Friday, December 14, 2012
Newtown, CT
I have clothes that need folding. My kitchen isn't as clean as it needs to be. There are things to do. But tonight, these things just don't seem to matter very much.
It's nights like these that I hate living alone. Not because of fear. But because there's no one to talk to. Nothing to connect to except the images on a tv screen or thoughts on social media or a text. It's not the same as either coping together or at least having a distraction. So I write because it's what I can do. And of course, I pray.
I ache for the families. I ache for the community. I ache for the children that survived and pray that they can do whatever they need to do in order to heal and feel safe again. I weep for the fear that must have been felt in those classrooms. I pray the physical pain was quick. The emotional pain will not be. I grieve for the parents who got the call, went to the school, and received the most horrific news.
After the Colorado theater shooting I wrote about the need to pay closer attention to what's going on around us and perhaps stopping the next tragedy from happening. And over the next few days, we'll see the shooter's picture and find out his story. There will be people who knew things. All the same questions will be raised. And, of course, the gun control debate will rage. This guy killed with hand guns, but there were assault weapons in his car. [Editor's note: it was later confirmed that the shooter actually did use the assault weapon to kill the children and adults, shooting each one multiple times. The hand guns were in his pockets.] Why the hell anyone needs one of those is beyond me.
But today was different. Today was too much. It was in the tone of the reporters as they tried to keep up with information. It was in the faces of law enforcement. It was in the tears of our President.
They were babies, most of them. They were innocent, beautiful babies.
I am not a parent, and I doubt, at this point, that I will be. For whatever reason, God, in His infintite mystery, has not blessed me with that precious opportunity. However, one does not have to be a parent to love the children in their lives. My office and home are covered with pictures of Grayton and Henry. Parents will tell you that they never knew they could love so deeply as they do their own children. I'm here to tell you - that feeling applies to aunts as well. I never understood it until I held both of them for the first time, and I know how precious my time and relationship is with them. It was impossible to keep their faces out of my head today. I can't imagine. I just can't imagine.
In a text exchange tonight my sister wrote this: "There is an evil in this world that makes my bones shiver...this evil that infiltrates the hearts of the most vulberable and then unspeakable things happen and the most innocent suffer. And my only comfort is that those babies are in the warm arms of God."
Indeed, the only comfort.
O merciful Father, whose face the angels of thy little ones do always behold in heaven; Grant us stedfastly to believe that these thy children hath been taken into the safe keeping of thine eternal love; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen
Saturday, December 8, 2012
The Measure of a Man
In so many ways were are a socitey that quits. We want instant gratification and satisfaction and we want things to be easy and if we don't get our way....we quit. It's easier than working on the hard stuff. For me, however, the satisfaction that comes from earning something is far greater than that which is just handed to me. Easier? No. But far more satisfying.
Let me tell you about someone who didn't quit.
17 years ago, my brother was doing what every other high school graduate was supposed to be doing. He visited colleges, filled out applications, experienced the disappointment of not getting into his first choice, and then experienced the fear and anxiety that comes from watching your parent drive away after helping you move into your dorm. He was 10 hours from home. No car. Only a couple of familiar faces. No real idea of what path he was on, or at least not that he revealed at the time. He did the same thing I did when I transfered to my second wrong choice of colleges. When given the chance to take the easy way out and come home, he stayed put. Even though his heart and head were both screaming 'don't leave me here.' It was a long year for Curt. A city he loved. A college he'd been excited about. Both the wrong choice. But he didn't quit.
This began a journey of college hopping, major changing, moving from house to house and roommate to roommate. It led to a long term relationship with the wrong girl. It led to heartbreak, anxiety, fear, and sadness. But he didn't quit.
I don't think Curt has never been comfortable in a classroom setting. I think he finds it's stiffling, and I can understand that. I feel that way about working 9-5 in an office. So Curt's college journey has been...well...long. I remember nights when he'd come into my room or wherever I was studying for my own finals or writing my own paper. After I watched him pace for a while, I'd finally get out of him that something was due or there was a test the next day that he wasn't perpared for. Let's just say that there have been several all night study sessions at Denny's or papers that were finished and edited in time for me to splash water on my face and get to my own class. Some problems were bigger than others, but we got thru them. And, he didn't quit.
Sure, there were disappointments. Yes, there were semesters off (for both of us). There were countless challenges and at times I'll admit that even I wondered if a college degree was really necessary or worth it. But it was his journey.
In the past 17 years, my brother has been Beckwith's more formidable 'super counselor' turned Camp Director. He's been a Youth Minister. He's traveled thru the Southwest with boys with behavioral and emotional challenges and, thru camping adventures, rock climbing, and moutain biking Moab, he helped lead them to a second chance. He's loved and taught hundreds of children and teenagers to believe in themselves. Using his God-given talents at the keyboard, he's taught children and adults to play the piano. He's started and maintained a business, even in a recession. He found the courage to approach the right girl, and ask her to a party, and then asked her to marry him. He's purchased a house. And he and Sellers have created Grayton and Henry - by far their greatest achievements yet.
Let me tell you what I see when I look at my brother. I see a man who was put on this planet to be a daddy and a husband. I see a man with more grace in his little finger than I have in my entire body. I see a man with the ability to forgive and give second and third and fourth chances, even it means his heart is broken each time. I see a man of unceasing faith. I see a man with a childlike passion for the stuff in life that is especially important: family, friends, love. I see a man that, even in our adulthood, I can laugh with at things we thought were funny when we were little, or who gets excited about a new Star Wars or Harry Potter movie. I see a man who still believes in magic - no matter what life throws at him. I see a man who works hard, and plays harder. I see a man that I am incredibly proud of, that I am inspirited by, and one that I am blessed to call my brother and best friend.
And tonight? After 17 years...
I see a college graduate.
Martin Luther King said, "The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge..."
Tonight, Curt Kennington stands victorious at the end of this part of his journey.
There's more to come, of course. But he'll do it. Because he doesn't quit.
I've been thinking of one of my favorite movies since Curt received his final grade in his final class. The movie is "With Honors", a story about life taking an unexpected path and becoming richer for it. As they graduate, a portion of the song below plays.
Curt, my brother and friend, I am so proud of you. You will truly graduate life with honor and without regret. I love you.
May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young
May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young
May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
May your song always be sung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young
- Bob Dylan
Let me tell you about someone who didn't quit.
17 years ago, my brother was doing what every other high school graduate was supposed to be doing. He visited colleges, filled out applications, experienced the disappointment of not getting into his first choice, and then experienced the fear and anxiety that comes from watching your parent drive away after helping you move into your dorm. He was 10 hours from home. No car. Only a couple of familiar faces. No real idea of what path he was on, or at least not that he revealed at the time. He did the same thing I did when I transfered to my second wrong choice of colleges. When given the chance to take the easy way out and come home, he stayed put. Even though his heart and head were both screaming 'don't leave me here.' It was a long year for Curt. A city he loved. A college he'd been excited about. Both the wrong choice. But he didn't quit.
This began a journey of college hopping, major changing, moving from house to house and roommate to roommate. It led to a long term relationship with the wrong girl. It led to heartbreak, anxiety, fear, and sadness. But he didn't quit.
I don't think Curt has never been comfortable in a classroom setting. I think he finds it's stiffling, and I can understand that. I feel that way about working 9-5 in an office. So Curt's college journey has been...well...long. I remember nights when he'd come into my room or wherever I was studying for my own finals or writing my own paper. After I watched him pace for a while, I'd finally get out of him that something was due or there was a test the next day that he wasn't perpared for. Let's just say that there have been several all night study sessions at Denny's or papers that were finished and edited in time for me to splash water on my face and get to my own class. Some problems were bigger than others, but we got thru them. And, he didn't quit.
Sure, there were disappointments. Yes, there were semesters off (for both of us). There were countless challenges and at times I'll admit that even I wondered if a college degree was really necessary or worth it. But it was his journey.
In the past 17 years, my brother has been Beckwith's more formidable 'super counselor' turned Camp Director. He's been a Youth Minister. He's traveled thru the Southwest with boys with behavioral and emotional challenges and, thru camping adventures, rock climbing, and moutain biking Moab, he helped lead them to a second chance. He's loved and taught hundreds of children and teenagers to believe in themselves. Using his God-given talents at the keyboard, he's taught children and adults to play the piano. He's started and maintained a business, even in a recession. He found the courage to approach the right girl, and ask her to a party, and then asked her to marry him. He's purchased a house. And he and Sellers have created Grayton and Henry - by far their greatest achievements yet.
Let me tell you what I see when I look at my brother. I see a man who was put on this planet to be a daddy and a husband. I see a man with more grace in his little finger than I have in my entire body. I see a man with the ability to forgive and give second and third and fourth chances, even it means his heart is broken each time. I see a man of unceasing faith. I see a man with a childlike passion for the stuff in life that is especially important: family, friends, love. I see a man that, even in our adulthood, I can laugh with at things we thought were funny when we were little, or who gets excited about a new Star Wars or Harry Potter movie. I see a man who still believes in magic - no matter what life throws at him. I see a man who works hard, and plays harder. I see a man that I am incredibly proud of, that I am inspirited by, and one that I am blessed to call my brother and best friend.
And tonight? After 17 years...
I see a college graduate.
Martin Luther King said, "The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge..."
Tonight, Curt Kennington stands victorious at the end of this part of his journey.
There's more to come, of course. But he'll do it. Because he doesn't quit.
I've been thinking of one of my favorite movies since Curt received his final grade in his final class. The movie is "With Honors", a story about life taking an unexpected path and becoming richer for it. As they graduate, a portion of the song below plays.
Curt, my brother and friend, I am so proud of you. You will truly graduate life with honor and without regret. I love you.
May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young
May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young
May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
May your song always be sung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young
- Bob Dylan
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Cursillo #149 talk on study
Last weekend I had the pleasure of serving on the the staff for Cursillo #149. Specifically I was on the music team and presented a talk on study. Below is that talk. I hope it was a blessing to those who heard it, and for those who read it. It was a blessing to write and deliver it. So, thanks for reading.
Cursillo #149
Nov 1-4, 2012
Beckwith Camp & Retreat Center
Presiding Bishop Katherine Jefferts Schori has the unique position of being both our Chief Pastor, and an accomplished Oceanographer. During her May, 2009 visit to our Diocese, while here at Beckwith, she was asked by one of our young people about the reconciliation of science and religion. She said that science explains how things happen. She went on to say that our faith, and it’s grounding in Scripture, tell us what it all means.
Finally, remember that you are not in charge. Come to the discipline of study with a humble heart, and trust in Him. His timing is always perfect.
Elizabeth
Kennington
Cursillo
Talk: StudyCursillo #149
Nov 1-4, 2012
Beckwith Camp & Retreat Center
Blessed Lord, who caused all holy
Scriptures to be written for our learning: Grant us so to hear them, read,
mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that we may embrace and ever hold fast
the blessed hope of everlasting life, which you have given us in our Savior
Jesus Christ…
As
a teenager, I was very active in my parish’s EYC, or youth group. When I
graduated from college I began working with the youth at Trinity, Mobile, and
for the next 15 years I served as a youth minister in three parishes. One of
the favorite activities of youth groups everywhere are scavenger hunts. They
come in many variations: photo hunts, video hunts, ones where you have to do an
action or trade for something and the list goes on. Now I’m sure all of you
have been on a scavenger hunt. You are divided into groups and given your first
clue or instruction. Once you figure out the clue you set off to the next spot,
where you’ll find the next clue or instruction. Each one of these experiences
has the potential to yield great reward – usually the satisfaction of
clarification and continuing to the next step. So it is with study.
Study
is the application and use of our minds to learn. In our faith, study and piety
prepare us for action guided by our Christian ideal.
I've
been studying my entire life. We all have. From the moment we are born we study
in order to understand. As babies, we study with eyes and ears and touch. We
learn to smile and clap and eat our Cheerios by watching. We discover the
feelings of love thru hugs and kisses and soft voices and laughter. We learn
the feeling of safety wrapped in a warm blanket nestled in the arms of someone
who loves us. In the past 4 years I have enjoyed watching my nephews, Grayton
and Henry, learn what rain feels like, or how a puppy dog smells, or how a
thunderstorm sounds. I have loved watching them discover music. I relish the
joy in their faces when they find they can sit up, pull up, stand, walk, run,
and even fall down, with the knowledge that they can get back up and run again.
As we grow through the turbulent teens and rocky 20’s and into adulthood, we
continue to learn what love feels like, and sometimes what real pain is and how
to deal with it, and emerge stronger.
We
study in order to know ourselves and the world around us. Christian study is
about coming to know God. We come to know Him, not as a problem solver or
prayer answerer, but as a Being that is alive and constantly moving in our
lives. Christianity is a relationship that requires spiritual growth to mature
and thrive even as we grow and mature in life. Through study, we make an
intentional effort to come to a deeper understanding of that faith. In the
words of St. Augustine, we ask "Lord Jesus, let me know myself so that I
may know you."
In
Matthew's Gospel, we receive the Great Commission. Jesus tell us to "...go
and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and
of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have
commanded you." We, as Christians, are to be agents of transformation in
the world. Study allows God to speak to us and help us obtain a greater
understanding of who we are and what Jesus is calling us to do. Study, then, is
the bridge between piety and action. We can express love, but without knowledge
to accompany that love, we can neither be transformed, nor can we transform the
world.
Presiding Bishop Katherine Jefferts Schori has the unique position of being both our Chief Pastor, and an accomplished Oceanographer. During her May, 2009 visit to our Diocese, while here at Beckwith, she was asked by one of our young people about the reconciliation of science and religion. She said that science explains how things happen. She went on to say that our faith, and it’s grounding in Scripture, tell us what it all means.
The
Bible is our foundation. It is the foundational story of our Judeo-Christian
history, and our salvation through the death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus
Christ. Studying Scripture can be challenging, but the church can assist you in
knowing which translations are trustworthy and accurate in relation to the
ancient text. Speak to your clergy for help with this. My personal
recommendation is the Oxford Annotated Bible with the Apocrypha, either the
Revised Standard Version or the New Revised Standard Version. The language is
easily accessible and the footnotes are very fine and extremely helpful. A
trusted Biblical translation, as well as the use of commentaries and guides, or
perhaps a study group, can assist you in your study and stretch you spiritually
and intellectually. There is no better source for Christian study than the Word
itself.
The
language of our liturgy is a primary source of study. An old saying states
‘what we pray, we believe.” Each Sunday and Holy Day we recite the ancient words
of the creeds as a proclamation of our faith. Our Episcopal services of
Ordination, and Pastoral services of Marriage and the Burial of the Dead, the Daily
office and all the extraordinarily beautiful services of the Book of Common
Prayer inform us and remind us of our story of salvation and our connection to
the scriptures, tradition, and reason of the Anglican Communion.
The
18th century English poet, Alexander Pope, is often quoted from his
work An Essay on Criticism, saying “a little learning is a dangerous thing.” I’ve
often heard people say “I know just enough to be dangerous. This can be
particularly true in the study – or sometimes lack there of – of sacred texts. Our airwaves are full of religious leaders,
from the Christian faith as well as others, manipulating parts of the sacred
texts in order to incite fear and promote condemnation of others. In recent
years this brand of hurtful extremism has targeted the Koran, the sacred text
of Islam. Many Christian fundamentalist use the text to condemn the Islamic
faith, while extremist Muslims use their holy book to justify Jihad and
terrorist action. It is vitally important to study well and fully. History,
culture, context, accuracy are all part of the work being done in study. Some
Christian fundamentalist use the words of our own sacred text, the Bible, to
vilify and condemn both fellow Christians, and others. A little learning is a
dangerous thing.
Daily
prayer is an important work in study. Devotions, such as Forward Day-by-Day,
and the Daily Office in the Book of Common Prayer are easily accessible and
decidedly Anglican resources that make spending a little quiet time with God
both enriching and convenient.
Education
for Ministry is a 4 year program of the School of Theology of the University of
the South at Sewanee. Over the course of 4 years, students cover the Old
Testament, New Testament, Church History, and Theological Choices. Let me also
tell you what EfM is not: it is not a precursor to seminary (although some EfM
graduates have gone on to the ordained priesthood). EfM is a survey course
designed to prepare us for the ministry to which we have been called. Through
weekly chapter readings, prayer, and guided reflections, students learn to
think theologically, examining our own beliefs in relationship to our culture
and our Christian tradition. I am
currently in my 3rd year, and I can tell you without hesitation that
EfM night is the best night of my week. If you’re really up for a challenge,
and aren’t afraid of having your theological perspective shaken up a bit, I
highly recommend enrolling in an EfM program.
Of
course, there are many other gifted and challenging spiritual writers who can
be profound companions on the journey. Three of my favorites are C.S. Lewis,
Mike Yaconelli, and Donald Miller.
Lewis, of course, is one of the 20th century’s most
influential writers. Whether addressing the central issues of Christianity in Mere Christianity, reading the humorous
exchange concerning some of life’s moral questions between two of the Devil’s
chief agents in the Screwtape Letters,
or emerging from the wardrobe to meet the mighty Aslan, Lewis takes his readers
on a magical and sometimes mystical journey toward a better understanding of a
life of faith.
The
late Mike Yaconelli was the godfather of modern youth ministry. His books Dangerous
Wonders and Messy Spirituality remind me of the importance of keeping a childlike
faith, and that no matter how badly I screw up or fall down, there is always a
seat for me at the table. Donald Miller’s Blue
Like Jazz, Through Painted Desserts and Searching for God Knows What are like
talking with an old friend. He and I are the same age,
and like many of my fellow “Gen-Xers” we are navigating our spiritual journeys
through a cynical world, and seeking to further our connection with our
brother, Jesus. These three men, and many other gifted writers challenge my
mind, my beliefs, and inevitably lead me back to the Scripture, which is my
foundation.
Study
does not have to be from the written page. Study can, and should, include
seminars, video and audio resources, poetry, art, conversation, and the
observation of the people and nature around us.
We
are so blessed to be at Beckwith on this beautiful October weekend. Fall is my
favorite time to be here. The cool breezes, the crunch of the autumn leaves,
the beauty of the stars at night so far away from the city. A couple of weeks
ago I had the opportunity to be with my family and a few friends on a sail on
the Schooner Joshua in Mobile Bay. We
were celebrating my dad’s 70th birthday. As we were coming in from
our 2 + hours on the water, God showed off a bit with one of the most
spectacular sunsets I’ve seen in recent memory. We move so quickly these days.
I encourage you to slow down and reflect on the majesty that is in the beauty
of creation: the first ear of Silver Queen, or a summer tomato sandwich. The
power of a hurricane. The devastation of torandos and droughts. Even the
excitement of a Olympic Gold medal, or SEC football game. Or maybe the moment
of reflection after the cancer diagnosis. What do these things tell of God? Of
life? They are all resources for study.
For
me, music, whether hymns of the church, classic composers, or modern
contemporary, is a primary source of
reflection and prayer and I have been blessed to have wonderful musicians in my
life, including my father and brother. They are my musical companions along the
way.
As
in life, there will always be obstacles to study. Most of these are self-
inflicted. You may be thinking that you don’t have the self-discipline, or that
you don’t understand Scripture. You might even be afraid of what you might find
out about yourself or your call. The
solution?
First,
start.
Begin
the process of your Christian study wherever you are. Talk to your priest or spiritual
director about Biblical commentaries or guides to help you begin. Then find the
complementary resources in literature, devotions, music, etc. that are best for
you.
Secondly,
pray for God’s wisdom and guidance as you spend time in the reflection of His
word.
Next,
keep moving forward. If you miss a day, or you discover something you don’t
understand, don’t beat yourself up and say “I knew I’d fail”.
Continue
to set individual goals, and continue to work toward them with God’s help.
Finally, remember that you are not in charge. Come to the discipline of study with a humble heart, and trust in Him. His timing is always perfect.
Never
stop learning. In the words of Proverbs 6:6: “Go to the ant, you sluggard; consider her
ways, and be wise.”
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Livestrong? Or just a big lie...
Dear Lance,
I wish I could say, without question, that I believe you. I want to. So badly. But where there is smoke...
I do think you have been the victim of a witch hunt. The USADA is a seriously flawed organization and I think that Travis Tygart was definitely out to get you. Even a federal judge question the motives behind this investigation. And the list of witnesses are far from credible, since all of them have either admitted to doping or been caught by testing postive for performance enhancing drugs. Plus they have been promised immunity and allowed to continue to race so really they have nothing to lose by telling the USADA what they want to hear. Not to mention we're talking about races that were won over a decade ago. And I still have not seen proof of a failed drug test. But still. So many pointing fingers...
I'd never watched a cycling race in my life until you'd already won the Tour de France once. You sparked my attention, so I kept watching. Every pedal turn of the next 6 years. I learned the sport. I learned your story. I read your books. I shared them with friends that were fighting cancer as means of inspiration. I have yellow bands, yellow blankets, water bottles - all calling us to "Livestrong". I saw you has a fighter. A dad with an incredible story to pass on to his children. Someone to emulate. To admire. To point to as an example.
No one can deny that you can climb a mountain on your bike. Drugs or no drugs, you did that. I saw it. No one can deny that you helped and continue to help people fighing cancer, and work to find a cure. That legacy continues. I just can't help but wonder what happened to the guy who fought a cancer that gave him a 2% chance of survial and won? If you, as you say, have never doped - then why have you stopped fighting?
If you did this thing they said you did - if you doped your way to 7 Tour wins - I wish you'd just say so. Don't you understand that to continue to lie about it just makes you look worse? Makes the fall even harder? Makes it all even more disappointing for those of us who have believed in you all this time? Just tell the truth, do the penance, and move on. Instead, you've quit fighting the legal system. Nike turned their backs. And today, you stepped away from the people you wanted to inspire the most - your cancer family. What are you hiding from? Never mind. I'm pretty sure at this point I don't want to know.
The definition of a hero is a person, typically a man, who is admired for courage or noble qualities. That's hard to come by these days. Until today, you were one of my heros. I don't think I can say that anymore. Not unless you prove these people wrong.
I don't know that stripping you of your titles and passing off the Yellow Jersey will matter. I mean, the riders behind you have all been caught or admitted doping themselves, so what's the point? Regardless of what happens next, the jersey, along with my waterbottles, blanket, and arm bands have been seriously tarnished.
I'm just so disappointed.
And very, very sad.
I wish I could say, without question, that I believe you. I want to. So badly. But where there is smoke...
I do think you have been the victim of a witch hunt. The USADA is a seriously flawed organization and I think that Travis Tygart was definitely out to get you. Even a federal judge question the motives behind this investigation. And the list of witnesses are far from credible, since all of them have either admitted to doping or been caught by testing postive for performance enhancing drugs. Plus they have been promised immunity and allowed to continue to race so really they have nothing to lose by telling the USADA what they want to hear. Not to mention we're talking about races that were won over a decade ago. And I still have not seen proof of a failed drug test. But still. So many pointing fingers...
I'd never watched a cycling race in my life until you'd already won the Tour de France once. You sparked my attention, so I kept watching. Every pedal turn of the next 6 years. I learned the sport. I learned your story. I read your books. I shared them with friends that were fighting cancer as means of inspiration. I have yellow bands, yellow blankets, water bottles - all calling us to "Livestrong". I saw you has a fighter. A dad with an incredible story to pass on to his children. Someone to emulate. To admire. To point to as an example.
No one can deny that you can climb a mountain on your bike. Drugs or no drugs, you did that. I saw it. No one can deny that you helped and continue to help people fighing cancer, and work to find a cure. That legacy continues. I just can't help but wonder what happened to the guy who fought a cancer that gave him a 2% chance of survial and won? If you, as you say, have never doped - then why have you stopped fighting?
If you did this thing they said you did - if you doped your way to 7 Tour wins - I wish you'd just say so. Don't you understand that to continue to lie about it just makes you look worse? Makes the fall even harder? Makes it all even more disappointing for those of us who have believed in you all this time? Just tell the truth, do the penance, and move on. Instead, you've quit fighting the legal system. Nike turned their backs. And today, you stepped away from the people you wanted to inspire the most - your cancer family. What are you hiding from? Never mind. I'm pretty sure at this point I don't want to know.
The definition of a hero is a person, typically a man, who is admired for courage or noble qualities. That's hard to come by these days. Until today, you were one of my heros. I don't think I can say that anymore. Not unless you prove these people wrong.
I don't know that stripping you of your titles and passing off the Yellow Jersey will matter. I mean, the riders behind you have all been caught or admitted doping themselves, so what's the point? Regardless of what happens next, the jersey, along with my waterbottles, blanket, and arm bands have been seriously tarnished.
I'm just so disappointed.
And very, very sad.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Pay Attention
We're 4 days removed from the Colorado movie theater shooting that took the lives of 12 people and injured 50+ others. The shooter had his first day in court yesterday, with painted red "Joker" style hair and a dazed look in his eye. We're beyond the shock...sadly. The headlines are already beginning to fade as the next big story takes over. Artists have created their tributes. Prayer vigils have been held. Those that are anti-gun are calling for tougher laws. Those that are pro-gun have changed their facebook status to remind us that guns don't kill people...people kill people. The chat rooms and blogosphere are full of people psycho-analyzing the shooter with names such as "sociopath" and "just crazy". And of course, everyone wants to know why.
I do think that some people just have a wire loose. Whether it's a psychotic break or a chemical imbalance or they witnessed something that drove them over the edge, some people just snap. The crimes that these people commit are usually called "crimes of passion" and are sometimes ragged and sloppy. But the shooting in Aurora, Colorado - just like Columbine, or Jonesboro, or Virginia Tech, or the countless other mass shootings in schools and other public arenas - was planned. Calculated. Executed to a "T" to kill as many people as possible in a manner that would cause panic and fear and would be remembered. I think that last part is probably the most significant. It will be remembered.
What we learned about the shooters in the events I named was that they were all "loners". We heard witnesses and classmates and parents and friends talk about how all of these guys were quiet, kept to themselves, but maybe dressed a little odd or seemed a little different. And then we heard about the journals and the manifestos, telling stories of bullying, or of not being understood, or feeling unloved or unwanted or insignificant.
My question is this: why was no one aware? Why was an arsenal being compiled in the apartment next door or the dorm room or under the teenager's bed? Why was no one paying attention? All of these people had parents, teachers, friends, clergy, in their lives. So why did no one see or hear or suspect anything was wrong and then do something that may have prevented Friday night's shooting or any of the ones before?
See, I don't think this has anything to do with being desensitized to violence. I don't think it has anything to do with gun laws. I don't think it has anything to do with movies or even video games. I think it has everything to do with human beings not paying attention.
One of the joys in my life is continuing to watch my nearly 4 year old nephew learn and discover new things. He becomes more and more confident in his abilities to do things himself and when he accomplishes something he is eager to share that victory. When he has a question he wants an answer. At times, I have witnessed him trying to get someones attention to show or ask that person something, and I have witnessed the frustration in his voice, expression, and mannerisms when he cannot get the adult he's speaking to to listen. Now I know that manners have to be taught and children have to learn not to interrupt or to wait their turn, but I also believe that at that moment, there is little, if anything, that is more important than stopping for a few seconds and acknowledging and being proud or answering a question.
I know what it feels like to be so excited about something that I have to find someone to share it with right at that moment, and I know the deflating feeling when I call everyone in my cell phones and no one answers. I know what it feels like to feel sad or frustrated or angry about something and either have no one to talk to or to have people simply tell me that I shouldn't feel that way - I should feel differently - and then move on. Encouraging a different perspective is one thing. Making someone feel unjustified and not validated is something else, because now, not only does that person feel frustrated or angry, now they also feel alone.
As the news broke Friday morning, I gasped in the horror of the situation. Like the rest of the nation I ached for the victims and shook my head in disbelief that this kind of thing had happened again. But as the day wore on I found myself thinking more about the shooter. Now, don't get me wrong. He is absolutely responsible for the death and pain and injury that he caused and he should be punished. But I can't help believing that something or someone could have stopped this. This kid, this 24 year old medical student, not only collected assault rifles and tactical gear, but constructed a booby-trap in his residence designed to kill anyone that walked through the door. When the media contacted his mother following his arrest, her words were "You have the right guy". I don't even know what to do with that. No question or shock in her voice. Just "You have the right guy".
Somewhere in the life of this troubled young man, someone made him feel insignificant. Someone didn't listen. Someone told him he didn't stack up. Someone made him feel invisible. Someone didn't pay attention. And at some point he felt the only thing left to do was strap on a mask, walk into a movie theater, and shoot 70 people. Now we're paying attention.
In a culture that is becoming more about mega-multi-tasking and less about human connection, ask yourself what's more important? And then...
Stop. Put the phone down. Step away from facebook. Turn off the TV. Unplug.
Now...
Play a game. Take a walk. Cook a meal. Talk to each other. Go outside. Take a road trip. Look people in the eye. Speak to the guy at the drive thru. Smile at the cashier. Go meet your neighbors. Leave an extra tip for the hotel maid. Say "thank you" to your post master or garbage collector. Introduce yourself to the quiet guy in the corner. Celebrate your children. Celebrate every ones children. Answer the questions. Validate one another. Pray. Love.
Pay attention.
Pay attention.
Pay attention.
I do think that some people just have a wire loose. Whether it's a psychotic break or a chemical imbalance or they witnessed something that drove them over the edge, some people just snap. The crimes that these people commit are usually called "crimes of passion" and are sometimes ragged and sloppy. But the shooting in Aurora, Colorado - just like Columbine, or Jonesboro, or Virginia Tech, or the countless other mass shootings in schools and other public arenas - was planned. Calculated. Executed to a "T" to kill as many people as possible in a manner that would cause panic and fear and would be remembered. I think that last part is probably the most significant. It will be remembered.
What we learned about the shooters in the events I named was that they were all "loners". We heard witnesses and classmates and parents and friends talk about how all of these guys were quiet, kept to themselves, but maybe dressed a little odd or seemed a little different. And then we heard about the journals and the manifestos, telling stories of bullying, or of not being understood, or feeling unloved or unwanted or insignificant.
My question is this: why was no one aware? Why was an arsenal being compiled in the apartment next door or the dorm room or under the teenager's bed? Why was no one paying attention? All of these people had parents, teachers, friends, clergy, in their lives. So why did no one see or hear or suspect anything was wrong and then do something that may have prevented Friday night's shooting or any of the ones before?
See, I don't think this has anything to do with being desensitized to violence. I don't think it has anything to do with gun laws. I don't think it has anything to do with movies or even video games. I think it has everything to do with human beings not paying attention.
One of the joys in my life is continuing to watch my nearly 4 year old nephew learn and discover new things. He becomes more and more confident in his abilities to do things himself and when he accomplishes something he is eager to share that victory. When he has a question he wants an answer. At times, I have witnessed him trying to get someones attention to show or ask that person something, and I have witnessed the frustration in his voice, expression, and mannerisms when he cannot get the adult he's speaking to to listen. Now I know that manners have to be taught and children have to learn not to interrupt or to wait their turn, but I also believe that at that moment, there is little, if anything, that is more important than stopping for a few seconds and acknowledging and being proud or answering a question.
I know what it feels like to be so excited about something that I have to find someone to share it with right at that moment, and I know the deflating feeling when I call everyone in my cell phones and no one answers. I know what it feels like to feel sad or frustrated or angry about something and either have no one to talk to or to have people simply tell me that I shouldn't feel that way - I should feel differently - and then move on. Encouraging a different perspective is one thing. Making someone feel unjustified and not validated is something else, because now, not only does that person feel frustrated or angry, now they also feel alone.
As the news broke Friday morning, I gasped in the horror of the situation. Like the rest of the nation I ached for the victims and shook my head in disbelief that this kind of thing had happened again. But as the day wore on I found myself thinking more about the shooter. Now, don't get me wrong. He is absolutely responsible for the death and pain and injury that he caused and he should be punished. But I can't help believing that something or someone could have stopped this. This kid, this 24 year old medical student, not only collected assault rifles and tactical gear, but constructed a booby-trap in his residence designed to kill anyone that walked through the door. When the media contacted his mother following his arrest, her words were "You have the right guy". I don't even know what to do with that. No question or shock in her voice. Just "You have the right guy".
Somewhere in the life of this troubled young man, someone made him feel insignificant. Someone didn't listen. Someone told him he didn't stack up. Someone made him feel invisible. Someone didn't pay attention. And at some point he felt the only thing left to do was strap on a mask, walk into a movie theater, and shoot 70 people. Now we're paying attention.
In a culture that is becoming more about mega-multi-tasking and less about human connection, ask yourself what's more important? And then...
Stop. Put the phone down. Step away from facebook. Turn off the TV. Unplug.
Now...
Play a game. Take a walk. Cook a meal. Talk to each other. Go outside. Take a road trip. Look people in the eye. Speak to the guy at the drive thru. Smile at the cashier. Go meet your neighbors. Leave an extra tip for the hotel maid. Say "thank you" to your post master or garbage collector. Introduce yourself to the quiet guy in the corner. Celebrate your children. Celebrate every ones children. Answer the questions. Validate one another. Pray. Love.
Pay attention.
Pay attention.
Pay attention.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Chester
In November, 2005 a few days before my 34th birthday, I received a call from my dad saying he needed me to run an errand with him the next morning. He needed my help making a decision. Now, it was a month before Christmas and his and my mom's wedding anniversary, a few days before my birthday, and slightly more than a month before my brother's wedding - so this decision could have been about anything. The next morning, shortly after 8 a.m. my dad picked me up and we set off. I had no idea where we were going. Before I knew it we pulled up at the local animal shelter. We walked inside and dad announced "I'm here to see Chester".
I figured Chester was someone who worked there. We walked to the back thru the kennels and cages and out of one of the large dog runs crawls this little scrawny brown dog, looking skinny and pitiful. He walked tentatively to my dad, who scooped him up and cradled him in his arms. My father looked at me and said, "now, the decision I need you to help me make is this: is this the dog you're taking home today or do we need to pick out another one?". By this point, Chester was already licking me all over my face. The decision was made.
Chester spent the first day at the vets office just until I got off work, and then he came to his forever home.
And then I learned the rest of the story. My parents had been in kahoots with our vet and my apartment's office manager for a while it seems. The pet deposit was being paid. Our vet was on the look out for a small, apartment sized dog. Sneaky bunch.
Chester was found in the Dauphin Street area by an employee of the animal shelter. It was just weeks after Hurricane Katrina. It is believed that Chester was either left behind, dropped off, or somehow became separated from his family. He is a dachsund-chihuahua mix, and was about 8 months old when found. He had probably been on his own since the storm. He was tiny, hungry, dirty, and as most strays are, probably not treated very nicely by people or bigger dogs.
And now he was home. Safe and warm and loved. He and my parent's dog, Bela, became fast friends. When Bela died about a year later one of the most heartbreaking moments was the first time Chester went to my parent's house, and spent the entire night looking for his big, black friend.
About two years later, while at the beach, he had a seizure. It was terrifying. To see that little body twisted and stiff, with eyes begging to know what was happening. I learned quickly that epilespy, if it is going to be an issue, shows itself by the time they are 3 years old. The doctors can find no reason for the seizures, and I've learned how to treat him while they are happening and while he's recovering from them. But they are never, ever fun to watch, and always scary. Luckily, they are still sporadic enough that he doesn't need medication. I hope it stays that way.
Chester suffers from a bit of PTSD, a few allergies, and a severe case of 'little dog syndrome". He thinks he Cujo. He's decided on about 5 people that he likes, and will settle for new people only after a lot of coaxing and even then it's on his terms or not at all. He's very protective of me. If there's a strange noise or anything unsettling, he'll come sit in front of me staring in the direction of the noise with this "don't worry, Mom. I got this" attitude. He always looks concerned. He is stubborn and willful. He loves to burrough under the covers or a blanket to sleep, and spends whatever time he can sitting in the sun gazing out the window making sure everything is ok. And like all dogs, he's glad to see me whether I'm gone 5 minutes or 5 days.
I wanted a lab. Or a springer spaniel. Or a basset hound. He's not a social, go anywhere dog like Max or Saint or Lucy. My nephews know him only thru pictures and by name, but they haven't met him yet because of Chester's anxiety issues - and maybe because of mine.
But I think God knew we needed each other. Sometimes we all feel like we've been left behind after the storm passes. We all feel like a bit of a mis-fit. I certainly have. And I'm sure that on the streets after a hurricane this little life felt fear, hunger, cold, loneliness, and possibly abuse. All our dogs want in life is to please us and be loved and protected. Isn't that really what we all want?
Chester turned 7 today. Now, we don't know exactly when his birthday is but the shelter and the vets believed he would be a year old in March after I got him. One day I started asking Chester what day he wanted to be his birthday. I just started saying numbers and he just started at me. When I said "the 22nd?" he literally started licking my face. I said a few more numbers and then the 22nd again and the same thing happened. After the third time I said, "well - March 22nd it is". He chose his birthday.
As I write this he's curled up in a ball on the bed next to me, sound asleep. I can't imagine coming home without that face waiting on me. When I have to kennel him for trips, and occassionally spend a night at home without him, this place feels quiet and lonely.
No - he isn't what I thought I wanted. But he's exactly what I needed. Forever home.
Happy Birthday, my sweet Chester. I love you.
I figured Chester was someone who worked there. We walked to the back thru the kennels and cages and out of one of the large dog runs crawls this little scrawny brown dog, looking skinny and pitiful. He walked tentatively to my dad, who scooped him up and cradled him in his arms. My father looked at me and said, "now, the decision I need you to help me make is this: is this the dog you're taking home today or do we need to pick out another one?". By this point, Chester was already licking me all over my face. The decision was made.
Chester spent the first day at the vets office just until I got off work, and then he came to his forever home.
And then I learned the rest of the story. My parents had been in kahoots with our vet and my apartment's office manager for a while it seems. The pet deposit was being paid. Our vet was on the look out for a small, apartment sized dog. Sneaky bunch.
Chester was found in the Dauphin Street area by an employee of the animal shelter. It was just weeks after Hurricane Katrina. It is believed that Chester was either left behind, dropped off, or somehow became separated from his family. He is a dachsund-chihuahua mix, and was about 8 months old when found. He had probably been on his own since the storm. He was tiny, hungry, dirty, and as most strays are, probably not treated very nicely by people or bigger dogs.
And now he was home. Safe and warm and loved. He and my parent's dog, Bela, became fast friends. When Bela died about a year later one of the most heartbreaking moments was the first time Chester went to my parent's house, and spent the entire night looking for his big, black friend.
About two years later, while at the beach, he had a seizure. It was terrifying. To see that little body twisted and stiff, with eyes begging to know what was happening. I learned quickly that epilespy, if it is going to be an issue, shows itself by the time they are 3 years old. The doctors can find no reason for the seizures, and I've learned how to treat him while they are happening and while he's recovering from them. But they are never, ever fun to watch, and always scary. Luckily, they are still sporadic enough that he doesn't need medication. I hope it stays that way.
Chester suffers from a bit of PTSD, a few allergies, and a severe case of 'little dog syndrome". He thinks he Cujo. He's decided on about 5 people that he likes, and will settle for new people only after a lot of coaxing and even then it's on his terms or not at all. He's very protective of me. If there's a strange noise or anything unsettling, he'll come sit in front of me staring in the direction of the noise with this "don't worry, Mom. I got this" attitude. He always looks concerned. He is stubborn and willful. He loves to burrough under the covers or a blanket to sleep, and spends whatever time he can sitting in the sun gazing out the window making sure everything is ok. And like all dogs, he's glad to see me whether I'm gone 5 minutes or 5 days.
I wanted a lab. Or a springer spaniel. Or a basset hound. He's not a social, go anywhere dog like Max or Saint or Lucy. My nephews know him only thru pictures and by name, but they haven't met him yet because of Chester's anxiety issues - and maybe because of mine.
But I think God knew we needed each other. Sometimes we all feel like we've been left behind after the storm passes. We all feel like a bit of a mis-fit. I certainly have. And I'm sure that on the streets after a hurricane this little life felt fear, hunger, cold, loneliness, and possibly abuse. All our dogs want in life is to please us and be loved and protected. Isn't that really what we all want?
Chester turned 7 today. Now, we don't know exactly when his birthday is but the shelter and the vets believed he would be a year old in March after I got him. One day I started asking Chester what day he wanted to be his birthday. I just started saying numbers and he just started at me. When I said "the 22nd?" he literally started licking my face. I said a few more numbers and then the 22nd again and the same thing happened. After the third time I said, "well - March 22nd it is". He chose his birthday.
As I write this he's curled up in a ball on the bed next to me, sound asleep. I can't imagine coming home without that face waiting on me. When I have to kennel him for trips, and occassionally spend a night at home without him, this place feels quiet and lonely.
No - he isn't what I thought I wanted. But he's exactly what I needed. Forever home.
Happy Birthday, my sweet Chester. I love you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)