God is Moving in Youth Sports

 Youth and high school sports have been a constant in our home for two decades.  Tanya and I have coached soccer, flag football, baseball, basketball - and we have cheered on all of those plus track, cross country and tennis (and now rugby).  We have started programs, supported programs, and mainly supported our boys in all of it.  If it has a ball or a finish line - we have been there.

Last night we watched our Arrows, especially our favorite Arrow Greyson battle Dover on the football field at Crater Stadium for nearly 2 hours.  It was a contest that ultimately ended in defeat for Ashland, but the boys never gave up and never gave in to the mental and physical exhaustion that, as a parent you feel right along with your athlete as they struggle and strain.

After the last knee was taken and our team had gathered with coaches and parents on the field something really special happened.  It’s been on my mind in a powerful way since, and is why I wanted to share these rambling thoughts.

Dover’s entire team, after cheering and celebrating a hard fought victory with their band and student section, came over to the opposite end zone where we were gathered, sore, defeat still fresh, and they called out to our boys to kneel and pray with them - all of them.  Some of our guys took a moment to figure out what was happening, but once they all knew, they ALL knelt down together and prayed.  Not as two opposing teams who had just pummeled each other for 4 quarters - but as a group of young men.  Tired, half reeling with the rush of victory, half bent by the disappointment of defeat, but wholeheartedly together in that moment.

Dover had just experienced very emotional week, losing a freshman student and athlete to suicide - and perhaps that stirred the Spirit in them more than usual and made this act one that felt necessary - maybe it’s something that they have done before, I can’t say - and frankly to me it doesn’t matter what the catalyst was.  This was something that moved me, as I am sure it did others in a way that has stuck with me.

God is moving in this generation - I see it in my son as he leads his teammates in pregame prayer and kneels to connect with God before games, and I saw it in a powerful way last night. God is present and real and moving in these young men and women in a way that we as older adults need to pay attention to and learn from.

All these years of investing time and energy into these kids and hoping that they learned something from my heart, and not just my whistle - I felt and learned more last night than I could ever hoped to have taught.

Thank you Dover - and thank you for all who are supporting youth sports and Christian youth activities in our communities.  It is having an impact far beyond just the kids.

Remembering Timpa

 

Timothy Ray Ridge, my father-in-law, and my very dear friend, died unexpectedly of a heart attack in the early hours of the morning on Sunday, December 20th; after visiting his mother Carol through a window at her assisted living home with his wife Barbara, sister Dawn and her grandchildren, his daughter and son-in-law, and three of his seven loving and energetic grandchildren.  He passed after seeing his beloved Ohio State Buckeyes clinch the Big10 Championship after fewer games played than in any other season in history.  But knowing Tim, he had watched every minute there was to watch this year. He was certainly a fan of the Buckeyes, but an even bigger fan of his family.  He watched hours upon hours of his grandchildren’s soccer games, football games, swim meets, baseball games, track meets, cross country meets, choir concerts, band concerts, piano recitals, and holiday programs.  He genuinely enjoyed every single minute of it.  He was a true fan of his family and everyone in it.  

Tim cheered on his beloved son Sean and beautiful daughter Tanya through decades of youth sports, not as a spectator, but as a coach, and even as a soccer league administrator.  When his kids aged out of teams he could coach he transitioned to the role of FIFA certified soccer referee, a role he took a great deal of pride in, investing in the young players, he loved the game, but loved the players and what they learned from it so much more.  He was a fan of Sean as he completed his college education, earning a doctorate after several master’s degrees, and eventually becoming a Dean and professor at Johnson University.  This was a point of great pride for Tim. 

As proud as he was of Sean’s education and vocation, he was infinitely more proud of Sean’s family.  Tim loved his daughter-in-law Beth dearly and their four children and thought of them daily, cheering for their sports, life, and academic achievements from Ohio, and visiting them in Tennessee as often as he was able.  Tim genuinely loved Ethan, Charis, Levi, and Zeke and wanted them to know, even though he struggled at times with how to say it, that each of them was uniquely loved and immensely important to him.

 

Tim and Barb have been active and indispensable in the life of their daughter and her family.  They were constant sources of babysitting, puppysitting, and support as they moved from Swanton, to Jackson, to Orrville and eventually to Ashland, where Tim and Barb finally settled.  They moved each time to be close to family, to invest themselves, and to share life with them.  Tim and Barb were present at nearly every possible event of “the boys”, even in the difficult 2020 seasons.  Caedon, Brody and Greyson, who nearly shared a birthday with Tim, will miss him at every event from here on out.  Tim was incredibly proud of his daughter and her career as a nurse, but even more so of the life she worked to create with her husband Chris.  Tim enjoyed watching the couple learn life’s many lessons and was always both encouraging and ornery in his advice and admiration regarding their milestones and achievements.  

Before being a grandfather, even a father, Tim was a husband.  He loved Barbara unconditionally for nearly 50 years.  He took his role as provider seriously, and he provided Barb with the best life he possibly could, but most of all, he truly valued her as his constant partner and participant in the life they shared, a life of love.  Love of God, and His only son Jesus.  Love of his son and daughter and their spouses.  Love of his grandchildren.  Love of his mother, his sister, and her family.  Love of his four-legged furry sidekick, Kibbles. 

Life took Tim from Findlay, Ohio to Slippery Rock, Pennsylvania where he played football for the university and won the heart of Barbara, to Morocco, Africa where their son was born, to Coldwater, Michigan where his daughter was born, to Swanton, Ohio where they raised their family and where he worked as an air traffic controller, to wherever he felt he was needed most to support and cheer on his family.  And now, near the end of this crazy year, he moves to Heaven, where he is now praising the Jesus he knew so well, spending Christmas this year in the presence of his Lord and Savior.

Tim will be missed by those who loved him, which, quite honestly, is nearly everyone who was lucky enough to have known him.  His quiet, but mischievous nature was magnetic.  He will be missed by his mother and sister, by his son and daughter, by his grandchildren, by former coworkers and teammates, by students on the buses he drove and by me, his son-in-law, who would give nearly anything for one more cup of coffee, or glass of wine with him.  Tim was a good, good man and a very good friend, and I will miss him the rest of my days as I spend them doing my best to love his daughter and grandsons, along with the rest of the family, unconditionally; with just a touch of ornery, just like he taught me.

May my Merry Christmas be sincere and my Hello be an opening line...

There are so many things that occur in the busy everyday, that don’t seem significant, that pass by without notice or circumstance, fading into the ether of a random day’s agenda...

Among these are the dozens of hallway glances, the office hellos and goodbyes, the “how was your weekends” and the routine conversations at the coffee pot or check out line.  

We go through life assuming these are merely mundane and manuscript, normal fodder for normal days...throwaway interactions and nondescript moments.

Oh...but what if they weren’t.  What if they were so much more.  What if every human interaction was viewed through the lens of one God-intentioned creation colliding with another God-intentioned creation, in the urgent present tense of a designed and distinct moment in the universe.  

What if we woke up and we realized that every human interaction, whether at the checkout lane or church parking lot was one that held inherent value and yet to be unpacked mystery.  All of us have a story behind our everyday persona, what if we cared enough to encourage one another to tell it, even just a part of it?  We are all worthy of a Paul Harvey monologue on what brought us to today. 

 We all have dreams that have been put on a shelf or in some cases put out to the curb.  We all want to explain what they were.  We all have a wish for whats next, what if we could communicate that to an ear eager to hear it? We all are designed for community and long to be known and to truly know others in our world.  We are all unbearably lonely, though few will openly admit it, and yet in this highly populated, constantly moving world we are rarely alone. 

So why are we perpetually too busy for more than just hello? Why is small talk the biggest investment we are willing to make?  Why are we willing to send a text or like a post but unwilling to make or answer an actual call?  When did a visit or catching up over coffee become too much to squeeze into the calendar?

Something in our very souls have been changed by the modern  world.  A longing for real connection has somehow been traded for the cheap substitute of clicks and likes.  Activity, busyness, scheduled chaos...all have taken priority over true communication, interaction,  and conversation.  

What’s in our calendar has taken a front seat to who's in front of us.  We have all willingly accepted being bumped for whatever is next.  We have done it willingly, if I accept you bumping off our lunch date for the meeting you have at 2:00, you will overlook the fact that I’ve been late for dinner two weeks straight or haven't returned the call...

It’s an epidemic of extinction level proportion, but we are all actively participating and eagerly accepting it with false grace and implied understanding every day.  It builds up in us and it erodes our humanness one interaction at a time.

We may not consciously know we want it to end, but our souls are screaming for it to stop.  Our very human essence is on the checkout conveyor kicking the phone out of our hands and looking us in the screen-glazed eyes and telling us we need to connect with that God-created being across the counter from us.  Will we listen this time or will we accept that we have things to do, places to be and schedules to keep...and move on to the next check box?

Maybe we can break through the ice one crack at a time.  Maybe if we change our habit to really try to connect, just one opportunity at a time.  One swing of the pick at a time.  Maybe if we can just try to interact, to communicate, to actually connect even if just for a few short minutes.  Perhaps we will come to understand that the encounters aren’t actually throwaway after all and that the humans around us are worthy of our respect, not just obligatory eye contact.  Maybe we can say something that lets our coworkers know we really do care about what happens outside of their 8-5 weekday life...

Perhaps our next expression of Merry Christmas could be just that - a true and sincere hope that the person across from us finds peace and happiness in their celebration of the birth and amazing gift of God’s only Son.  Maybe we still have time to be a bright spot on a dark night or a warm glow in a cold season.  

I pray that my interactions with you will add a log to your fire and a light to your tree.  I hope that I can slow myself down, take a breath and honor the creation across from me with the time and attention they deserve, even in a chance encounter in a hallway or doorway.  

I pray my Merry Christmases are sincere and my hello is merely an opening line...to a meaningful connection with a child of God and a unique and wonderful creation!  I am hopeful that there are others who are lonely in crowded spaces, who long for meaningful connection, and who will be brave enough to ask how I'm doing and care to hear the real answer.  I pray that I can connect with you and find out what your hopes for the future are, and just maybe I can help along your journey to get there, or at least listen intently to the rest of your story...

Reflections on a half-life...

A half-life is many things.  It’s a video game.  It’s a scientific term (t1/2) for the time an isotope loses half of its original radioactivity.  It’s a mile marker.  It’s a wake up call.  It’s a question.

I’ve been alive and active on planet Earth for 15,877 days.  There are 15,535 days until my 86th birthday.  I will gladly take more than 86 years, but at this point with the average lifespan of the American male at around 78 years, I would take that.  Seems like a good goal at least for now.  So taking 86 as the goal, I suppose I am at my midway marker, my half-life.  I would like to consider my life half full, not half empty by the way,  I think I have myself set up for that to be the case.

Sitting in the radiology wing of the local hospital waiting for the technetium to make its way through your circulatory system is a good place to ponder such things.  It isn’t an unpleasant thing in and of itself, waiting.  The IV part was less so, but the young woman who started it was good at her craft and we chatted about schools and kids as she sheepishly commented that I am younger than most of the men she sees.  I made her less uncomfortable (I hope) by commenting that her gerontophilia secret is safe with me.  There was at least a giggle that let me know that she understood what I meant.

Thinking about why I am here this morning undergoing a stress test is far less interesting to think about than what happens next.  What type of mile marker might this be?  What kind of questions might this experience pose?  What do I do with the insight gained from the results of the test, positive or negative?

I am not really worried about the test per-say, or even about the results.  Maybe a little concerned that I will fall off of the treadmill as it speeds me toward temporary exercise overload at an unnatural incline.  I am really not concerned at the moment about the stressors that likely caused the chest pains, fatigue and other ailments that triggered the appointment that resulted in the test being scheduled in the first place.  My thoughts keep circling back to this idea of today being a midway marker.

I have had a very robust life thus far.  A wonderful childhood with loving and supportive parents, two younger brothers who fulfilled the roles of both playmate and adversary well.  No complaints and no regrets.  I had a great school experience with some memorable teachers and friends.  I had great athletic experiences, with wonderful memories of my Dad as my coach and my Mom and brothers cheering me on.  All in all I was blessed then by a loving community, and am blessed now by the memories.  Childhood portion of life – 14 years – CHECK

My teenage years were spent with some great friends, girlfriends and sports experiences.  Mostly positive, all educational.  I learned that I love music, I need time to myself occasionally to recharge my batteries, I love writing and creating, and that I have a strong desire to make things better.  Great memories came from dances, church camp, first experiences, and some of the best popular culture the world has ever known.  Sports injuries, insecurity, and the feeling of being “out of place” in my community were all valuable challenges.  Teenage portion of life - 5 years – CHECK

College was wildly educational.  My hometown had a population in total of less than 2000 people.  Bowling Green had a student population of well over 20,000.  Big fish from a small pond dropped instantly into the ocean.  Learning to swim in the ocean currents and changing tides were exciting lessons to learn.  SO many new experiences, deeper friendships and lessons learned.  A few regrets and a few mistakes, but all in all I am blessed by the memories.  My education came in the way of great freedoms, great friends and decent professors.  College portion of life – 5 years – CHECK

My wife and I started dating in my senior year of college.  It was a clearly defined turning point from the chaos of college life to actually starting to think like an adult.  It was a rough transition for both of us, and there were certainly some bumps along the way.  For the most part we broke one another down to fit into the marriage mold by the time we stood before family, friends and God in 1999 and committed ourselves to the ever after.  The first couple of years we spent discovering our differences and pushing the envelope.  Learning to love someone, we came to find, was different than being in love with someone.  Newlywed portion of life – 3 years – CHECK

We purchased our first home in 2001 and spent a few wonderful years remodeling and building sweat equity, and our careers.  I regret not traveling while we could, just the two of us.  I don’t regret waiting until we were ready to start a family.  Settling in to adulthood portion of life – 3 years – CHECK

Our first son was born happy and healthy in 2003.  He changed our lives forever and solidified any shaky ground we had in our commitment to making this whole marriage thing work.  It became real, and we realized we were pretty well equipped to do this new parenting thing we obligated ourselves to.  We made such an impressive tiny human the first time that we produced the follow up version 2 years later.  Our second son taught us more valuable lessons, patience and teamwork being among them.  I took on several leadership roles during these first years of parenthood.  Banking, retail, credit unions…leading teams and creating value became a passion, second only to the commitment and love I felt for my awesome little crew of humans.  We became increasingly involved in our church community and in our small group and discovered that life was between when it was shared.
Young parent portion of life – 5 years - CHECK

A move to our second home and the birth of our third son came along in my 35th year.  I was the CEO of a credit union I dearly loved, I was the father of three sons, I was husband to a beautifully strong woman.  Life was good and it flew by as we made new friendships and plugged in fully to our community.  God blessed the years in Orrville with some great opportunities and great relationships.  We learned the value of sidewalks for connecting people and walking out issues.  We learned what you miss when you lose a good church community.  I learned the risks you take when you let work take priority over family and avoided (thankfully) most of the consequences.  When an opportunity to test the ocean waters came again with a larger credit union I cautiously stepped in and we made a move to Ashland.  We traded our century home on a city lot to a country home with a park attached.  Sidewalks were traded for wooded trails and tricycles for ATVs.  My wife decided that she can do without Ohio, but that if the boys and I are here that she can tolerate it, probably.  Soccer, football, music lessons and some family vacations moved the years along at an increasingly rapid pace.  Taking time to smell the roses is a rare thing in this season.  But I know that I am blessed by the fullness of life.  Family fun portion of life – 5 years – CHECK

This all brings me to present day.  Now in as CEO role with a wonderfully different kind of company.  Three active and healthy young men, one undeniably in his teen years now.  Navigating the “quieter side of love” season of marriage where weekend getaways are replaced by rushed date nights fit between kids activities and work obligations and where snuggling on the couch with a sitcom replaces whatever used to happen once the kids finally went to bed, whatever that was.  Career is still full of leading teams and building value, but now has a more spiritual aspect of redeeming broken systems for God’s Kingdom.  Feels good and satisfies my soul, but also carries with it an inherent stress to push for more value and better results.  Kids are getting into the ages that a parent suddenly realizes that they only have a few years left to instill the life lessons and wisdom that they will need to survive this ever changing world in which we’re living.  Stress of fitting 3 weeks worth of activity into each and every 168 hour period is maddening.  Anxiety of juggling the puppies and chainsaws of the good stuff and the necessary stuff while singing a happy song is enough some days to make anyone grab their chest and in their best Fred Sanford impression exclaim that this is the “big one.”

Which brings me to today…I am about three years, 1100 days or so, into this period of life, whatever you want to call it.  Middle age, circus time, wonder years…

I am forced to take a time out today, to wait.  To wonder what dreams may come and what adventures await the second half.  Good books and good movies always thrill you in the second half.  Good stories have endings that make you wish they were a little longer.  Good wines have a memorable finish.  I have no reason to believe as I wait here this morning that the second half of my story should be any less wonderful than the first.  I know there will be painful moments.  I know there will be disappointments.  And I know that through it all God will continue to refine me and teach me.  I know that love will surround me because I will continue to pour it out.  I will work a little harder on making sure that the stresses of this full life don’t take away from the enjoyment of it.  I will work harder to make sure that I do a better job of balancing work and play, and find joy in both.  I will get my steps in and my cardio goals accomplished along with my weight down and such.  I do anticipate that there may be, in my later years a nice young radiologist with a thing for old men, but I will resist the temptation to flirt with her. I pray that my wife will be by my side to be embarrassed if I do.  I’m guessing that I will be just as in love with her as I am now (my wife, not the radiologist).

I will work to keep the story moving toward a fantastic finish, one that will make those around me wish that my life, no matter how many days, was just a little longer.

Now, it’s almost time to go see if I can stay on the treadmill and if I gain any superpowers from the radiation.  A guy can dream…

Current reflections with an old world twist

Some modern reflections with an old world twist...

Long suffers the soul that knows what it wants in a body that is shackled by restraint and slowed by guilty connections to the expectations of society.

Agile is the man who listens to his soul's whispering and steps away from the ease of common sense and security.

Fortune is measured by many metrics, but the most significant is the measure of value created for those who most need it with no hope for return and no promise of glory.

There is little reward at the end of a life lived for oneself and no hope for eternal gratitude, yet for one who lives his life for the benefit of others the reward is enjoyed both now and forever.

Forty List

Forty List

There is a Buddhist quote that reads, “There are only two mistakes along the road to truth; not going all the way, and not starting.”  Since I am now 40 years into my journey along this winding road I thought that it would be a good mile marker to list 40 truths that I have found along the way.  They may not be true for you, but that’s fine, you have your own road to travel.

      1.        God is real, whether you like it or not.
2.        I am a terrible electrician, and an even worse plumber.
3.        I am a good painter, canvas, or living rooms.
4.        There is no good reason to ever deny a child a hug.
5.        Sugar is only healthy if you happen to be a hummingbird.
6.        There is more than one way to do just about anything, but there are a lot of wrong ways too.
7.        People are always more important than money.
8.        Small acts, over time can yield BIG results - good or bad.
9.        Jesus is not religion.
10.     Honesty really is the best policy.
11.     You can’t control love; you can only hope to point it in the right direction.
12.     People are generally good when given the opportunity to meet their basic needs.
13.     I am driven to fix things.
14.     I am inclined to break things that don’t work the way they should.
15.     There’s rarely a good enough reason to fight, but when there is there’s rarely a good enough excuse to walk away.
16.     Real butter is better.  Deal with it.
17.     You can’t fake happy.  You can fake confidence.
18.     When someone takes the time to seek you out to talk, you need to listen.
19.     Churches should be about love, not laws.
20.     I hate politics, and am not too fond of most politicians either.
21.     I would probably make a pretty good politician.
22.     I support equality.  We have no right to judge, we have the obligation to love.
23.     People need guardrails, but should drive their own lives, without cruise control.
24.     Love is a right that no government, church or institution should deny.
25.     Love is eternal, life is short.  Always choose love.
26.     Always pack extra clothes.  Always.
27.     Your keys should never cross the plane of the trunk.
28.     If you listen to your heart, you will know.  The truth has nowhere to hide in there.
29.     God does not want religion, He wants a relationship.
30.     Play should be proportional to work; you need both to be satisfied.
31.     My wife is amazing.  My wife is patient.  I love my wife.
32.     We all need to feel appreciated, and part of a team, family or community.
33.     My Momma loves me, and my Daddy is proud of me.
34.     If you want more, you should learn to need less.
35.     You never outgrow the need to have silly, unproductive fun.
36.     There is right and there is wrong, choose right even when others don’t.
37.     Credit unions are a better way to do your banking.
38.     You don’t choose who you are related to, only God knows the right mix of love and crazy.
39.     Being a husband and father changes a man.  Much like rain and sunlight change an acorn into an oak.
40.     Being 40 years old is less about where I have been, and more about where I am going! 

On to the next 40 years!

What's in a name, and why the world feels less funny today...

Death is an inevitable and unavoidable part of life.  There is no way around it.  Still, it hit me like a ton of bricks last evening when I learned of the death of Robin Williams.  How could someone so full of life and laughter be gone?  When I found out that he presumably took his own life, well that was like having a second ton dropped.  For someone who so freely gave the world so much of himself and his unending talent, could we all have missed giving back what this comedic genius needed to feel that this life was worth living?  Did he need more than the affection of his millions of fans worldwide?  

Depression is a dark and merciless thief.  It steals one’s ability to see past the gloom and pain to the good inherent in life itself.  If only Robin could have found a way to step through that dark fog he would have seen a world that loved him, in all of his personas.  From Mork to the Fisher King, from Mrs. Doubtfire to Peter Pan and a hundred characters equally amazing along with them, Robin Williams gave people one of the greatest of all gifts, laughter. His never scripted stream of consciousness standup routines  were unequal to anything done before or since. Never at the expense of others, always generated, seemingly out of magic from his crazy-beautiful mind. 

In an attempt to process this, and I guess to somehow deal with the thought of this loss of laughter in the world, I thought I would try my hand at a “stand up” bit.  Obviously not in front of an audience, but then again…

What's in a name?

Announcer:  Put your hands together for a branch new act, in his first ever stand up performance… Chris Blough 

Thank you, it’s great to be here!  And it is great to be called by my real name.  Usually I'm “Caedon, Brody or Greyson's dad”, which I am totally fine with.  Or when they are all in the same hot water, “Are you these boys’ father?” Or when they break something “Dad!!!”, still it's good to hear your actual name every now and then.   

A lot of thought goes into a name you know; it’s good to know that it gets used now and then.  I remember trying to settle on a name with my wife when we were expecting our oldest son.  We agonized over books and websites and books with lists of websites.  We had a list of girls names and boy names and alternate names and absolutely no's and sort of maybes … it was insanity.  

You throw out any names of elementary school friends right away, because you don't want to start the relationship with your newborn out the gates thinking about the kid who peed in the lunch line.  Then you both have to veto any names of past significant others, for obvious reasons.  Some of you had a harder time with that than others, I know.  So finally we settle on a name.  And it can't just sound cool, when it's your first you have to come up with profound meaning behind it too.   

We named our firstborn son Caedon Christopher Blough.  Caedon is Celtic, means wise warrior.  Christopher wasn't as original, obviously, but means follower of Christ.  So we were thrilled, when we settled on it and then we were absolutely obnoxious about it for the next 12 months. 

 “Oh, what a handsome baby boy” a kindly stranger would say, “Thank you and did you want to know his name, its Caedon Christopher, means wise warrior for Christ”.  “This is my son, Caedon Christopher.  Means wise warrior for Christ”. 

 “Hey want to meet a wise warrior, right here under this blanket!” 

 Finally, I was at the hardware store one Saturday morning with the boy, spending some significant father son time.  When the older wiser gentlemen behind the counter commented, 

 “Oh, good to see you’re getting your boy started out young shopping for tools with dad”   

“Yep, his names Caedon Christopher, means wise warrior for Christ” 

“Really, well the warrior just threw up on his Thomas the tank engine bib there, might want to get that cleaned up before he goes off to battle”... 

ACE really is a helpful hardware place... 

When you have more than one child the pressure is on to come up with additional, equally cool names.  Lots of parents agonize over this.  We were no different, especially once we realized we were having another boy.  I mean you have some pressure here, you know people are always going to put you on the spot, 

 “What are your boys’ names?”  

 “Oh, well this is Caedon Christopher, means wise warrior for Christ.  And yea, the little one, this is Ralph” 

So you have to get creative.  We finally settled on a name for our second son, Broden.  Anyone know what Broden means?   It means brother.  Yep, the creative juices were flowing heavy.  But hey, it fits right? 

 By the time my third son was on the way our brains were mush, but the pressure was still on.  I didn't want to be at the hardware store and have to introduce Caedon, Broden and Ralph.  So I get a call from my wife one evening while she’s at work. 

“Honey, I think I found the perfect name for the baby.” 

  “Oh yea, great!  What?” 

“Greyson”.   Ok, I like the sound of that...Caedon Broden and Greyson, that passes the hardware store test. 

 “So what does it mean?” 

“It means son of the grey haired man.” 

…Long pause… 

“ Yep… that'll do.”

I Believe in Christmas Magic

I know, I know Christmas magic won’t really make reindeer fly or an overweight bearded man slide UP a chimney…Santa is only a legendary figure and unfortunately that’s true whether you want it to be or not.  At some point we all succumb to the harsh reality that the North Pole really is just a hunk of ice at the top of the globe and that there aren't traffic-directing polar bears or toy making elves laboring away in an out of sight secret castle where hot cocoa flows like a river.  I get it, don’t rub it in.

Still though, I firmly believe that Christmas does hold with it a mysterious kind of magic, which if one would only believe in and harness, can make the fiction of Santa pale in comparison to the true story of Christ.

Christmas is the celebration of the giving of a most magical gift, mankind’s greatest gift ever received to be precise.  A birthday party that began some 2013 years ago and still being celebrated, now that’s a special magic indeed.  Now I know Christmas as we celebrate it today in Western culture is a far cry from the Christ-centered remembrances of early Christendom, but that doesn’t detract from my point.  My point is this, Christmas whether celebrated in the US, Europe, Australia or anywhere else on the planet is in its essence a celebration of Heaven’s greatest gift, Jesus, given to a dying and desperate world.  We may have mixed it in with some pagan solstice celebrations or some winter recognition or rituals of one sort or another, but it is still, as we celebrate it today, centered on that greatest of gifts.  It's a birthday party.   And we all celebrate those occasions in our own unique ways.  Whether you believe in the reality of Christ as the center of the celebration or not, guess what – by celebrating Christmas you are joining in our fun and joining in His party.

Last night we took a ride to the North Pole.  A ride on the Polar Express to be exact. 

It may have been a train that spends the rest of the year on less lofty excursions and sure, the North Pole we visited last night may have, in other seasons, been in Peninsula, Ohio, but last night in the hearts and minds of the children aboard the train we were there.  It was magic.

It's a Christmas kind of magic that allows a 10 year old who in his mind knows we're in Akron Ohio to suspend disbelief just long enough to allow his heart to take over and be transported to the North Pole.  It was the spirit of Christmas that prompted parents to smile and stare glassy-eyed through the foggy windows at the lights and painted cutouts and want just as bad as their children to be there in the moment, in the magic.  It may not have focused on the Christ in Christmas, but what does cake have to do with someone turning a year older?  It is part of the celebration.  It creates the energy that makes the Season bright and makes these moments memorable.  Who can, regardless of their religious persuasion, experience Christmas magic of this type and not have a favorable feeling about Jesus, of whom the Holiday is named.  Who can see the pure Joy in a child’s eyes as they open the gift they have been dreaming of and not, for at least a moment, feel the Joy that must have been in the hearts of the shepherds as they gazed upon the Savior’s face in the flesh on that first Christmas night? 

Christmas magic, if we look at it through this lens, can help us to understand the emotions that surrounded the birth of Jesus.  Think about the logistical nightmare of traveling, by donkey, hundreds of miles with a pregnant wife and no GPS only to find that there are no spots to sleep when you get there.  Contrast that with finding a parking spot, then navigating the mall in late December with a Christmas list of specific items for those you love and don’t want to disappoint. 

Think of God who knew what we needed, gave it to us with no strings attached and only asked that we accept it, only to be turned down by an ungrateful bunch of self-centered whiners.  Ever try to give a child new clothes or underwear as a gift under the tree instead of a toy?  A small sense of what God must feel.

There really are lessons that we can take from the commercialized Christmas that exists today, one needs only look out into the faces of the lost sheep at the malls or into the eyes of the child who won’t be getting even a full meal this Christmas let alone any nicely wrapped gifts under a brightly lit tree and you can understand why God gave us Christ, His son and why He showed us how to love the lost and care for the needy.  He knew we needed saving and that Jesus was the Savior we needed. He surely knew that we wouldn’t all like it either, just as we know as parents that our children need more than candy canes and marshmallow filled Santa chocolates to eat on Christmas, it doesn’t mean that they are all going to like a healthy meal.  There are lessons to be learned and gifts to be given and received even today, 2013 years into the birthday party. 

Personally, I think that Christ loves Christmas, and I believe that He loves seeing the magic it creates even if we don’t always attribute it all to Him.  It is a means to understand that which is beyond our normal mortal comprehension.  It's a way to get a glimpse at the feelings of Christmas in the Christ-centered sense.  We can’t teleport back 2000 years to be there with the Shepherds or the Magi in that stable, but we can celebrate and experience the magic and wonder of Christmas this year right in our homes. 

Merry Christmas as you celebrate in whatever way brings Joy to your heart and a twinkle to your eye, and if you want to bring a smile to the One whose birthday we celebrate, maybe light a birthday candle and sing Him happy birthday, after all He is allowing us to receive all of the gifts on His special day.

Goodbye Grandma, and Thank You for Everything

My grandmother, Ruth Blough was one tough lady, and one fantastic grandmother.

She was born in 1923, the smaller of a set of twin girls born to the Arnold family in a farmhouse in rural Wayne County.  She was tiny and I remember her telling me the story of her parents putting she and her sister in the warming cabinet above the coal stove to keep them warm.  She would tell me about chasing chickens and making their own dresses and the tough life they led in the 30s.  She always offset the stories of the tough winters and meager means with a smile about the way her father played the violin or the fun they had playing in the cellar or with the animals.  There was always this sense of balance with grandma.  Play, but after a bit of work.  Candy or cookies, “piecing” as she called it, but only after some celery with peanut butter or only long enough before dinner that we would still have time to work up an appetite. 

Playing was always serious business at grandma’s house.  It was our job when we were there.  She provided us a mission on days that the weather permitted.  Normally it was to head out, bundled in old wool hats and with bread bags on our feet (to keep them dry) with a BB gun in hand, with a mission to hunt down blackbirds.  She loved and fed every other sort of bird under heaven with the best thistle seed and songbird seed money could buy, but when those “damned blackbirds” bullied their way into the bird feeders she made sure they were met with armed resistance.    As a young boy with my posse of younger brothers and cousins in rank, this was a noble purpose to which I was well suited, and I took on the mission with gusto.  We cleaned out the birdbaths, we cleaned the many feeders around her garden-like backyard, and we learned to be aware of what grew around us and what it meant to cultivate and strengthen the “good stuff” and to fight against the things that were undesirable.  She was a strong woman, firm, no nonsense and unladylike in all of the best ways.  She could kick a ball further than any of us, she would get down on her hands and knees in the dirt to look at bugs we had found and she would sit and rock us when things didn’t go as planned on a mission.  She knew the value of dirty hands on children and we knew the love hidden in every deep wrinkle in her work-hardened hands.

On days that the weather kept us indoors there was no time for television.  We pushed around an ancient “push broom” and watered and cleaned her dozens of cactus pots.  I think she appreciated the tough exterior of the cacti and how challenging it was to keep them “happy.”  When the chores were done we pulled out “colors” and sat and created.  She drew right alongside us.  We played “poker’keeno” with pennies and always ended up abandoning the game at some point to see who could sort through the mountain of copper to find the oldest penny.  It was always an adventure no matter what we did, and she was always right there with us.  She was never just a spectator in our lives; she was our leader, our commander and our mission control.  She allowed us to shoot bow and arrows, throw rocks and build completely unsafe structures from old scrap wood.  She allowed us just enough freedom to feel dangerous and wild, as boys should.  I have her to thank for so much of who I am today and who I want to see my boys become tomorrow.

I am glad my grandma was not the “fancy one” of the twins, which for some reason she always seemed apologetic about,  and I am so blessed to have had a lifetime worth of adventure packed into Thursdays and Fridays at grandma’s.

I will miss you grandma, but my mission is clear.  I will get my hands dirty right alongside my boys and let them know the value of balancing work with some “piecing” here and there.  Thank you for investing so much of your life in us all, your grandchildren are all better people for having you as our commander and chief.  Love you.  Thank You.

Christopher John

Run your life to win the finish, not the race.

Life is about finishing strong, not winning the race.

Greyson and I winning the finish.

Last weekend, among a 20 year class reunion to pull off, YMCA Basketball and a weekend of trick-or-treating, my family participated in a charity run in Dalton, the Rich Dalessandro Memorial 5K/2Mile.  Going in I had no clear picture of what it would be like.  I know what the events are normally set up like, having worked a few for various organizations throughout the years.  I figured my wife, who was running the 5K with a friend, would take off and the boys and I would stroll along at a nice leisurely pace for the 2 miles, grab a bottle of water and wait to cheer on the Momma and her friend when they passed us on the way to the finish line.

Yes, that “technically” explains a lot of the morning, but there was so much more to it for me.

We stretched together before the race (well I at least made it look like I was stretching) and there was a certain nervous energy in the air that made the dance music and commotion seem amplified even more.  The crowd of participants numbered over 800 and was a mix of true runners in the front quarter and varying levels of couch potato from there back.  I made sure we were in the back quarter.  The plan was for me to run with Greyson, who is 4 and a half and to walk and/or or carry him whenever he needed a break.  The older two boys I figured would start out strong and would be whining by the 1 mile mark.  They proved me wrong.

The coordinator of the event got on the bullhorn and gave us the starting instructions and the race was on.  Music blared and people shuffled, waiting for the space to open up to get in a full stride.  The boys were unsure what to do at first, it was a race…but nobody seemed to want to run?  I explained that they needed to let the runners pass and that we would start running when we got into the open.  By the quarter mile mark we were able to run a bit and the crowd thinned out to other young families with kids running and some older adults who were walking it.  At the half mile mark the older two boys ran back to G and I and asked if they could run ahead and catch up with Mom.  “Of course”, I instructed, “but be careful and stay out of the other runners’ way.”  

That was the last I would see of them until we crossed the finish line.

With them having run ahead I was able to focus solely on Greyson and the experience we were having.  He was determined.  He firmly gripped my hand and set the pace, which was actually a decent jog for my old legs.  He took at least 4 strides for every one of mine and his shoes hit the pavement hard.  I looked down after a quarter mile and he was visibly tired.   “Ok, break time buddy, want to walk or get on my shoulders?”  He chose to walk, still firmly gripping my hand.  He looked upset.

“What’s wrong G?  Do you want to sit down?”

“No, I wanted to win.”  He looked up with huge eyes, welling up with tears and true disappointment.

It was hard not to start laughing, but I composed myself, took a deep breath and a look into those big glassy eyes and told him that we are not running the race to win it, we just want to finish strong.

“But it is a race Daddy, and we are losing.”  He was angrier now than sad.

I walked us over to the curb and picked up the little man.

 

“Look at all of the people in front of us, now (we turned around) look at all of the people behind us.  We are not winning, you’re right, but we sure are not losing either.  We are going to finish the race and do our best and if we do that we are winners, Ok buddy?”  He seemed to calm down a bit and looked up with a determined smile, “Let’s run now Daddy!”  And we did, for another quarter mile.

A while down the road, after walking quietly for a bit, I looked around us.  There were several women slowly jogging ahead of us, there more for the camaraderie than the exercise or competition.  There were a few older couples, holding hands and briskly walking behind us.  Probably a hundred or so ahead and the same number behind were visible along the route.  I started thinking about the race’s namesake and what I had heard about him and what a good man he was, right up until the end, when cancer had cut his well-lived life too short.  I recalled the story I had read about his sister, brother-in-law and father who had organized the race as a way to keep his memory alive in the community he had loved and to raise money for others who were struggling with the disease.  Then I started thinking of those I had lost to cancer in my life.  I thought of my Aunt Bonnie who had been such a great influence on me as a boy, always with a laugh and smile, quirky in the best of ways.  I thought about how much she loved life and how much she missed in seeing her two sons grow into men, and how much fun she would have had as a grandmother to the two boys she never had the opportunity to meet.  Then I thought of her father, my grandfather, who fought cancer for several years before it took him from a family he loved.  I thought about how much my boys would have loved going to his workshop.  I thought of the things he would have taught them and the things they could have made together.  I started to well up a bit and realized I hadn’t checked in mentally with Greyson in a few minutes.  I looked down and asked him how he was doing and could tell he was getting tired.  I stopped for a second, scooped him up and put him on my shoulders.  We started walking at first, then a young girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old passed us on the left.  Greyson said “Run Dad, like she is.”  And so we did.  She was wearing a pink coat and dark sweats and was running back and forth, filled with the kind of energy that makes adults jealous and the kind of joy that makes God smile back.  I picked up the pace a bit and G started laughing and going into the “go horsey go” chant.  

After a few more minutes the extra weight of G on my shoulders, and more so the fact that I hadn’t run in a LONG time, became too much for my knees.  I stopped, pulled him off of my shoulders and started walking, slowly.  The little girl we had been running behind came to what appeared to be a mother or grandmother and grabbed some water.  She spoke with her briefly and then took off her pink stocking hat.  Under the hat was a pale pink head, as bald as could be.  I never had the opportunity to get any closer than that too her and didn’t get the chance to talk to the woman who was acting as her support crew as she ran around the course, and that’s Ok.  I saw the joy and energy she was full of, despite the struggles that I am sure she has faced and will face in the future and I was reminded of how lucky I am in this very moment.

At that very moment I was healthy enough to run, I was holding the hand of a strong and healthy 4 year old, his two strong and healthy brothers were sprinting to the finish line and their mother was striding along at a healthy pace beside a good friend up ahead. I am truly, and fully blessed.

My assumption is that the little girl is battling some form of childhood cancer, perhaps leukemia, as is the focus of the charity run we were in the midst of, and I am sure there is pain and bad days and treatments that are horrendous but for the time I got to be in her presence, she was as nimble as ballerina and glowing like a princess.

I picked G back up and placed him back on my shoulders and ran with purpose about another quarter mile until we got to a school where we had to turn and run around the school drive and campus.  G wanted to run and we ran from there to the water station at the half way point.  We danced a bit to the music the DJ was playing, had our cup of water and then took off.  The rest of the race was spent alternating slow jogs and walking, talking about the houses we were passing, whether his brothers had caught up with the Momma yet, and what we would do later that day.  G was tired, my knees were killing me, and the rain was starting to come, but we were healthy and we were happy to be a part of the action. 

When we came around the final curve there was about a 300 yard straightaway to the finish line.  Greyson lit up,  grabbed my hand hard and yelled “Come on Dad, we gotta win this part!”

I agreed, we picked up speed, and we did exactly that.

Thank you to the Dalessandro and Fratena families and all who organize the race each year.  It was perfect.