Here's a bit of information about myself...
I must be an optomist because I'm always looking forward to, or hoping, for a turning point in my life. I know I've had them: times in my life when everything changed, one way or another.
Just a few...James Sprayberry coming to Malakoff High School as band director. Until he arrived, I planned to get out of band after the 8th grade year. James Sprayberry's death was also a turning point. Had he lived, I would likely have been a band geek from that point forward. The decision about where to go to college was a turning point. Deciding against going to LeTourneau and going to Evangel instead was huge. Then, the choice to go to Southwestern. I digress...
One thing I often prayed for as a young man was for a "spiritual" turning point. I was looking for a distinctive place where I knew that God intervened and everything was changed for the better. There have been quite a few of these in my life. Not very many in the past several years. Still, I've hoped for them though they have been hard to come by as of late.
I've written here - quite often over the past few months - that I've been in a rough spot. It's hard to put in words, but it's been like walking through a thick fog or a smoke screen of sorts. Perhaps this is the mid-life crisis that I've been told awaits every man at some point in the years between his 30's and 50's. I don't know. I've been coming to grips with the fact that things didn't go the way I would have liked and I've had to "make- do."
At this point it seems really pathetic as I re-read that previous sentence. Everyone has to do it - at some point. Realize that I'm not going to be a millionaire. That the city won't name the street where my parents still live - in my childhood hometown - after me. That a lot of those dreams about life, ministry, or whatever were little more than dreams or misconceptions about how things work. So, what am I supposed to do now? Such is the question that I've been faced with when I get up to make my hour-long commute from the outskirts to uptown Houston. Is this all there is? Will this be what I do for the rest of my life?
I think I've felt very justified in being in touch with these feelings. Afterall, it's taken quite a while to be able to verbalize what's been going on for what has been a long time. So as pathetic as it is - there's a point to it, to grieve for what hasn't been realized and what should be let go of and ultimately be given to God. That is where I've been. Enter the turning point.
Tonight, we had a guest speaker at our month-end evening service. Her name was Ms. Choi. She's a house -church leader/planter from China. She's been imprisoned 4 separate times because of her faith. She's also founded an orphanage and is responsible for the birth of hundreds more house-churches in China and literally thousands - perhaps millions - of believers throughout China and other parts of the world. During her imprisonment, she received unbelievable punishment at the hands of her captors. Yet, through it all her faith was strengthened and became more inspirational to the people around her. Her life is one of being given lemons and in turn planting an orchard. To explain her and her testimony could only fall short with mere words. The woman, who is only slight in stature, is truly a spiritual giant in the Kingdom of God.
As I heard her talk, I felt as if God was speaking to my own struggles with my place and role within my community and church. Honestly it seems that everything is being stripped away in one way or another. It's as if I've sort of entered a prison of sorts - without the bars. This isn't the work of a person, or a group of people, to put me in my place. It can only be the work of God Almighty.
Paul talks about the the work of a potter and then absurdity of the clay telling the potter how to go about forming it. Quite often, that is what we do. "God I want this or that." Or "don't make me do this or that." We envision ourselves doing all these great things for God and His Kingdom but we fail to realize He has plans for us because we fight Him at every turning point. This is where I've been lately. It's hard to go to church and participate because I'm no longer doing what I was formerly accustomed to. Dare I say that I know better than God? I say I don't, but my actions speak otherwise.
Ms. Choi said she had to stand for hours at a time while in a crowded cell in China. She could sit, stand or kneel, but could not recline or lie down. Such was the mistreatment of her captors. What did she do, how did she respond? She asked for strength from God. When she thought she was to be executed, she made peace with death. When she was not killed, she prayed for deliverance - which eventually came. Her life, in-turn, became an inspiration to millions while she did exactly what she could - she lived out her life.
It probably doesn't sound that awe inspiring. Just looking at a lady, who probably isn't more than 5' 2", who read her testimony to the church. She doesn't look like the type who would start hundreds of underground churches, but that is her legacy. Perhaps the word for me is to focus my energies on where I already am. She was in prison. I'm locked into a 1-hour+ commute and a high-rise office. Her last stay in prison was over 10 months. I've been where I am about the same amount of time. She didn't speculate on why she was there, but sought to make an impact where she was. Can I make an impact in my world? That's the question - at this point in time. "God, what would you have me to do?" I don't need to know the significance of what I'm doing right now. I just need to keep doing it I guess.
As we closed out the service, our pastor asked Ms. Choi to pray over our church. For almost 4 minutes, the lady fervently spoke to the Eternal God with a fervency I've not seen in quite some time. She spoke in her native tongue, which at times sounded like some of the syllables I've heard uttered by those who "spoke in tongues" in the church meetings I grew up in. She was praying for us and honestly, it felt that she had a connection with the Almighty that all of us present could only wish we had. I'm curious to know what she said about us and what she asked God to do. Then again, I might not need to know. I'm sure it will be revealed in time.
As for this being a turning point, I sure hope it is. I sure need one.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Friday, May 19, 2006
I'll Probably Regret This...
I've been going through an emotional rough spot lately. I've been thinking about a lot of things, wondering if things would have been better - or worse - if I had made different decisions. It can be dangerous territory , but everybody does it, right? I just had one that I've not thought about - ever - until now.
Cue Bruce Springsteen's "Glory Days"...
I used to play baseball - until I wrecked my arm. One of my favorite pitchers was - and still is - Roger Clemens. In the 80's, Roger had his shoulder scoped and the procedure literally saved his career. I had developed a shoulder problem and thought my condition was similar. I went to a sports doc to evaluate whether or not to have the surgery. Since I still wanted to play, the doc encouraged it. Things didn't go quite right with the procedure and I was through with baseball just a few months later.
I've got 3 game balls at my desk - in my "feel good" corner - from 3 of the best baseball games I pitched during high school.
One is from my junior year. We beat Palmer HS 12-3 on April 25, 1986 on our own field. I had 11 strikeouts in a 7-inning game against the 6th-ranked team in the Texas in 2A. My old little league coach suggested to our coach that I get the game ball after the game. The two coaches agreed and gave me the ball. I had dominated the same team a few weeks earlier in a error-plagued loss.
One little tidbit from my baseball career - I had to get a lot of strikeouts every time out. If anybody hit the ball, I was in trouble - as was indicated by my win-loss record. I didn't know how to calculate my Earned Run Average (ERA) in those days, but I suspect it was very low. I don't think there was a game in which we failed to have an error in the 3 years I pitched. It's a pretty sad thing when a pitcher can't count on the players around him to make plays, as was the case with me and my team mates. To any of those guys that might be reading - if you're offended, you shouldn't be.
The other two balls are from my senior year.
One of those is from an 8-7 victory of our local rival, Mabank HS - at their place, in a game where I hit my first-ever home run in regulation ball. Mabank won our district title that year and went to the playoffs. Our team was the last to beat them in regular-season play (they were eliminated in the first round anyway). I had 12 strikeouts in 7 innings in that game. I had to convince the coach to let me pitch that game. I had pitched in a losing cause just days before and it wasn't my turn in the rotation. I just felt like we would win and begged him to let me go. After I got mobbed by my teammates when I walked off the mound at the end of the game, coach gave me a hug and told me I had proved him wrong. That was a great day.
The other is from my last HS game. It was against Forney HS on May 18, 1987 (19 years ago yesterday) at our home field. We played them just 3 weeks before this game and and I carried a no-hitter into the 4th or 5th inning before the errors took over. We also got into a full two-team scuffle after the game's last pitch and, on the way off campus, the other team threw rocks at our bus. When they showed up at our place, people were everywhere hoping we'd scuffle again. In the end, there was no need for a scuffle. I had 13 strikeouts that day and beat them 4-1. It would have been a shutout, had it not been for 3 errors that allowed the only runner that I allowed past 2nd base to score that day. The write up in the local newspaper described the performance as being overpowering. Forney also went to the playoffs that year and didn't get past the first round.
I'm writing all this stuff because I reminded myself what sort of gift I had as a teenager. I started pitching during the summer after 6th grade. My dad propped up an old tire against an old shed in our back yard for me to use as a strike zone. I practiced my pitches on that target until the wall behind it fell apart. When I entered high school, I tried out as an outfielder, because I didn't think I could make it as a pitcher. I was later converted to a catcher and made all district that season.
Toward the end of my freshman season, our baseball program began a 26-game losing streak that spanned 3 seasons. Our coach was looking for any and every way to break our skid early on. One day during batting practice, I asked if I could pitch. This coach - a different coach than the one's during my junior and senior season (we went through 3 coaches in 3 years) - didn't believe I could pitch. After batting practice, he scheduled me to pitch during an upcoming tournament. I didn't win in the tournament, but as an underclassman, I impressed both our coach and opposing coaches. For the rest of the season, I split time catching behind the plate and pitching in front of it.
I was selected to all-district and all-county teams throughout my 4-year HS baseball career and participated in 2 professional tryouts. Still, I was not signed to play college ball after high school. It was probably a good thing. The arm was virtually gone by then. Perhaps proper rehab could have helped what ailed me. I don't know. I later walked on at Evangel College in Springfield, MO and made the football team as a place-kicker. I spent two years there before returning to Texas. I grew up a lot during my time at EC. I also thought after I arrived back in Texas that I could make a comeback in baseball. Sadly it wasn't to be.
I say all of this because I remembered - just a few minutes ago - a phone call I received during my senior year of high school. It was from the head coach of the LeTourneau College (now University) wanting to talk baseball. I didn't get it then, but man, do I get it now. The guy was trying to recruit me. He talked about the school, what my future plans were and if I would consider LeTourneau after high school. For whatever reason, that I can't remember now, I turned him down - cold. He even called back again a few weeks later. I turned him down again. I was waiting on another phone call that would not come. Now that I think about it, I can't believe how short-sighted I was.I have no idea how LeTourneau's scholarship system was set up or what they would have been able to offer. What would've happened if I told the coach "yes, I'd like to talk about baseball and LeTourneau"? I guess it really doesn't matter anymore.
There are quite a few times that I've thought how nice it would be to pay a younger version of myself a visit at one of those crucial points in time and tell that goofball to make a different decision - like when Biff goes back in Back to the Future II to tell himself to use the sports history magazine to help him get rich. It probably wouldn't mean I would be rich or would even be playing professional baseball. But I wouldn't be wondering "what if" either.
That 18 year-old version of myself sure was a dumb kid. I should know.
Cue Bruce Springsteen's "Glory Days"...
I used to play baseball - until I wrecked my arm. One of my favorite pitchers was - and still is - Roger Clemens. In the 80's, Roger had his shoulder scoped and the procedure literally saved his career. I had developed a shoulder problem and thought my condition was similar. I went to a sports doc to evaluate whether or not to have the surgery. Since I still wanted to play, the doc encouraged it. Things didn't go quite right with the procedure and I was through with baseball just a few months later.
I've got 3 game balls at my desk - in my "feel good" corner - from 3 of the best baseball games I pitched during high school.
One is from my junior year. We beat Palmer HS 12-3 on April 25, 1986 on our own field. I had 11 strikeouts in a 7-inning game against the 6th-ranked team in the Texas in 2A. My old little league coach suggested to our coach that I get the game ball after the game. The two coaches agreed and gave me the ball. I had dominated the same team a few weeks earlier in a error-plagued loss.
One little tidbit from my baseball career - I had to get a lot of strikeouts every time out. If anybody hit the ball, I was in trouble - as was indicated by my win-loss record. I didn't know how to calculate my Earned Run Average (ERA) in those days, but I suspect it was very low. I don't think there was a game in which we failed to have an error in the 3 years I pitched. It's a pretty sad thing when a pitcher can't count on the players around him to make plays, as was the case with me and my team mates. To any of those guys that might be reading - if you're offended, you shouldn't be.
The other two balls are from my senior year.
One of those is from an 8-7 victory of our local rival, Mabank HS - at their place, in a game where I hit my first-ever home run in regulation ball. Mabank won our district title that year and went to the playoffs. Our team was the last to beat them in regular-season play (they were eliminated in the first round anyway). I had 12 strikeouts in 7 innings in that game. I had to convince the coach to let me pitch that game. I had pitched in a losing cause just days before and it wasn't my turn in the rotation. I just felt like we would win and begged him to let me go. After I got mobbed by my teammates when I walked off the mound at the end of the game, coach gave me a hug and told me I had proved him wrong. That was a great day.
The other is from my last HS game. It was against Forney HS on May 18, 1987 (19 years ago yesterday) at our home field. We played them just 3 weeks before this game and and I carried a no-hitter into the 4th or 5th inning before the errors took over. We also got into a full two-team scuffle after the game's last pitch and, on the way off campus, the other team threw rocks at our bus. When they showed up at our place, people were everywhere hoping we'd scuffle again. In the end, there was no need for a scuffle. I had 13 strikeouts that day and beat them 4-1. It would have been a shutout, had it not been for 3 errors that allowed the only runner that I allowed past 2nd base to score that day. The write up in the local newspaper described the performance as being overpowering. Forney also went to the playoffs that year and didn't get past the first round.
I'm writing all this stuff because I reminded myself what sort of gift I had as a teenager. I started pitching during the summer after 6th grade. My dad propped up an old tire against an old shed in our back yard for me to use as a strike zone. I practiced my pitches on that target until the wall behind it fell apart. When I entered high school, I tried out as an outfielder, because I didn't think I could make it as a pitcher. I was later converted to a catcher and made all district that season.
Toward the end of my freshman season, our baseball program began a 26-game losing streak that spanned 3 seasons. Our coach was looking for any and every way to break our skid early on. One day during batting practice, I asked if I could pitch. This coach - a different coach than the one's during my junior and senior season (we went through 3 coaches in 3 years) - didn't believe I could pitch. After batting practice, he scheduled me to pitch during an upcoming tournament. I didn't win in the tournament, but as an underclassman, I impressed both our coach and opposing coaches. For the rest of the season, I split time catching behind the plate and pitching in front of it.
I was selected to all-district and all-county teams throughout my 4-year HS baseball career and participated in 2 professional tryouts. Still, I was not signed to play college ball after high school. It was probably a good thing. The arm was virtually gone by then. Perhaps proper rehab could have helped what ailed me. I don't know. I later walked on at Evangel College in Springfield, MO and made the football team as a place-kicker. I spent two years there before returning to Texas. I grew up a lot during my time at EC. I also thought after I arrived back in Texas that I could make a comeback in baseball. Sadly it wasn't to be.
I say all of this because I remembered - just a few minutes ago - a phone call I received during my senior year of high school. It was from the head coach of the LeTourneau College (now University) wanting to talk baseball. I didn't get it then, but man, do I get it now. The guy was trying to recruit me. He talked about the school, what my future plans were and if I would consider LeTourneau after high school. For whatever reason, that I can't remember now, I turned him down - cold. He even called back again a few weeks later. I turned him down again. I was waiting on another phone call that would not come. Now that I think about it, I can't believe how short-sighted I was.I have no idea how LeTourneau's scholarship system was set up or what they would have been able to offer. What would've happened if I told the coach "yes, I'd like to talk about baseball and LeTourneau"? I guess it really doesn't matter anymore.
There are quite a few times that I've thought how nice it would be to pay a younger version of myself a visit at one of those crucial points in time and tell that goofball to make a different decision - like when Biff goes back in Back to the Future II to tell himself to use the sports history magazine to help him get rich. It probably wouldn't mean I would be rich or would even be playing professional baseball. But I wouldn't be wondering "what if" either.
That 18 year-old version of myself sure was a dumb kid. I should know.
Friday, May 12, 2006
My Favorite Pic of Myself
I'm just posting this so I can add this to my profile. Still, you gotta like the hair, huh?
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Asking Yourself the Right Questions, Pt. 2
I'm up, way before I'd like to be. Here lately, I've had trouble sleeping - for various reasons. Yesterday, Wednesday morning, I was awake around 2 AM. My mother was scheduled for surgery. She's almost 77 and I was a little nervous about the "minor" procedure that was going to be done on her. Nothing is minor for a 77 year-old. I didn't find out until almost 8 AM yesterday that this "minor" procedure wasn't minor at all. The very same lady, who can't seem to keep a secret when it counts, kept our entire family in the dark for nearly 5 months about a serious medical condition. My own father didn't know what was going on until Monday. I guess it was good that I didn't know until yesterday or I would have been waking up early - for weeks on end by now. At least I know she is in good hands. When I left her yesterday, my sister was there with her. She was resting comfortably. Dad was with my brother-in-law. Our family will be going back this weekend to make sure she's alright upon her return home.
I've been meaning to write some more for several weeks now but have been too busy to get back here to it. Since writing the first part of this thread, I've found myself in quite a dilemma. A month ago, I was on path of self-discovery and it seemed everything was clicking on all cylinders. I had read Wild at Heart and had been genuinely challenged to seek out the things that gave me passion in life again. Even more-so, I heard from several friends from years gone by and had really been encouraged. I saw pictures of myself from a time when I had been very passionate about everything in my life. I don't believe in coincidences and thought that all of this was coming together for a reason. John Eldridge, the author of Wild at Heart, also talked about receiving the "wound" that causes us to retreat from our passions. I had defined the wound and I thought I was on my way to my passionate rediscovery. Things were SO looking up!
Somewhere in there I must have missed something. Where I was so hopeful and optimistic just days ago, I've been discouraged and frustrated since. In the cosmic scheme of things, that guy, the one that had been so passionate and determined in years past - the one I was trying to rediscover - made a lot of choices along the way.
Some of those choices were good ones - like starting a family. I still pinch myself sometimes when I spend time with the 4 most important people to me. They are good, intelligent people that offer me so much encouragement and strength. I really don't know where I'd be without them.
The decision to come to Houston 8 years ago was another good decision. It wasn't my idea really and I originally balked at it. It was a new start for us and, now, 8 years removed, it seems like one of the most important decisions that we got right.
We made other good decisions, too. For some reason though, it just seems that the bad ones weigh awfully heavy on those good ones. The weight of the bad decisions - even those from 8, 10 and nearly 15 years ago - still seem to have bearing on the decisions we're making now. Maybe that's just how it works, but it's getting really old now.
I've talked about this at length with my wife and with my friend Raymond. It seems to me that with every moment of clarity, a stinging blow to the head or to the gut is just waiting around the corner. What was so clear just days before is swallowed up in dense fog. Is this the lingering consequence from mistakes from long ago? Is it just how life is? I wonder if somewhere along the way if I've done something to have pissed God off.
It's hard to talk about things like this with most people. Generally, folks want to be helpful and encouraging. If I hear one more person say "you're right where God wants you," I'm afraid my first reaction would be to punch them square on the jaw. I do think God is at work - somehow. It's not anything special that tells me so. It's the result of all the theology classes I've had over the course of my life. I'm not content with my book knowledge of Him however. I'm still hoping for one of those "burning bush" moments, where I have that life-altering encounter, though I wonder if it will ever come.
So, to get back to the original thought that started this thread, what are the right questions to be asking? I suppose the biggie is "what is it that God wants from me?". That would be first, to which the answer would be "everything." The second would be this "how do I give him 'everything'?" That answer is a bit more complicated.
I'm sure there will be more thoughts to follow on this topic. .
I've been meaning to write some more for several weeks now but have been too busy to get back here to it. Since writing the first part of this thread, I've found myself in quite a dilemma. A month ago, I was on path of self-discovery and it seemed everything was clicking on all cylinders. I had read Wild at Heart and had been genuinely challenged to seek out the things that gave me passion in life again. Even more-so, I heard from several friends from years gone by and had really been encouraged. I saw pictures of myself from a time when I had been very passionate about everything in my life. I don't believe in coincidences and thought that all of this was coming together for a reason. John Eldridge, the author of Wild at Heart, also talked about receiving the "wound" that causes us to retreat from our passions. I had defined the wound and I thought I was on my way to my passionate rediscovery. Things were SO looking up!
Somewhere in there I must have missed something. Where I was so hopeful and optimistic just days ago, I've been discouraged and frustrated since. In the cosmic scheme of things, that guy, the one that had been so passionate and determined in years past - the one I was trying to rediscover - made a lot of choices along the way.
Some of those choices were good ones - like starting a family. I still pinch myself sometimes when I spend time with the 4 most important people to me. They are good, intelligent people that offer me so much encouragement and strength. I really don't know where I'd be without them.
The decision to come to Houston 8 years ago was another good decision. It wasn't my idea really and I originally balked at it. It was a new start for us and, now, 8 years removed, it seems like one of the most important decisions that we got right.
We made other good decisions, too. For some reason though, it just seems that the bad ones weigh awfully heavy on those good ones. The weight of the bad decisions - even those from 8, 10 and nearly 15 years ago - still seem to have bearing on the decisions we're making now. Maybe that's just how it works, but it's getting really old now.
I've talked about this at length with my wife and with my friend Raymond. It seems to me that with every moment of clarity, a stinging blow to the head or to the gut is just waiting around the corner. What was so clear just days before is swallowed up in dense fog. Is this the lingering consequence from mistakes from long ago? Is it just how life is? I wonder if somewhere along the way if I've done something to have pissed God off.
It's hard to talk about things like this with most people. Generally, folks want to be helpful and encouraging. If I hear one more person say "you're right where God wants you," I'm afraid my first reaction would be to punch them square on the jaw. I do think God is at work - somehow. It's not anything special that tells me so. It's the result of all the theology classes I've had over the course of my life. I'm not content with my book knowledge of Him however. I'm still hoping for one of those "burning bush" moments, where I have that life-altering encounter, though I wonder if it will ever come.
So, to get back to the original thought that started this thread, what are the right questions to be asking? I suppose the biggie is "what is it that God wants from me?". That would be first, to which the answer would be "everything." The second would be this "how do I give him 'everything'?" That answer is a bit more complicated.
I'm sure there will be more thoughts to follow on this topic. .
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