eternity. At first, we tried to convince each other that he would somehow avoid the trap of the Pharisees, as he’d done so many times before; but soon it was clear that this time would be different.”

“In some ways it was worse for the twelve, because they were afraid to be seen on the streets. It was one of the few times that I was actually glad to be a woman; as we were practically invisible to everyone around us. This allowed us to see the High Priest falsely accuse him before Pilate and to hear the crowd roar their approval when Barabbas was released. But our anger quickly turned to terror, when the Romans began to beat him savagely. Something inside of me wanted to flee from that horrific scene, but something stronger told me that he shouldn’t be left alone in the company of those who despised him; and that though we could not stop it, we needed to be witnesses to all that went on there. So I stayed and I wept and I felt my hope slip away with every lash. I could not understand how something so clearly evil could triumph over something that was so obviously pure; and I began to sink into an abyss of despair. I wanted to be strong for Mary, his mother and I tried desperately to remember the words he’d taught us; but I felt as though the very life was being pulled from my body. Together, his mother and I stumbled down the streets, as they paraded him toward the accursed hill.”

“As we came to the place of the skull, we were joined by John; and when Mary saw him, she collapsed into his arms. Though he steadied her, he also seemed stricken by the sight of the Lord. We all cried out in anguish as they drove the nails into his hands & feet, but grew quieter when Jesus spoke to Mary and John from the cross. I felt completely helpless and hopeless in the hours he hung there dying; and had grown numb by the time he’d breathed his last. As the sky turned black and the earth shook beneath our feet, it was only the fleeing of the Romans that let me know that this was real to anyone other than me. For the first time since I’d come to know the Lord, I felt utterly alone.”

“The hours and days that followed were a torment. Though many of us were huddled together, we took little comfort in each other. In those rare moments when exhaustion would give way to sleep, visions of the Lord’s mangled body would intrude upon my dreams. When I was awake, waves of fear and abandonment would sweep over me. Mary and I tried to busy ourselves with preparations for Jesus burial and before the dawn, on the first day of the week, we headed to the place where they said he had been laid.”

“Finding the empty tomb was yet another heartbreak; as I yearned to be close to anything that might remind me of his presence. After the frenzied rush to show Peter and John what we had discovered, I found myself sitting alone and weeping, near the tomb. My eyes were still blurry with tears when I first saw the angels, standing in the place where the Lord’s body had been. At first, I was confused, then I was frightened; but then their joyous proclamation that He was “alive” caused my heart to leap within me. As they reminded me of the words he had spoken about his death and resurrection, I could feel the hope seeping back into my soul.”

“I was excited to tell the brethren all that I’d seen and heard, but before I could take my leave, yet another voice spoke and I saw a man standing before me. At first, I could not tell who he was, but then he called my name. ‘Mary’, he said and I knew it was my Lord. As I looked upon him, he was not bloodied or disfigured; and he seemed to glow, as the angels had. Without thinking, I lunged to embrace him, but he stopped me and told me that it was too soon. Looking into his beautiful eyes made me feel as though I’d been reborn and it was almost more than I could bear. When he told me to go and tell the others, I did not want to leave him; but he smiled at me and promised that he would return quickly. As I ran and skipped and danced my way down the path, I could not resist the urge to almost sing, ‘He’s Alive!’, ‘He’s Alive!’ over and over again.”

“When I came to the place where the twelve were staying, I burst through the door in jubilation. They seemed almost irritated at my impertinence and they shook their heads in disbelief, as I breathlessly told my story. Only Peter and John seemed to lend any credence to the words I said and even their eyes were filled with doubt. Some claimed that I was delirious with grief, while others muttered about the fact that I was ‘just a woman’, but I could not be discouraged; as I continued my chant, ‘He’s Alive!, He’s Alive!’. None of them bothered to apologize to me when the Lord later appeared to them, but even then my joy was too strong and full to be penetrated. Though the days before his ascension were wondrous, it was the infilling of his Spirit, on the day of Pentecost, that finally made me whole. On that day, the void within me was filled to overflowing and I have never felt alone again. In him I live and move and have my being; and he is with me always! Hallelujah!”

The Best Day

Though I wrote this yesterday, internet problems prevented me from posting it until today.

Today is the fifteenth anniversary of the best day I ever had; which is no small thing considering some of the amazing days I’ve experienced. It wasn’t only incredible for the events of the day, which were truly precious; but because it was the first time in my life that I experienced the sensation of being the right person, at the right place, at the right time. In the thirty four years which preceded that day, those were three planets that had never quite aligned before. Of course, coming to such a moment wasn’t easy. It took the unraveling of the life I’d known previously, the loss of the things I thought we’re going to make me happy and a confrontation with the treason of my own heart. I realize that sounds pretty dramatic, but to be completely honest, it was. Looking back, I feel certain that experience of brokenness was what opened the door for this new beginning. Though it had been the most difficult season of my life, it became a turning point to a more hopeful future.

That future began on 28 March 1998, when I married the beautiful Anita K. Messer and became a father to a precious little girl named Katelyn. Like me, Anita had invested all of her heart in a relationship that ultimately failed. And though our passion for each other was never in doubt, our willingness to put all of our eggs in this new basket may have been. With some time, some tears, a lot of honest talk and even more prayer, we both came to believe that this was God’s plan for us. On that Saturday afternoon, we pledged to spend the rest of our days together and took a leap into the future. We never could have imaged how dramatically our lives were about to change and every year since then has been an inconceivable adventure. There have been moments of incredible joy and times of great pain; instances which seemed glorious and others that felt crushing; but we’ve stepped through them all together and never regretted sharing the journey. Though our life is far from perfect, the love that we share has been an oasis of grace in an often unforgiving world.

I thank God for this new life and for the family He’s given us. I thank my precious Anita for her wonderful heart and for loving me in a way that I never thought possible. I thank our beautiful children, for being a source of life and inspiration every day. The last fifteen years have been the pinnacle of my life and I find myself filled with hope for the years to come. God is so good!

Naturally

How readily we bemoan our condition

Yet how lethargic we are in changing direction

 *

How ardent our cries for justice

Yet how timid our esteem for the law

 *

How tightly we hold to our opinions

Yet how weakly we grasp the truth

 *

How easily we resent those who expect something from us

Yet how relentless are the demands we make of others

 *

How eager we are to speak

Yet how loath we are to listen

 *

How brash we are in our vanity

Yet how crippled we are by our insecurities

 *

How carelessly we forget our blessings

Yet how meticulously we record our offense

How fervent we get about things we cannot change

Yet how languid we can be about the things that are ours to do

 *

How reluctant we are to accept a God who would hold us accountable

Yet how easy we blame Him for the problems of the world

 *

How quick we are to expect grace

Yet how grudgingly we dispense mercy

 *

How voraciously we feed our appetites

Yet how famished we find our souls

 *

How formidable our cynicism

Yet how fragile our hope

 *

So in need of redemption

Yet so unwilling to yield