The Eager Listener

“…and in my heart I find a need for Him to be my savior”

Have you ever been so focused on seeking an answer that you miss the most important words spoken by another person? Are you an eager listener? What do you do when the answer is unexpected, unsatisfactory, or worst of all, completely disregarded?

I admit to being a selective listener, choosing the words I want to hear and tuning out the others. I think my listening skills have improved over the years. As children, we certainly do not listen with purpose. We ask for things we do not need and cannot have.  I was no exception as a child. During the holiday season, I always asked for the gifts I wanted by blatantly spelling it out to my parents. As most children do during Christmas time, I would go so far as writing a list and circling pictures of toys in the catalogs kept in our home. I received many of the gifts on my circled and scribbled-down wish lists. Other requests were neglected, either due to expense or necessity. When I failed to receive these gifts, I would become almost angry. I would kneel down at night and ask God to bring these treasures into my life. I promised to be good the rest of the year. My naïve faith and innocence couldn’t bring about answers. I failed to listen to God’s reasons because my mind was only focused on my reasons. Little did I know back then that learning to live without the things we desire is one of the toughest lessons in life. Our reasons are not always in line with God’s reasons.

A few years ago, I prayed every night about one particular person. I was so sure God should have been listening to me. God wasn’t listening to me, and I didn’t understand. As the Aaron Shust song goes, “I am not skilled to understand”. I was looking for the answer I wanted, instead of listening to God. He had His reasons. Though I could not understand the reasons, I knew they were coming from God. Still, I was angry. I was angry with God. This anger persisted until it channeled into fear and hurt. I cried and pouted inside, just as I had when I didn’t un-wrap my preferred Christmas present as a kid. I became so consumed with hearing my answer that I missed out on what God was trying to tell me. God has his reasons, I am convinced.

Why don’t we listen? We miss a lot of the good stuff when we don't listen. It's good to be an eager listener, but not the type of eager that is impatient and stubborn. There is a distinction between eager listening and listening with an eager ear. 

Perhaps we don’t listen to God because we do not believe. In Luke’s gospel, Jesus spoke to the council before his death, “If I tell you, you will not believe, and if I question you, you will not answer”.  We do not listen. It’s not that God isn’t providing answers, or even that he does not hear. He hears everything. He will never ignore us. We just do not listen. More often than not, we lack the patience and understanding to listen. This happens in life, as much as in prayer.

An eager listener is hopeful and believing. The eager listener is just eager for answers.

Today, I still seek God’s help in answering prayers. I am more eager than ever for God’s fulfilling promise. He is the light, the truth and the way. I wait eagerly for His guidance in my life. I continually seek His way, though I stumble, fumble and crumble apart along the path. Just maybe that unexpected answer will arrive. In time, God does provide. The reason I know this is because I have seen his results. I can testify to His truth. I am a witness to his answers. God answered my prayers to become a college tennis player. He answered my prayers to save my mother from breast cancer. His answer to my prayer for a healing heart was completed in time. None of these prayers were as I planned them. My plan would have included my answers, and I am not convinced those answers would have been as wonderful. And so, I eagerly wait on Him again. I am listening for that voice, the one I seek every morning.

“...my strength, my solace from the spring”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gt0WluTpFTg

Life with Compassion

 

“There’s got to be so much more to life than this”

We all want something more in life. I don’t care who you are, there is something out there you desire. Life is never just “good enough” for any of us. We naturally crave all of life’s riches and hope for something better. Do we ever think of other people? Those who crave what we have, those who might never know the riches of the life we take for granted?

I was recently playing tennis with a friend who had improved a lot since the last time we played.  I complimented him on the skills he now sharpened and noted how terrific a player he was becoming. He told me he knew he wasn’t good enough for me and he wanted to be better. He wanted to get into better shape, build muscle and play every day he could. I admired his will to improve but it left me thinking about my own life. I often worry I will never be good enough or have enough of what I desire. I feel there is something missing, and if I could only find that something, my entire life would be complete. Before I moved to Texas, I couldn’t wait to find a tennis partner and play tennis all year round. I become something “more” when I am on the tennis court. It’s a feeling I have never experienced at any other point in my life. I’ve been successful in school, at work, in activities, in writing…and yet, I never feel it is enough. I want something more. But it’s not of the material kind; it’s more of an emotional gasping. I feel a greater purpose awaits and I am not certain how to tackle those feelings. I just know they exist and I must discover their meaning. I must capture that same feeling I get when there is nothing but my racquet, a tennis ball and a net.

This October I decided to sponsor a child through Compassion International. I found out about Compassion while attending a Newsboys concert at a Baptist Church in Austin. The organization has a proven track record and is a legitimate charity. The monthly investment seemed minimal compared to the world of difference I could make in one child’s life. The little girl I sponsor is from Ecuador and her name is Belinda. Our names are so similar that I couldn’t pass on her. I am sure Belinda wishes for more out of her life. If I can provide her with just one day of wishes, I hope to do so.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bIQf5dD7Y9k

“I want my life to count every breath…I want to live with abandon”

Hollow Heart

Hollow Heart (A Poem For Dayle)

The crackle of October leaves

The faith of someone who believes

Remind me of her courage and fears

As we filled her car with mournful tears

The blackness of the shaded chairs

White reminders of the one who cares

Her openness empowered change

All the lives she touched to rearrange

Her tidy desk and heart-to-hearts

The way she knew all my broken parts

The place she gave me to call my own

 

A tennis club, my family from home

Flying under her wing to rise again

Unsure of myself and not knowing when

God gives us all someone we can trust

Even when losing them He knows we must

I’ll miss her laugh most of all

Because it lifted me through my deepest fall

My Weakness Is...

“I can’t help you fix yourself”

Early autumn tennis is always my most preferred type of activity. Even in Texas, you cannot beat the atmosphere, comfort and steady Fall season. Yesterday morning I played singles against an opponent with one glaring weakness. Even he would admit his service game was nothing to write home about. My opponent’s serve is one that barely clears the net. His slow lob serve style is consistent (he rarely double faults) and nonthreatening. I’ve played tennis for 24 years and have always adjusted to my opponent’s unique style. The lob serve is the one serve I just do not have the patience to handle in my return game. My opponent’s groundstrokes were quick, low to the ground and solid. It was his serve that continually threw me off and frustrated me. I would be so close to the service line after each return that it was a severe disadvantage for me to retreat to the baseline.

As it turns out, I won the match. But I wonder if my opponent considered his one weakness as an actual strength by the end of our time together. Sometimes in life, we can use our weaknesses as strengths. It helps to know your weaknesses first. I interviewed a few potential candidates for open positions this week. A question I often ask in interviews is the standard, “What is your greatest strength and weakness?” In business school, they teach you to answer interview questions in a certain way. Professors train you to identify your strengths and weaknesses and claim something as a weakness that can be spun into strength.  I’m a perfectionist. I’m stubborn. I’m an overachiever or a workaholic. I always have to finish assignments early and prepare weeks in advance for presentations. These are the type of “weaknesses” that work FOR you on job interviews (providing they are true).

I know my weaknesses, on and off the court. Outside of tennis, I identify my greatest weaknesses as not asking for help. I had an ex-boyfriend tell me that it was an insult to him when I did not ask or want his help. I always wondered if that was his insecurity talking or if there really was some truth to his opinion. I think it was a little of both. I like to be in charge of my own destiny. I like to call my own shots and do things myself. This self-sufficient and independent attitude has worked FOR me and against me. It has made me a great singles player (I am good at doubles, but there is too much reliability on the other person). This attitude is the reason I am a reliable, accountable and dependable employee. Bosses know they can count on me and usually do not have to show me the way. When I falter, fumble and fail, it’s much easier for me to beat myself up than blame another. I’ve been in situations where I asked for assistance and the outcome was not desirable. Quickly, I learned to rely solely on myself. Every leap of faith has betrayed me.

This is clearly a weakness. If I stretch it ever further, it is a weakness because it has caused me to be less assertive and hard to read. I don’t always express myself correctly because I do not ask for help or take time to explain how things need to be done. Just ask my mother. Most people outside family members tell me I am hard to read. In fact, every person I have ever dated has sounded like a broken record with this same song and dance playing back to me: “I just don’t know what you’re thinking half the time, you’re so hard to read”. On the flip side, with two outs and the bases loaded in a softball game, that same poker face made me a very effective pitcher. Opponents did not see me rattled, and it intimidated them. You most often win the mental game when you play it cool in sports. Co-workers admire how I do not allow my emotions to dictate my job. This quality in a manager has its advantages, but can be problematic if assertiveness is lacking. I know my weaknesses. I am aware of the areas in which improvement is necessary. But I now also realize you can play your weaknesses to your advantage, as my opponent did in yesterday’s match. Everyone brings something to the table, strengths or weaknesses. All can be beneficial under certain circumstances. It helps to identify them, break them down and use them when the situation calls for it.

“My weakness is that I care too much”

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

Grace In Defeat

It’s U.S. Open time again. The annual Grand Slam event in Flushing Meadows is always one of my favorite events in sports. This is also my favorite time of year for other reasons: college football season, NFL kickoffs and baseball post-season are all about to begin. It is the optimum season for sports fans. One commentator noted during the U.S. Open how Venus Williams is graceful in defeat. This prompted my thinking about character. Have you ever heard the phrase, “Character is who you are when no one is looking”? Venus had thousands of eyes on her the other night when she lost an early round match on the grandest stage in tennis. I think it’s easier to be graceful during those moments. It’s easier to accept defeat when you are critiqued in the spotlight. What about when no one is watching? Who are you in those moments?

I have had to step back into myself, into the core of who I am, this week. It seems to me that no matter what happens, I know I am not defeated…and I wonder when this realization occurred. I don’t remember always being of this mindset. As a tennis player, I remember accepting defeat with a certain grace. It hasn’t always been that way outside the baseline. Recent events have thrust me to into trusting my instincts more and attaining a better grip on acceptance, forgiveness and thankfulness (even in defeat). I have been defeated many times in tennis. Tennis has been my anchor in shaping how I handle defeat. I credit the sport with giving me an advantage in personal relationships, in hardships.  Sports build character.

Character is not something you can fake. You either are or you aren’t a person with good character. I don’t think there is a middle ground. You cannot say one thing and do another when no one is looking. You cannot lead someone in one direction and strand them without notice. A person’s character can never be defeated, even in defeat. Strong character will deliver you from bitterness.  It will provide your grace in defeat.

The Rain

Because sometimes I just feel like writing.

 

Chet’s casket is closed, confined inside the choky funeral parlor. Corwin takes my hand in his. We move together, two shadows in black dress. Somewhere, nightingales are chirping in trees dismissed with leaves, and Ezekiel “Chet” Cue is inspiring angels with John Keats.

You won’t regret this. You were born for this.

I can almost hear Chet speaking. The echo fills the spacious room. How could it be that this young boy, so close from birth, inspired a career?

Corwin looks over to me with heavy eyelids and a heartfelt stare. He is so beautiful, even in the darkest moment of his life. My arms collect goose bumps and Corwin begins to pull at his ear the way he always does when he is uncomfortable.  I think back to the first time I met Corwin, before the training, before the tennis, and before Ezekiel.

“Are you abandoning the project” questions Luke as I interrupt the conversation by emerging on the scene.

“No,” muffles Corwin.

My first glimpse of Corwin Brookside, a Texas native, is a towering carpenter in faded denim. His blue T-shirt is stained white around his left breast. I wonder if he lost a battle with bleach. Somehow, I can tell this is Corwin’s favorite shirt. It looks as over-worn and faded as his jeans.

Corwin has two very noticeable scars on his right forearm. The pair of short twig-like lines forms a dark upside down V.   Over the still stream, beyond the shaven gray tree trunks, the now hammerless Corwin stands with one hand on his hip. His cocked head points in the opposite direction of my doughy gaze. Luke’s outdoor radio plays a Bobby Darin song. Nothing else matters right now save for Corwin and the music.

I gather my words, praying they will form something that sticks with Corwin for a long time. I watch from a post on Luke’s patio. In my heart, I am hoping for a tolerable first impression. At the very least, an acknowledgment of the fact he is male and I am female would suffice. Corwin surprises me by speaking first, although not directly at me. His eyes survey mine and without blinking, he repeats himself to Luke.

“No” is quite possibly the most powerful word to a civilization of “yes” people. It has the capacity to accuse someone of a crime, the ability to determine life or death. Corwin’s unblinking stare and burning-with-passion brown eyes author the word, transforming it into a lustful poem before me. There is a drastic physical attraction stirring around inside my body.  I feel myself becoming faint and know this man is going to be the image in my head during those lonely nights in bed.

Ahhh, those eyes! It is the desire in his eyes that stays with me more than anything I can say or do to keep him from forgetting me. The startling tick of their burning fierceness catches me in sheer infatuation. Corwin’s eyes roam strangely to my nose, and then briefly to my lips. He approaches me with a deep stare into my face. Those eager, passion drop eyes resuscitate my deadened pupils.

“Corwin--it means friend of the heart,” Corwin announces, stretching his sawdust hand to shake mine.

“Jeanne--it means I think you’re cute,” I flirt, nearly unintentional.

“Don’t hold back or anything!” Luke exclaims with wide eyes and a grin the size of a galaxy.

The handsome Corwin steps closer. Brilliantly, he tugs at his belt. I hide my smile but know it’s pointless. For once, this is too good to not be true.

Corwin touches my arm when he talks to me. It is this subtle, flirtatious gesture that keeps my interest.  Or, perhaps it is the one peculiarity he does that doesn’t remind me of Dylan.

He picks up a pair of bolt-like hardware from the ground and hands them to me.

“What am I supposed to do with these?” I question.

“Those are Zerk grease fittings. Hang on to them for me, please?”

I haven’t the slightest idea what a grease fitting is used for, but I agree to hold them.

Seeing him reminded me of how I used to wake up with my head in the clouds.  I used to long for the unswerving feeling of love. 

Extraordinarily, this man, this Corwin Brookside appeared. I no longer yearned for love, but felt immersed with it. I wanted to convince Corwin that my heart couldn’t be wrong about us.

Corwin’s hand is stained in sweat now. I can feel it getting colder, more distant. He is hurting, and I wish so much he were handing me bolts of hardware in the Texas sun. I wish he weren’t here to witness the finale of a young life. I would endure and suffer through it on my own if I could. Corwin would never see to it, though. He is here in this murmurous haunt of fly-filled summer air. Corwin always withstands the rain. Here he stands. Bold. My refuge. I know he wants to lie down and cry out to the God we both cannot completely understand in this life, but worship nonetheless.

Somewhere, the sun is not hidden inside the clouds. That little boy is smiling somewhere.

Come to the Net

“I know who goes before me; I know who stands behind”

I call it the baseliner’s dilemma: when an opponent hits an approach shot, you must decide whether to follow the return into net or recede to the baseline. The safe option seems to be to withdraw from net after hitting the approach shot. If you remain at net, you leave a vulnerable, open backcourt. Protecting the baseline and allies from a distance seems more advantageous. But, here’s the dilemma--The more courageous and rewarding choice is usually to remain at the net. Here at net, you theoretically can attack any ball that finds its way over it. It is a risk that pits your diligence and skills against an opponent’s strategic grit.

Today is Easter Sunday, and so fittingly I will tie this ‘dilemma’ into one that Christ’s followers surely tackled. Jesus diligently called his disciplines to come to the net—to leave behind their families, jobs and belongings and follow him. These fishermen were called to the net, not knowing whether or not leaving an empty boat (backcourt) was the right decision. They had faith to trust, though they all probably doubted Jesus at some point. Jesus summoned them to His net, to walk away from the net offered by the world.

I often wonder what I would have done if I were in a similar dilemma. I am where I want to be in my career right now. I love my family, my home, car and belongings. I like to think I would have the courage and faith to follow Jesus. I hope that I would sacrifice anything to follow Him, but I know I am weak in the flesh. This world, like the tennis backcourt, offers us glory, protection and freedom. Would any among us give those up to follow the Son who sets us free? Would we go to, and stay at the net?  Jesus and his disciplines knew pain, hurt and persecution. They knew what lied ahead even as they chose to follow their Messiah.

Jesus promises his followers he will provide them the courage they need to be catching people. He promises not to allow anything over that net we can’t handle. In tennis, the net is your strength, and so it is with Christ. Some people, some passing shots, may get away and spill out into the backcourt. Others might crash into the net, too weak to face you. Still others may go beyond the baseline and be too far gone to draw back. A missed opportunity--one that may come up again deeper into the match. Any situation calls for us to come to the net. We, as Christ’s followers, are called to be catching-people, to conquer our fears through courage, to stand up and protect our court. It is a worth-while dilemma, always.

“My strength is in Your name; You crush the enemy underneath my feet”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qOkImV2cJDg

Lawnmowers in Heaven

Dear Grandma Smith,

It was the summer of 1989 when you taught me the value of generosity. You were wearing your white canvas Keds and that lightweight green golf outfit. I was wearing my favorite pair of farmer jeans (or overalls as most people called them) when we walked together into the local Big Lots. The toy section of the store was calling me. There on the wall was a brand new Cabbage Patch outfit for my baby doll. It was a baseball uniform, and I desperately wanted it. I was afraid to ask for it, but you somehow read my mind.

“You and your sister can pick out something you want. Do you want that baseball uniform for your doll, Lindi?”

You made it sound so easy. All I had to do was pick out a toy and it was mine. Grandmothers were great, I thought. Not only did she have the coolest house ever, but she also had a heart of gold. Still, I felt guilty about you buying me a gift. I didn’t NEED this baby doll outfit. But you reassured me.

“I want to buy this for you,” you stated sharply. That serious and commonplace demeanor was something I came to appreciate about you. Those platitudes were consistently reassuring to a girl who worried too much about an ever-changing world.

It was then I realized the concept of gift-giving and generosity….to give without expecting anything in return…to give simply because you loved.

This sort of unconditional love cannot be duplicated or replaced. You, Grandma Smith, can never be replaced.

I always knew you were mortal, even though you were always the freshest cookie in the jar. You would make a quip at me every time I bounced a ball against your basement wall or each time I tried to jump on the bed in your attic. I hope I didn’t test your patience too much. There are some many wonderful memories I have of you, Grandma: your green house, your homemade waffles, playing ‘store’ in your basement, learning how to golf and garden, swinging on your wooden bench, walking to the park with you, learning how to hang clothes on the clothesline and make peanut butter balls. It was in playing Canasta and RACKO that I realized what a sore loser we BOTH were. It was during the winters in West Virginia when I discovered that I was just as stubborn as you were (Why couldn’t I go outside without a jacket? Why did you insist on shoveling your own driveway when people were willing to help?) It was during the nights in my mother’s old bedroom where I learned to laugh. You would tuck me into bed, with more blankets than any child would ever need, and ask if I needed anything before I went to sleep. I would laugh, thinking how crazy old Grandma always wanted to turn the heat on in a bedroom that had to be the warmest one in the world. Now I realize and understand those endearing moments were about so much more than blankets and good night’s sleep. They were about a loving, comforting Grandmother. A Grandmother, who without question, provided for her grandchildren. A Grandmother who loved golf, playing the lottery and mowing her lawn...but one who would have done anything for her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Our lives are too often consumed by days we take for granted. I wish you could have been there to see me play tennis in college, to witness my graduation from high school. I would have liked to have had you visit me in Texas and see me get married one day. I wish I could have said goodbye to you, Grandma. I would have liked to have been there to hold you one more time, to feel your embrace one last moment. I admired you and loved you. I always will. I have taken from you more than your toys and gifts. I have taken your loyalty, sensitivity and selflessness. I have taken your passion for life out on the rolling mountaintops.

It was time for you to leave us. God brought you home. You will be missed here among the mortals, Grandma. We take comfort in knowing you are now mowing the lawns of heaven…and who better than to have that responsibility than you?

Renewed Strength

“Go on now, go, walk out the door”

This week has been difficult. I’ve been hurt, bludgeoned, stabbed in the chest. I have felt the loneliness and emptiness of trusting too much too soon. I have, regretfully, allowed another person to take up space in my heart. My head has been dealt a serious blow but the message has suddenly become crystal clear. Truth, so it seems, has been a mixture of shattered promises and convincing lies. And so, I am left wondering how I missed something so obvious, someone so arrogantly self-serving. The series of compliments, whisperings of sweet-nothings, showering of gifts…it turns out some people will say and do just about anything to get something they want.

I’m stuck picking up the pieces (again) of my glass heart. The pieces will come together again. Each time, it seems I get a little stronger. I get a little closer to gluing the fragments back together into one piece. I pray for renewed strength. I pray for courage, and the ability to forgive and forget. I believe something remarkable will happen to me. I will somehow be given a new sense of strength. I know this because my hope is never going to walk out the door. There is one greater than I, more superior to the coward who broke my heart. He is always looking out for me. He is with me, and for that I can be grateful for everything that has happened—good and bad.

“I’m not that chained up little person still in love with you”

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

The Worst Is Over

“I remember running through the wet grass, falling a step behind”

If you had a chance to do it over, would you change anything at all? That is the question circling the air at various times in our lives. The light at the end of the tunnel hangs in view. We know it does. It can’t get any worse. We hope the light comes sooner rather than later.

I’ve been cooked, down and out, practically wiped off the tennis court by opponents who could beat me even if they played with a wooden racquet. It’s all part of the game. You are, eventually, going to lose. In fact, you will probably begin by losing. There are seldom few people who come out swinging in their first tennis match. The sooner you accept defeat, the better your chances of improving as a player. Not only is it difficult to experience defeat first-hand, but it’s just as excruciating to watch it if you’ve been through that set of emotions yourself. I’ve seen more than a handful of severe beat-downs occur between the lines. When it’s happening to someone else, it’s easy to point out mistakes. Soon, however, you begin to feel the pain of the player being pounded into the ground. The player, who cannot do anything right save for lose points, becomes someone you pity. Isn’t it like that elsewhere in life? How many of us don’t give a hoot about other people’s problems until we have those same problems jolt us into reality?

You have to learn to accept hardship. I don’t care who you are, you’re going to have a wrench thrown into the toolbox of your life at some point. What will you do? How do you react to a brandishing racquet across the court? How do you respond to life’s strains and exertions? Do you spit in the face of the worst of it, sink into the net or continue to toss the ball high in the air until the match is over…until the light appears again? We all have a choice when the rough patches, the rough opponents, challenge our comfort zone. Think about all the unfair, difficult times you’ve faced in your lives. When the worst was over, what did you think? Would you have changed the circumstances or would you have changed your reaction?

I think sometimes we have to begin by losing. We need to go through something difficult to wisely earn the easy. It makes sense in tennis. Unless your name is Pete Sampras, you probably weren’t born with a gifted serve and perfect forehand. And even Pete played through hardship.  It’s the same way through life’s rocky road. This should not be a revelation. Everyone deals with problems of varying sorts. But sometimes it helps us to remember that.  On a related note, my college tennis coach once recommended a book called “The Dip” by Seth Godin.  He explained the book’s lesson as: no matter how good our lives are, no matter how happy we get or how successful we are in our jobs, we will go through ‘dips’ in our lives. Successful people are able to decide quickly what to do, while others wallow in in their dip until it’s too late. I think ole Coach’s words have stayed with me all these years. I never read the book, but somehow I didn’t have to read it to know what he was saying.

“They say the worst is over”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gl6gaF_6Wcs