A Trip To Cooperstown

I made it to the Hall of Fame! Well, I bought a ticket for my sister Kristi and I and we got into the museum. Located in Cooperstwon NY, it was just slightly less than a two hour drive from home. I spent the time hunting up stuff about the Reds while my sister was more interested in Phillies exhibits. I wasn't too disappointed that she was a Philadelphia fan since it had some of the former Big Red Machine teamates who just decided to grab another world series ring in a new city. That trip was hopefully payback for all the agony I put my kid-sister through, as she would put it. When I was a senior in high school, she was a blond-headed, pig-tailed kid playing her last season of Little League at D'Angelo Field in Vestal. Girls in the league were far and few back then but she was good and started at 1st base. The high light of that summer's play was a triple play that the opposing team hit into to end the game. It took awhile for the umps to figure it out but in the end, Krisit's Brown & Fitsimons team handed their opponent the first loss of their season. My sister says that I was pretty hard nosed getting her ready to play. We'd spend hours out side playing catch, pop flies and grounders. Recently she admitted that she diliberately hid the baseballs so she wouldn't have to go outside. That didn't stop us though as we'd just find a good rock to throw. How old school was that! I was shaping her character or was just being a jerk? Well based on how she turned out, I sure would like to think just, maybe, those days when the sun was all but gone and you could hardly see the ball or rock weren't all in vain. She's faced some pretty tough times since then but I'm proud of the woman she became. The pig-tails are long gone but the heart of a winner is still there. Maybe the next time I drive up to Cooperstown I'll find a good spot to tap up her photo. Probably somewhere near Cincy and Philly.

Nostalgic Cravings

Don't know why it happens, but just like the usual hunger pangs I feel, every now and then I start thinking about life in the past. I know you shouldn't set up a forwarding address to yesterday but I think sometimes it's good to reminisce of the world as I use to know it. But why the sudden urge to travel back?

Not really sure what triggers the desire to remember.

This week I thought about our gathering, some 25 years ago as college students called in to ministry. We often met at a restaurant in Circleville Ohio to dream of the future. Funny, now, how how I look back at our look forward!

Yesterday I found myself engrossed in a table top book that featured all the Cooperstown Baseball Hall of Fame players. Each page had a story, stats, photos and collectible items featuring that star from long ago. It was a pleasant feeling that made me wish I was in the stands to experience other eras of America's great past time.

Last night I started surfing the net to find old stories about my hometown, Binghamton New York, circa 1970s. I came across an article about the now defunct Mohawk Airlines, remembering I was a passenger aboard just before they were sold to Allegheny Airlines. And then I typed in local tv station, WBNG, to see what I might find. I actually had the unique opportunity to serve as reporter on their Saturday morning program called "Action News For Kids," around 1975. How awesome it felt to walk into their newsroom amid whom I thought were legends back then such as Bernard Fionte who was anchor and Bob Buchanan who provided nightly weather in the Susquehanna Valley.

So I decided to next do a Google search on Bob Buchanan. The results were as cold water thrown on my face. Last week Bob dies after a short illness. I learned that he retired as meteorologist in 1998, after some 30 years at the station. That's when I was once again reminded that another piece of my past has faded. I never got to meet Bob, although his daughter-in-law and children attended the church I pastored on occasions. I had hoped to meet him and would have loved to get his perspectives on the "good old days." Unfortunately, we never met as I moved away twelve years ago.

Sometimes those cravings for the past lead us to things we weren't expecting. It happened last night. Though, not always pleasant, there are lot of good memories of life in the Triple Cities. Strangely, many of those I think on did not seem that big a deal as I was growing up.

Quest For Friends

Last night Kelly and I went out for dinner. It was a rare treat since most Fridays in the winter land us in the bleachers to watch Caleb's high school basketball games. We had a relaxing dinner at the Golden Corral in Bedford, stopped to get some sports gear and topped off with a visit to Starbucks before calling it a night.

While it was very enjoyable, when we got back home we ended up talking about running into some friends who attend our church at two of those stops. What we realized is that whenever we get together we feel very relaxed and enjoy laughing a lot. That's the kind of friends we really treasure.

Our kids are about the same ages, we have similar interests and just click personality-wise. We come away feeling happier after just a few moments with them. We believe God has brought our paths together again after about a two-year period of silence. We really don't know what happened over that time but it's sure good to be past that now.

As we get older, it seems we don't want to take friendships for granted. We know how important they are in making it through this life. Some friendships don't last. Other friendships never seem to become what you hope. Lifelong friends aren't easily found. We're realizing, when we find them, we need to make sure we do what we can to build these relationships for the long haul.

Hi Tony ~ Bye Bobby?

Moments before Hoosiers took the streets to rejoice the Colts first Super Bowl victory since 1971, sports announcers were commenting on the NFL’s first black head coach to ever raise the Vincent Lombardi trophy, Tony Dungy. Yet somehow, it really wasn’t about the color of his skin but the color of his character that got everyone’s attention: true blue!

By his own admission he stated that he tried to guide the team to the summit applying Christian principles to his leadership style. It was reported that when his squad of veterans and rookies huddle together for the first time last summer, some of his first words were spoken in a normal conversant manner, saying something to the effect that this was as loud as he would raise his voice all year, so they better pay attention. There would be tone of love and respect and absolutely no profanity from his lips.

He was true to his word and last night, Coach Dungy would have his moment to send a message not only across the Hoosier state but across the land that there’s more than one way to mold a team for success. Yet somehow it seems that God planted Tony Dungy just an hour away from Bloomington Indiana.

Winning in Indiana, to this point, has been achieved just one way, the Bobby Knight way. Did last night’s victory mark the start of a new model for coaching in this state. Did all aspiring coaches from the heartland’s t-ball diamonds to the hardwood courts of Hoosier-hysteria sit up to take note? By his actions, Coach Dungy said a lot. You do not need to sacrifice the worth and dignity of young athletes to hoist a championship banner or raise a trophy. You do not need to be rude, throw chairs, intimidate kids or scream obscenities to get victories.

Hopefully this morning, a lot of coaches, athletes, parents and fans woke up all across Indiana saying, finally, “Goodbye Bobby; Hello Tony.” Only time will tell if Hoosiers are just temporarily giddy with the likes of a Coach Dungy or if we’re really ready to say goodbye to The General’s ways of getting W’s.

Reality Check- You Gotta Be Real

As I brushed the snow off my car and slid into the seat, I felt not only the comfort of a warm interior but the music that was playing on my radio. I tuned in a smooth jazz station on my XM and heard the sounds of 3^rd Force, titled “You Gotta Be Real.” Now most tunes on that station called Water Colors have no lyrics. This is probably one of the appeals of smooth jazz to me because it helps me collect my thoughts. Today, my thoughts simply centered on the title. It’s a good message for me to think about this morning. I really admire people who are totally comfortable with whom they are. They are often called down to earth or authentic. I wish I were more like them.

I know it’s a pretty tough admission but I have not been as real as I could be and that bothers me. What I ended up asking myself though, was why have I come up short in this critical area? I’ve come to conclude it’s because I have always had this insecure need to be liked by everyone. If someone dislikes me I get frustrated with myself thinking why does his or her opinion of my worth matter so much to me?

I know as a minister, a strong desire to be well thought of can be a serious liability at certain points. I know this from first hand experience having been through a building expansion project recently. I know it’s not all bad, though, because a pastor who wants to be liked tends to work real hard on relationships and will often be known as a person who really cares for people. I even adopted the principle I’ve heard about leadership, as a core value: “People don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care.”

That being said, I wonder at 44 if I’m any closer to my true self than at any point in my life as I am today. Will dying out to a need for everyone’s approval bring me closer to the genuine person I’m suppose to be? I guess I fear that to make this sacrifice will free me to become some one I don’t like. Will I become less relational, a little harsher, and less tender? Ultimately what will it cost me to be more real? And what will a greater commitment to authenticity look like when I stand in front of a mirror?

Those are pretty high stakes questions to answer! I want to be real. When I’m not, I don’t like it. Midlife. These are strange years to live. Yet how tragic it is that some people ignore these questions and carry on with life, as in the first half of life, unwilling to make adjustments in the locker room to face the second half. I not only gotta be real, I wanna be real. Right now I’m asking hard questions in hopes of getting answers. I’m counting costs and pitting them against reward. My inner life is under reconstruction. Hopefully, the finished product will turn out better than the interior has been the first 44 years.