Archive for the ‘children’ category
September 27, 2016
WORDS FROM W.W. September 27, 2016
It’s Fantasy Football season…in case you missed it! Millions of people spend millions of hours being the coach and general manager of their team of fifteen players and defenses. Fantasy Football is the new way that adults who are now has-been athletes relive their youth through chiseled millionaires. College loyalties go out the window. Buckeye fanatics could care less about what Ezekiel Elliott did for them in Columbus. If he is going against their fantasy team this week they want him to get pummeled and get a bad case of fumble-itis!
Part of Fantasy Football…a big part in fact…is on-line and in-person trash-talking. This past week I left two running backs on my Fantasy bench, both whom would have notched me twenty plus points. Soon after the Thursday night Patriots’ game I got the sarcastic messages about LaGarrette Blount getting big yardage and two touchdowns while sitting on my Fantasy bench. I could sense the sneers.
And then when LeSean McCoy was also sitting on my bench on Sunday as he rolled up 23 fantasy points the social media laughter escalated.
That’s what makes Fantasy Football fun and interesting…the sense of triumph and the embarrassment of oversight competing against people you may be eating Thanksgiving dinner with.
For instance, my youngest daughter erroneously had her laptop still on “Autodraft” as we began our draft night. She wanted to take a certain player, but as soon as she hit the “Select” button whoever was still at the top of her draft list got drafted. She drafted two quarterbacks in the first three rounds before she discovered the error of her ways. Her gathered family at the same draft site- husband, sister, brother-in-law, and dad- expressed our sorrow for her…but inwardly we were chuckling and giving ourselves high-fives. At the end of the draft night we made a few joking remarks about her debacle, like campers throwing a few more logs on the fierce fire.
And now she’s laughing back at us as she sits on top of our twelve person family league still undefeated after three weeks. Who’s laughing now???
There are the on-line fantasy products and leagues, like Draft Kings, that attract their element. A lot of people use fantasy football as an excuse to gamble. The great thing about this side event, however, is connecting with family and friends in non-sweaty competition.
Last year I emerged as champion of our “Wolfe-Terveen” family league, which emerged out of the marriage of my youngest 3-0 daughter, Lizi, and her husband, Dr. Mike Terveen. I’m sitting at 2-1 after three weeks, but my team name is a constant remember to everyone of who won last year as I merged Bill Belichick into my current season objective. Welcome “Bill-a-Back-to-Back!”
Family pride is at stake! Okay, maybe just Dad Pride! I need to secure my place at the head of the table…put these young bucks in their places.
Our family league has more than just my boast of fame name. There’s also these team names: “Who You Calling Gurley?”, “Great Barrier Reiff”, “Drove My Chevy to DeAndre Levy”, “Breesus King of the Drews”, “Detroit Lions Suck”, and “Pjanic at the Disco”. Creativity in team name adds to the aura of the opponent.
Big games this week! By Sunday night the chatter will be at full blast! Unsympathetic unfiltered words of humiliation will be typed that will mostly be accepted as humor. By the end of December the King/Queen will be determined.
And the prize is…nothing! No ring, no trophy, not even a McDonald’s Happy Meal gift certificate. The prize will be just knowing throughout the family who the champion is!
And at that point I’ll need to consider renaming my team again for the next season. I’m leaning towards “Bill-a-back-to-back-to-back!”
Categories: children, Community, Humor, Parenting, Story, Teamwork, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: competition, creative names, Detroit Lions, Draft Kings, draft night, Ezekiel Elliott, family fun, fantasy football, trash-talking
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September 25, 2016
WORDS FROM W.W. September 25, 2016
Sunday mornings have become a favorite time of mine, not because I’m able to sleep in or make flapjacks in the iron skillet, but because I get to travel down the road to Simla.
Traveling to Simla is synonymous with finding rest and being at peace. I go to Jackie Landers for a body massage. I travel to Simla for a massaging of my spirit.
Quite frankly, when I retired from the pastoral ministry last December after 36 plus years I was fried crispy. I did not do self-care well. Not many pastors do! I came to dread Tuesdays because it signaled the beginning of another six day week filled with meetings, crises, obligations, and church drama. Doing pastoral ministry is like taking a daily vitamin, but at some point the bottle becomes depleted and you can sense the gradual loss of vitality and purpose.
After stepping away at the end of 2015, Carol saw the difference in me within the first couple of weeks. She saw what I could not see…the slumped shoulders perking up again, the laughter and joy, the lessening of the hurrying.
And then in February I took my first drive to Simla, a forty-five minute ride into the eastern plains of Colorado on a two-lane road…passing by Peyton, slowing down for the 35 mile an hour speed limit through Calhan, and skirting the edge of the spot by the side of the road called Ramah, and then arriving at the village of Simla.
On the drive I ponder, pray, listen to Garth Brooks, think about the Sunday message, hum to myself, and sip on my third cup of Starbucks coffee. As I get closer to Simla and First Baptist Church my “happy meter” keeps moving to the right. The twenty people or so that will be there each Sunday morning are like pastors to me. They minister to my wounds, soothe my doubts. Thelma and Kathleen brought me a dozen ears of corn from their farm a couple of weeks ago. Ray and Laura open the building and talk me up upon my arrival. John and Angie and their two kids, Lou and Lena, bring me chuckles. Henry and Mildred, 89 and 90, are the senior components of wisdom and church history. Elizabeth, and her young son Eric, offer kindness and care. John and Sherri always remind us to pray for our country. Each person brings something to offer and is offered the ministry and community of the Body in return.
And as I pass by Ramah I anticipate the blessing of what is about to happen.
At this point the Simla church can’t afford a pastor. My friend Steve Wamberg and I fill the pulpit each week. It has become a dance that we thoroughly enjoy. The coffee after worship is exceptionally weak, but the fellowship amongst the saints is strong. No one seems in a hurry to beat the Methodists to the restaurants, since there are very few Methodists in Simla and the only restaurant in town, the Hen House, never seems to have much of a crowd.
When I drive home from Simla I always feel emotionally uplifted, spiritually nurtured, and ready for the week ahead. In some ways I’ve rediscovered the value of church for my life. It may have taken my being at a different life point for that to happen, but I’m thankful for where I am.
Sometimes it simply takes a 45 minute step away from what has been to rediscover what still is.
Categories: children, Christianity, Community, Faith, Humor, Jesus, love, Pastor, Prayer, Story, Teamwork, The Church, Uncategorized
Tags: community, Community of believers, community of faith, First Baptist Church, pastor burnout, Simla, small churches, the saints, Worship
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September 24, 2016
WORDS FROM W.W. September 24, 2016
My father, Laurence Hubert Wolfe, lives in Proctorville, Ohio. He turned 88 back in June. He is, and has always been, a man of integrity and compassion. Living in Colorado has minimized my time with him in recent years. Sunday night phone calls are our meaningful habit, about thirty minutes of conversation about what is happening, punctuated with a few stories that we each chuckle about when shared. I’ve been blessed to be the son of a man who is Deacon Emeritus at his church, not so much for his biblical knowledge, but rather for his humbleness and grace.
God knew I needed another dad…a resident papa, if you will…and he blessed my life these past seventeen years with another man of humbleness and grace named Rex Davis. Both Rex and my dad were government employees- Rex with the Postal Service and my dad with the Social Security Administration. And both Rex and my dad were caregivers for their wives for a number of years, treating their spouses with respect and love as ailments and conditions slowed their mobility.
The only difference between Rex and my dad is that Rex preceded his wife, Ann, in death. Today I speak at his funeral. He passed away about a week ago after battling cancer for the past three years or so. Rex was 95.
As I speak this afternoon I expect that I will become emotional. Sometimes pastors become accustomed to grief, to loss, and tragedy. It becomes a part of our occupational routine, and quite frankly, seldom touches our hearts. There are, however, those people whose lives have entwined themselves into your lives that ignite the sorrow and awaken the emotions. Rex is that person for me! His funeral is an event I have dreaded, and yet, feel very honored to be a part of.
When I was his pastor he would squeeze my finger each Sunday when he would pass the offering plate to me, and then he’d whisper to me “Praying for you, Pastor Bill!” He was my golfing dad, hitting them short and straight and then patiently waiting for me to find my drive that usually went long and sliced to the right. He appreciated my ministry and, with sincerity, told me so frequently.
I walked some lonely days with him, as he grieved the death of his only son in a motorcycle accident. I was a listening ear in his time of loss and confusion. When my mom passed away he came along beside me with words of comfort, and found a few more times each month to give my finger a squeeze or embrace me with a hug of support.
I expect that the sanctuary will be close to capacity this afternoon, a testimony to a man who outlived just about everybody of his generation. It will be a bitter-sweet celebration of his life and his witness. There will be outbursts of laughter and ears streaming tears of sorrow.
I miss my friend. I miss my Colorado dad!
Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Death, Faith, Grace, Jesus, love, Parenting, Pastor, Prayer, Story, The Church, Uncategorized
Tags: a man of integrity, caregiver, death, funerals, grief, integrity, loss
Comments: 1 Comment
September 19, 2016
WORDS FROM W.W. September 19, 2016
My wife Carol still shakes her head in disbelief as she retells the story to people. It happened about twenty years ago now in the midst of a restaurant in Tempe, Arizona called Rustler’s Roost. Our family, along with Carol’s mom and dad were enjoying a nice dinner in the midst of the establishment. As we sat there sipping our Pepsi’s and munching on the pre-meal bread I heard a voice, a woman’s voice, coming from a few tables over from us.
I looked at Carol and said, “That’s Sue Burt!”
She gave me a confused look and asked, “Sue Burt?”
“Cyndi Martin’s step-sister from Arlington Heights.”
“How do you know it’s Sue Burt?”
“I’d recognize that voice anywhere!” Sue Burt’s step-father was Dr. James Payson Martin, Senior Pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Arlington Heights, Illinois, a church where I served as Youth Director during my next year of seminary in 1978-1979.
It was now 1998!
“Bill, are you sure? You aren’t even looking at her.”
“Absolutely!”
Without delay Carol got up and walked over to the table where “the voice” was coming from and asked the young woman, now about 35 years old, if her name was Sue Burt. She was greeted with a confused look attached to an affirmative nod. Carol explained to her that I had heard her voice. I walked over and we reconnected for a few minutes after a twenty year gap.
Sue had a voice that was distinctive, unmistakable, just like a few other voices that we can easily recognize…Pee Wee Herman…Mister Rogers…our family physician. When a voice becomes known to you it isn’t easily forgotten. When a voice speaks into your life you remember it.
I find this is increasingly true for followers of Jesus. When we know the voice because our life has listened to it for a long, long time we recognize when the voice is speaking to us. In a culture of a lot of noise- or perhaps multiple voices- hearing the “true” voice is essential for a person’s spiritual journey. The thing is lack of intimacy with “the Voice’ creates a high level of voice-guessing. That is, God becomes the voice of personal agendas clothed in spiritual jargon. “God told me so!” gets used a lot to cover up self-centeredness or people on power trips.
Churches are prone to listen to the ten spies rather than to the “Joshua and Caleb’s”. People also tend to listen to the loudest voice rather than the whisper of the Spirit. The one who has the deepest intimacy with the real Voice often gets drowned out by the turned up volume of others. Spiritually mature voices are seldom loud. Wisdom and discernment don’t emerge out of turned up volume.
But when a person or a church truly…undoubtedly…unmistakably…undeniably hears the voice of God, the whisper of the Spirit, and the leading of the love of Jesus something that can only be explained as being of God is about to happen!
Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Community, Holy Spirit, Jesus, Parenting, Pastor, Prayer, Story, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: discerning, discernment, hearing God, hearing the voice of God, Joshua and Caleb, listening, Mister Rogers, recognizing, the leading of the Spirit, voice of God, voices
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September 18, 2016
WORDS FROM W.W. September 18, 2016
Charlie Wasz is a fine young man! He’s also a new cadet persevering through the first grueling months of dictated life at the Air Force Academy. This week will see him cross the three-month line. Three months of being told what to do, what to think, when to breathe, what to eat, when to eat, when to go to bed and when to rise.
Charlie is the third cadet our family has been the sponsor family for. We’ve had a Protestant, a Jew, and now a Catholic. It’s been an enriching experience for us, all begun because our daughter, Lizi, went to church camp thirteen years ago with a young man named Josh Larson. Three years later she told us that Josh was going to the Academy and would we be his sponsor family?
Justin Katzovitz came a year after Josh graduated. He had attended the same high school, Hinsdale Central (Illinois), as my wife Carol, as well as being a classmate of one of our nephews. We enjoyed getting to know him and his family, and then his mom told the Wasz family about us as Charlie was getting ready to head west from Hinsdale.
Being a sponsor family is a trip! Yesterday Charlie called us about coming over for a few hours. We headed to the Academy, picked him up, brought him home, and he chilled on the family room couch for a few hours. Carol baked him some chocolate chip cookies to take back. He was sincerely appreciative of being able to “get away” from the academy grounds for a bit. Conversation on the way to and from flowed easily. We talked about the Academy Ultimate Frisbee team that he is member of, his overnight camping trip planed that evening to hike up Eagle’s Peak, his studies, new places on the grounds that he has discovered, his swim and dive team roommate, and the Chicago Cubs.
Charlie is an outstanding individual from an outstanding family. His sister is on the Indiana University rowing team, his older brother is serving with the Peace Corps in Botswana, and his younger brother is enjoying having the whole house to himself. His parents, Dave and GiGi are wonderful people who we’ve enjoyed getting together with when they are in town. Nothing seems forced, but we’ve just naturally become friends.
Carol has become Charlie’s “sponsor mom!” She wants to make sure he has whatever he needs and is doing okay. He knows that our house is his home, his place to get away and just relax. He knows that he can bring another cadet with him who also needs some “bed and breakfast.” We’re pretty flexible. Short notice calls to see if he can come over are usually okay. We understand that first year cadets can get confined to the Academy at a moment’s notice simply for not being able to spout off what a military handbook says about a certain regulation. Their squadron leader can get a burr up his butt and decide to pass on the pain to the cadets…so when Charlie calls and we can make it work…we make it work.
It is somewhat inspirational to see him adjust and conquer academy life. The first couple of weeks are like an ultimate culture shock, like jumping into a ice cold lake. After the initial shock the adjustment begins…and continues…and gradually becomes ingrained in the person.
I’ll end this with how I began it. Charlie Wasz is a fine young man…who wants to serve his country!
Categories: children, Community, Freedom, Grandchildren, Humor, Nation, Parenting, Story, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: Air Force, Air Force Academy, cadet, cadet life, cadets, Doolies, first year cadets, Hinsdale Central, military life, sponsor family, sponsors, Ultimate Frisbee
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September 17, 2016
WORDS FROM W.W. September 17, 2016
Three and a half days of seventh grade substitute teaching this week! Each night I would crawl into bed shortly after nine o’clock like an old dog on his last legs.
“Lord, thank you for getting me through this day! I ask that you help me forget that I’m almost 62 and a half years old as I try to play six periods of kickball tomorrow. Amen and Lights Out!”
One of the most demanding tasks of substitute teaching for seventh graders is taking attendance. No…no, it isn’t the figuring out who is there and who isn’t there! The demanding task is figuring out how to SAY some of the names.
Back in the day…that is, back when I was growing up names were uncomplicated. My classmates included Mark, Dave, Mike, Tommy, Cindy, Danny, Tim, Joyce, and Betty. My college basketball team was composed of Scott, Bernie, Stan, Tim, Tom, Mark, Cary, Jeff, and Dave.
Growing up my early years in Kentucky made things a bit more complicated because everyone had two names. I was Billy Dean…although my Aunt Irene spelled it “Billie Dean!” My brother was Charles Dewey and my sister was Rena Lou. All my cousins on my mom’s side were referred to with two names, except Annette whose unofficial middle name was “Ornery!” Her brother was Danny Michael, and then there was my cousin John Jerry and Barbara Gale and Johnny Carol.
But notice that all of those names can be said without an interpreter!
Saying names for a seventh grade class today could be a game show kind of like “Name That Tune!” There were simple ones that could be decoded quickly. “Dave” could be made out from “Dayyve”, and “Michael” from “Mickull”. But then there were others that defied logic. When some of these students were named at birth the parents must have been strategizing on how to make taking attendance for school teachers a challenge.
I did have a William in my last class yesterday, but after class he informed me that his full name was something like “William Herzog Fitzpatrick Dominic Smith the Fourth.”
On a couple of names I assumed the wrong gender for the student. When one student didn’t answer quickly and I asked “Is he here today?”, I was informed by the class that the he is a she. My bad!
My most challenging student of the week tried to disguise who he was in, but even a first year seminary student could decipher the true identity of the name “Looseifore!”
Students know the awkwardness of names. They were already clued in on what Epiforditora’s nickname was. “E.P.” flowed easily for those familiar with him. One boy suggested that I just give each student a nickname like “Spike”, “Four Eyes”, and “Pee Wee.” If we’d have had more time I probably would have gone in that direction. After all, I was nicknamed “Beowulf” my sophomore year of high school when my English Literature class was studying that ancient epic story. One of my Ironton High School fellow journeyers hit upon it. “Hey! Bill Wolfe…Beowulf!” The class agreed! Shortly after that just like Epiforditora got shortened to “E.P.”, “Beowulf” got reduced to “Beo.” My old classmate, Jim Payne, still refers to me by that forty-five year old nickname!
I did have a few name victories. One young lady’s eyes lit up out of shocked delight that I had actually pronounced her four-syllable first name correctly. She should have been surprised because the mess of letters that it contained reminded me of a Scrabble tile holder when the letters are first placed on it in random order.
Of course, Carol and I can’t plead total innocence in this “naming” area. We named our first child “Kecia Corin Wolfe.” Her first name has been mispronounced more often than the Thai menu items I try to order. When I called Carol’s parents at two o’clock in the morning to tell them that they had been blessed with their first granddaughter her dad’s response to the name was “What!!! Quiche Lorraine!!!”
Our second child brought us back to normalcy…David Charles Wolfe!
Categories: children, Community, Grandchildren, Humor, Parenting, Story, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: 7th Grade, children's names, choosing names, head scratcher, Name That Tune, names, pronunciation, Scrabble, Seventh Grade, substitute teacher, substitute teaching
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September 7, 2016
WORDS FROM W.W. September 7, 2016
I’m in the midst of chaos in my home study. As my mom used to say, “It looks like a tornado went through your room!” She often exaggerated when it suited the point she was making! If, however, she saw my study she would run for shelter.
The reason for the chaos is that I’m going through all my old sermons…all thirty-six and a half years of them! I’m sorting them according to the main scripture text in various piles that cover the floor. I’ve been going about it a few minutes at a time, because my knees can’t take that much floor time! Old knees kneeling over old sermons…quite a combination!
As I’ve gone about the sorting process I’ve started to discover certain things. Although I’m not done yet, Matthew seems to have been my favorite book of the Bible to preach from. Mark is not far behind! In fact, the gospels are getting a majority of the manuscripts. If it was my fantasy football league draft they would be my first four picks in building a solid point-producing line-up.
There are certain books that are missing in my sermons. Song of Solomon and Lamentations did not make the sermon cut. I was always a bit shy about preaching about gazelles and pomegranates in THAT kind of way. And although it is the Word of God, Lamentations didn’t really inspire much hope for me. It was understandably hard to “get up” for preaching doom-and-gloom!
I’m already seeing certain themes appear. In my earlier years of ministry my sermons tended to dish out the guilt more. My task seemed to be to make people realize how screwed up they were. In my later years of ministry the theme of grace filters through my messages more and more. I can’t analyze that too much yet. It could be that I was seeing how ridicule and accusation were becoming more dominant in our culture, or it could be that I was sensing more sorrow in people’s lives because of who they had become. It is always easier to condemn rather than help people reconcile. Whatever winds blew me in that direction, grace has been a guiding theme for me the last few years.
I was never really into “end times prophecy”. There’s a void in my preaching in regards to that. I was much more into present-day living and life application. My emphasis was not on what’s going to happen in the future, but rather what does this means for us now?
When I breathe my last breath I’m not sure whether my bulk of messages will survive “the clean-out.” They may end up in some dumpster, along with my old underwear and twenty year old bottles of cologne. Perhaps one of my kids will feel some kind of “dad obligation” and keep them in a few boxes in their basement…maybe!
They are what they are, simply written two thousand word manuscripts from a time gone by. The bigger question will be what sermons will my life have communicated that will stay with people. The most important sermons are not those written on typing paper. The most important messages are those that a person’s life writes with the kind of ink that never fades away.
Going back to Lamentations, I realize that all those three page sermon manuscripts I have are as nothing. They represent thousands of hours of preparation, revision, and pondering and yet they will one day be gone.
But what my life preaches will be remembered! It’s a humbling thought for a preacher, and yet it is one that keeps things in perspective for me. When it comes to a Sunday morning message I’ve assisted a multitude of people in getting a few moments of slumber, but when it comes to what my life preaches there is always an attentive audience.
My life will preach a sermon today. What will be the dominant theme that comes from it?
Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Death, Grace, Humor, Jesus, Parenting, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized
Tags: Baptist pastors, condemnation, Lamentations, life messages, Matthew, preach, Preaching, sermon manuscripts, sermonizing, sermons, Song of Solomon, Sunday messages, the gospels, what my life preaches
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September 3, 2016
WORDS FROM W.W. September 3, 2016
My journey into the world of substitute teaching (“guest teaching”) wrote a new chapter this week when I subbed for a high school social studies teacher for three days. What an experience!
World History for the partially motivated…Advanced Placement (AP) U.S. History for the more motivated, or, for some, more stressed…and a classroom full of freshmen for Foundations of Learning, a sophisticated academic way of saying “study hall!”
The school I subbed in, two blocks from our house, operates on a “block system”, which means the classes are ninety minutes long and meet every other day.
The Foundations of Learning Class was the first class I had my first day. It consisted of freshmen who want to study, freshmen who pretend to study, and freshmen who could care less about studying. The conversation was continuous, but I let it go. I had brought a book with me, Valiant Ambition by Nathaniel Philbrick, but I found it hard to concentrate on the words. Back in my seminary days I would have to read some of the pages of theological writings out loud to hep me try to stay focused. I needed that as in the midst of the classroom conversations. When I read I either have ear buds in listening to music or I like it quiet. Being the teacher, it seemed that ear buds might be a bit risky.
Two days later I began the day once again with that study hall. I pondered how the ninety minutes of torture might go better. What might I do to change the culture of the classroom?
And then it hit me! Skittles! I emptied my piggy bank and bought a bag of Skittles for each of the students in the class. Yes, it set me back $10 of my already minimal guest teaching pay, but what an experience!
The class began with the regular suspects present. I took attendance and then showed the class the book I was reading, went into a brief excited explanation about how much I enjoyed reading history, but then explained how I either needed ear buds or quiet to comprehend what the pages were saying to me.
“I would really love to get twenty pages in my book read during class this morning, and, you know something, if I get twenty pages read I will be in celebration mode. I will be so happy…so, so happy that I think I’d like to give each of you a gift of celebration. So if you can help me concentrate and get twenty pages read…I want to give each of you a bag of Skittles at the end of class.”
Shock! Dismay! Confusion! Delight! Wondering if they heard me right! Open mouths of temporary astonishment!
“But, mind you, I can’t concentrate in the midst of a lot of noise, so you’ll have to help me out here.”
They dug in, but I noticed a few of them were looking at me to make sure that I was starting to read. I had instantly created the Skittles Security Guard , making sure I was on task with what I was suppose to be doing.
A few minutes later, a teacher at the school, and a friend of mine, stopped by to speak with one of the students, but when he saw that I was there we got into a conversation about basketball, his sons, and coaching. Talk about eyes of consternation being upon me. When our conversation had hit five minutes one of the students reminded me that I should be reading. I felt chastised and my teaching friend felt chased.
Back to the reading. Every few minutes someone would come by the desk and ask me how many pages I still had left to read? I was now the student in a room with twenty teachers.
At the end of class the Skittles became a reality for each one of them. Perhaps they were all sugared up for their next class, but in the process I hoped they discovered that Foundations of Learning could be ninety minutes of study and discovery on a regular basis.
The power of Skittles, a new tool for educating young minds!
Categories: children, Freedom, Humor, Nation, Parenting, Story, Teamwork, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: guest teacher, guest teaching, high school, high school freshman, high school students, Nathaniel Philbrick, Skittles, students, study hall, substitute teacher, substitute teaching, Valiant Ambition
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September 2, 2016
WORDS FROM W.W. September 2, 2016
Today is the third anniversary of my mom’s passing. Three years since she slipped from the incredible care of my dad and sister and marched into Glory.
Her death was hardly a shock. In fact, we had prayed that it would come sooner than later. The Parkinson’s had taken a tremendous toll on her body. Long before her death she has lost the functioning of her arms and legs. More devastating than that, however, was the lost of speech. My mom was always the verbal one. She would begin a scolding or an opinion with an introduction like, “Buddy, let me tell you something!”, and then proceed to tell you three or four “somethings.” Even though there were many times when we wished…silently, if you will…that she would be quiet, the loss of her voice was a lonely stretch for our family on the journey of grief.
My mom’s voice defined her! She had that Eastern Kentucky accent that was just a bit north of Jed Clampett and the other Beverly Hillbillies. When she visited us in Michigan one time and had a woman compliment her on her accent she was a bit insulted by the idea that she talked a little different than others of the area.
“That lady said I had an accent! I don’t have an accent!” We tried not to laugh outwardly, but inwardly our spirits were shedding tears of laughter.
My dad has always been the one who has thought about what he was going to say. Mom just put it out there! Often her words brought direction for someone who was drifting in the streams of uncertainty. Someone grieving a loss was helped along the way by her words and actions. My best friends Mike and Dave were brought under her wing like two additional sons. Even though they had solid family systems, she gave them a bit more guidance, offered food to them, and told them that they were doing well.
When she stopped talking it was frustrating and humiliating to her, and painful for us as a family. What do you do when the person laying there in that bed is not the person you’ve known all your life? When I would call on Sunday evening and talk to Dad he would place the phone receiver next to Mom’s ear for brief times of conversation with her. I would do the best that I could, but she had always been the one who guided our conversations. I was like a sheep without the shepherd.
Three years ago I got the call that she was gone, and I rejoiced. Now each time I go back home to see my dad and sister we take a day to travel an hour and a half to the cemetery where she, as well as the rest of my relatives, is buried. I feel close to her as I stand beside her grave. I can hear her voice and I replay some of the memories as I stand there.
Towncraft underwear and socks every Christmas!
Sitting beside her in church.
Seeing her do her crossword puzzles.
Making me write a sentence 500 times that I would not do whatever sin I had committed again, with her goal of improving my handwriting. It didn’t work!
Seeing her head bob all over the place as she would fall asleep in car rides of more than thirty minutes.
Feasting on amazing meals!
I have been extremely blessed to have had her as my mother, and I miss her greatly!
Categories: children, Death, Grandchildren, Humor, love, marriage, Parenting, Pastor, Prayer, Story, Uncategorized
Tags: accent, elderly parents, grief, grieving, Jed Clampett, losing a parent, loss, Mothers, mourning, Parkinson's, The Beverly Hillbillies
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August 31, 2016
WORDS FROM W.W. August 31, 2016
Yesterday was the first game for the Timberview Middle School Timberwolves 7th Grade football team. Thirty-one excited twelve year olds boarded the yellow school bus for the slow forty minute ride to one of the southern schools in our league. Most of them even had their uniforms on correctly!
With their blue game pants and blue jerseys on this is still the greenest group of kids I’ve ever coached! Most of them are more familiar with Madden 2016 than what a Spread Formation looks like. There are some powerful thumbs in this group, but have them drop and do push-ups and you quickly realize that the power begins and ends in the big digits.
This “green” blue team is a great group of kids, and I love coaching with Coach Steve Achor, but we knew we weren’t ready for our first game. Lightning had forced us inside so much in our first week that we had only been able to have three days of player to player contact. Understand that those three days included the coaching discoveries of who even wanted to tackle and who wanted to just hang out by the water cooler as we were tackling. Middle school football always has kids who just aren’t totally convinced they want to be there. It sounded good to them upfront, with the uniforms being sharp and all, but once the contact started and a few of those hot August afternoons in full football pads arrive, the scent of uncertainty becomes as profound as the odor in the boy’s locker room.
A few years ago I had a player who was in his first year of playing football. He was never entirely convinced that it was a good thing to do. One day in practice he was playing cornerback and was so close to the sideline he looked like a pony trying to make a break for the open range. I said to him, “Teddy (Not his real name)! Come on in some closer to the play! There’s no one over there!” He looked at me, and with his high-pitched voice said, “No! I’m okay out here!”
And so we traveled with excitement and uncertainty. More than half of our squad had never played football before. Several of them are not tall enough to ride roller coasters at the amusement parks yet. Several others would be too timid to ride a roller coaster yet. Last Friday we had a controlled intra-squad scrimmage…after the lightning storm had passed and we were allowed to go outside! It gave some of our players a warped idea of how good they were, as the first-team running backs kept running for touchdowns against the second unit defense. Could it be this easy? Players answer: Yes! Coaches’ answer: No! No! No!
The plan was to keep the play calling simple. Amazingly no turnovers happened the whole game. On the other hand, every play had something that needed correcting. The good thing about first games is they show you so many things that need to be worked on in practice.
The final score was 28-8, and the home team’s last TD came in the last minute of the game. My back-up quarterback had to play the last quarter. Let me emphasize…my back-up quarterback who I had just discovered in an informal conversation the day before to have played some quarterback and had not practiced that position yet…yes, that back-up quarterback…had to play the last quarter. We scored our touchdown at the beginning of that quarter on a seventy yard sweep run. I sent the play in for the two-point conversion, and quickly noticed everyone standing around in confusion. I yelled “Let’s go! Let’s go!”, and I heard one player say “Coach, we’re missing Brandon!” Brandon is the back-up quarterback. He had been watching Peyton Manning too much, and Peyton Manning was never in for the PAT. Welcome to middle school football!
But you know something! I love coaching these kids! Coach Achor and I have the unique privilege and opportunity to teach them about the game and life, to help them experience what it means to be a team with ups and downs, trials and successes. Bottom line: I am truly blessed!
Categories: children, Humor, love, Parenting, Story, Teamwork, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: athletics, coaching football, coaching youth football, football players, influencing, influencing kids, mentoring, middle school, middle school athletes, middle school athletics, middle school students, teaching
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