Month: November 2011 (Page 4 of 5)

i need a hero

I remember taking a kid to church camp and he witnessed Husband giving an apology to someone for something (getting angry too soon? making fun of me? I can’t remember). The student was taken aback. Clearly, apologies and owning up to your actions was not a common practice at his house. I was sad that the kid didn’t see this regularly, but encouraged that his experience with the adults associated with our church provided him that example. 

The adults whom we choose to surround our kids, the role models, the people they look up to, matter
As a culture, we’ve decided the pre-requisites for who fills these roles can be summed up by how this person can move a ball down a field or court. I’m tired of worshipping the idol of sport. And now, I’m not just tired of it. I’m sickened by it. 
The whole Jim Tressel debacle was enough to show us that character is lacking in collegiate sport leadership. But now we have some man raping children in the locker room at camp while leaders with great social power opt to stand back and assume someone else will take care of it. That kind of take-action approach is exactly what we’re looking for, right?  
Friends, we have handed our children over to idols that don’t deserve our children’s respect. They don’t garner the character that is worthy of their starry eyed looks. We’ve handed the sporting world our time and our checkbooks. Now, by handing coaches, players and professional athletes more power than they are deserved, we’ve given them our children. We’ve told younger generations that sport matters so much that kids implicitly have learned to keep quiet to these types of horrors, or risk “loosing opportunity”. Worse yet, when they do speak up, they are hushed, lest the program’s reputation be diminished. 
We have put power in the wrong hands. 
If you ask me (and you’re still reading, so you did), the PSU scandal is an elevated, magnified (and much more atrocious) look at how many families have given authority and leadership to someone who didn’t deserve it. Countless times I’ve spoken with students who make decisions based upon what the coach will say, do or think. Their time, energy and effort comes down to the opinion of a person who evaluates them on how well they can throw a ball. 
Now, to answer those accusations that I know are brewing in your head. Yes, sports can provide a very positive experience to students, teaching them about leadership and teamwork and working hard toward a goal and all those things we tell ourselves to justify the large amount of time and money we spend on them. But let’s be honest. That’s not why we put so much energy into it all. We do it because a) kids enjoy sports. At the epitome of definition, they’re supposed to be fun. Recreational. And b) it gives us something that our kids can be good at. We feel good when our kids excel at something and athletics are worshiped in our culture, so we put them in more. If it’s fun AND they’re good at it, then what’s the harm?
I say, if you’re living a balanced life where kids are seeing that character counts as much as achievement, then probably nothing. If you’ve put your kids in the context of loving community that values who they are becoming, not just the points to be put on the board, then probably no harm there, either. And if you’re realistic about the goal – a good time, some lessons learned, but in all likelihood probably not a scholarship or even much participation in the sport after you’ve turned 25, then it’s probably a healthy level of involvement. If your kid can walk away at the end of a season without feeling responsible to return again next season (or all summer long for camps and summer league), then it’s probably a good place to be. But if they’re heaped with guilt over which sport to play, if any, then I’ll be as forward to say that perhaps athletics has been elevated to a high mantle in your house. I’ve met few kids who worry which AP classes to choose in the same way that they elect a sport. 

I can’t help but feel pure compassion for these boys, and their parents, who are going to deal with these scars. No parent chooses to put their kids in the path of such people (and my ranting this morning should not be misconstrued to point fingers at these parents; I’m speaking on a collective level).  And I’m tired of being part of a culture that chooses our hero figures for our children based upon something as silly as a game, rather than the type of person the hero encourages my son and daughters to want to be. At least Spiderman believed that with great power comes great responsibility. I wish the coaches of our collegiate teams knew that as well. 
(Thanks Ginghamsburg for showing this to me the first time)

the woman’s epic battle

This weekend while in my hometown, I made a trip into this amazing dress shop to do some looking for our company’s holiday party next month (eek! Next month?!). I tried on several fabulous dresses but left with nothing in hand. In typical Me-fashion, I couldn’t pull the trigger. I found two I loved, but feared that they may be too formal. Or too casual. Not being in the office, I don’t hear the chatter around the coffee pot about what the fashions are this year.

My fear is that I’ll be the girl in the 1999 prom dress that everyone makes fun of. Overdressing is my worst nightmare. 
On a smaller scale, this happens to me every time I dress. To put it in Pinterest form:
Pinned Image
But you know what happens when I dress it down out of fear? 
I’m right
The day becomes insignificant. 
On my birthday, my lovely sister called me up to sing a tune and asked what the big plans were. My loving husband had arranged a babysitter so we could go to the Italian ristorante in town. Her response?
“Sis, break out the heels!”
So I did. 
Did I share space with people in blue jeans and OSU pullovers? Yes. 
But was it their birthday? Probably not. AND, more importantly, did they enjoy their dinner as much as I did?
I cannot imagine they did. Because they didn’t come expecting anything grand. If they truly felt that something spectacular might happen, they’d have put on a bit of mascara and tossed a button-down shirt in the back seat. But they didn’t. I’ll go as far to say that evening, for them, was another meal. 
But I had a wonderful celebration of birthday goodness with the man who loves me. 
I wonder what life could be like if I dressed expectantly – and not just my jeans, but in my heart. If I came to the day thinking, “what amazingness is yet to unfold?” 
Perhaps my churchgoing experience would be a bit different as well. If I came expecting to be inspired, connected. I came in anticipation of meeting God. Would I dress the part? Would I tune in better? I imagine I’d probably be on alert. Every inner nudge and thought I’d tuck away thinking, “this is what God has for me  today!” 
But why limit it to the days and times I step into a special building? What about each morning when I sit with a cup of coffee and my Message? 
Or every morning that my children arise, eager to greet the day (and their toys). I can look expectantly to be blessed by the new words and experiences they’ll uncover. 
So, I need to buy a dress. I could worry that ruffles and lace and taffeta and glitter will be “too much.”
Or I could have a more spectacular evening than anyone else, simply because I expect to. 

what child is this?

I’m attempting to create our family Christmas cards, even though we haven’t had a family photo taken since… oh, summer of 2010. But today only (well, ok. Today is the last day) to get 30% off the cards plus an additional $10 off plus free shipping! So in typical reactive mode, I’m trying to pull together the best of the few snaps I took throughout the year to compose a friendly greeting. 

Now that the photo collage doesn’t look to bad, it’s time to compose the greeting. I like to remember the Reason for the Season, so I tried to turn to a few of the notable Bible verses. Except, it’s quite difficult to use these references in the same year that you had a new baby. 
“They had a son and named him Jesus.”
Uh, I thought you had a daughter this past July?
“And then the whole family fled…”
Except that our new home is no where near Egypt. 
Or what about the old faithful “a Savior is born.”
That, my friends, would be the first of many reasons Baby C ends up having a Messiah Complex. 
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