Words from WW Blog

In preparation for the middle school cross country season that begins in two months, I bought a bicycle at a garage sale for twenty bucks. It’s in great shape, as opposed to the guy who climbed on it and started pedaling. My quad muscles were yelling at me after pedaling on a slight uphill slant for like…a quarter-mile!

They say once you learn to ride a bike you’ll never forget. As I stood there looking at my new-used bike, I asked Carol questions like “How do you change gears?” and “Is this how you brake?” The seat was set for someone about six inches taller than me. It felt like I was rock climbing the first time I stepped onto it.

Now I’ve got to get a bike helmet, something we never had when I was growing up. We were reckless and dumb, running out the side door of the house, picking up the battered Schwinn that laid on its side in the yard, and jumping on like The Lone Ranger as he took a running start and jumped onto Silver. Our moment of alarmed concern was seeing that one of the baseball cards was missing, that had been clipped to the wheel frame. It made this cool flapping sound as you rode down the street. However, I cringe when I think back and ponder whether I had Mickey Mantle and Hank Aaron being slapped by the spokes of my wheel. The closest thing we had to a bike helmet was our baseball cap, the bill of which we pulled down low to act as a wind shield. I’m guessing that I’ll end up spending more on a bike helmet than the bike, which, I guess I can easily say, will not be hard to do.

With the gas prices going up faster than I can pedal, I’ve got to get used to my new eco-friendly form of service.

The twenty-dollar bike I bought belonged to a young man, who I used to coach in basketball. He’s a college student now, but evidently there had been a number of bicycles stolen this past year from the campus. He had a clever idea. He put stickers all over the bike frame. It reminds me of one of those old RV’s from the 1970’s that would have stickers plastered all over the back to let people know about all the places they’d visited…and how many uncomfortable nights of sleep they had endured as they bedded down on their skinny cots. This bike is like that to the max. There are picture stickers of cast members from The Office, daisies, random pieces of tape, witty quotes, Winnie the Pooh, Lassie, and gold stars. In fact, just to disguise its awesomeness even more, the seat of the bike has black duct tape covering it.

In talking to my school athletic director, we thought that we’d get some more stickers, name a “runner of the day” after each cross country practice, and let the chosen student put another sticker somewhere on the bike. That would be our scaled-down version of “Employee of the Day” plaque that you see hanging on the wall of a fast-food restaurant to the side of the menu. Maybe our sticker could have the updated price of a gallon of gas. The font would need to be small, however, so the numbers would fit on the sticker.

Once you learn to ride a bike you never forget, but you do suddenly remember why it is you haven’t had a two-wheeler for years. My quads are like barking dogs today!

A dog, something else I haven’t had for the past four decades!

The pandemic caused an enormous number of changes in our world. We discovered masks, and then masks with designs and short, witty sayings. Curbside became a thing that was offered at more places than Sonic. Now I can go put a book on hold, go to the public library, and pick it up curbside. Students didn’t even have to change out of their pajamas to attend school that had now been brought right into their bedroom, family room, or wherever they plopped their laptop down in the house. Teachers could teach from their own kitchen and have the family cat cuddle up next to the screen.

Covid made us do some things and kept us from doing others, like being with family. For me, it caused me to start doing more long walks, where I discovered these things called podcasts. I got to know Andy Stanley and, on really long walks, T. D. Jakes. I listened to my friend, Chuck Moore, give a few sermons from his office at First Baptist Church of Champaign/Savoy and discovered new songs by J. J. Heller and Crowder.

But the pandemic also caused me to put the brakes on playing pickup basketball games at the YMCA at 6:00 in the morning. The Y is located less than a mile from our house, but Covid became the impenetrable defense that stopped any shot attempt. Before it swept in, we’d have 20 people showing up to play that early in the morning. And then there was no one!

A few months ago, the restrictions were lifted and the hoop action began again, but I had gotten out of the habit. On most mornings I was teaching and unavailable, and if I wasn’t teaching I was sitting on my stool at Starbucks (“Last stool on the right, facing out toward Pike’s Peak”).

Until Friday! One of the guys who I used to play with had come into Starbucks a couple of weeks ago and had urged me come back…so I did.

The court seems to have gotten longer since I was there last. Two or three times up-and-down the court had me huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf. I’m sure that at least one of the younger generation I was playing with looked around to find where the nearest AED machine was located.

However, after the first few old-man sprints, I reconnected with the cardio-base that I had built up in all the years of long-distance running. It became easier, although I wasn’t winning any speed contests getting from one end of the court to the other.

In all my years of coaching basketball, I’ve integrated the idea of teamwork into how I play. Moving without the ball, setting screens, getting to open space, knowing where my teammates are and knowing when to help on defense are now all embedded in how I play. So when I finally took my first shot and swished it, the big guy on my team yelled “I love you!” When I took my second shot, a wide-open three-pointer, and swished it, he yelled, “I really love you!” When I set a screen down-low that sprung him open for a shot that he made, he screamed, “I want to marry you!”

I had to let him know that I was already taken…almost 43 years now! Another couple of shots that found the bottom of the net and I thought he was going to hug me to death.

And now, 24 hours after that run up-and-down the court, I’m rediscovering the awful truths of being 68. My back is telling me to stop doing stupid things, my knees are cracking every step I take coming down the stairs, and the right side of my neck is pinching me to see if I’m for real!

Two days from now I’ll either do stupid and do the same thing again, or head to the safe zone of my Starbucks stool. I’m actually sitting on it right now and, as I look around, I don’t see any AED device anywhere!

 “You’re blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight. That’s when you discover who you really are, and your place in God’s family.” (Matthew 5:9, The Message)

Peace is as elusive as cheap gas. We’d like it, but we just can’t find it. And, of course, judging from the interstate traffic this weekend, we’re not willing to change our driving ways to find that middle point of budget-consciousness and still be participating in what are the important events of life.

Jesus had his differences with many folk of His day. From the gospel stories we encounter the Rabbi who would listen, offer a question that would bring the person toward a remedy of spiritual, emotional, and relational healing. Jesus was the Peacemaker and He was, and is, Peace. He didn’t compromise on the essential truths He instructed us to live by, but He didn’t build up barriers to communication with those who challenged Him.

In a culture that is as divided as oil and water, I seldom find people who point toward a position of peace. Trenches are dug, non-negotiables are set in cement, and offensive language is spoken. Cooperation is of minimal importance. Cooperation brings the differing factions closer to experiencing community, where the emphasis is not on winning or losing, gaining more followers, and being the superior side. Community brings out what we have in common and agree upon.

Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase of Jesus’ blessing of those who are peacemakers points me to the essence of the issue. “Show people how to cooperate instead of compete.”

A push to cooperate is usually met with responses that start with the words “Yes, but…” Behind them you can hear the sound of a shovel digging the trench deeper. The point of peace, however, usually has a bungee cord attached to it that branches out in two, or more, directions. There’s give-and-take as dialogue draws people closer.

If Jesus came down on a certain side, it usually was because of injustice toward those who didn’t have a voice, people who no one considered important enough to listen to. He was unbending on the essential truth that everyone is valued by God the Father. He’d be the voice for those whose needs weren’t considered important.

Finding the peace point, individually and as a society, was His purpose, His mission. It should be ours as well but, once again, finding the peace point is as easy as finding cheap gas. Maybe we just need to walk more, instead of being in such a hurry to get somewhere.

Yesterday I attended the funeral service of Chaz Woodson, taken at the too-young age of 38 by an heart episode in his sleep. Chaz had been the varsity boys’ soccer coach for the last several years at Liberty High School in Colorado Springs, where he had been teaching math and had played soccer 20 years ago.

In fact, my son had been his teammate on the team that lost in the state championship game their junior year to finish the season 18-1-1, and won the state championship their senior year with an unblemished 20-0 record. At the funeral gathering yesterday, a number of the boys who were on the team were in attendance, coming from other states, as well as close to home.

I watched them reunite before and after the service, attended by at least a thousand people. For a number of them, this was the first time they had seen each other in years, some not since high school. They had progressed in their lives, taken different career paths, many now with families. They had come back together to remember a teammate who, ironically, was coaching the same team that had bonded them together so many years ago.

Death draws us near. It’s a time of mourning, and yet we draw strength from the others who are traveling the same path. Death confuses us, and yet, refocuses us. It causes us to pause and it leads us to reassess.

Death elicits anger, as we see in the actions to the school shooting in Texas this week, but it also reignites our love and compassion.

At Chaz’s funeral, the tissues were being pulled from the numerous boxes situated in numerous locations around the sanctuary. Tears brought on by sorrow mixed with tears created by laughter. The sweetness of remembering was evident as former teammates hugged and gave slaps on the backs to each other afterwards in the church foyer.

I’ve officiated at a number of funerals over the years where sadness was layered on top of sadness. At those gatherings, no one experienced or shared the sweetness of the moments that had been a part of the departed’s life. I would leave gatherings such as those wondering if the person had ever lived or, on the other hand, whether those in attendance had ever lived life with him or her.

Chaz’s service was punctuated by stories of his impact and shared experiences. He had lived life, loved family, and been the creator of sweet memories. Death draws us near and, once again, draws out the reasons we live.

“When Jesus heard this, he said to him, “You still lack one thing. Sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.” (Luke 18:22)

Jesus said three words, “Come, follow me!” on at least two occasions to two different types of people. One type consisted of people He was inviting to come and follow Him, to be His disciples. The second type, depending on the gospel account you read, was someone of wealth and/or stature.

I wonder how hard it was for those He invited to summon up the courage to put to the side what they had and start on a new unknown journey. How much doubt did they deal with? What was the tipping point that determined whether they stayed or went?

In the Luke passage, the encounter with the rich young ruler comes immediately after Jesus has a difference of opinion with the same disciples who have accepted His offer to follow Him. They were rebuking people for trying to bring their children to Jesus. Jesus’ reply to them was “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.”

Jesus loved kids. Children grabbed hold of the heartstrings of God’s own Son, a strong indication of God’s perspective as well.

The past few days Carol and I have been watching our two-and-a-half-year-old grandson while his mom, dad, and baby brother were away for some meetings and relaxation. Joey enjoyed having Grammy and Granddad all to himself for long periods of time. Carol did most of the work and will now take a few weeks to recover.

Meanwhile, Joey enjoyed pulling me around. He would slip his tiny hand into mine and say, with limited clarity still, “Grandad, come. Granddad, come.”

And I followed. You don’t refuse the pull of a small hand as he leads you to the next adventure. I couldn’t say, “No, Granddad has important things to do!” or “No, Granddad is too tired and needs to rest.”

The task I was being pulled to was sometimes the operating of a toy train, making sure it stayed on the defective track, and sometimes it was to pull him in a Joey-size play boat. In essence, I was being pulled in order to pull.

Interesting. The one who has the least amount of physical strength to pull me is the one who I can not offer any resistance to.

Jesus knew that. When parents tried to bring their offspring to Him to place His hand on them and bless them, the disciples yelled at the parents. Perhaps they wouldn’t have hindered the kids if they had come alone.

All I know is that I felt closer to God these past few days as a small hand took hold of mine and led me to where he wanted me to go.

“Come, follow me…Granddad!”

Frequently in the gospels, Jesus got into conversations that resembled grill sessions. For example, in Matthew 12, the Pharisees confronted Him about His disciples who were doing what was unlawful on the Sabbath by picking the heads off the grains in the field as they walked by because they were hungry. Jesus brought up a story from their past that they were familiar with.

“Haven’t you read about what David and his companions did when they were hungry?” (Matthew 12:3, NIV)

In another encounter, a bunch of religious leaders and pious men were ready to stone a woman caught in adultery. They tell Jesus what the Law says and Jesus responds, “Let the one without sin cast the first stone.” Gradually the condemners slip away, confronted with the big picture that cast a dark shadow on each one of them.

Jesus brought the whole context of the issue into the dialogue, not a singular moment that could only be interpreted from one incident. Jesus saw the whole book– its individual pages, front and back covers, binding, table of contents, beginning and ending– not just the view of the front cover, the only aspect that can be seen from a straight-on look.

I’ve thought about that a lot as the fervor over the leaked Supreme Court document dealing with Roe vs. Wade has erupted. It has caused me to ponder the implications, the responsibilities, and the opportunities. In other words, the whole book, not just the front cover that is viewed.

At the risk of some deciding not to read any further, I admit that I am an advocate of life. What I’ve come to realize, however, is that being a true life advocate means more than holding a position on abortion. It carries with it the rest of the picture. If I advocate for the sacredness of life I must consider how that affects other pages in my life journey. What are the implications of believing in the sacredness of life as it pertains to the hungry, the afflicted, and the elderly? If I believe in the sacredness of life I must look at all of life or risk being a like the accusing Pharisees, nearsighted and shortsighted.

What responsibilities am I committing myself to by saying that life is sacred? In a culture that is very focused on the self, am I willing to look in the mirror and see the inconsistencies in my life, and in seeing them, am I willing to make the changes that would be God-honoring and Christ-consistent? After all, following Jesus means following the One who promised new life. There’s that word again. Life.

Jesus had a way of causing both his naysayers and also his disciples to stop and consider the stumbling points of their views. They wanted to come back at Him with “Yes, but!” responses, but in the end they would realize the inconsistencies in their views. I feel that way about both sides as the venom spews out about the Roe vs. Wade case. There are inconsistencies on both sides, but no one wants to admit that. Admitting that there needs to be more pondering and praying about a position is too humbling for most of us.

And I’m still thinking about the what it means for my life. In essence, every time I turn to a new page in the story, I discover another part of the journey that causes me to realize there’s something new to consider.

One of the main reasons I have written three books about a high school boy with bright red hair is to set forth an athlete who has talent, but more importantly, character. Randy “Red Hot” Bowman treats everyone with respect, doesn’t believe the world revolves around him, and shows humility in the midst of times when other want to put him on a pedestal.

As I come close to 30 years of coaching middle and high school kids in basketball, the need for athletes like Randy have never been more evident. After a year where athletic competitions were limited or non-existent, I see the warts and blemishes coming out in middle school kids whose only models for the past months have been the make-believe athletes on their video games or professional athletes who strut their stuff in front of the cameras.

During the past two weeks, my coaching buddy, Ron McKinney and I have been conducting a basketball camp after school for sixth-graders at our school. I brought in a couple of my former basketball players, one junior male and one sophomore female, to help us. Both os them are talented players who have character. This week I talked to the campers about the vitalness of having character on the court and in the classroom. In fact, I emphasized that when I evaluate players who are trying out for one of the school’s basketball teams, I place character above talent in importance.

Coach McKinney and learned that over the years. In his evaluating of players that his professional football team was considering drafting, former NFL coach, Tony Dungy, would sometimes puts the letters “DNDC” beside a prospects name. It stood for “Do Not Draft- Character!” They determined that an athlete who had great talent but was lacking in character had more potential to be a problem in their team concept than a potential player.

That also means that coaching 12 and 13-year-olds has to include guidance, mentoring, and modeling. The coach must model what being a person of character looks like and, in a short amount of time, needs to talk and teach about it. What does it mean to be an honorable seventh-grader? What does it mean for a second-string player to take ownership in what the team is emphasizing? What does it mean to work hard and have a great work ethic? What does it mean for an eighth-grader to show positive leadership? In an era where bullying often gets talked about, what does it mean for a team member to strive for a safe environment for his/her teammates?

At our sixth grade camp, Coach McKinney and I can already see that there are a few kids who will need to be reeled in some, others who have the seeds of a good character foundation, and others who need to be guided toward becoming awesome young people. That has made the inclusion of the two high school athletes so important. They model who these kids have the potential to become.

In a culture that exalts winners and laughs at losers, thee needs to be a committed effort to teaching the fundamental skills of the sport, the principles of and how to function as an effective team, and being a teammate and student with character.

I am who I am as a coach because of awesome coaching mentors. Don Fackler, Leo Swiontek, Ron McKinney, Steve Achor, Scott Shattuck, Jim Chapman, and Kevin Wenger have all impacted my life n not just game strategy but also modeling character and integrity.

I’m at the point in my life where an opposing coach talking about how great my kids were in sportsmanship and hustle brings a smile to my face more than a win.

Yes, on May 5th I hit a 6 followed by an 8. 68, sixty-eight, seis-ocho (My high school Spanish wasn’t bueno!)

I spent most of the day with about 90 eighth-graders, none of them aware of it being my birthday…which I was happy to keep secret. If they would have found out I would have had to endure hearing a number of high shrilly voices tramatizing my hearing.

I was ending a long-term substitute teaching assignment for a great teacher who had gone on maternity leave back in mid-February. She returns next Monday! Thank you, Lord! It’s has been an enjoyable experience. I love spending time with the same students each day, coaching a group of students for a season, and deepening those relationships that are so precious and important.

Reaching 68, however, makes a person think long and hard about what is and what is yet to be. It’s where I am in my journey. Back at the end of 2015 I retired after 36 years as a church pastor. I didn’t need to, but I knew it was time. Substitute teaching became a transitional point for me and I found out the kids usually smiled when they realized I was their sub.

And then last year (August 2020) Timberview Middle School needed help. There wasn’t a teacher for 7th grade language arts to start the year. Would I begin the year until they could find the year? Sure! And then they never found anyone to take the class, so my first two weeks became ten, and then twenty, and finally, it just went for the whole year. Loved it!

And then the 8th grade language arts teacher called me last summer to ask if I would fill in for her when she had her first baby in February. Sure! And then the school called to see if I would begin the year teaching the same 7th grade language arts class until they could find someone. Sure!

And now I’m 68 and pondering if it is time to consider stepping to the side. Being a person of faith, I seek guidance from the One I anchor my life to. “Lord, is this where you want me to continue serving, or is there something else you are transitioning me to?”

Sometimes we get into “the comfort zone” of living and become blind to new possibilities. I love working with young people, and always will, but I’m a dinosaur in a Marvel Comic heroes time period. Just call me Dagwood…or maybe Jughead!

Hanging around middle-schoolers has acquainted me with styles, trends, and despite attempts to look cool. A student walking down the hallway with white AirPods in his ears is on the same level as my classmates wearing penny loafers down the high school corridors of fifty years ago.

Having the hood of the hoodie covering your head is also a sign of extreme coolness. In fact, having the hood on plus having one’s classmates being able to see that an AirPod is sticking in at least one ear borders on over-the-top coolness.

My mom worked at Penney’s, so my level of coolness was resembling of lukewarm milk. She received substantial discounts for working there on anything that smacked of ordinary but suitable. I had a suitable haircut, suitable socks, geeky-looking glasses, and clean underwear in case for some odd reason I lost my pants during the school day. My mom was a stickler about making sure my tighty-whitey’s were clean!

Most middle-schoolers are drawn to style. In a time of masks and weirdness, they believe style defines them. If given a choice between substance and style, most would fall with their full weight toward style. Substance is not a high priority. It doesn’t rise up the chart until sometime later.

And yet, there are some kids who have discovered it. There are those examples of students who have come to understand that what’s inside is more important than what is on the outside. Tony Dungy remembers a story from his growing up years when he went with his dad to buy a new pair of basketball shoes. The Chuck Taylor’s (the equivalent of today’s Air Jordans) was $7.99, but the Kmart shoes were $3.99. His dad showed him that both pairs were made of the same material. Tony told his dad that might be true, but the Chuck Taylor’s were cool and it was important to look cool to his friends. His dad said that might be somewhat true and if Tony wanted to spend his own money to make up the difference between the Kmart brand and the Chuck Taylor’s, the extra $4.00, that was his choice. His dad wanted him to know that it was what was inside that counted. In the end, substance says more than style.

I have some students in class who have discovered that. It’s not that their lives are void of style, but character defines them and will be the reason I remember them for years to come. In fact, there are a few of those students who I will grieve over their departure to high school.

It has been a year of extremes. Many of the students who have missed a year of consistency as a result of last year’s pandemic are searching for something to hold on to, something to wrap their life around. They need an identity, a way to define their personhood. Style is the easy go-to. Substance and a comfortableness about who the student is something that only a few have discovered.

Tony Dungy concludes the Chuck Taylor’s story by saying that soon after his Kmart shoes purchase, ironic as it was, Converse came out with the new slogan, “It’s what’s in inside that counts!”

It’s an issue that seems to be growing as rapidly as my monthly T-Mobile bill: the intrusion of student cell phones into the classroom, distracting and grasping the attention of young minds that can’t seem to resist their lure. If there was a court case, cell phones would be used as evidence to prove that a whole generation of youth are ADHD. Students resemble squirrels as their attention span on subject matter lasts as long as the time gap between text messages.

I wonder what gaps there will be in the understanding of math formulas and scientific calculations because Johnny was focused on reaching the next level of his video game he was playing on his cell phone?

I’ve tried the “face up-face down” method, where students can use their phones to look up information or even do an assignment. When they aren’t using their phones for academic purposes, they are to stay facedown. But…it is too tempting for them…like a chocolate chip cookie that is calling their name, they can only resist for so long.

I’ve used threats of having them take their cell phones to the office, thus increasing the workload on the office staff that is already trying to fit 10 hours of work into 8, but that only works for so long.

Seriously, some students might forget to put shoes on in the morning, but they won’t forget their cell phones. I’ve had frantic students pleading to their classmates for someone to loan them a charger because their “special friend” is down to 1% on its battery life. The urgency is resembling of a 9-1-1 call.

In our schools, it has not been unusual to see students walking down the hallway, in the midst of passing periods, focused not on their classmates but rather on their cell phone screen. Recently, one student was so absorbed by the video he was watching while he walked that he went into the wrong classroom before he realized where he was. Last week, one student texted another student during class, as if what they were doing for the class was secondary in importance to what was texted to the other classmate.

So, even though I only have one week left in my 8th Grade language arts journey, I tried a new strategy this past Thursday. If a student was willing at the beginning of class to bring their cell phone and place it in the basket, affectionately known as “the cell phone daycare center”, I’d contribute a piece of Hershey’s chocolate to their sugar-hyped diet at the end of class. The seed for the idea came during our recent state assessment testing days. Students were not allowed to have cell phones, Apple Watches, or other devices. They were encouraged to leave them in their lockers, but most of them couldn’t say parted for that long so they brought them into class, powered them down, and placed them in the basket.

When I made the offer of a chocolate temporary experience of personal satisfaction you would have thought it was a “Billy Graham Crusade altar call”. The masses came forward. I went through Hershey’s Nuggets like they were candy, which they are, as the cell phone daycare center reached maximum capacity.

I was somewhat dumbfounded. The price of a class period void of cell phone temptations is the offer of a piece of chocolate. I felt like Monty Hall on “Let’s Make A Deal”, offering a contestant $100 for a hairpin or something else that might be in their pocket.

I know, I know, it’s like a bribe, an undesired reward, but maybe it will be a short-term fix (at least for one more week) to help them stay more focused on classwork. It’s like an educational t-shirt wrapped in a layer of Gucci entitlement. I’m sure if I would be there for more than one more week there would come a point where they would be expecting a chocolate reward regardless of whether their phone was in the daycare basket.

For five more days, however, and for the past two, they’ve discovered that they can survive 60 minutes without their best artificial buddy in their lap. It’s possible.