Silence

As are many around the world, I am still trying to wrap my head around the senseless tragedy in Connecticut. I am thinking of the fallen, the grieving and the surviving children everywhere who attend school every day. I think it’s important to find comfort in the word of God. To the grieving, take comfort in the fact that God is taking those children in his arms and raising them up as we speak. They will never have to know hurt or pain again. To the children around the world I say be not afraid, for the kingdom of God is still among you. For every bad guy, there are thousands and thousands of loving hearts who would have gladly given their lives for each of you


Silence

(In memory of the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting victims)

Their silent hearts no longer race,

The pitch of death brought on this place.

Where once their dreams did sit akin,

Their hands are now joined by sin.

Lo, these violent hate-punctured souls,

Giving new meaning to evils and woes.

Oh, for the children who witness and weep,

Pray them joyful, happy to sleep.

He will take them by His might,

Illuminate their gloom with light.

He will christen them His own,

Beautiful angels the world be known.

Time to the Lost

“Every corner of creation lives to testify”

Do you ever want to change something so badly? It must be the holiday season or perhaps it is the commercial about hungry children I just saw on television (this is what I get for having Cable after seven years without it). Something is stirring inside me and I don’t know exactly how to put it into words. I’m upset, but what is bothering me most is beyond being upset. It’s a deep and tremendous burning being aroused.

It’s upsetting to me that I cannot reach out to people, that my resources are limited in helping them. There are people struggling to survive around the world. There is upheaval, injustice and unrest. There are swarms of children who will not survive through Christmas, let alone next Christmas. And what am I doing about it? What can I do about it? Somehow, I don’t think offering to donate $28 a month to sponsor a child is going to change the way I feel. It’s not going to change anything about this world in which we live. And that is what frustrates the most. Our world cares more about which football player will score the most points this Sunday than they do about which country will accumulate the most deaths due to disease. I am first to admit I get lost in the entertainment of our world, putting second the people who truly deserve my attention.

I was taught to always be thankful for what I have. I was brought up to be not greedy, but generous. I was raised in a home where we were provided for and never without. My daily worries never consisted of where I would find drinking water or how I would make it in this world as an uneducated, underfed child. My soul aches for those in need. I cannot understand their pain and yet I feel so much for these people. It’s saddening to me.  It brings tears to my eyes, and there are even moments of guilt. Life for me is not without pain, but when compared to the cares of others, my pain passes out of sight. Perhaps what I want to change the most about myself is this very facet. To not only think about the hurting and hungry, but to nurture and feed them. To not just feel for them, but to be with them. To give my time to the lost, that is the most precious gift I can think of providing this Christmas.

“All the hope in every heart will speak what love has done”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gb_AqCTp6rQ

Cynical

“Perhaps I’ve grown a little cynical…”

Don’t lie to me. Don’t play games. Don’t call the ball out when I see clearly it landed between the lines. It only pisses me off. Or is that your aim? Is that your angle?

Have you ever talked to yourself in this manner while on the tennis court? Sure you have. Everyone tells themselves things to make them feel better. What better voice than our very own to provide an impromptu pep talk at the height of exasperation?

Nothing infuriates me more than a cheater. I can tolerate a lot, but I can never tolerate someone who constantly makes bad calls. In high school and college, you seldom have the luxury of a line judge. This means each player is responsible for keeping the game honorable, for making the just call no matter the score. I admit I’ve been tempted to call a ball out when I am down in a game. When I am losing a match, it’s so easy to slip on a call I know my opponent could not get a clear view of from across the court. What stops someone from lying? I guess it’s something called integrity, and I wish more people would apply this principle to all areas of their lives.

We talk to make ourselves forget too. I started practicing this act of forgetting when I was in the middle of a match where my opponent was clearly winning some heavily shady points. She was missing calls so much I was going to ask her if she wanted to break to put on a pair of glasses. Was she blind? I turned it around, mostly because I was furious with the how the match was shaping out. I turned around my thoughts to help me forget her poor attempt at lying by lying to myself. Maybe she was making the right calls and it was I who was to blame. I was the one hitting these lousily close-to-the-line calls anyway. Well, this ended up not working either. It only made me feel worse about my play and about my opponent. I was misattributing credit to someone who didn’t have the authenticity to make the right call, to play by the rules.

This incident reminds me of something else. I have continually blamed myself for people who bend the rules. I can’t tell why I do this, whether it is guilt, fear or embarrassment. It’s made me grow very cynical of people. I still have a great deal of trust for most people, but somewhere inside I’ve lost my full capacity to believe in other people. This makes me sad. Why do people tell you one thing and do another?  Is everyone really out for themselves? What happened to the spirit of brotherhood, teamwork and a collective group effort? Why do people cheat? What is to be attained by lying to someone?  It only hurts people. It hurts most when it comes from someone you trusted. So, please…don’t humor me and tell me lies. I’ll see right through it.

“And I’ll lie too and say I don’t mind”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z-yLH5wcEoQ

Deal breakers

“And so she starts to wander…can you blame her?”

There are deal breakers even in the game of tennis. I can’t stand competing against two types of players: the opponent who completely smothers you and the one who looks competitive on the surface but actually completely stinks. The one who smothers and the one who stinks…

The best matches are those middle ground battles where the domination of shots is divided between two opponents. I mean, why do we bother competing in the first place if we don’t live to play these matches? I live to play these matches because they are the most fulfilling to me as a tennis player. They are heated enough to kick my endurance up a notch and cool enough where I can enjoy the moment at the height of competition. Anyone who knows me also knows I am willing to play tennis with just about anybody. Beginner, intermediate or advanced—I will share a court with any of you. However, when it comes to match play and keeping score, I want someone who can return my shots just as well as I can. I want an opponent who isn’t going to lie down when I crank a serve. My favorite type of player doesn’t feel burdened by me and they certainly don’t crush me so hard I can’t compete.

I’ve been thinking lately about what type of relationship I want to have and how in the past, I’ve been drawn to men who simply aren’t cutting it. You know the types I’m talking about. There’s the smothering fella who bows down to your every word, much like the opponent who takes over the match while you are left sweating it out and feeling breathless. Then there’s the guy who starts off so strong you think he may turn into a smothering fool but drops out after a few games and becomes as noncompetitive as a stinker in tennis. Where is the middle ground? Where is the man who takes charge and shows you a good match? I think I need to take my tennis opponent criteria to this area of my life. I need to take a departure from the norm. I need to be wiser about who I allow to ‘court’ me. It’s one thing if I know going into a match that my opponent is a total stinker, someone who can barely muster a point off me. I would rather play with that person any day than someone who comes into the match faking it, only to pull out when things get intense (or worse yet, fake an injury **it’s not you, it’s me, sound familiar?**). I guess what I’m saying is if you come to play, you better be prepared to compete. I mean what I say and say what I mean. Don’t waste my time. There’s nothing I can’t stand worse than that.

“For the day that something really special might come…”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jr2pOenWbQs

 

God's Sense of Humor

“I’m tossing up punch lines that were never there”

I can’t help but think how our God has a nifty sense of humor. He instructs us by giving us tests, and then tests us in order to provide a lesson. On one hand, He promises us that if we trust Him with our lives, we will be fulfilled. On the other hand, He fulfills us so much so that we have to be knocked back down to Earth in order to understand. He aligns our steps so we do not fall, but then pushes us down when we think we’ve been going down the right path. God creates us in a way that makes us unique individually but our differences are often the cause of much pain and trouble. These mixed messages from the creator are a great source of humor for me. It makes me continually question why I keep trying to out-humor Him. God must get a kick out of us always thinking we know punch line when the joke is on us the entire time. He must find it funny that some of us even pray for our favorite sports teams, thinking that our good faith will sway them to victory.

This brings me to a quick side note about Tim Tebow and the power of God’s influence on sports.  Tebow is undoubtedly a faithful person, great role model and talented athlete. He is outspokenly accepting of his role on the New York Jets as a bench warming fullback thrower (my own term for his role). To me, Tebow is almost the joke of the New York Jets. Why does Tebow, a playoff caliber quarterback, ride the bench for Gang Green? Is Tebow really getting God’s Word out through his actions on the field? If we think of God’s sense of humor, perhaps through Tebow, He is teaching all of us a lesson. Tebow is called upon to produce in random situations. He’s placed in positions where the demands are high and the outcomes are uncertain. He’s constantly in the spotlight, yet must always prove himself to the New York fans. I think, if nothing else, God’s teaching us that even Godly men can’t influence every outcome but must endure them anyway. What if the tables were turned and it was Mark Sanchez on the sidelines playing second fiddle to starting quarterback, Tebow? Would God fuel Sanchez’s anger into action? Would Sanchez be able to accept such a role or would he fade into self-defeat? It’s funny, and usually timely, how God uses different approaches with each of us. Actually, it’s perfect.

Let me go back to God and His testing us in order to teach us a lesson. I used to think many of the lessons God taught me would be lost had they been under different circumstances or if my personality was different. I did not, for example, expect to learn much when God pulled me aside and exerted loud utterances of wrongdoing. My personality and makeup are not such where I take criticism well. To my surprise though, in recent years that approach has prompted me to listen and to learn a lot about my life.  Anger-inspired action, humorously, has and does work for me. This is God’s sense of humor working in my life. He’s taking what I think doesn’t work for me and turning it into something productive. The joke is on me.

So when we place our trust in Him, I think what we’re really doing is offering Him the opportunity to once again dazzle us with humor.  If we thank Him for fulfilling our needs, He produces a riddle to keep us on our toes. Until we solve that riddle, we are left feeling humbled. This is part of His plan for us. When we step out on the path of His design, we are not expecting to laugh in unforeseen places along the way.  However, He delivers a laugh every time. The joy rarely arrives in sequence, but it does come. That’s the way God works. He is the greatest comedian. God’s perfect sense of humor is efficiently untimely. It somehow soothes things at the most inopportune times. We must take a step back and laugh at ourselves every now and then. God’s humor isn’t the dry, witty or slapstick type we all know. His is the welcoming kind that doesn’t necessarily provoke immediate laughter. It’s the kind we need most when we think we know the punch line, when we are certain of the bite. His humor is always within reach if we’d only accept and let Him flourish in the amusement.

“I’m looking for answers from the great beyond”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZZC4TCjjfCs&feature=fvwrel

Getting Hooked

“Sometimes I feel the fear of uncertainty stinging clear”

It’s strange to just pick up and go, to leave town and start over. Uncertainty abounds. I have moved past the strangeness, I think, and am embarking on becoming acclimated to the south. There is an adjustment period taking place in a subtle way for me. We learned in business school about the honeymoon period that occurs after culture shock transpires. When people relocate to new countries, for example, the elation of novelty and newness a different culture eventually wears. What happens next is most crucial in determining a long-term cultural adjustment and whether a successful transition is to occur. Does moving halfway across the country constitute culture shock?

Texas is a magnificent state. Between the distant borders, circularly canniness highways and sap-filled trees are glorious sunrises, distinct cultural traits and decoratively endless drives. The part about living in Austin that enthralls me most is all the activity going on around me. There’s a gym on nearly every block. Every day there are bicyclers trekking the bike lanes on the main highways. These men and women coast along as if they have nowhere else to be. Sometimes they take up the entire lane, annoyingly disrupting traffic. A quick stop at any supermarket on a Saturday will find one engaging with a dozen Texas Longhorn fans. The cashiers wear burnt orange T-shirts and talk about the football team as if they were part of the family. I suppose this isn’t so strange. Go to any local store in New York and you are bound to find lingering overzealous Jets and Giants fans (and where I come from, the nearest professional sports stadium is at least an hour and a half drive). Austin is Longhorn country, for sure. The Longhorns even have their own television station. There is pride in cheering for the local university here, and that I can appreciate. I have always wanted to be a part of a real college sports town. With that, I didn’t realize I have would also become entranced by the lively activity of this city. 

So, when does the excitement of endless activity begin to wear down? How long before Austin is…well, just Austin. I think it will take a while for me. I don’t quite feel settled in yet. I feel I have a lot to learn about this place, these people, the local spots.  I’m looking forward to discovering some decent tennis courts and biking the park trails I know exist around every other corner. The excitement of live music, ethnic food and gloating college sports fans is going to fill my future highlights. I can be certain about that.

“Whatever tomorrow brings, I’ll be there with open arms and open eyes”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=slRNXrn_5vE

How I Spent My Summer Vacation & How Andy Murray Helped Redefine My Love Life

“One day He’s coming, O glorious day”

There are still several sultry days and nights remaining this summer, especially here in the triple- digit-temperature region of Hill Country Texas.  I absolutely love college football, fresh picked apples and back to school bargains. Yet each year, I still find myself pleading for an extension on the summer season. This summer has already been one to remember. The short version is this: I earned my MBA in June, moved to Texas in July and began a fresh new sort of existence this August. All monumental occasions, to say the least.

As the final weeks of summer linger, I can’t help but think what remains in the coming days of my favorite time of year. In just these past three weeks, I’ve made a remarkable discovery and experienced a transitory mindset regarding love (one of my well-versed and highly opinionated topics). I credit Andy Murray, the great British Olympian tennis player who cruised by Roger Federer to win gold earlier this month, with this tidy revelation. Murray won me over in the process, not because of his muscular calves dancing in the backcourt or sure-handed volleys at net. Though, those characteristics are hard to resist in a tennis player.  Andy Murray won my heart because his sizable victory over the FedEx machine helped redefine my definition of love (not to mention stamp his place in history). Murray lost in a tight match to Roger at Wimbledon months before the Olympics. He parlayed that mighty effort into something even the best of men’s tennis players can envy. Andy Murray didn’t quit. He brushed off the ever-present tears, the riveting Grand Slam loss and an entire country of disappointed tea drinkers to earn the gold medal in the London games. How does this affect my love life? Well, as it turns out, I was that same discouraged Murray of Wimbledon not long ago. It was sure a proud moment earning my MBA.  A move to Texas to be with my sister and keep my job was nice too. Life could not possibly be more exciting for me than it has been this summer. Or could it?  How did I really spend my summer?

Memorial Day came and went without my painting our parent’s back porch for the first time since they moved out of our family home. June was like a bolt of flashing light complete with high gas bills. There were case studies, reports and animated lectures. Trips to campus twice a week, and sometimes more. There were work days and weekend trail rides. I even enjoyed an ice cream with my community pastor, who convinced me I was doing enough in the name of faith. In fact, he assured me something great was waiting for me in Austin, but that I would not expect it when it happened. I kept that thought in the back of my mind with the last flinch of hope I ignited in my heart. I was anticipating a day where "the one" would walk into my life, but never expecting to actually live it. I was leaving New York with my heart in my hands. Everything seemed to be ending on a low note, especially those moments concerned with love.

I remembered back to all the nights when I cried (and there were many) because it was almost too much to comprehend. There actually came a point where I wished to myself I wasn’t so prone to falling in love. It was as if wishing to not be good at something so compelling and extraordinary. But like every other girl who has ever tried repeatedly to wash a boy away with tears, I knew I would not do so. I was programmed to know love when I felt it, or so was my thought. The end of an era had culminated, and with it, the insecure notion that I would never arrive at the extravagant and enchanting feeling of being in love. Then came July. I packed, unpacked, sold my belongings to complete strangers and then packed again. Boxes of DVDs were shipped. Teddy bears found their way into vacuum packed baggies. I soon exchanged my address for one in a zip code nearly 1,800 miles away from the comfort of the only place I had ever called home. Alone at the airport that late July Tuesday morning, I didn’t have the slightest clue how I would be spending the rest of my summer. The only sure thing I flew away with (along with my overloaded green suitcase and laptop) was a desire to reassess what I truly needed in love. The need to wait patiently for the day it would all work out in the right way. If I could only see beyond the failed attempt of my previous lopsided misfortune.

August sweltered in with a hint of hope. Austin, Texas has tennis courts, baseball stadiums and bike routes. There are a plethora of options for food, shopping and worship services on Sundays. And just as Christ has always been my rock in times of fear, here He was allowing me to be led to a stable ground among people who were chattier, less complicated and more down-to-earth than others I had known. There I was sharing espresso with a stranger I just met.  He wasn’t like other men who seemed to have chips on their shoulder. He was actually friendly, and liked drinking coffee. I laughed maybe this is where I had been going wrong all along. I never did date any man who liked coffee.  Here was a man who not only smiled at me, but smiled with me. We had some common interests and it seemed as if I would at least gain a new friend in this strange town. Could it be that we could shoot hoops together instead of him making me jump through hoops? I knew not what to expect, or rather I had no expectations. I only trusted in the hope I brought with me all those miles. His hope.

Andy Murray won the gold medal and suddenly, I was feeling as golden and fluffy haired as the Brit himself. It could possibly be that I had discovered a new definition of what love is. Love used to be a crushing intoxication of mixed emotions. But now, love is a blank score with an unwritten slate. Love is whatever you make it, whatever you dream it to be. Love is not a trampled and defeated heart that spends an abundance of time in hopeless want. It is not the pursuit of proving yourself. Rather, love is a comeback. It is a revenge, not on somebody, but on that freeing emotion that conquers your heart. Love, if nothing else, is a possibility.

Life has a way of arriving when we least expect it. Champions take shape, and when the probability of another defeat is at its greatest, recapture their worth. Murray is victorious, and I spent my summer vacation revamping my winning formula for love.

“The grave could not keep Him from rising again”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xODpgyqGCYM

A Way...

Excerpt#2

There exists a moment in everyone’s life when they realize what they have is simple and pure, and good enough. I know this to be the truth, even as I dismiss the complexity of my mysterious adoration for Dylan Mandarini. Mysterious, I reckon, only in the sense his heart lingers, firmly stamped to the hidden throne of my own.  Yet, here is where I am now, awake inside this thought: the pure and the simple truth of knowing life is good enough with the memory of a single day.

Little Luke enters a world today full of mystery and adoration. He opens his eyes, flutters his eyelashes and cries to his father. Both faces, father and son, are captivated with a wonder previously unknown.

“You did it Jeanne!”  A chant of enthusiasm shoots from the corner of the small room. The baby continues to wail helplessly, despite producing a sense of infinite satisfaction from his onlookers. My smile is delayed and happiness disguised, but that overwhelming sensation of being in love erupts inside. I have been in love before, but it has never transpired with such ease. Was it a change in my forlorn self or a change in my circumstances?

The patience of a man is his most revered quality. I can venerate this quality only because time has provided a redeeming effect on the plaintive anthem of my past. To love is to paradoxically feel joy and pain, numbness and intensity of emotion. Dylan is a summer song of yesterday.

To backtrack is to retract from this moment. I shall not do so, for Luke’s sake, and for my own.

Today is a day Luke will not remember, but its memory will remind him of the world’s pure, simple truths. My son Luke begins his life in the hands of my heart’s friend.

My Father's Style

To dad, who through everything is the man I believe in the most.

The back of his head, with his black hair softly blowing in the September wind, pops out of his red sedan. The shadow from his dress shoes appears lengthy, dispersed among the gravel parking lot. He opens the trunk and lifts a chair out into the sun. The chair remains, leaning against the bumper of the car. Dad shows up at the tennis court in his work suit and tie. His eyes search the court for the little girl he tucks in to bed each night. She is there between the fence holes, swiftly decking a ball across the net into her opponent’s ribs. He hesitates before smiling.  Dad claps his right hand against his thigh to celebrate the point. He rubs his eyes and peeks around the walkway to the school. There aren’t any other fathers watching their daughters play. There isn’t a spectator on the rusted wooden bleacher seats. The girl takes a tennis ball and bounces it twice. She spots her father on the hill outside the courts and breathes a deep sigh. Her serve is wide to the left of the service box. Dad advances to the bottom of the hill, showering her with a reassuring grin as he descends the muddy grass. He is there for her, although it’s not in style among her peers. She is his reason for smiling. He is her purpose for believing.

Subtlety

“A spirit that won’t let me go”

There is subtlety to the way strings connect with a tennis ball and create a game. We take for granted the subtle movements and physics at work in each shot we make. How is it we are able to return a ball out of the air and deposit it in exactly the right spot with a subtle tap of the racquet? It’s quite extraordinary, even with all the advances in technology, how tennis players are able to divide, conquer and exchange this moving ball with a set of strings arranged in an oval frame. I think of the drop shot as the most subtle of tennis maneuvers. It’s a subtle move of the wrist that does the trick. It’s barely noticeable, really.

What are the subtle exchanges in your life? Which words are the subtle unspoken ones that stay on your ears the longest? What about when a friend subtlety says your name, followed by a friendly hello. I remember the final time I saw a dying friend. I leaned over her hospital bed. Her smile broke me down inside. She touched my wrist with such subtlety I will remember that gentleness the most. Where do you experience life’s subtleties? Mine are in the subtle touches of a friend, the soft kiss given by a lover,  the smile from a stranger, the unceasing ocean splashing softly in the distance, the forgiving Lord’s promise carried in my heart, the sureness and the peacefulness of a tennis court, the silent breaks of a song. I’m led to believe there is more to every part of our lives than meets the eye. In every breath, there is a subtle miracle somehow revealed. All of us have similar experiences, but each of us sees differently. The subtlest part of life I’ve come to know lies not in my sight but in my spirit. It is there I happen across the most recognizable of subtleties.

“The light of your eyes still shines”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JwyWNanGkjE

Cherish

“Just can’t turn and walk away”

Tomorrow marks my last twenty days in New York. Here are twenty of my most memorable “firsts” from living in New York.

1.      My first bicycle. It had training wheels and a bell.

2.      My first shopping trip to buy a baseball glove. It was a gold and black Wilson.

3.      My first time having a sleepover at my house. It was a blast.

4.      My first time saying goodbye to my sister as she left for college. It made me cry.

5.      My first time leaving home and my parents. It was bittersweet.

6.      My first trip to New Paltz as a kid. It was to go swimming at the community pool.

7.      My first ride to Fredonia as an undergraduate student. It was long.

8.      My first time attending a funeral. It was my grandmother’s.

9.      My first baseball game. It was a Shea Stadium with my dad and sister.

10.  My first trip to the Bronx Zoo. It involved underground groundhog holes

11.  My first time driving a car. It was a ’93 Nissan Altima.

12.  My first slow dance. It was in a church.

13.  My first kiss. It was at a desk.

14.  My first love. It was a sunny day.

15.  My first heartbreak. It was a holiday.

16.  My first sports heartbreak. It was the Dallas Cowboys

17.  My first taste of Mom’s no bake cookies. It was scrumptious.

18.  My first softball shutout. It was surreal.

19.  My first tennis sections championship. It was overdue.

20.  My first concert. It was 98 degrees.

“And I thought I’d seen it all because it’s been a long, long time”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QkiZSTIGpIY

A New

The things I think when away from you

Keep me close to feeling new

The steady sun rising in July

In perfect cadence with the light of your eye

The wild deer who hears the hum

Between our voices and the summer drum

The holy hand of He who loves

Completes the sweet sound of doves

The whispering wind that speaks of home

Rides the waves as we do roam

I wash my tears in memory

Of those suns, and you near me

To think your arms in mine again

Bring me to that place of when

Where newness sings a subtle rhyme


And our two hearts refresh the chime



Will I ever again be held by you



In tender kisses, as if a new

Strung

“We go together like ramma lamma lamma ka dinga da dinga dong”

Rafael Nadal was wiped out in round two and Roger Federer barely survived his latest match at the All-England Club. The Fed managed to keep it together, but hasn’t won a grand slam championship since 2010. I hope he doesn’t win another Wimbledon because I don’t want Pete Sampras’ record to be challenged. Sampras’ legendary white shorts and wanton shots will reign in my heart for a long time to come.

What keeps you together during a match? Do you reset your mind, restart your wheels or revamp your game? Does it really matter how you string things together as long as you get the job done? In B-school, we are taught all about ethics, so I would argue it does matter for the business world. The same argument could be made for tennis. After all, nobody likes a cheater or unfair opponent. And, is that how you want to be known? Look at what happened to David Nalbandian at the French Open. His flashy off court rant is what may abjectly define the man’s career in the long run.

I find it most intriguing how in life we are joined together with others by the most trivial things. A similar train schedule. A mutual admired hobby. Proximity at a musical concert. The people we call our friends are those who we manage to find and associate with commonalities, but we are joined together with strangers by mere circumstance. Nadal was stunned by a no-name twenty six year old player from the Czech Republic (who has since been eliminated). Who knows what the string will join together next? Will Nadal’s ouster cause another to rise to fame? Will Federer fall and string together another Wimbledon loss? Who will you meet by mere circumstance, or mere fate?

“We’ll always be like one”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dVib2ie9-68

Slice Of Life

“All the usual places, the same destinations, only something has changed”

Today is the 23^rd of June. In three days, I will have earned my Master’s in Business Administration. It’s a dream come true and a dream I have longed to achieve since I was very young. I haven’t been this excited about my future since I went away to college at age eighteen. The chance of playing college tennis was one of the leading contributors to that excitement eleven years ago. Today’s excitement is a different type. It’s a contentment I have not felt for a long while. It’s a happiness I’ve stored away for the right time. The road we walk is often treacherous and lengthy. There are no guarantees, but I can finally say I’ve conquered the gravel path. I’m looking forward to the upcoming year and my relocation to Austin, Texas in one month. The city represents to me a step in the direction of the future I dreamed up when I first discovered my dreams. The excited feeling I now possess is like picking up a tennis racquet for the first time after a difficult winter. When that sun is shining, the only place I want to be is on the tennis court. It’s the first swing of the season, the one I’ve anticipated all too long.

I’m grateful for all that has happened this past year: the friends I’ve met, the opportunities that have rolled my way, good health that keeps me going. I’m most thankful for the future waiting in the wings like the feather tip of a tennis ball in the wind. I think to the future and what it will mean for my dreams and bring to my life. There is still so much I want to accomplish, so much to be done. As graduation nears, I think it’s important to understand the prerequisite for success is a vision, hard work and persistence. Taking life one slice at a time is the only way to reach the apex. Whatever it is you want to achieve, whoever it is you envision in your future, don’t give up on that. Be persistent in your goals, but take life as it comes too. You can’t control the elements of the game any more than you can control the forces of this unpredictable world. It’s a hard lesson to grasp if you’re anything like me and are striving to reach that apex in your life. Sometimes life just takes over, and you’re forced to go with the flow…and you may find yourself, too, dreaming of cowboys in Austin, Texas.

“Now is greater than the whole of the past”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0CMr3oDfL_o

Unending Set

“I guess that’s just the way the story goes”

If you play tennis long enough, there will come a time when you wish for the set to never end. John Isner may disagree, but every tennis player reaches the point where they want to play on and on long after the set has ended. Whether it’s pure energy, enjoyable weather, or a terrific opponent, the unending set is a phenomenon you will go through at least once as a tennis player. I think my moment came two summers ago in a recreational match. It was a Saturday at the peak of summer. The sun was beating down on the hard surface of the court in the early dawn of the morning. There was some sort of 5K race going on around the tennis courts. My opponent and I were not distracted by the commencement of the race, nor did the award ceremony throw off our concentration. We played six sets of tennis that morning. Our endurance outlasted that of the runners competing in the street race. My water bottle, warm after just the first switchover, was completely finished by the second set. There’s a certain splendor to the kind of tennis that you never want to end. It’s even better when you’re opponent feels the same way. After the fifth set, our stamina no longer mattered. The points and the games were strung together into one unending set. We played for the enjoyment of basking in the unending set (and the dehydrating heat).

I had a different type of ‘unending set moment’ this week. Did you ever have a night you didn’t want to end? I have had several, but none quite like the most recent. It was my last night with a close friend before we both move out of state. We were full of energy. We laughed hard. He was a terrific opponent, and the one who has shown me that winning isn’t about who totals the most points. No, winning is about finding the person who makes you smile inside and out. After that night, it’s hard to believe we will never see each other again. It pains my heart, but I know the next set is waiting out there for both of us. All good things come to an end, even the unending set. I think there is always an end because it’s the only way we can enjoy what has passed.

“No I can’t forget this evening or your face as you were leaving”

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J8vZUqxlW88

A Slice of the Story

This four day weekend has afforded me the opportunity to relax and enjoy the unofficial kickoff to summer. Memorial Day weekend has also allowed me to focus my attention on my second favorite activity (tennis is tops): writing. I began writing a new story this weekend that I would classify as a mystery. I have absolutely no experience in writing mysteries, nor do I often read them. It should be interesting to see where the story goes, but I am keeping it light-hearted as opposed to the more serious tone of my current work-in-progress.
Speaking of that work, I'm throwing this slice of A Way For The Rain out there to my blog readers. It's one of the more dramatic scenes and highlights the romantic element of the story. I think perhaps it won't make sense outside the context of the story's plot, but it's a very short, straighforward scene worth sharing.
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I want to grab his arm and demand, “Don’t let me go”. It is too late now. Dylan slowly turns to face me. We volley some messy words over the messy bed. The tone of our voices is imputed to the gray night, the unplayable conditions.

Then he stops speaking and looks back out the window. He catches hold of the curtain like a captain grabbing his sail. I hold my eyes on him until he turns to face me. This time his speech is matter-of-fact and friendly. He is my old tennis partner telling me his available time to play a set.

“You’re too good to me,” he calls out as if an actor in a play. I notice for the first time his hands are shaking.

Startled myself at his boyish jumpiness, I listen intently as he goes on.

“I just need to get away for awhile. We’ll see what happens,” he says, leaving our relationship suspended in the air and hanging by a thread.

Tears are ignited, burning the back of my eyes. They fall from my eyelids until they reach my cheeks. There they remain cold and hardened candle wax.

“Don’t you love me?” I plead with a trembling tongue.

Dylan scratches the side of his face. “No, I don’t think I do,” he stiffly emits.

His timid eyes show remorse. I always thought Dylan had mettle but this conversation changes the image of my tennis partner. When the water was tough, I thought Dylan would still be swimming. His final words stay with me, cornering me forever.

Love, Mom

“You’re the driving force in my life”

            There are countless ways our mothers reaffirm their love for us. From bandaging our bruises to cultivating our character, our mothers’ best interests are always our own. How many of us remember receiving those little love notes from Mom in our school lunchboxes? I hope most of us remember those small gestures. It is the smallest gestures that stay with us long after the Christmas presents, the birthday parties or the trips to Disneyland (not that I can speak from experience on the latter).

            Every Autumn, my mother would attach a handwritten note to my tennis gear. Her familiar print penmanship, with the loopy M’s and L’s, were comforting reminders of my mother’s love during an away tennis match. The notes would sometimes wish me luck, my mother knowing I was nervous about a particular match. Often, those decorative cardboard notes would be simple ‘I love you’ declarations. The best of my mother’s notes were the creative kind. She might wrap a package of peanut butter crackers with ribbon and write kind words using each of the letters in my first name. Loving. Intelligent. Nifty. Determined. Incredible. I’d sit on the bus with the surprise note stapled to my brown lunch bag and think “how clever of her”. It still surprises me every time I discover a caring note from Mom.

            We may not even be aware of all the ways our mothers show their love or influence us. It’s impossible to thank them for all the small gestures that go a long way in making our lives a little more comfortable. If my mother is anything like your mother, you probably feel the same way. How do we show appreciation for the women who love us enough to think of clever ways to fulfill our needs? I suppose for some of us, we give back to our moms when they are able to see us enjoying ourselves. My mother attended most of my tennis matches in high school. Perhaps being able to see me play tennis, a game she taught me, is my thank you to her. In some way, that is probably enough. But as children of wonderful mothers, is it enough for us?

            Mom- I love you, for all the small gestures: the times you made sure I had enough athletic tape to wrap my toe, the afternoons you spent baking cookies for my team, and the drives home from my matches.

“Whenever I was down, you were always there to comfort me”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H8KnHK1NskY

On Writing

I started writing this novel in December 2009 with the aspiration of one day having a published work of literature. I haven't given up on that aspiration..and so here is the synopsis of what I hope one day will be read in its full edition.

A Way for the Rain is the story of first loves, second chances and third wheels.

Aspiring tennis player, Jeannette Creekmore always romanticized the snapshot of how her life was to look on the surface. Everything was set to her advantage within the safe confines of her comfort zone. Compelled to attain championship perfection, Jeannette faces the internal match of her life and struggles to keep it together.

Luke Overton’s baseball career is threatened by fluke external circumstances that unravel his team. His best friend flirts with betrayal and his rival toils with guilt. Luke’s capacity to forgive and forget is challenged by an unflappable unwillingness to concede defeat.   

A Way for the Rain chronicles the interwoven lives of two athletes who find their way back from despair to realize a timeless affirmation about rediscovering hope.

Peripheral Vision

“I can see all obstacles in my way”

Peripheral vision occurs outside our central view. It could be described as a feeling or a sense of a vision. Peripheral vision’s significance in tennis is mostly in doubles play. It helps to get a sense of where your partner is on the court. You do this through peripherally feeling for their movement with your eyes. Peripheral vision is an aid and a guide used so players do not run into each other. It is also useful when shuffling back to return a deep lob. Your peripheral vision guides you to the baseline while you keep your eye centered on the ball in flight. It often amazes me how our eyes and our minds can work in such remote ways. How is it we can see where the ball is going to land and feel where the out of bounds area begins? How do we know a doubles partner is shifting sides in the backcourt without turning around to face her?

Peripheral vision gives us insight and allows us to see beyond a central point. I think it goes without saying there is something peripheral about our faith. Today, on Easter Sunday, the Lord is alive in each of us. If we are able to distinguish his voice from our own, we would be wise to use it. If we are able to gather a sense of Him beyond our central vision, we too are alive. Easter is a sentimental day for Christians. It’s a celebration of life and redemption. It’s a day to savor and to praise. It’s as if we are guided by our peripheral vision to trust what lies beyond our own sight. This is how we were designed, and it’s amazing. His is the only way and it’s the truth. How do we know without seeing? Through faith in our peripheral vision.

“Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind”

Forgiveness

“And heard her whisper out a name long forgiven…”

The power to forgive is perhaps the greatest gift we possess. It’s a possession more powerful than love, more intense than kindness. Why is this gift not utilized more often, and how do we forgive those people who mistreat us? Forgiveness is something we all struggle with from time to time. We can’t comprehend the need to forgive those who stab us in the back, break our hearts and turn against us. When neglected, the power to forgive leaves us bitter and resentful. An unforgiving heart erodes the compassion we should be gathering in times for forgiveness.  

I played junior varsity doubles in seventh grade. My doubles partner collected so many unforced errors during a second set tiebreaker that it left us with little chance of reaching a third set. We lost the set and the competition because my partner was having a bad day. She volleyed balls into the net and repeatedly sent shots flying beyond the lines during the tiebreaker. I was angry at her for messing up our chances for a third set. She was clearly upset about her play during that climatic second set. It was up to me to use my power of forgiveness to improve the situation. The results weren’t going to change if I simmered in my own selfish sullenness. We already lost the match. I kept my anger to myself, and in an effort to show forgiveness, let her know it was okay we lost. We would win next time.

Forgiveness. I implore you to try it. What if you were my doubles partner? Wouldn’t you want to be forgiven? Wouldn’t you feel bad enough about muddying a match without having to also listen to me whine and stew about it? I think back to that situation and realize it was the right thing to do. It’s harder to bring that mindset to more severe situations. How do you forgive someone who does something malicious to you? I guess the answer is this: you just do. It’s the right thing to do. It goes back to the golden rule. Do unto others as you would have done to you. Forgiveness is not an easy gesture, but it shows character. More than love, more than kindness. It would be a sad day if we stopped using the gift of forgiveness. “I forgive you”—try it today.

“When her days are grey and her nights are black—different shades of mundane”

Love And Competition

“So warm and insightful you were in my eyes”

It’s been seven years since I played competitive tennis. Those days, for sure, were unlike any other. Looking back now at all the matches is one massive blur. At the time, I remember each match felt like the most important. Until the next one, that is.

So it is with relationships. Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, and all I can think of is the Patty Smith/Don Henley duet “Sometimes Love Just Ain’t Enough”. And I think…what a difference a year makes. Last year’s valentine was special to me. I made a complete fool of myself for him in more ways than one. At the time, it seemed the right thing to do, the most imperative way to be. If I had to do it again, I know I would do things differently. As Smith said in the song, “there’s a danger in loving someone too much”. How true she is.

See, the thing about competitive tennis and my former valentine are they both wore me out and broke me down. They both played with my emotions and sent my heart spinning. There is one important difference between the games we play with people and the games we play for sport. The difference lies in how we remember. If you play tennis long enough, day after day, the drudgery and routine of match play beings to overwhelm.  I don’t care who you are, it will get to you after a while. Chances are there is little to distinguish between matches, save for the three setters or the state competitions. You remember the first match of the season for its freshness, but two weeks later you can barely remember what team you faced.  

I wish I could say the same for human relationships. I wish I could treat each heartbreaker as a clipping from a tennis match, one that I fold up like a Valentine’s Day card and file in my scrapbook. I can’t do that. I especially can’t discard someone with whom I shared my most intimate thoughts and treat it like just another close defeat. Tennis players do often carry around tough defeats and it floods their mind and their heart with frustration. But I hardly think the effects are long-lasting. Perhaps because there is no reversal of the outcome, we tennis players eventually forget former heartbreaks. That philosophy doesn’t translate to life. “It’s sad when you know it’s your heart you can’t trust,” says Smith. What happens when you can no longer trust your own heart, when you can’t trust yourself with him? I’m still not sure, even as another Valentine’s Day rolls around, how I can begin trusting in love again.

“But for seven years you were loved”

Advantage: Nerd

What constitutes being a nerd?

A)    Having a 4.0 GPA

B)     Going to the library three days a week, even without the delicious task of completing a research paper

C)    Staying home on a Friday night to play Scrabble with your friends

D)    Swapping a TV show for the Pickwick Papers

E)     All of the above

Being a nerd has many advantages. Certainly in the classroom, nerds strive for straight A’s and always complete their homework assignments in a timely manner. The occasional nerd will sometimes go above and beyond the assignment and include portions of their own research when turning in homework. Nerds often have their noses in books. In my opinion, nerds are also knowledgeable on various subjects. They aren’t strictly “nerdy” about one specific area or topic. They indulge in everything and yearn to learn!

What does this have to do with tennis, you ask? Being a nerd has many advantages on the tennis court as well as off. Think about the best tennis players. Pete Sampras and Steffi Graf were students of the game. They didn’t get to the top or reach their tennis peak by neglecting their “studies”. Sampras learned to hit a one handed backhand because it would make him a more intelligent and efficient tennis player. He learned from the best coaches in the industry and maintained his focus throughout his career. Graf was a versatile player on clay, grass and hard court surfaces. She did her homework by spending hours before her matches warming up and stretching in preparation of her task.

Intelligence in a tennis player is too often overlooked. Tennis is a physical game. Perhaps more importantly and primarily, tennis is a mental game. The mind is involved strategically in reaching the next level for every player. Tennis nerds know all about the industry. They can tell you which racquet to buy if power is your goal, or if control is your desire. Tennis nerds know which racquets are head-light or head-heavy. They know the difference between a backhand topspin and a flat backhand. They can feel the difference. With intelligence comes a keen sense of intuition. Scholars are so familiar with their studies they can often dispute any argument to the contrary.

Intelligence alone does not make you a winner. Students who study the most do not always go home with the best report cards. Similarly, tennis players who know every move in the book or read Tennis Magazine religiously, are not always at the top of the ladder. One must have the mental capacity to apply their knowledge. Tennis players must possess the talent to apply their knowledge of the game during a match. Talent is the precursor. Intelligence adds to strengthen that talent. So, not ALL nerds have the advantage. But it would be a crying shame to not be a tennis nerd if you really loved the game.

I think a real nerd is someone who writes about being a nerd. Hmm…

“Baby you’re so smart, you know you could have been a schoolbook”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WCtVLo7VA-k

Depth

“We could have had it all rolling in the deep…think of me in the depths of your despair”

Depth is a purposeful action in tennis. It’s a place on the court you’re trying to reach in order to outmaneuver or outwit your opponent. Coaches often say, “lob deep” or “hit deeper shots to the baseline”. Depth, in this case, is positive. Deep drives are well-hidden. They’re meaningful. It takes concentration to master a deep lob when a menacing opponent is swaying their racquet at the net.  In tennis, it’s usually the deep shots that are the most challenging to both place and return.  

Life is abundant with examples of depth, having both positive and negative connotations.

Take a deep breath. How do you feel? Deep breaths allow us to buy time and relax when we’re stressed out or angry. Depth is fulfilling.

Are you in deep trouble? Depth is a challenge. A mistake. A change you endure.

Have you ever seen someone in deep thought? What does that look like? The person is usually centered on something very specific. Nothing else matters to them. That kind of depth is equivalent to concentration. Depth is reflective.

What does it mean to be deeply in love? Certainly, nobody has ever been shallowly in love with someone. Depth has meaning and intensity. It has layers. It develops.

Deep is sometimes an adjective used to describe a color. Deep purple or deep blue. These are profound, rich hues. They are not mild, but severe colors.

Depth has many meanings, depending on the context. There is one commonality: depth is a challenge. It’s more than scratching the surface. You can’t reach depth too easily. People don’t just get themselves in deep trouble overnight or fall deeply in love within minutes (despite what the movies have you believe). Depth is a level you achieve, usually by overcoming, enduring and sacrificing. I remember in high school it took me several months to perfect the deep lob. My paltry pats to midcourt were useful at times, but I watched in wonderment as my opponents would always at least lay a racquet on those lobs. I had a hard time adjusting my stroke to achieve depth. I needed to bend my knees more and angle my racquet instead of keeping the face flat against the ball. It took several weeks of practice and failing during matches. I sacrificed points in order to practice my adjusted lob stroke. When I finally learned to hit deeper, arching lobs, I noticed how few of my opponents could decently return them. I had achieved depth, a purposeful and meaningful action. Depth can be rewarding, especially when it occurs in the context of the tennis court.

Don’t hit too deep, however, or your shot will land out of bounds. Even depth has its limits.

“You had my heart inside your hand and you played it to the beat”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mBRUkdQa6Is