Hate to wait...

I am not big on waiting. I was a preemie at birth, and ever since then, patience has never been my strong suit.

That is why this simple, short blog post from Amanda Sims speaks to me. It's also a reason she has made my "People I dislike..." shortlist. Stay tuned for that...

Thanks, A!

Hate to wait...

Why?

It's the beautiful game... and I love to coach it.

Growing up, my dad couldn't wield the pigskin, or dribble a basketball, and he was probably more acquainted with cricket than baseball... but he knew how to play football -- real football. My earliest memories consist of him showing me the basics outside our home in Minnesota.

People don't understand the immense honor and privilege it is to have the opportunity to coach and teach young people. Coaching youth sports is the ultimate elixir; it makes you a better person.

You see both sides of the coin. When you do right, there is no losing. You might come up on the wrong side of a result, but there are a million potential victories in every loss. Sometimes, it's hard to find them... but that's why finding them is so much sweeter.

I thought playing the game was great. After I got hurt, I missed the action. To this day, I can't walk by a set of goals without a sense of hunger.

But nothing compares to the look of a 12 yr-old who looks up at you with complete trust. In that instant, you are humbled by the sheer weight of the situation. Hey Coach: you are it. In that space of time, practice or game, you are influencing a young person's life. You are teaching them. And, if you are blessed enough to recognize the opportunity, you also teach yourself.

You see, long after the whistle, long after the cupcakes and ice cream, it is so much more than the leather sphere, boots and gloves. It's about fellowship, family and sharing love for the beautiful game.

That's why I do it.



Sent via BlackBerry

Why?

485ing it.

How reassuring the sound of a bird chirping is.

Against the background of speeding vehicles, it is downright heavenly.

Where am I? On I-485, the branching interstate that flanks the parent I-85 in Charlotte. I had just experienced a tire blowing out, and it wasn't fun.

I was (still am, hopefully) headed to watch a soccer game with my U-13 Girls team as the first leg of an evening of practice and team-building. So, naturally, I am disappointed sitting here waiting for AAA to get here and tow me to a tire shop.

In any case, now that my pulse has returned to normal, I feel somewhat let down. When I heard the pop, I had the weird sensation that someone had shot at me.

I figured I had to be making mighty moves for the kingdom, and someone was trying to take me out. Or, with the BET Awards at hand, someone had mistaken me for a musician driving a Honda and decided to take that diss record I made a decade ago personal. Or, a local youth pastor warning me about innocently poaching some of his youth.

Or, it could be a blown tire.

In any case, I am safe, and grateful for the prayer tweets coming in (along with the suggestions to look for stale fries and lemon-crusted squirrel from Pam and Karen).

Plus, I finally have tan lines, and that, my friends, is no small feat.


Sent via BlackBerry

485ing it.

God hates Twitter

I'll leave the commentary to y'all. I mean that. I won't utter a word.

Okay, just one word. Really?!

Keep in mind that this is not a denominational issue...

http://tech.yahoo.com/blogs/null/142309

God hates Twitter

*Space reserved*

... for future testimony...

*Space reserved*

Sheep thieves and saints

Years ago, I read an interesting story.

Two young men, friends upon a wayward path, decided to steal a sheep. Unfortunately for them, they were caught and sent before the elders of the clan.

Justice was swift and brutal.

That evening, before the entire village, the two men were tied up, set on their knees, and each had the initials "ST" branded on their respective foreheads, denoting Sheep Thief. For the rest of their lives, there would be a permanent reminder of their transgression for the whole world to see, and a deterrent to other would-be criminals.

The one youth became despondent. He moved to the edge of the town and morphed into a grumpy recluse noted for his mean disposition. He lived out the rest of his years in shame and self-imposed solitude.

The second boy was different. After a brief period of shame and regret, he slowly began to dedicate his life to serving others. There wasn't a person in need he didn't try to help; he became renown for his kind works and his Godly ways. Eventually, he was looked upon as an example of virtuous living, and people strove to be in his company.

One day, when the second was an old man, a visitor to the land asked his host what the ST on the man's forehead stood for.

"Don't really remember," said his host, scratching his head, " but I am fairly positive it means "'Saint'."

This story isn't mine, and I wish I knew the author to ask forgiveness for butchering it, but it has always resonated with me.

Redemption takes time, but it can and does happen. The concept of having the slate cleaned is priceless. And every believer knows we deal with a salvation that is freely given and unearned. I am not trying to discount the consequences attached to our actions, but there is something inherently fascinating about the Good News.

Errors happen, but they are not the end.

Sent via BlackBerry

Sheep thieves and saints

Ponytails.

Funny, funny stuff from Eugene Cho waxing on his mane...

Ponytails.