The Big Ask

My son and I were in seperate places tonight doing the same thing: making the big ask.  For him it’s about baseball season and having all the gear he wants.  For me it was taking one more step in our church’s journey towards purchasing a building.  For him it was research and a narrative essay giving his reasons for why he wanted what he wanted, and a detailed expense list accompanied by how much he anticipated paying out of his own pocket.  For me it was pretty much the same thing.

Just because I think it’s precious I am going to reprint exactly what he wrote in his proposal.  Here you have it:

“Well, as you know baseball season is coming up.  And I like to play it.  And on Monday me and dad went to look at sports stuff.  We found some catchers gear.  And since coach Hescott said that I could play catcher I think that I should get some catchers gear and a catchers mitt that could last me 2-4 seasons.  And I already know what catchers gear I want and what catchers glove I want.  And also Dad says I need a cup so maybe I could buy that myself?  And I also want new cleats because mine are so uncomfortable and mine have dog crap all over them.  And whenever I run they fall off.  And one more thing I want is batting gloves and I know which ones I want and my other ones are too small.”

He goes on to give exact pricing and shows his math as he adds it all up.  He then proposes: “$214 is what I want you to pay.  I will pay for batting gloves and a cup.”  That’s about 8.5 percent of the total cost.

I know what it’s like to ask for money.  I know what it’s like to have a desire burning deep within you.  My prayer for him is that in time that desire will turn more and more outward.  I think it’s safe to say I want him to keep asking well, like he did tonight.

I’ll post a picture of him in his new gear.

Big Decisions

Craig’s Cruisers is a western Michigan playland with mini-golf, go carts, water bumper boats, batting cage,s and token operated you-give-me-tokens-I-spit-out-tickets-that-are-worth-significantly-less-than-your-tokens games.  This is how we spent out morning.  Alex and I went to the batting cages so I could look like a big shot in the 40 mph little league cage (totally cranked out some huge home runs, by the way).  We stayed away from the high school speed and didn’t even consider the 80mph pro cages.

While we did this, Bis and Dana played token games and started collecting tickets.  After my macho hit parade, Alex and I joined the girls and played skeeball and shot hoops on the super-small basketball game that I could just stand over and drop the balls through the hoop.  We also tried our hand at games of luck that promised to give you hundreds of tickets if you could stop the flashing light at just the right time.  I couldn’t.

Then when all the fun was done and the tokens were gone we went up to the glass counter and traded in our tickets.  Bis had 115 and Alex had 78.  I swear it takes just about as long to decide what to do with the tickets as it does to win them.  The 19-year-old college student stood on the other side of the counter and waited and waited and waited while the kids deliberated and thought about this huge decision.  Do I get the cheap ring I’ll lose in the parking lot or do I get the gummy hamburger candy that will turn my mouth brown?  Turns out they had enough for both.

I tried joking with the kid behind the counter who looked very non-plussed over the amount of time the kids were taking.  “Super big decision here, right?”  He looked at me, obviously not catching the facetious tone, and said, “not really.”

I was enjoying their intensity in decision making, but the kid was bored.  How many times have I spent time worried about something that will really never matter – even though I am confident they are life-altering decisions.  I stood there watching them, kind of getting a kick out of it.  At the time I thought I wish I didn’t worry about such small things, but now, thinking about it…I’m glad I give great consideration to what may turn out to be a ring I lose in the parking lot.  How am I to know which is which?

White Privilege

My son is finishing his baseball season this week.  He’s in “machine pitch” minor league.  That is supposed to mean that there’s a spring-loaded arm that flings a baseball at a consistent speed to a consistent location over home plate where a little boy stands ready to take on the world.  That’s what it is supposed to mean.  But the league, which has 12 teams, has at it’s use a total of 1 old and broken, inconsistent pitching machine.

Here’s something else to know about this league: the children are placed on teams based on neighborhood.  In fact, within 1/4 mile of our house there are 6 boys on my son’s team.  The coach lives two houses down, and the assistant coach lives three houses down.  We are blessed to live in a really nice neighborhood.  The lawns are manicured, the houses well-kept, dads are playing ball in the back yard with their sons and my next door neighbor, the police officer, plays catch with Alex and me.  In fact my former congressman lives down the street.  I say all to say that we live in a very upper middle class area.

My son’s coach, disgusted by the lack of machines in “machine pitch” basebal,l decided to use some expendible cash and purchase his own machine.  We practiced with it, and the kids got used to the speed.  Each time we played another team there were some significant differences.  These other kids did not have a machine, so we used ours…they were not used to the speed and weren’t able to hit well.  It was clear these kids had not had as much back yard time.  One last difference: these other teams were put together based on their own neighborhoods.  Our team is the only one with no children of color.

The denomination I’m a part of is going through a process of trying to understand white privilege.  As I’m sitting in a task force to lead the denomination in the conversation, I came to think of the Holland, Michigan little league.  My son’s team wipes up the field with about every team they come across because they have a distinct advantage with a machine and, while this is obviously an uninformed blanket statement, plenty of parental back yard time.

As a white male I have many privileges that most people of color do not have.  I’ve outlined one above.  Coming to notice things like this make me uncomfortable.  There are definitely some deep wounds that my denomination needs to address, but also some that I need to address.  The whole idea of white privilege brings about questions of justice.  Do I ask my neighbor to stop using his machine?  That doesn’t seem very “American” and wouldn’t go over well in my neighborly relationship.  Do I, as a white male, offer to purchase machines for each team?  I think there’s a distinct problem with this, too.  Do I attempt to make changes to the way the league is organized – bringing up the idea of mixing neighborhoods?  I happen to like knowing my neighbors in this manner.

One thing is for sure: I’m uncomfortable.  And that is a start.  And that is a good thing.

 

The Cat’s Out

For My Next Trick...

Wilson Valdez won his first professional baseball game as a pitcher on May 26, 2011.  The game began on May 25 and lasted 6 hours and 11 minutes.  His team, the Philidelphia Phillies, used 21 players and had run out of pitchers in the 19 inning game.  19.  That’s more than 2 full games worth of innings.

Everyone was tired.  Fans were literally asleep in their seats until Valdez came to the mound.  It’s a big deal because he’s not a pitcher.  Well, he wasn’t a pitcher, but he showed there was more to him than everyone thought.  He normally plays 2nd base, but now the cat is out of the bag.  Now everyone knows he is capable of doing so much more than they ever thought.

And now, of course, the cat is squirming in everyone else’s bag and going for daylight.  What else is hiding underneath everyone’s facade?  What am I capable of when the innings grow long?  What gifts lie hidden in the church that only come out when they are desperately needed? 

I say, let them loose.  It’s good to have people doing what they do best, but let’s face it: there are a lot of people in our churches who ride the pine and we have no idea what they are capable of because they never step up to the pitcher’s mound and give it a try.  I’m not sure whose fault this is, and I don’t think it’s important.  What I do know is that Valdez, a journeyman infielder, threw a 90 mile per hour fastball and got the win.  What can you do?

Stand!

Alex in Armor

It was cold out last night.  I mean, cold.  You would think that May 2 would be a little warmer, but…I’m not in charge of that.  What I was in charge of last night was Bis and Alex because Dana was at a small group meeting with some friends from church.  What to do with the kids isn’t hard to figure out when it’s baseball season.  Alex had a game.  Now, normally I’m a parent helper (I won’t call myself a coach).  I stand by the bench keep a semblance of order.  It’s like corralling cats back there.  You’re up to bat, you’re on deck, you’re in the hole. You there! Stop eating rocks.  You get the picture.

But I had Bis on my own so I couldn’t do that job.  Instead I was two halves of a parent: one half watching Bis on the nearby playground…making sure nobody creepy was hanging out near her.  The other half was watching the game.  Alex was getting his first opportunity to play catcher.  Now, if you know Alex, you’ll know that he’s the smallest kid on the field and the lightest, but probably has the highest confidence level, so it was good.

I know there’s no “cute” in baseball, but he looked darn close in all that gear.  He stopped almost every ball that the machine pitched that night (something the coach said hardly any little kid will be able to do – so I’m a little proud).  But here’s the thing I’m most excited about (and I got it on video for you) Alex blocked the plate.

You have to understand that at this level of baseball (half a step up from t-ball) the catcher does very little of import.  He’s a glorified backstop.  Until the last batter of each inning.  That’s when no matter who is up to bat, no matter what kind of a hit, no matter how many on base – everybody runs home.  It’s a train of skinny kids with huge helmets coming one after another into home plate.

Alex got the ball and positioned himself in a place where he knew he would tag out any kid running home. And he did. My son, small of frame and large on confidence, stood in the face of the enemy without flinching. I was bursting with pride. And here’s what I got to thinking: When we cover ourselves with God’s armor we can stand in the face of the enemy’s attacks knowing that we are fortified, protected, and covered. Small though we may be, and however large the onslaught, there we can be having confidence in the One who goes before us and stands at our side and has our backs covered. Don’t be afraid.

One Thing Matters

The vet said that Jack (our dog) needs to lose a little weight, but I don’t care today.  Today he gets an extra treat – the good kind that makes him spin in circles.  My own doctor tells me I should eat a little more healthy and exercise (which I am doing), but not today.  Today I don’t care.  My lawn is starting to come alive outside, and there are a lot of things to get working on out there, but I don’t care today.

I’m sitting in my living room looking out my window.  Here’s what I see: Eddy, my neighbor, is raking, and mowing and getting his flower beds ready for the big spring push.  People walk their dogs – owner and pet getting exercise.  No doubt those owners had an apple for lunch and washed it down with water and a vitamin.  But not me.  Not today.  Those things don’t matter today.  Why?  Because only one thing matters today: It’s Opening Day in the Major Leagues!!!

Alex got out of school early for parent-teacher conferences.  I sent Dana.  When he got home I had everything ready: we played catch in the back yard, came in and had hot dogs, chips and a coke.  As I’m cleaning up my plate, Alex comes screaming through the kitchen on his way to the TV “The Line-Up, The Line-Up!!!”  They were showing who was starting the season.  He hollered the names of the players and where they were in the line-up.

Opening Day always starts Spring.  I don’t really care what the calendar says, nor do I care about the temperature…Opening Day is the first day of Spring, and it means a fresh start.  This could be the year the Tigers meet the Cubs in the World Series.  This is the year that the Cy Young award goes to Justin Verlander.  Every rookie who gets their first hit today is a possible rookie of the year, every pitcher who gets a win and 15 strikeouts is a shoe-in for the Cy Young award.  Every team has a chance, and it’s like Sunday.

Every Sunday is a little Easter where new life is available, resurrection in every hymn, a response to God’s word pushing us into a new possibility, a fresh, green future following the One who opens the door to the Kingdom of God…the place, the time where we enter and move our world in the direction of God’s reign in the hearts of God’s creation. 

Nothing else matters!  The first pitch created a pop and snap on the first Easter morning, and every first pitch reminds me that we just started over.  Every day, a new first-pitch in Christ.

Play Ball!!!

Spring Training

Yesterday (Valentines Day) the Detroit Tigers began Spring Training in Florida.  I don’t know about you, but I’m just a little bit geeked.  Alex and I already looked at the schedule for home games this season and started planning out our attack of Comerica Park.  The Mariners come early on in the season (April 28, 1:05pm, section 102 – second row) and the Twins come at the end of May.  If time, money, and mom allow we may get to a third game later in the season.

I love the anticipation!  I love seeing pictures of the pitchers and catchers getting on the same page again…learning to read one another’s minds and signals…catchers starting to get the feel for each pitcher’s particularities.  Then the position players will come and the rhythms will be established…the unspokenness of a double play…the singular mind and shared goal of each play…the backing up of this player and that…the exact positioning and fundamentals that make for success…the joy of knowing that any pitch can bring an infinite number of possibilities.

I look forward to watching the games on TV and checking the box scores of the games I missed.  I can’t wait to train my son to keep score and predict certain pitches or defensive strategies.  Then, soon, the weather will warm enough here that we’ll be outside playing catch and the ground will dry out enough to shag fly balls and take grounders.  It’s gonna be great!

Here’s my challenge as baseball relates to church planting (or maybe just worship in any church).  How does one generate that expectation, that anticipation, that excitement for worship?  How does a pastor or worship leader or teacher plant seeds within a congregation that makes them look forward to coming to church…nay, to never want to miss?  This is my challenge in a congregation where many people do not have a lifetime of making church a priority.

We have 100 or so people who would call Embody their church, but only 65-70 on a regular basis.  I know that this is a pretty average average for any church.  I would love it, however, if each family or person would go to bed each Saturday feeling like I will feel the night before I head to Comerica with my son – anticipating being involved in something great and wonderful and larger than ourselves.  How do we train ourselves to wake up on a Sunday morning and desire to hear God’s word and sing God’s praises with the same enthusiasm that is awakened within me at the first smell of hot dogs, peanuts, and a grossly overpriced beverage?

Let’s begin this week to train ourselves to predict each other’s movements and double play positions.  Let’s begin training our hearts for a life of service together.  Let’s gather Sunday morning in our respective church buildings and fulfill a God-given desire to be sent.  It’s Spring Training, and even if there’s snow on the ground near your house, we can begin to prepare for the sowing and reaping God has planned, for the throwing and catching of goodness and the home run swings we must attempt in the name of Christ.

The Fire

A week or so ago Alex had his last T-Ball game of the season.  Bitter sweet: bitter because he really enjoys it (and so do I); sweet because – to be honest – having to get everyone fed and to a game by 5:45 on the other side of town really cramps our style.  Poor us, right?  Anyway…last game.

Usually our team is the last to arrive.  We straggle in until about 5:55 and the game is already starting.  Not us, of course…we’re there early to play catch, but everyone else is pokey.  But not this game – this, as Alex put it, was game seven of the world series.  Nobody wanted to miss any of this monumental struggle of the tiny titans.  So it was our Marlins team versing (that’s how Alex puts it) the Twins.

The Twins coach was in a tough spot this day: his kids straggled in late, whoever was in charge of bringing their bats, balls, tee, and helmets showed up late, and…he seemed a bit grumpy by the whole thing – understandably so.  These are volunteers (I think), and if they’re paid, it’s not enough.

We made a deal to share equipment and got underway.  Now our team has a couple of parents who help out around the field.  Dave stands on one side and I stand on the other to help kids figure out where to stand and where to throw and when to pay attention to a ball that will inevitably end up in their vacinity.  This other coach…nothing.  So he’s at a disadvantage.

Add to this that he’s taking it way too seriously.  He’s obviously a guy whose voice is naturally elevated and he’s pretty intense, but I don’t think he knows how to dial it down for a 6 year old who is only there because dad thought it would be good for him to get a team experience.

The equipment shows up halfway through the first inning and he runs a quarter mile to get to it and hurry it along – leaving his 9 kids to fend for themselves on the field.  When he gets back the inning is over and the kids are a little “out of focus”.  He is visibly flustered and starting to get more animated than normal and intense into the kids faces about all the things he has been drilling into them through the short season.

Long story short…by the end of the game: parents are a little uncomfortable, two kids have cried, and it looks as though the coach is ready to swear off baseball forever.

All the while I could see what was happening to this guy.  He was in the fire.  That’s what I think of it as.  He’s being given opportunities to be shaped and molded by difficult circumstances and it looks (to this judgmental eye) like he kind of blew it.  We all get into this situation: how will we respond to the temperature rising – especially when there seem to be 2 or 3 burners pointing in at us at once.

There’s bad news and there’s good news in this kind of situation: the bad news is that if we blow it and lose our cool or don’t show the fruit of the Spirit during the fire we tend to feel like asses and get down on ourselves later.  The good news is this: we will most certainly get another opportunity to correct our responses.  God has a way of refining us and making us more into the image of God’s Son.

The Moment I Love

Comerica Park and the great view from my seat behind the Tigers' dugout

Took my son to a Detroit Tigers game yesterday.  He’s 7, and going to a game is a really exciting thing for him.  Ok, it is for me, too.  I love the stark green grass.  I enjoy the smells and sounds at the park.  I like a greatly overpriced bun-length kielbasa.  I can’t get enough of watching the pop flies that someone almost catches while their buddy actually DOES catch it (then watching the interplay between the two of them…high fives, barely hidden jealousy while the lucky catcher raises his ball-filled fist into the air for all the crowd to see and cheer for (15 seconds of fame)).

We picked up some friends and drove the three hours to Detroit, found the right exit, parked the car, got out and realized it was going to be a VERY hot day for a ball game, walked around the corner to be blown away by the enormity of the park – bigger than life.  We went inside and found our seats, but before we did that we did my absolute favorite thing to do at a park.  I LOVE knowing that I’m going to see the field and then walking to the place where I do see the field for the first time.  Sounds silly, but I love the anticipation and the fulfillment of that moment.

Section 133, Seats 5,6, Row 21

Baseball is, in my opinion, just about the perfect game…you never know what is going to happen, there’s no clock, the rules are set and can be tricky in strange situations, there is a human element to the calling of the game by the umpire, and each pitch has unlimited potential to go anywhere and do about anything.  I love the game, and the initial seeing of the field: it’s bright green grass, the brilliant and poorly named “foul” poles, the flashing scoreboard, the stark while lines and bases against the freshly watered dirt and shortly shorn grass.  It’s poetry, and the initial viewing is perfection.

Some people worship baseball, and I understand this.  I get some of the same feelings on Sunday mornings.  I’m usually the first to the building on a Sunday and when I open the door I get something akin to the ball park.  The colors are there, but the smell is different.  The chairs are set and the sermon is prepared.  But anything can happen…after all the Holy Spirit is present and we’re going to be worshiping the God who creates…and God creates something new all the time – in me, in us.  Every pitch, every prayer, every song, every sermon, every cry from a child is something stark and fresh.  I love that moment of entering the building and anticipating.

Here’s the big difference: At our building we have air conditioning.

The only reason I took this picture was to show you the insanely awesome hats these ladies were wearing

What Makes Me Mad

I don’t get mad too easily.  In fact, it’s pretty rare.  But it happened the other day at my son’s T-Ball game.  I’m not the coach because that’s a job that nobody can win at.  Parents can be intollerably…well, I just don’t want that.  Never the coach – always the helper.  So, I help the coach.  You get all kinds of kids in T-Ball, but I’ll try to categorize them:

The Ant-Counter.  This is the kid who is watching everything out there EXCEPT the game.  He’s interested in waving to his sister or seeing who brought their dog to the game or watching the birds swoop from tree to tree.  These are fun to watch because they don’t know anyone is watching, and they are just so innocent and authentic.

The Tryin’ Hard, but Not Cuttin’ It.  This is the kid who is taking it super serious, but is way out of his league – even in T-Ball.  It’s the kid who swings 30 times and never gets it anywhere.  Swing and a miss kid.  Now, you might not know the difference between this kid and the Ant Counter.  Here’s the difference: the Ant Counter doesn’t know he’s no good.  In fact, he doesn’t care.  The Tryin’ Hard, but Not Cuttin’ It kid cares way too much and can be inconsolably broken by their self-assumed failure.  Poor kid.  Don’t take it too seriously.  I’m betting this type of kid tends to be a first born.

Know It All Talented.  This is my kid.  He’s uber into it, and pretty good to match.  They watch baseball on TV and know the names of teams and maybe even which team is in which division.  They understand where to send the ball if it’s hit to them, and if it’s not hit to them, they know exactly where they should go to back someone up.  They get it.  The game clicks for them.  This type of kid can be a bit annoying because they know it all and don’t have a real teachable spirit.  They also want to show off all they know.  They’re the kid that you find yourself arguing with, but didn’t know how you got into the argument.

There are two of the third kind on my son’s team.  Alex and a kid named Ben.  Here’s where I got mad.  Don’t worry it wasn’t with the kid, Ben; it was with his dad.  Ben was all excited the other day, and of course, being the kind of kid he is…told me all about it.  “My dad said that if I hit it to the outfield he’ll take me to Captain Sundae.  And if I get two hits there, I’ll get a medium.  And if I get all three to the outfield, he’ll get me a large.”

I got a little mad, and that little mad turned into more mad as the kid kept coming up to bat.  He’s a good little hitter, but he got up there and kept trying to crush the ball.  He missed and missed and missed all because he was trying to get that ice cream from his dad.  And get this: his dad wasn’t even there.  Now, I don’t expect all parents to make it to games, but don’t do that to your kid when you can’t be there to cheer him on.

When he got up to bat the first time and just dribbled a ball back to the pitcher I was right by first base and encouraged him for his hit.  He was about to cry because he didn’t get his big hit and ice cream.  Ticked me off to no end.

We do this to people in church, too, sometimes.  We have these huge expectations for others…unfair expectations.  And when people can’t meet up to them, they feel like failures.  Perfection is unattainable, but we make it feel like it’s not.  I’m going to put that on  my list of things NOT to do.

After the game I took Alex to Captain Sundae.