2025-10-27T16:34:46+00:00

A Dallas Cowboys Fan For Life

October 27, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

So, I know this guy. He’s married, with a great job and a ponytail. He’s funny and smart. And he is fiercely committed to a life of stagnation, aggressive in his resistance to any form of personal growth. He says, essentially, with his actions and choices, “I will not step into adulthood, I will never be what anyone would call a good husband, I will remain passive in all things except in the protection of my unreliability, my immaturity.” And after several years of walking closely with him, fingers crossed, hoping he’d eventually wake up, with absolutely no sign of life, I chose to set boundaries and move away from the front row seat I had to his destructive, depressing complacency. I did this like a grown up with appropriate self-worth.

I have loved the Dallas Cowboys since before I went to kindergarten, some 45 years, and for the last 30ish, they are easily as committed to their own mediocrity, actively, aggressively choosing against their own growth, as this guy I know. He is disrespectful of me and my time. So are the Dallas Cowboys. Probably neither would acknowledge this disregard, clearly neither cares at all about my presence in their lives. Yet, for some reason, I can’t set boundaries and move away from this football team.

I wonder why that is.

If you went to a restaurant, one you called your favorite, a restaurant that was AWESOME for years and years, but is now…not. You’ve gotten food poisoning there several times, you haven’t had a good meal for years (the pictures still look terrific, but the actual product bears little resemblance to those pictures), the prices rise exponentially while the portions shrink. I bet you would go elsewhere, you would find a new favorite restaurant. If your dish detergent stopped getting your plates clean, no matter how long you had used it, you would choose the next one on the shelf.

But not with our sports teams. Not only do we often get saddled in our youth with a team that we are forced to hold on to into and through our lives, but there is some kind of pride associated with that adherence. If we behave like intelligent adults and look elsewhere for a better product, we are judged harshly, called “bandwagon” fans, and viewed with disdain.

Lifetime sports fandom is a sucker’s game, eschewing rational decision making, replacing our own personal value with self-loathing masochism. Sports are America’s true religion and the idiocy of faithful fandom is our tithe. We sacrifice our happiness on the altar of the organization, league, or association.

That guy I mentioned earlier (as you probably guessed) might just be my impossible dream of how I could just set a boundary and walk away from the Dallas Cowboys. Yesterday I wondered to whom I would go, for the foreseeable future. Maybe the Chargers, Justin Herbert is great. The Minnesota Vikings have the best uniforms, but they’re also terrible, so it’s a lateral move and why do that? I like the Texans enough, but I found myself immediately, reflexively, shooting that suggestion down because they’re too close to Dallas, as if I was breaking up with a girl and couldn’t date her neighbor, because what would she think??? Honestly!!

It was then that I realized that I am a complete lunatic. I might as well like the Jets or Cleveland Browns. The Dallas Cowboys lose, most times in spectacularly disappointing fashion, at the most heartbreaking times… and I guess I am doomed to go down with that ship every year. That first paragraph sounds great, boundaries and self-worth sound nice, but who am I kidding? I’m a Cowboys fan (and an imbecile) for life.

Confession

April 14, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

I have an embarrassing confession to make, and a subsequent renewal of my personal ethos. (I’m writing/posting it as a way to work out my actual circumstance and gain some accountability. I don’t feel the need to live my whole life online. In fact, I think this can lead to a certain modern narcissism…maybe that’s what I am. A lot of these sentences begin with “I.” I can probably reason all of this away, convince you I am not, and sound super spiritual about it, without it being the truth. I don’t know if I’d know the truth, either way. Does a narcissist know he/she is a narcissist? Or is it just reality, how the world is, to him/her? Whatever.)

I was asked by a very good friend to help him coach baseball. I have been a baseball coach before, he hasn’t, and asked for my help. I love him 3,000, so I said yes. My previous team (which you may have read about ad nauseam) was comprised of 14, 15, & 16 year olds and was probably a unicorn, when it comes to the nexus of ability, effort, & character. This team is for 10-12 year olds. A 10 year old is different from a 16 year old in so many ways. That seems like a super-obvious thing to say, right? It is and it’s not. They’re different in way you know, ways that are obvious, and they are different in a million more, subtle, striking, ways.

I don’t like it.

And as I drive to the field, I think about how I don’t like it. The kids are sweet and funny, and they’re soft and wild, like squirrels released from a trap, running as fast as they can to nowhere in particular, screaming as loud as they can, about nothing in particular. I speak to them as if they’re 16 year olds, as if they’re my unicorn, and when they respond as not-unicorns, I am easily frustrated and (hopefully unnoticeably) discouraged.

I do not like this, even more.

I believe we show up and offer all we are, in every situation. This blog is my raw, honest heart, I pour my soul into every word, even if it gets 3 views (which it sometimes does.) You see, we are called to live at a certain level, as if working/living “for the Lord,” instead of anything/anyone else. This is awesome, because that means every person and space (no matter how insignificant we might consider – which is an absolutely WRONG perspective to hold, nothing and no one is insignificant. No moment, no interaction, no invitation, is insignificant, when we consecrate – which is a fancy church word that just means give – it unto God) has infinite value.

I hope it’s been unnoticeable, because those squirrels deserve so much better. And I’m going to give it to them. I’ll give them no more and no less than what I have to give, which is all of me, everything I have, my authentic self, just Chad. I won’t always be able to be there, I won’t always feel good, I might yell at them to “PAY ATTENTION!!!!!” but they will have my heart, undivided and untainted, from now on.

This space isn’t always for overt religion, but today requires some explicitly spiritual conversation. I repent of my actions. I’m embarrassed. I ask for, and receive, forgiveness. Now it’s just a matter of changing my behavior.

Confession & Renewal, this is an awful lot of what our lives are. An endless cycle of transgression & repentance, wrongs & rights, ups & downs, seasons of growth (sometimes uncomfortably stretching growth)… Maybe I wish it wasn’t quite so endless. Maybe I wish I would always get it right, not as much confession or transgression. Oh well, not yet, I suppose. So that leaves just one thing: to keep showing up.

Gurus

February 6, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

It’s an icy day here, the schools are closed for something called a Flexible Instruction Day (which means there is virtual busy work to do so that the day counts towards the total), and I’m not going anywhere, so I figured I’d fill you in on some things.

There’s a new Max documentary called Cult of Fear, about the Indian guru Asaram Bapu. I don’t have to tell you how much I love cult docs, do I? This checks all of the boxes for a disturbing cult story – violence, murder, sexual assault, unchecked power, greed, money, and the blind faith of followers. The guru and his son are in prison “until their last breath” because of the courage and tenacity of some young women (victims and police) and principled men who would not accept what their ashram had become. My favorite line came at the very end, when a man summed up the victory as a fight “where every warrior performed their duty with complete conviction.” Awesome.

Of course, the cult still has 40 million members, so not everyone performed their duty with conviction, but enough to be encouraging to warriors who are wrestling with the status quo and the temptation to give up because, after all, “what can I do?” Well, the truth is, apparently, quite a lot.

Then, last night was senior night at the high school basketball game. My youngest son (who I brought home from the hospital at 6lbs only yesterday!!!) is an excellent basketball player, and now has 1 more game in his high school career. 2 things abut this:

The season began as a celebration of his passionate hard work to prepare and the fruit of that work. He was better every game and was willing his team to victory almost every night. Until an injury took 3 full games and affected the rest, after his return. He is, maybe, 50% and they’ll miss the playoffs, which were a foregone conclusion without the injury. He has handled the disappointment with class and grace. At home, I see & feel his wounded heart, but he continues to show up in every way for his teammates. He has placed his personal points goal secondary to getting his teammate his personal achievements.

That was the first thing, and the second was… Well, let’s just say the adult leadership he has had has not been awesome… I’ll bite my tongue until it bleeds and say no more about that.

Guru means “mentor, guide, expert or master” in Sanskrit. (Maybe we can omit the regrettable “master,” and just use it to mean mentor or guide? I will if you will, too. We all need Sanskrit terms in our lives.) So, who is guiding us through our lives? Have we chosen carefully? If we’re sliding down the face of a cliff and we reach out for something to grab onto, do our hands find that with deep, deep roots? Or will it easily pull out, providing the worst kind of aid?

It matters who and/or what we choose to follow. The people who were under the teaching of Asaram Bapu & his son were led astray. They weren’t necessarily wrong or evil or anything, they just happened to choose 2 someones who were. My boy was placed into a situation where the leadership was, um, less than ideal, and at the same time, he is becoming exactly the kind of man who you would be lucky to have as your guide. I guess the point is that we weren’t made to do any of this alone, and it is of the utmost importance who we choose to do to be our gurus & partners. I’m more grateful than I can tell you for mine.

Gongoosmos-ing

January 30, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

What do I complain about the most? That’s what the site is asking this morning, and that’s almost too prescient. I wonder if the site prompts are different for everyone, and this AI algorithm is listening through my phone/tablet/tv set for who I am and what is, specifically, on my mind. Because I have been complaining this morning, and it happens to be what I complain about the most, in this season of my life.

I’m calling this post Gongoosmos-ing, because gongusmos is the Greek word for complaining, used often in the Bible. (I add the -ing because we can do whatever we want – I’ve never pretended to be a Greek scholar, I just love the word and want to use it.) It’s used to describe the behavior of the Israelites after they have been liberated from Egyptian slavery, and as they walk in the desert, they gongusmos. It’s the words uttered (or muttered) that are simply the outflow of the heart. “We deserve better,” that sort of thing. They lose sight of the blessing, or any hopeful vision for the future, exchanging it for an entitled sense of misplaced arrogance. We have been given less, we are lacking something, it sucks, and I’m going to tell you, tell everybody, about it again and again.

But some things do suck, right? The trick is to figure out the kind of perspective that can see the suck in a redemptive way, looking for solutions (this sucks, what can we do about it to make it not?), instead of just seeing the suck as static and impossible to affect any change (this sucks and will always suck).

I’m going to be honest with you, here, in a way I may regret. Maybe some things shouldn’t be aired in public. But maybe that’s it’s own form of despair and resignation to the toxic “it is what it is” status quo mentality.

(I’m going to use sports, but as we have learned, this isn’t only about youth sports. Not by a long shot.) We’re at the tail end of my son’s high school basketball season (maybe I’ve mentioned it;). The referees are embarrassingly inept. If the things that happen on the court, the way the players punch and push and harass, are within the rules, they should not be. (To be clear, they aren’t. When I say ‘if,’ I don’t really mean if.) It’s hard to watch a game. I gongusmos about that, and I’ll tell you why in a paragraph.

There are 2 sides of youth sports coaching. First are the x’s & o’s, wins and losses, the actual game, teaching positions, skills, plans, strategy – where the players learn the game and grow in it. The second are 3 C’s: character, connection & care – the players spend so much time with the coach, they are taught much more than the game. They are taught sportsmanship and all of those characteristics that come with becoming men and women. The best coaches have both. They relate and win, the players trust them and play for them. They exit the program as better versions of themselves in so many ways they may not understand. They just know they’ve been cared for. The vast majority of coaches have just one. They either win OR they’re the men/women you’d want your child to spend the time with. The worst have neither… I gongusmos about that.

Woeful officiating and shameful coaches have the same symptom and consequence, they communicate the exact same message: “Who cares? It’s just sports, it doesn’t really matter. We can’t do better, we’ll take what we get, and throw our hands up in a bizarre kind of aggressive indifference.” And maybe. It is just sports. (The fact that it is the American religion is a topic for another day.) Maybe it is so ancillary to the human experience, that devoting an ounce of attention to the (sometimes) miserable state of affairs is misspent energy.

However. The real message we are communicating is that it’s not the sports that don’t matter, it is the kids. (I cringe to say the familiar refrain, “it’s for the kids,” because the people usually self-righteously screaming it are obviously lying. Oh well.) The idea that my son (and your son and the 2 boys that quit 13 games into their senior season and the boys that cried after each devastating loss) deserves whatever we can throw at them is violence to their spirits.

Maybe we’re all so anxious and depressed because the world is a mean place where the people who should be fighting for us aren’t because it’s too much trouble. Maybe our kids don’t trust anyone because we’ve all proven ourselves to be so untrustworthy. Maybe this isn’t gongoosmos-ing, it’s shouting into the crowd in an attempt to incite a revolution. The revolution that reclaims the worth and value of every person. The revolution that stops sending the message that you aren’t enough, aren’t important enough to demand better, and starts sending a different announcement, that you ARE. The revolution of radical love. And maybe we could start to prove it with our skin and bones and decisions.

Maybe this is all gongoosmos-ing. I guess it all depends on if we can turn these warped tables of our own apathy over and rebuild this whole broken system.

1,000 Points

January 14, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

Maybe the least surprising thing to you is that I’m writing today, about this. Last night, my youngest son, named after the prophet Elisha, scored his 1,000th point as a basketball player. It was on a great move, where he was fouled, and the bucket counted, on what’s called an “and-1.” The game stopped, while we all stood and cheered this significant achievement. The Angel, my oldest son, and I were able to go on the court to hug him and take pictures. I told you I’d be the one with the watery eyes, and I was. I think we all were.

Then, less than 5 minutes later, he blocked a shot and, as he came down, rolled his ankle and missed the rest of the game and probably the rest of the week (at least). I may have mentioned (a time or 2 million) that an authentic, fully present life is held with 2 hands, in this case, great celebration and pain, minutes apart.

We all looooved last night, and we went to bed, aching with disappointment. 2 hands.

This young man, my son, and I prayed in the training room. I asked him what hurt more, his heart or his ankle, to which he replied, “same.” His concern was over their hopes at playoffs. Then, later, after the game (a loss), he composed himself and graciously received the accolades and congratulations from those who showed up to love him, thanking every one. In those moments, I could so clearly see my boy becoming the man he will be. Sunday night, I told him that we would be talking so much about his athletic performance, which is considerable, but our love for him has absolutely nothing to do with points or wins. And when I told him last night how proud of him I am, that also had nothing to do with a ball or a hoop.

But as far as a ball and hoop go, these points and this celebration, he earned them. Almost no one sees the hours and hours, the buckets of sweat, the study, the focus he invests. 1,000 points don’t just happen, they are the product of much, much more than 4 – 8 minute quarters. He’s gifted, of course, but he has worked to explore the depth of those gifts, to see what might be possible. An evening in January looks/feels far off on empty courts in June, but they do come.

I wrote a post yesterday about the intense hypocrisy of the adults from Friday’s game (who may have been from Lancaster Mennonite;). Before the game last night, the head coach of our opponents last night found me in the hallway and congratulated me, and asked many questions about my boy. His job was to beat our team, but he was one of those who cared for the boys on both teams. It’s no surprise his son (who I had the privilege/pleasure to know and coach) is so classy and kind. The juxtaposition between the 2 people could not have been more stark, and made Friday’s coach and program look that much worse. I relayed our conversation to my son, and he said how that coach (whose name may have been Chris George, and whose team may have been Northern Lebanon) also spoke with him, and expressed his genuine sadness with the injury. It was a wonderful illustration of the best part of sports.

Now. The real reason I opened my computer to write today was not on the court. The stands were packed full of people who love this beautiful young man. Friends drove hours to be there, made plans, gave up their own valuable time to sit in a gym on a frigid Monday night. You know, we fall in love with Jesus, we intentionally create these lives together, trying to step into our call every day, each moment, choosing our values, deciding who we’ll be and what we believe, and time passes, and we rarely get the opportunity to stand back and see the divine blessings that God has bestowed. Then, you happen to look up from your seat in the stands, and see the people of these lives filing in to love your son, and it is then that you can truly see the love and grace of God.

My post yesterday was, a little, about the dangers of tying Jesus to the actions of His followers. My post today is about the upside of that relationship. As we posed for pictures on the court, teary eyed and full, I looked up into the stands and I saw the faces of our lives, the answers to our prayers, our hope manifest. God may not always give a paved road, full of gobs of money, comfort and ease, but He gives us each other, and that is so much more than enough, so much better.

I am overwhelmed. I am grateful. He has a thousand and three points and I have a ba-zillion thank you’s that I’ll try to give to Him, and to you, with my life.

Youth Sports, pt. 1,000,000

January 10, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

There is a chance my son reaches a pretty significant milestone at his high school basketball game tonight. Whether he does tonight or not, or whether he does at all, is not really the point. I am old enough to have seen many things that were certain fall, and many impossible things happen. I am also wise enough to know the goal isn’t nearly as important as the process.

He’s a very good basketball player. I coached him for one year, when he was 9 or 10. He wasn’t supposed to be on my team, but I was short players and was able to bring him up to play against 11 and 12 year olds. (Maybe I have all of these ages mixed up. They were all very small, and he was 2 years beneath most of the kids in the league.) The team we were playing had a terrific player who did all of the scoring, and my strategy was to match him up with this little boy. I said, only half joking, “you’ll pick him up at half court and lock him up.” We lost, but their player was in a battle, and he knew it.

Lately, all of those stories are going through my head and heart. I watched every practice and game until hight school, when parents were no longer allowed to attend practice, and then I just came to every game. I saw all of these points. As designated rebounder, I saw so many of the offseason shots that go into an accomplishment like this. I have seen all of the repetitions in the weight room, injuries, missed shots, heartbreaks, and SO many fouls uncalled.

One of the Bible passages that are etched deeply into my soul is in Genesis 28. Jacob wakes from a dream and says, “Surely the Lord was in this place, and I was unaware.” To me, this means I can never wake up unaware. Jacob missed God, missed the divine, missed the beauty, the love, the wonder of this beautiful life that he had been given. We have the same opportunity, to open our eyes or not, to like lives awake or asleep. I missed much of my dad, and I don’t want to do it again.

This son is graduating this year and will be going away to college. This is unbelievable. And it is killing me at the same time. An awesome, authentic life requires our presence, and that requires (at least) 2 hands. As the great philosopher Rob Base said, “Joy and pain, sunshine and rain.” All change, even the best one, is also loss, and must be mourned. I am celebrating and mourning.

This is what my grateful heart looks like. Cold, broken, big, soft, everything, all the time. My heart is in perfect working condition.

This is a big deal that may happen tonight, and he deserves it. And I’m proud of him, more than I can tell you. Everybody gets gifts, possibility, a call and an invitation, from Our Creator, but what we do with them is largely left to us. The Spirit prompts, leads, moves our hearts, but allows us to say “no” and stay on the couch. There are a million paths, which one will we choose?

If it happens tonight, and if they stop the game, and if we get to take a picture with him in the moment, I’ll be the one with the red, watery eyes. I’ll be thinking of bringing his small new self home from the hospital, him sleeping on my chest, his surgery, the moments of his life, making him breakfast and holding his hand. I’ll be thinking about Jacob, and if I have been unaware. And I’ll know that I have, in spaces, at times (I’m not even close to a perfect person, after all.) But I have been there, and I’ll be there for as long as I am able.

He has been a gift to me, as has his brother, and the Angel, of course the Angel, who I will stand next to – tonight and every night – on the court and off. It’s a good thing they’re gifts, because there’s NO WAY I could ever dream of paying any of this abundance back.

I hesitate to write about this moment, but as we all walk through this beautiful life, we are learning to lean in together. This isn’t about points, has never been about points, it’s about presence. It’s about showing up to our lives, in honesty and in love. Even at high school basketball games.

Beautiful Things

December 18, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

I am hesitant to write yet another post about high school/youth sports, and I am especially hesitant to comment on the officiating in these contests. (I have written them, but have not posted them. I usually like to be a positive voice in a sea of increasing vitriol.) However. There will be a point that is much bigger than one game or season, right in the middle of a loooong silly rambling treatise.

I had a very elementary, yet personally profound, realization. You see, the officiating at these contests is generally, with few exceptions, abysmal. It’s simple incompetence. I don’t think these people are bad people (I mean, there are psychos walking around, so there are probably some in every field…and sometimes, they are quite rude and condescending), it just appears that they are overwhelmed by the speed and physicality of the game. But big deal, right? It’s high school sports. It’s just a game. So what if some middle-aged, overweight guys in stripes can’t manage to control the kids?

And that’s true, to a certain extent. But last night, as it was happening, I was wondering why we all (and myself in particular) get so invested in fairly trivial things, and why this inadequacy is so maddening. Of course, none of this is an excuse. Parents are much of what broke youth sports, and there is no space where a human being should be screamed at or publicly belittled, especially not in a high school gymnasium. These are human beings with families and maybe find themselves here, over their skis, ostensibly because they see a need and want to see the games played. I wrote last year about why it is that I get so excited (or what I like to call passionate;) and why it’s such a bad look for a man, regardless of that reason. This is not that post. This is a post with some observations, and the last one will be the “personally profound realization.”

*We like the illusion of fairness. We want to pretend that the ground is level and everyone gets an equal opportunity. We believe in justice and that we all get what we deserve. This is, obviously, not true anywhere. The best songs are almost never the most popular. Sometimes the most horrific things happen to the best people. Innocent people sit in prison while the guilty walk free. But we want it to be true in sports. And we’d really like it to be true for our children. It’s not, and evidence of that can be wildly frustrating.

*The most common excuse given for the state of officiating in all amateur sports is that “it’s hard to find” willing participants. I hear and can understand that argument (after all, parents are not the easiest to handle), while dismissing it as hollow. It is a paid position. This isn’t volunteerism. (But even then, if you help at the hospital information desk and consistently send people to wrong buildings and floors, maybe a change is in order.) But paid positions require a certain base level of competence…

…and to offer such a flippant excuse, is, essentially, an assent that youth sports, and by extension, the athletes, really aren’t that important to us. Maybe this is actually reasonable, but considering that sports are religion in America, it’s a mixed message. We either care or we don’t.

Now, the much bigger societal issue is what we’ll call the “It Is What It Is” mentality. It’s the language of despair, and an convenient escape hatch for the risk and responsibility of growth or change. We excuse any and all behavior, filing it under the category of “this is just who I am,” forgetting (or ignoring) that we don’t have to stay that way. Marriages, jobs, faith, habits, generational curses, whatever. Is our destiny really to just get by on the same path, walking the same steps we always have, accepting everything because “it is what it is,” while throwing our hands up in the air? And the arrogance of this stagnant position does nothing but assure more stagnation. Sports officiating might be the least important of all of the symptoms of this disease, but it is a symptom, nonetheless.

There are 40 year old boys I know that have no expectations whatsoever placed upon them. Oh well, shrug, he’s just that way. This lack of hope is depressing, and the next time it is helpful will be the first. Maybe if we stop accepting the lowest possible outcome, we’ll begin to get something different.

The truth is, whether I should or not, I care a lot. About the kids – I don’t want anyone getting injured simply because an official is under qualified and overwhelmed. I want them to enjoy sports and all of the great effects of participation, at all age and skill levels. That is my main interest, honestly. It’s not just the right thing to say between games on a blog so I don’t sound like a raving lunatic with poor priorities. Having said that, my profound epiphany is:

*I love beautiful things. 3 weeks ago, I attended a Morrissey concert. What if the sound engineer was ill-equipped? What if he didn’t know how to operate the board, and was a little tone deaf? The guitars might be too loud, the bass overdone, and the vocal mix out of balance. We may not be able to hear Morrissey, instead getting too much of the keyboard or rhythm guitar. Let’s say Brene Brown was giving a talk on relationships, and the microphone kept cutting out or the lights were flashing because the ones who should check batteries forgot. Would that be an obstacle to her brilliant talent? Would we accept it as “just how it is?” It’s hard to get sound guys, why bother to train them or hold them responsible for sub-par performance?

Basketball is an absolutely lovely sport, full of creativity and athleticism, as well as sharply choreographed cooperative movements. It can be an awesome display of the dance between giftedness and hard work. When a game is poorly controlled, this dance becomes a scrum. The inherent beauty of meaningful brushstrokes becomes a chaotic mess, noisy and disconcerting.

I’m not sorry for loving beautiful things. I’m not sorry for my passion for art (including sport). I’m not sorry for wanting all interested kids to be able to play, if they want to, without extra risk of violent injury. I’m not sorry that I value excellence, in any and all fields. And I’m nowhere close to sorry that I wholeheartedly reject the desperate “Is What It Is” nonsense.

What I might be sorry for is that “middle-aged, overweight” comment earlier.

Significant Week: Youth Sports, pt ?

June 24, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

Today’s site prompt is: How important is spirituality to you? And I think that’s funny, because spirituality is the glue that holds any- and everything together, gives meaning to routine, significance to each moment, weight to all of our relationships. How important? The question doesn’t make sense because nothing exists without spirit, it’s like asking, how important is breathing to your workouts? There isn’t a workout without breath, there isn’t an us without the spiritual element (whether we acknowledge it or not).

But that isn’t why I’m writing, it was just an interesting prompt. So interesting, in fact, that maybe I’ll nose around and see how others answer.

I’m writing because this is a fairly significant week for me. Decisions have been made (I think) and these particular decisions will lead to many more. I have coached youth sports for 10+ years, in different fashions. I’ve been an assistant and the head coach, baseball, basketball, and soccer (even though I really hate soccer). Mostly, this was out of necessity, 8 year-olds need parents to volunteer, whether they know/understand the game or not. Then, I stuck to baseball, because I have been a ballplayer. Which was pretty great, we won lots and lots of games, and lost lots and lots of games. This year is the first one where the team I’m coaching doesn’t include either of my sons. That’s sort of unusual, and if I’m honest, I don’t even like baseball too much anymore. But I like the boys I coach, I’m invested in their lives, and I know that I’ll create a safe environment where others might not.

The season began and I thought it would be the last, because leaving my family to go to the field was nearly impossible. But then the kids were great and I changed my mind and this was where I belong, in ministry with bats and baseballs. Then no way, then of course, then then then, changing with the wind. The kids were always great.

If I were to leave, then what? Without this particular ministry, where would my ministry be? What exactly would I do with this time? And what about the program we’ve built? Or the league? Who knows? But is it my responsibility to answer that question, should I be one who knows?

There have been many, many moments and experiences, faces and families, lesson after lesson on being and becoming the human beings they will be, who we will all be. And when I think of those things, I am overwhelmed, honored, grateful, and sad, in equal parts. I have been so blessed to receive the gift of being able to do this, and I will choose to do it no longer. In any small way I have made an impact, the people I’ve done it with, and for, have impacted me to an exponentially greater degree. I’m a very different person than I was 10 years ago.

As far as those questions, I don’t know. But I will. Some of those questions aren’t mine to answer, no matter how loud the should’s and supposed to’s and what if’s and but’s scream. The ones that are are exciting and wide open. I wonder.

This weekend will be the last games for us, and for me. That feels fine, I don’t mind complex, complicated situations that require many more than 2 hands to hold. Of course, there will be loss – all change is loss, after all – that has to be mourned and reconciled and integrated. And it will be. I’ll keep growing, I’ll continue to be a very different person that I was, than I am.

But that’ll be later. Today, we have a ballgame.

Towers

April 5, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

My son & I went to Dallas, TX earlier this week, to see a Mavericks game. His favorite player is Luka Doncic, and we have see him/them in Philadelphia each of the last few years, and I thought it would be awesome to take him to Dallas to watch Luka at home against a team that is not the 76ers. In this case, we would see Steph Curry and the Golden State Warriors. As I detailed in this space last week, the Mavericks moved the game and we went to Dallas to see a game on Tuesday that was rescheduled for Friday. That’s nice, right? It’s no secret that professional sports don’t care about you or me or a dad taking his son to the arena for a Christmas present. (Maybe if that dad was Elon Musk or Jeff Bezos, but not when that dad is Chad Slabach.) It’s a hard truth, but a truth nonetheless.

As we had nothing but free time in Dallas, we went to AT&T Stadium, where the Cowboys play, for a tour. (I’ve traveled some, and Dallas is really one of my favorite places I’ve been. It’s a cool city, with lots and lots of very interesting character and history. Incidentally, San Diego, CA is the best place I’ve been, outside of here, in Cleona, with my family and you.)

I can’t possibly know if you are familiar with AT&T Stadium, but it’s big. That’s a little bit of a joke. It’s like calling Morrissey a “good” singer, or Kiss simply “overrated.” They’re all hilarious understatements. This Stadium is a massive spaceship in Arlington, TX that you can probably see from the moon or Mars. As you pull in and park, and then enter the building, it’s size is mostly like a punch in the stomach, taking your breath away.

The tour guide was excellent, listing some of the records the monstrosity had broken (like # of flat screen TVs, and largest sliding doors), and construction specifications to create such a wonder.

Do you know you can get married there? Or have a sweet sixteen, bar mitzvah or quinceañera party? You can, but she never addressed why you’d want to.

I’ve been a Dallas Cowboy fan since I was 5 years old, and now it’s too late to change. I love them, and care more about if they win or lose than I’d admit. You’d think going to their home field would be something I’d really love, right? I did, I was sooo excited.

The tour took about 2 hours, and was a victim of the law of diminishing returns. One punch in the stomach is quite impactful, 1,000 not as much. There was a series of movies called Faces of Death when I was in college (I have no other details, other than what I remember from 1994, and I refuse to google it. Who knows what my algorithm will make of that, and what advertisements I’d start to get on my feeds???) that was, ostensibly, footage of actual deaths. I decided I didn’t believe it was that at all, just dumb false advertising. A girl I liked took me there on our one and only date (the movie was disturbing and anyone who chose to go there was not a prospective partner, no matter how good looking she was), and the first half-hour was absolutely shocking. Then, an odd desensitization took over and it was just clip after blurry clip of the same.

A half-hour of AT&T Stadium is awesome. 2 hours isn’t. Ok, it’s big. Now what? Extra-loud cars are the same. At first, it’s jarring, then you start asking questions. Why do you need a stadium to be so big? When is too big? Why would this be where you chose to spend your money? Is this really good stewardship of your tremendous wealth?

The Dallas Cowboys are an afterthought, there. This is a monument to Jerry Jones, it’s owner. This is excess for no purpose other than excess. It exists for it’s own sake alone. It’s a tower built to heaven, designed only to make gods of men, or specifically, a man. The Bible tells a story about just this kind of thing, and it doesn’t end with a Super Bowl victory. I like to call myself pretty unoffendable, but this temple was wildly offensive. Of course, I use religious metaphors – what else is pro sports, especially the NFL, but the quintessential American religion? Of course you can get married there! It’s the modern church, even down to the Sunday worship.

People can spend their money any way they want. Jerry Jones can create a gigantic shrine to himself, a testament to his own enormous ego (perhaps the only thing bigger than this giant silver egg). But just because you can doesn’t mean you should.

And maybe I shouldn’t be a Cowboys fan anymore (what do they truly care?), but alas, I am.

Deadlifts & Public Speaking, pt 2

December 13, 2023/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

(That’s where the first post ended, but now I realize it was unfinished.)

At a particularly tense high school basketball game last night, emotions (including mine) ran high. And I wrote this last week: “On the way home, I expressed to the Angel that I can’t continue to get so worked up, that that isn’t who I am. But the thing is, I immediately realized, it is exactly who I am. I am a fiery, passionate man who loves sports and competition. I get excited easily at everything, highs and lows and everything in between.

Then, the next night, after committing to being even-keeled and calm, I pointed out that one boy was pushing another in the back with both hands over and over and over. It should have been helpful to the officials, because the 3 of them were obviously having a lot of trouble with the speed of the game and their responsibilities. It should also have been lost in the noise of the crowd, but everyone got dead quiet at that precise moment and my voice was the only one in the gym. So, I am that guy.

After the game, a family laughed at me – kindly, but still… And they wondered if I was like that on Sunday mornings. You have no idea. The answer is yes, of course.

A real problem (in every space, maybe especially the church) is hypocrisy, being different people in different spaces, pretending to be the image the situation wants. You can make a long list of my faults, but this is no longer one of them. I am just me. But like everything else, there’s no such thing as “just.” And like most everything else, the best thing about me is also the worst thing about me.

A wonderful development in my life is how I’m finally meeting the real, authentic me, and finding that I don’t hate that person at all. In fact, he’s alright. I just wish he’d calm down a little at high school games.”

Now, what you need to know is that I do not get confused; I am well aware that this is high school sports, and has no bearing on anyone’s worth or value, and has little consequence on a grander scale. Of course, that’s not to say they are meaningless. We could sing the praise of sports forever, detailing the endless positives we can all learn – about ourselves, others, gifts, teams, and our lives together.

So in these posts, the point was to be deadlifts & public speaking, and not hating ourselves because we’re not squats or scrapbooking.

BUT…

After last night, I was gripped with what can only be called regret, very low level, but regret nonetheless. My mission is to spread the Gospel of Jesus Christ, does this sort of behavior build walls or bridges? And the truth is, I’m not sure. Maybe for some, I’m a lunatic and this erects a thick wall, but for some, it might make me relatable and authentic and easier to approach. I am a lunatic in lots of ways, but an authentic, approachable, easy one. Those are all true. It’s the best and worst about me.

But the conviction quietly knocking, what about that?

I reached out to two trusted friends to ask, but didn’t need a response. The question was enough. We don’t ask what anyone thinks of drinking water or eating vegetables.

What if I’m not supposed to be a deadlift anymore. What if the Spirit is asking me to be a kettlebell swing? Should I continue to say, “I am a deadlift,” and isn’t that the opposite of humility and growth?

This is why a relationship with Jesus is so important, why true, working wisdom is vital to our lives. Maybe 2 weeks ago, the lesson was to love and accept me where I was, as a deadlift. But now, today, maybe the lesson is to not resign myself to always being a deadlift. I am a fiery, passionate man in the service of The King, not in the service of me, or “that’s just who I am.”

Lots of work in a meaningless pursuit is just plain silly, but which is the meaningless pursuit: change or acceptance? I can love the me God so lovingly created, and I can be transformed.

It’s almost New Years, a life of faith requires examination, what are the things to hold on to, and what are the things to leave behind? What is the work to do? I don’t need to be everyone’s favorite song, but the song I am must not be rooted in pride and rebellion.

Sports teaches a million lessons, this is just another one. I’m very thankful I have a Guide, and a community like you to walk alongside.

Love With A Capital L

A journey towards living an inspired life of love in the modern world

Tag: Sports