Now that my mother-in-law has braved breast cancer surgery and survived with flying colors, it's time to get down to business: baseball!
All Major league teams have reported to either Florida or Arizona for spring training. You baseball fans out there will agree with me that the excitement is starting to build as you hear daily reports from your team. But before we get too head-over-heels in love with the coming season, we need to take a look at the past.
Yesterday, the Major League Baseball Players Veteran's Committee vote ZERO players into the Baseball Hall of Fame.
ZERO! NONE! NO, NOT ONE!
Can you believe this? There are three players who have won multiple "Most Valuable Player" awards in the history of baseball who are NOT in the Hall of Fame: Pete Rose, Roger Maris, and Dale Murphy. Rose isn't eligible because he was a cheater. But Maris' single season home run record (*61) stood for over three decades and the guys who broke it were juiced on steroids when they did it. Dale Murphy--as I wrote in this space over a year ago--is still not been allowed access to the Hall, and it is a great injustice.
Just check out the numbers:
18 Seasons
.265 Career Batting Average
398 Career Home Runs
2111 Hits
1266 Runs Batted In
.273 Career Post-Season Average
1982 and 1983 National League Most Valuable Player
But the numbers aren't the whole story. The Hall of Fame is about what players do on the field for sure, but it is also about the players' impact on society and the game. The truth is that if Dale Murphy were allowed into the Hall of Fame, he would have some of the less impressive numbers of the group. It's true that other players with similar numbers like Ron Santo and Joe Carter aren't in the Hall either.
But the numbers don't consider the effect.
I remember a second grader in 1982 who loved playing and watching baseball because he wanted to be just like Dale Murphy. He wore his socks like him, and wanted to wear his number (3). He tried to imitate his swing and his jog from the dugout to the field. That same boy was so excited on a family trip to Atlanta that he made his parents drive him to Fulton County Stadium two hours before the game so he could see Dale Murphy take batting practice. When that family moved to Atlanta, the boy asked his parents to stop taking him to Braves' games because every time they went the Braves would lose--and he didn't want that for Dale. When that second grader was in 9th grade, he cried when the Braves traded Dale Murphy to Philadelphia--he just couldn't imagine Murphy in another uniform. And that second grader turned 9th grader turned college freshman couldn't quite understand why the Colorado Rockies would release Dale Murphy in 1993.
Most people won't believe this, but in the life of Dale Murphy, one little boy learned about life. He learned that you can hit a lot of home runs, but because you're a home run hitter it also means that you'll strike out a lot too. Either way you're still the best hope for your team. He learned that if you work hard and play by the rules the game will reward you--but nothing last forever. He learned that humility is an under-appreciated virtue, but a desperately needed one. Most importantly, he learned that in life you should swing for the fences in order to bring people home.
So, if you know anyone who has voting priviledges for the Hall of Fame, tell them to do Dale, me and the world a favor: Put Murphy in the Hall!
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Sunday, February 27, 2005
Much ado...About Something!
Tonight I am standing in my mother-in-law's kitchen. Tomorrow morning she will be admitted to the hospital for breast cancer surgery. These are the times when faith's rubber meets life's road and we find out whether or not we have spent our lives building a strong house of faith, or whether we've been constructing a house of cards.
I don't have any clever alliteration or witty turns of phrases for you tonight; I just have a request.
Pray!
Pray for the doctors. Pray for the nurses. Pray for the patient. Pray for her care-givers. Pray that the cancer hasn't spread.
Pray for a miracle!
No matter who you are, or where you're from, take a second and pray!
I don't have any clever alliteration or witty turns of phrases for you tonight; I just have a request.
Pray!
Pray for the doctors. Pray for the nurses. Pray for the patient. Pray for her care-givers. Pray that the cancer hasn't spread.
Pray for a miracle!
No matter who you are, or where you're from, take a second and pray!
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
The Evangelism Question
Evangelism has become a dirty word. It's the spiritual equivalent to a four-letter word. Christians--by and large--don't like to do evangelism, and non-Christians don't like evangelism done to them.
I guess that's the problem. Evangelism often feels like some kind of medieval torture that hurts and distorts both participants. I suppose the main reason for this is the church's historic approach to evangelism; door-knocking, street preaching--which is more like street shouting, hellfire and brimstone. The Spanish Conquistadors came to the New Land, marched natives to the river at gun point and gave them a great option: Be baptized into Jesus, or be drowned. Either way, you were going under the water.
I've often wondered, "If the good news is good, why does it so often come in bad presentations?"
I remember being in elementary school in Mississippi and having Jehovah's Witnesses ring our doorbell early on Saturday mornings. I didn't care what they had witnessed; I just wanted to sleep! Sure enough, my dad would invite them in, begin a discussion about Biblical interpretation, get angered, and eventually kick them out. In that case, I don't think evangelism was spiritually beneficial for my dad or the door-knockers.
I always figured the "Witnesses" weren't very good at evangelism, because they would be back in the same neighborhood the next week, knocking on the same doors and getting the same results.
The issue--at least from my vantage point--is that evangelizers (if that is a word), are so determined to see results that we often jump toward the fastest, easiest, most convenient way to teach people what we believe rather than enter into long-term spiritual conversations in which we embody the nature and spirit of God--at least to the best of our human capability. We are often so eager to share faith that we forget about the experience of faith--both for ourselves and for others.
Brian McLaren puts it this way in his book, More Ready Than You Realize. "I suppose we faith-sharers need faith--faith that God is working in the the person's life from many different directions; faith that it is not all up to me and that it does not all depend on this one friendship; faith that God will not give up on the person: faith that God's Spirit is so pervasive that even after desire recedes, it will resurge again."
I guess that's the problem. Evangelism often feels like some kind of medieval torture that hurts and distorts both participants. I suppose the main reason for this is the church's historic approach to evangelism; door-knocking, street preaching--which is more like street shouting, hellfire and brimstone. The Spanish Conquistadors came to the New Land, marched natives to the river at gun point and gave them a great option: Be baptized into Jesus, or be drowned. Either way, you were going under the water.
I've often wondered, "If the good news is good, why does it so often come in bad presentations?"
I remember being in elementary school in Mississippi and having Jehovah's Witnesses ring our doorbell early on Saturday mornings. I didn't care what they had witnessed; I just wanted to sleep! Sure enough, my dad would invite them in, begin a discussion about Biblical interpretation, get angered, and eventually kick them out. In that case, I don't think evangelism was spiritually beneficial for my dad or the door-knockers.
I always figured the "Witnesses" weren't very good at evangelism, because they would be back in the same neighborhood the next week, knocking on the same doors and getting the same results.
The issue--at least from my vantage point--is that evangelizers (if that is a word), are so determined to see results that we often jump toward the fastest, easiest, most convenient way to teach people what we believe rather than enter into long-term spiritual conversations in which we embody the nature and spirit of God--at least to the best of our human capability. We are often so eager to share faith that we forget about the experience of faith--both for ourselves and for others.
Brian McLaren puts it this way in his book, More Ready Than You Realize. "I suppose we faith-sharers need faith--faith that God is working in the the person's life from many different directions; faith that it is not all up to me and that it does not all depend on this one friendship; faith that God will not give up on the person: faith that God's Spirit is so pervasive that even after desire recedes, it will resurge again."
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Valentine's Love
Yesterday was the easiest Valentine's Day I've ever had. There was no pressure to come up with an expensive--or at least, creative--gift. There was no tedious process of going to a restaurant, saying, "Palmer, party of two, non-smoking" and then waiting 50 minutes for a table, there was absolutely no Valentine's Day hype.
The reason? About a month ago, Rochelle asked me if I wanted to go with her to MOPS (Mothers of Pre-Schoolers). MOPS meets one Monday night a month at a local church. Each meeting, they have an activity, a speaker, and child care is provided. Seeing how this month's MOPS meeting landed on Valentine's Day, they decided to invite the dads to join them for barbecue and a speaker. They called it MOPS and POPS.
It was perfect. I didn't have to do anything but show up (just like my wedding)!
Sure enough, we ate barbecue, listened to one wife tell way too many "bedroom secrets" as we watched a uncomfortable playing of "The Newlywed Game", and listened to a couple speak about communication in marriage. The only draw back; they weren't great communicators (Rochelle had to explain to me what they were meaning to say).
The upside of the night was the dancing. I love dancing! Well, rather I love the idea of dancing. I don't really dance. I did last night though. First of we learned some new country dance. I wasn't all that impressed. But next we learned how to jitterbug. Man, now that's an aerobic exercise! Rochelle and I had seen people do it before, but never learned. We still need some practice, but I think we'll eventually get it.
As we were leaving, I thought about how fortunate I am that Rochelle takes being Malia's mother so seriously. Being a mother is serious business, and Rochelle is intentional about the kind of life she is creating and participating in for herself and for our daughter.
It is the great failure of our society that women who mother full-time are not more greatly rewarded. When Rochelle was working as the adolescent therapist at a mental hospital while we were living in McAllen, she was voted 'Clinician of the Year.' She doesn't have to stay home--she's got skills. She chooses to stay home so that we are afforded the opportunity to be the primary care-givers for our daughter.
So I was thinking last night about the limited nature of Valentine's Day. What if next Valentine's Day all of us not only expressed the love we feel toward our spouse or significant other, but also celebrated the love they give. What if Valentine's Day became about being loved, and encouraged us to love more deeply?
Well, maybe that's a little much for one day. Perhaps we need another day for that; another day to thank the ones around us for loving the other ones around us.
I think I could celebrate that...as long as we get to jitterbug!
The reason? About a month ago, Rochelle asked me if I wanted to go with her to MOPS (Mothers of Pre-Schoolers). MOPS meets one Monday night a month at a local church. Each meeting, they have an activity, a speaker, and child care is provided. Seeing how this month's MOPS meeting landed on Valentine's Day, they decided to invite the dads to join them for barbecue and a speaker. They called it MOPS and POPS.
It was perfect. I didn't have to do anything but show up (just like my wedding)!
Sure enough, we ate barbecue, listened to one wife tell way too many "bedroom secrets" as we watched a uncomfortable playing of "The Newlywed Game", and listened to a couple speak about communication in marriage. The only draw back; they weren't great communicators (Rochelle had to explain to me what they were meaning to say).
The upside of the night was the dancing. I love dancing! Well, rather I love the idea of dancing. I don't really dance. I did last night though. First of we learned some new country dance. I wasn't all that impressed. But next we learned how to jitterbug. Man, now that's an aerobic exercise! Rochelle and I had seen people do it before, but never learned. We still need some practice, but I think we'll eventually get it.
As we were leaving, I thought about how fortunate I am that Rochelle takes being Malia's mother so seriously. Being a mother is serious business, and Rochelle is intentional about the kind of life she is creating and participating in for herself and for our daughter.
It is the great failure of our society that women who mother full-time are not more greatly rewarded. When Rochelle was working as the adolescent therapist at a mental hospital while we were living in McAllen, she was voted 'Clinician of the Year.' She doesn't have to stay home--she's got skills. She chooses to stay home so that we are afforded the opportunity to be the primary care-givers for our daughter.
So I was thinking last night about the limited nature of Valentine's Day. What if next Valentine's Day all of us not only expressed the love we feel toward our spouse or significant other, but also celebrated the love they give. What if Valentine's Day became about being loved, and encouraged us to love more deeply?
Well, maybe that's a little much for one day. Perhaps we need another day for that; another day to thank the ones around us for loving the other ones around us.
I think I could celebrate that...as long as we get to jitterbug!
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