For Kim and Carol, and for my beautiful
kids…
The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in
moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge
and controversy. – Martin Luther
King, Jr.
Ah, the cold winds of January – they
can mean only one thing: baseball. Yes,
that’s right, in north Texas, baseball season is in full swing. It never fails for some, either, that during
these first few weeks, once all the roster-churning from the previous season is
done, and once parents, coaches and kids have all shown up for those first few
practices with overwrought expectations, reality sets in. The
kids my son is playing with are not nearly up to his skill level! Wow, I’m really gonna have to coach these
kids up! Man, my coach is a hard-case
and all he does is makes us run and yells at us! Often, especially early in each season, the
response is to start looking for that next team where the other players come
close to your perceived talent level, that next guru to throw money at that
will help your son get to that “next level,” that next great player to replace
the one you ended up with that isn’t so talented and might require some real
coaching.
I’m very lucky. I’ve reached a great place where I love the
people my kids play for and with.
Similarly, I know that the above examples aren’t everyone’s experiences,
and I also know that often some of these things are really true and produce an
unproductive environment that probably is difficult to foresee. But it seems to me that there is an excess of
drama, for lack of a better term,
each season that has a lot to do with out-of-whack expectations by parents,
coaches and kids. The declaration is
made – “This is not what I signed up for!”
I love baseball, and Kelly loved
baseball, and all my kids, even Ella (although she wouldn’t admit it), love
baseball. It has been an important part
of our lives, and has helped to introduce us to many of our best friends. We’ve been lucky to witness some pretty
extraordinary moments of selfless devotion that had everything to do with ordinary everyday people and little to do with extraordinary baseball
prowess. But we’ve also sat through some
pretty mediocre, and downright bad, performances on the field. Through the years we’ve witnessed abhorrent
behavior by coaches, kids, and most often parents. I won’t generalize as to why this occurs so
frequently other than to say that I think people just get frustrated over their
own unrealistic, unmet expectations.
Baseball lends itself to metaphor maybe
more than any other team sport, although that may just be an old-fashioned
American bias, or maybe just a personal one on my part. But there is no doubt that athletic
competition is in many ways a proxy for life, and the drama that we see
unfolding in and around the playing fields, gyms, tracks, rinks and slopes tell
us much about human nature, and most importantly, in my opinion, about that
thing we call character.
Somewhere along the way, my kids have
all been cut, failed to make the team, made the “C” team when they thought
they’d make the “A” team, spent the better part of the season riding the pine
as part of a right-field platoon, batted last in the order, and registered a
“DNP” in the box score. I’ve sat through
tournaments and even better parts of seasons where wins were more elusive than
seventy degree sunny days without wind.
It’s hard not to take these things personally, and it’s even harder to
keep yourself from constantly getting in between your child and his
disappointments. Recent experiences in
our lives, though, has taught us, - my kids and me - the difference between the
fleeting happiness that so many think they are entitled to, and the true joy
that comes from devoting yourself wholeheartedly to one another, and to shared
purpose and goals. Of course, you know
who helped us to learn this – and I don’t mean through Kelly’s struggle with
cancer so much as through her daily walk even before her illness.
We all quit playing or get cut at some
point. For some, the end to their
athletic careers simply comes sooner than for others. But alas it comes, whether on our terms or
no. That next day, though, we have to
get out of bed, go to work or to school, drive in traffic, clean the house,
cook dinner, attend church, change diapers,– we have to do whatever it is that we
do. Disappointments abound, pleasure
eludes us, and we often become jaded about our constantly unfulfilled
expectations, just as in our former athletic pursuits.
That’s it – the expectations. It’s tricky.
We are taught the value of goals and aspirations by our parents,
teachers, coaches, pastors, and employers.
We all have visions of how our lives are supposed to play out. These things are normal, or more importantly,
I think natural. I believe we’re wired to see our existence as
narrative, and narrative contains beginning and end. There are heroes and villains, good deeds and
evil, fall and redemption. For many,
though, and particularly for many of our kids, there are real expectations of
fulfillment through pleasure and gain.
Success becomes defined by, and confined to, our own incremental,
individual, and continual achievement to such a great degree that we assign our
happiness to that achievement. It’s not
okay to work hard and fail – you’re supposed to be rewarded for hard work,
right?
Well, I don’t know. Often hard work immediately precedes
failure. Often random chance dictates
that the perfectly placed bunt rolls foul, hitting the clod dug out by the
cleat of the previous hitter – wrong place wrong time – and the subsequent
strikeout is all that’s recorded in the scorebook. Failure, not because we didn’t do what we’re
supposed to, but because failure is part of the game. In fact, failure so defined, in most games as
in life, is often requisite for the success of others. Similarly our wins are their losses. The key is our unrealistic expectation of
success and maybe as importantly our definition of success.
In November and December, I found
myself as I often have in my life, at the center of prayers and
well-wishes. That’s what happens when
you have great friends and family. And
of course, as the holiday season neared, the frequency and intensity of those
well-wishes grew. Along with them, though,
was the constant reminder from those friends and family of how tough things
were going to be on me and the kids.
After a while, I noticed the prayers and well-wishes less and thought
more of the impending difficulty, and ultimate disappointment, about to beset
my family. For the first time in my
life, I dreaded the holiday season.
In early December, I met with our men’s
small group from our church to have breakfast, and the conversation centered on
the upcoming holidays and our “Scrooge Quotient.” After we all went around the table and made
the case for our varying degrees of excitement, dread or ambivalence towards
Christmas, Gary, the leader of the group, made an interesting comment. He said he would lead us in prayer, but
wanted us each to pray especially about making this Christmas the best Christmas ever. Now at this point I was literally startled
about how low my bar had been set.
I immediately was reminded of one of my
all-time favorite movie scenes, and I’m guessing most of you have seen it. Gene Kranz, played in Apollo 13 by Ed Harris, is the NASA flight director now in charge
of not only an aborted lunar landing but what has essentially become a rescue
operation. Kranz, upon overhearing the
NASA Director say that this is going to be the worst disaster NASA’s ever
faced, jumps in: “With all due respect sir, I believe this is gonna be our
finest hour!” I get chills just typing
that, and thinking about what kind of character
it takes to say that with conviction under the circumstances.
I witnessed some terrible things during
Kelly’s sickness. I know a lot of you did
– Kim and Carol, Grand and Papaw, Nana and Pops. I know my children did. She and I made a decision not to keep it from
them. We always believed that letting
them experience disappointment, even grave tragedy, would better prepare them
for lives that will inevitably be rife with further disappointment and
heartbreak. We wanted them to know that
sacrifice was required of them in ministry to their mother and to each other,
as it would be all along the road they would travel without her, and ultimately
without me, and for a time maybe without one another. We even agreed that they should bear her body
to its gravesite. And it has been the
case, and will continue to be, that in those most difficult labors they find
their greatest joy, and a real reason
to be proud of themselves.
There are some things impossible to
convey, and some things I choose not to share but to keep close to my
heart. But I will let you know that in
our last hours together I watched Kelly struggle with shame for what she needed
others to do for her. I will always
cherish those moments when I was able to serve her, and told her as much
then. “This is what I signed up
for!” You must stop and realize that no
matter where you’re headed, everything that has happened up to this moment in
your life has converged into a present that is filled with opportunity to put
your hands to work making a difference in service to others. I admitted not long ago that I struggled with
James’s directive to “Consider it pure joy…whenever you face trials of many
kinds….” My wisdom and understanding is
as incomplete as ever, but a little time and distance has afforded me
perspective by which I can better appreciate the difference between fleeting pleasure
and lasting joy.
Before you catch yourself or your kids
saying, “I didn’t sign up for this,” decide what it is you and they are signing up for. Recite those wedding vows in your head the
next time you get frustrated with your spouse during one of those “mid-life”
moments. I don’t know about you, but
sickness, health and death were real in my marriage, even though they were the
farthest thing from my mind on my wedding day.
Remind your kids that sooner or later it doesn’t matter how hard they
work and how talented and smart they are, they’re going to fail or be
disappointed, wronged, or cheated – in school, in sports, or in life in
general. And let them know that it’s not
just for their own sake that they must get back up whenever they fall down but
for the sake of their teammates, or their mother, or their brothers and
sisters, or their friends. Teach them
that they must embrace disasters in their lives as offering the potential for
their own finest hours. Let them know that is what they signed up for.
